In His Will (5 page)

“I’ve never ridden before.”

He groaned.

“Not to worry. I have a good sense of balance and a dare-devil streak. If I’m on a calm mount, I’ll manage.”

“That remains to be seen.” They left the coop and went to the stable. The gelding Miller left Dylan patiently waited outside. Dylan gave Pretty Boy an affectionate pat on the withers as they passed by him.

She stopped and visually measured the standardbred. “That beast is huge!”

“Not particularly. He’s sturdy and reliable, though.”

She got up on her tippytoes and bravely gave his gelding her hand to take her scent, then petted his mane and neck. The sight of her appreciating the gelding instead of veering away gave him hope. Maybe she wouldn’t be as antsy as most greenhorns. He stood back and took in how surely she moved her slender hands and wondered if she’d take umbrage if he suggested she wear some snug jeans instead of those baggy ones so she wouldn’t get rubbed raw. No. He’d just get her in a saddle and take her a short distance today. They’d barely waded into peace; the last thing he needed to do was get personal.

She pivoted around and smiled.

Dylan chuckled at her enthusiasm. “We can put you on a calm little pony. Come on.” He accompanied Sondra into the cool stable to choose a mount.

The condition of the stable impressed him. It smelled of fresh sawdust. “Joseph already mucked in here today?”

“Yep.” She shot him a quicksilver smile. “I even helped. I figure I need to know everything from the ground up—literally.”

“Betcha you’re getting sore muscles, city-girl.”

“I’m doing whatever I need to get done.”

A grin lit his face. For a tenderfoot, she didn’t slack in the least. “So let’s see you saddle Crackers. Take that saddle blanket and toss it over him.”

“You got it.” She let Crackers catch her scent, too. Dylan tilted his head in silent query, so she volunteered, “I took my class to the petting zoo every year. Along the way, I learned domesticated animals like to get to know their human partners.”

“Horses are smart. You respect them, and they’ll give you their heart.”

Sondra nodded, flipped the rough blanket over the horse, and patted it for good measure. “Okay.”

“The saddle now—heft it onto him. The knoblike thing is called a pommel. It goes in the front.”

After she shot him an insulted glare, Sondra grabbed hold of the saddle and yanked. It didn’t move an inch. She rubbed her hands on her thighs to dry them off.

Dylan stood back and watched.
Nervous
, he assessed,
but willing to try. She’s not a coward.

She shifted her feet wider apart. After she sucked in a deep breath, she gripped the saddle and jerked with all of her might. The saddle cleared the rail by a good four inches. Suddenly, Dylan slammed it back down.

Sondra wheeled around. “Why did you do that?”

He glowered at her for a solid fifteen seconds, anger gusting out with every breath. He latched onto her arm and hauled her out of the stall, away from the horse.

Sondra pulled free and stared at him with wide, wary eyes.

“Hold it right there.” Dylan gritted the words as he took a determined step and backed her against the gate of the next stall. He grabbed her tiny wrists and held them together in one hand while his other fleetingly slid over her belly to confirm what he’d just seen. He let go of her and jerked back as if he’d discovered bubonic plague.

They stared at each other in shock. His impulsive action left her speechless, and he felt as amazed at his behavior as she was. For a long moment, they stood almost a yard apart in taut silence. Then the whole place shook with his bellow. “You’re pregnant!”

Five

“Thanks for telling me. I hadn’t noticed.”

“Don’t you have any sense at all? You can’t ride!”

“You invited me to!”

“I didn’t know you were in the family way!”

She scowled at him. “Of course you did. How could you possibly miss it?”

He impatiently flailed an arm in the air. “How could I tell? You always roam around in that dumb shirt.”

Her eyes shot sparks.

He glowered right back. “Trying to heft that kind of weight when you’re carrying a baby is insane!” Long moments passed in tense silence. His gaze slowly dropped to her middle as he wondered aloud, “When did your husband die, anyway?”

Sondra stared straight through him.

He sucked in a noisy breath. Everything went stock-still for a moment, then Dylan grated, “That’s it, isn’t it? You hardly even show, and your husband died months ago. Whose baby is it, Sondra? Miller’s? Is that why he left you everything?” When she didn’t answer, Dylan kicked a post and smacked his Stetson on his thigh in exasperation. Slamming it on his head, he stomped out without a backward glance.

❧

Sondra turned back to work. All her life, people held low opinions of her—after all, her own parents neglected her so badly, she’d been removed from their care. If her own family felt she was worthless, why should anyone else consider her of value? She’d learned to ignore the sly looks, whispers, and pity of others. Protesting usually didn’t solve the problem; it often cemented the wrong notion in folks’ minds.

None of that matters. It doesn’t. Christ paid the ultimate price for me. I don’t have to worry what others think, because in His eyes, I’m priceless.

That night, Dylan Ward’s voice seeped into her dreams and kept taunting her,
Whose baby is it? Whose?
By morning, she wanted to curl up into a tight ball, pull the covers over her head, and forget the world. She couldn’t do that, though. Sondra Thankful was not a quitter. She’d do anything within her power to succeed—she had to, for her baby’s sake.

It would be smart to hire a manager to help, though. Surely, Miller would understand—especially after what happened yesterday. Until she found that elusive person, though, she would keep going. If she secured someone soon, he’d get a chance to find his stride with the men and get the feel of the ranch. Then, when Dylan walked off with his share after the year was up, she wouldn’t be left high and dry. With great resolve, she determined to see to the matter, then left the house to start her day as a know-nothing rancher.

She popped into the coop and swiftly filled the basket. The fear of finding another snake lurked in the back of her mind, but Sondra kept reminding herself that the hens were calm. When the snake was there, they’d been wild. Reassured with that observation, she finished the task and moved on to the stable.

Howie tipped his hat ever so slightly before resuming mucking the stalls.

Sondra tried hard to ignore the odor and turned to grab a spare shovel.

Howie swiped the shovel from her hands as his face puckered into a scowl. “You ain’t got no call doin’ that these days.”

“I’ve been doing it!”

“Not anymore, you’re not. Why didn’t ya tell us you’re in a delicate condition?”

Sondra looked down at her waist. “I can’t for the life of me understand this. You’re acting like I intentionally kept it a big secret, and I’m
showing
!”

“Not much. Not much at all. Coulda been that you needed to shed a few pounds.”

“It’s not a deadly disease. I’m a normal, healthy woman.”

“Practicin’ lullabies,” he added hastily.

His choice of words amused her, but Sondra was careful not to hurt his feelings by laughing. “I’m not going to laze around. What can I do?”

“How ’bout”—He seemed a bit surprised she wanted to work, but he looked around to come up with something—“if I show you how to take care of the horses?”

“Great!”

“I’ve gotta finish up here first.”
Plop.
A shovelful of muck punctuated his comment.

Sondra fought the impulse to step back a bit. The smell nearly overpowered her. “When do the eggs get picked up?”

“Couple or three times a week. To my reckonin’ Chris Ratliff oughtta be by today.”

“Fine.” She smiled. “I’ll go box up the eggs; then I’ll be back to learn about the horses.”

He paused and leaned on his shovel. “Think you’re up to that?”

“Without a doubt.”

Just as she finished readying the eggs, an old truck with “By His Hand” painted along the side pulled in to take her supply. Chris Ratliff gently set her aside and insisted on lifting the crates of eggs into the truck himself. He then surprised her by pressing a carton of milk into her arms.

“What is this for?”

“Ma’am.” He gave her an assessing look and his mouth crooked into a sheepish grin. “A mother-to-be needs to be drinking plenty of milk. Dylan asked me to bring by half a gallon twice a week. More often if you say so.”

Sondra laughed and waved her hand toward the pasture. “I have hundreds of cows. Not to sound ungrateful, but isn’t this like taking sand to the beach?”

“No, ma’am. You’re not supposed to be drinking raw milk. Most city-folk don’t care for the taste of it, but even if you did, it’s not pasteurized.” He shook his head. “Now you let me know if you need more milk. Got that?”

“Yes, and thank you. Let me go get my purse.”

He frowned at her. “We’re neighbors.”

“Yes, but—”

“Ma’am, you’d best talk to Dylan so’s you’ll get the picture. We all chip in and help each other out. Our extras go to the By His Hand food bank, but we swap goods as a matter of course. Just makes sense.”

She felt awkward. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“Dylan’ll fill you in. You didn’t get a garden in this year, so my family’ll send over tomatoes and squash and the like.”

“That sounds wonderful. When we slaughter a steer, I’ll be sure to send over some beef.”

A smile lit his face. “Ma’am, you just might fit in.” He glanced back at her belly and nodded as if to punctuate his opinion. “Things’ll turn out just fine.”

She held the milk carton and stared at the back of the truck as he left. Dylan Ward, for seeming like the quintessential cowboy-of-few-words, sure didn’t waste a moment before spreading gossip about her.

The chill from the carton sent her into the kitchen for a moment. As she put the milk into her refrigerator, the abundance of all she’d been given hit her. Gratitude swelled. She went back out singing “For the Beauty of the Earth.” Most often, it was a Thanksgiving hymn, but it fit her mood perfectly.

She spent the balance of the day in the stable, happily rubbing saddle soap into the leather until it shone and brushing a few of the geldings and one of the mares. She chided Crackers for whipping her with a swish of his tail and giggled at the way the beasts twitched their skin to get rid of flies.

Though far more important things needed to be done, she lacked the experience to accomplish them—or the men wouldn’t allow her to. She determined to pitch in with whatever tasks they wouldn’t fret about and help everywhere she could. If she could free a man up to put his hands to something more pressing, she’d be satisfied. She buffed a saddle horn and nodded to herself. Yes, she was going to learn as much as she could, jump in wherever possible. This had to work out. Her son’s future was riding on it.

“Howie?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why wouldn’t Dylan let me ride? I thought it was okay.”

“Not if you don’t have a clue about what you’re doing. A fall could cost you the babe you’re carryin’.”

She bit her lip and asked nothing more for a while. Howie whistled the same tune over and over as he repaired a harness until she finally gave him a sidelong glance. “What did Dylan tell you? About the baby and me?”

“Ward don’t talk all that much. He’s a closemouthed sorta man. Just said you’re in a motherly way, and we’d better look out for you because. . .” His voice died off.

Her cheeks tingled with heat. “Because?”

“Well, ma’am. . .” He paused uncomfortably, then blurted, “Dylan said to look out for you because you ain’t got enough sense to watch out after yourself!”

It should have been an insult, but considering the fact that she’d wondered if Dylan might have spread word that the baby was Miller’s, she could only laugh.

After stopping by the coop to sneak a minute of cuddling a few chicks, she plodded back to the house. Her energy level needed a boost. Nuking and eating a frozen dinner would help. She felt too tired to do any cooking.

Sondra fussed around the house late that night. It took a lot of patience and concentration to make a place look just right. Too exhausted to stay up any longer, she eventually collapsed into bed, then regretted those late hours the next morning. Knowing she had no one to blame but herself for feeling weary, she had her morning devotions, then started off on her chores.

Edgar checked in on her at the coop and gave her a thumbs-up gesture. Heartened by that small sign of approval, she gathered the eggs and filled the feeders as she tried to decide how best to hire a manager. Even after she had one, she planned to continue to take care of the chickens. She loved scooping up the chicks and cradling them in her palm, petting their downy bodies, lifting them to brush their softness against her cheek. In those moments, she felt close to Miller again. He’d brought so much sunshine and laughter into her life with these balls of fluff.