Sixty Acres and a Bride (4 page)

First impressions weren’t her strong suit.

By the time the bats were swooping in the twilight, dinner had been greedily consumed, as only outdoor laborers can, Aunt Mary no exception. Rosa watched Weston stretch his long legs out along the edge of the porch, where he and Uncle George sat, and lean against the support beam with fingers laced behind his head.

He sighed.

“I haven’t had cobbler like that for years. That wouldn’t be Aunt Louise’s recipe, would it?” He looked toward the ladies in the rocking chairs.

Rosa swept the crumbs from her worn skirt. “It is. It’s the only dessert she’s taught me, so far.”

“Well, she’s a good teacher.”

Aunt Mary got out of her rocker and gathered the dirty dishes but wouldn’t let Rosa follow.

“No, you sit down, young lady.” Aunt Mary motioned through the window for her girls and handed the stack through the doorway. “Susannah and Ida will clean up. Are you going back to Palmetto tonight, Weston? I’m afraid we don’t have any spare beds in the house.”

“The barn’s fine. Been sleeping outside for weeks now and don’t mind it a bit. If y’all are going to start shearing at dawn, I don’t relish a long ride home and back.”

“Then, George, why don’t you grab the lantern and come with me? I’d feel a heap better about Wes holing up in the haymow if we’d chase the spiders out first. I think some new ones moved in since you visited last.” Her smile showed that she clearly enjoyed teasing her nephew.

Rosa watched the older couple take the lantern and swing it in wide arches through the dark yard. Uncle George was lucky to have a helpmate like Aunt Mary. In fact, they were all lucky to have each other. Their kinship consisted of layers and layers of affection and respect—like the corn husks wrapped around a tamale. How could Eli and Louise have ever left this place?

With a groan Weston leaned, reaching off the porch, and snagged a stick. When she looked again he was producing long curls of bark with a short knife.

“It was nice of you to lend them a hand this week,” he said.

She drummed her fingers against the arms of her rocker. Watching him whittle brought back bittersweet memories that she’d rather not examine. She cleared her throat. “I haven’t been much help, I’m afraid. Aunt Mary offered to pay me, but I can’t accept. It took me most of the morning to learn what I was doing, and this afternoon . . . well, you saw how successful I was.”

What was he carving? Would he whittle the stick down to a small cross, bore a hole through it, and hang it on a leather thong? She shook her head. He wasn’t Mack.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For not telling them about the sheep accident. Samuel and Tuck would have it spread countywide by daybreak. I have enough trouble fitting in already.”

He waved her thanks away with the bare stick. “You had the situation under control. Considering you just rolled into town and still have the taming of that homestead ahead of you, I can’t believe you have time to do more. We appreciate the help.”

“I’ll take any paying work that comes my way. I don’t know if we’ll be able to live on our crops alone this year.” Louise wouldn’t think that was ladylike at all, discussing finances, but this man seemed to appreciate a sensible conversation.

Another chip, shorter and thicker, sprang from his blade. “Aunt Mary told me about the fix you’re in. I wish I could promise that it’ll be all right. I mean, you’re family, and we take care of family. . . .” His voice dried up and cracked like the thirsty ground. He swallowed hard and finished. “At least we try.”

He squirmed on the hard porch a moment, laid aside his whittling, and then became very still. As if gathering his courage he declared, “And we will try. Mrs. Garner, if you’re looking for work, let me know. We’ll figure out a way to keep you employed on Garner land. If you stay here, we’ll make sure you aren’t harassed, but a young lady like yourself could run into trouble elsewhere. Can you promise me that you won’t work on another farm? It’d put my mind at ease.”

She stopped rocking to study him again. He’d wasted no time establishing the boundaries in his territory, but to be fair, it was his territory. She was the newcomer. She’d judged him correctly from the first. He was no ordinary cowboy. He was a man who brought peace and order to his surroundings and possibly wrath on those who disturbed that peace. It was easy to see how he’d earned the respect of the community.

“Mr. Bradford asked me to embroider on some linens he sells at his store—pillowcases, tablecloths, and the like. He noticed the handwork on my blouse when we first arrived at the mercantile.”

“Mr. Bradford is a fine Christian man. You won’t have any trouble from him. I’m more concerned with your working with a group of cowboys.”

“Then I appreciate the warning. I won’t hire out anywhere else.” Her rocker creaked as she resumed the movement. “Louise was right. You feel that the whole family is your responsibility.”

Weston shook his head. She heard him bump against the post as he shifted his weight. “You’ve got the wrong idea. Aunt Mary told me all that you’ve done for your mother-in-law. How you left your father and mother and your homeland and came to live with people you didn’t know. That was brave. What I’m doing is nothing compared to the risks you’ve taken.”

“But still, I can see why people speak so highly of you.” To her surprise, his expression couldn’t have been more stunned if she’d slapped him.

He took a shaky breath. “Please don’t think too much of me. God knows I’m not that strong. I’m afraid your second-hand opinion won’t hold up to first-hand knowledge.”

A chill wind swept the porch, heralding a storm to come. Rosa watched as the stars dimmed on the horizon, obscured by an approaching herd of clouds. In the last glimmer of evening light, he looked uneasy. Why? Yet the uncertainty was real, and he didn’t seem capable of false modesty. If he was confessing a weakness, she had no choice but to believe that he was involved in a struggle of great magnitude. A struggle she couldn’t trivialize.

With his face turned toward the pasture, he sighed as the grass began to whip in the breeze. He didn’t seem to notice the tall stalks bending double under the hand of the rising wind. Where was he? If she had to guess, she’d say it was a place he’d been often—a place full of memories and pain.

Weston might be wealthy and influential, but she still saw the wayward stranger that had stumbled across her path. She didn’t think it was arrogance that kept him distant. It was fear.

Rosa desperately wanted to leave the rocking chair, wrap her arms around him, and hold him like she would any hurt child, but he wasn’t a child, and he wasn’t hers. She would ask God to comfort him and strengthen him to be the man she’d heard tell of. That was all she could do. But it was everything.

W
HY WAS THIS MAN
so hard to track down? If Molly Lovelace had known she’d be traveling out to George and Mary Garner’s today, she would have worn light muslin. Her fitted afternoon gown was already uncomfortable. Of course, riding shotgun in her father’s lumber wagon wasn’t exactly a luxury either.

Just another feat in the long series she’d performed to win a man who had her parents’ approval. This man in particular. Finding a husband wasn’t that difficult if a girl lowered her standards, but Mother and Father expected more. And if he had to be rich, he might as well be handsome.

She ran her finger under the high ruffled collar to keep it from rubbing as they pulled up to the house. Taking off work and catching a ride home hadn’t been easy, but Weston hadn’t seen her since he’d taken his herd up the trail, and she hated to deprive him any longer. He might forget how badly he needed her.

“Nice of you to call on Mrs. Mary.” The driver let a stream of tobacco fly. “Y’all ain’t exactly cut out of the same cloth.”

“You’re right. I’d much rather visit your family. How did the dress turn out for your wife?”

The man flashed her a toothless grin. “Right purty. That gown of yours makes her look like a young thing again. As purty as her wedding day.”

Wedding day. Even the driver’s wife had had one.

Molly stopped fiddling with her collar and mustered all the dignity a woman riding with two-by-twelves could find. The rumors better be right. If Weston wasn’t here, she’d be spending a long morning alone with cantankerous Mary.

After the wagon rolled to a stop, she climbed out unaided and removed her bonnet. A quick touch to her topknot and the wisps of blond hair framing her face and she was ready for presentation. Now, where was he? Knowing Weston wouldn’t be in the house, Molly turned to the barn, pleased to hear his voice. Although she couldn’t make out specific words at first, she recognized the timbre, low and calm. He was murmuring, soothing the animals, no doubt.

“Mmm, good girl. That’s how you do it. Don’t be afraid to come a little closer.”

One last touch to her hair, the production of the perfect smile, and she walked through the open barn doors on the newly swept floor. Sure enough, there he was.

Weston was kneeling, holding a sheep of some kind on its back, and on her knees with her forehead almost touching Weston’s was that Mexican woman, Rosa.

Molly gasped. Weston glanced her way but quickly returned his focus to the shears Rosa wielded.

“That’s right. The closer you can cut it the better. Whoa, girl, easy there. I’ve got you. Nothing to be afraid of.”

Molly’s arms dropped to her sides. Were the endearments meant for the woman or the sheep? She couldn’t be sure. Both Rosa and the ewe trembled. Rosa continued to work the giant scissorlike tool with her face turned from Molly. One look at the outlandish getup and Molly knew it was Rosa, all right. No one else would wear those bright, loose clothes.

“I hope I’m not disturbing anything.” Molly tried to sound sweet, but Rosa jumped at her voice, and the shears clattered to the floor.

“You weren’t until now,” the deep voice replied. Keeping his hold on the animal, Weston rose halfway and then settled down a little closer to Rosa. “Keep going. You’re doing fine.”

“I think I nicked her.” Rosa wrung her shaking hands. Seeing Molly, she adjusted the wide collar of her blouse.

Oh, the floozy. Now she’s worried about her gaping neckline?

Weston ignored Molly and drew Rosa’s attention back to their task. “The ewe was startled and moved. It’s not your fault. I’ll hold her still so you can finish.”

Picking up the shears, Rosa stretched as far as the tool would allow. Still, Molly thought she was closer to Weston than necessary. Suddenly, the beast sprang up, leaving its fleece on the floor, its naked hide an unappetizing gray.

The animal barreled toward her. Throwing her arms across her face, Molly shrieked and ran out of the doorway, only stopping when she bumped into the rain barrel.

“Are you all right?” Rosa came to her side immediately.

“Yes, thank you.” Molly opened her eyes, disappointed there was no other savior inquiring after her safety. “I must have looked very foolish running from a sheep.”

Rosa smiled. “You’d look even worse if you didn’t. Believe me.”

The rest of the day was excruciating. Having no inclination for shearing, Molly sat on a crate and watched Rosa and Weston at work. She braided Susannah’s hair and then Ida’s, played with the kittens, anything to pass the time, but her comments directed at the shearers only earned responses from Rosa.

Already determined she wouldn’t leave the ranch without Rosa, Molly strained her eyes at the empty road and waited for the lumber wagon to appear on its way back to the mill. The sooner she got them separated the better. Weston’s deep lullaby wrung her heart, and she wasn’t nestled against him like Rosa managed to be. Giving an attempt with the shears crossed her mind, but it was impossible. Her gown was so tight she wouldn’t be able to bend over without fainting.

Molly’s mouth quirked. Fainting? Could that work?

“There you go,” Weston said. “Oops, you missed a spot.” He pinned the sheep with his knee. “Don’t be afraid to scoot a little closer. You aren’t going to hurt anything.”

He meant scoot closer to the stupid animal!
Molly wanted to shout, for Rosa misunderstood. She shifted until she was leaning over his lap to reach the difficult spot. Just as Molly located a pile of hay to faint into, she saw a look of horror cross Weston’s face.

Wait. There was hope.

He jerked his hands off the ewe and fell back on his heels, leaning as far away from the woman as possible. The sheep scrambled up with her fleece dangling from her back.

“You let her go?” Rosa asked.

“Yes. No.” Weston took the shears from Rosa and cornered the animal. With a few quick snips the fleece was removed, leaving a jagged tuft of wool along her spine.

“Do you want me to tidy that?” Rosa asked from the floor.

“No.” Weston wiped his hands on his pant legs. He seemed to be searching the rafters for something. “Aren’t you getting tired? Miss Lovelace has waited all day for a visit. Maybe you should entertain her.”

Molly hopped off her crate. “I could see you home, Rosa. No need to wait for the wagon.”

Weston gave her a look of gratitude that made the whole day worth it. Yes, there was hope.

Rosa hated to leave Aunt Mary’s before they finished shearing, but Weston had paid her the full amount and sent her on her way. He’d insisted. Just as well. Working in close proximity to him had tried her nerves. She’d gotten so wrapped up in her task, she hadn’t noticed how close she’d gotten to him until a whiff of peppermint reminded her. For a man who wanted to keep his distance, he sure looked good close up. To make matters worse, Molly and her eagle eyes hadn’t missed a thing.

But Molly didn’t seem to hold a grudge. She gaily chatted about everything and nothing as they strolled, leaving Rosa alone with her thoughts.

Rosa noticed the approaching buckboard first. The driver’s features were mostly hidden by his large felt hat. He was dressed like the city men in San Antonio, not the local cowboys. She didn’t recognize the woman at his side, either. With her chin down, her face was completely obscured by the long-slatted bonnet.

Molly stopped. “Oh, it’s the Tillertons. Have you met them yet?”

Rosa shook her head.

“He’s nice enough, but his wife is an odd bird. Not very friendly.”

Mr. Tillerton saw the women and his blond moustache stretched with his lengthy smile. “Good day to you, Miss Lovelace.” He tipped his hat and looked cheerfully puzzled. “It’s not often I encounter ladies on foot in this neck of the woods. Do you need assistance?”

“No, we’re fine, but allow me to introduce Rosa Garner. Rosa, Jay and Anne Tillerton.”

He tipped his hat, as was proper, but his eyes lingered overlong, which was not. Yet it was understandable considering the circumstances. Rosa certainly didn’t look like a Garner.

His wife looked up just long enough for Rosa to make out a young face hidden in the shadows of her bonnet. No smile. No scowl. Just an accounting of her surroundings before she retreated to the sanctuary of her own company.

“Another Garner? From where do you hail, if I might ask?”

“From our place, the sixty acres just to the north of the crossing,” Rosa replied.

His eyes darted behind them as if he could see the farm through the foliage. “Don’t tell me you’re my neighbors! You’re the Garners that left for Mexico?”

Neighbors? She thought Mary’s was the closest farm. “Yes, sir. I married Mack—Eli and Louise’s son.”

“Welcome home, welcome home. That place gives such an aura of family. It was an absolute shame to see it vacant, but now you’ve returned to fill it with love and laughter.” The man rattled off the niceties effortlessly.

“I don’t know about that.” Molly shook her head and produced a perfect pout. “Eli died in Mexico, and so did Mack. Meanwhile, their renters here skipped town and stopped paying the taxes a couple of years ago. Now it’s up to Louise and Rosa to come up with the back taxes before August.”

Rosa’s mouth dropped open. Did Molly have to tell him everything she knew?

“My goodness!” His hand covered his heart. “May I offer my sincere condolences and well wishes for your future. Please don’t hesitate to ask for assistance. We’re just over the fencerow. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my wife has been under the weather lately. The doctor has prescribed rest, and that’s what I intend to provide.”

The young lady must have felt unwell indeed, for she did not respond in word or gesture, much to Rosa’s disappointment. She dearly hoped Mrs. Tillerton’s odd behavior was due to her illness. What good would a neighbor be if she wouldn’t even acknowledge them?

“What did Dr. Trench diagnose?” Molly asked.

“Dr. Trench? Yes, you probably talk to Dr. Trench, don’t you?” He picked up the reins again. The horses startled a bit at his touch. “Dr. Trench wasn’t available, but we were advised that it could be contagious. She needs seclusion, but don’t you fear, Mrs. Garner. You won’t lack for companionship. Before the week is out, I’ll come pay a visit. Anne’s illness won’t keep me quarantined.” The man gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher, but it reminded her of the men who’d watched her unload the wagon.

With another tip of his hat he urged the horses forward, and the wagon disappeared down the shady decline toward the creek.

“Mr. Tillerton’s a pleasant fellow. Like he said, you can call on him if you need something. You don’t need to traipse all the way to George’s or Weston’s for help.” Molly’s smile brightened even more. “There’s my wagon. I suppose you can cross the creek alone?”

Rosa nodded. “You really didn’t need to walk with me.”

“Nonsense, I’m happy to see you closer to home.”

And Rosa believed her.