“I’m sure it’s just a baseless rumor, dear. Might not be a smidgen thing to it.”
“You must have thought different, to come all the way out. Did you hear how soon or which property?” Hell’s bells! Maybe she’d been the one to take a load of buckshot the way she hurt inside. Despair riddled her thoughts. Losing the land—their home—would be the final straw.
“Are you behind on the payments?” Dorothy was asking Ruth as if her mother had an inkling of their financial state.
“I don’t know.” A blank look swept over Ruth. “Glory?”
“We’re a little past due, but I was hoping to catch up come next week.” She sank into a chair at the table.
“Well, perhaps it’s merely harmless speculation. You know how folks get in a tizzy over the smallest whispers. And even if it turns out to be true, I’m sure he wouldn’t take this farm.” Dorothy gave them a helpless smile. “Oh, dear me, look at the time! I must get home before dark.”
“Yes, Jack will be home soon too. He always comes riding in after dusk.” Ruth’s childlike statement startled both Glory and her aunt.
“No, Mama. Papa won’t be coming home. Not now, not ever.” She refused to let her mother think anything but the unvarnished truth. But the facts wouldn’t keep insanity at bay. Ruth appeared to be slipping further from them.
“Yes, he is! I don’t know why you want to hurt me.”
Aunt Dorothy caught her eye and shook her head in warning. Pain and remorse played hopscotch up Glory’s spine.
“I’m sorry, Mama. Why don’t you go lie back down so you’ll be fresh as a daisy when he gets here?”
“I’ll put Ruth to bed,” Aunt Dorothy told her. “Then I’ll let myself out. If you need me…if your mother gets worse, send Hope for me.”
“Thank you. I will.” At least she had her aunt and uncle to depend on. They weren’t entirely alone.
Through a haze, she watched Aunt Dorothy steer her mother toward the bedroom.
What else was going to happen? She couldn’t help her father, couldn’t put food on the table, and couldn’t save the farm if there was no money to pay the banknote. What else? Oh, yes, she couldn’t half see and her mother was losing her mind. Heaven forbid if her plate overflowed!
In the quiet stillness, Patience continued to chatter up a storm to their wounded guest.
“Papa’s not well. The doctor don’t give him much time. That’s why Glory tried to capture that mean ol’ outlaw.”
“You don’t say.”
“And, she could’ve, too, if you hadn’t stopped her. With the reward money, we could get Papa outta prison and he could come home, and then Glory wouldn’t have to be the man o’ the house.”
This time nothing would deter Glory. Patience seemed intent on airing their family laundry as well as her lungs. Four purposeful strides took Glory to the door of the small bedroom.
“I like you,” Patience said. “For a stranger, you’re awfully nice. Would you marry my sister, Mr. McClain?”
Four
“Patience Ann Day! Don’t you have any shame?” Glory’s face flamed with pure mortification.
“I was only—”
“Letting your mouth gallop at full speed,” she finished for her. “Put a bridle on it. Mr. McClain doesn’t need pestering.”
The fact that the man tried to hide a broad smile behind his hand did little to dampen the heat rising from her toenails.
“I’d be obliged if you’d call me Luke.”
There went that killer grin. The one that turned her knees watery. Darn her fickle limbs for betraying her. Ignorant of his letters or not, McClain had ample expertise in the lady-charming department. That scared her.
Her tongue worked inside a suddenly dry mouth. “Entirely out of the question.”
“I insist. No more of this ‘mister’ business.”
The man took extraordinary delight in watching her squirm.
“Are you afraid of saying my name…or more of getting to the altar?” A merry glint twinkled.
Patience piped up, saving her from a reply. “Glory’s real nice if you don’t get on her bad side. An’ she hardly ever yells, ’cept if you make her mad.”
Oh Lord, she felt ill.
“Get your little fanny out! Now.” The idea of socking her definitely had merit. No telling what else the pip-squeak would yammer next. “I think I hear Hope calling.”
“No, she’s not. You just say that when you don’t want me around.”
Though not always biddable, Patience had never shown outright defiance. Why today of all times?
“Just because you’ve never had a beau don’t mean you can’t wed if a man asks you.” Chatterbox blurted Glory’s worst shame.
A few months shy of her twentieth birthday and not one boy had ever come courting. Nor had anyone so much as stolen a kiss, not even in her kid days when a group of them played hide-and-seek on a moonless night. He must think her terribly flawed to have never captured a man’s roving eye. For God’s sake, Gwennie Gabriel managed to snag a husband and she was certainly no prize. Glory wasn’t even snaggletoothed or knock-kneed. If she wasn’t quite so busy, she could get one, she told herself.
“Our…my state of affairs doesn’t concern him. Now, I want you to march, young lady. Help with supper.”
“On the contrary, Miss Day,” Luke broke in. “I find your sisterly fuss refreshing. An entertainment I’ve missed. I haven’t seen my family in a coon’s age and this is mild compared to us. When we get together, we’re a downright rowdy bunch.”
Glory failed to see the humor. She pointed sternly to the open doorway. “Scoot.”
“You’re not the boss o’ me. You’re not my mother!”
The gibe hurt all the way down to the quick. Little did Patience know. With their mother becoming more distant, Glory could be the closest the girl had to one.
A creak of the screen door announced Hope’s return. “Patience, come and get these cats. They’re in my way.”
“All right. I will.” The younger sibling made a face that said she was going only because Hope asked and for no other reason.
“I apologize for my sister, Mr. McClain. Patience isn’t always like this. Things aren’t easy for her.”
“Luke. You agreed to call me Luke. And you don’t owe me any amends.” He rose to lean against the iron bedstead.
Silver buttons shone against the dark-blue background of his shirt, stars shining in a midnight sky. His coffee-colored hair went in all directions, as if he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times. She sucked in her breath sharply. Each strand stood on end, lending a wicked charm to his devil-may-care features.
“I agreed to no such thing. Just wouldn’t be proper.” She turned on her heel.
“And you never do anything that’s not.” His soft, seductive tone toyed with her senses, brushing against her face and neck, stopping her in her tracks. “Explains why you’ve never had a gentleman caller.”
He’d poured salt in the wound. Leave it to a stranger to home in on the obvious.
“Patience was wrong. I’ve had my share. Simply had no interest in pursuing them. I have far better ways to fill my evenings.”
“If you say so. Luke McClain never disputes a lady’s word.”
Time had come to bury this particular topic. “What’s this about being a lawman? You never uttered a word to me.”
“You’re mistaken.”
“Patience only dreamed that up?”
The man shrugged. “Like you said, she’s prone to stretching the truth a bit.”
Appeared he shared that with her sister. She recognized sealed lips when she saw them though. Best to let him think he’d won. She’d keep her ears open for further slips. She suspected he was more likely an outlaw than a lawman. “If you don’t feel up to coming to the table, I’ll have Hope bring you a plate. O
ther than that, I don’t think we have anything else to discuss.”
Just what did that little grin mean?
“I think I can hobble that far. Holler when you’re ready.”
Lord knew that’d be years from now, centuries even, before she’d be up to facing him after Patience’s embarrassing revelations. Not daring a glance his way, she merely nodded.
“Wait. Please?” A slight quaver in the plea halted her escape. She paused in the doorway. “I’m sorry for messing up your plans. Didn’t know how important that reward money was to you. If I’d only…”
The sincerity took her aback. One minute the man joked and ridiculed and the next he spilled true feelings all over the place. A mixture of hot and cold.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll survive. We always do.”
* * *
Luke pondered her parting statement. Tough lady, that Glory Day.
From what he’d seen and heard of their situation, much of which he owed to Miss Chatterbox, they were in dire straits.
Clearly, Glory stood at the head of the family as provider. That explained her manner of dress. Not that he had anything against the men’s britches. Quite the contrary. They revealed fascinating curves and a waist so narrow he could probably get his hands easily around it.
Now there was a delicious thought. If he dared be so bold, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she’d break his fingers in half without so much as a fare-thee-well.
A worn, faded dress hanging from a nail on the wall pounded home their dour circumstances. Somehow, he knew it belonged to Glory and he also suspected it was the only dress she possessed. Strangely, the wish to see her clothed in it became an intolerable desire. Her rich, blond hair cascading down her back, loose and flowing, would be well worth broken things—fingers or dreams.
Chatterbox’s question about marrying her sister skittered across his mind, coaxing a wide grin. A tempting proposition.
If he was in the market for a wife, that is.
Which he wasn’t, he quickly added.
The beauteous Jessie Foltry had smitten his heart. He couldn’t imagine feeling about anyone like he did her. Too bad his older brother had made her his wife instead and she happily rode herd on a mess of little ones.
Still, a lady with stonewashed blue eyes shouldn’t have to do a man’s work. When he got up and around, he’d make himself useful before he took off again after Mad Dog Perkins. Kill some game to last a while, make some repairs to the place.
And it was a pure sin to Moses for a girl to never know the thrill of a first kiss or the advantages of a little caressing. Those fine, capable hands could soothe the wildness out of a whole pack of coyotes. No lye soap he knew could wash off the remembrance of her accidental touch where it came in contact with his thigh.
He listened to the three sisters in the next room, easily distinguishing Glory’s disarming, refined voice from Patience’s pouty tone and Hope’s calm, easy way.
“You’re a jewel, Hope. I don’t know how you can make a meal from so little,” he heard Glory say. “I think we can fill our stomachs quite well, despite me coming home empty-handed.”
Guilt had a way of kicking a man in the gut. She had evidently spent the day locating Perkins, and partly thanks to him, lost the man. Then she’d toted his carcass home with her and saved his leg from amputation. He shuddered as he remembered her wielding the scissors. A woman with blood in her eye could do nigh most anything. He’d been briefly worried about her amputating another part of him altogether. Almost involuntarily, he lifted the sheet to make double sure he was still in one piece.
Relieved, he returned to his conscience. He’d kept her too busy to hunt meat for the table.
They had barely enough food for the four of them, yet stretched what they had to include him. Yep, that was true charity. He mentally kicked himself again.
“I found a few squash and collard greens that hadn’t shriveled to nothing in the garden. Those with the dwindling stock of sweet potatoes in the root cellar will go fine with hot biscuits. I even fished around in the pork barrel and came up with a nice hunk of sowbelly to season the greens with.”
Luke salivated at the mention of hot biscuits. Hadn’t had a decent one since those Jessie made. Collards weren’t his favorite, but he’d try to pretend—for the ladies’ sake.
If you don’t feel up to coming to the table, I’ll have Hope bring you a plate. He’d seen more than a glimmer of expectation in Glory’s gaze when she uttered those words.
Small chance. No one was going to bottle-feed him—despite the fact that Glory obviously preferred he stay in bed.
That was when he spied the sewing basket beside the short bed from which his feet dangled. The blue-eyed vixen had slit the right leg of his britches from stem to stern. Necessary, she’d said. Likely story. She’d seemed to derive just a tad too much satisfaction from the act. But, he’d better get busy sewing.
Hobbling into their midst half-naked would surely have Mrs. Day in a fine state. Might throw her into one of her conniptions Glory spoke about. He allowed a few things he lacked education in, but when it came to temper fits, he knew both the ins and outs.
He slid out of what remained of the trousers, and hastily threw the sheet over his bare legs before someone passed by the open door. Then he lifted the sewing basket.
Fixing the pants shouldn’t pose much problem. After all, he’d sewn up a rent in the seat of his long johns once. Of course, he refused to dwell on how many times he stuck himself with the needle. Or how it looked when he got done. Didn’t really matter that it more resembled a cat’s cradle or a crazy spiderweb. Wasn’t anyone going to see it but him. No sirree. He could sew with the best of ’em.
Black thread already stuck through the needle’s eye. Good enough. He reckoned any color would work. Laying the two cut pieces together, he started at the ankle. The first rattle out of the box, he punctured his thumb.
Criminy! After sucking the blood off, he bent again to the task.
At twelve, he lost count of the sticks. How did womenfolk manage to get anything accomplished with an implement as sharp as a cactus needle? Pure torture.
Not only that, but he had more blood on his pants from the sticks than he did from the load of buckshot.
“Ouch!” This time he couldn’t keep silent. It hurt like hell. With speed that made him suspicious, Glory appeared in the doorway.
“What’s wrong? Is your leg hurting?”
“Not my leg.” Luke held up the needle and thread, bloody fingers and all.
“Whatever are you trying to do?”
“Fix my blasted pants so I can be decent for female company.”
Chuckles tumbled from her curved-up mouth. The sight almost made him forget his hunch that she’d been listening from the next room.
“Not a darn bit funny.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
The girl looked young, carefree, and utterly breathtaking when she abandoned the frowns. He decided holes in his fingers were worth seeing this lighthearted side.
“Go ahead. Laugh at a foolish, almost-naked man. Reckon I’ll have to take my supper in here after all.”
“Wait. I’ll be back.” In a flash, she grabbed his trousers and disappeared, leaving him wondering what on earth she was up to.
As if he’d go anywhere bare-legged. Unease gripped him. He had made her mad as hell. Enough for revenge?
He stood, yanked the sheet off, and tucked it around him. He was about to give chase when the sound of her boots struck the wooden floor. He admired the easy sway of her hips as she moved toward him.
“Here. Put these on.” She handed him a pair of homespun woolen britches. “My papa’s,” she explained.
Only after he assured himself she didn’t lurk outside the door for a peek, he pulled them on, careful of his wounded leg. The girth of the pants
swallowed him, but he was a man with few options. He peered at his achy hands. Might not be able to hold a knife and fork, but at least he could join the ladies around the table.
* * *
Supper was quite an affair. Patience chattered nonstop, asking questions and keeping them thoroughly entertained.
Mrs. Day didn’t appear as harried as Luke recalled her from earlier. Still quite lovely with her peach coloring and pale-blue gaze, the woman must have been a beautiful belle in her younger years. Only the few strands of gray streaking her hair and the wrinkles lining her mouth told the secret of her age.
When he compared the four faces staring over the sweet potatoes and collard greens, he marveled at the resemblance. In all of Coleman County there weren’t any prettier ladies. He’d heard it rumored that the Misses Alice and Jennie Caperton claimed the titles of most lovely in the county. Yet, he begged to differ. Perhaps others might attribute their allure to a shortage of the opposite sex since they were the only two ladies in the town of Coleman City. Surely, they couldn’t hold a candle to this household.
“My Patience tells me you’re a lawman.”
Damn! The lie.
Under Mrs. Day’s matronly stare, he had a devil of a time swallowing. The woolen pants gouged like hundreds of sharp prickly pears in places he’d rather not think about. Squirming certainly didn’t help. Of all things for the woman to bring up. He had no desire to discuss that topic. Most of all why he was no longer with the Texas Rangers.
A swig of fresh milk helped Luke down the big bite he’d just taken.
“A simple misunderstanding, ma’am.” The falsehood clogged his throat worse than week-old corn bread. He quickly gulped the rest of the milk.
“My compliments, Miss Hope, on these biscuits,” he said, hoping to change the subject. “Can’t tell you how long it’s been since my mouth’s had such pleasure.”
A pink blush rose to tint Hope’s cheeks. The girl would make someone a happy man if her biscuits gave any indication.
“So, you was after Mad Dog Perkins too, Mr. Luke?”
“He’s Mr. McClain, Patience, dear.” Ruth Day dabbed delicately at the corners of her mouth. “We must have our manners if we have little else. And, it’s ‘were,’ not ‘was.’”
The Cowboy Who Came Calling Page 4