Carla Kelly (33 page)

“I've asked myself that ever since he found me rooting through that garbage can behind the Trail Café,” he said, his eyes on Charlotte at the sink. “And now there's Charlotte.”

Alice came by at the beginning of the second week with eggs, and two promised chickens and a rooster, trussed up and indignant. Kringle had grumbled the day before when Julia asked him to make a chicken coop, but the new residence was done, painted with white left over from the house, along with sky blue slats that matched the shutters and underside of her new porch. In a fit of fancy unlike the familiar Kringle, who generally glowered at her, the German had added a medallion with
Wilkommen
written in careful script. Julia knew better than to show much appreciation over the coop, but she gave Kringle an extra piece of rhubarb pie that night.

The next day, when Elinore Cuddy rode over to visit, Matt remarked, “This place is a regular watering hole—two visitors in two days. Faith, Mrs. Otto, I'm not sure we can stand all this society!”

To Julia's delight, Elinore came with a present: a pair of soakers she had knitted. “Elinore, this is our very first baby gift,” Julia said, pleased, as they sat down in the parlor with chamomile tea and prune almond cake.

“Soakers? It's nothing fancy,” Elinore protested, but Julia could tell she was pleased. “Doesn't take much yarn to whip out a soaker, when I have my feet up after dinner.” She peered closer at Julia. “And don't let me have to remind you to put your feet up after dinner.”

“Doc told you to keep an eye on me, didn't he?” Julia asked, tickled with this side of what she already knew was a no-nonsense woman.

Elinore nodded and took another sip of tea. She smiled one of her rare smiles. “Doc told me I could even get belligerent, if you gave me any difficulties.”

They laughed together. In a few more minutes, both of them were knitting, their silence companionable in the peaceful room, where a soft breeze ruffled the lace curtains and the sound of cottonwoods was better than balm.

She wasn't sure what made her do it, but Julia started to talk about Doc and how kind he had been to her last winter, when she received the telegram about Iris's death. “He just knew what to do,” she said, then leaned forward, confiding. “For Christmas I gave him a copy of Gray's
Anatomy
and told him he ought to be practicing medicine again.” She put down her knitting. “I admit to being a rank busybody, but I hope he does, someday.”

Elinore nodded. She knitted another row, then looked up, a question in her eyes. Julia waited for her to speak, but she chose not to, returning her attention to her knitting. Julia observed her—thin, capable, not young any more, but not old, either. Paul told her Elinore Cuddy had come west from Iowa to help her brother seven years ago, possibly in the hope that she could find a husband in Wyoming's bachelor-heavy society. Perhaps some things weren't meant to happen. Julia frowned at her knitting, sensitive to the woman sitting beside her, a woman that no one in their ranching region had decided to look twice at. Maybe the humiliation of that, in a state where even the plainest woman generally merited a second and third look, had served to turn Elinore Cuddy quiet.

Impulsively, Julia put out her hand to Elinore. “I never did thank you for enduring with me over that wretched sonofagun stew.”

Elinore flashed one of her rare smiles, which made her ordinary brown eyes brighten. “I wasn't about to give any of those Clydes the satisfaction of making you cry uncle!”

She coaxed Elinore to stay for supper, which hadn't been difficult. “Let's say I'd like to see you at work in your natural habitat,” Elinore said, “and not fly-covered and bending over a trench fire.”

“Colby will escort you home,” Julia said.

“I don't need an escort,” Elinore said quickly.

“Of course you do,” Julia insisted. “Colby will be delighted.”

Colby wasn't delighted. Julia could tell that easily enough as she stopped him on the side porch before supper and told him, after he had finished washing his face and hands, one of her rules.

“Miss Cuddy doesn't need any man's help to get home,” he said.

“She's a woman, and I won't have her riding alone,” Julia told him.

“She got here alone, didn't she?” he asked. “No one's ever going to bother Elinore Cuddy.”

Julia took a deep breath and stared into his eyes. “Just do it,” she said finally, clipping her words.

Colby nodded and didn't meet her eyes once during supper, which was a silent meal, anyway, since talking while eating wasn't approved manners on the range.

Julia thought about Elinore that night as she said her prayers. “And please bless Elinore too, Heavenly Father,” she whispered. “I need a friend like her. And maybe she needs me.”

Paul and Doc returned late in the afternoon at the end of the second week, trailing a Jersey cow and her calf behind them.

“Slow going, with this menagerie,” Paul said as he dismounted and put both arms around her, rubbing her cheek with his substantial growth of whiskers. “I've been thinking about cream and butter and milk and you.”

“In that order?” she teased.

“Nope. I hope there's lots of hot water in the Queen Atlantic. Is supper ready or do you have any old free time just lying around, waiting to be occupied?”

“Supper's waiting for you, once you wash off that trail dust,” she told him. “I'll keep until after dessert.”

“Sport, you
are
dessert,” he whispered into her ear, biting her ear lobe delicately.

What was it about a smelly rancher that made the bottom drop out of her stomach? “Supper first, Romeo. You'll find me upstairs after at least one fairy bite of Charlotte's raspberry jam tarts, chewed and swallowed without bolting your food,” she said, holding him close. “You wouldn't want to be rude to your cousin and not try one.”

“Well, I would, except that my uncle never did discard his scalping knife, and I like the way you tug on my hair, when life gets lively upstairs,” he said, and he walked with her toward the house.

“I can't take you anywhere,” she said, blushing.

“Guess not.” He stopped in the road. “I nearly forgot.” He pointed up the road toward the cut in the bluffs. “That's the last member of this traveling circus. Darling, let me present Magnus. He's way overnamed, but as you can see, he's persistent.”

Julia looked where he pointed, at first seeing nothing more than a dust puff. As she squinted into the afternoon sun, the puff resolved itself into a low-slung dog, loping along, his tongue hanging out of his oversized head and his short legs churning up the distance. As she watched, wide-eyed, he tripped on one of his long ears and tumbled in the dust. He righted himself and continued on.

“What on earth?” she asked, mystified.

“Don't you know a dog when you see one?” Paul squatted down as the dog came closer. “Here, boy, come meet your new boss. She's pretty, she smells great, and you'll like her.”

Julia stared. “He looks like a cross between an ottoman and a badger,” she said. “That's the ugliest dog I ever saw.
Magnus
?”

“That's what the bar tender at the Silver Dollar in Lusk called him. Here, boy.” The dog stopped in front of Paul, eyes hopeful, tail going. “Grandiose name for pretty much nothing. The bartender claimed Magnus was the booby prize in a raffle. Pet him, Julia.”

Cautious, she knelt beside her husband and put out her hand, the way Papa taught her to approach strange dogs. She touched one of Magnus's long ears, surprised at the velvety feel, so incongruous in a dog obviously designed by a committee. To her further surprise, Magnus flopped in the dust and rolled over to expose his belly.

“Reminds me of you,” Julia murmured. “You do that too when you want something.”

Paul laughed. “Julia, I can't take
you
anywhere.”

“I'll rub your belly later,” she assured him as she rubbed Magnus, who groaned with pleasure. “Hmm. Same reaction. Does he snore too when he's satisfied?”

“Oh, you are saucy,” Paul said. He looked toward the porch. “Uh-oh. Trouble.”

Two Bits had hunched himself sideways in the doorway, hissing. “Jerusalem Crickets, if Two Bits still had a tail, it would be as big as a broom, about now,” Paul said. “Magnus, don't make any sudden moves.”

Magnus's grasp of English was obviously not any stronger than his ability to understand the nuance of social situations. Interested, tongue still hanging out, he trotted toward Two Bits as Julia held her breath.

With a yowl, Two Bits launched himself onto Magnus’ back, digging in with his claws. The dog bellowed in surprise and pain and turned in circles, trying to shake the enraged cat off his back. With a despairing yelp that made Julia wring her hands together, Magnus took off running, tumbling in the dust when his ears got in the way, but righting himself as Two Bits hung on grimly.

“Do something, Paul!” she said.

“Not me,” he told her. “That's more than my life is worth. We'll have to let Magnus and Two Bits sort this one out.” He put his hands on his hips, watching the dog with the cat run toward the barn. “Could be Magnus isn't much of a bodyguard. Guess we'll have to depend on his all-purpose ugliness to ward off any bad guys.”

Julia gave him his own look. “Mr. Otto…”

“Oh, Jerusalem Crickets…”

“Do something!”

“For you,” he said, picking up a bucket by the horse trough. He filled it and went into the barn, walking so cautiously that Julia turned away, laughing.

In another moment, she heard water splashing and outraged protests from both cat and dog. Solitary now, Two Bits streaked back across the yard. Charlotte opened the screen door as the cat raced through. Julia laughed to hear his claws scrabbling against the floor as he failed to make the turn by the icebox.

“I believe Two Bits would have gone through, whether that door was open or not,” Paul said. He looked over his shoulder at the barn. “Magnus, all you have to fall back on is ugly. Happy?” he asked her.

Julia just laughed, yanked off his hat, and swatted him with it. “Wash up, cowboy,” she said as she went toward the house. “You reek.”

“Honeymoon's over,” Doc said, still sitting on his horse.

“Nope. She didn't tell me I stink,” Paul said. “She likes me.”

Paul was right; she did. Julia watched him finish two of Charlotte's raspberry jam tarts without even sitting down, after he came out of the bathing room. She noticed how thin his face was, which brought out the prominence of his cheekbones and accentuated the weather lines around his eyes.
You work so hard
,
while I am comfortable here
, she thought, understanding his love on a deeper level that touched her heart.
You probably wouldn't even call it a sacrifice
.

When he finished supper, Paul accepted another tart from a beaming Charlotte and leaned back, looking around the table at his hands.

“Gentlemen, Doc and I have been braving the wheat and hay fields of both of our newly named Goshen and Platte counties, courtesy of the state legislature. We have drummed up hay business. We were successful, thanks to the new Sybille Ditch. I signed contracts with three farmers. We're going to keep Double Tipi cattle behind fences now. No more open range.”

“No more roundups?” Colby asked, disappointment evident in his voice.

“We'll still help our neighbors, of course,” he said, “but we'll be nursemaiding our own cattle right here on the Double Tipi. Times are changing.”

“Does that mean you'll need fewer hands?” Dan Who Counts asked, his expression serious.

“Not sure yet, Dan. We'll see how it goes. I'm not laying anyone off.

“That's all I have,” Paul said. “Charlotte, you make a superior raspberry tart. Think how good they'll be with whipped cream from that Jersey. May I assign you milking duties? Julia can fill in, now and then, if she's willing.”

“You know I am.”

Charlotte nodded. “We'll have eggs soon too.”

“Jee-rusalem Crickets, the Double Tipi is turning into a farm,” Paul joked. He nudged Julia. “I suppose you'll want a garden next.”

“It's small but it's already planted,” she told him. “We'll have lettuce in a few weeks and other green stuff to counteract all that fried food you sweethearts like. Times are changing.”

“I think we can stand the strain.” His expression grew wistful. “My mother tried to grow green beans and squash, like she did on the rez. A garden would have pleased her.”

“Come to think of it, she'd have been completely delighted with you,” he told Julia an hour later, as he eased his arm around her bare shoulder, and she nestled closer.

“I wish I could have known your parents.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again, not ready to sleep yet, not with daylight still streaming in the windows. “What happened in Lusk?”

“I got a really ugly dog,” he teased, “who is probably halfway back there, by now.”

“You know what I mean.” She sighed. “The ridge rider was here once.”

“That's what you're calling him?”

Julia nodded. “Colby looked for him, but came up dry.”

“Anything else happen?”

“Kringle built a magnificent chicken coop, and don't you dare twit him about it. Elinore paid me a visit, and we knitted soakers. I can't button my skirts anymore.”