by Linda Ford
She patted his shoulder. “It was just a dream. It meant nothing. Johnny is safe with your mama. You don’t have to look for him in a fire. Now go back to sleep.”
His hand cupped hers, claimed it. “Thank you.”
She didn’t ask for what because she preferred to fill in the blanks herself. He was grateful she was close by, grateful she’d wakened him and grateful even for her words of comfort.
He held her hand until he fell back asleep and his fingers relaxed. Only then did she pull her arm back to the bed and under the covers to warm it.
As usual, he was gone the next morning when she slipped from the bed. In a state half asleep, half awake, she’d been aware of him rising, pulling on his clothes and tiptoeing away. She knew he paused before he opened the door and tried but failed to force her eyes open to see why. He whispered something, then stepped from the room. She tried to make out what he had said, but again failed.
Later, she pushed aside the last of her sleep and dressed. She paused to make her bed and put the pillow and quilt back in place, leaving no evidence that Sawyer slept on the floor. Father would object if he knew. Perhaps continue with his threat to sell the ranch.
When he’d first forced her into this position, she had resented his manipulation but now she thanked him for it. She enjoyed having Sawyer close and being able to talk to him in the intimacy of the bedroom.
She didn’t realize she smiled as she made breakfast until Father spoke.
“Looks to me like you two are enjoying each other. Aye?”
“You could say so.” She knew they talked about different things but her words were true.
Over breakfast, Father said. “There’s rain comin’. ’Tis a good day to burn that dry grass along the trail.” The track leading from the main road to the house had to be burnt off every year to eliminate a fire hazard. They would have normally done it soon after the snow melted but this year there had been Father’s injuries and her marriage to distract them from the task.
He continued. “There isn’t much danger with everything so green. All the same, I dinnae like to take chances, so ye’ll all come help keep an eye on things.”
“Me, too?” Jill seemed to think it an exciting prospect.
The skin on Sawyer’s face grew taut but before he could protest, Father spoke.
“Aye, I think you better stay in the house and keep little Skippy with you so she doesn’t get in the way.”
As soon as the kitchen had been cleaned up and meat set to stew, Carly went out to join Father and Sawyer. She’d told Jill she could watch from the window but to keep the door closed so Skippy wouldn’t get out.
Father saw her approach them. “Aye, and then let’s get at it.” He held a torch of twigs he had bundled together. He lit it and walked along the trail, using it to light the dry grass. Carly followed him, Sawyer behind, both of them armed with damp gunnysacks to put out any little fires that got away from the intended area.
The seedpods of some plant exploded, sending sparks toward the barn. A bit of dry hay caught the sparks and a flame quickly flared. She stomped it out. Sawyer stomped out another flame near the corrals.
“I don’t like this,” he muttered.
“We do it every spring.”
“I know it’s necessary but I still don’t like it.”
She rubbed his arm. “I can manage if you want to go back to the house.”
“And leave you out here dealing with this? No indeed.” He grabbed her hand and hurried her back to the trail. “Go ahead. I’ll follow.”
It was comforting to have him behind her, knowing he would come to her rescue if she needed it. Of course she wouldn’t. Like she said, they’d done this every year with only her to help Father.
Still, it was nice to have him with her.
They finished one side as far as the road.
Father limped back to the house. “We’ll start here. ’Tis most important to get the grass burned off close to the house.” He glanced at the sky. “’Twill be good if the rain holds off until we finish.” He began the process again.
Carly checked on Jill and found her playing with the kitten. She returned to the task, following Father while Sawyer brought up the rear. Twice she stomped out little flames near the buildings and once brushed a glowing ember off her skirts.
The wind picked up, tugging her skirts to the side. She smelled the approaching rain and lifted her face to the sky, her eyes closed as she reveled in the scents—dampness and smoke. An odd contrast.
*
Acrid smoke blew toward him. Flames danced and cavorted, orange and yellow bits of insanity. Sawyer shuddered and turned to watch Carly, smiling at the way she moved so gracefully along the road, pausing here to kick at a rock, there to smile at a flower, chasing after the fires that caught in areas they weren’t planning to burn.
He was grateful for the enjoyment she provided. It helped him ignore the fear that coiled around his heart every time he saw flames racing in a line. Such a sight always brought the memory of flames licking up the wall of their house, the sound of his pa’s cries echoing in his ears.
The wind jerked at his hat and he pulled it tighter to his head. He turned his attention back to the fire crackling at his side. He knew this had to be done but wished it could be otherwise. An ember caught in the wind and flew toward the barn. He chased it and stomped it out, made sure there were no other areas catching fire before he left.
Carly’s skirts billowed out, fanned toward the fire, the hem of her garment waving over the orange flames. His lungs spasmed. It was only an illusion that made him think the skirts engulfed the fire.
The wind shifted. Her dress fell around her legs. The orange still clung to the hem. He shook his head. Blinked his eyes. Willed away the sight.
But it would not be dismissed. It wasn’t his imagination. She was on fire.
He couldn’t move. It was just like the day his ma and Johnny died and he stood rooted to the spot. Doing nothing.
The flames spread up the fabric. She strode forward, oblivious to her danger.
He would not lose her. He would not stand by and do nothing. His legs felt like thick posts but he forced them to move. He broke into a run. Don’t call her name. Don’t make her turn. The movement would swirl her skirts around her, spreading the flames.
He jumped over the charred grass and caught her around the middle, slapping the damp gunnysack against her skirts.
“Sawyer, what are you doing?” She tried to squirm around.
“Don’t move. Your skirt is on fire.” The orange turned to black. Still he beat at her skirt. Spent at last, he sank to the ground, pulling her down with him, holding her on his lap, his arms around her, his face pressed to the side of her head.
She touched his cheek. “Thank you. I didn’t notice.”
He leaned back and stared at her. “Why are you wearing a dress?” She always wore trousers when she was outdoors. But not today. Why not today? “Trousers wouldn’t have blown into the flames.” Why? Why?
She ducked her head so he couldn’t see her face. “I thought if I prettied up you might notice me.”
Notice her? If she only knew. But why did she seek his attention? He caught her chin and tipped her head toward him so he could see her expression.
She kept her eyelids lowered, hiding her eyes.
“Why would you think such a thing?”
Her eyes came to his. Wide, full of uncertainty. “Father says I should dress like a woman.” She made a dismissive sound. “Yet he wants me to work like a son.”
“There’s more to it than that.” She’d dealt with her father’s demands for years.
“Well, if you must know, Bart said I should pretty up.”
Her old beau who only wanted the ranch? Why would Bart’s opinion matter so much? “I think we both know he isn’t worth your consideration.”
She nodded, studied the front of his shirt.
“Wait. You did this so I would notice you?”
She nodded again.
He tipped her head up and peered at her as if he’d misheard her. “You think I would see you differently if you wore a dress?”
“I hoped so.”
He considered her words as their gazes connected, found it hard to think clearly with her intently watching. He knew she wanted him to understand something of enough importance to her that she exchanged trousers for a dress. Poor choice, considering it almost cost her—
He shuddered and pulled her tightly to him. “You could have burned to death.”
“I didn’t.” Her voice was muffled against his chest.
“I suggest you go back to wearing trousers.”
She pulled away, turned her face toward the trail so he couldn’t see her eyes.
He knew his comment had upset her. Why? He wasn’t good at dealing with feelings but he had to figure this out. Only one conclusion made sense to him. “You wanted me to notice you as a woman?” He spoke cautiously, fearing he might offend her, send her running and disappoint her by going beyond their agreement.
She nodded. Faced him. “As a wife.”
Her words hung between them, sweet and inviting. At the same time, fearful.
Did she really mean she wished to change their agreement? His heart tugged at its moorings, seeking release.
He dare not jump to conclusions. Yet her gaze held his, steady and challenging. And hopeful? Or was it only his own desires that provided the evidence of hope?
“You want—” His throat closed off and he couldn’t finish. Couldn’t even allow himself to complete the question inside his head. He must be dreaming. Perhaps his brain imagined things because of the shock of seeing her dress on fire.
“I want—” She blinked. Lowered her gaze.
He stared. His mind full of possibilities. And warnings. But had she not issued an invitation? And he meant to accept it. “Carly, are you saying—?”
“Company coming,” Father Morrison yelled. He turned, saw Carly and Sawyer together on the ground. “Aye, and is this the way you watch the fire?” He tsked. “Get up now. Make sure the fire is out while I see who has come to visit.” He tented a hand over his eyes and squinted toward the approaching buggy. “Dinnae think I know them.”
Carly and Sawyer struggled to their feet. His thoughts were too tangled to make sense. He’d been about to ask her the most important questions he could think of. Did she have a fondness for him? Was she wanting to change the agreement between them? Now his questions would have to wait until the company had been dealt with.
He helped Carly dust herself off.
“How bad is it?” She peered around, trying to see how much damage had been done to her dress.
“Just the hem. Thank the good Lord above.” He barely managed to stifle a shudder. “If I hadn’t been watching….”
She touched his cheek. “But you were and you saved me. Thank you.”
“You recognize them?” her father asked.
Carly and Sawyer both watched the approaching conveyance. A man with a woman beside him. She had an infant in her arms. A small boy peeked out between the adults.
“I don’t know them.” Carly gripped Sawyer’s hand and murmured. “I wonder what they want.” Her voice seemed strained, causing tension to knot in his neck.
Why should the approach of strangers fill him with foreboding?
Chapter Eighteen
Carly watched the buggy approach and told herself there was no reason to be upset. The occupants were just a young family out for a drive. Perhaps they’d seen the smoke and come to investigate. Yes, that had to be it. She said so to Sawyer.
“I suppose that could be why they are coming.”
“But you don’t think so?”
“They can see that the fire is out and there is no danger, yet they keep coming. And they look as if they have a purpose in mind.”
She studied the couple and had to agree. Father stood at the bottom of the lane but she remained a hundred feet back and didn’t go forward. For all her reassuring assessment, she couldn’t ignore the eager look on the young man’s face and it made her nervous even though she could not think why it should.
The buggy stopped in front of Father.
Clinging to Sawyer’s hand, Carly edged closer so she could hear every word.
“Hello, is this the Morrison place?” the man called, ending Carly’s hope that they were out for a little drive.
“Aye, ’tis. What can I do for you?” Father answered.
“I’m Art Jacobs.” The man was shockingly blond and from what she could tell, of average build. “This is my wife, Elsie.” She, too, was blonde with thick braids coiled about her head. A dainty woman. “Our two little boys, Neil and Ernst.” A boy ducked down behind his mother.
Father waited for the man to state his business.
Mr. Jacobs pulled a piece of newspaper from his breast pocket and held it toward Father. “I saw your ad. My grandfather died not long ago and left me money. He knew of my desire to have my own ranch, so when we saw your ad, we knew it was a sign from God. We’d like to look around and if we like what we see, we’d like to buy your place.” He reached over and rested his hand over his wife’s. “So far we’re favorably impressed.”
Carly swayed.
Sawyer’s arm slipped around her waist. “Are you okay?” he murmured,
“I will be when he tells them the ranch is no longer for sale.”
Father limped closer to the buggy. “Two sons, you say? Which is which?”
“Neil is the older. He’s eight. Ernst is four months old.”
Mrs. Jacobs sat the baby up so Father could see him.
“Aye, both are handsome lads.”
Carly’s heart thudded reluctantly. “Sons.” She hissed the word. “How can I compete with that?”
“They aren’t his sons,” Sawyer said, his tone suggesting Father would surely understand that.
Carly rolled her head back and forth. No one knew how important male children were in Father’s opinion. She’d never been able to fill that need in his life.
Father seemed to remember Carly and Sawyer standing behind him and introduced them.
“Hello,” Carly murmured, but neither she nor Sawyer stepped forward to shake hands.
“Step down,” Father invited. “My daughter will make tea and we’ll talk about things.”
She glowered at the back of her father’s head, then steamed toward the house, Sawyer keeping in step.
“Why is he inviting them in? Why isn’t he telling them they’ll have to find another ranch to buy? Why is he such a stubborn old man?”
Sawyer caught her hand and stopped her headlong flight. He faced her. “I’m certain he can’t be seriously entertaining their interest.”
“No? Then why is he inviting them in?”
Sawyer wagged his head back and forth. “I wish I knew.” His smile was regretful. “I wish we’d had a chance to finish our conversation. We’ll make time later.”
Carly had finally summoned the courage to speak to him of the changes in her feelings. She’d said she wanted him to see her as his wife. Had been about to say she cared for him when this intrusion was thrust upon her.
She sucked in air until her insides felt steady. “I’ll make tea because it’s the hospitable thing to do but I’m not feeling very welcoming toward them.”
Jill waited at the doorway, Skippy in her arms. “Who are they?”
Carly provided the names. “They have an eight-year-old boy you can play with.” No point in passing her resentment on to the child.
Jill pulled Skippy closer. “I don’t like boys. They’re mean.”
Sawyer ruffled his sister’s hair. “Not all of them are.”
Jill ducked away and watched the company walk toward the house, their pace slow as Carly’s father led the way.
Carly rushed to make tea. She’d serve cookies, too. The sooner they had tea, the sooner they’d depart.
They entered. Sawyer hurriedly put more chair
s and stools around the table while Carly served the tea. All the while, Father kept up a running commentary. “The town is nice. Has everything a man or woman could want.”
“There’s a school and a church.”
“Our land borders Wolf River to the east.” On and on he went.
Why are you telling these people all this? You can’t seriously be thinking of selling the ranch? After all I did.
The visitors finished their tea, complimented Carly on the delicious cookies and grew restless.
“Carly will show you around.” Father turned to her. “Show them the buildings and yard first, then take them out to see the land.”
She stared at him. Who was this man? He surely couldn’t be her father and treat her like this. What if she wasn’t his child? Maybe she was a foundling. Had been left on their doorstep. Or perhaps Mother had rescued her from a dying mother. That would explain why Father could do this to her.
Even so, she owed him for providing her a home.
But she would not have any part in encouraging this young couple to buy the ranch. “Father, I am unable to show them around.”
Father looked ready to sputter a protest. Then his expression hardened. She half expected him to order her to comply.
Instead he turned to Sawyer. “Will you—?”
“Sir, I’m sorry but I, too, am unable to show them around.”
Father gave them both a stinging look.
Jill eased forward, a shy look on her face. “I’ll take them.”
Father patted Jill’s head and sent Carly an accusing look. “Child, ’tis very kind of you. Let’s do it together.”
Young Mrs. Jacobs clutched the baby to her chest and sent her husband a worried look.
Mr. Jacobs cleared his throat. “Is there a problem?”
Father’s look challenged Carly to say anything. “Nothing that concerns you.”
“If you’re sure.”
Father grimaced as he got to his feet, doing nothing to hide his pain. In fact, if Carly wasn’t mistaken, he wanted her to see how badly it hurt him to move.