“You mess up my bed, you make it,” he said. He chuckled as they jumped at his voice. “I’m Lance,” he said with a smile as they stared at him with wonder. “The new ranch hand.”
“I’m Peter,” the taller boy said as he angled himself in front of his brother. He had brown hair and hazel eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Peter. I already met your brother, Simon.” He winked at the boy grinning at him from around his brother’s shoulder. “Did you come to help me?”
Peter shrugged. “We ain’t allowed to do much.”
Lance frowned. “You’re young men. You need to learn to work hard. And to speak properly.” He looked at Peter pointedly, and the boy flushed. “Will you grab the bag of nails I left in the supply room in the barn? And then I’ll need your help in here.” He watched as the brothers raced to the barn and sighed as he imagined them fighting over the bag and scattering the nails over the barn floor. He shook his head and set the lumber on the floor.
While waiting for the boys to return, he studied the ceiling that dipped in the middle. The beam in the center of the roof appeared to sag, and he walked outside to see if anything was on the roof. He shook his head in confusion to find nothing there.
He turned when he heard the patter of little feet running toward him. “Mr. Lance! Mr. Lance!” Simon hollered. He held up the bag of nails, clutching the top closed so none flew out with his mad dash from the barn and his brother.
“What did you do to your brother?” Lance asked as he bit back a smile at the exuberant boy’s antics.
Simon flushed and tried to look innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re the young’un. Peter should have come back with the bag of nails.” He fought another smile as pride, embarrassment, and satisfaction flit across Simon’s face.
“I outsmarted him!” Simon said with a triumphant grin as he thrust the bag of nails at Lance.
Lance looked to the barn as Peter ran after his brother, his pursuit foiled when he saw Simon next to Lance. “I won’t be around to protect you forever, lad,” Lance whispered to Simon as he swallowed a laugh at the sight of Peter. The right side of Peter’s body was covered in horse dung and hay.
“Boy, let’s get you washed up. I might like horses, but I don’t want my bunkhouse stinking of them,” Lance called out to Peter. He led Peter to the water pump and helped him wash off the majority of the muck. “Go inside and change. I’ll wait for you before I start my project.” He watched as a sodden Peter dashed away.
“I was in a pile of cow manure last week,” Simon said with a bright smile. “Isn’t that what brothers do?”
Lance laughed and ruffled Simon’s hair. “Now, Simon, why would my roof sag in the middle if there’s nothing on it?”
“There’s nothing on it now. But last winter we had us a bad storm. And half a tree landed on it.” He pointed to the remnant of a pine tree a short distance away and reenacted the large limb crashing onto the roof. Simon’s blue eyes gleamed with mischief. “The men inside screamed like babies and refused to go back inside. Said the home was posseed.” He paused and shook his head. “Possessed.” He nodded in triumph. “No men want to stay in that bunkhouse now.”
Lance shook his head in confusion. “You have men working in the high country this summer.”
“They’ll only work in summer when they can sleep outside with cattle for company. Won’t be here in winter. Won’t do the work that needs to be done in the slow season. They think the ranch is cursed ’cause it’s run by a woman …”
“Simon, enough chattering,” Peter said as he rejoined them.
Lance frowned at the abrupt interruption of Simon’s story. “That was quick.”
Peter puffed out his chest. “I know how to sneak in and out of the house without Mama seeing me. Otherwise, she’d still be scolding me.”
“Well, come along,” he said to his young helpers.
Soon, he was standing on a chair, with his arms over his head as he pushed up against the sagging beam. Peter and Simon pushed one of the timbers in place as they followed his instructions. “Good work, lads,” he said as he hopped down from the chair.
“It’s crooked,” Simon said as he tilted his head to the side to stare at the support timber that stood at an angle.
Lance smiled. “It is now, but it won’t be for long. I need you to hold it steady at its base while I tap it into place up above.” Soon the first support timber was in position, and the ceiling didn’t sag quite as much.
Lance pointed to an area farther into the room. “Let’s put one more up there. Then I’ll know it won’t come crashing down on me in the middle of the night.”
Simon looked at him with surprise. “Aren’t you afraid of it being possessed?”
“No,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve seen enough in the real world to know my true enemy is man.” He attempted a smile and then continued to shore up the roof with his two helpers.
When the boys left to clean up for supper, Lance wandered past the barn and walked a short way up the hill. The soft early evening breeze ruffled his hair, and he stared at the gently rolling hills that led to beautiful snowcapped peaks in the distance. He bowed his head as he attempted to relax and to allow the peace of the moment to fill him. After a few more minutes, he returned to the barn and washed up for dinner.
He arrived at the ranch house a half hour later after changing into his only clean shirt. When Simon answered the door, he relaxed. “Hello, Simon.”
“You’re here!” Simon called out. “He’s here, Mama!” Simon ran away and then looked over his shoulder as though expecting Lance to follow him. When Lance entered the house and shut the door behind him, Simon raced toward a room at the back of the house. At the entrance, there was a staircase to the upstairs and two doorways off the hallway. He peered into the room to the right and saw a formal dining room with dark furniture that looked as though it hadn’t been used in years. The larger living room to the right had a settee, a rocking chair, a comfortable wingback chair and a spinning wheel set by a fireplace. The wallpapered walls were covered in a subtle floral pattern with a cream-colored background. He followed Simon down the hallway into the back of the house with a large kitchen with room for a table. A back door led to the outside, and he saw a fenced kitchen garden through the windows.
“I’m sorry if I’m late,” Lance murmured as he saw platters of food on the table.
“It’s my fault,” Eleanor said. “I never told you that dinner is at six.” She glanced at the clock that chimed the half hour.
Zachariah entered and nodded at Lance. “I thought I’d have to find that old bell to call you in to dinner.”
“I … I wandered the ranch some and lost track of time.” Lance ran a self-conscious hand over his clean shirt.
“Well, we’re all together now. That’s what matters,” Eleanor said as she cast a grateful glance at her cook who gave a disgruntled harrumph. “This is Mrs. Wagner, and she’s been with us since the boys were born. I couldn’t run the ranch without her.”
“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” Lance said.
Mrs. Wagner watched him impassively, her steely blue eyes giving him the impression that he had been found lacking. She was a plump woman, with beefy arms and strong hands who appeared to rule her kitchen with ease.
Lance waited for everyone to sit and took the one vacant chair. When they were seated, he helped himself to a generous portion of the pot roast, vegetables, and potato. A basket of bread and a crock of butter were passed around, too.
“You had the boys working with you this afternoon,” Zachariah said as he studied Lance. Eleanor sat at the head of the table with her boys on either side of her while Lance sat beside Simon, and Zachariah was across from him and next to Peter. Mrs. Wagner sat at the other end of the table, nearest to the stove, and she hopped up and down frequently to return to the kitchen for more food or to stir something on the stovetop.
Lance speared a roasted carrot with his fork and nodded. “Yes, and
they were good helpers. It would have been impossible for me to shore up the bunkhouse roof alone, and I imagine you are too busy to concern yourself with such a trivial task.”
Zachariah remained silent as the two men stared at each other for a long moment. “Remember they are boys.”
Lance frowned at the warning he heard in Zachariah’s tone. “Yes, they are. And they need to learn basic tasks. It does them no good to not know one end of a hammer from the other or to act recklessly around a horse.” He gave Simon’s shoulder a pat to take away any sting from his words. “Now is the time for them to learn.”
Eleanor cleared her throat, and Zachariah lowered his gaze, focusing on his food. “We are appreciative for the work you will do for us, Mr. Gallagher. However, do not allow my boys to become an unnecessary distraction.”
“But, Mama,” Simon protested as he looked at his mother beseechingly. His black hair was wet from his recent predinner wash, and he wore a clean, light blue shirt that enhanced the color of his eyes. He bit his lip at his mother’s stern glower.
“I assure you, ma’am, I will let them know when they have become a distraction.” Lance looked down at Simon and winked, earning a grin from the young boy.
Chapter 2
The following morning, Lance rose early as was his custom. He dressed and stumbled out to the bunkhouse porch, scratching at his head and silently berating himself for not arranging a way to make coffee for himself. “I’ll never make it until 8 a.m.,” he muttered. He yawned hugely and stretched his arms over his head, his fingers tracing the low porch ceiling.
He sighed and patted his blond hair that tended to stand on end when he woke each morning. A rooster crowed, a cow gave a mournful moo, and he smiled. “Ranch life,” he said with contentment. The underbelly of the clouds shone a soft pink that subtly changed to a hint of purple and then to a darker pink. After a few moments, the brilliant color faded, and the sky brightened. He watched as the light changed, casting bright rays on the distant mountains.
The door to the ranch house opened and closed, and he stared at Mrs. Ferguson approaching him. Her hands were full, and he walked toward her. “May I help you, ma’am?”
She smiled as she held out a cup of coffee. “I feared you were waiting until breakfast. I forgot to inform you a pot of coffee is always on the stove, starting at around six. If you want a cup, you are welcome to come in for one.”
He frowned as he studied her. “Don’t you lock your doors, Mrs. Ferguson?”
She flushed at the concern in his voice. “We do, but Mrs. Wagner is awake at that time. She unlocks the door as Zachariah likes a cup of coffee early in the morning.” She fought a smile. “And his attempts at making his own coffee were disastrous.”
Lance chuckled and raised his mug in a small toast. “I thank you.” He took a sip and closed his eyes. “Heaven,” he whispered.
“Mrs. Wagner is a wonderful cook,” Eleanor murmured. She continued to his bunkhouse, carrying a dustpan and broom. “I brought you these. I fear the bunkhouse is in need of a clean out after months of disuse.”
He motioned for her to set them beside the door. “I will do a quick sweep up of the dust. Believe me, after nights of sleep on a bedroll or in questionable establishments, the bunkhouse is akin to paradise.”
She stared at him with unveiled curiosity. “Where are you from, Mr. Gallagher? You seem much more … refined than the usual ranch hand.”
He shrugged. “I’m from everywhere and nowhere, ma’am. I call no place home.” He shrugged. “I was last in Deadwood.”
Her eyes bulged. “Deadwood? But that’s a wild place.” She flushed as she blurted that out.
He chuckled. “Yes, it was. And I found I had no aptitude for gambling or mining.” He frowned as he saw her fidget at the mention of gambling.
She cleared her throat. “As long as you understand there is to be no gambling on the Broken Pine.”
He nodded. “Like I said, I have no aptitude for it.” He frowned as though deep in thought. “Is that why the other hands had trouble remaining here? They wanted to gamble, and you wouldn’t allow it?”
She sighed and shook her head. “No. They didn’t like that the orders came from me. Not from Zachariah.”
Lance frowned. “Where would they go? Work can’t be that plentiful in this area.”
“There’s more than you’d think. At least four ranches are nearby, and, now that the mines are running again, a few thought they’d become rich looking for the mother lode. They didn’t have the sense to realize that there isn’t as much demand for silver since the Panic of ’73. But, I’ve learned not to try to reason with men in search of easy riches.”
Lance shook his head. “Fools. The only people who become rich are the ones who supply the miners or ply them with drink.” He paused as he looked at her with appreciation. “And you are wise not to waste your breath on such men.” He scratched at his head as he thought of what she did not say and spoke as the silence grew between them. “Well, I thank you, ma’am, for the coffee and for the broom. I’ll bring it back to the main house when it’s time for breakfast.”
She walked a few paces away and then stopped. “Thank you for being good to my boys. I know they can be a handful.”
Lance watched her in confusion. “They were a delight yesterday. I fear they will be disappointed when they learn what chores I have in store for them today.” He saw her stiffen. “Never fear, ma’am. I’ll never ask them to do anything out of their ability. Although I won’t promise not to challenge them. Young boys need to be challenged and to learn that they can succeed.”
She relaxed and sighed with relief before nodding her agreement. “Thank you, Mr. Gallagher. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
He took another deep sip of his coffee and watched her return to the main house. The sun glinted on her hair, enhancing the red in the brown and making her appear younger than she was. He shook his head and forced himself to look to the barn and paddocks and to consider all the work that must be done. He would not be fascinated by the ranch owner.
* * *
Later that morning, Lance worked in the barn cleaning out stalls. He had placed the ten ranch horses in the paddocks for now. He clicked to Amaretto and rubbed a hand down his nose before moving him outside, too. After ensuring the water troughs were full, he began the arduous task of mucking out stalls and laying down fresh hay.
The barn was a long, low-roofed building with no storage area over the stalls. A door led to the attached paddock which had a long, narrow covered area where horses could weather any storm or could escape the heat of the day. Inside the barn, a milk cow and two goats occupied two of the stalls.
“Interesting job to do first,” Zachariah said as he entered the barn. He looked up at the roof and then to Lance.
Lance leaned on the handle of his shovel and took a deep breath. “I decided if I was to make my horse comfortable, the other animals deserved it, too. I’ll get to the roof in a day or two. Winter’s a ways off.”
Zachariah pulled out another shovel from the storeroom and heaved muck into the wheelbarrow. “I’ve always thought the barn should be larger, but we’ve never had time to enlarge it.”
Lance looked at the stalls and shrugged. “As long as you don’t have too serious a winter, the covered area in the paddock will suffice.” He continued his smooth motion of shoveling. “A separate barn for the milk cows and goats might be a good idea, and a covered area for hay out back would be helpful.”
Zachariah grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow. “There are no funds for that right now.” After he returned from dumping the load of dirtied straw, he looked at Lance. “You are aware that your pay consists of room and board. Nothing more?”
Lance paused and met the foreman’s challenging stare. “I am. It’s all I need.” He looked around the barn and sighed at the amount of work needed to be done. “You know I’d prefer to be riding Amaretto on the range herding cattle. But I enjoy any work.”
Zachari
ah studied him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why? Most men who’ve answered the ad have balked at the menial chores. I thought you’d be upset at missing out on moving the herd to the high mountain pasture for summer.” Each year, as the lower valley dried out under the scorching Nevada sun, they moved the herd to a valley high in the mountains that remained lushly green with plenty of grass for the cattle to eat all summer. They would drive the cattle back down to the lower valley in October as winter approached and to cull the herd, sending some of the herd to Chicago to sell.
Lance’s eyes brightened for a moment at the prospect of that adventure before he shook his head. “I’ll never regret having work.” He paused and seemed to consider all that he had learned since his arrival the previous day. “Do you mean those other men were offended at the thought of working for a woman? Or of not playing cowboy?” Lance smiled and shook his head. “I prefer to remain busy, and I realized last night that the work you have for me to do here will keep me much more occupied that watching a grazing herd of cattle.”
Zachariah took a step toward him, his blue eyes flashing with concern. “Who are you running from?”
Lance frowned and then half smiled. “I’m in no trouble with the law, and no one is looking for me.” He let out a deep breath as he saw his words had not calmed the protective foreman. “Memories. I try to outrun memories.” A flash of sorrow shone in his gaze, and then he grabbed his shovel. “This work won’t complete itself on its own.”
Zachariah grabbed the shovel and shook his head. “I know Mrs. Ferguson hired you, but I can fire you at any moment. I won’t allow her or the boys to be harmed.”
They glared at each other a long moment before Lance finally wrenched the shovel out of Zachariah’s hand. “I have no interest in hurting anyone.” He took a deep breath. “I was in Deadwood before I came here. And a few ranches before that.” He shrugged. “I know my way around mining towns. I have no desire to be a miner. Besides, I’ve found that those who make the money are those selling to the miners. I’ve no interest in setting up a business, and I’d rather be outdoors, outside of town.”
Drifting from Deadwood: The Pioneer Brides of Rattlesnake Ridge, Book 6 Page 2
