Mail Order Cowboy (Love Inspired Historical) (11 page)

T
he sun was setting, illuminating the new barn in rays of red and gold. In the next few days, Nick and Bobby would spend many hours painting it, but for now it stood in unadorned, simple splendor. The scent of newly hewn wood filled the air and mingled with the savory odor of the barbecue.

“I reckon we should pray again before we sit down to this feast. Isn't it wonderful having the ladies and gents and children all together this time?” Reverend Chadwick smiled, and standing in front of their places at the tables, everyone bowed their heads.

“Almighty God, this morning we purposed to ‘rise up and build' and we thank You for blessing our efforts. Behind us stands a completed barn where this morning there were but a few ashes left from the old one. We thank You for giving our men strength and safety in this effort, and for the tasty dinner we had at noon, and the equally delicious supper we're about to partake of, courtesy of our ladies—and Josh. Amen.”

There was a din of people settling into their chairs, the hum of conversation and the clinking of spoons
against crockery as people passed the serving dishes piled high with barbecued beef, pinto beans cooked with bacon, hot biscuits, corn bread and slabs of butter. Amid the noise Nick turned to Milly. “So this dress is what kept you from the porch in the evenings all this week?” he asked in a low voice designed to carry only as far as her ears. “It's very becoming.”

“Thank you.” His compliment had her flushing with pleasure.

He had no idea how handsome he was, she thought, his skin bronzed by the sun, making his eyes seem that much bluer. Like most of the men, he'd dunked his head under the pump after the work was done to cool off, and now a loose lock of drying golden hair fell forward onto his forehead.

It would have been unladylike to confess how often her eyes had strayed to him all afternoon, watching the smooth play of his shoulder muscles under his shirt as he strained with the other men to help lift the skeletons of the barn frames with ropes. He'd climbed a ladder to help pound the rafters in place, then the roof's tin covering. Next came the boards to the sides of the barn. Agile as a cat, he'd scrambled up the frames with the others to join the higher boards and trusses in place. She'd savored his appreciative smile when she'd taken a bucket of freshly pumped cold water out to the men, and watched a mug passing from hand to hand to where he'd been straddling the ridgeline, and the muscles of his throat as he lifted the mug to swallow the water in a few quick gulps.

Had he been born with such grace?

As if reading her mind, Andy Calhoun leaned across
the table and drawled, “Nick, I thought you said you was a soldier, but you was shinnyin' up them frames like you'd been buildin' things all yore life.”

Nick grinned. “I'm afraid I was the despair of my father, for as a boy I'd much rather climb a tree or help the fellow who came to repair the roof on the dower house than play cricket or chess with the sons of Lord Swarthmore.”

Cricket? Dower house? What did these words mean? Milly wondered as she passed yet another steaming platter of savory barbecue. She'd have to ask him later.

“Your pa knew one a' them English lords?” the other man asked, clearly awed.

“Actually, my father was a lord himself—a viscount, actually,” Nick admitted, almost as if it was something to be embarrassed about.

“Then why don't we call you ‘Lord Brookfield,' or somethin' like that?”

“I'm a third son, not a lord. I'm just an ‘honorable.' My oldest brother Edward inherited the title, while my middle brother Richard went into the Church. So it was the Army for me,” he finished, as if that was his only logical destiny, “where my climbing skills came in handy once when the maharajah's young son managed to clamber up onto the upper reaches of an ancient banyan tree but was too scared to climb down.”

Calhoun whistled. “And now you're here in Simpson Creek, Texas, buildin' a barn for Miss Milly and Miss Sarah. Ain't life interesting?”

Nick tipped his head back and laughed, a merry sound that sent tendrils of warmth curling around Milly's heart. He turned to look at Milly next to him for a
moment, then back at the other man. “Indeed it is, Andy. Indeed it is.”

Andy's questions seemed to break the ice for the others, and Nick could hardly get an uninterrupted bite due to all the questions he was asked. It gave Milly a warm feeling to see how completely the Englishman had come to be accepted among the townspeople. Everyone liked Nicholas Brookfield, which made her feel as if her growing love for him was not ill-judged. Everyone, she reminded herself, except those such as Waters and Dayton.

“I surely did like the idea you mentioned at noon about building a fort, Nick,” Mr. Patterson, sitting up the table a couple of places, said during a momentary lull in the conversation. “I don't think it would attract the Federals here, like Waters was afraid of. I don't know when we'd all have time to work on it, but I do think it's a good idea.”

There were nods of agreement from several men up and down the table.

Then Mrs. Patterson spoke to her husband on his other side, distracting him.

“Fort? What fort is he talking about?” Milly asked.

Nick looked a little uncomfortable.

“Why did Mr. Waters say it would bring the Federals?”

Nick sighed. “Possibly I've overstepped my bounds, and if I have, you need only to say so. I—I'd hoped to talk to you about it after the party. We were discussing the likelihood of another Comanche attack, since everyone thinks they might get more bold after getting away with it the last time. This time the Comanches hit
only one ranch—yours—but they tell me in times past, they've raided many ranches, sometimes an entire town, burning, looting, killing, taking captives.”

Milly couldn't suppress her involuntary shudder at the thought of being snatched away by savage Indians. It was said that the ones who were killed at the scene of a raid were the lucky ones. She glanced involuntarily at Josh, who was holding fort at another table about his secret barbecue sauce recipe. He was still moving stiffly, still wasn't up to taking on a cowboy's work yet.

“A fort would give people a place to take refuge when the Comanches are raiding, a place where the men could defend their families,” Nick explained. “Properly placed, a lookout at a fort would be able to give warning when the Comanches were coming. We'd have a big bell up there to toll the warning. A fort might even serve as a deterrent. Who would want to attack such a community?”

“Where would you put such a thing?” Milly asked, though she had already guessed.

“Subject to your permission, of course, atop that hill behind us.”

She'd been right. Milly swiveled in her seat to look behind her at the hill that overlooked the ranch, and the road from town that ran along the southeast side of it.

“A fort? On Matthews property? Made of what? Why there?”

He answered her last question first. “As a former soldier—” A shadow passed over his eyes as he said the words. “I can tell you it's a commanding position.
From that position, one could see what's coming in all directions. It's not far from town, and there's a deer trail up to the top,” he went on, pointing, “that could be widened enough for wagon traffic. You and Sarah and the townspeople could take refuge there, and the men could fire at the Indians from the safety of the walls.” He paused a moment, as if to let her take it in. “And as for the materials, it's a very rocky soil, isn't it? Limestone, I'm told. If all that loose rock could be gathered up, I imagine most of the fort could be made of freestone and some sort of mortar. The other men agreed that would work.”

“You seem to have thought it all out,” she said faintly, her mind whirling at the implications.

“Not completely, no, and as I said, I should have spoken to you first. It must seem incredibly cheeky of me to be speaking of a use for part of your land when I'm only your ranch hand.”

She raised her eyes to that blue, intense gaze of his, her heart pounding. “I think you know you're becoming more than that.”

He blinked. “I…I hope so, Milly. Then you're not dreadfully angry at me? Still, it would have been proper to ask you first, but at the noon meal, one of the gentlemen began talking about the likelihood of another Indian raid and the need for some sort of protection in the area…and I…I mentioned what I'd been thinking about.”

“No, I'm not angry,” she said. “It's a lot to consider, yes. And to discuss with Sarah, and Josh, and the rest of the town. But why did Mr. Waters think such a thing would bring the Yankees here?”

“He said if we built a defensive fortification it would look like we were planning to mount a resistance against their occupation—a rebirth of the Confederacy. And he said that would make the ‘blue bellies' come down on San Saba County like a wagonload of anvils. The last thing anyone around here wants, according to him, is Federal troops occupying Simpson Creek.”

Milly pursed her lips. Would building a small fort—a place that would usually stand unoccupied—bring the Yankees to her town? It seemed unlikely, but memories of the war were still raw and bitter. It might even lead to ill feelings and reprisals toward Sarah and her for allowing a fort to be built in the first place.

“But before you spend another moment worrying about it,” Nick added, “I should tell you the consensus is that most of them couldn't figure out when they'd find the time to work on such a project.” He sighed again. “It's not like a stone fort could be erected in a day, like a barn.” His hand sought hers under the table and gave it a quick squeeze, then let hers go before anyone could notice. “Why don't we agree to talk of this later?” he suggested. “It's much too serious a topic for such a festive occasion.”

For the next hour, everyone ate and talked and laughed. Even Mrs. Detwiler, seated down at the far end of Milly's table, had lost her sour expression. Sarah was keeping the old woman busy talking, no doubt asking her opinion about everything she could think of. God bless her sister for her big heart!

Then it was time for dessert. All through the meal, the children had been eyeing the plates of cookies, cakes and pies sitting on a separate, smaller table—especially
Mrs. Detwiler's chocolate cake and Sarah's pecan pies. Now several of the adults were staring at them with open interest, too.

Milly stood and rapped on her plate with her fork to get everyone's attention while Sarah came to her side.

“I'd like to thank everyone for coming,” she said. “Your generosity in pitching in to build a barn for us—well, there are not words enough to tell you how appreciated that is…” She stopped then, feeling the sting of happy tears in her eyes and a thickening in her throat that made further speech difficult. “I—that is, my sister and I,” she said, putting an arm around Sarah's waist to draw her closer, “we thank God for all of you and will keep you in our prayers every day. If there's ever anything we can do for you, you have but to ask. I know no one wants to hear a long speech right now, so I'll just say it again—thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”

There were cheers and applause and whistles and stamps as her voice trailed off, but she held up a hand. “I'm told my friend Prissy has some instructions about the desserts…”

Prissy marched forward then, smiling broadly and waving, always pleased to be the center of attention. “I'd like to echo Milly's thanks to everyone for coming and giving of their time and effort to build a barn, and to feed those who did the building,” she said. “Milly and Sarah are trying their very best to keep their papa's ranch going. But we're not done, ladies and gentlemen. That wood you've been hammering and sawing all afternoon has yet to be paid for. We don't want to build a
barn, then leave Sarah and Milly with a big debt for all that wood, do we?”

“
Noooooo
,” everyone chorused.

“Then we are going to have to help these girls defray the cost, aren't we?”

“
Yes
…” the diners agreed, though less enthusiastically.

“Good. I'm glad you agree. For we're about to auction off all these sweet goodies you see at the table.” Everyone groaned, but Prissy went right on. “For example, who's making the first bid for this dee-licious chocolate cake, baked by our very own Mrs. Detwiler?”

Milly shared an amused glance with Nick and Sarah as the old woman preened at the attention. But bidding—led by Prissy, who was in her element as auctioneer—was brisk, and eventually Mrs. Detwiler's cake went for three dollars to a cowboy from the Waters ranch who was flush with his month's pay.

Then Sarah's pies were auctioned, one at a time. Nick gallantly started the bidding at two dollars on the first one, and kept the bids rising by adding two bits each time someone else bid. Then, once the last bidder had bid five dollars, he graciously conceded. He did this for all three of the pies she had made, and finally won the bidding on the last one. Other pies and cakes fetched lower amounts, but it all added up, and finally, the reverend purchased the cookies for two dollars and dispensed them to the children.

Prissy came forward again. “Well, we've raised sixty dollars, folks, but we still have a long way to go. You can hear our musicians tuning up over there for the dancing we've been promised,” she said, nodding toward a
couple of fiddlers and a man strumming a guitar. “Now, there's nothing more fun than dancing to good fiddle music, is there? But we're going to make you fellows pay for the pleasure this time—just a little. We're charging two bits a dance, except for husbands with their wives—they have to pay only once.”

Groans and protests erupted, but Prissy's smile didn't dim in the least. “Quit your bellyachin', fellows. You know the ladies are worth it, and it's for a good cause. Place your coins in the bowl here on the table.”