Bartered Bride Romance Collection (62 page)

Looking down, Bertie tried to figure how her sister noticed any difference. She mentally kicked herself. Certainly, she wanted Thomas to notice. How could she have been so dense as not to realize others—especially her sisters—might notice first!

“Oh, Grandmother’s bloomers,” Bertie muttered. Her sisters were joining forces. Any one of the sisters could have put a stop to Bertie’s visits to the Two Horse, but all the sisters had had a hand in Bertie’s upbringing. They wanted to see just what Bertie was up to. They wanted to see this Thomas Hardin who so had Bertie’s head a-spinning.

Fried chicken, potatoes, corn bread, greens, and lemonade were soon unloaded; and the rumor of a meal brought forth the ranch hands hours before their usual suppertime.

Within minutes, a banquet was spread out and the prayer said. Bertie watched as Tien-Lu wrinkled his nose at the American fare. Anna hid behind her mother in a game of hide-and-seek with Bess. Susan and Matty discussed an upcoming baby.

Susan was in the family way? Bertie swallowed. Susan was two months younger than Bertie yet years more mature in actions and appearance. Unconsciously, Bertie touched the brim of her hat. Lately she’d been thinking more about her family and the loss of their dairy farm back in Rhode Island. All her girlish dreams, her memories of happiness, centered around dairy farms. Ever since arriving in Lickwind, she’d wanted one of the sisters to start a dairy farm. Her only hope had been Bess. But maybe instead of happiness being a place, maybe it was a person?

Where was Thomas anyway? She knew he hated a crowd, but he’d lost his scowl earlier after accepting a piece of Corrie’s apple pie. Bertie headed for the remnants of the burnt shed. No doubt, Thomas was explaining his theory of the fire to some willing ear.

The ear turned out to be Corrie’s husband, who deftly changed the subject from heat lightning to … “We hope Bertie’s not bothering you.”

“No, not a bit. She’s been quite a help. I never figured I’d let loose a female architect on my land, but she’s doing a great job. She and Scotty make quite a team.”

Can a smile spread so big as to reach the ears?
Bertie wondered. Thomas liked having her around!

“She’s good with her hands,” Luke agreed. “We, the family, are a bit concerned with her coming out here—”

“With someone of my reputation,” Thomas finished. “There is that,” Luke agreed.

“Well, she never leaves Scotty’s side. Trieu loves her. And little Anna’s favorite saying is ‘Grandmother’s bloomers!’ ” Thomas laughed. “She’s good for Anna.”

The feeling of pleasure disappeared as the men laughed at her expense. Bertie almost backed away, torn by the guilt of eavesdropping and the pall of what she was hearing.

I’m good for Anna?

The baby, always treated like the baby.

“Sorry to hear you had a fire,” Luke said. “Albert Smit was talking about it over at Jones’s store. Guess you were lucky to only lose a shed.”

“More than lucky,” Thomas agreed. “You think that fire started by accident?” Luke asked. “Not sure.”

The men were silent for a few moments; then Thomas spoke. “We do appreciate the chance of education for Anna. You sure your sister-in-law is ready for the backlash taking a Chinese into the schoolroom will bring?”

“You don’t know Bess very well,” Luke observed.

“Ah, but I know Bertie, and I guess if Bess is anything like Bertie, I’ll be more than pleased with the outcome. That right, Bertie?”

It took a moment for Bertie to realize he was addressing her. Crouched behind the house, she’d been sure the men were unaware of her.

“Yes,” she squeaked.

Luke had the audacity to pat her shoulder as he walked by in search of his wife. Thomas ambled by next. “Need something, Bertie?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘Not exactly’?”

Bertie shook her head. “You think I come here because of Anna?”

“Mostly.”

“I come here because it’s where I feel at home.”

“Where you feel at home?” Thomas echoed. “Here?”

“Yes, here.”

He didn’t know about dairy farms and security. He didn’t know what she was trying to tell him because she wasn’t exactly sure herself. “How do you equate here with home?”

Bertie shrugged. She didn’t quite understand her motives for wanting to spend so much time here at the Two Horse Ranch. For true, she felt needed, included; she felt as if these people somehow belonged to her. But even more, every time she caught a glimpse of Thomas, her whole body grew warm, and she suddenly had trouble breathing.

“Well, squirt, we like having you around.” With a careless sweep of his hand, Thomas nudged her hat so it covered her eyes.

He walked away not noticing the scowl on Bertie’s face. He liked having her around. She took off her hat and banged it against her leg.

Squirt?

She didn’t want to be his squirt.

Chapter 4

T
homas knew that women had no place on his ranch, but now, watching his cowboys make a fuss over baby Matthew and Corrie’s twins, he realized that children didn’t belong either—at least not on his ranch. Maybe on some other ranch where fairy tales had happily-ever-after endings and the word
family
actually meant something. Family took too much time—time that could be spent growing the herd, making money.

One of the twins took a few steps, tumbled to the ground, and instead of crying—as Thomas thought most children would do—laughed.

Thomas figured Bertie must have been a child something like this. “I see you cotton to my youngest daughter.” Luke took the plate full of chicken bones out of Thomas’s hand and passed it to Bertie. Before Thomas could step back, run, or grunt an “I don’t think so,” little Brianne nestled in his arms.

He immediately wanted to hand the child back to the proud father, but a quick glance around showed that he was the center of attention. At the Two Horse Ranch, he was supposed to be the center of attention. It suited him fine when giving orders about branding calves and split hooves. It didn’t suit so well when, as the person in charge, he wanted nothing more than to admit he was scared to death of a little child. Brianne, who made a half-intrigued and half-irritated face.

Too close. Thomas gathered the girl under her armpits and held her away. Feet dangled in the air in way too trusting an attitude. And that’s when the little flirt smiled at him.

Bertie expertly adjusted Brianne’s dress, reminding him that although Bertie often acted like a boy, he’d best remember her womanly side. And along with remembering that, he needed to remind himself that babies and women went hand in hand. When and if he decided it was time to take a wife, he’d go back East for one. He wanted a proper lady who would know her place, and that would be in the kitchen, not designing and rebuilding sheds into cottages, dividing houses, or riding astride horses.

He should have told Scotty to leave Bertie behind from the beginning, before he—and everybody else—started looking forward to the sunshine she brought.

Thomas started to pull the little girl closer, but she puckered up her lips, and her little hands fisted, twirling wildly in the air. Brianne turned a splotchy shade of red.

“You’d best give her to m—” Bertie started.

Brianne didn’t exactly throw up. It was more a lumpy, white spit, and the aim was true. The stuff headed straight for Thomas’s shirt.

Gut reaction transferred the child to Bertie’s arms faster than Thomas thought possible.

“Something wrong, boss?” Rex asked.

“You step in worse than that all the time,” Jack added, laughing. Untucking his shirt, Thomas used the tail to dab at the wet spot. “Just surprised me, that’s all.”

Glancing at Bertie, he saw suppressed laughter in her eyes; but worse, she still held Brianne, who no longer wore a pained expression. Instead, with the same wide smile—one looking surprisingly similar to Bertie’s—the baby held out her arms, clearly wanting him. He wouldn’t have taken her, really, except she whimpered.

Hours later, Bertie’s family gathered up the remnants of the feast, along with their children, and prepared to leave.

Thomas relinquished Brianne. He opened his mouth, every instinct urging him to say, “Come again, anytime.” Instead, he said, “Thanks for the meal.”

Luke said the words Thomas couldn’t. “You’re welcome to visit our spread anytime. It’s been, what—a good seven years since you’ve been around?”

Thomas nodded. He’d spent a bit of time at the Collingswood’s spread, probably unbeknownst to them. Scotty had been the pull. Thomas learned to read under the cowboy’s direction. The Bible had been the only book Scotty owned. Thomas still carried it. Scotty and a few others saw past the rowdy father to the boy. But that all changed once the words “cattle rustler” became a well-versed whisper.

Fourteen-hour days did much in the way of helping Thomas push the thought of family to the back of his mind. He’d never had much luck with family—as any son of a cattle rustler could claim. He barely remembered his mother, and he didn’t want to remember his father. It was best to acknowledge that the equation of Thomas Hardin plus family equaled heartache.

Still, it bothered him that Bertie no longer accompanied Scotty to the Two Horse. Scotty dropped by often, Bible in hand and preaching forgiveness on his agenda. He seemed convinced that Thomas should forgive his father. Forgive? Thomas had a hard time swallowing that notion, and Scotty offering up an address for Thomas the elder didn’t make things easier. Still, Thomas put up with the visits because sometimes the old cowboy mentioned Bertie. Thomas also discreetly drew school-related Bertie tales from Anna. He was careful not to mention Bertie in front of Tien-Lu. It would only take the merest hint of interest, and Tien-Lu and Trieu would start sewing wedding garments.

Thomas spit out a nail and hammered it into a log. He should be glad Bertie had other things to occupy her time. No doubt, if she were here, she’d be organizing the rebuilding of the shed and stealing his precious nails.

He had plans for his nails.

Now that he had more cowboys to help with the cattle, he was putting his attention to his horses. He loved the cows because they helped line his pockets, but he loved his horses more. He loved being responsible for training them. He could take a wobbly colt and turn it into an outstanding piece of horseflesh. He loved bonding with the animal. And he loved the feeling of trust that he sometimes felt with his mount. It was a kind of trust he felt with few humans, and it bothered him that Lickwind—the place that had ostracized both him and his father—seemed to be filled with people who deserved trust. With that thought, he squinted at the sun and figured it was more than time to head for town.

He didn’t trust banks, and Lickwind had a bank and a banker.

According to Donald Potter, Frank Llewellyn stuck out like a sore thumb. The banker wore bright colors and Eastern styles in a place where mud was the favorite color.

Frank had been East for more than a month due to some family emergency, but he’d returned to Lickwind on yesterday’s train and would be opening the bank today. Thomas figured the dutiful ranchers—or any man with two pennies to rub together—would check their accounts first thing, so Thomas waited until well past noon before heading to town.

When Thomas finally took a seat in the banker’s office, he saw judgment pass over the man’s expression. Since the bank didn’t rate a clerk, no one had announced Thomas. Frank figured he had an illiterate cowpoke in front of him. It worked in Thomas’s favor. He often used a young, unkempt appearance to place his adversaries at a disadvantage. Today he used the cowboy persona through and through.

“Can I help you?” Frank, a chubby man shaped like a water barrel, rested his hands on his stomach and took on the look of a man used to giving advice.

Thomas took a wad of national bank notes from his pocket. “I’d like to make a deposit.”

“You new around here? Maybe working on the Kincaid spread?”

“It’s the Hardin spread now.”

“Takes awhile for change to take root in Lickwind.” Frank smiled condescendingly. “You get your first payday? It’s a smart thing to start an account.”