Amy turned at the top of the stairs and captured Nichole's attention. “You confound me, Nichole Harris. I'm glad you're here, too.” Amy turned and descended the stairs before Nichole could respond.
She followed Amy past the long table and through the cased opening. To her left, a short hall led to a larger room where the trailing edge of Amy's skirt disappeared. Nichole followed to the end of the hall and paused.
The kitchen ran the length of the house to her left, where a long cabinet held tonight's prepared dishes, along with many closed containers. The shelves above were stacked with pots, pans, and other assorted items. Across from the shelves on the far wall, a chair propped the back door open and helped cool the warm kitchen.
Cookie stood across from Nichole, in front of a large stove. Sweat beaded the back of her neck as she stirred a big pot. The wall directly to her right had a closed door.
Amy waited outside. She gestured for Nichole to follow, then stepped down into the yard.
Nichole smiled and nodded to Cookie as she passed through her kitchen. There seemed to be a hint of concern in the big woman's eyes. Nichole stepped outside and down a wooden step to the yard.
Timothy stood beside a table in the yard, his hat in his hands Seated on the bench beside him was a young black woman. Her head rested in her arms as she leaned on the table.
At the other end of the short table, Jeanne held the baby. The bright-eyed infant laughed as Jeanne made kiss noises. She grinned and pulled her head back as the baby tried to capture her hair with a chubby hand.
The sound of thunder rolled across the yard, and everyone looked east to the storm clouds. The breeze carried the scent of rain, cool and refreshing. To the west, the sun edged toward the mountains.
“Miss Harris,” Timothy said with relief when the thunder passed. “We came, like you said.”
“Yes, you did. I'm glad you made it. Did you bring your belongings?”
“Yes, ma'am. They're in the buckboard over yonder. We don't have much.” Timothy shuffled his feet and cast a worried glance at his wife.
“Is your wife feeling ill?” Amy asked. She stepped closer to the young woman who barely raised her head to acknowledge their presence.
“She's just real tired, ma'am. Real tired. She hasn't been able to sleep—”
“She's starving,” Jeanne interrupted, speaking over the baby's laughter. “She's nursing, and she isn't getting enough to eat. Look at her arms.”
“Dear Lord.” Amy slid between Timothy and his wife and put her hand on the young woman's brow. “Jeanne, ask Cookie for two bowls of tonight's stew. Also, have her bring bread with honey and some of the mead from the cellar.” She held out her arms to Jeanne.
Jeanne handed the baby to Amy and disappeared into the kitchen.
“What's your wife's name?” Nichole asked, and took a seat on the bench across from the woman.
“Her name is Lawna, ma'am. Lawna Caine. Our baby is Hope-Anne.”
“Lawna, can you hear me? Are you all right?” Nichole asked, and touched the woman's arm. Her skin was the color of dark honey, and dry from exposure to the sun.
Lawna raised her head and looked at Nichole. Her eyes were the same color as her skin, with dark circles beneath them. She was painfully thin, but Nichole thought she looked more worried and exhausted.
“Yes, ma'am. I hear you,” she said in a soft southern drawl. She sat up and tried to smile at Nichole. “I'm sorry I'm so tired. I wanted to thank y’all for what you're doing for us. Then I just fall asleep as soon as I sit down.”
“Don't worry about it. You've had a rough few days or few months. How old is Hope-Anne?” Nichole glanced at Amy who was bouncing the happy baby girl who squealed in delight.
Lawna smiled and looked at her daughter in Amy's arms. “Our girl is six months old. She's wantin' to crawl already.”
Cookie and Jeanne descended on them with bowls of stew, a platter of bread and mugs of mead. Nichole stood and gestured for Timothy to sit and eat.
“Oh no, ma'am. I can't sit and eat while you serve us. It ain't proper.”
“Sit. Eat. When you're done, I need you to take your things up to the smaller room upstairs. You'll stay there until we settle on a better arrangement. Jeanne can show you where it is.” Nichole glanced at Jeanne for confirmation. Jeanne nodded and ran back into the kitchen with a smile on her face. “After that, you'll need to return the buckboard. Do you know who Tom is?” she asked.
Timothy nodded.
“Good. You'll be working for him starting tomorrow. He can put together a list of chores he needs help with, but if he has any questions, ask him to speak with Mrs. Harris or me.”
Timothy seated himself before the aromatic beef stew and swallowed. He licked his lips as he put his face over the bowl. “Yes, ma'am.”
Jeanne came back to the table with a bowl of stew for herself and a large quilt. She spread the quilt on the ground near Lawna and then took Hope-Anne from Amy. “Cookie said to tell you your dinner is ready, and your husband is waiting for you.” She sat Hope-Anne on the blanket and handed her a spoon. The baby's eyes grew wide as she tried to grasp the silver utensil. Lawna and Jeanne both laughed, and Amy drew Nichole away.
“Cookie will be out here before long. Lawna will have all the help she needs, I think,” Amy whispered as they stepped closer to the back door.
Nichole glanced back at the table. Both Timothy and Lawna were eating, while Jeanne played with Hope-Anne and talked to the young couple. She left them to their dinner and followed Amy through the kitchen and into the dining room.
Jason looked up as Amy and Nichole entered the room. “Finally!” he exclaimed in exasperation and pulled out a chair for his wife. Nichole rounded the table and seated herself to Jason's right.
There was already a large server of beef stew on the table, and Cookie added a plate of biscuits and a jar of honey as Jason took his seat. Each table setting had a glass of water.
Cookie disappeared into the kitchen and didn't return. Nichole suspected she had taken her dinner outside to be with Jeanne and the young family.
Dinner was family-style, serve-yourself, with Jason especially attentive to Amy. The conversation was sparse as they ate. Nichole discovered she had no appetite for the delicious-smelling stew. Her anxiety about the upcoming meeting with Jones and Jimmy Leigh had her stomach in turmoil. She picked at a biscuit as Amy told Jason about Timothy's wife and baby.
“I don't believe the baby is sick. His wife is the one who's suffering.”
“Well, that changes everything, right?” Jason looked from Amy to Nichole. Both women shook their heads.
“It changes nothing,” Nichole stated.
Amy smiled and patted Jason's hand. “They need our help.”
Outnumbered, Jason turned his attention to his meal. As soon as Amy set down her spoon, Jason suggested, “Let's take a walk before the rain sets in, shall we?”
Nichole understood the invitation did not include her.
“Cookie will clean the table once she's finished with her dinner.” Amy stood, and although she spoke to Nichole, her eyes were on Jason.
“No worries,” Nichole told them, although they had already crossed the room to the front door.
Jason took a cloak from one of the pegs by the door and wrapped it around Amy's shoulders, then ushered her outside. Almost as an afterthought, Jason looked back at Nichole. “Use my office for your meeting, if you like.” Then, he closed the door and left Nichole alone at the table with her unfinished meal, and her nervous stomach.
Chapter 17
Nichole Harris
Nichole paced Jason's office, impatient for her appointment with Jones and Jimmy Leigh. In an act of cousinly defiance, she lowered herself into Jason's leather chair and rearranged all the papers on his desk. A tall grandfather clock stood beside the doorway. The intricate hands told her the time. Ten minutes after seven. From the open office door, she could see past the dining room table, across the house to the front door.
The butterflies in her stomach kept time with the pendulum on the clock.
Cookie and June had cleared the table, and she had watched the Caines move their few belongings upstairs. Jason and Amy remained outside. The house was quiet—fertile ground for an active imagination.
What if Jason was right?
Two guest chairs were pushed tight to the front of the desk. She peered around her own high-backed chair and looked at the papers on the low credenza. With an impatient sigh, she turned back to the desk, opened each of the drawers, and scrambled their contents.
Outside the window, a cloud of dust rose to mar the perfect blue sky. She could see the trails of dust twist in the sunlight, but not what caused them. She half rose to peek out when the front door opened, and she dropped back into the chair.
Jimmy Leigh was alone. He closed the door and hung his hat on a peg. He looked toward the office, caught her eye, and crossed the dining room with long strides. He ducked the doorway lintel as he entered the office. A concerned frown creased his forehead. “Hello, Nicki.”
“Hello, Mr. Leigh, thank you for coming.”
His lips twitched. “Plain old Leigh or Jim works best, Nicki. We've been on a first-name basis for a while now. I'd like to keep it that way.”
“Yes. That's good.” She cleared her throat. “Please have a seat, Jim.”
He pulled back the guest chair nearest the door and folded his long frame into the seat. “Jones will be a while yet. I asked him to take care of some things. I wanted to talk to you first. Alone.”
She couldn't read his face. “All right.” Her fingers laced themselves in her lap.
Jim leaned the chair back and pushed the door closed with a click, then eased the chair legs to the floor. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked her in the eye.
“What's this I hear about Jones steppin' out of line?”
“It's true.” She paused to choose her words. Breathe. “We came upon Jones and Timothy on our way back from The Shilo. Jones said some terrible things to the young man about his family. When I told him to stop and apologize, he spat at the wagon. Jones said he only answered to you.”
“This started over Caine?” Jim ran a big hand over his face. “Well, hell.”
“You disapprove of Timothy's family?” She clenched her jaw, and her hands tightened.
“Nicki, I hired Timothy Caine.” He paused, leaned back, and crossed one long leg over the other at the ankle. “Caine doesn't need my approval to live his life as he sees fit. Although all choices—especially the hard ones—come at a price. He chose a hard road.” He brushed at his trouser leg and shrugged. “That's my opinion. It ain’t worth a pile of ... beans.”
“Why not? You're the foreman.”
“Well, that's true. But being an opinionated foreman doesn’t change the way other men think.” He chuckled without mirth. “Caine told me about his wife when I hired him. I knew there might be trouble, but the man needed a break.
“The truth of the matter is Caine is shunned by most of the men. He knew he would be.” Jim caught her gaze with his own and held it. “The men who work cattle are a mixed lot. Less than half are white. We have Mexican vaqueros, over a dozen freedmen, and a handful of Red Indians this year. They all get along—for the most part. This isn't about Caine's wife or what Jones said to him. Hell, Caine's heard worse. That's not what bothers me.”
“It's not?” Her soft voice trembled, and heat suffused her face. She'd jumped into the deep end.
I didn't know.
Her twisted fingers ached, but she ignored them.
“I'm more concerned about how he spoke to you.” Jim paused, lowered his leg and sat forward. His voice dropped a notch. “A couple of the men came to me not an hour ago. Jones is sayin' things—about you.” He paused, then growled, “I won't tolerate that.”
Amy's warning about Jones ran through her mind. “He's dangerous.”
“He could be.” His eyes were calm and serious. “Do you want me to let him go?”
He’s asking me?
“I'm not sure. Do you need him? I've already taken Timothy from you.” She looked down at her hands. Her fingers knotted together, the knuckles white. She unlaced them and flexed the stiff joints. She exhaled into the silence.
You always trusted him.
“I don't know what would be appropriate. What do you think we should do?”
The big foreman shifted in his chair and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Well, there might be some mavericks out past Willow Ridge that need rounded and branded. It's a long, ugly ride. Whoever goes will miss the barbeque, but I've got to send someone. Might as well be Jones. Once the drive starts, he won't be here to bother you. I'll release him when we finish at the railhead.”
Nichole nodded. “That sounds good.” She rubbed her forehead. “Will he know this is about me?”
“He'll know, and so will the rest of the men. It will serve as a reminder. You deserve their respect, and anything less won't be tolerated.” Jim almost smiled. “These are good men, for the most part, hardworking and honest. Since your pa died, there's been some confusion about who runs The Highlands.”
“I thought you did. Who else?”
“I do, and I don't. My name's not Harris.” His gaze softened. “Your pa built this ranch. I was the foreman, but I followed his orders. He often spoke of you, and I know he would want you to take the reins.” Jim paused and squinted one eye. “Still, it might not be something you feel up to...”
His challenge straightened her back, and her chin came up. “This is my responsibility, isn't it?” She looked at him and saw approval in his eyes. She gave Jim a tremulous smile and blew out her breath. “I don't know how to run a cattle ranch. If I ever did, it's gone now.”
“You'll learn, and you'll have help. It won't be as hard as you think. No one expects you to ride herd or brand.” His smile ticked up again, as he looked at Nichole. “I do wonder what Jason will say, though.”
Nichole frowned and studied the foreman's tanned face. “This ranch belonged to my father, not his. Jason's an accountant and a lawyer. I love him dearly, but The Highlands is my ranch.”
Jim leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk. “That's true, but remember, your pa sent for Jason to help him.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “To be honest, you never cared a lick about the ranch. You're not wrong to want to step up, but you need Jason's help and support. It might be best to use discretion...”
“...to achieve my goals,” she finished his sentence with Amy's earlier words.
Jim narrowed an eye at Nichole. “You a mind reader now?”
A laugh burst from Nichole. “No. It's something Amy said earlier.”
His eyes opened wide and his face flushed. He looked down at his hands. “Well, Mrs. Harris is a woman wise beyond her years. It's best to listen to what she tells you.”
“What's up with you and—”
Nichole was interrupted by a quick knock on the door. It was thrust open, and Jones stepped into the room.
“Mr. Jones.” Nichole waved to the empty chair. “We've been expecting you.”
Blackie Jones pawed his dirty brown hat from his head. The polite gesture didn't match the hostile look in his eyes. He stared daggers at Jimmy Leigh.
“I don't know why you agreed to this meetin', Leigh. There ain't nothin' to discuss.”
“I came for the same reason you did. I work for Miss Harris.” The foreman’s tone brooked no argument.
Jones ignored him. His sneer went from Jimmy Leigh to Nichole. “Why, yes ma'am.” Anger and hate filled his eyes. “Anything you say, Miss Harris.”
Jim shot to his feet. “Watch your mouth, Jones. That, and your filthy attitude toward Miss Harris, is why you're here right now.”
Jones cocked his head back in a defiant gesture. Their size difference would have been comical were the situation less volatile.
“I ain't workin' for a skirt, Leigh,” Jones sneered. “You know that. If you were half the man
you claim to be, you wouldn't, either.”
“You've said enough, Jones.”
“There you're wrong Mister Foreman, it ain't near enough.” Jones slammed his fist on the desk. “Besides handin' out orders all of a sudden like she’s all high-and-mighty, she took the side of that stinkin' nigger-lovin' kid.”
Nichole's attention went back and forth between the men. She'd planned to hold her peace when the trouble began, but this was too much. “Mr. Jones,” Nichole shouted, “if you can't work at The Highlands without name-calling and bullying—”
Jones swung around and leaned across the desk. “I sure as hell ain't workin' for you, bitch!”
Spittle sprayed her cheeks, and she turned her head as the rank odor of his breath assaulted her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jim reach over the desk and pull Jones back by his collar. Quick as a snake, Jones spun and swung low.
Jim doubled over as his breath slammed out of him. He stepped back and gasped.
Nichole came to her feet. “Get the hell out of my house, Jones.”
Jones ignored her and hammered two more hard blows to Leigh's midsection.
Jim stumbled back and crashed into the door, slamming it shut. Nichole could hear running and shouts throughout the house.
“Jason!” she screamed, as her fingers tightened around a large stone paperweight on the desk.
Jim regained his balance, brought his huge fist up and connected with Jones's jaw.
Blackie’s greasy head snapped back. He stumbled away from Jim knocking over the chair. He came to rest against the desk. An animal growl filled the room as Jones's lips pulled back in a snarl. “You're gonna die for that, Leigh.” Jones drew his gun.
Nichole brought the paperweight down on his head with both hands. He crumpled to his knees, then to all fours as the door burst open.
“What the hell is going on in here?” Jason rushed in, Amy close behind him. He stopped short and stared at Jones. “Who started this?” Jason demanded. He looked hard at Nichole. Then his gaze slid to Jim.
Passage (Soul of the Witch Book 1) Page 14