Pioneer Passion (6 page)

“And what’s wrong with this house?! This
house might not be much to you, but it is home to me! Why must you
destroy everything in my life?”

Sipping on the last drop of coffee, Guy
almost choked over the kid’s asinine comment but he managed to
swallow hard at Rusty’s sudden burst of temper. Hellfire! What’s so
great about this shack? He stood his ground and glared back. It was
time this kid realized he was only trying to improve the place. He
couldn’t understand how a run down house could mean so much to this
wiry brat. His mind reeled with confusion and he gritted his teeth,
his temper rose to meet the kid’s.

“Look!” he growled, “this is my place now,
like it or not, and what I say goes! And I’m sorry if....” His
voice was becoming hoarse with frustration, but nevertheless,
seeing gold speckles turn to flint in those emerald eyes Guy rose
and slammed his fist against his palm. His height added the
authority he needed to make his words heard and understood. But
standing only inches from his opponent, he wasn’t quite sure of his
power. Knuckles on the table, he leaned forward and spat out,
breathing into the pouting face. “I will do whatever it takes to
fix up this homestead. And I’ll not take any gruff from you, you
hear me!” He knew his voice was dangerously close to cracking.
Hell! That head-strong kid could make a mule look like a
pussycat!

“Do you hear me?”

“The townspeople can probably hear you!” the
brat snapped back.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

“Jee’zes, if you wanted to smooth things out
here, you just missed your mark!” Rusty spat.

Guy cringe at the remark but it didn’t stop
him from saying, “You’re the most maddening kid I’ve ever met. I’ll
not take any crap from a wet-nosed runt who needs his britches
paddled!” he added. Rusty’s face lost some of its color. Apparently
his threat sank into that thick head of the boy!

“Okay, I’m sorry I acted like a brat. It’s
time for me to act like a man.” The kid’s voice lowered even more.
“I guess the shock of losing my pa and the farm was too much for
me.”

Guy’s temper abated somewhat.

“Just do whatever you please, but I’d like to
keep my house,” he insisted.

Guy moaned, raising his eyes heavenward.
Maybe he had pushed a little too fast.

Rusty was too much; the stubborn youth had an
uncanny way of weaseling a way into his heart. Well, what did it
matter if he gave in for now, he mused. It would be a while before
he started the main house, and it would keep the brat out of his
hair. With a deep sigh, he nodded and left bewildered, not liking
the fact that his nerves were stretched like taffy from being too
close to the young, obstinate, and totally disagreeable,
opponent.

After the cowboy left, Rusty mulled over in
her mind what had just transpired. She sighed in frustration
recalling how his hot breath was so close to her face but was only
aware of those handsome lips that threatened her. She gulped, her
defiance crumbling a little seeing the lines on his face harden
when he had threatened to paddle her backside. Her eyes widened at
the thought of his big, tanned hands touching her there. Now, she
feared him for another reason. He had been standing too close, he
smelled of tobacco and brown soap. She was losing control of her
emotions, but she knew she mustn’t and squared her shoulders to
calm herself. Steady girl, he’s just a bully. Wise up, she
instructed herself, and for once she listened to her smart-self and
backed off. Not because she wasn’t wise, it just made her feel like
a coward. But this one time she’d swallow her pride.

And, she had really enjoyed his company for a
change even though her brother had left leaving her despondent
again. Everything was changing too fast and though she tried to
accept all that happened, it was too soon to lose so much. And her
brother.

Chapter Eight

As days passed Rusty made herself scarce,
except for meals. She took long walks with Biscuit, tended her
garden, fished and read the few books she owned. She looked forward
to their time together, convincing herself she needed a friend, and
decided the cowboy was her only prospect. But it was her heart that
was nagging her, trying to convince her that it was more than a
friend she needed in Guy because his nearness made her edgy. Then
one night at supper, she felt the need to talk; this aloofness
between them was nerve wracking. She wanted to open up to him more
but was scared to entrust her feelings to this stranger.

However, the silence was maddening. Wanting
them to be at least friends, and, heaven knew, she needed a friend,
she decided to tell him a little about herself. She wouldn’t tell
him the whole story; just that Scott came home, then left again to
join a cattle drive. The cowboy listened to her explain about her
brother, Scott’s visit while he was in town taking care of his
business. Guy kept his features blank as he rubbed the rim of his
coffee cup with a tan finger appearing to be in deep thought.

“I wondered where that old buckboard came
from when I pulled my new wagon into the barn. I thought a neighbor
borrowed and returned it while I was in town. I’m sorry your
brother didn’t stay, I could have used him. Why didn’t you tell me
about him sooner?” Rusty answered him with a simple shrug and the
cowboy didn’t probe further relaxing her somewhat.

Instead, he asked, “Can you tell me something
about your neighbors? Tomorrow I plan to ride out to get aquatinted
with them.”

Rusty stood and took the dirty plates to the
sink feeling a dreaded sensation in the pit of her stomach. Well,
what did you expect? her conscience scolded. Sooner or later he’d
seek out the neighbors. But she dreaded the fact that he’d find out
about her sex. Tell him, she chided but ignored her own advice
because she was too scared too.

Clearing the lump in her throat, she answered
him. “The Browns are our closest neighbors; they live to the west
of here. Mr. Brown is a nice man and rides over here periodically
to check on me. When he comes, he brings me some bacon and a little
sugar. There’s an old man to the south, but I only met him once
when I was young. Pa said he was a hermit and didn’t like company.
The only occasion that I met him that one time was because pa took
me to his cabin to fetch Biscuit. Pa bought the mule from him. I
can’t tell if we have any other neighbors, I don’t ride far from
here on my own.” She busied herself washing the dishes, her senses
overwhelmed by his presence. Feeling heat seeping through her
shirt, Rusty suspected his eyes were boring into her back. He
looked at her so funny at times, she was sure he knew.

“Can I help?” The sound of his voice made her
jump and she spoke without turning. “Err, that’s okay, err, you did
the cooking. I don’t mind cleaning up.” Her voice cracked and she
grunted hoping he didn’t notice. How much longer could she keep
this up? He was playing havoc with her nerves. She continued
feeling as if her throat was in a vice. “I’ll see you in the
morning.” She dismissed him like an unwanted child and went to her
room wanting to crawl under the covers and stay there forever.

Guy rode west early in the morning to meet
his neighbors. The day was cloudy and it looked as if it might
storm. For the sake of the farmers here, he hoped it would but not
until he returned. He rode Blizzard at an easy pace making the
journey in about a half an hour’s ride from his place. Sizing up
the Brown’s spread as he rode over the crest of the hill he noticed
there was activity in the front yard. Three young children were
scampering around with a dog that looked more like a wolf. They
stopped playing when he dismounted and six huge eyes stared in awe
at him as he walked towards them.

He stooped down to their level. “Guy Storm
here,” he extended his hand, but the three frowned and huddled
closer. The boy, who looked to be the eldest, stepped forward,
scrutinized him with eyes wide, and gulped. “My… my name is Bobby
Brown. This is my, um… my younger brother, Davey, and my sister,
Annette.” He sensed that the child tried to act brave. The
youngsters continued to huddle behind the older brother but Guy saw
the little girl peek for another look and resisted the urge to
chuckle. “Glad to meet you all. Is your pa around?” The boy named
Davey nodded, pointing him to the barn.

“He’s milking Gertrude,” he was informed by
Bobby. Guy tousled Bobby’s thick crop of red hair, noting each
child came from the same biscuit cutter, from the top of their
carrot heads to the freckled faces and big brown eyes. Beautiful
children, he mused.

He walked towards the barn and felt lonely,
missing his siblings. Yep, it was time to settle down, he thought.
The strong odor of animals, dried hay, and mildew accosted his
senses. The lowing of a complaining cow brought his attention to
the far end of the old barn where he saw the top of a head covered
with red hair. There was no denying whose kids they were.

Guy heard the crunching of dry hay under his
boots and the farmer turned. “Sorry to disturb you in your chores.
I’m Guy Strong, your new neighbor. I just took over the Crawford
homestead.” He extended his hand and it was accepted. The man’s
shake was firm, but he felt the hard calluses and the warm milk in
his neighbor’s grasp.

“Glad to meet you,” the farmer greeted him
with a warm smile. “I’m Wilbur Brown. I didn’t know old Sam was
selling the place. You’re new in these parts. I’d certainly
remember a person of your size.” Not wanting to go into details Guy
informed the man that Sam Crawford died right after he acquired the
lands feeling that there was truth to his statement.

“Sorry to hear that. What about his
children?” Wilbur asked.

He told the other man only what he felt was
necessary. “Scott left before I met him. Rusty will stay.”

“I’m glad to hear Rusty will not be alone and
would be taken care of. Come, I’ll introduce you to the misses. I’m
sure you met my little rascals all ready.”

Guy met Bonnie, elbow-deep in flour preparing
the noon meal. He was invited to share what little they had and
enjoyed the meal, learning more about the lands and raising of
crops. He informed his new friends that he was going to raise
cattle here and the farmer shook his head.

“No one, as of yet, has tried it.” Wilbur
admitted.

“This is mostly orange country,” Bonnie
interjected.

Guy thought the woman was comely with brown
hair, slightly dusted with flour, and smiling, big, brown eyes.
Their children might have inherited their father’s hair but they
were blessed with their mother’s beautiful eyes. Later, Guy thanked
them for the meal apologizing for taking Wilbur away from his
chores.

Wilbur shrugged Guy’s words away. “There’s
always time for friends.”

Guy smiled. “Well, thanks again. It looks
like rain. Sure hope it does for your sake.”

Wilbur nodded, “Yep, orange crops have to get
water every day and so far, irrigation and full wells have kept
many farmers from losing their crops. But we haven’t gotten a good
rain in a spell and the wells are beginning to get mighty low.” He
shook his head. “If we get too much rain, there’s danger of foot
rot and the bark must be cut off and there’s these nasty ants that
make nests in the soil and feed on leaves. We have lots to
overcome.” Wilbur shook Guy’s hand again. “If we have a good crop,
it’s all worth it.”

Guy was impressed by the dedication and work
that went into growing oranges but it depended too much on nature’s
moods. He preferred raising cattle, although there were risks and
hard work there too, he’d rather make his living where the odds
were better and more prosperous. He rode home mentally comparing
the Brown’s grove to Sam Crawford’s. It was a wonder the poor kid
had any fruit trees at all with such hard work and little help.

Rusty was so elated when the rain came early
in the day blessing the dry lands with enough water to help, she
baked a pie from the berries she had picked earlier. She figured
the distraction of baking would keep her mind off Guy but it
didn’t. Just as she was removing the steaming desert from the
stove, she heard the object of her troubled thoughts ride into the
yard.

Picking up the oilcloth that had been tacked
over the broken window, she watched Guy enter the barn. She
frowned, knowing how much it leaked and there weren’t too many dry
spots in there. Dropping the oilcloth she dreaded the possibility
of him having learned the truth from the Brown’s. No need to fret
so, it might be too late for that.

She waited for Guy to burst into the house,
but a half hour went by with just the tapping of the rain on the
roof that was driving her crazy. She wished he would come in and
get it over with. It was senseless she felt to just stand around
wringing her hands, so, throwing some meat noisily onto a skillet,
she prepared supper. Recalling her pa saying a way to a man’s heart
is through his stomach she hoped that a good meal would pacify Guy
somewhat. But she suspected a good meal would not soften this man’s
temper. When the front door slammed, she nearly jumped out of her
skin. Her back to him, she held her breath, but nothing landed on
her shoulders except two strong hands with a gentle squeeze. She
thought her heart would explode when a shiver of panic swept
through her.

“So, kid, your prayers were answered and you
got your rain.”

When did the room stop tilting and her breath
return?

“I’m glad for you and the other farmers,” she
heard the sincerity in his voice.

Was her secret safe or was he toying with
her?

“I hated getting caught in it though.”

What would he read in her eyes if she turned?
The scraping sound of a chair seemed amplified, grating her
nerves.

“Well I’ll be… a freshly baked pie. Mmmm,
sure smells good,” he said amicably. “I met our neighbors, nice
people like you said. Wilbur was surprised that the place was sold
but seemed happy that Sam’s children were all right. Didn’t go into
details; only told him the younger kid was staying.”