Big Sky Cowboy (Montana Marriages #1) Page 7

  A smile curved her lips. She tried to inform her wayward thoughts that it meant nothing. She’d only been surprised by the warmth of his hands and amazed that he could be so gentle, given his confession about a cruel father.

  But she failed so badly to make her brain settle down that she curled her hands into fists and insisted she knew better than to let such things affect her. It was only because it was late at night and they had talked about their papa that she ached for such touches. Only she wanted them to be meaningful, given from a heart of love and faithfulness, not casual, given out of necessity of dealing with stings.

  Tomorrow, in the light of day, her common sense would exert its hold on her and her thoughts would return to normal.

  Despite her mental warnings, a smile clung to her lips as she fell asleep.

  * * *

  The next morning, after breakfast and chores, she made her way to the barn. Wyatt and Lonnie had already arrived, and the sound of sawing and hammering had begun.

  As she crossed the yard, she reminded herself that she was the practical Miss Cora Bell.

  She grabbed a hammer and went to join them.

  Wyatt climbed down from the ladder and stood studying her with such intensity she almost shied away from his look. “What?” she demanded when it seemed he would never stop staring.

  “Are you winking at me?”

  Lonnie, standing at Wyatt’s back, smothered a giggle.

  “I am not. Why would you say such a thing?” Then she remembered her eye had swollen almost shut from the hornet bite. She made a sound of exasperation. “You know it’s a bite. And one would think you’d be polite enough not to mention it.”

  “Oh, sorry.” His unrepentant grin said quite the opposite. “Guess I’ve forgotten how to be polite.” He drawled the words. “With just me and Lonnie and some horses we got kind of sloppy, I guess.” He turned and winked at Lonnie. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

  Lonnie laughed again. “I have to say, Miss Cora, you do look a little—” He seemed to search for a word.

  “Funny?” she asked. “Strange? Odd?” She planted her fists on her hips and silently waited to see if they would push the matter further.

  Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest and did his best to make her think he wasn’t still amused. “He means no insult. Do you, Lonnie?”

  Lonnie crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back in a perfect imitation of Wyatt. Only Lonnie looked worried, as if he thought one of them would object to his teasing. “No insult meant, ma’am.”

  “Now it’s ma’am? From odd to ma’am? What did I do to deserve that?”

  Wyatt understood she was teasing and laughed. “It’s awfully hard to take you serious when you keep winking.”

  “Oh, you.” She bent down, yanked out a handful of grass and tossed it at him. “Now, are we going to get to work or not?”

  Wyatt studied her again. Then shook his head. “I don’t think we are. We are working up above our heads, using a ladder. With your eye swollen like that, I’m afraid your balance might be off. Not to mention you fell on your head.”

  “I am fine.” She ground the words out. Since when did he tell her what she could do?

  “Not for climbing up a ladder.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me.”

  Lonnie tapped Wyatt’s shoulder. “Don’t argue.”

  Cora immediately repented. “It’s okay, Lonnie. I’m not angry.”

  “Neither am I,” Wyatt assured him.

  “But,” Cora continued, “I haven’t changed my mind. I need to help.”

  Wyatt sighed. “Why? Don’t you think I’m capable?”

  She stared at him. “Do you have to turn everything into some kind of personal attack?”

  His mouth grew into a tight line and his eyes narrowed. He looked at her without blinking.

  So he meant to be stubborn about this, did he?

  “Do you have to always be in control of everything?” He spat each word out as if it tasted bad.

  “I do not.” They glowered at each other.

  Lonnie shifted from foot to foot and watched them nervously.

  Cora knew she was overreacting. In fact, she was being as stubborn as he. How ludicrous. “We’re acting like little banty roosters.” She burst out laughing.

  He stared and then a grin slowly grew until his whole face relaxed. He tipped his head back and roared with laughter.

  She sobered as she watched him. Goodness, but the man had a nice laugh. His merriment rippled through her insides.

  He stopped chuckling but continued to grin at her in such a way that she felt blessed.

  She must have hit her head harder than she thought to be so silly.

  He nodded toward the garden. “Weren’t you in the midst of hilling potatoes?”

  “That’s not very subtle.” Yet she couldn’t help but be amused by his attempt to divert her from the barn.

  He took off his hat and rubbed his hair, mussing it into a riot of waves, making her want to smooth it back into place. “I’ll tell you what. Lonnie and I will help in the garden today.”

  Cora considered the idea. “I haven’t had such a good offer in a long time.” She let a beat of silence follow her words, then added, “Maybe forever. Usually I have to beg people to help hoe.”

  He nodded. Did she detect a look of regret? But what better way to see what the man was made of? Would he find excuses not to work or would he put his back to the task and dig in?

  “Like I said, we’ll work in the garden this morning.”

  Lonnie groaned. “Do I have to help?”

  Wyatt considered his younger brother for a full twenty seconds then shrugged. “Do you have another way of paying for your food?”

  “I could snare a rabbit and roast it.”

  “Fine. You do that.”

  The boy scampered off.

  Cora stared after him. “I thought you’d insist on him helping.” It disappointed her that he hadn’t.

  “Unwilling help isn’t much help most times, wouldn’t you say?”

  She nodded. But still she wondered if Wyatt shouldn’t ask a little more of his brother.

  “Besides, I want him to learn he can disagree with me without me getting angry.”

  Her disappointment gave way to respect. Wyatt had made a noble choice, not a lazy one. He really cared about his brother.

  Which made it all the more confusing to know he’d left Lonnie to face their pa’s beatings alone. Why would he do that? What could have constituted an “unavoidable” reason?

  There were too many unanswered questions about Wyatt Williams to let herself be influenced by gentle touches and noble choices.

  Chapter Six

  Cora led the way to the garden, retrieved a pair of hoes from the shed and handed him one. “There’s weeding to be done.” She pointed toward a row of carrots, moved to the next row and set up a steady rhythm of chopping down weeds.

  Wyatt hadn’t used a hoe since he was a boy at home, and within half an hour remembered how much he hated it. Hoeing was hard work. Where was Mr. Bell with his four-in-one invention?

  Cora didn’t pause for anything but worked steadily up and down the rows.

  He wiped his brow. The sun was way too hot. His mouth grew dry but he would not stop to get a drink. His admiration grew for the tough young woman working at his side. Seemed she didn’t let challenges slow her down. He let his thoughts go in a direction he knew he should not allow. What would she do if she learned the truth about him? Would she turn her back on him, or would she fearlessly face the dishonor of his past? Not that he’d ever make her choose.

  He bent his back to the task and started down another row. In a short while, Cora appeared before him with a bucket of water and a dipper.


  “Thought you might be getting thirsty by now.”

  He leaned against the hoe. “I’m about parched.”

  “You’re welcome to stop and get a drink or pour water over your head anytime. I don’t expect you to work nonstop. After all, I’m not a slave driver.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Did you think I was?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t know what to think.” He’d learned to work without complaining or expecting a break long before his prison days. He drank his fill of cold water and returned to hoeing.

  Cora set the bucket at the end of the garden and picked up her hoe again.

  A few minutes later, Rose and Lilly joined them.

  “With all this help we’ll have the garden clean in no time,” Cora said, sounding as relieved at the thought as he was.

  Again he wondered if Mr. Bell had finished adjusting the four-in-one hoe.

  Then, as if Wyatt’s thoughts had called him, Mr. Bell crossed the yard dragging the massive hoe behind him. He reached the edge of the garden and turned the blades over into the soil. Each of the four matched the spaces between the rows.

  “Let’s see if it works. Who wants to try it first?”

  To Wyatt’s surprise, none of the girls volunteered. “I’ll give it a try. Anything that makes this work easier would be a great invention.” Did the three girls smile behind their hands?

  He grabbed the sturdy handle and tugged the hoe. He grunted and leaned into it with all his might. His muscles strained and then the inertia gave way to motion. Slow, torturous forward movement. The hoe stalled. His neck spasmed in protest. He looked behind to see what caused the problem. Nothing but a lump of dirt. He pulled and pulled and pulled.

  The hoe refused to move, and he bent over his knees gasping for breath. As soon as he could breathe halfway normally he faced Mr. Bell. “Sir, it would take a small horse to pull that thing.”

  Mr. Bell nodded as he studied the useless tool. “You might have something there.” He turned the hoe over so he could drag it and trotted back to the workshop.

  Cora groaned loudly, making no attempt to hide her frustration.

  Cora looked at Wyatt, her eyes narrowed and accusing. “Next we’ll have a herd of small horses dragging clunky hoes in the garden, ripping up everything in sight. I can see it already.”

  Rose and Lilly came to her side.

  “You have to understand something about Pa.” Cora explained to Wyatt. “He’s always coming up with these really good ideas, but usually they end up causing more work for us. But we love him, so we generally laugh and carry on.”

  Rose continued the story. “Like the time Pa bought turkeys.”

  Lilly said, “He figured he could get them to eat the weeds from around his fruit trees.”

  Rose took over from her sister. “Pa soon discovered he couldn’t teach turkeys anything. They raided our garden so often it became a full-time job to keep them out.”

  “So Pa thought he’d get a dog to herd them,” Cora added.

  Beside her, her sisters chuckled and she nodded. “Wait until you hear what he brought home to herd the turkeys.” Unable to stop laughing, she pointed to Grub sitting at the end of the garden, his head cocked as he listened to them.

  “Grub? He got Grub as a herding dog?” A chuckle began in the pit of his stomach. “Did he keep them out of the garden?”

  Three heads shook in unison. Cora waited, her eyes filled with expectancy.

  She didn’t have to wait long. Wyatt tried to picture the flop-eared dog trying to control turkeys. He wondered if Grub would end up tripping on his ears or falling over his feet or barking after the turkeys had all disappeared into a safe hiding place. No wonder the girls laughed. Chuckling, he returned to his work.

  His smile lifted his lips throughout the morning and seemed to lighten the work, as well.

  Lilly started to sing and the others joined her, the twins singing soprano and Cora a throaty alto.

  “She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes....”

  They paused and looked at Wyatt.

  He continued to hoe as if he wasn’t aware of three pairs of eyes on him.

  “Sing with us,” Cora said.

  He continued to attack the weeds.

  “Wyatt?”

  “You wouldn’t want me to.”

  “Why not?”

  He stopped hoeing and looked at her. “I don’t sing. I growl.” Fellow inmates had jeered at him, so he knew it to be true. Not that he hadn’t been aware of the fact long before then.

  Cora glanced at the others, who both listened intently. “Surely it can’t be that bad.”

  “Or it could be worse.”

  “Oh, come on. Join us. Singing is fun.”

  “Yeah,” the twins echoed, and taking his silence for agreement they began again.

  “She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes....”

  Aware of three sets of eyes on him, he growled, “Yee-haw.”

  Cora nodded soberly. “We accept your yee-haw.” And she started the song again.

  He good-humoredly contributed his part.

  The sun rose overhead. Shouldn’t Lonnie be back by now? Wyatt looked toward the spot where he’d appear if he came from the campsite. No sign of him. He glanced around but didn’t see Lonnie in any direction. He bent back to the hoeing but every few seconds looked about for him.

  “Are you worried about Lonnie?” Cora asked.

  “He’s a big boy.” Still, Lonnie had spent so much time hiding from people, Wyatt wasn’t sure he could handle himself in the open.

  “You’re plainly worried. Why don’t you check on him?”

  “I think I will.” He returned the hoe to the shed and jogged toward the camp. “Lonnie.”

  No answer. No boy stretched out sleeping in the shade.

  Wyatt shaded his eyes and searched the prairie for signs of his brother. Nothing. He scanned the trees along the river, straining for movement in the shadows. A crow stirred the treetops, but nothing else.

  Should he be concerned? Should he start looking?

  “He’s not back?” Cora called from up the embankment.

  “No.” Wyatt told himself Lonnie was old enough to look after himself, but he wasn’t convinced.

  “Do you want help looking for him?”

  He wanted to say no. Because he wanted to believe Lonnie was okay. But if the boy had stumbled into trouble...

  “I’d feel better if I knew he wasn’t lying injured somewhere.”

  She trotted down the incline to his side. “Do you want us to search together or split up?”

  “You know the country better than I do, so maybe we should stay together.” Besides, he rather preferred to have her company.

  They made their way downriver, calling Lonnie’s name often and stopping every few feet to look around them.

  He was the one who spotted a bit of twine and snagged it up. “He’s been this way.” He would have used the twine for snaring a rabbit.

  “Then we’ll keep heading in this direction.” She marched past him.

  Wyatt stared at the bit of twine he held and was hit by a memory, strong and vibrant.

  “Wyatt?” Cora came back. “What is it?”

  He couldn’t stop staring at the bit of rope and remembering. “It was the summer I was sixteen and Lonnie eleven. I’d gotten a job working in the hardware store, hoping to use the money I earned to buy myself a horse. Pa raised fine riding stock but refused to give me my own horse. Said it didn’t hurt a boy none to walk. ‘Shank’s mare will take you any place you need to go,’ he used to tell me. So every day I walked the five miles to town to work at the Kansas Hardware and Supplies.” He’d liked the job just fine. “Mr. McIver w
as a fair man to work for and seemed to like what I did. Every day I thought about what sort of horse I’d get. Maybe a mare so I could start my own herd. Or a fast gelding so I could win money racing at the local fairs.” He stopped as bitterness surged up his throat.

  Cora brushed his upper arm. “What happened?” she asked in a quiet, caring way, as if she guessed it was an unhappy story.

  Her gentle touch and sweet concern neutralized the bitterness and he sighed. “My father happened.” A moment passed and then he continued.

  “To this day I don’t know what he was mad about, but he was in a rage when he rode up to the store and bellowed my name. Mr. McIver went outside to suggest he calm down, which only made Pa worse. He jumped from the horse, pushed Mr. McIver aside and stormed into the store.” He held up the bit of twine. “I’d been cutting some store string when my pa came in. Still held it in my hands when we got home. He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, cuffed my ears until they rang and dragged me from the store.”

  He couldn’t go on as he thought of his humiliation.

  “Wyatt.” Her hand smoothed up and down his arm. Soothed his shame and sorrow at the memory of that day.

  “Several upright citizens stood on the sidewalk watching. One man had his daughter at his side. A pretty young thing I thought was my friend. Her father hurried her away and informed her she was to have nothing more to do with me. Ever.”

  “Oh, Wyatt. As if it was your fault.”

  “Well, you know how it is. The sins of the fathers will be visited on their children.” His rejection by decent folk had started long before he’d gone to jail. His jail time had only provided more reason to look at him with disfavor.

  “Or maybe man judges by outward appearance but God looks on the heart.”

  He took a moment to digest her comment. “It would be nice if man also judged by the heart.”

  “How do you know that some don’t?”

  “I suppose I haven’t seen much evidence of it.”

  She looked thoughtful a moment, then asked, “Did you buy yourself a horse that summer?”

  “Never went back. My pa made sure of it.” He had ridden his horse home while Wyatt had walked. He’d been tempted to dawdle but Pa would have known if he did, and Wyatt hadn’t intended to provide him with any reason to strap him. Though Pa hadn’t much cared whether or not he’d had a reason. His own bad mood was motive enough.