Wildblossom (10 page)

The two young cowboys stared at the dirt and scuffed the toes of their boots to and fro, leaving Geoff to explain. Gallantly, he straightened and said, "You've discovered us, I fear. I've been needing instruction in some of the skills particular to ranch life. The boys and I have been taking time off here and there to practice riding western style, and now—"

"I can't believe my ears! To flagrantly waste daylight hours in such a manner—"

"Ma'am," Cal interjected, "we could use an extra man around here, 'specially with Jimmy, Ben, an' Titus in Billings." He finished rolling a cigarette, licked the paper, and added, "Seems to me that this time spent workin' with Geoff on ropin' and ridin' western, is sorta an
investment."

"Geoff?" Shelby was incredulous. When had this English tenderfoot won the regard of her weather-beaten, plain-spoken cowpunchers? "You call him
Geoff?"

"Yup," said Marsh. He threw the extra lariat to Geoff, who caught it and walked over to confer with the two men.

"How long is the rope?" he asked Cal. "Is there a standard length?"

Suddenly, Shelby felt excluded. Before Cal could open his mouth, she replied, "Forty feet, right Cal? That's twenty-five feet for throwing, and fifteen feet of coil to hold onto." She wedged herself between the corral and Marsh, smiling genially, as if this had all been her idea. "That's what my own father taught me back in Deadwood, and he sure can rope. Sometimes Daddy used a sixty-foot lariat, because he could throw forty feet when the wind was with him." She draped an arm around Marsh's shoulders. "Didn't you rope an elk a few weeks back?"

"That was me," Cal said. He squinted at her suspiciously.

"Who's ready for some practice?" she cried. "You can never practice roping too much, I always say."

"Yup," Marsh agreed, and winked at Geoff.

They decided to let the Englishman start out. The group perched on the side of the corral and watched as Geoff mounted his buckskin and made a few attempts to rope the erratic, elusive stallion who seemed to be dancing away from him, just out of reach.

"It was much easier to find my mark with Gadabout," he called to Shelby in wry tones. "She didn't move—and Charlie was standing still as well. I find this business quite..." His voice trailed off; he couldn't bring himself to say the word "impossible."

"You hafta swing the rope so the loop'll open in the air," Cal yelled. "Tossin' yer rope before buildin' a loop don't catch the horse!"

Geoff continued to practice, even after an hour had passed and Cal and Marsh decided they'd better tend to the fences while the weather held. There were some questionable clouds stacking up to the north.

When he was alone with Shelby in the corral, Geoff confided, "I might be in over my head. Just adjusting to the different saddle and the terrain could have been enough to occupy me through the spring." Fingering the lariat, he smiled into her eyes. "I came here with the notion that I was exceptionally skilled because I not only rode and jumped with the best English equestrians, but I also broke horses. Little did I know..."

"It's all different?"

"Everything. Even the saddle—my English saddle is as different from this as it would be to ride bareback. These stirrups are much farther back, so everything I do with my legs is different—I'm nearly standing in the stirrups, and gripping with my thighs rather than my knees." Geoff shook his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. "It feels like relearning all the instinctive movements that go into walking. I've been riding nearly that long."

"Well, you don't have to change. I mean, you have your own English saddle. You could use it, and simply ride for pleasure, and not bother with all this ranch-hand nonsense."

He liked the way she switched back and forth between western speech patterns and those of a well-brought-up young woman. Very telling, he thought. '"Then why come—and stay? If I behave as I did in England, what's the point? Mind you, I don't know if I can bring myself to break horses the way the boys do, by snubbing them up so violently that they often somersault at the end of the rope, but... perhaps I'll adjust even to that idea." He tossed the lariat overhead, watching the loop widen perfectly in the air, and grinned. "I want to be useful; to enjoy a full life here at the Sunshine Ranch."

Shelby beamed back at him. "That wasn't bad! If you practice on a few posts first, you'll be roping that stallion by four o'clock!"

* * *

Not only was Geoff soon displaying considerable skill with the lariat, but it seemed that he could also shoot. Shelby thought it might be fun to show off a bit, after being so generous of spirit about Geoff's roping and riding, so later that afternoon she suggested that they take turns with her prized Winchester repeating rifle.

"It's just like the one Annie Oakley shoots in the Wild West Show," Shelby explained as they lined some bottles, and even a few small stones, on the garden fence.

"Have I told you that I saw them all perform in London in 1887?" He held the rifle and tried to get a sense of its weight and balance. "That afternoon probably led to my journey to Wyoming this spring."

"Really? How amazing! The world's smaller than you'd think." Distracted, she watched him prepare to shoot.

Slowly, Geoff lifted the rifle and looked down the barrel. His finger squeezed the trigger and the first bottle exploded.

Shelby cheered, trying to be a good sport until her own turn. Gazing at his profile as he aimed, she suddenly had butterflies in her stomach. His hands were elegant and strong as they curved around the stock and trigger of the rifle.

One by one the bottles shattered and fell, but Geoff left every other one standing. "For you," he told Shelby with the driest of smiles. Then, as her sense of sportsmanship faded quickly, he proceeded to pick off the stones as well, hitting even the smallest with the first shot.

Shelby had begun to pout by the time she accepted her rifle. Even her older brother, Byron, hadn't been able to beat her at shooting. She reloaded, then took aim and fired. The first bottle broke and flew into the air; Geoff applauded.

"I've never known a woman with so many talents!"

Shelby gave him a sidelong glance before taking aim again. She felt patronized, particularly since he'd lowered the level of difficulty for her by increasing the distance between her targets. When she squeezed off her next shot, the bullet only grazed the side of the bottle, which dutifully fell off the fence and landed in the dirt with a thud. Little hairs bristled at the nape of her neck, and she struck her remaining targets at dead center.

"Well done! But I don't think the light's as favorable as it was a few minutes ago. No doubt that's why—"

Shelby interrupted. "You needn't make excuses for me, or apologize for besting me with my own rifle." Turning toward the house, she set her chin and added, "I suppose I must have underestimated you because you're English—again. I keep forgetting that I lost the ranch that way."

"Is that your stew I smell?" Geoff wondered as he fell into step with her. Casually, he reached out to lightly cup her elbow with his long fingers and she didn't pull away. "I'm ravenous suddenly—and I'd kill for a good cup of tea."

"I'll make a pot." Shelby allowed him to hold the screen door open for her, adding over her shoulder, "But I'm having whiskey."

By the time the kettle had begun to boil on the stove and Shelby had poured boiling water into the teapot, Geoff had a fire going and the clouds outside had turned ominous.

"I believe we're going to have a storm," he remarked.

Through her kitchen window Shelby saw a white flash of lightning, followed by the boom
-boooom
of serious thunder. "I hope that the boys have sense enough to take cover rather than ride back here in a lightning storm."

"I wonder what Manypenny is doing? I haven't seen him all day," Geoff mused as he stirred milk into his tea. "Perhaps he's reading."

Shelby couldn't resist. "Trollope?
The Eustace Diamonds'?"

He gave her a faintly quizzical look before heading toward Manypenny's little room at the back of the house. A tap at the door brought a muffled "Hmm? What?" which made Geoff's expression even more puzzled. He opened the door.

"What are you up to in here, old man? Did you have your tea whilst I was off roping horses?" His tone was light, but he was brought up short by the sight of Manypenny in bed. The manservant was clad in Oriental-style silk pajamas and a nightcap, and was bundled under several quilts. "Are you ill?"

"I fear so, my lord." The old man's expression was pained. "I believe it's the... ague."

"Good God, this is horrible!" Geoff came over for a closer look. "I've never known you to be ill before, old reliable!"

"I can only surmise that—" Manypenny covered his mouth with a fine handkerchief, then coughed deeply. "It's this ghastly place, I imagine. There must be an abundance of exotic germs."

"But what can we do for you? Shall we summon the physician? Are you hungry? Let me bring you a cup of hot tea with lemon and whiskey, all right?"

Manypenny looked sleepy. "I'll just have a nap, my lord."

Frowning, Geoff went back into the living area of the house. Thunder continued to rumble outside, raindrops spattered against the glass windows, and the fire he'd built was blazing and popping merrily.

"Your tea is getting cold," Shelby informed him as she stirred the stew. The aroma of beef stew filled the house. "As soon as the corn bread is ready, we can eat. Gosh, I wonder if the others will make it back for supper!"

Geoff watched her mix cornmeal, eggs, and buttermilk, wondering what in the world corn bread was. When she'd slid the two pans into the oven, he said, "Do you have a moment to spare now? I'm afraid that Manypenny is ill. He believes it's the ague. "

"You mean, a cold?" There was a furrow in her brow. "Why hasn't he said something?" Wiping her hands on her apron, Shelby went into her little pantry.

He followed her. "He's very old fashioned; dead against complaints of any nature, particularly outside his class. I suppose Manypenny might let on to another servant, but never to me."

"That's ridiculous!" Shelby was sorting through her shelf of medicines. She threw Geoff a censorious glance, and he shrugged helplessly in reply. "You British are really the limit."

"You won't get an argument from me. Why do you think I came to Wyoming?"

When she looked up, the amused gleam in his eyes made her feel giddy and she couldn't help smiling. "All right, here's what we'll give him." Shelby held up a box featuring a picture of a mustachioed bandit wearing a large sombrero. "I find that this Mexican Headache Cure works well for fever as well, so we'll start with a dose of it."

"How very... unique," Geoff remarked dryly.

She ignored him. "Luckily, I also have the Twenty-Minute Cold Cure on hand. My mother ordered a lot of these things through the catalogue when she knew I was coming out here and, though I've never tried it myself, it does sound promising!"

Geoff consulted the box, one eyebrow cocked. "I'm admittedly skeptical, but what do we have to lose?"

"I'll take care of him, and he'll be good as new by morning." Returning to the kitchen, Shelby fixed a big cup of tea for Manypenny, adding lemon, honey, whiskey, and doses of the Mexican Headache Cure and the Twenty-Minute Cold Cure.

"Have you tried
any
of these potions yourself?" Geoff wondered as they headed for the sickroom.

"Heavens, no. I'm never sick."

"From the smell of this, I'd guess that it should put him out of his misery one way or another...." he murmured dubiously.

Manypenny, with his red-rimmed eyes and wheezing voice, tried to argue that he was merely a bit tired and not in need of assistance, but Shelby waved him off. Instructing Geoff to help the old gentleman sit up, she straightened his nightcap and held the steaming mug to his lips.

Astonishingly, Manypenny drank the powerful concoction down, then smiled euphorically. "I say, that was frightfully good. Well done, Miss Matthews."

"We're in Wyoming, Mr. Manypenny. Call me Shelby."

He sank back on the pillows and replied woozily, "And I am Percy, my dear... only to you." His hand searched for hers, then squeezed. "Like to borrow my book? Do, please..."

"That's very kind of you, Percy," she replied, smiling warmly. "I will."

They watched as the elderly manservant drifted off to sleep, then Shelby plucked
The Eustace Diamonds
from the bedside table. Geoff was shaking his head in disbelief as they tiptoed out of the room and closed the door.

"Percy?"
he cried when they were back in the hallway. "In my entire life I've only heard one or two people dare to use Manypenny's given name of Percival, but the mere idea of anyone saying 'Percy' is beyond comprehension!"

"It was his idea, not mine," she reminded him sweetly.

Back in the kitchen, Shelby put plates, cutlery, and napkins into Geoff's arms and told him to set the table. The wind was rushing down their valley now, bringing sheets of rain with it. The fragile windowpanes had begun to rattle with the force of the storm as Shelby dished up the stew and cut the hot corn bread into squares that she served with a little pot of honey. A lantern lent a soft glow to the checkered tablecloth covered with dishes and food, and Shelby felt an odd sense of euphoria as she watched him arrange the silverware.