“She was quite a woman, your ma,” Heath continued. “And I can’t help but think you are too, even if you choose not to act like it.”
Willow scoffed. “I see. So you want to take care of me because you liked my mother, and you think I’m good like her, way deep down under my coal-black heart?”
He ignored her sarcasm. “I feel like it’s the right thing to do. You’re a good kid. You just… Well, you didn’t have the most normal upbringing, did you?”
She didn’t respond to his understatement. Growing up, she had lived with her mother in the cramped quarters above the saloon, a place Martha hated, but the only place she could afford. Willow had spent her childhood carefully tucked away from the happenings in the saloon by a mother who insisted she do hardly anything in her own home but sleep and eat. As Willow grew into a strong, active child, her mother had encouraged her to play outside far away from the bar with little supervision. Still, the saloon always felt like home, and over the years she developed a taste for spirits.
Willow never knew her father, and her mother hadn’t said much about him. All Willow knew was that he’d never married her mother. As Willow began her transition from girlhood to womanhood, her mother has been adamant that Willow pay no attention to boys and end up with child as she had. It wasn’t a hard feat. Her mother had been beautiful, and Willow looked nothing like her. Boys didn’t give Willow any amorous consideration anyway.
She didn’t get in the family way, but she’d gotten into plenty of other kinds of trouble. She never took school seriously, and she never mastered how to cook and take care of a household like her female peers. Instead she learned how to ride, fish, and hunt. When her mother died, she learned how to steal, simply because she couldn’t survive any other way.
Willow often wondered if her ma would have been secretly proud of how Willow had handled herself. Instead of going down the most likely path and working in the saloon like the other destitute and unmarried women her age, she’d become a scrapper. She’d never opened her legs for any man, let alone a customer, and she always managed to get by.
“What’s the other reason for wanting me to come live with you, Heath, the reason that’s not noble?” she asked. His name tasted foreign on her lips, like the first time she’d sipped gin. She’d always thought of him as Mr. Wolfe, the rich rancher, voice of authority and reason. Calling him Heath felt too familiar, but he had called her Willow, and she wanted to assert that she was not beneath him.
He tapped the dirt with the heel of his boot a few times. “Don’t rightly know how to explain it without sounding like a braggart, but here goes. You mentioned that many women would be willing to come stay at the house and work for me. That’s the truth. Problem is, if I hire any skirt of marrying age, she might get it into her head that’s where we’d be headed. To the chapel, I mean. And frankly I’m not interested in marrying again. That’s the long and short of it.”
“I’m of marrying age,” Willow pointed out. “But I suppose it would be completely outlandish to think a girl like me might want to get hitched.”
Heath’s ears slowly turned bright red, and he looked stricken. “That’s not what I meant. You’re so much younger than I am and—"
Willow burst into laughter, saving him from having to explain himself further. She knew what he meant. There was nothing about her appearance or attitude that made her seem to want a man. She lacked the coquettish nature and fashion sense. To her all that was a waste of time, and she had no desire to trap a man. She’d rather trap beavers and sell the fur.
Heath shook his head, but there was relief and a twinkle in his eyes. “You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t agreed yet. What exactly would you require me to do?”
“Nothing difficult. Just cooking, milking the cow, cleaning, minding the children, mending clothes and curtains, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, is that all?” she huffed. It never failed to amaze and infuriate her how men thought women’s work was easy. She’d tried both men’s and women’s work in her life, and those tasks which often were thought of as male duties, like tending to horses and hunting, were vastly more interesting and less arduous than the day-to-day female burden of housework. She’d like to see Heath, or any man for that matter, spend years on end maintaining a household instead of cutting cattle.
“Now don’t get your dander up,” he said. “All I meant is working at the house wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. It would be what most every woman in Texas does.”
“The thing is, I’m not all that motherly. I can chase out dust bunnies, but the idea of running after children all day makes me want to pull out my hair.”
His eyes narrowed, and he hesitated a beat before saying, “I’m not looking for you to be a mother to my children. They lost theirs and they’ve had to adjust to that. No one can take her place. As for running after them, they’re well-behaved and shouldn’t require much in that way.”
There was no missing the ice in his tone. He’d put her in her place with a clear message. She would never attain a whit of his late wife’s worth to the family. It made her feel even worse about the prospect of going home with him. At least around town, she commanded some respect from the other wanderers and troublemakers. If she went home with Heath, she’d be nothing but inferior hired help.
“How about we give it one month?” he asked, with a less-chilly voice. He stood to his feet. “That’s what the marshal suggested. If you hate it, you can always leave, but I think you should at least try. It’s better than Clyde locking you in jail.”
Willow stood too. “Fine. One month,” she said sullenly, staring at the third button down on his shirt, which was eye-level to her.
“Don’t sound so sulky,” he admonished, holding out his hand to shake on their deal. “You’re going to live on a ranch, not in the calaboose. It won’t be all that bad.”
Willow allowed her hand to be swallowed inside the rancher’s paw. She suddenly felt small and fragile, something she’d rarely felt before. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling, but it was new to her, and she realized soon everything would be new. Dread welled up and lodged itself deep inside of her. What was she getting herself into?
Chapter Three
Willow fetched her belongings, contained in one burlap sack she kept hidden behind a panel of the livery wall. Though unhappy with the arrangement, she was aware of her good fortune. The marshal could have charged her with a crime and she could be facing a jail term and stiff fine. Instead, he’d told her that as long as she found herself a respectable job and kept her nose clean, he would give her a pass on the vandalism.
As she toted her belongings to the front entrance of the livery, she heard the voice of the very man on her mind: Marshal Clyde Shaw. She groaned. She did not want to see the lawman. He’d given her a tongue-lashing that had generated one embarrassing tear from her, and she had no wish to endure another round. She hung back and waited, hoping he would leave before her absence was noticed.
Luck was not on her side. Heath called out, “You gonna take all day, girl? Pony up. I’ve got to get back to the ranch.”
With a grunt of frustration, she trudged outside, keeping her eyes downcast. “I’m ready,” she said to the dirt, and spat out her tobacco.
“She’s not over the moon about the arrangement,” Heath explained to Clyde, “but she’s agreed to give it a go for one month.”
“That’s something. If anyone can help the girl in a month, you can,” Clyde responded.
Heath placed his Stetson on his head. “Well, I think we can help each other.”
Clyde nodded. “You let me know how it goes. If there’s any trouble you don’t want to handle, I’ll see to it—”
“Oh, ho! Here I am,” Willow interrupted, patting herself along her arm. “I thought maybe I’d disappeared and that’s why you two were talking as though I weren’t here.”
Heath’s lips twitched with amusement, and Willow silently thanked the heavens he was
n’t completely humorless, as she’d assumed someone like him to be.
But Clyde’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get smart, Willow McAllister. I still have a pair of iron bracelets with your name on them.”
With great effort, Willow kept the rebellion she felt from appearing on her face, and she held back a remark about his lousy taste in jewelry.
After Heath and Clyde exchanged goodbyes, Heath said, “Come along, Trouble.” He took Willow lightly by the elbow and directed her to his horse and buggy. His touch felt strange to her, and she realized a man had never gently steered her anywhere. She wanted to feel annoyed at his casual dominance, but she felt strangely accepting of it.
Soon they were on their way to Heath’s ranch, her new home. She sat still and upright while he chirked to the horse. Her burlap sack was wedged between them, but she still felt his nearness. Everything about the man, from his substantial height to his deep voice to his vaguely proprietary touch, projected a sort of easy authority she was not accustomed to. Her male acquaintances seemed to take up less space in the world. They were the kind of men she understood. Like her, they had shifty eyes and slightly stooped shoulders. They did not stand tall and gaze at the world with resolve. They ducked and dodged their tribulations as well as they could. Heath seemed like he would grasp tribulation around the throat and throw it to the ground.
Willow shifted on the hard seat and grumbled, “I don’t know why the marshal didn’t just fine me and put me in jail instead of making this arrangement with you. It’s not because he has any fond feelings toward me. Maybe he’s like you and feels some kind of loyalty to my mother.”
Heath didn’t answer her, which caused Willow to continue talking, mostly to herself, trying to figure out the marshal’s motivation for setting her up with a job that many women would kill for. “Maybe he doesn’t want to do the paperwork or deal with locking up a woman,” she mused.
“For Pete’s sake,” Heath said finally. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that the marshal is a good man who decided to show you a little mercy?”
“Ha! He sure didn’t show much of that when he arrested me,” she retorted. “He grabbed my arms behind me. When I tried to wrench free while he was tightening the cuffs, he kicked my feet from under me so I fell flat on ground. Got a mouthful of good ol’ Thorndale dirt.”
“You’d broken the law, and he’s a lawman. I’m sure he didn’t enjoy roughing you up. Did you stop resisting arrest after that?”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t done mistreating me. He hauled me to the jailhouse, planted me in front of his desk, and hollered and threatened and scared the livin’ bejesus out of me. There was no need for that. I was already meek as a lamb by that point.”
“Maybe he wanted to make an impression, make sure you don’t ever get caught up in such mischief again. And that brings me back to what I said before. He’s a good man who decided to show you mercy. I’ll tell you a secret about the marshal. He’s got a soft spot a mile wide for children.”
“I’m not a child.”
“To him you are. He’s known you since you were skipping through town and jumping into the biggest puddles you could find. What he did, it was for your own good. He knew you needed discipline and leniency at the same time.”
Willow could see that Heath thought highly of Marshal Clyde Shaw, and no amount of arguing would make him see otherwise. Never in her life had she been subjected to a man disciplining her ‘for her own good,’ and she was suspicious of the concept. She recalled how Heath had mentioned he was prepared to straighten her out with discipline. The thought caused a sudden awareness of her body, especially her bottom clenching and bouncing on the wooden seat.
The horse plodded along for a couple miles, then pulled the buggy in front of Heath’s large cabin. Before Willow could grab her sack, Heath had taken hold of it and jumped to the ground. He rounded the buggy and reached out to her, palm up.
She stared at his proffered hand a moment before she scowled. “Heath, let’s not pretend I’m a lady, all right?” She hopped from the seat to the wheel to the ground, quick as a jackrabbit. She took her sack from him and waited to be led inside.
Heath glowered at her but had no opportunity to respond. The cabin door opened, and a boy appeared. As he walked toward them, Willow recognized him as Heath’s son. His shirt was wrinkled, and his trousers had grass stains on the knees. He wore a curious expression on his freckled face as he gazed at her unabashedly.
“Jack, say hello to Miss McAllister,” Heath said. “Willow, I believe you’ve met Jack before.”
“Hi, Jack,” she said to the boy. “You can call me Willow if you like, and if it’s all right with your pa.”
The three of them entered the cabin before Heath answered. “How about the children call you Miss Willow?”
“Fine by me.” She looked around at the large living area. Under her feet was a mat with the word Welcome burned into the bristled fibers. A large blue rug covered a good portion of the hardwood floor. On top of the rug was an assortment of wooden furniture, including a center table and a few chairs. A large pillowed sofa faced the fireplace.
“You’re gonna have my old room, Miss Willow,” the boy said.
“Why don’t you show her the way, Jack?” Heath suggested. To Willow, he said, “My foreman’s daughter was minding the children for me while I was in town. I’ll tell her to go home. You take all the time you need to unpack and settle, and then we’ll have a family meeting.”
“Should I come?” she quipped.
Heath frowned, but he didn’t respond. He turned and walked toward the door on the far side of the sitting room. Willow realized she was likely doing herself no favors by continued to goad the man. She decided then and there to tone it down. She had no cause to be angry with Heath, and she might as well try to be polite.
As Willow followed Jack down the hallway, she looked around. The cabin was as spacious inside as it looked outside. She knew that Heath’s father had built it several decades ago, and then Heath had added on to it, making it one-of-a-kind in the town of Thorndale. It had actual bedrooms, not one large room with partitioning. Wood paneling formed the walls, which were decorated in no apparent pattern with family photographs. Several needlepoint images dotted the walls. They were scribed with uplifting messages like “Live Simply” and “Home Is Where the Heart Is”. That they were stitched by a woman who was now in her grave gave the words a melancholy slant.
“Here’s your new room,” Jack said, opening the door to a cozy space furnished simply with a green rug, desk, bed, and dresser. Willow set her sack on the bed. It looked soft and recently made with a blue and white quilt folded neatly at the end. An unlit oil lamp with decorative etching on the hurricane glass sat atop the three-drawer dresser. Next to the lamp was a white basin and pitcher filled with clear water. On the desk was an inkwell and feather pen along with several pieces of plain brown paper. A selection of hard-backed books lined the end of the desk along the wall, propped up by two halves of a large amethyst stone. Dark blue curtains parted around the window, allowing the late-morning sun to stream through.
“Do you like the room?” Jack asked her gloomily.
Willow blinked, feeling like she was coming out of a spell. Her new room was far more comfortable than she’d imagined it would be. Never in her life had she been surrounded by such wonderful creature comforts. Instead of feeling trapped as she’d expected to be at her new home, she felt a sort of warmth and eagerness to shut the door and soak in her private space alone.
“It’s a very nice room, Jack. Thank you for lending it to me for a while. I promise to give it back soon.”
The grumpy look drained from his face, and he smiled up at her. “I moved my jacks and marbles into Pa’s room, but you can borrow them if you want.”
“That’s mighty nice of you. I love marbles.”
His smile broadened, and Willow couldn’t help but smile back. Despite the fact that she’d arrived practically kicking and screaming, she had to admi
t that her first impression of life at the Wolfe Ranch was a good one. Her room was more than satisfactory, and Jack seemed like a nice kid. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad working for Heath. And even if the work was dreadful, at least at the end of the day she could retire to her own space.
When Jack left, she closed the door and unpacked her belongings from the sack—a pair of trousers, two linen shirts, two drawers, a spare shift, stockings, a nightgown, and a knife. All the items fit into half of one of the dresser drawers. The other two drawers were empty. She checked inside the desk and found it to be empty as well. She guessed that Heath had made Jack clear out the room for her. It was a nice gesture. The room truly felt like her own.
After a mild struggle, she pried open the window and gazed out. A slight breeze cooled her face. The view was of gently rolling green hills, dotted with wildflowers. She closed her eyes and breathed in a faint aroma of honeysuckle along with oat hay and horses. She knew a stable was around the other side of the house outside her view from the window.
She didn’t want to leave the room and wondered how long she could get away with staying put. Heath had said she could take all the time she wanted to unpack and settle, but she guessed that was something people in polite society said without really meaning it and that he expected her to emerge from her room, lickety-split.
She heard voices coming from the living area, and her heart dropped. It was as she expected. Heath had already assembled his children there. After indulging in a quick bounce on the bed, which was indeed as soft as she’d guessed, she forced herself to join the Wolfe family.
Heath sat in an armchair next to the unlit fireplace, while his children sat on the sofa. Heath stood when she walked in and waved at a chair. “Willow, please sit.”
She obeyed, lowering herself into the armchair that matched Heath’s. Though they sat together in a circle, Willow couldn’t help but feel like she was in front of the room on display. All eyes fell on her, and she squirmed. She hated being the focus of attention.
Bringing Trouble Home (Lost and Found in Thorndale Book 1) Page 2
