Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (20 page)

Inside the parlor Mara began to squirm. Not only was the chair hard on her bottom, but each time she looked up, Cullen’s bold, admiring eyes were on her. Being so near-sighted, Emily was unaware of the stare, and Pack was unable to see from where he sat on the box. Trellis had noticed Mara’s discomfort, shuffled his feet to get his half brother’s attention, then scowled at him. Cullen merely gave him an insolent glare. One time the corners of Cullen’s mouth had lifted in a half smile when Mara’s eyes met his. After that she refused to turn her face in his direction.

“I’ll go make fresh coffee,” Mara whispered to Emily when she felt she could sit still no longer. She tiptoed from the room without a sound.

In the kitchen she leaned against the trestle table and massaged her temples with her fingers. She couldn’t remember ever having been so tired. Her hands felt as if each weighed a hundred pounds when she lifted the chimney to light the lamp. For a long excruciating moment she stared around her.

The kitchen was the largest room in the house, and here she had worked the hardest. The oak slab top of the table had been scrubbed and polished to a glowing finish. On the work counters, food for tomorrow’s dinner was covered with clean dish towels. The cloth curtain that was strung on a rod to hide the utensils stored below was starched and ironed. The cookstove was cleaned, the woodbox was filled, the lamp chimneys were polished, and the plank floor scrubbed. She had even mended the rips in the screen door with a heavy wool thread. The work had kept her mind so busy that she’d had no time to think of how she was going to stay now that Brita was gone.

Working quietly, Mara shook down the ashes in the firebox and filled it with kindling, prodding it until it blazed. She filled the coffeepot from the water bucket, removed a round cap from the top of the range with the lid-lifter, and set the black-bottomed pot down in the hole.

The bud of the thought that had been in the back of her mind since morning came forward in full bloom.
Pack would leave after the burial.
No longer would there be a reason for him to stay. What would she do then? She was sure that because of his friendship with her father he felt responsible for her. He would insist that she go to Laramie, Cheyenne, or Denver and get a teaching job. That she would never do!

The thought of not having her own home and having to live in a boarding house, teaching children who didn’t want to learn, working without adequate supplies and kowtowing to the school board members and their wives was so repulsive to her that she felt a hard, heavy knot begin to form in her stomach just thinking about it.

She would not do it! She had the right to make her own decisions. Women in Wyoming Territory had been given the right to vote. Earlier that year six women had served on a jury in Laramie. If a woman was capable of meting out justice, she was capable of deciding her own future. Mara considered herself as smart as any woman on that jury. She’d not be pushed into leaving her home.

Mara’s mind was so distracted with miserable thoughts that she failed to hear Cullen come into the room. She turned to see him standing a few paces behind her and gasped with fright.

“Don’t you dare sneak up on me like that! You scared me!” she snapped.

“I just wanted to know if there was anythin’ ya needed.”

Cullen was only slightly taller than Mara’s five and a half feet. His face was charmingly handsome when he smiled, but the smile never quite reached his eyes. There was something cold and unfeeling about him. Her eyes flashed contemptuously over him before she swung around, opened the curtains below the workbench and took out the cups.

“There’s nothing I need now. But the day after tomorrow you and I will have a talk. You will tell me about the men who spend their days playing cards in the bunkhouse, and you will tell me where the cash money has been coming from to run this place. Something underhanded is going on here, and I intend to find out what it is.”

“I agree, Mara Shannon. As the owner it’s your right to know everythin’ that goes on.”

Mara was so startled that she gaped at him for a moment. She had fully expected him to be as sullen and obnoxious as he had been the other two times she had spoken to him.

“I want an accounting of the cattle—”

“Sure,” he broke in, nodding in agreement. “I know every steer and heifer on this place.”

“You’ve kept accounts?”

“I ain’t had much book learnin’, Mara Shannon. I got the figures up here.” He tapped his head with his forefinger.

“That’s a risky way of doing business.”

“You’ve got the book learnin’ to keep accounts. I got the know-how to do the rest. If we work together, we can make this place pay. We’ll sell off some of the cattle and fix up the house. We’d have enough to buy a buggy so ya can go to town when ya want.” He rolled his hat around in his hands and looked down at the floor. When he lifted his eyes to look at her, they were filled with remorse. “I’m sorry about what happened when ya first come, Mara. I ain’t got no excuse but to say it was a jolt havin’ ya drop in on us like ya did.”

He seemed so sincere that Mara could almost believe him.

“There’s no point in looking back, Cullen. I never—” Mara broke off when Pack came striding into the room.

“Get the hell out of here, Cullen. Stay away from Mara Shannon.” Pack’s tone and his expression reflected his anger. He loomed over the shorter man, his clenched fists at his sides. All pretense of civility was gone.

“Sure, Pack. If that’s what ya want. I’ve too much respect for your ma to cause a fuss when she ain’t even in the ground yet.” Cullen’s eyes went to Mara with a look of apology.

Pack snorted. “Respect! You’ve never respected anything in your miserable life. You don’t even respect yourself. But I’ll not argue with you. Heed my words and stay away from Mara Shannon or else I’ll tear your head off.”

“I said all right.” Cullen spoke soothingly. “Let’s not start anythin’ with your dear, dead mother lyin’ in there.” At the end there was a trace of mockery in his voice.

A blanket of silence covered the room.

Pack went very taut, a muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. His face turned a dull red and his eyes, dark and fiery, compelled Mara’s to meet them. She knew he was near the breaking point.

The sudden hissing sound of water dancing on the top of the hot range as the coffeepot boiled over broke the silence.

“Tend to the coffee, Mara Shannon,” Pack said quietly.

A prickle of uneasiness went up Mara’s spine. Pack’s muscles were as tight as a coiled spring. Instinctively she knew that he was on the verge of slamming into Cullen. The smaller man stood his ground, seemingly unperturbed. Finally he edged toward the back door.

“I’ll go, Mara Shannon. I ain’t goin’ to be the cause a any trouble.” He cast Pack a glance of disgust. “It ain’t decent at a time like this.”

Cullen can charm the skin off a snake when he sets his
mind to it.
The words Brita spoke the day she arrived came to Mara’s mind. Too many things had happened between that day and this for her to believe Cullen was sincere. She was glad when he went out the back door instead of returning to the parlor. Unpleasantness had been avoided for the time being, but she dreaded what the next day would bring.

Mara wrapped the end of her apron around the handle of the coffeepot and lifted it out of the hole. She replaced the lid by sliding it across the iron top with the lifter. It made a grating, familiar sound that eased the tension. The aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the air as Pack turned the crank on the grinder fastened to the wall beside the stove. When the jar beneath it was half full, Mara removed the lid on the pot, and he dumped the grounds into the boiling water.

“What did he say to you?”

“He said he would tell me about the men in the bunkhouse and give me an accounting of the cattle.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all, except he expects me to stay here.”

“The bastard!” Pack snorted. “He’d like nothing better than to have you here all by yourself.”

A silence fell while Mara dipped the granite ladle into the water bucket and drank. Pack leaned his shoulder against the wall and watched her. She had worn a pink dress during the day while she was working. It was faded from many washings, but it had added color to her cheeks and emphasized her breasts and small waist. She had looked young and pretty in the pink. Now in the black dress, she still looked young and pretty, but dark shadings beneath her green eyes told of sleepless nights and a day of unceasing labor. He studied her face, unable to pull his eyes from her delicate features and huge emerald green eyes. A sprinkling of freckles dotted her nose that he hadn’t noticed before.

Something tightened in Pack’s throat. He wanted to pull her to him and tell her that his grief had been easier to bear because she had been with him. And yet he wanted to shake her for coming in the first place and for not realizing that there was no way on God’s green earth she could stay now that his mother was gone.

“Mara Shannon?” Emily came into the kitchen, feeling her way along with her hand on the wall. “Do you need any help?”

“There’s not much left to do. The coffee will be ready as soon as I pour in a little cold water to settle the grounds.”

“It’s awfully hot in there. Phew! It’s almost as hot here in the kitchen, but the little breeze coming in the door helps.”

“Do you want to go out onto the porch and cool off?” Pack asked when she pulled her handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her brow and fluttered it in front of her face to create a slight breeze.

“I’ll step out there for a minute. I should have worn something cooler, but this is my only black dress.” As she moved around the table, Pack took her arm. “I can find the way, Pack. I’ll stand just outside the door.”

Pack went ahead of her and opened the screen door just as Sam stepped up onto the porch.

“Evenin’, Sam. Miss Rivers was coming out to get a breath of air.”

“Evenin’, folks.” Sam reached for Emily’s elbow as she stepped over the threshold. “Will ya allow me to stay with ya for awhile, ma’am?”

“I’d like that, Sam. Oh, my! The breeze feels good.”

“We’ll stay here on the porch, Pack. I’ll see that she don’t fall off the edge.”

Pack shut the screen door. When he swung around, his hard gaze sought Mara’s. The muscle stood out in the hard plane of his cheek and his mouth was grim. She waited for him to voice his disapproval, but he remained silent. From the harsh expression on his face, it was clear to Mara that he was not pleased about Emily being alone in the dark with Sam.

*  *  *

On the porch Emily reached out for Sam’s arm. “Do we have to stay on the porch, Sam?”

“I told Pack we would.”

She laughed softly. “He’s as bad as Charlie about not letting me out of his sight. We could walk a few steps out into the yard. He could still see us.”

“All right. I reckon it’s worth gettin’ a beatin’ from Pack just ta hear ya laugh, ma’am.”

She laughed again. “He wouldn’t do that. He’s as gentle as a lamb.”

“Bull-foot! There ain’t nothin’ gentle about Pack when he’s riled up. I’d say he’s more like a tornado. One thin’ about him, he’s touchy where womenfolk is concerned. Stop here ’n let me lift ya down.”

Sam stepped off the porch, placed her hands on his shoulders and his at her waist, then swung her easily off the porch and to the ground. He didn’t know why he got so loose-lipped all of a sudden.

“You’re awfully strong.”

“Yore just not very heavy, ma’am.”

“The other time you called me Emily Rose.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ of ya as Emily Rose.”

“What did you think?” It was a mere whisper as she placed her hand in the crook of his arm.

Sam looked down at the white blur that was her face. Without thinking his hand came up and covered the one on his arm. He couldn’t tell her that sometimes thinking about her made him feel all mixed up and shaky inside, and at other times he was surprised by the burst of happiness that washed over him.

“What did you think, Sam?” she asked again. She could feel the trembling in the hand that covered hers.

“Well . . . I was wonderin’ what ya was doin’. If ya was well.”

“I thought about you too.”

“Did ya? What was ya thinkin’?”

“I was wondering what you were doing. If you were well.”

They both laughed, unaware that they had stopped and were facing each other.

“Sam . . . I say stupid things when I’m with you. And for the life of me, I don’t know why.”

“I do it too, ’n cuss myself after.”

“I’m twenty-four years old.” Her eyes seemed to be looking right into his.

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“I’m a . . . spinster.”

“It means ya ain’t married, don’t it?”

“It means that I’m what’s known as an old maid. A woman who lives with her family. A woman without a husband. A woman whom men consider too old to court.”

“Ah . . . that’s bull. Pack seems to be right fond of ya.”

She laughed again, her face not far from his. Sam could see her soft lips part, smell her fresh woman’s body. He liked the feel of her hands on his arms, clinging to him, trusting him, depending on him to keep her safe.

“I’m fond of Pack. I love him the way I love Charlie. He’s the only male friend I’ve had besides old Squirrely who lives up in the hills behind us.”

“Why is that?” Questions filled Sam’s mind, questions he didn’t want to think about now and spoil this magical moment, but things he’d have to think about later.

“Charlie is afraid someone . . . will take advantage of me because I’m almost blind.”

“Charlie’s right to keep the riffraff away from ya. It’s what I’d a done for Rose.”

“Charlie feels guilty because he was off fighting the war when . . . when. . . .”

“Someone took liberties?” A sudden, desperate anger made his words come harshly before he could stop them.

“Yes,” she whispered. “During the war. Does it make a . . . difference?”

“A difference?” he asked, not understanding. Then, as the meaning of her words soaked into his brain, “Good God! ’Course not!” He would have started walking again, but she refused to let go of his arms.