“I said no.” Now she let her eyes raise to him to make sure that he wasn’t going to attack because of her answer.
His face had gone crimson; his eyes had a hard glint to them. “You’ll change your mind.”
“No, I won’t.”
He gave her one more leer that she did her best not to show any reaction to. As he walked away, he kept glancing over his shoulder until he made the tree line and disappeared into the shadows.
She had never been so glad to see someone leave her property.
She checked the last buckle on the mule’s harness and slapped the old girl into motion. Now that Ralph was gone, she began to tremble. His words tumbled through her head like water over a rocky creek bed. Had he been threatening her? Maybe his words hadn’t been an overt threat, but she felt it just the same. He and his teenage brother lived on a small homestead not far away. They had never caused trouble for her until about two years ago, when Ralph had started calling—if you could call his visits such. Lately it seemed that Ralph had been trespassing on their property more and more.
She had enough things going on with the cowboy hurt back in the dugout and trying to figure out a way to get rid of him. Didn’t need something else to worry about. But with Ralph her closest neighbor, she never could relax.
For hours, Catherine trudged behind the mule, its leather reins laid over her shoulders as she guided the plow in the furrow next to the several she’d just created in the grassy plain, the brown soil sending its pungent smell into the air. Her boots sank into the soft, loose earth.
If it came down to replanting the wheat, she would need to increase the field so they could plant enough to put some back and start rebuilding the stockpile.
Every time she walked past the crushed stalks, a frisson of worry slithered through her. All that seed lost. The driving hail had left nothing untouched.
“You want a water break?”
Surprised at the unexpected voice, she wiped her forehead with the back of one hand and found the cowboy standing at the edge of the field.
She gave the mule the command to halt. The cowboy didn’t wait for her to untangle herself from the harness, he just brought a pail and the dipper to her.
She saw the strain, saw what it cost him to carry the pail in the clenched set of his jaw.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she sipped noisily from the dipper.
“You’re welcome.”
She saw his eyes trail over what she’d done, and unbidden, her spine straightened. The Matty she’d known in the schoolroom had found fault with nearly everything she did. Would he find fault with the work she’d done today?
She pushed her bangs out of her face, hating that he saw her like this, dressed like a man, grubby, thirsty.
Cathy, Cathy, homemade happy! Those awful voices from her childhood pattered through her memories like raindrops that sometimes infiltrated the roof of the dugout. It made her self-conscious as she drank from the tin cup.
“I figure I owe you an apology,” he said.
She choked.
He gave her long enough to stop sputtering. “Guess you weren’t expecting that?”
“I didn’t know for sure you’d remembered me.”
His gaze was steady on her, and the intensity of his eyes was hard to hold. “Yeah. And I remembered how awful I was to you. I’m sorry for the things I said back then.”
It was the very last thing she expected him to say. And he seemed to be able to read that in her expression. His lips quirked up in an endearing half smile, one that made her stomach swoop. She dropped her eyes.
She had to remember that he wasn’t her friend. He hadn’t been back then and right now he wanted to get home. He was using her. Trying to get her to help him.
He might’ve been waiting for a response. Silence lagged between them, and she didn’t fill it.
Finally, he sighed.
She gulped the rest of the water and offered him the cup. But instead of taking it and walking away, he caught her fingers against the cup. The contrast of his hot fingers against the cool metal unnerved her and her chin jerked up as she met his eyes.
“Does your Pop have nightmares like that a lot?”
That he saw the issues closest to her heart unnerved her even more than his touch, and she jerked her hand away. She couldn’t afford him to discover the truth about her heritage.
His eyebrows ran up toward his hairline. She flushed, hating that he saw that he had an effect on her.
“Not every night,” she said smartly. “Will you move?”
He didn’t. “Is he a danger to you?”
“Of course not. He would never hurt me.”
“Does he always know it’s you?”
She went still. How had he guessed that sometimes Pop was so lost in his memories that he didn’t recognize her?
“Pop is the only family I’ve got left. We take care of each other.”
He took a slow look around them, prompting her to do the same. There was nothing out of place, only the familiar rolling plain, in the cup of the valley that kept them out of sight of the neighbors, unless they got too close.
“I only see you, taking care of everything,” he said quietly. “Have you ever thought of moving closer to town, where you’d have more help?”
And there it was. Of course he’d brought it back to getting to town. Because he wanted to get home.
And while she wanted him gone, she also couldn’t leave the homestead and couldn’t take Pop with her.
Her chin came up. “I manage.”
And she gave a slap with the reins. He was forced to move aside or have his foot caught in the plow as the mule lurched forward.
He stood at the edge of her plot for long enough that she grew uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
She fumed as she halted the mule and turned the plow in the rutted dirt. What did he think, that she wanted him near, asking questions? Forcing her to remember that she was a woman, not just a worker, trying to keep the homestead afloat.
It was uncomfortable. She was happy here on the homestead with Pop. Her mama had been practically shunned by Bear Creek. How could she expect different?
Nor did she have anyone else to turn to. She’d lived here all her life, wasn’t comfortable in town, had never wanted anything else.
Finally, he disappeared through a copse of trees, back toward the soddy, and she felt she could breathe again.
And…if she was being totally truthful with herself, there was a time she had wanted something different. She’d dreamed of more education for herself. Hearing that Matty had a sister-in-law who had gone to medical school—medical school!—was like a crawly itch. Like the time she’d gotten into a poison oak patch. What would it be like to have that freedom? To go to college herself?
She would never know, she reminded herself. When her mama had died, Pop had been all she’d had. He’d given years of his life to take care of her. She could do no less for him, in these last years of his life. She owed him, in the sense of family duty.
No matter what old dreams she would sacrifice to do so.
Chapter Five
Matty should’ve gone directly to the dugout. Fire streaked across his chest. But he was intensely curious about these people whose lives he’d dropped into. And Catherine was terribly tight-lipped.
He went to the barn instead.
The structure was too near the stream. In worse shape than the house. Birds chirped in a tall pine across the creek. Afternoon sunlight slanted through a grove of larches, dappling him with shade. It should’ve been a peaceful setting, but he was too antsy for it to soak in.
He set the water bucket and dipper down near the corner of the building and stepped across the threshold. Inside, the area was split into two sections, separated by crudely constructed walls.
Along one wall there were rows of shelves with nesting chickens. Beside that were two neat and orderly stalls. One where she must keep the mule. A placid milk cow stood in the other. The hay was clean and sweet
smelling. Obviously Catherine took good care of her animals.
But on the opposite side of the dividing wall was chaos. A jumble of belongings lay scattered on the floor. A broken plow, harness, wooden pieces, metal pieces. He couldn’t even tell what all was there. It was as if this was where they had collected all of the junk they accumulated since 1871.
Beneath the sweet smell of hay was a strong scent of damp earth, as if the driving rains had soaked into the entire structure.
He chose his steps carefully, curiosity driving him farther inside.
In the back corner behind the jumbled items, the storm must’ve washed away part of the grass and dirt that made up the roof. Sunlight filtered in, highlighting dust motes.
Would his weapon and tin star be hidden somewhere in this mess? Catherine could’ve easily stashed it here.
He could barely find the floor beneath the items scattered at his feet. It would take forever to go through all of those pieces, so he did the next obvious thing and began to examine the walls. There were some exposed boards that they used to prop up the roof. The back wall seemed to be the newest; maybe they’d had some kind of a cave-in or just wanted to reinforce the structure. Those newer boards were wedged tightly together, and he spared a thought wondering if Catherine had done it, too.
Along the outside wall there was a shelf where he found a rusty pocketknife and some old tin cans and other odds and ends. But no tin star and no gun.
A little deflated and a lot exhausted just from the short walk out to the field, he turned to go back to the house.
Something swung at him.
He reacted instantly, twisting his upper body to escape the intruder’s attack. Pain ripped through him.
At the same time, he registered that it wasn’t a person reaching out to grab him but instead an L-shaped construct of two connected wooden boards, swinging out from the corner.
He must have dislodged it when he came inside. Now it dangled over the open doorway.
Gasping with pain, adrenaline surging through him even though nothing was actually wrong, he hobbled to the doorway and ducked beneath the piece of wood.
The bright sunlight made his eyes water. Or maybe that was the pain.
Bending over to pick up the water pail had him gasping anew, and he had to brace himself with one hand on the side of the barn. This pain was as bad as it had been when he woke that very first day. It streaked through him, not only centered on his chest, but radiating down to the very tips of his fingers and toes.
He hobbled back to the sod house one step at a time. The pain made him loopy, and he was sure he wobbled several times, but somehow he managed to stay upright.
Neither Catherine nor her Pop were anywhere in sight when he pushed open the soddy door. Unable to bear it any longer, he dropped the pail and hoped there wasn’t enough water left in the bottom to splash all over.
The sod house was so small that all he had to do was turn and flop backward onto the tiny cot.
More pain.
He couldn’t help the cry that escaped his lips this time. The last rays of sunlight shone in the door he’d left open and speared his eyes. His head pounded.
Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten out of bed at all. He hated to admit that Catherine might be right. He could only hope he hadn’t made things worse for his healing collarbone.
The pain soared, and all he could do was pass out.
But just before he did, his hazy thoughts coalesced into one distinct fear.
If he had been out here alone, if Catherine hadn’t found him, he could’ve died in that raging water. If Catherine wasn’t helping him now, he would have no source of food.
It was just like what happened with his parents all over again. The familiar fear from so long ago crept over him, making it harder for him to bear the pain radiating everywhere.
He finally slipped into unconsciousness.
*
In the night, a rain shower passed over. Catherine woke to muddy drips hitting her cheek where she lay on a pallet on the floor.
The first storm, the one that had caused such bad flooding, must’ve washed away some of the soil and grass that made up their roof.
“Cath, you getting rained on?” Pop’s low grumble met her ears.
She listened for the sound of the cowboy’s even breathing but couldn’t determine whether he was awake or asleep.
“I’ll have to fix it tomorrow,” she returned quietly.
Another day of work lost because of the storm.
She could hear Pop shifting in his cot, then finally his rustling stopped and his breathing evened out. The cowboy still hadn’t spoken. Maybe he hadn’t woken at all. He’d been laid out on the cot when she’d come in from plowing. Something had happened, because he’d been pale and covered in sickly sweat again, as if he’d reinjured his collarbone, but he hadn’t volunteered any information.
While the cowboy had dozed in a state of pain, Pop had quizzed her over supper, demanding to know what had her shaken up. She’d attempted to divert his attention but had been aware of his questioning gaze throughout the rest of the evening.
Months ago, when she’d told him of Ralph’s pushy proposal, he’d been so angry that he’d threatened to go after the other man with a shotgun. She hadn’t told him of any of the succeeding proposals and wouldn’t tell him of this one.
Ralph would come to see that her rejection was final. He had to.
What man would continue pursuing a woman who was so adamant in her refusal?
*
Everything was still soggy and muddy the next morning as she climbed carefully atop the dugout roof. The roof likely wouldn’t hold her weight, and the last thing she needed was to fall through, right on top of the cowboy slumbering inside.
Pop had disappeared on one of his rambles. If he kept to his normal pattern, he would be back by lunchtime.
She carefully placed a long flat board across the rooftop, ensuring it stretched from solid ground on one side to the other.
On her hands and knees, she scooted across the board, looking for places where the soil had washed away, clumps of grass or depressions where water was seeping in.
It was tedious work and by midmorning her back and shoulders ached. She squinted against the morning sun even as it warmed her head and shoulders.
“You okay up there?” The cowboy’s casual question made her jump.
It had been muffled through the soil and grass between them, but sounded as if he spoke directly to the room.
She considered not answering, but the last thing she wanted was for him to come outside and watch her as he had yesterday at the field.
“I’m fine. Just trying to do a little patchwork here.”
“I thought you were splashing me in the night.” His voice held the teasing note, one that she didn’t know what to do with.
So she said nothing.
“Actually, it would’ve made me feel right at home, like my brothers were playing pranks on me.”
“Are you the worst of the pranksters?” she asked.
He laughed, a warm sound that made a feeling like hot molasses swirl through her stomach. She braced herself against it. She didn’t even know where the question had come from. She wasn’t curious about him, didn’t want to know more about his life.
“No, that honor goes to my brother Ricky.”
There was a short pause.
“Although Ricky has settled down since he got married. He lives away from the rest of us—his wife’s family has a ranch up north. So now it’s just me and Seb and Breanna left at home to play pranks. Unless one of my older brothers gets an ornery idea. Breanna might be the worst of us left at home.”
She hesitated. She wasn’t going to ask but was unable to stop the words from spilling over her lips. “What kinds of things does she do?”
“My ma was pushing her to put a pie in the Ladies’ Society bake sale, and Breanna filled the thing with salt instead of sugar. She said it was on purpose, but it could’ve ju
st been a mishap. She ain’t the best of cooks. Of course she also has an aversion to anything Ma might do that has to do with matchmaking. Then there was the time…”
His voice trailed off, almost as if he was chuckling to himself, but she couldn’t be sure, not with the roof between them.
“Seb is the youngest of us adopted boys,” he explained. “He’s real sensitive about being outpranked. So one night Breanna gets all these crickets and lets them loose in the bunkhouse. Those things were chirping away, none of us could get any sleep for about a week.”
He grumbled something low she couldn’t make out.
Her fingers located a soft spot in the ground, and she pressed. Soil shifted, loosening beneath her fingers.
“Hey!”
His exclamation told her she must have found a place where the dirt was dropping in.
“I’ll need that dirt to mark where I need to patch,” she called out to him.
A grumble she couldn’t quite make out was his only response.
“I can show you exactly where it’s coming in,” he finally said. Then, “For a minute there I thought talking about pranks turned you a little ornery.”
She packed dirt in as best she could without pushing more down onto him, but at his words something grabbed ahold of her middle and she mashed dirt down with both hands.
She heard him exclaim, heard him spluttering and spitting as if maybe he got the dirt right in his mouth.
Her voice wobbled just slightly as she asked, “Are you all right?”
She could practically feel the steam rising out of his ears from up here.
If it had been Mama down there, she would have tanned Catherine’s hide. Even Pop wouldn’t have understood what made her do that. She didn’t quite understand it herself.
Would the cowboy get angry? Even in pain, he hadn’t lost his temper other than the flash of his eyes when she told him she’d taken his weapon.
But then this really was her fault.
*
Matty stared up at the underside of the roof, still flat on his back. Still laid out.
This morning his chest felt as if a thousand-pound horse sat on it and refused to budge.
He was furious with himself for making his injury worse. He needed to heal up. To get out of here and home.
Love Inspired Historical October 2015 Box Set Page 5