Unbroken Hearts (12 page)

    
"You have someone waiting for you,
back where you come from?" His long fingers passed over the new brass belt
buckle at his middle; it was cool and smooth.

    
"Someone?" Sarah looked into his
eyes, mouthed the words blankly, and wrinkled her brow.

    
"You know, uh, somebody you'll go
back to after you earn enough money here."
 
His eyes narrowed.

    
"Like other kin?"

    
"Yes . . . or a man who offered for
you, perhaps." He clipped the words and stiffened, as if waiting for a
punch to the stomach.

     
Didn't he know there was no going
back for her? She peered into the liquid brown of his dark eyes.
"No," she whispered. "My uncle didn't let me attend the socials,
and I . .
 
I don't interest men
much anyway," she shrugged.
No decent man wanted the orphan girl and
her sister, no, not the girls living with a drunken uncle.

    
Cal's eyebrows shot up. "Well. I
expect they were all fools or idiots," he said in a low voice. It was deep
and warm, and rough.

    
Emboldened, he moved closer and slowly
slid his sound arm across the back of the swing behind her shoulders. Sarah
shivered. Her heart hammered in her ears as his touch, voice, and manly scent
filled her senses to overflowing. She cleared her throat, pretending not to be
affected by the firm strength of his arm, which had somehow lazily flung itself
across her upper back.

    
"Sarah." He breathed her name
close to her ear like a gentle caress. "I got a notion to show you around
the ranch," he whispered hoarsely. "Roy's going up to the mining camp
to sell his pack mules tomorrow. Ned can keep Mama company." He reached
out, as if to touch a loose lock of her hair, but then pulled back.

    
Sarah was unglued. Her mind was numb, and
her body was being assaulted with new and exciting sensations. Cal continued to
gaze at her speculatively. Anxiety and frustration reflected in her wide green
eyes.

    
For Sarah, it was all she could do to look
at her hands, locked in a death drip her lap, nod her reply. She followed her
assent with an offhanded "sure, why not", as if strong dark cowboys
asked her to take rides with them all the time.

    
They heard the drum of riders approaching
and looked up. Sarah was never so grateful as she was to see Roy and Emily
loping their horses toward them in that moment. They spied her and Cal and
waved. Emily let out a war whoop, and they all laughed. Sarah, her heart still
galloping wildly, shot up from the swing in what she hoped was a graceful
motion, and ran out into the yard to greet them.

    
Cal watched her backside sway gracefully
as she rose from that swing, and he felt blood rushing to a place just below
that new belt buckle.
 

Chapter 11

    
Sarah was exhausted. The new job didn't
end when she fell into bed each night. From across the room Sarah could hear
Mrs. Easton snoring and sporadically choking. It was frightening, even though
Cal had warned her about such activities. He'd said this was 'normal for
someone in Mama's condition', but for Sarah it was a constant worry.

     
Fortunately Emily slept soundly,
unaffected by Mrs. Easton's commotions. But Sarah woke repeatedly; she'd crawl
out of bed, cross the room, and check the woman's position. If Mrs. Easton were
awake she'd give her water to drink, and prop her up again to use the bedpan.
She experimented with rolling Mrs. Easton from back to side, to be sure she
wouldn't lie in the same position all night long. If only Mrs. Easton could
tell her what she needed. She reckoned that, in time, she'd learn the woman's
desires and natural routine, but until then it was difficult and frustrating
work.

    
After she rose, dressed, and tended Mrs.
Easton, Sarah reflected on their good fortune. This was a new beginning, and
she was thankful her sister was welcomed the same as she was and thankful to
have good, honest work.

     
Sarah entered the kitchen to find
Cal and Roy making breakfast. Still unsure of the men's morning routine and her
proper role, Sarah timidly approached Roy and asked him to lift Mrs. Easton
into her wheeled chair. Roy headed off to his mother's room and Cal rose and
poured her a cup of coffee; Sarah saw the new buckle fixed to the belt that
circled his narrow hips. He'd worn it each day since his birthday.

    
Cal's eyes slid across her face as he
handed her the cup. "I meet with Bailey – he's the the ranch foreman
-- every morning. Can you get Ned settled with Mama?"

    
"Of course." She nervously
moistened her dry lips. Her eyes flashed eagerness mixed with anxiety.

    
He turned halfway and suddenly paused.
"Can you ride astride? Women here don't use fancy side saddles, and we
don't have one." He ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't thought much
about it when he'd impulsively asked her to ride with him the previous evening.

    
Sarah scanned his powerful form, clad in
tight buckskin pants and a blue checked shirt. "I can. I don't have fancy
riding clothes -- just old pants that my cousin gave me." She cast her green eyes downward.

    
"It makes no matter." Cal's eyes
darkened. Then he swiftly swung his hat onto his head and took his leave.
 

     
The smells of coffee and bacon
floated through the kitchen. Sarah sipped her coffee and basked in the rhythm
of the wakening ranch. Cal's boots sounded as he strode across the floor. The
back door slammed as he headed off to do his ranching business.

    
Roy brought Mrs. Easton into the kitchen.
He greeted Sarah, gently kissed his mama, and scooted out to string his mules
together for his trip up to the mining camp. Sarah seated herself next to Mrs.
Easton and fed her the thin porridge she'd left warming on the stove.

    
Emily wandered in, yawning and stretching
her arms high above her golden curls. She reached for the leftover biscuits,
and began spreading jam on one of them.

    
"I think Mr. Cal Easton likes his
birthday gift."
 
Pretty
dimples curved around her smile.

    
"Yes, he sure seemed surprised,
didn't he?" Sarah lifted another spoonful of the porridge. "A brass
buckle is something a man can always use."

    
"I didn't mean the buckle. I meant
you," replied Emily matter-of-factly.

    
Sarah's head shot up and thin gruel flew off
the spoon clutched in her hand, narrowly missing Mrs. Easton's chin.

    
Emily babbled on. "Roy said it looked
like Cal wanted to kiss you when we came riding up yesterday. You remember,
Sarah, when you were cozy on the porch swing?" Emily ran on like a rabbit
let out of its hutch. "You think he'll kiss you? Would you let him
–-"

    
"Emily!" Sarah shouted.

    
"Problems?" A man's voice came
from the doorway.
 

    
Cal!
 
How long had he been standing there? And Ned was with him!
Sarah's face was mortified crimson.

    
"No problem," twittered Emily.
"Good morning Ned! Are you staying with me while Sarah steps out with
Cal?"

    
Sarah wanted to flee to the pantry. Taking
care to avoid Cal's eyes, she quickly excused herself and ran to change her clothes.

    
Cheeks burning, Sarah hastily readied
herself in the room she shared with Mrs. Easton and Emily.
 
She dragged the pants and shirt from
the satchel, briskly tugged her hair back and styled it into a long thick
braid. Then Sarah donned the oversized pants, threading pieces of ribbon that
had been tied together through the loops to serve as a belt.

    
Sarah paused and looked at her image in
the mirror. She studied her reflection and was dismayed by her thinness. The
large pants and shirt rendered her figure shapeless as a boy. Her leather shoes
were in poor repair and needed of a coating of tallow grease. She threw her
hands up into the air and growled.

   
Then she thought about how she'd never been paid for work before, and
how she could save as she looked for opportunities for herself and Emily. If
all went well, she'd see to Emily's education and start her own bakery
business. Emily would have more choices for her future. With that pleasing
thought tucked in her mind she finished dressing, ran fingers over pants to
smooth out the wrinkles, and walked purposefully back to the kitchen.

    
Cal was leaning lazily against the solid
oak kitchen table. His eyes met Sarah's in an easy smile, and when he took her
hand she felt years of hard ranching in the calluses of his firm
grasp. She tried not to dwell on what he must be thinking of her own hand,
rough from so many chores, not at all the hand of a lady. But he said nothing
as he guided her out the back door, and to Sarah it seemed they floated to the
corral, where the horses were saddled and waiting.

     
Cal's massive hand and strong
forearm circled her waist in an easy motion as he helped her to mount a sturdy
grey mare. He silently mounted a black gelding, and he grinned before moving
his good arm forward to twist the leather reins in his hand.

    
Cal slapped his horse into a walk, and
Sarah's horse followed. The mounts carried them north, toward a wide-open,
sun-filled space of prairie grasses rippling gently in the wind.

   
 
After a mile Sarah relaxed
and began to enjoy herself. Riding side-by-side Cal chatted easily about many
aspects of running the ranch, such as the best grasses for grazing, where stock
would take on weight, how he kept the best stock for breeding, and driving the
cattle to market. Cal said winters were milder in this valley than the
surrounding area, but it was important to breed hardy animals and to cut and
market the herd with an eye to controlling losses during a hard winter.
 

    
When Sarah commented that the ranch seemed
to stretch forever, Cal laughed, and said that the cattle would roam over
thousands of acres. Cal spoke excitedly about his recent purchase of two pure
bred eastern bulls that he planned to put on their Texas cows, to improve the meat
quality of the herd. His voice was proud and satisfied when he talked about the
land, and he beamed when he spoke of his family's achievements.
So much to
celebrate.
And no shrubs in the Easton family tree.

    
They rode for an hour, and Cal turned the
horses toward the creek that ran through the property. They stopped to rest at
a secluded bend near a small lone cabin, a place where a thick stand of pine
broke the harsh winds. A row of cottonwoods lined the creek bank.

    
Cal swung down from his saddle and helped
Sarah dismount, once again planting his hand firmly around her small waist,
where it lingered a few moments.
 

    
He grabbed his gelding's bridle and led
his horse down to water. Sarah followed with her mare. At their approach a pair
of ducks thrashed and took wing. When they stopped to let the horses drink
Cal dug into his saddlebag and took out a canteen. They sat down on the grassy
creek bank and watched a turtle slip into the water to bask in the morning sun
hanging low in the eastern sky. Sarah cupped her hand and raised it above her
brow to block the oblique light. In a rare playful gesture Cal removed his
large hat, and lowered it over her head. The brim sank to the top of her nose,
blinding her, and she laughed. Cal laughed too, and he gently pushed the hat
back on Sarah's head, and then he turned to face her, using his large body to
effectively block the direct sunrays.
 

    
He handed Sarah the canteen. She nervously
accepted the offering and tipped her head back to drink. When she finished she
passed the water back to Cal, who raised it to his mouth. As he drank he felt
the lingering trace of her warm lips, now on his, and it tasted sweet and
light, like new snowflakes landing softly on his tongue.

    
After that the pair sat quietly watching
and listening to the clear water flowing around the bend and over the rocks.
This was Cal's favorite spot on the ranch.

    
"The cabin back there was our first
place on the spread." He sat so close their hips touched. "My father
and uncle built the first room, but Roy and I helped improve it from a
shanty," he added.

    
"Uncle?" Sarah's jade eyes fixed
on the line of his mouth.

    
Cal flung his hat back onto his own head,
and tilted it back. "My father's brother." An odd note of sadness
rang in his voice. "He was a trapper, traded with the tribes along the
river. He lived among them many years." Cal swept his hand broadly through
the breeze. "My uncle Arthur's the reason we're here. He was one of the first
white men to settle this country. The land we're on right now – it was
Arthur's first, and he encouraged my father to come up this way to settle.
After my father made some money from mining, he bought cattle from ranchers
down near Helena. We drove them up here to this rich grassy valley and built
the herds." He hesitated. "My uncle drowned in the Missouri when I
was still a kid." His coffee eyes flickered as he recalled stories his
uncle told about exploring the mysteries of the scenic, expansive, and
dangerous territory.

    
"Oh. The cabin looks nice." She
cleared her throat.

    
He seemed to welcome the change in topic.
"Last year a fellow that worked for us, and his family, lived in it for a
spell. I came upon them in a near blizzard. It was just luck I found them, and
they were totally unprepared for winter weather. Anyway, we hired him 'til
spring. We've lived in the big house just two years. At first mama was anxious
to build the new place, but then things changed and it wasn't as
important." His words and voice drifted.

     
She nodded. "Oh. Was that when
your father took ill?" She knew she was delving into personal matters but
he appeared to be relaxed, and open to discussing his family.

    
He turned, picked up a stone, and lazily
skipped it across the water. "No, Papa was healthy until the day he died
in a mining accident. Mama was anxious to move because I was fixing to live in
the cabin with my wife." He scratched at an imaginary itch on his knee.

     
Sarah's jaw dropped six inches.
"You were married?" The words had reeled out before she could stop
them. Her wide eyes scanned his rigid face.

    
Cal folded his good arm across his broad
chest. "Naw, I've never been trail broken."
 
He laughed but then his face grew somber. "Grace and I had
wedding plans. Then she fell from a horse. Broke her neck."
 
His tone landed flat, his face
unreadable.