Winter's Touch (34 page)

Carson considered that as just another instance of women not always making sense. He was just relieved that she had let it drop and had gone to her room.

When the front door opened and Winter Fawn stepped inside, Carson stood alone beside the table, waiting for her. He was prepared to demand an explanation, to badger, to cajole, to tease it out of her if possible. Whatever it took to find out what had sent her running a few moments ago.

She met his gaze, then looked away. “I am sorry for running out like that. I needed to speak with my father. Did someone put the iodine on your knuckles?”

“What happened?” he demanded. Her explanation of needing to talk to Innes wasn’t going to wash. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

He stepped closer and smelled the night wind in her hair. His voice softened. “I’m concerned with everything about you. Talk to me, honey. You looked so hurt. Was it something I did?”

“Of course not. You did nothing at all.”

“You’re not going to tell me what’s going on, are you?”

She shook her head. “It is an old story, between my father and me. If you do not need the iodine, I will say good night.”

At a loss, Carson stood as if rooted to the floor while she crossed the room and mounted the stairs.

Behind her closed door, Gussie eavesdropped shamelessly. She waited until she heard Carson retire to his room, then slipped silently out and toward the front door.

This was all that Scotsman’s fault. He had done something to upset Winter Fawn, and when Winter Fawn was upset, it hurt everyone else in the family. Augusta Dulaney Winthrop was having none of it. She was going to find that disreputable weasel and give him a piece of her mind.

Before stepping outside she lit a lantern and carried it with her. She did hope the man was not in the bunkhouse with the other men, but if he was, so be it. She would drag him out by the ear if need be.

Something told her, however, that he would be doing his drinking alone this night, so she went to the barn before chancing waking the other men.

At the first stall, Gussie paused and raised her lantern. The milk cow blinked big, brown cow eyes at her, then lowered her head and went back to her dozing.

Satisfied that the cow was fine, Gussie went from stall to stall. Most were empty of everything but the new baby chicks, who objected with frantic
cheeps
to the light and the intrusion.

There was no sign of Innes. She was debating with herself about climbing the ladder to the loft when she heard what sounded like a man’s voice from the one stall she had missed. She turned back and raised her lantern. When she leaned over the stall’s half door, noxious whiskey fumes stung her eyes and offended her nostrils.

Quickly she pulled the lantern back for fear the small flame might ignite the fumes wafting from the open flask in the man’s hand and blow the whole barn to kingdom come.

The man moaned and threw one arm over his eyes.

Well, didn’t that just figure. Drunk as a skunk, and twice as ugly.

He mumbled again.

“Mr. MacDougall,” she called.

“Nae, love, come back to me.”

Gussie reared back and pressed a hand to her chest in outrage. Love? “
Mr. MacDougall!
” He must be more drunk than she’d thought!

“Smiling Woman…”

I declare.
Wasn’t Smiling Woman the name of his late wife?

“I canna go on without ye.”

He was drunk as a skunk and talking to his dead wife. Why, as near as Gussie recalled, the poor woman had been dead nigh on eight years. Of all the fool things.

“Mr. MacDougall,” she called sharply, “wake up. Wake up, do you hear me?”

But Innes was too far gone in drink to hear anything but his own confused mutterings.

This, Gussie decided, could not be allowed to continue. Spotting the bucket of water the men kept with which to wash, she marched over and raised her lantern to peer inside. Six inches of water remained in the bucket, with a disconcerting combination of grease, scum, horse hair, and three dead bugs floating on the surface.

“Perfect.”

Careful not to touch anything but the bail, she lifted the bucket and carried it back to the stall housing that fool, drunken Scotsman. There she hung her lantern on a nail, took the bucket in both hands, and emptied the contents, with as much force as possible, directly into Innes MacDougall’s face.

He surged up from the straw sputtering and coughing and swinging his arms at some imagined foe.

“What the bloody hell!”

“I’ll thank you to watch your language, Mr. MacDougall.”

He gaped up at her in shock. “What hae ye done, ye interfering ol’—”

Gussie clucked her tongue. “Gotten your attention is what I hope I’ve done.”

Rising to his feet, he swayed and grabbed for the side of the stall for support. “Aye, ye’ve done that, right enough. What I be wantin’ to know is why?”

“I am appalled, sir, I truly am.”

“Aye, me, too. Be gone wi’ ye, woman, and let me be.”

“Let you drown in your whiskey and wallow in your self-pity, you mean. You should be ashamed of yourself, you should. How is your poor wife supposed to ever find peace in the hereafter if you keep calling to her and begging her to come back? Of all the foolish, selfish things.”

In the soft glow of the lantern, Innes’s neck and face flushed dark red. “Ye don’t know what yer talkin’ aboot.”

“Oh, don’t I? Do you think you’re the only person who ever lost the one who meant the world to you? Well, you’re not, Innes MacDougall.”

“You know all about it, do ye?” he snarled.

“I lost my own Oliver nigh on four years ago. Oh, I know,” she said fervently, “I know what it’s like, I do. But you have to learn to let go,” she said earnestly, “for her sake as well as yours. Not to mention those two fine children of yours. Your drinking and misery is making them miserable.”

When he merely stood there and blinked at her, she got mad again. “If life’s not worth living, shooting yourself would be better than all this whining and self-pity.”

“Fine. Where’s my gun?”

Aghast, Gussie clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no! I didn’t mean it, I swear. You wouldn’t—” She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re too blamed stubborn, aren’t you?”

“Aye, I’ve been called stubborn a time or two. You, on the other hand, are just plain mean.”

“Well!”

Innes threw his head back and laughed. Laughed! She couldn’t believe it!

“I never,” she cried.

“I’ll bet you have, Gussie Girl.” He winked at her.

Gussie closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “Mr. MacDougall, I simply do not know what to do with you. You defy all logic.”

“Then why don’t you just go on back to the house and leave me be.”

“Yes.” She gripped her skirt in her free hand and raised the lantern in the other. “I believe I’ll do just that. You know, Mr. MacDougall, you may never find another woman to love the way you loved your wife, but you’ve got two children who’ve been thrust into a world they don’t understand. They need you. But they need you whole and sober. Think about that, why don’t you?”

Innes watched her flounce out of the barn, the light from the lantern bouncing all around her.

Damn woman. Who did she think she was, throwing water in his face, telling him how to live his life? He hadn’t been doing so bad on his own, had he?

Says who, laddie?

He winced at the sound of his own voice in his head. All right, so maybe he spent more time drunk than sober. He wasn’t hurting anybody, was he?

Only yerself, laddie, and the bairns.

He hated it, that voice in his head. Almost as much as he hated that bloody woman, come traipsing in here with that ripe, soft body, reminding him how long he’d been alone, how long she’d been alone. Smelling of sweet flowers and looking at him with those damn blue eyes that saw straight through him.

Damn her.

“And damn me.” She made sense. There was the rub.

Breakfast the next morning was a grim affair. Even Megan was subdued, picking at her food more than eating it.

Carson didn’t trust himself to say two words in a civil tone. Everything was going wrong.

He had come west seeking peace, looking for a spot of earth that wasn’t scorched by war. Yet he’d been attacked before reaching the ranch, exposing Bess and Megan to more danger than they should ever have to know about, let alone experience. The only peace he had found since returning to Colorado had been in the arms of a woman who now wanted nothing to do with him.

He hadn’t planned to marry again. Now that Gussie was here, he didn’t feel pressured to find a new mother for Megan. But now that he’d changed his mind and decided to marry, Winter Fawn wouldn’t have him.

He’d met the man his father had spoken so highly of, and liked him. But now, because of some secret no one would reveal, Innes was hiding out instead of joining the rest of them for breakfast.

And what the hell were Gussie and Winter Fawn looking so guilty about?

Then there was Bess, who was drawing close enough to Hunter these days to have Carson worrying. She was too damn young, and so was Hunter.

How had he ended up in charge? How had he ended up responsible for all these people, all these problems, a ranch to run? Near as he could recall, he’d been climbing trees with his best friend, Charles Binkley, from River House, and turning his fingers purple throwing ripe mulberries into Mary Lou Throckmorton’s pretty blond hair. He wondered now why he’d done such a stupid thing.

Then, before he knew it, someone was putting a gun in his hand telling him to shoot anything in blue, and now, here he was.

He had blinked, that’s what he’d done. He’d blinked and the world had changed on him.

But looking at the people around the table—his beautiful daughter, his sister, his aunt, Beau and Frank, Hunter, Innes wherever he was, and Winter Fawn, who had such a hold on him it was frightening—they needed him, and he needed them. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single thing he would change.

Except Winter Fawn’s heart. If he could change that, if he could make her love him—

Good God. Did he want her to love him? He wanted her to marry him, but love?

It’s what she asked of you.

It was true. The night he’d asked her to marry him, she had asked if he loved her. Was that why she’d turned him down? Because he hadn’t answered? Because he hadn’t said yes?

“Where’s Da?” she now asked her brother.

Hunter shrugged and grabbed another biscuit from the plate being passed around. “Busy.”

“Doing what?” Carson asked. Conversation seemed a better idea than wallowing in his own morose thoughts.

“In the barn,” Hunter said with another shrug.

So much for conversation, Carson thought.

They were sipping the last of the coffee when he heard the plop of hooves and the rattling of chains approach the front of the house. Curious, he rose and went to the door.

Innes opened it from the outside before Carson reached it.

Carson stared. “Do I know you?”

“Real funny, ye are, lad.”

Innes MacDougall had cleaned up, to the point that he was nearly unrecognizable. His hair was still wet from washing, as was his beard, which was now trimmed close to his jaw instead of hanging four or more inches long. He had on a new yellow shirt and new denim pants, and boots instead of his usual moccasins.

“Da?” Winter Fawn’s eyes nearly swallowed her face.

Carson happened to glance at Gussie. She rose slowly from her chair with a smile so big he was afraid her face would split.

“Mr. MacDougall, good morning.” she said with a peculiar note in her voice. “We missed you at breakfast.”

Innes was probably unaware that he was mangling the hat he held. “Mrs. Winthrop. If ye’d show me where ye want the garden, I’ll get started on the plowing.”

By noon the garden was plowed, and an irrigation ditch ran from the river to the newly turned soil, a dam of board and mud holding back the water until it was needed.

Innes inspected his work with a satisfied smile. He hadn’t plowed a field since his youth. He’d hated it back then, but this time he got a kick out of it. It was the first productive thing he’d done in years and it felt damn good.

He reached up to tug on his beard, only to find there wasn’t much left to tug on since he’d trimmed it that morning. Scratching his jaw through what was left, he wondered if he oughtn’t to just go ahead and shave the thing off.

And he found himself wondering what Mrs. Winthrop would think of that.

Ach, pure foolishness to wonder what a woman would think. Grumbling to himself, he took the horse back to the barn and unhitched the plow.

The planting began that afternoon. Gussie showed Winter Fawn and Bess where to plant which seeds, and how to do it. Megan “helped” too. Winter Fawn realized immediate that this planting was hot, dirty work, but she did not mind. It felt good to sink her hands in the soil and think that something might grow from her labors.

“We’re a little late, I think,” Gussie said, “with the chives and garlic and onions, not to mention the peas, spinach, and turnips. They might not do well. The green beans and potatoes might make, and the radishes. They sprout and grow so fast, maybe they’ll be ready to harvest before hot weather sets in. If not, I suppose the chickens will…oh, dear.”

“What is it?” Winter Fawn asked. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“No, dear. I was just wondering how we’re going to keep the chickens from scratching the seeds up and eating them.”

Winter Fawn pictured the fuzzy little creatures that had ridden home from town in a crate in the back of the wagon. “Can they do that when they’re so tiny?”

Gussie smiled. “I don’t suppose they’ll be a problem just yet. But we’ll have to rig some type of fencing before they’re too much older. If that squash makes, why, I’ve seen one hen ruin a dozen hills of squash in under an hour.” She tapped her finger against her cheek in thought. “Yes, we’ll need fencing.”

Late that afternoon Carson paid a visit to the new garden and found Gussie alone there. “Where are the girls?”