by Linda Broday
He followed her for a while—watching her backside was pure pleasure. Then he pulled up beside her. “Best you let me show you where the place is.”
“I figured since there’s only one road, I couldn’t get too lost.”
“Tricky turn-off, though.”
The ride home would’ve been a lot more pleasurable if he hadn’t just killed two men, even if they were scoundrels and needed killing, and if he wasn’t worried about the little pigs. They’d been hungry when he left home the first time and he didn’t want them to suffer—he sure didn’t want them to die.
In less than half an hour, he pulled into the farmyard and dismounted. “Well, here it is.” He helped Miss Yancey off the horse.
Gristle, his big brown wolf mutt, sprang from the porch, bared his teeth, and growled. Ross positioned himself between Miss Yancey and the dog. “You be nice to the lady.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll become fast friends.” She stepped out from behind him. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Gristle. Griz for short. Leave him alone—he don’t cotton to anyone but me. The last fellow who tried to make friends with him left without a pants leg.”
“Come, Gristle.” She held out her hand. “Take a good sniff, I don’t mind.”
The dog bounded toward her but she held ground. Ross had never seen anything like it. Most women would’ve screamed and run for the barn, but Miss Yancey dropped to one knee and waited for Griz to come to her. She cooed softly as the dog stared at her curiously. Ross stood at the ready, just in case Griz took any wayward notions that involved teeth.
The dog sniffed her hand. “You’re a handsome fellow.”
The traitor flopped down and rolled over. Miss Yancey obliged him and scratched his belly. Ross couldn’t believe it.
“Now that you’ve made friends, I need to check that cut on your face. I’ll fetch a bucket of clean water.”
The superficial cut didn’t need a bandage and he felt a lot better about leaving her. He shouldn’t be gone long, and he’d leave the dog to protect her.
“I have to get some supplies together so I can water the pigs and repair the wagon. I’ll show you the house.”
He led her onto the big front porch. “I spend most of my resting hours out here. There’s only one rocker—you’re welcome to it. After I pump some water for the horses and pigs, I’ll be on my way.”
“I’d like to look inside the house first, in case I have questions.”
That made no sense at all—it had walls, a stove, and a coffee pot, just like every place else. “Sure, go right in.”
Two paces in, she stopped abruptly. “This place is a pigsty.”
“No, ma’am, the pigsty is next to the barn.” He scrounged around under some stuff in the corner heap and found an old hat. It was bent and a little dirty, but better than no hat at all. He put it on and headed out the door. “The pump’s out by the barn and there’s buckets inside if you’re needing extra water. Make yourself to home.”
“Change your clothes. I’ll step outside.”
“Change? In the middle of the day?”
“You smell.”
There was no arguing with that. “I’ll get my other clothes and go out to the barn to change so I can wash up, too.”
She nodded. “Just leave your clothes there and I’ll wash them.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“No reason not to.”
What a contrary woman. After Ross cleaned up, he filled two canvas bags with water and secured them to the horse he’d let Miss Yancey ride, then packed a hammer and some nails, a wagon jack, and a log he could use for a lever.
As he left, he had an uneasy feeling about leaving a woman alone at his farm, even with Griz with her. Ross told himself it was because he was worried for her safety, but in his heart he knew that wasn’t true.
His male pride wanted her to like his place—his wounded heart wished she’d never seen it.
****
Celia watched from the porch as Ross rode away from the farmstead. Griz sat beside her, whimpering. She scratched his ears and said, “He’ll be back soon.”
She’d only known Mr. Flaherty a few hours, yet she regretted his departure nearly as much as the poor dog. “I owe him, Griz.”
Were it not for Mr. Flaherty, she’d be dead, or wishing she were dead. Nothing could repay him, but she could straighten up the house a little, so she went back inside and took a look around to find a place to start. The house was a mess—not excessively filthy, but disorganized and cluttered. She took off her bonnet and, seeing one of his shirts on top of one of the piles, tied the sleeves around her waist to use for an apron.
Clothes first, she decided, and picked up anything that appeared to be cloth and threw it in a pile to wash later. She stacked all the papers in one corner, and even found a stationery case to hold them. Straps, harness pieces, and miscellaneous leather items, she put in a wooden box to take to the barn.
Once she cleared the table, she saw it was beautifully finished mahogany—any woman would be proud to have it in her kitchen. At first, she thought there was only one chair but uncovered the other in the far corner of the one room cabin, next to the cot.
He had a bureau and she thought to put the papers in one of the drawers, but when she opened the top drawer, she found a picture of a beautiful petite lady beside Ross. He stood more than a head taller and had his arm around her waist. He looked very proud of her. Celia wondered if they had been married, and if so, where she was now.
Celia closed the drawer and put the stationery box on top. Griz whimpered at the door.
“You poor thing. I’m sorry to have ignored you.” Her guess was that he wanted something to eat. “I’d better fix something for you. Mr. Flaherty and the baby pigs will be hungry, too.”
She stoked up the stove and put on a pot of water. In the pantry, she found oatmeal and everything she needed to make biscuits, but she didn’t find any meat. Surely, he had some somewhere.
“Come on, Griz. I need to take these leather goods to the barn anyway, so I might as well see if he has some meat out there, or maybe there’s a spring house by the creek.”
The big wolf dog hopped up and down like a puppy and wagged his tail. He didn’t seem terribly mean, but his size and his teeth could be intimidating—she had to give him that. Mooing floated over the crisp spring air, and she wondered if the cows should be fed yet. She didn’t even know what kind of cows he had, whether for beef or for milking.
In contrast to the house, not one thing was out of place in or around the barn except for the heap of clothes right outside. Stalls lined one side, shovels and garden implements hung neatly along the wall near the front door, and next to that was a section devoted to tack. The back of the barn had stanchions on one side and it looked like he milked the cows there.
She set the box of leather goods in the tack area and noticed some mahogany, likely more fine furniture. Curiosity got the best of her, and she pulled it out to take a look. It was a baby’s bassinet. She put it back exactly as she had found it, feeling disgusted with herself for intruding on Mr. Flaherty’s most private affairs, and sad for him, too.
What she’d found suggested that he’d married the small woman in the picture and she’d died in childbirth. If so, this would explain why he’d treated Celia as if she were a delicate glass ornament even though he had referred to her as sturdy. That left one mystery about him—why would a farmer be such a good shot and able to kill two men, albeit in self defense, and not be shaken to his boots?
The rest of the day flew by as she worked diligently to get everything done before Ross returned. She scrubbed the laundry including his bedding, put oatmeal on to boil for the piglets, and some coffee for her. After that, she milked the four cows in the pen back of the barn. For supper, she made potato soup and biscuits.
Her arms ached, her back ached, and she’d lost feeling in her legs an hour before. She washed herself, but her skirts and blouse smelled somet
hing terrible, so she put on Mr. Flaherty’s clothes, even though they hadn’t quite dried yet, and washed her own.
When he pulled the wagon in front of the barn to the excited barks and bounces of Griz, Celia sat on the rocker and nursed a cup of coffee.
Mr. Flaherty jumped off the wagon and tipped his hat as he strode toward her. “The sheriff got there shortly after I did. Wants you to stay here and he’ll stop by later and get your statement.”
“I’m glad you could fix the wagon well enough to get it back home.”
“It needs a lot more fixing before it’s usable.” He eyed her up and down. “I said to make yourself to home, but I didn’t expect you to be wearing my clothes.”
“I didn’t expect to smell like pig leavings.”
He chuckled. “You look right fine, and smell even better.”
“That’s the biscuits and soup. Let me know when you’re ready to eat. And I boiled some milk and oatmeal for the baby pigs.”
“I could eat six pans of biscuits right now, but best I feed those pigs first. They’re weakening.”
“I’ll help.”
She sure wished she could help without standing up. But help, she would. Mr. Flaherty deserved all she could do for him.
****
Ross patted Griz on the side, using the dog to avert his attention from Miss Yancey. The sight of her wearing his shirt and britches tugged at him deep inside—a place he’d carefully buried.
“That was right nice of you to fix supper. I’d like to follow my nose to the kitchen right now, but my belly will have to wait until the pigs are fed and the cows are milked. You just set there and relax. You’ve had a hard day.”
“No harder than yours.”
He couldn’t argue with that. In fact, it niggled at him that her common sense defied arguing. “Let’s get to it, then.”
She stood, put her hands on her behind, and stretched her back. “I found some old gloves we can use, if that’s all right.”
“Sure it’s all right. Don’t want you blistering your hands.”
“Not for me—for the piglets. They’re still nursing, remember? We can put the formula in the glove and they can suckle the fingers if we poke holes in the tips.”
Why didn’t he think of that? “All right, we’ll give it a try.”
“And you don’t have to worry about the cows. I already milked them.” She went into the house and returned with a bucket. “If you don’t mind, please carry the bucket of formula to the pigsty, and I’ll bring the gloves.”
The aroma of the biscuits wafted out to the porch with her. “Maybe just one of those biscuits before we start.”
She fetched it, along with a good sized hunk of butter, and brought it out to the porch. “This will give your stomach something to think about while we’re feeding the pigs.”
He sat in the rocker, buttered his biscuit, and took a big, glorious bite. “Mmmm.”
As far as thinking, he had a lot of it to do. Sheriff Weaver had come out to collect the bodies and investigate. After Ross identified the two dead men, Weaver’d said that both had bounties on them so he’d deposit the money in Ross’s Silver City bank account. The problem was, no one in the area knew he’d been a bounty hunter, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Most especially, he didn’t want Miss Yancey to learn about it. Even though he had never killed a man other than in self defense, not all bounty hunters had such scruples, and the profession’s reputation suffered for it. If Miss Yancey was set on marrying a preacher, she sure wouldn’t be interested in an old bounty hunter. Then again, he was done with women, so he shouldn’t care.
“Best biscuit I ever ate, Miss Yancey.” He stood and brushed the crumbs off his mouth with his sleeve. “We better feed those pigs now. They’re mighty hungry.”
Miss Yancey had cooked up a batch of thin oatmeal and milk for the piglets. He carried the bucket of formula to the pigsty and she brought the gloves, a ladle, and two small spoons.
“If the piglets can’t nurse from the gloves, we can spoon feed them,” she said.
“Seems like a lot of trouble, but they’re too young to drink on their own, I fear.”
“And they’re a little weak from dehydration. What happened to the sow?”
A bad call on his part, and the poor old gal paid for his stupidity. “She got herself half eaten by a pack of coyotes and the wounds putrefied. It’s my fault—I let her out to run free. Shouldn’t have.”
Once at the pigsty, they settled into a routine where he trickled formula into the smaller, weaker pigs’ mouths with a spoon and she used the glove to feed three at a time. Already, the little critters had livened up considerably.
“I’m grateful for your help, ma’am.” Ross traded out one pig for another to give it a second dose. “I never would’ve thought of using thin oatmeal with the milk.”
Her eyebrows shot up and she nearly dropped the glove. “You think it’s a good idea?”
She sounded incredulous, which mystified him. “I sure enough do, and I thank you.”
“You’re welcome—and please call me Celia. After all we’ve been through, it’s hard to stand on formality.”
“It’s an honor, Celia. I’d like it if you’d call me Ross.”
“Why did that man call you Flare?”
With luck, she’d never find out. “Aw, short for Flaherty, I guess.”
“Did you grow up on a farm?” she asked.
“Nope. My parents were from Brooklyn. When I was just a whippersnapper, we came out West to Pike’s Peak to strike gold, but never did. Pa made a few dollars though, and recently moved to a farm with a nice house near Los Angeles. But I grew up in Denver.”
Why he was prattling on, he had no idea. Generally, the less said the better. He let the last little pig run back with his brothers and sisters. “Their bellies are full—time to feed me now.”
She could never know how much he looked forward to a good meal. If that biscuit was any indication, she was a danged good cook. Then again, just about anything was better than his own cooking.
Celia washed and went into the house while he finished up the outside chores. When he was done, he cleaned up and followed his nose to the house, his mouth watering. That biscuit was the only thing he’d eaten all day and it was dratted lonesome in his belly.
One step into the house brought a wall of sadness and rage. “What in blue blazes did you do to my house?”
She flattened herself against the wall, as if he’d hit her. “I straightened it up for you. It was messy.”
He couldn’t help notice that the tremor in her voice showed her fear. He couldn’t help a lot of things. “Take those curtains down.”
An hour after he and Jenny had said the words of marriage, he’d carried her through the door, and the first thing she done was put up those curtains. Then they made love under the yellow calico curtains fluttering in the spring breeze, much as they did right now. The first thing he did when she died was yank down those curtains. He should’ve burned them, but he didn’t have the heart.
“They’re nice curtains—cheerful.”
“I don’t like them.” He couldn’t tell her why the very sight of those curtains tore his guts out, but they had to go, and he didn’t want to touch them. He’d washed Jenny’s body and the newborn baby’s, too, before he laid them to rest, but he couldn’t touch those curtains.
This country was no place for a woman. He never should have brought Jenny out here, and her father had told him so. Women belonged in town where they could shop for geegaws and go to quilting bees. They shouldn’t be stuck in a crude cabin twelve mountain-road miles from a town filled with raucous miners and rambunctious cowhands.
“Just get ’em down.” Before he said anything he’d regret, he turned tail and headed to the barn.
****
Celia rushed to the cabin window and took down the freshly laundered curtains. Her heart still pumped furiously in reaction to Ross’s anger as she folded them carefully and tuck
ed them away in the bottom drawer of the bureau. She’d never seen a man that full of rage who didn’t hit the woman who’d caused it. Certainly, her father would’ve pummeled her mother and her, too.
Ross had killed two men, yet he hadn’t hit her. He’d saved her life and she owed him in kindness. He’d even said the oatmeal formula was a good idea—no one, especially her father, had ever given her credit for her ideas. All her life, her suggestions had either been ignored or made to be her father’s own.
After the curtains were safely stowed, she poured a cup of coffee and took it outside, hoping to find Ross. The sun would dip behind the mountains soon, and she needed to make amends so he could retire for the night in peace. He’d saved her life, maybe she could save his in a different way, because he obviously had a lot of hurt guarding his heart.
Still, the fear of what could happen made her falter. A man who was rough, big as an ox, and none too refined, seemed like a recipe for violence, but Ross never reacted the way she thought he would.
She found him behind the barn sitting alongside the small creek that ran through his property, and she stopped about three yards from him. Griz sprang to his feet and wagged his tail. When she didn’t come any closer he ran over and nuzzled her hand.
“I didn’t bring anything for you, Griz, unless you’d like coffee.” Celia, no longer feeling threatened, stepped forward and handed Ross the cup handle first so he wouldn’t burn his fingers. “Supper is ready anytime you are, and I took care of the problem.”
He didn’t say a word—just stared at the creek and after a moment, he took a sip. She sat on the ground beside him and focused on the creek, too. The creek babbled a happy tune and she suspected he needed to listen to its song.
When he had drunk half the coffee, and since he hadn’t told her to go away, she offered her apology. “I apologize for interfering where I wasn’t wanted or needed. You’ve done so much for me—I meant to help you. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you, but that’s what I did, and I’m sorry.”