Plots and Pans (19 page)

Thankfully, Tucker gained a reprieve. Miss Desta told him she and Jessalyn would be working in the garden today. He half suspected the housekeeper-turned-aunt intentionally arranged to keep her niece out of his hair for a day. As soon as he could figure out a way, he’d thank her for it—then ask her to do it on a regular basis.

With the troublemaker neatly tucked away, he went to check on Burt’s progress with the lollygagging windmill. The horse grazing nearby bore the distinctive markings of Jess’s beloved Appaloosa, but it didn’t worry him. With the exception of unbroken mounts, the men were allowed to use any horse in the stables. So Tucker’s first thought centered around changing that policy. The men needed to be warned that Morning Glory served as Jess’s personal mount so they didn’t take out an inexperienced pony.

He never made it beyond that first thought. The sight of her split-skirted derriere ascending the windmill ladder had his heart stuttering too fast and too loud to let him breathe properly, much less think straight. Besides, why should he think straight when everyone else on the Bar None abandoned the practice?

“Stop!” Tucker hollered the second he worked enough air into his lungs. “Do not look down. Do not turn. Do not keep climbing or try descending. Don’t move a muscle.”

She heard him because she paused for a beat with her hand midair before reaching for the next rung. Tucker figured he’d have to allow that because he wanted her to be as stable as possible, and that meant gripping the ladder in as many ways as she could. It didn’t count as disobedience, he decided as he jumped from the saddle and ran the last few steps.

But
that
does
. In the time it took Burt to scramble out of Tucker’s way, Jessalyn moved up the ladder. Tucker knew because he heard the soft clang of her heel against the metal and felt the accompanying vibration right down to his gritted-down teeth.

He grabbed the ladder and roared, “I told you not to climb any more!”

“You also said not to look down,” she called, looking down at him. “Or to descend. Since you left no other options than to cling to this ladder until Kingdom Come, I disregarded the order.”

“You don’t get to disregard an order because you think it doesn’t leave you enough options,” he seethed, slowly ascending. He went slowly because he didn’t want his shifting weight to vibrate through the metal and disorient her. “And I don’t want you getting dizzy. Stop looking down.”

“Burt?” She kept looking down. “Would you mind taking the poultice from Morning Glory’s saddlebag and running it over to Cookie? I planned to get back earlier, and I don’t want him to be uncomfortable.”

“Er … Boss?” Burt’s uncertainty brought to mind a man scratching his head, but Tucker kept his attention fixed forward.

“And we don’t want dinner to suffer either.” Jessalyn’s final prompting had the man scrambling to do as bid. Hooves thundered away from the scene by the time Tucker could touch the bottom of her boots.

He stopped, not sure what to do now that he’d gotten there. It wasn’t as though carrying her down would be any safer than letting her do it under her own steam. Suddenly he was glad she’d sent Burt away. Tucker didn’t need a witness to his foolishness.

“Well?” Jessalyn peered down at him.

“Well?” He looked up at her.

“I believe we’ve reached an impasse,” she ventured, scraping one boot across the rung and lifting it to the next.

“That doesn’t mean you keep going up!” He kept himself from grabbing her ankle, fearing he’d startle her.

“You’ve made it so I can’t go down.” Jessalyn tensed for the next step. “If you’re afraid of heights, I won’t tell anyone. Burt can’t hear us. You can just work your way back down, and I’ll be fine.”

“Afraid of heights?” he echoed in disbelief. “No, I’m not afraid of heights. That’s foolishness. I scale these things most every week.”

“Then why all the carrying-on?” She made an
I’m disgusted
sound in the back of her throat.

“Plenty of men start climbing, thinking it’s fine. Then they look down and get dizzy. Their hands turn clammy. They freeze up or start to shake, and sometimes they fall.” Tucker pushed back memories of digging a grave the one and only time he’d seen this happen. Since then he’d instituted a blanket policy at the Bar None.

He rode out with every hire then put him through the paces. He’d have the man climb halfway, practice checking for wasps, then come back down. If the man had no problems, he could go all the way up, grease the mill, and come back down. He found out real quick if the man went wobbly-kneed, forgot to check for wasps, or was otherwise unfit for duty.

“Not me. Stop worrying.” With that, Jessalyn resumed climbing.

Fear, cold and unreasoning, pierced him. “I do this all the time,” he burst out, following her upward. “You don’t. And those skirts of yours could easily get tangled or throw off your balance. It’s not safe.”

She pshawed and kept going. He shadowed her, keeping a few rungs between them so he didn’t crowd her, until they reached the top. Jessalyn ducked beneath the wheel blades then edged to the end of the platform to make room for him.

He sent up snatches of prayer—gratitude for the iron railing he’d insisted be installed around the platform. Thanks that the rod holding the wheel still against the wind looked unlikely to give way. Hope that he’d get Jessalyn back down the infernal ladder in one piece.

But until then, he’d give her a piece of his mind. He glared at her, but she didn’t even notice. Hands braced against the railing—which was a foolish thing to do, considering she didn’t know he had the thing regularly inspected—she looked out across the land.

A smile played about her lips; her shoulders rose and slowly lowered as she drew a deep breath. What might have been a gentle breeze on the ground moved faster up here, with enough force to lift the tip of her braid. Jessalyn just drank it all in.

I’ll wait until she turns around
, he decided, loathe to interrupt her delight.
A few more moments won’t make any difference now that we’re up here, so might as well let her enjoy the view
.

For the first time in many months, he found himself enjoying it. Part of that was the basic appreciation for a beautiful woman, no matter how infuriating he found her. But more than that, her love of the land made him recall his own. If nothing else came of this episode—aside from wrangling her promise not to scurry up any more windmills—she’d reminded him to look around with the eyes to see and appreciate God’s handiwork.

When she finally spoke, the wind snatched the words from her lips and carried them to his ears. “You know, it used to drive Mama half mad when Papa took me along to the windmills. He started before I could even walk, you know.”

Now that his heart beat at a normal rate again, Tucker’s tension eased. Memories were a part of grieving someone. Sometimes they hurt, sometimes they healed, but they all helped loved ones hold on. How could he yell at her when she was talking about her papa?
Especially when I had a hand in creating the condition that killed him …
Guilt clutched him, keeping his words short.

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“He did the same thing with Ed. Mama didn’t feel well a lot of the time, so Papa took us with him more often than you’d think. He said no child of his needed a wooden rocking horse when the rocking motion of a real one calmed babies better than anything. Papa lashed together a sort of holder, cobbled together out of bits of old harnesses. He slung it over his shoulders, plunked us down to sit against his chest, and would go riding. Lucky thing Papa was tall with long arms.” She flashed him a sideways glance and grin.

Tucker grinned back, charmed in spite of himself at the picture her words painted. He still thought women and children shouldn’t be toted up high ladders, but a bigger part ached at the silvery tracks glistening on her cheeks.

He tried to help her hold on to the good part of the feelings. “Yeah. Simon always said people learned by doing, and he made sure everyone on the ranch lived that out.”

“Papa used to joke that if Mama wanted me to settle down for the night or a nap, she should dip the corner of a bandanna in leather polish and tuck it in the crib.” She gave a tremulous smile, wiping the evidence of her sorrow with the back of her hand. “He teased, but one of the things Mama told me during her last days was that she took his advice. Except she used his shaving lotion instead.”

As Jessalyn spoke, she rubbed her fingers along the side of the railing. Tucker imagined her wishing the motion could press her recollections into something she could hold on to. Whether she saw the past when she looked out at the horizon or the Bar None as it stood today, he didn’t know.

Reliving the past took you half out of the present. If she’d been alone up here, that would be dangerous. But he could reach out and grab her in less than an instant if something went wrong.
She can fall into her memories. I’m here to catch her
.

L
ooking out over the vista spread before her, Jessalyn fell in love with the Bar None all over again. How many canvasses had she sacrificed to abysmal watercolors that never captured the feeling of home? How many nights had she dreamt of this place, reliving cherished memories of a time when Papa went out of his way to keep her close?

Standing on the platform of the fancy new windmill, she realized she’d been more afraid to climb up here than she’d admitted to Tucker. Heights didn’t frighten her—her own doubts had.
I was afraid the reality of this place wouldn’t meet my memories
.

“I don’t remember the last time I stood here and drank in the view.” Tucker’s voice rumbled next to her, deep and reassuring.

“That’s a shame,” Jessalyn acknowledged, but didn’t follow up by saying anything more. Remembering so much left her feeling like half of her stayed stuck in the past. She wouldn’t be able to keep up with much in the way of a current conversation.

But even though she didn’t want to talk anymore and she’d wanted to swat at him like a fly when he followed her up here, bellowing orders, Jess didn’t mind sharing the view with Tucker. His ridiculous worries helped keep her from growing too maudlin. More surprisingly, his company seasoned and softened her memories. Sweet things only half remembered gained strength when she shared them, enough to ease the bitterness of loss.

“I didn’t used to think so, but you might be right.” He pivoted slightly, his shoulders turning from hers then turning back as he took in the entire panorama. “When it comes down to it, the view I remember looking at when I first got here is the same one you’re navigating by.”

The stubborn part of her still holding on to the past lifted its head. “Much remains unchanged. The pasture fences, the snaking path of the stream, the horizon line all stay the same.”

“What God paints, man isn’t big enough to alter. The landscape spraddles out the same as the first day I saw it, and probably the first day your pa saw it.” His agreement eased her defensiveness. “The only exceptions would be where we diverted some of the streams and dammed them up to make watering holes.”

She unbent enough to give him an accolade. For whatever reason, she always found it easier to offer a compliment once it wasn’t expected any longer. Contrary though it might be, at least people knew she meant what she said. “I see you’ve expanded the western drink. That must’ve taken a good bit of work since the soil gets rocky out that way.”

“We took it on in stages over two years since timing proved tricky. Too early in spring, the water load in the mud made it hard to haul and impossible to shore up in any kind of shape. Too late in the summer and it baked through.” He looked that direction, approval softening the grooves bracketing his mouth.

“Two years,” Jess echoed, hoping that would suffice.
Two years
, echoed her thoughts. He looked out over her land—part his, now, because Papa knew he earned it—and saw the results of a project years in the making.
What time or talent have I invested in the Bar None? What do I have to show for those same years? Nothing. Not a single blasted thing of any worth out here
.

Oblivious to the way her hands fisted on the railing, Tucker kept pointing things out. “The real differences are mostly from construction. The addition to the stables. The summer kitchen around the side of the mess hall. Even the windmill we’re standing on are all new.”

“Yes. I noticed the windmills.” She tapped the railing. “White woodwork, ironwork painted green, blade and vane tips bright red. Turns counterclockwise instead of normally. Very fancy rig.”

“Fancy?” He pointed at the blades. “Curved blades, not straight slats, reduce wind damage. It’s more efficient. They’re stronger, sturdier, and much safer. I can’t imagine even you would attempt climbing the old ones. Split skirts make a good choice for riding, but there’s still too much fabric to go climbing ladders.”

“Have you noticed,” she began conversationally, “that no matter what I happen to be wearing, you object? My mama’s dress was too short. Normal skirts were indecent for riding. Split skirts made you think I was a man and aren’t safe enough for ladders. Why do I think it wouldn’t make you any happier if I’d donned a pair of britches?”

His brows drew together so fast Jess almost expected to hear them crash. “Don’t be ridiculous. We agreed you’d observe proprieties.”

“When I do, you complain. I’ve followed each and every one of your guidelines, but every time I turn around you’re glaring at me. Stop hovering. You act as though I put myself in mortal danger.”

“You do!” Tucker burst out. “One second up here of not paying close attention can cost you your life. Grown men with full range of motion die every year from falling off a windmill. Vertigo, clumsiness, surprised by wasps after they build under the platform. It’s risky at best to climb so high.”

“You sound like my mother, worrying about what she couldn’t control.”

“Avoiding dangerous situations is the best way to control them, if you ask me.” Tucker huffed. “I know you used to be close to your pa, but did you ever stop to think maybe your ma was right?”