Dorothy Garlock (20 page)

“Charlie,” she said when she could stand the silence no longer. “I want you to know that nothing happened last night between me and Mr. Bowman. He said he had been to a
warm spring and offered to take me there if I wanted a bath. I wanted to go—it had been so long since I’d had a full bath. Maybe it was foolish to go off alone with him, but Mr. Byers seemed to have complete trust in him. He took me there and brought me back. He didn’t do anything improper.” The last wasn’t exactly true, but how could she explain the kiss to Charlie?

“Why didn’t ya take Jo Bell with ya? Didn’t ya think ’bout her wantin’ a bath?”

“To tell you the truth one of the reasons I went was to get away from her for a while. Jo Bell hasn’t been exactly friendly. I’m not a saint, Charlie. There’s a limit to my patience.”

“I know ya don’t like her . . . and I can’t say I blame ya.” Charlie’s voice was low, heavy, tired.

“She makes it hard for me to like her. Regardless of whether I do or not, if you can stay at Eastwood, I’ll take her on to Sheridan with me and do the best I can for her.”

“Why’d ya do that?”

“Your father saved me from that mob. They might have killed me if he had not taken me up on this wagon.”

“I’m not pushin’ Jo Bell off on ya. Besides Eastwood probably ain’t no place I’d want to stay nohow.” His voice was imbued with defeat. He stopped the wagon, climbed down and lifted Buddy up onto the seat.

An hour passed, then another. The day had grown warmer, but the air was surprisingly cool. Willa squinted her eyes and studied the terrain, trying to put thoughts of what Smith had said about Mrs. Eastwood from her mind, trying not to think of him at all.

The trail ran alongside a stand of pine and cedar. The faint breeze carried their scent and the song of the birds in their branches. To the left was a meadow that stretched to the purple mountains. Two deer, knee-deep in grass, stood stone-
still watching the wagon. Suddenly they lifted their tails and sped away. Willa watched them, marveling at their grace and speed.

At the top of a rise Charlie pulled the team to a halt.

“Well, looky there.”

The slopes on either side of the shallow valley were blanketed with stately pines, and beneath their branches was an abundance of green grass and wildflowers. The green was a startling contrast to the white mansion that nestled in the valley. It stood like a perfect jewel in its mounting. Willa laughed with sheer pleasure. The scene was breathtakingly beautiful and beyond anything she could have imagined Eastwood Ranch to be.

“Do you reckon that’s Uncle Oliver’s ranch?”

Willa turned quickly, sharply and looked at Charlie’s puzzled face.

“It’s . . . got to be. My, what a lovely place. And that big house. Oh, Charlie, Mrs. Eastwood has got to have more rooms than she knows what to do with. How can she not welcome her husband’s kinfolk?”

“I never expected anything so grand. Uncle Oliver must a been rich.”

“It’s grand all right. It’s as pretty as a picture.”

“What is it yawl are talkin’ about?” Jo Bell opened the canvas to peer over their shoulders. “Is that it? Is that Uncle Oliver’s?”

“Reckon it is. The trail leads right to it.”

“By whoopee damn!” Jo Bell yelled happily. “It won’t be bad a’tall stayin’ there for a while. I thought it’d be like some of those old ranches we passed. Ya know, like where poor whites live in back home.”

“It seems strange that we’re here without Pa,” Charlie said.

“I bet Aunt Maud knows lots of rich men.”

“Get some clothes on,” Charlie said crossly and started the team moving. “And dress decent to meet Aunt Maud.”

“Don’t ya be tellin’ me what to do, Mr. Know-it-all. Ya ain’t nothin’ but a snot-nosed kid.” Jo Bell waited to see if her brother was going to reply, and when he didn’t, she yanked down the canvas between them.

Willa noticed the anxious look on Charlie’s face. She put her hand on his arm.

“Don’t worry. It won’t be the end of the world if your aunt won’t let Jo Bell stay here. We’ll just leave. The supplies we got from Mr. Byers will last for another week or two.”

The serious look on his face made him appear far older than his fifteen years.

“I told ya I ain’t stayin’ if you don’t.”

“You must be practical, Charlie. You can work here. I can’t live on charity for the rest of my life. I’ve got to make a place for myself. I’ll be all right. This may come as a surprise to you, but I can fix clocks and it pays well. What do you think about that?”

“I ain’t never heard of a woman doin’ that.”

“Papa taught me. Of course, people are a little put off at first. Women are just as smart as men, Charlie. It doesn’t take muscles to work on clocks. Once folks get used to the idea, they’ll only be interested in getting their clocks fixed.”

“I ain’t stayin’ at Eastwood without ya and that’s that.” Charlie turned away, but not before she saw the look of yearning in his eyes.

An awareness of what that look meant slowly penetrated her already troubled mind. My goodness gracious me! Charlie was
almost
a man. Did he have man-to-woman feelings for her? Feelings deeper than friendship? She wished it were not so but was afraid that it was. How could she have been so
blind not to have seen it coming? Now she understood why he had been so cool toward her last night and again this morning.

He was jealous of Smith.

She must be careful, very careful, not to give him any hope for anything more than friendship between them. She was more than five years older, but to a boy starved for affection, the age difference wouldn’t matter. She couldn’t worry about how she was going to rectify the situation now, she thought, and pressed her fist against the knot forming in her stomach. The immediate problem lay just ahead.

As they drew near the ranch, Willa could see what distance had prevented her from seeing before. The house badly needed scraping and painting. Sun-faded draperies were drawn over the windows. A sheet or a blanket hung over the glass of the double doors. Veranda chairs were stacked against the wall and a swing with a broken chain swayed crazily. What appeared to be a magnificent house when they were a half a mile away now looked shabby . . . deserted.

Behind the house, several low buildings fanned out from the barn. A spiral of smoke came from one of them. Willa’s gaze came to rest on two men standing beside a huge pile of cut wood. One had white hair and a long white beard. The other was Smith. His blond hair shone in the sun. He stood with one booted foot resting on a thick stump beside an axe embedded in the wood, his elbow on his thigh, his face turned to watch them approach.

Willa felt discomfort aplenty. What had happened between them last night had awakened her to the fact that there was more to the man than he allowed people to see. He had a compassionate side where animals were concerned. And, according to Mr. Byers, he was completely dependable . . . when he was sober. It had been totally out of line with his previous disagreeable behavior to go out of his way to accom
modate her and take her to the pool. Yet he had not made a threatening move even when she had sat on his lap, her shoulder pressed to his chest, his arms around her.

After being chivalrous, he had grabbed her and kissed her. Had he felt the need to preserve the image of being a hell-raiser? She wondered if he had created the image to use as a shield between himself and others to avoid a close relationship. He had been forced to take on the job of leading them to the Eastwood Ranch. He certainly hadn’t wanted to be bothered with them. He had made that clear enough.

There was only one conclusion to be drawn: he had kissed her to see how she would react, and she hadn’t protested at all. Thinking about it, she felt her cheeks grow hot with shame. He must have laughed all the way back to his camp, thinking about how he had given the “old maid” a treat.

Willa pulled her eyes away from him. She must not give him or the kiss another thought. She couldn’t waste time thinking about a man who was such an enigma when she didn’t know how she was going to survive until she could find work. Heavens! Her head ached from all the confused thoughts that floated through it.

*  *  *

Smith watched the wagon approach while only half-listening to what Billy was saying.

“—And old Maud’ll go up in smoke is what she’ll do. Jehoshaphat! There ain’t been no younguns on this place in a coon’s age.”

“They’re not younguns, Billy. Charlie’s about the age I was when Oliver put me in charge of a crew. He’s a damn good boy. I like him. The girl is another matter. She’s the stuff that gets men killed.”

“What ya mean by that?”

“You’ll see.”

“Zat her on the seat?”

“Naw, that’s the woman traveling with them.”

Billy turned to look at Smith, but he was looking straight at the approaching wagon. “Ya never said she was a young, fine-lookin’ woman.”

“You never asked me.”

“Well, thunderation! Ya could’a told me the woman was sightly. What’er ya goin’ to do with two females?”

“Nothing,” Smith said absently. His eyes were on Willa. She wore the blue dress she had worn the day at Byers’ Station. He wished she would take off the damn bonnet so the sun could shine on her hair.

She was pretty as a bluebird and proud as a peacock. Her rounded bottom had sat on his thighs and her soft breasts had been crushed against his chest when he had kissed her. She had trusted him—because her dog liked him. Gawd! Now wasn’t that a harebrained reason to trust a man? With reasoning like that she’d not last a month in a town like Buffalo or Sheridan.

His stomach knotted with frustration. What had she called him that day in the barn?
A whiskey-soaked swine, wallowing
in filth like a hog.
A woman like her would never understand that at times he needed, had to have, relief from the pain, the bitter loneliness.

His logic told him that he should be putting up barriers between him and this woman. They were as different as day and night. She would bring him nothing but misery. He muttered a curse. It was too late. Somehow she had seeped into the secret recesses of his being, and it was going to be difficult, if not impossible, to get her out.

Dammit, he didn’t want to care about her.
Right now he needed to be tied to a woman like he needed a hole in his head. Hell, women like Willa meant marriage . . . a noose like the one Maud had used to make Oliver’s life miserable.

These thoughts were going through Smith’s head as the wagon stopped, and his feet were carrying him toward it so that he could help her down.

Willa lowered her eyes as she accepted his help. She placed her hands on his shoulders, his hands spanned her waist and he easily lowered her to the ground.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and stepped away as soon as her feet touched the solid earth.

“Smith,” Jo Bell called from the back of the wagon. “Will ya help me down?”

“How come of a sudden she can’t get down by herself?” Charlie growled so low that only Willa could hear. “She’s been a doin’ it all the time.”

Jo Bell was wearing a pink dress with a low rounded neckline. The bodice fit over her young breasts like a glove. Her hair was fluffed around her face and caught at the nape with a ribbon, making her look soft and pretty. She clasped Smith’s upper arm with her two hands, pressed her breasts against him, and smiled up at him in such an obvious flirtatious manner that Willa wanted to slap her.

Irritated by Jo Bell’s blatant pursuit of Smith, Willa turned her attention to the white-haired man. He was watching Smith trying to extract himself from Jo Bell’s hands. The eyes he turned to Willa were bright blue and twinkled with amusement.

“Howdy, ma’am.”

“Hello.” Willa held out her hand. “I’m Willa Hammer.”

“Billy Coe. Glad to meet ya.”

Willa waited for Smith to introduce Charlie and Jo Bell. When he didn’t, she said, “This is Charlie and Jo Bell Frank, Mr. Eastwood’s niece and nephew—his late sister’s children.”

“Howdy, son, young lady.”

Charlie shook hands with the old man.

“Hello,” Jo Bell murmured, looking off toward the house. “Sure does look dead ’round here.”

Smith lifted Buddy down from the wagon. The dog whined a greeting and licked his hand.

“Is it all right to leave the wagon here till we know what we’re goin’ to be doin’?” Charlie spoke to Smith, who was paying more attention to Buddy than to the rest of them.

“I’ll take care of the team.” Smith stroked the dog’s head for a minute before he looked up. “You might as well go on up to the house and talk to the old lady.” He climbed up onto the wagon seat.

“Where’s he takin’ it?” Charlie asked.

“I ’spect he’ll park it there back of the bunkhouse.” Billy’s eyes went from Charlie to his sister, then to Willa. It had been a mighty long time since there had been a woman on the place. He didn’t know what to say to them. He scratched his head. “I reckon Mrs. Eastwood saw you come in.”

“You and Jo Bell go on, Charlie. I’ll wait here,” Willa said.

“Ain’t ya comin’ with us?”

“No. She’s your aunt—”

“—But what’ll we say?”

“Just tell her who you are and the circumstances.”

“What’er ya askin’ her for?” Jo Bell said crossly. “It ain’t nothin’ to her what we say to
our
aunt.”

“She’s right, Charlie. You and Jo Bell should talk to her alone.”

“But what about you, Willa?”

The smile she gave him was affectionate and . . . sad. “We already discussed that. Your first obligation is to your sister.”

“That’s what I’ve been tellin’ the dumb cluck all the time.” Jo Bell jerked on her brother’s arm. “Are ya comin’ or do I have to go by myself?”

“I’m comin’.” Charlie jerked his arm free of her hands. “I still mean what I said,” he spoke over his shoulder to Willa, and started up the path to the back of the house. Jo Bell grabbed his arm again, holding him back so that she could walk in front of him.

“Will Mrs. Eastwood let them stay, Mr. Coe?” Willa asked softly. There was defeat in her voice and on her delicate features.

“There ain’t much chance a’tall, ma’am.”

“That’s what Smith said.” Her shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of her despair.