Someone Like You (6 page)

“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Violette whispered back, adamant. “I’ve already hired him.”

“Then unhire him!” Dahlia said. “I won’t set foot on the farm until you do.”

“Suit yourself,” Violette said. “The farm is, after all, mine.”

“I only hope,” Dahlia went on to say, raising her eyes piously toward heaven, “that you never find yourself unwanted by your own flesh and blood, cast out among the heathen swine. Life is hard enough without a woman’s own sister tossing her out on her ear.”

Susannah opened her mouth. “But—”

“I won’t be swayed,” Violette said, holding up her hand for emphasis. “Not by anyone.”

“But why?” Susannah asked.

“I have my reasons,” Violette replied. “Perhaps you will understand one day.”

“I will never understand,” Dahlia said quickly.

“Oh fiddle, Dally Bradford. Sometimes I think you are the most irritating woman. The two of you will simply have to trust me on this. Now take me to the mercantile so I can get my knitting needles.”

“So you can stab us with them,” Dahlia said so sourly that Susannah was instantly humored. Her spirits may have lifted, but she was still shocked. Once she and her aunts were inside the mercantile, Susannah glanced out the window and noticed that Reed Garrett was leading his roan toward the parked wagon. After tying his horse, he leaned against the wagon and crossed his legs at the ankles.

Let him wait! Served him right if he had to stand there a year and a day.
Susannah began to order the things on her list. When they returned to the wagon, Reed jumped to their assistance, grabbing parcels right and left, then loading them.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Garrett,” Violette said. “I do believe I’m going to like having you around.”

“I won’t.” Dahlia snatched her parcels from Reed. “I can carry my own, thank you. I’ve been doing it for almost sixty years.”

“You’ve been in a bad mood for sixty years, too, but that’s nothing to crow about.”

Dahlia was outraged. “Honestly, Violette, I think you would like a case of the plague if it had a handsome countenance.”

Violette ignored her and held out her hand. “I’m Violette Wakefield. This is my niece, Susannah Jane Dowell. The sourpuss is my sister, Dahlia Bradford.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Reed said. “I guess you heard that my name is Reed Garrett.”

Violette laughed. “The whole town heard,” she said as she climbed into the wagon, then patted Susannah on the knee. “I think it will be quite nice having a man living on the farm again,” she said cheerfully. “Don’t you agree?”

Susannah shook her head. “I don’t know. I have a very uneasy feeling about this.” She neither looked at Reed nor bothered to lower her tone.

“Well, come along, Mr. Garrett,” Violette said. “We’d best be heading home before we get into mischief. We need to have you settled in before dark.”

Reed adjusted his saddle, letting the stirrups out. Curly was a bandy-legged fellow, and he’d hitched the stirrups up as far as they’d go. When he finished, he heaved himself into the saddle.

As they headed out of town, Reed rode behind the wagon, giving the three women time to discuss him in depth. His ears certainly were burning. Not that he could blame them. Women living alone couldn’t be too careful. He was mighty beholden to them for all they had done.

His gaze went to the back of the one called Dahlia. Thin-nosed and hardheaded, she was going to be difficult to win over. Her sister, Violette, had a face as warm and open as a sunflower. He knew she was as wise as she was considerate, the milk of human kindness flowing through her veins. The one they called Susannah—well, she was hard to get a handle on. Studying her rigid posture, obstinacy was a word that sprang to mind. Did she ever laugh?

He rode along, listening to the soft murmur of the women’s voices, the creak of a wagon wheel, the hollow ring of hooves striking hard ground, and the distant rumble of thunder.

He looked up at the sky and saw nothing but blue dotted with an occasional white puffy cloud. That blow he’d taken must have raided his brains, because, he realized, that wasn’t thunder he heard. It was his stomach rumbling.

After a while, when it seemed the ladies had tired themselves out talking about him, he urged his mount forward until he was riding next to them. Dahlia gave him an unwelcome look. Violette smiled warmly. Susannah stared right through him as if he were as thin as air. He smiled inwardly at that thought. If he didn’t eat, and eat soon, he just might be.

Chapter Four

The drifter was riding on the side closest to Aunt Violette, which did not bother Susannah in the least. It simply made it easier to ignore him, but he did not take much notice, since it was Aunt Violette to whom he directed all his conversation.

Susannah found that irritating. How dare he ignore the fact that she was ignoring him? When she ignored someone, she wanted them to be aware of it; otherwise, what was the point in going to all that trouble?

“Thank you for coming to my aid back there,” he said.

“Thank you for the bald-faced lie, you mean,” Dahlia said.

Aunt Violette ignored her sister—something she did regularly—telling Reed, “The offer was sincere.”

Upon hearing those words, Dahlia gasped and fell back against the wagon seat, fanning herself furiously. The sudden movement jolted her straw hat, which slid down over her eyes.

“Is she all right?” Reed asked.

Violette nodded. “She’ll outlive all of us.”

Susannah wasn’t really listening to any of this. She was still stuck a few words back. Sincere? What was Aunt Violette thinking? She really meant to hire this man? A man who looked like him? What would they do with him? Hang him up for an ornament? He probably didn’t know the first thing about farming—or anything else, for that matter. Well, she would take that back. He probably knew a lot about preying on innocent young ladies. She would bet her Sunday-go-to-meeting dress that he was, just as she’d first suspected, one of those traveling men who went around the country taking advantage of unsuspecting women, leaving a string of broken hearts and a few babies behind.

A traveling man. Not much to recommend him as far as she could see, but the farm was, as Aunt Violette said, hers, and that meant she was free to do as she pleased, although that was a right she rarely exercised. So why did she choose to exercise it now?

“You’re really offering me a job?” Reed asked, his odd Yankee accent sounding horribly foreign to Susannah.

“Like I said, the offer was sincere. You’ve got a job if you want it,” Aunt Violette said.

Susannah groaned.

His gaze swept past her aunts as he looked her directly in the eye. Susannah felt uncomfortable at his boldness. He continued to stare for a moment, then turned to Violette. “I’m mighty beholden to you for a job, ma’am. I don’t mind telling you I need work.”

Susannah snorted.

He looked right at her and said, “I am beholden to all of you for this job. I hope that I can find some way to express my gratitude.”

Dahlia had her hat perched in its proper spot. “We appreciate your gratitude, Mr. Garrett, but bear in mind one thing. We are giving you a job, and that’s all we’re giving you.”

He smiled.

Susannah did not know why he bothered her. He was pleasant enough and not bad looking. His manners were beyond reproach. It occurred to her that that might be what annoyed her. Two and two didn’t add up. He passed himself off as one thing, but everything about him said he was something else. Fact was, not in any shape, form, or fashion was he like any other hired hand she’d ever seen. Naturally that made her suspicious, and if there was anything Susannah wasn’t when she was suspicious, it was friendly.

“Just how long are you planning on staying?” she asked.

“For as long as your aunt needs me, which I hope will be until the end of the season. At any rate, I don’t plan on leaving here until I get back everything that belongs to me.”

Dahlia stopped fanning herself long enough to say, “He’ll cause trouble. I know it. I knew he was a troublemaker the moment I saw him.”

“Are you a troublemaker, Mr. Garrett?” Violette asked.

Susannah knew Violette was being facetious, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to clap her hand over her aunt’s overactive mouth.

“I guess you could say I avoid trouble, but I don’t run from it. I’m not like those hands from the Double T, if that’s what you’re asking. A man can use his brains or his brawn to get what he wants. I prefer the former.”

“An educated troublemaker! Lord help us!” Dahlia said, and began fanning herself in earnest. When that proved ineffectual, she gave a fairly credible imitation of a swoon.

She was ignored, of course, and Susannah felt a twinge of pity for her eccentric old aunt. No one ever took the time to scratch Daily’s exterior to see the sterling qualities beneath—tarnished though they might be.

“If getting your belongings back is the only thing keeping you here, you might as well leave right now,” Susannah said. “Old Triad Trahern, who owns the Double T, thinks he runs things in these parts, and that usually means Double T hands take what they want and—”

Violette interrupted. “That’s not entirely true, Susannah. They don’t always get what they want. If you’ll remember, Thad’s son, Tate, has been wanting you for years.”

Dahlia made a remarkable recovery in time to add, “And he isn’t any closer to getting her now than he was eight years ago.”

Reed, leaning low over the saddle, watched Susannah. His arms rested on the saddle horn.

Susannah wanted to look away but felt as if she were being hypnotized and drawn into those dark-gray eyes of his. She felt paralyzed, unable to break away—either from him or the rampant rush of feeling he inspired.

Violette spoke up, easing things a bit. “You’re welcome to tie your horse behind the wagon and ride with us.”

“I’ll just follow along right here, if you don’t mind,” he said.

“Suit yourself,” Violette said. “You’re welcome to ride wherever you like.”

Susannah didn’t wait for any more polite conversation. She slapped the horse with the reins harder than usual, and that caused the gentle mare to leap forward. The sudden motion sent Susannah’s bonnet flying off her head, but she paid it no mind. She would rather make another bonnet than stop the wagon and go back and retrieve it with Reed watching.

A few moments later Reed rode up beside Susannah, holding something out to her. “Your hat, ma’am.”

She snatched it from his hand and wedged it beneath her skirts. “Mr. Garrett, you may dispense with the attempt at sounding Southern—badly done, I have to tell you. I am certain that in whatever part of the North you hail from it isn’t customary to say ‘ma’am’. For all your Yankee cleverness, it seems you haven’t realized that while Southern women are gentle and accommodating, they are neither weak nor gullible.” She slapped the mare again, and the wagon pulled ahead, removing Reed Garrett from her sight. But it did not leave behind the sound of his laughter, which seemed to follow for far too long.

Violette took Reed’s hand as she alighted from the wagon and said to Susannah, “I’ll show Mr. Garrett the place out back. Why don’t you and Dally go over to the house and round up a few things to make Reed comfortable? He’ll need linens and such.”

Violette hadn’t known Reed long, but she was considered a good judge of men and horseflesh. She was willing to wager that he wanted to ask a favor of her but was hesitant to do so in front of her sister and niece. Her heart went out to him. He was down on his luck and it touched her. “Before they go on up to the house, is there anything you can think of that you’ll be needing, anything I didn’t mention?” she asked quietly in the kindest tone she could muster, knowing that he would accept kindness but not pity.

He shrugged, his glance darting to Dahlia and Susannah. Violette could almost see the knot of embarrassment she knew was forming in his throat. “It’s all right, Mr. Garrett, you are among friends, and I can assure you that anything you get, you will work for. It isn’t charity.”

“Thank you. If you wouldn’t mind…if it isn’t too much trouble, I’d sure be appreciative of a little something to eat.”

Violette slapped her forehead. Poor man. She hadn’t meant to strip him of all his dignity. “Lord save me for an idiot! Of course you would. And didn’t I sit there big as a bump on a pickle and hear you tell the sheriff you took a bite of that pie because you were hungry? Please forgive my oversight, Mr. Garrett.” She turned to Susannah. “Will you—”

Susannah looked completely ashamed of herself, and Vi was happy to see her niece hadn’t lost her kind streak after all. “I’ll bring some of that fried chicken and a couple of roasting ears. I think there are a few leftover biscuits, too.”

“I’d appreciate it,” he said. “I’m sorry to put you to all that trouble.”

Susannah nodded. “It’s no trouble, Mr. Garrett, I assure you. There is nothing embarrassing about being hungry. It is an honest feeling and a saintly one.”

Susannah gave Violette a knowing smile, then took Dahlia’s arm, and started toward the house.

“I really am sorry to put you to so much trouble,” Reed said.

“It’s our pleasure, believe me. I apologize for Dahlia. Sometimes my sister is such a fusspot. She’s an old maid, you know.”

Reed chuckled. “You aren’t sizing me up for the job of changing her station in life, are you?”

“I offered you a job to help you out. I didn’t bring you here to torture you, Mr. Garrett.”

“You don’t think my staying here will be a problem with any of the folks in town, do you?”

Violette was liking him better and better. “No one in town will—well, there is one person who might mind, but he’s no one to worry about.”

“Who might that be?”

“A fellow by the name of Tate Trahern. I believe you heard the sheriff and me mention him. He’s old Thad Trahern’s son and the only heir to the Double T, which is the largest ranch in these parts. As I said before, Tate has been sweet on Susannah for as long as I can remember, not that it’s done him any good. Susannah doesn’t pay him any mind.”

He looked in the direction Susannah and Dahlia had taken. “She doesn’t appear to pay anyone any mind.”

Violette followed his gaze, but Susannah was already in the house. “It is difficult to keep a cracked kettle from leaking now and then,” she murmured.

Puzzled, he finally said, “Well, I hate to think I’m the cause of anyone being angry at her.”

“Tate won’t stay mad at Susannah for long. She’s the only thing he’s ever wanted that he can’t have. He won’t risk making her mad at him. And if he does, he can just take himself off and scratch his mad place.”

“You’re a nice person, Mrs. Wakefield.”

“So are you, Mr. Garrett. You aren’t married, are you?”

“No. Why? Are you interested?”

She laughed. “I would be, Mr. Garrett, if I were thirty years younger.”

Over the next week Reed learned many things, not the least of which were that Dahlia and Violette seemed to live to disagree, and that their parents must have loved flowers, or, at least, horticultural names.

The plow horse was Rosebud; the milk cow, Peony; the pet goose, Daffodil, or as Susannah had told him, “more appropriately called Daffy”.

When he had asked why, Susannah merely smiled and said, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

But it was the name bestowed on the fat old sow with thirteen piglets that brought the biggest smile to his lips. Who would ever think of giving a pig such a dignified name as Miss Lavender?

Reed was in the barn loft, storing hay that had been curing in the pasture, and, as if she knew he was thinking about her, Miss Lavender let out a loud squeal, followed by several grunts issued in rapid succession. Hearing the ruckus, he moved to the door where the pulley hung. He looked outside. Miss Lavender had quieted down somewhat, but he didn’t know for how long, since Dahlia’s cat, Parsnip, was watching her from a fence post not too many feet away. Tormenting Miss Lavender was a favorite pastime of Parsnip’s.

The back door slammed, and Reed looked up to watch the leisurely progress of Violette and Dahlia down the back steps. They ambled along the path arm in arm, making a stop here and there to admire a butterfly or smell the fragrance of the snowy white blooms of the rosebushes that wound through the rails of the picket fence. Their tall frames seemed somehow regal to Reed. As he watched them, their silver heads bent in conversation like conspirators, he wondered what they were talking about. At these rare moments when they’d called a truce, they seemed as happy as a pair of nesting birds. How alike they were. How different.

Violette was as cheerful and sunny as Dahlia was gloomy and somber. And yet, in spite of their differences, their disagreements, there were times when they would disappear together, often to go walking, arm in arm, as they were now. Were they remembering the way things used to be? Reminiscing about the past? He couldn’t help but think that they must have been quite the rage in their day, beauties, both of them, and wondered why Dahlia had never married. As the two sisters passed beneath the open doorway where he stood, he saw that both had tucked white roses in the buttonholes of their dresses.

He was distracted for a moment by the flapping of wings. He looked out just in time to see Daffy scurrying across the barnyard in hot pursuit of Susannah’s aunts. Unable to run very fast, Daffy flapped her wings to help her along and was gaining momentum when she miscalculated and slammed into the picket fence that ran around the perimeter of the backyard. Feathers flew everywhere.

Daffodil honked once and picked herself up. She waddled around a bit in a dazed, drunken manner. Watching Daffy stumble over her own webbed feet, Reed remembered Susannah’s words and chuckled.