He gazed upon a creek barely providing enough water for the horses. Dismounting, he knelt in the damp soil next to the water. There’d been no lack of rain to dry up the creek. He stood and wiped his hands on his britches before strolling along the bank.
Just as he’d feared. The creek was dammed by a fallen tree and some boulders. At first glance, a person might think it had happened by accident. Maybe the tree falling, but not the rocks that took a man to move. Someone wanted the Rocking W’s water.
He returned to his horse then rode to the ranch. As he led his horse to the barn, he glanced across the fields to see Miss Worthington riding as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. He jumped back into the saddle and galloped after her. When he got within shouting distance, he gave a shrill whistle.
She reined to a stop and turned. “What’s wrong?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing?”
“I’m only out for a ride. Please don’t tell me that you share my mother’s views on how fast a proper lady should ride.”
He chuckled. “Not at all. Seeing you tearing past the ranch had me fearing the worst. Have you thought about racing that horse of yours?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. But this backwards town doesn’t believe in a woman racing. Not to mention I’ve bucked enough of Mama’s convictions to scandalize her by racing. I’m not sure her heart could take more. Mama believes a woman should be genteel and quiet.” She eyed him up and down until he squirmed in the saddle. “Maybe you could race for me.”
“I’m too heavy.” He fixed a serious look on her. “Besides, you have bigger worries than that, Miss Worthington. It seems someone is stealing your water.”
Chapter 2
But the creek is running.” Savannah frowned. “How does someone steal water?”
“By building a dam. You aren’t out of water at this point, but it’s only a matter of time.” He folded his arms on his saddle horn. “Who owns the land west of here?”
She sighed. “Mr. Morrillton.” It all made sense. If he couldn’t get her land by foreclosure, he’d run her off with a lack of water. “What do we do?”
“I have workers arriving this afternoon. I’ll set them to work destroying the dam before they start in the fields. If the matter escalates, you may want to think of hiring men to guard the creek.”
One more thing to worry about. One more thing to need funds for. When would it end? Lately, the only time Savannah felt free of trials was on Bullet’s back, galloping across the land. “We’ll do what we must do.”
“One of the men’s wives will help cook and tend the garden.”
She glared at him. “Is my money so easily spent that it trickles through your fingers like sand?”
“Whoa.” He held up his hands. “It’s included in the original plan. Your mother hired me to take charge of the ranch and see whether I can make it profitable. That’s what I intend to do.”
She moved Bullet closer to his horse. “It’s my ranch, Mr. Jamison. Mine. I make the decisions. My mother hired you without discussing the matter with me. Any decisions, no matter how trivial they may seem to you, are to be run through me from now on. Is that understood?” She jabbed him in the chest with her forefinger.
“Perfectly clear, boss. See you at the house.” He turned and trotted away from her.
She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, feeling like a worm. The man was only doing what her mother had hired him to do. From his suggestions it was obvious he had a good head on his shoulders and might actually succeed in pulling the ranch away from the edge of an abyss. Still, the ranch was her inheritance. The only piece of her father she had left. She didn’t want to relinquish all of the control to a stranger.
A cloud of dust rose on the road leading to the ranch. As the owner, it was her job to welcome the new hired hands and appease her mother, who would not be pleased to have strangers in the house. Much less ex-slaves, whom she suspected were all thieves. Prayer was the only thing Savannah could do to change her mother’s narrow-minded ways. Sometimes she feared her prayers didn’t pass the ceiling of the ranch house.
Sure enough, Mama stood on the veranda, arms crossed, eyes wide, and stared at the two families pulling up in rickety buckboards full of furniture and children. “What is this, Mr. Jamison?”
“Workers, ma’am.” He strode forward and shook the hand of the man in the first wagon. “They’re going to help me make this ranch profitable again.”
“You, sir, are responsible for them.” With a twitch of her skirt, she stomped into the house.
“I apologize for my mother’s rudeness.” Savannah dismounted and pulled off her gloves, offering her hand to the same man her foreman had shook hands with. “I’m Savannah Worthington, owner of the Rocking W. Welcome. I look forward to working with you.”
The man stared at her for a moment before accepting her hand. “Lincoln Jones, missus. This is my wife, Irma. That fellow back there is Lee Brown and his missus, Rose. My wife will help in the kitchen and house while Rose tends garden, iff’n that be all right with you.”
“That sounds marvelous.” She grinned, actually looking forward to the explosion that would be Mama when she found out not one but two strangers would be traipsing through the house. “Let me show you to your new homes.”
“I’ll do that, Miss Worthington,” Mr. Jamison said. “You might want to soothe your mother’s ruffled feathers.”
“Right.” With a nod and a grin to those in the back wagon, Savannah headed into the house. “Mama?”
“Did you know about this?” Her mother whirled from where she stood in front of the parlor fireplace. “We have so little left. Are you willing to have it stolen from us in the middle of the night while we’re murdered in our beds?”
“Mr. Jamison has vouched for these people, Mama. We can’t turn the ranch around without help.”
“Then hire men from town.”
“These are people from town.” Savannah rubbed her temples. “You might as well resign yourself to the fact that one of the women will be working in the kitchen and the other will help in the garden. You’ve complained often enough about not having the help a woman of your caliber should have. Now, you have what you’ve asked for.”
“I’ll keep my eyes peeled, young lady. You can count on that for a fact.” Mama sat in her rocker and set it moving fast enough it actually scooted a couple of inches across the floor.
Savannah groaned and moved out the back door. The wagons had pulled in front of the nearest vacant cabins. The families didn’t have much, and what they did possess looked barely usable. Not one of the children wore shoes, and while the adults’ clothing was clean, every article sported more patches than original fabric.
She turned and climbed the stairs to her room. Surely she had a housedress or two the women could use. The men could make good use of Pa’s clothes still hanging in the bureau. There wasn’t anything she could do right away for the children, but she’d figure out something to make sure they were better clothed.
Opening the bureau in her parents’ room, she began laying her father’s things on the bed, keeping aside her favorite shirt of his. A blue chambray he’d worn to church. That, she couldn’t part with. Perhaps, once she had the items collected, she could explain to Mama the need and she would—
“What are you doing?” Mama rushed into the room.
“Giving Pa’s things to the workers. He would love to know they were being put to good use.”
Mama plopped on the bed and fingered the shirt. “Are you sure?” Her voice broke. “Is it really time?”
Savannah wrapped her arms around her. She’d expected more opposition. “Yes, Mama. It’s time.”
“I hope these cabins will suit your needs.” Wyatt pushed open the door.
“This is better than where we were living,” Lincoln said. “I’m much obliged.”
The cabin was one large room with a fireplace designed for cooking and heating. The front wall was broken up by the door a
nd two small windows. The roof seemed in good repair and the wood plank floor, while covered with a film of dust, didn’t seem to have too many splinters.
“Let me know what you need and I’ll see whether we can get ahold of it for you.” Wyatt was pleased. The cabins were of sturdy quality, much like the bunkhouse he had the privilege of living in. “Once you’re settled, I need the dam above the creek cleared.” He explained his suspicions. “Can you shoot?”
“We’d be hung if we point a gun at a white man.” Lincoln’s face remained stoic.
“You have my permission to protect yourself.” Wyatt held out his pistol. “I can trust you.” He wasn’t sure whether he meant the statement as that or as a question.
“Yes sir.” Lincoln took the gun. “I can shoot, but if men come after me with a rope, I ’spect you to get me free from here.”
“You have my word.” Wyatt prayed it wouldn’t come to that, but if he was right about someone trying to keep the water, things could get ugly. “It’s only until I can hire someone to guard the creek. I’ll be working right along with you. I’ll meet you on the porch in half an hour.” He stepped outside and headed for the main house in order to give the newcomers privacy and a bit of time to settle in.
“Mr. Jamison.” Miss Worthington waved to him from the front porch.
“Please, call me Wyatt. It’s too much to say my surname.”
“Very well. You may call me Savannah.” She folded her hands in front of her serviceable navy split skirt. “I have finally brought myself to clean out my father’s things.” Her voice shuddered. When she regained control, she continued. “I’d like you to escort me to the cabins so I may offer the clothes to our workers. I don’t want them to think of my offering as charity. Getting his things out of my mother’s room will help her heal. I also have a couple of housedresses that, with the right skill, could be taken in or let out, depending on the need.”
Wyatt rubbed his chin. “I’m not rightly sure how our new friends will take to being offered the clothing, but I’ll go with you.”
“Thank you.” She scooped up a pile of folded clothing and joined him. “I really hope they aren’t offended.”
“We can pray they won’t be.”
She cut him a sideways glance. “You’re a religious man?”
“Couldn’t get through this life without God. I know for a fact I wouldn’t have survived the war without Him.”
“My brother was a believer. It didn’t bring him home.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Our ways are not His.” She marched toward the cabins, a smile plastered on her face.
“Missus, sir.” Lincoln and his family greeted them. “We’re ready for work.”
Savannah held out her offering. “My father died last year. I am finally able to offer his clothing to someone who may appreciate them. Please, take these as early payment for your services. There are also some things I hope the women and children can use.”
The two families stared at Savannah as if she were a two-headed critter. Then Irma stepped forward. “Thank you. We appreciate the offer.”
“You’re doing me and my mother a favor. My father would have wanted someone to use his things rather than have them hanging unused.” Savannah grinned then turned to Wyatt. “What are we working on today?”
“Undamming the creek.” He glanced at her hands. “You need gloves if you’re going to help.”
She pulled a pair from her pocket. “I’m ready. Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Brown, my mother is expecting you. Please ignore any rude behavior from her. She’s a bit … biased since my brother didn’t return from the war. She’ll come around in time.”
The women nodded and, after setting the clothes inside the cabin, headed for the main house. The children trotted after the adults who walked to the creek.
With four adults and nine children ranging in ages from three to twelve, judging by their sizes, they’d have the creek cleared in no time. Wyatt almost felt like whistling except for the unlawful act of Savannah’s neighboring rancher.
“I don’t approve of small children doing heavy labor,” he said once they reached the creek. “Let the little ones play in that shallow pool.”
Lincoln and Lee glanced at each other then sent the children off to play, keeping the oldest close to help. By the supper hour, the creek was flowing swiftly and had risen by a foot. Hot, muddy, and feeling better than he had in a long time, Wyatt used the supplies he’d brought along and posted a sign warning against damming the creek anywhere along its path, and led his group of tired workers home.
Irma and Rose greeted them at a makeshift table set up behind the main house. “Sit. Food is ready,” Irma said. “Mrs. Worthington has retired with a bowl of soup to her room.” The look on the woman’s face spoke volumes about the reason Mrs. Worthington had retired. “We thought it easiest to all eat together out here. Mr. Jamison, Miss Worthington, your supper is on the stove.”
“We’ll eat out here with you, if you don’t mind.” Savannah grinned and took her seat.
Wyatt couldn’t be more proud of the boss lady than he was at that moment. She’d worked just as hard as the rest and wasn’t above breaking bread with them. Yep, he was going to enjoy working at the Rocking W.
Chapter 3
Savannah shuffled into the kitchen the next morning more sore than she could remember having been in her entire life. Every muscle screamed. She poured herself a cup of coffee and groaned as she sat at the table.
“That’s what happens when a genteel woman works like a field hand.” Mama glared at her over the top of her cup.
Savannah shot an embarrassed glance at Irma. When she was small, they’d had several servants flittering around the house like ghosts who wanted their presence known, invisible but not. She’d been taught not to speak about private matters in front of them. Now here she was being scolded in front of others like that child from long ago.
“I’m a little sore, but otherwise … I feel better than I can remember. Hard work is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Now that we have help, there’s no need for you to work so hard.”
Savannah frowned. “What would you have me do? Would you prefer I sit and do needlepoint? While away the hours, steeping in boredom? No thank you. As owner of this ranch, I intend to be involved in all aspects of running the place.”
“You could spend time learning to run a household, organize charitable events, and find a husband.” Mama set her cup down with a thud. “A man is better suited for running a ranch.”
“There isn’t a man around, Mama.”
“Excuse me?” Wyatt stood in the doorway, an amused smile on his face. “What am I? A lily flower?”
Heat started in Savannah’s stomach and traveled to her face until she was certain her skin was as red as the flame on the stove. “May I help you?”
“Well, I know a man who has a steer you might be interested in purchasing. Not to mention that young stallion we want to keep for stud doesn’t seem to know what he’s supposed to do.” His grin grew wider. “I was going to handle these things myself, but after our conversation about me running all decisions through you, I thought it best to pay you a visit and ask if you want to see how the steer works with your cattle.”
Mama gasped at the word stud, and Savannah’s face grew hotter. “I’d, uh, like to take a look at the steer.”
“There’s also twenty-five head of cattle he’s willing to take in trade for two strong horses that can pull a wagon. The family is moving west. I await your permission to proceed, my lady.” He waved his hat and bowed.
“At least someone around here knows how to act properly.” Mama stood and left the room.
For goodness’ sake. Savannah shook her head and stood, carrying both coffee cups to the washboard. “Twenty-five head of cattle is a lot for two horses, Wyatt.” She wasn’t happy about the idea of her precious horses pulling a wagon, either.
“He’s taking an extra axle and wheel I found in the barn, too. He doesn�
��t want to raise cattle when he gets to his new home. Wants to farm.”
She nodded. “Do you want a cup before we head out?”
“Thanks to Miss Irma, I’ve already had two. Best coffee I ever drank.”
“Oh, go on with you now, Mr. Jamison.” Irma waved away his comment. “You ain’t nothin’ but a sweet-talkin’ man.”
“Lincoln needs to be careful or I might just steal you away.” Wyatt winked.
“It was delicious, Irma. Thank you.” Savannah tugged on her gloves, uncomfortable with the flirtation, harmless though it may be. “I’m ready.”
With a sweep of his arm, Wyatt waved her in front of him. “After you.”
“You may stop with the theatrics.” She marched past, nose in the air, and headed for the patch of grassland closest to the house.
A man in a buckboard jumped down when he spotted them approaching. “I’ve picked out the two horses I want.” He pointed to two large mares. “They ought to be able to pull this wagon, don’t you think?”
“I would think you would need mules or oxen.” Savannah frowned. “These are quarterhorses, made for riding, not pulling a wagon. I can’t bear to think my horses will be mistreated.”
“Do you happen to have the mules you’re talking about?”
“No.” Savannah exhaled sharply, afraid of losing the trade, but she couldn’t in good conscience let the man believe he would make it to California with these horses. “I do know of a man who might take the horses in trade for what you need. If you’re willing to take that chance, then we have a deal.” She thrust her hand forward.
“I’ll take that chance and thank you.” The man returned her handshake. “These horses are for riding, miss. I’ll make arrangements to pull the wagon.”
“I’ll tie the horses to the back of the wagon for you.” Wyatt stepped into the corral.
Wyatt moved with a long-legged grace reminiscent of a mountain lion Savannah had seen once. Why wasn’t such a man married? With women outnumbering men since the war, there should be a line of eager ladies knocking on his door. If her life wasn’t so consumed with preserving her inheritance, she might set her cap for him herself. As it was, a husband and a family were not in her future.
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