A Hopeful Heart (23 page)

23

Abel carried a spoonful of gritty white mush to his mouth. If it hadn’t been for tiny bits of brown peel left behind by the paring knife, he wouldn’t have known what he was eating. Ethan had boiled the potatoes until they were hardly recognizable. He’d also boiled the taste right out of them. Abel swallowed the flavorless mush and pushed his spoon into the mound on his plate to scoop another bite.

Vince made a sour face and pointed with his fork at the charred beef steak curled against his serving of potatoes. “I reckon boot leather would be easier to gnaw to pieces than this.”

“Aw, Pa . . .” Ethan snorted. “I never claimed to be a cook.”

“Good thing, too, ’cause you’d’ve been lyin’.”

Ethan bumped his father with his elbow. Then he sent an apologetic grin around the table. “Sorry it’s so bad. I kinda forgot I was cookin’ an’ left things on the stove too long.”

“How can you forget you were cookin’?” Cole poked at his steak with the point of his knife. It didn’t even leave a dent behind.

“I walked out to get milk from the cellar an’ . . .” Ethan’s face flooded with pink. He hunkered over his plate, scooting a shriveled pea from one side to the other with the tines of his fork. “Well, I saw some yellow flowers growin’ outside the fence, an’ I started thinkin’ how ladies like flowers an’ how I wished I could pick some of them an’ take ’em over to Miss Tressa, an’ I plumb forgot that the food was cookin’ on the stove.” He blew out a noisy breath. “Sure do wish I could be courtin’ her. . . .”

Vince flumped back in his chair, rolling his eyes. “Not again.”

Abel held his tongue, but he wanted to agree with Vince. Every night for the past week, the talk had turned to courting. Cole was determined to gain approval to court Sallie. Each evening after supper, he’d saddled a horse and rode the range—“thinkin’ time,” he called it. With Cole bent on courting Sallie, Ethan focused on figuring out a way to court Tressa. At least Cole kept his thinking to himself; Ethan’s thoughts always tumbled out of his mouth.

“I’d treat her right, Pa,” Ethan said, turning defensive. “You know I would.”

Vince gave his son’s shoulder a clap. “I don’t question that for a minute. But the plain truth is that you’re a cowboy. A common ranch hand.” A bitter edge crept into Vince’s voice. “If Aunt Hattie says only ranchers can court her girls ’cause ranch hands don’t have the means to support a wife, you’re just gonna hafta accept it.”

“But a man can hope, can’t he?”

Abel grunted. “I hope one of you winds up with a wife, ’cause if we hafta keep eatin’ meals like this, we’ll all need suspenders to keep our britches in place.”

Vince blasted out a laugh. “I guess I’ll be needin’ some of those suspenders soon, ’cause I can’t eat this.” He pushed his plate away. “Might as well empty it in the slop bucket, Ethan.”

Cole swiped his napkin across his mouth and rose. He lifted his hat from the back of the chair and headed for the door. “Goin’ ridin’.”

“Check on the herd while you’re out there, an’ make yourself seen. Been almost two weeks now since any cattle’ve turned up missin’— wanta keep those rustlers from helpin’ themselves to any more of my herd.” Abel tossed the words at Cole’s retreating back.

Ethan gathered up the plates and carried them to the kitchen. When he was out of earshot, Vince leaned forward. “Abel, what do you think about this courtin’? Cole’s all a-dither. He nearly drove me crazy this week talkin’ about how he’s gonna find a way to marry Miss Sallie no matter what Aunt Hattie says. He’s got Ethan purely champin’ at the bit to do the same with Miss Tressa. An’ neither one of ’em’s got so much as a pot or pan to offer a bride.” Vince shook his head. “Can’t see how any of this is gonna come to good.”

Abel downed the last of his coffee. “Aunt Hattie’s a woman of her word. If she says only ranchers can court her pupils, then that’s the way it’s gonna be. Besides, it won’t take long an’ a rancher around here’ll lay claim to the girls. Then Cole and Ethan will have to stop their nonsense.” A pang twisted Abel’s gut, and he knew it wasn’t hunger. Thinking of Tressa with someone else didn’t set well.

“Now, ya know I got a heap of respect for Hattie Wyatt, but her only lettin’ ranchers court them gals seems a might unfair. Bothers me to see my boy so tangled up inside. A feller’s pay shouldn’t matter so much. I managed to support a son on a ranch hand’s pay for many a year.” Vince swished his hand through the air, as if discounting his own words. “ ’Course, it just bein’ the boy an’ me, weren’t no trouble for us to live in a bunkhouse together. Man has a wife, he oughtta have a little house to offer her.”

He hooked his elbow over the back of the chair and glanced around the room. Pursing his lips, he pinched his whiskery chin. “You know, Abel, I just had a thought. If you was to sell this place to me, then Ethan an’ Tressa could live here. I’d just go on stayin’ in the bunkhouse.”

Abel jerked upright, connecting his spine with the chair’s ladder back. “Sell out? But where would I go?”

“Dunno. Town. Open up a little store or somethin’.” The man chuckled. “Oh, I know you’re tryin’ to follow in your pa’s footsteps. But just ’cause your pa ranched don’t mean you have to. You’re young yet—you could do most anything.”

“But I
want
to be a rancher.”

“Now, Abel, don’t get your feathers all ruffled. It was just a thought, considerin’ all the trouble of late. Wondered if you might want to try your hand at somethin’ else.” Vince gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I know Brewster Hammond’s made several offers on the place. If you do entertain sellin’, would ya sell instead to the man who helped build this ranch from the ground up?”

Abel drew a deep breath. “If I planned to sell, Vince, of course I’d offer the place to you before I’d sell to Hammond. Pa’d much rather you had it, seein’ as how you an’ him worked so hard together.”

“Side by side, equal in sweat an’ blood,” Vince agreed in a congenial tone.

“But I’m not sellin’. Not if I can help it.” Abel gritted his teeth. Last night he’d done a careful calculation of the current stock prices and the head he would have available to sell come fall. He’d just about break even if no other catastrophes—manmade or nature-made—befell the herd. He might need to start growing a money crop in addition to his feed to bring in some extra funds until he could rebuild the herd again, but he’d make it through.

“That’s fine, Abel.” Vince pressed his palms to the tabletop and unfolded from his chair. “But if you change your mind . . . I’ve managed to set aside a nice little nest egg. Make a good down payment on the ranch. An’ you know I’d take good care of the place. Practically feels like mine already considerin’ how many years I been here.”

Then Vince shook his head, chuckling. “Aw, listen to me goin’ on. Sound like an old man.” He flashed a grin. “Don’t pay me no mind, Abel. You hang on to it, if that’s what you’re a-wantin’.” His bony shoulders lifted in a shrug. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

Tressa sat in a tufted chair in the corner of the parlor with her hands in her lap and her ankles crossed, just as her aunt Gretchen had taught her. Gage Hammond perched straight-spined and solemn in the matching chair across a tiny piecrust table. How absurd to sit with such formality in this simple parlor on the untamed plains of Kansas; how ridiculous to try to impress a man whose presence she abhorred. Hysterical laughter fought for release, but by clearing her throat she managed to hold it at bay. If she laughed, her visitor might think she was enjoying herself, and that would be presenting a falsehood.

Aunt Hattie poured aromatic liquid from a tall rose-painted china pot into matching cups, added heaping spoons of sugar, then splashed cream into each serving. After swishing the spoon through each cup’s contents, she offered the tray of coffee and fresh-baked oatmeal cookies to Mr. Hammond. He took two cookies and a cup, smacking his lips. “Mmm, looks good, Harriet.”

Aunt Hattie held the tray toward Gage. He took a cup and a cookie, but he set the items on the table between the chairs rather than carrying either to his mouth. His gaze remained pinned to Tressa’s face, unnerving in its probing focus.

Tressa ignored the cookies—she had no appetite—but she accepted a cup with a weak smile of thanks. She sipped the strong, sweet brew and willed the evening to pass quickly. On the other side of the small room, Aunt Hattie and Brewster Hammond sat side-by-side on the settee and visited quietly. She wished they would include her. Apparently Gage didn’t realize that propriety dictated he must start their conversation.

Minutes ticked by until Tressa had nearly emptied her cup. If Gage hadn’t spoken by the time she took her last sip, what would she do? Follow his lead and sit and stare in silence? How silly they must appear!

She reached to place her empty cup next to Gage’s full one on the little table, and his hand snaked out and captured her wrist. A little squeak of surprise left her lips before she had time to snatch it back. Gage’s fingers slid to her hand, and he took a firm grip.

“C’mon, Tressa. It’s a pleasant evenin’—smells like rain in the air. Let’s go sit on the front porch. We can talk there.”

Tressa sent an imploring look to Aunt Hattie, but the older woman was tipped forward, deep in conversation with Mr. Hammond. Tressa would receive no assistance there. With a sigh, she nodded and allowed Gage to lead her out the front door. The moment they stepped outside, the scent of rain captured Tressa’s attention. She inhaled deeply, drawing the essence into her lungs. Without effort, a smile grew on her face.

Gage grinned. “Smells good, don’t it? I like a summer rainstorm, an’ this’s fixin’ to be a good one. Lookee out there.” He pointed to the east, where clouds formed thick, gray puffs. Flashes of lightning turned the clouds into Chinese lanterns. His hand curved over Tressa’s shoulder and his breath stirred her hair as he added, “Won’t be long an’ we’ll be hearin’ the thunder.”

His touch sent tiny spiders of apprehension up her spine. She stepped away and gestured to the chairs in the corner of the porch. “Shall we sit and listen for it?”

Gage released a soft snort, but he nodded and followed her to the chairs. They sat and gazed across the landscape for several minutes before Gage suddenly leaned toward her. Involuntarily, she leaned the opposite direction, banging her ribs on the armrest of the chair.

“So’ve you decided? You gonna let me court you?”

Tressa sucked in a sharp breath. Although she’d prayed fervently for God’s will concerning her relationship with Gage, no answer had floated down from heaven. Aunt Hattie had indicated her heart would tell her when the right man began courting her. Her heart had not pattered in anticipation of Gage’s visit; all week she had dreaded the moment when he would ask to court her.

“You’ll have an easy life, ya know. My pa intends to keep Cookie even after he marries Aunt Hattie. Figures she’s been runnin’ this place all on her own an’ would welcome the chance to sit back an’ let somebody else do the work for a change. We’ll live in the big house with Pa an’ Aunt Hattie, so you won’t need to do no housecleanin’ or cookin’, either; everything’ll be done for you. Pa’s got plenty of money, so I can buy you some new clothes—purty clothes like the gals in the East wear instead of those homespun dresses you been wearin’.”

His disparaging glance swept from her head to her toes and back to her face. A disarming smile quickly replaced the critical look. “Purty girl like you oughtta have purty clothes. We’ll ride into Dodge City on Monday. There’s a dressmaker there who can sew you up some fancy duds.”

Gage seemed quite familiar with the city and its businesses. Tressa briefly wondered if he’d taken other girls to the Dodge City dressmaker.

He continued. “While we’re there, we’ll stop by the mercantile and look at their gold rings. They don’t have a big selection, but some are real nice. Bet you’d like one with a stone in it, wouldn’t ya? Maybe a blue stone. What’re they called?” He scratched his head, his brow furrowed. Then his face lit. “Sapphires. My ma had a sapphire necklace. Pa keeps it in a velvet box in his humidor since he don’t smoke no more. Or maybe you’d rather have a locket you can hang around your neck. You could put my picture in it.”

Tressa remembered the picture Sallie had discovered in Abel Samms’ highboy. Again curiosity attacked her. Who was that pretty lady?

“So . . .” Gage tipped his chair back on two legs and rocked. “What time can you be ready to go? We oughtta leave plenty early— no later’n six o’clock—’cause Dodge is a goodly distance. You can be ready by then, right? Good.”

Tressa gave a start. Had she uttered a word of approval? His assumption that she would readily agree to his plan—to drive such a far distance with him without the benefit of a chaperone—left her speechless with shock.

Apparently Gage took her silence for agreement, because he thumped his chair down on all four legs and bolted to his feet. “I’ll go let Pa know I’ll be needin’ the calash on Monday. We don’t use it except for special occasions, but it’s got a fold-up top so if it’s still rainin’ we won’t get wet. While I’m in there, you want me to tell Aunt Hattie you got yourself a beau?”