“Neither did I.” Lucy took a sip of fragrant chamomile and leaned back in her rocking chair, wrapped in a sense of utter contentment. She chuckled. “And my father would be shocked. He objected to my learning anything he considered manual labor. His goal was for me to marry into a station he felt would be suitable for me.”
“One that wouldn’t involve cleaning the hen house or baking your own bread?”
The chuckle became a full-throated laugh. “Definitely not cleaning the hen house.”
Nothing disturbed the silence for a long moment but the creak of the rockers. Then Martha spoke again.
“From what you’ve told me, I’d guess this isn’t anything you would have imagined doing at this point in your life.”
“No, I’m sure my father expected me to be planning a wedding by now. But things didn’t work out quite the way he thought they would.”
Martha grunted. “You mean once your daddy’s money was gone, nobody was interested in marrying you?”
“That isn’t entirely true. I did have a suitor after my father passed away . . . a rather persistent one.”
Martha arched one eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Walter Harris. His father owns a lot of property around Dry Gulch. I’m sure my father would have considered Walter an excellent prospect . . . from a financial standpoint, at least.”
“Something tells me you didn’t.”
“To be perfectly honest, the man makes my skin crawl. When the opportunity arose to come here instead, it was a welcome reprieve.”
Martha drained her teacup and set it back on the tray. “I can’t see you spending the rest of your days dancing attendance on the likes of me. You have your whole life ahead of you. What do you want from it?”
Lucy looked out at the low hills silhouetted against the darkening sky. Inky spots along the hillsides showed cattle getting ready to bed down for the night. Off in the distance, an owl gave a plaintive hoot. Nearer at hand, she spotted Maybelle ambling along near the barn.
She shook her head slowly. “Maybe that’s my biggest problem—I don’t really know what I want.” Her voice trailed off, then she added, “But I do know it isn’t marrying Walter Harris.”
They fell silent. Then Martha said, “Even when you do know what you want, that doesn’t always mean you’ll get it.”
The wistfulness in her voice tugged at Lucy’s heart. “Are you thinking of the trip you and your husband planned to make?”
“Mm-hmm. It was his dream to begin with, but the more he talked about it, the more the idea took hold of me.” Martha pushed herself out of the rocker and looked out at the night sky. “Even though he’s gone, I have a hankering to do it anyway, just to see those places that meant so much to him.”
After gathering up the tea things and bidding Martha good-night, Lucy went up to her bedroom and changed into her nightclothes. An enormous yawn stretched her mouth wide.
She walked over to the window and leaned against the casement with Martha’s question still running through her mind. “What do I want?” she whispered.
She stared out at the night sky, seeking an answer that didn’t come. Martha’s words had stirred up an unexpected line of thought. In leaving Dry Gulch, she’d thought only of escaping Walter’s unwanted attentions and having a roof over her head. Thoughts of anything further in the future hadn’t entered her mind.
At the memory of her abrupt departure, she wondered for the hundredth time about the identity of the anonymous letter writer who made her getaway possible. Who could it have been?
Only a handful of people knew of her plight—Dottie Jackson and the ladies of Mrs. Whitfield’s sewing circle. Since the letter had arrived on the heels of the women’s fervent prayer for her, it seemed likely one of them had a hand in it. But which one?
She pressed her forehead against the window glass, thinking of the dear faces she’d left behind. Could it be Dottie? Doubtful, since her friend’s thoughts had been consumed with her upcoming wedding.
What about Gertie Claasen or Prudence Whitfield? Lucy gazed into the darkness, considering. She could picture either of the older women as capable of making the kind of connections that sent her to the Diamond S. But why would either hide her identity? It seemed either of them would have just told her about the job and handed the train ticket over in person instead of having Pastor Eldridge deliver the news.
Emilie? Hannah Taylor? Lucy discarded Emilie as a possibility almost at once. But Hannah . . . Though the quiet schoolteacher never called attention to herself, she was always looking out for the welfare of others. Lucy nodded slowly. Yes, Hannah seemed a likely candidate. How she wished she could know for sure!
If . . . or when . . . she ever learned the identity of her benefactor, she would find a way to let that person know of her heartfelt gratitude. The Diamond S had provided a much-needed haven.
But how long could she expect that to last? And how long did she want it to?
Martha certainly seemed hale enough. The sturdy ranch woman was likely to live a good many years longer. As much as Lucy had grown to love being on the ranch and treasured the developing camaraderie between them, the question had to be asked: Was serving as Martha’s companion all she wanted out of life? Would a home and family ever be hers?
“What I want, Lord, is whatever you have planned for me. But I don’t know what that is. Am I going to miss out on finding your will, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Pushing the window up, she leaned out to look up at the stars. Just as her head cleared the frame, she heard Martha’s voice raised in a harsh shout.
“Consarn it! What are you no-goods up to now?”
Lucy sagged against the window frame. Not again!
This time she paused long enough to put on her slippers and snatch up her wrapper. She thrust her arms into the sleeves as she made her way down the stairs, bracing herself for the sound of a shotgun blast. None came by the time she reached the ground floor, but once again, the front door was standing wide open.
Lucy crept up to the door and peered out into the darkness. “Martha?” she called in a hushed tone. “What’s going on?”
“Over here. At the south end of the porch.”
Lucy followed the sound of Martha’s voice, stifling a yelp when she barked her shin on the rocking chair Martha had vacated only a short time before. She hobbled the rest of the way to the corner of the house and stood next to Martha. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re at it again.”
Lucy rubbed her throbbing shin. “Who?”
“Those varmints who’ve been skulking around here.”
A wave of disappointment swept through Lucy. Things had been going so well since the night of her arrival, and now this. Andrew was due to visit again in the next day or two. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to break the news to him.
Martha clutched Lucy’s arm in a grip that made her wince. “Up there! Do you see it?”
Lucy glanced in the direction Martha indicated and stared openmouthed. A glowing shape moved slowly across the night sky, tracing an eerie path toward the barn.
A prickling sensation ran up the back of her scalp. She didn’t believe in ghosts, not for a minute. And yet . . .
Martha’s grip tightened even more. “You see it, don’t you?”
Lucy pulled her arm free and rubbed it gently. “Yes.” She stood beside Martha in silence and watched the apparition continue on its way. “You don’t think it’s a . . .” Her voice trailed off, unable to form the word.
“A spook?” Martha snorted. “Never believed in ’em, and I’m not about to start now.” She raised the shotgun to her shoulder as she spoke.
Lucy clamped her hands over her ears, which only partially muffled the roar of the gun. The unearthly specter picked up speed and hurried along in a jerky manner, disappearing behind the corner of the barn.
She gasped. “Do you think you hit it—whatever it was?”
“Let’s find out.” Martha hiked her skir
ts up and scuttled around the end of the barn.
After a moment’s hesitation, Lucy ran after her. “Where is it?”
Martha stared into the darkness, holding the shotgun at the ready. “That just doesn’t add up. It’s gone.” Lowering the shotgun, she replaced the spent shell with a fresh one and looked around. “I guess that’s all the excitement we’re going to see tonight. Let’s go inside and try to get some sleep.”
Chapter 7
“Good morning, ladies.” Carson Murphy stepped inside as Lucy held the front door open. “I rode over to see how Curly and Jasper were getting along on the fence. As long as I was in the area, I thought I’d stop by and say hello.”
Martha snorted. “You didn’t come by just to see an old woman. I’d be willing to bet you caught a whiff of my dried-apple pie and thought you could snag a piece.”
Murphy laughed. “Guilty as charged. If you have an extra slice, I wouldn’t turn it down.”
Martha grinned at Lucy. “Havin’ cowboys around all those years, I learned early on to make extra whenever I baked.”
Lucy went to the kitchen to fetch three slices of pie, still warm from the oven, and carried the tray out to the porch, where Martha and Mr. Murphy sat rocking. The rancher jumped up to give Lucy his seat.
She smiled her thanks and handed him a plate before asking, “Is the fencing project going well?”
“Smooth as can be.” He forked a bite into his mouth and closed his eyes in a show of pure enjoyment.
Martha’s plate rattled when she set it down. “Wish I could say the same for things around here. We had another visit from those no-goods who’ve been skulking around.”
“Oh?” The rancher half turned to give Lucy a conspiratorial wink, then smiled at Martha in a patronizing manner that set Lucy’s teeth on edge.
Martha didn’t seem to notice. “I spotted something movin’ along like some kind of specter—right up there.” She pointed to the space between the windmill and the barn. “But it quit as soon as I let off a round in that direction, and I couldn’t find a trace of anyone after that.”
She leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know what they’re up to, but if they think it’s easy to hoodwink an old widow woman, they’ve got another think comin’.”
Murphy shook his head and shot a quick glance at Lucy. “Martha, we’ve talked about this before.”
Martha drew herself up ramrod straight. “Carson Murphy, don’t go acting like this is all in my head. I know what I saw.”
Lucy sprang to her defense. “She’s right. It wasn’t just—”
“Don’t get your dander up, Martha.” Murphy set the plate back on the tray and walked to untie his horse from the hitching rail. Putting one foot in the stirrup, he swung himself into the saddle. “But you might as well admit this is all in your head, and all you’re doing is wasting ammunition.” He swung the horse around and dug in his heels.
Stung by his dismissive tone, Lucy jumped to her feet. “I saw it, too!”
But Murphy was already out of earshot.
“I don’t like him,” Lucy told Andrew when he stopped by later that afternoon.
He paused in the act of tightening a bolt on one of the barn door hinges. “Who?”
“Mr. Murphy.”
Andrew gave the wrench another turn and swung the door back and forth. “There, it shouldn’t drag anymore.” He turned back to Lucy. “What do you have against Murphy?”
“I don’t like the way he talks down to Martha.”
Andrew shook his head and walked over to a shelf on the wall to return the wrench to the toolbox. “That doesn’t sound like Carson. What did he say?”
“It isn’t so much what he says. It’s like he’s laughing at her when he knows she isn’t watching. He was out here earlier today. When she told him what happened last night, he came right out and said he thought she was making the whole thing up.”
Andrew flinched. “What happened last night?”
Lucy recounted the story of Martha shooting at a ghostly apparition.
“She’s at it again? I hoped we were getting past that. Especially since there’s only been one episode since you arrived.” He looked at Lucy. “As for Carson, I think you’re wrong. He’s been a friend to Uncle Ebenezer and Aunt Martha for many years, and I’ve never known him to treat her with anything but the utmost respect.”
Lucy bristled. “I know what I saw.”
Andrew eyed her with concern. “I brought you out here to keep an eye on Aunt Martha, not so she could pull you into her delusions. Next thing you know, you’ll be seeing ghosts in the night, too.”
“But I did see it.”
Her statement stopped him in his tracks. He turned and gaped at her. “You mean she convinced you—”
“She didn’t have to convince me of anything.” Lucy glared at the clueless man. “I stood right next to her and saw the whole thing. It isn’t just your aunt’s word anymore—I’m a witness. Something strange is going on.”
Andrew continued to the door. Lucy followed him and watched him drop the bar in place. He looked over, his brows knitted in a worried frown. “Let’s get over to the house. I think you’ve had a little too much sun.”
“Too much sun?” If Lucy had been holding anything heavy in her hands, she would have been sorely tempted to use it to knock some sense into him. Barring that, she put her hands on his shoulders and shoved.
Andrew stumbled backward, astonishment written on his face. He spread his arms wide. “What was that for?”
“For looking at me like I’m as loony as you think your aunt is. Well, she isn’t crazy, and neither am I.” She spun on her heel and marched off across the packed earth of the ranch yard.
Halfway to the porch, Andrew caught up to her and snagged her by the elbow. “I never said anyone was crazy. I just think she’s imagining things.”
Lucy whirled on him. “There is no reason for you to raise your voice like that, especially when you’re standing barely a foot away.”
“What makes you think you know Aunt Martha better than I do? I’ve known her my entire life, and you’ve only been here a few weeks.”
Lucy raised her own volume to match his. “Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think you do. Do you know her greatest dream is to travel the world, but she doesn’t want to part with the ranch because it means so much to you?”
“That proves it, you really are deluded. What she wants is to live out her life right here on the Diamond S. Why would you possibly think she wants to be anywhere else?”
“Because I listen to her! Something you apparently don’t take the time or trouble to do.”
The front door swung open and Martha stepped out onto the porch, planting her flour-covered hands on her hips. “What in thunder is going on? I could hear the shoutin’ clear back in the kitchen. Sounded like someone was getting skinned alive.”
Lucy searched for some answer that would satisfy. She could hardly tell Martha they’d been debating her sanity. “Nothing much. I was just talking to Andrew.”
Martha’s focus shifted to her nephew, who shuffled his feet and shrugged. She stared at them a moment longer, then broke into a low chuckle. “You two remind me of Burt and Bessie.”
The abrupt change of subject broke the tension. Lucy turned her back on Andrew and flounced over toward Martha. “Burt and Bessie who?”
Martha grinned. “A young bull and heifer Ebenezer and I brought with us when we first came here. Those two were like oil and water, buttin’ heads with each other every time their paths crossed. Just like you two were doing out there.” Martha turned her head and coughed, then pressed her hand against her forehead.
Lucy stepped forward. “Are you all right?”
Martha waved away her concern. “Felt a bit dizzy for a moment. I’m fine now.” She swiped at her apron, sending up a cloud of fine white powder. “Since it appears nobody’s getting skinned after all, I might as well go back to my pies. Carson and those cowboys of his have been eat
in’ them up as fast as I can bake them.”
When the door closed behind her, Lucy turned back to Andrew, suddenly at a loss for words.
He pulled off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. “I need to apologize. I never should have let my temper get the best of me like that.”
Lucy ducked her head. “Me too.” She stepped up onto the porch and wrapped her arm around one of the upright posts. “All the same, there really is something strange going on around here. If that glowing object was real—and it was—can’t we assume those other things your aunt saw really happened, too? And if that’s the case, we need to ask ourselves who’s behind it . . . and why. That’s the part that puzzles me. I can’t imagine why anybody would go to all the trouble of doing this.”
She caught her breath. “What about Mr. Murphy? Maybe he wants to scare Martha off so he can buy the ranch and increase his holdings.”
The corner of Andrew’s mouth curved up. “I know you don’t like him, but there’s no reason for him to do that. The arrangement he has with Aunt Martha gives him all the access he needs, and for far less than he’d spend to own the property outright. I’m afraid you’ll have to find another suspect.”
Lucy swallowed her disappointment. “All right. But if it isn’t him, there’s still someone who’s making these things happen. It’s up to us to find out who it is and the reason they are doing it.”
Andrew regarded her thoughtfully, then nodded. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”
It wasn’t much as far as concessions went, but Lucy decided it would suffice. “Why don’t we join forces. I can keep watch here. Maybe you can do some investigating and try to find a reason anyone would want to torment your aunt like this. Can we agree on that much?” She held out her hand.
When he didn’t respond, she added, “I’m not saying you have to believe I’m right. Let’s just work together to prove or disprove these assertions of Martha’s once and for all.”
Andrew drew a deep breath and gave a decisive nod. “That much I can do.” He took her hand, sealing the bargain.
The moment his hand enveloped hers, Lucy felt a tingle run from her fingers down to her toes. She stared into his melting brown eyes and watched the crease in his cheek deepen into a dimple. Had she really wanted to bash him over the head only moments before? The sudden transformation in her feelings took her breath away.
A Match Made in Texas Page 21