by Debra Cowan
Gideon’s first instinct had been to comfort her, hold her. In the end, all he’d done was lay a hand on her shoulder. It might have been enough for her, but not for him. He’d felt her body plastered to his after he’d grabbed her away from that trap. He wanted to feel her again. Still, he wasn’t going to do a damn thing about it.
After giving the handle a couple of quick pumps to make sure it moved smoothly, Gideon took a clean bandanna from his back trouser pocket. He wiped the grease from his hands, glancing down the road. Though still quite a distance away, he could see the stage coming. The sun’s position, as well as the gnaw of hunger in his gut, said it was nigh on noon.
Dropping the oily rag into the wooden box that also held a wrench, hammer and pliers, he hopped the fence and strode across the yard to the porch. The door was open, and the scent of cooking meat and yeasty dough drifted out.
He poked his head inside, and for a moment he watched Ivy. She stood over the stove, damp wisps of raven hair escaping from her low chignon to curl against her delicate nape. The pale blue dress sleeked over her curves like a glove, outlining slender shoulders and a slim waist that Gideon itched to span with his hands.
“Miss Ivy?”
“Yes?” She glanced over her shoulder, her movements measured and graceful as she turned sliced apples in one skillet while stirring a deep pot of something with the other.
How long was her hair? he wondered. The silky mass had to reach at least to the middle of her back.
When he didn’t speak, she prompted, “Mr. Black?”
He recalled why he’d come inside. “The stage is coming. I’ll wash up then help with whatever you need.”
She nodded, using the edges of her neat white apron to move the pans off the heat to the back of the stove. Taking the tin of soap from the shelf above the dry sink, she walked toward him. Her face was flushed from the stove heat, her eyes dark and sparkling.
His gaze slid briefly to the rise and fall of her breasts. He took the soap, turning to go until she edged into the doorway with him. “Conrad thought he would have passengers today.”
Gideon pushed his hat up with the back of his wrist, staring at the approaching coach. “Looks like at least one trunk or valise strapped to the top.”
As the stage drew nearer, he could see a man seated inside, as well as a woman with a pink bonnet. “You need me to fetch anything?”
“Not yet.”
He took a couple of steps then paused. “I’m going to send everyone inside as soon as they stop. I want to check Conrad’s footprints.”
“Against the ones you found in the woods?”
“Yes. I don’t believe they’ll match, but I want to make sure.”
“All right.” She moved out to stand beside him on the porch.
Beneath the aroma of stewing apples and cinnamon, he drew in her soft magnolia fragrance. His body went tight the way it had last night. Careful not to touch her—which was damn difficult seeing how close she stood—he slid the soap tin into his back pocket and went out to help with the horses and passengers.
“Whoop, Ivy!” Conrad called from his high seat.
She waved then smoothed her hair back. Gideon strode out the gate and met the stage as the driver braked near the trough and newly greased pump.
He held the harness between the two lead bays as Conrad clambered down and opened the door, placing a mounting box beneath it so the passengers could disembark.
A man with a jaunty straw hat atop thick gray hair gripped the door frame and stepped down.
“How do,” he said pleasantly to Gideon before turning and offering a hand to the woman wearing a pink bonnet. And a pink dress and pink gloves.
When the couple moved to the side, Gideon blinked. Neither of the pair stood even as tall as Ivy! He’d never seen such diminutive people, especially a man.
The woman, her dark hair streaked with gray, walked over to Gideon. Hazel eyes sparkled. “Hello.”
“Ma’am.”
Ivy glided down the steps. “Welcome. There’s a hot meal waiting.”
“That sounds wonderful, my dear.” The man drew his companion forward. “Albert and Maude Hargrove, at your service.”
“Ivy Powell,” she said with a smile that flashed a dimple. “Nice to meet you. And this is Gideon.”
The men shook hands.
A man wearing a bowler hat poked his head out then stepped down. His three-piece suit looked hotter than hell. He stood just under six feet and was shaped like a barrel.
He came forward and extended a hand to Ivy. “Porter Nichols. Nice to meet you. Conrad says your food is the best in the Territory.”
“I hope you think so after you’ve eaten.”
As the passengers made their way through the gate, Conrad tossed Gideon an imperious look. “Take care of my team, would ya?”
Ivy frowned and started to speak. Gideon shook his head. Better to get Conrad in the house now so Gideon could examine the man’s prints before they became mixed with everyone else’s.
“Change the horses?” he asked the stage driver.
“Just feed and water. We’ll stop in Doaksville, and I’ll change the team there.”
By the time Ivy got everyone inside, Gideon had determined the stage driver’s boot prints didn’t match those in the woods. Neither did the others. He unhitched the horses so they could drink from the trough.
After putting out a bucket of grain, he soaped and scrubbed his hands then splashed water on his neck and face. He used the other clean rag in his trouser pocket to dry off then went inside.
Ivy stood at the opposite end of the table, setting down a steaming bowl of chicken and dumplings. Another bowl full of the same was at this end. Mr. Nichols sat at the foot of the table with Conrad on his right and the older couple on his left.
Ivy saw Gideon and indicated the chair at the head of the table. “I set you a place here.”
He could feel the stage driver’s glower as he made his way to his seat. When he reached Ivy, she arched a brow. He shook his head no to her unspoken question about Conrad’s prints. He sat, though she remained standing, making sure each dish was passed around the table.
Once the plates were filled, she took the chair to Gideon’s right. Their knees bumped, and he waited for her to move away, but she didn’t. For a few minutes, the only sounds were utensils scraping plates and the occasional creak of a chair.
Mr. Hargrove glanced at Gideon. “Where are you from, sir?”
All over, he thought, but said, “Mimosa Springs.”
“That’s farther west, isn’t it? Past Doaksville?”
“Yes, sir.” He leaned toward Ivy, saying quietly, “This is really good.”
Her lips curved, and his head went a little fuzzy.
Albert Hargrove addressed the man at the foot of the table. “What about you, Mr. Nichols? Where do you hail from?”
“Texas. I’m scouting future railroad stops for the Katy.”
Gideon knew that was the more common name for the Missouri, Kansas and Texas Railway Company.
As the older gentleman began asking questions about the railroad, Gideon glanced around the table. He hadn’t eaten with this many people since prison. At least here no one fought over the food. There was enough for everyone, including Conrad’s three helpings of chicken and dumplings.
Mr. Hargrove wiped his mouth with his napkin and spoke to Ivy. “I know a lot of stage stands have been adversely affected by the railroads. Has yours?”
Gideon felt her go still, but her tone gave away nothing of the trouble that had come to her door.
“No,” she answered. “At least not yet. The railroad isn’t near enough to impact.” She glanced at Mr. Nichols. “There’s been talk for a few years about the tracks coming through here, and nothing’s happene
d. Is there a real possibility of that now?”
“Could be, could be.” The man directed his attention to Gideon. “If the Katy were interested, would you consider selling this place?”
Gideon gestured to Ivy. “I’m just a ranch hand. She’s the boss.”
The agent’s dark eyes settled on her. “No husband?”
“No.” She angled her chin at him. “Would you refuse to deal with me because I’m not married?”
Gideon knew she was asking because the bank might do that very thing.
“Not at all.”
“Well, then.” Her shoulders relaxed. “If the railroad ever comes through, we might be able to come to an agreement. I might lease a stretch of land to you.”
“Do you have an arrangement with the stage line?”
She hesitated briefly. “I’m currently trying to work out a new deal with them.”
“Very smart,” Conrad piped up. “I’ll put in a good word for you, if you want.”
“No,” she said sharply, then softened her tone. “I mean, thank you, but I hope it won’t be necessary.”
Irritation flashed across his handsome features.
Mr. Nichols reached for more chicken and dumplings. “Mrs. Powell, your food is excellent, as Mr. Conrad said it would be.”
Ivy flashed a grateful smile to the stage driver, who stared balefully at her.
Mrs. Hargrove touched Ivy’s hand. “Do you offer overnight accommodations?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Conrad asked about the Katy’s current progress in building its line from Kansas toward Texas. Nichols explained that a land grant in Indian Territory had been promised to the first railroad to reach a certain point on the Kansas border, but the Indian Nations were protesting that Congress had no right to grant the land at all.
After serving dessert, Ivy turned to the Hargroves. “Where are you headed after Doaksville?”
“On to Boggy Depot, then maybe up to Stringtown before we make our way to Perryville to see our daughter,” Albert answered.
Maude took her husband’s hand. “We’d love to stay here overnight on our return.”
“I’d be happy to have you.”
Gideon noticed how adoringly the couple looked at each other. He wondered if things had always been that way for them.
Mrs. Hargrove shared a secret smile with Ivy and Gideon. “It will be like a little honeymoon.”
“We try to take one every year,” Albert said.
Conrad pushed his plate away. “How long y’all been married?”
“Fifty-two years.” Albert beamed at his wife.
Maude put her hand over his. “We’ve never spent a night apart.”
Loud enough for only Gideon to hear, Ivy breathed, “It’s a wonder you haven’t killed each other.”
He slid her a look, recalling what she’d said last night about not marrying again.
Now that he thought about it, Gideon realized he’d seen her at Tug’s grave every day since they’d buried the dog, but not once at her husband’s grave site. Did she visit the man’s grave at all?
Mrs. Hargrove gave Ivy a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry for your loss, dear.”
She looked blank for a moment, then understanding crossed her features. “Thank you.”
“It’s not easy being a widow.”
Ivy murmured something, then asked about the woman’s daughter.
It hadn’t escaped Gideon’s notice that she changed the subject whenever her husband was mentioned. He was starting to wonder if she had even liked Tom Powell, much less grieved when he’d gone.
Conrad rose, shoving his long blond hair over his shoulder. “That was delicious, Ivy.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
He glanced around the table. “I’ll hitch up the team and be ready to leave in ten minutes.”
The passengers nodded, pushing away from the table. After a quick look outside, Gideon decided Conrad didn’t need his help, and he began to clear the dishes.
Mrs. Hargrove handed him her plate. “Miss Ivy is lucky to have you. You make a good pair.”
They weren’t a pair at all, but rather than correct her, he just smiled.
At the thunder of approaching hooves, Ivy glanced at the door. Gideon peered out, not recognizing the dun galloping up the drive or the person on its back.
As the animal neared, Gideon could see the rider was a young man. He guided his mount past the stage team and to the other side of the trough. The lad slid out of the saddle and hastily looped the reins around the hitching post.
He greeted Conrad and the passengers as the stage driver helped Mrs. Hargrove into the coach, then her husband.
Ivy looked at Gideon. “Who is it?”
“Don’t recognize him.”
The black-haired boy, lanky with freckled features, walked quickly across the yard and onto the porch, where he stopped.
Nudging his hat back, he grinned. “You must be Gideon. My brother told me about you.”
“Your brother?”
“Hello, Coy.” As Ivy came toward them with a smile on her face, the boy snatched off his hat. “Gideon, this is Josh’s brother.”
“Nice to meet you.” Coy offered a hand, pumping Gideon’s hard, but his attention was squarely on Ivy. “I brought a wire from the stage line manager.”
“Oh, good.” She took the message. As she skimmed it, the boy’s gaze never left her.
The kid looked purely besotted. Gideon wasn’t surprised. If he weren’t careful, he might fall for her, too.
Shifting his attention back to her, he saw her mouth tighten and concern crease her features. She motioned Coy inside. “Have you eaten? There’s plenty left.”
“Thank you. I’m hungry as a bear.”
“You always are,” she said good-naturedly, but Gideon could tell she was distracted.
As the boy sat and began to fill a plate, Ivy walked to the stove. Gideon followed.
“Bad news?” he asked quietly.
Irritation sparked in her eyes. “The stage line denied my request to contract directly with them.”
“Did they say why?”
She shook her head. “No, blast ’em.”
She poured a glass of water and took it to Coy. “I want to send a reply.”
He nodded, mouth full.
As the stagecoach clattered away, she hurried into her husband’s office and wrote something on the back of the message she’d received. After Coy finished his meal, she handed him the note.
Gideon waited until the boy had ridden off before he spoke. “I wonder why the stage line manager didn’t give a reason for turning you down.”
“I don’t know, but I hope to find out. I reminded them that this is the only problem that’s occurred during the entire time I’ve been contracted with the mayor. And I invited them to come here, see things for themselves.”
Gideon nodded. “Good idea.”
She began to clear the dishes, and he moved up the other side of the table to help her.
“That was nice of Conrad to offer to put in a good word for you with the stage line.”
“If I’d said yes, he would think it meant more than it does and want something in return.”
She sounded as cynical as Gideon was. “He seemed on better behavior today.”
“I figured he would be.”
Gideon gave a short laugh. “Why? Because he had passengers?”
“Because you were beside me. The last time he was here, that was all it took to keep him from becoming too familiar.”
She walked to the dry sink, and Gideon stared after her. Was that why she’d given him a seat next to her? She’d used him? Not as harshly or blatantly as Eleanor had, but Ivy had manipulated
him just the same.
Teeth clenched, Gideon forced himself to acknowledge that maybe manipulate was too strong a word. It had been a knee-jerk reaction.
For as long as he lived, he figured he would probably feel that instant, sharp wariness at the idea that any woman could work him the way Eleanor had.
But Ivy’s using him as a buffer with Conrad was nothing to get blistered up about. Soon after the stage driver had arrived, Gideon himself had witnessed the way Conrad had stood too close for comfort to Ivy, not to mention put his hands on her. Gideon hadn’t liked it then, and he would have taken a hell of a lot more exception to it now if Conrad had acted the same way today.
A sudden stab of possessiveness had Gideon expelling a mental curse. Ivy Powell was not his woman. He needed to remember that he was here for her brother, not her.
Chapter Six
Over the next three days, Ivy and Gideon fell into a routine that mainly consisted of working and eating. There had been no more late-night visits on the porch, few conversations about anything other than the farm or the pup.
Since the stage passengers had left on Saturday, Gideon had been different. She didn’t know if he was keeping his distance the way she was, or if he was just focused on chores. Besides taking care of all of the livestock, he’d put a new door on her root cellar and repaired the steps leading down into it. Just an hour ago, he had helped her move the rugs outside for beating.
Now she was in the barn, feeding the pup. Her gaze fell on the animal trap that Gideon had hung on the wall, and she shivered. The stage was due back today for its Tuesday run. Gideon had told the railroad agent he was just a ranch hand. He was more than that, although she wasn’t sure exactly how to define it or if she wanted to. Protector? Friend? Both?
He’d certainly rescued her from that vicious metal trap and offered her a shoulder to cry on, which she had done literally. She was grateful for it, had even felt close to him, but she had done fine without a man for years.
While Tom had been off fighting, she’d handled everything. Things hadn’t been much different after he’d come home. Though he had tried at first, it hadn’t been long before he’d begun to take refuge in liquor.