“Good afternoon, Mr. Wolfe,” they replied in identical singsong voices. The taller one called Mary pumped her fan across her face. “Sure is a scorcher. You have much business in town?”
He inwardly cursed. The question obligated him to pause and answer, which he was loath to do. “Just finishing up. One more stop and then I can head home.”
Victoria gave Heath a secret little smile, the kind that implied a more intimate relationship between them than actually existed. He knew why she smiled at him in that way, and it made him cringe.
Not long ago, he’d done her a favor, at her request, of helping get the ties on the back of her dress unstuck. The act had revealed to him the feminine contours of her neck and bare shoulders. When she turned around and tilted her head up, he saw in her eyes that the whole event had been staged, right down to their semi-private location behind the shop she owned, and she expected him to kiss her. When he’d stepped back in retreat of her advance, it had the effect of causing the light in her bright eyes to fade into a dull disappointment with a glimmer of outrage. “Pardon me, Miss Davis,” he’d said. “I’m not too handy with lady duds.” He’d fumbled with his hat intentionally, playing the part of a nervous, dim-witted cowboy out of his element in the face of such beauty. It was guile on his part, done to allow her to retain her pride, something she wouldn’t have been able to do if he’d rejected her outright.
Seeing her now, smiling at him knowingly, he realized his ploy had worked. She looked at him with the smug satisfaction of a woman who assumed he was a hopeless male swayed by her feminine charms yet too awkward to act on them.
“You’re welcome to come cool off at the shop,” Victoria offered. “You can rest a spell, have some lemonade.”
“Oh yes, do join us,” Mary added. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat.
“Wish I could,” he lied, “but I promised I’d be home for supper and I better keep moving. You ladies take care now.” He tipped his hat and took a step.
“Have to get home to your hired help?” Victoria asked, her voice a soft, smooth sneer.
Heath halted, flooded with aggravation that crossed the border into anger, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. His arrangement with Willow McAllister wasn’t worth explaining to anyone. “That’s right,” he said. “She’s cooking pot roast today, and she’s darn fine at that. Wouldn’t want to miss it.” He walked away before they could speak to him further.
He became aware as he neared the jailhouse that he was sweating, not just from the heat but also as a result of the unexpected anger he’d felt upon hearing the subtle insult from Victoria.
“Get yourself together, cowboy,” he muttered to himself. Who did he think he was? Willow’s white knight with a duty to protect her honor at all costs? She’d never asked for that, and it wasn’t as though what Victoria said wasn’t true. Willow was his hired help, even if he felt more inclined to think of her as a friend and part of the family.
Heath reached the jailhouse. The curtains were drawn and there was a quietness about the place. He knew before he rattled the doorknob that it would be locked. He walked the short path to the end of town to see if Clyde was home.
His daughter Sadie opened the door. Her eyes and nose were red, and it was clear she had been crying. “Sadie, honey, what’s wrong?” Heath asked.
She ran the back of her hand along her tear-stained cheek and stepped aside, wordlessly inviting him in. As Heath entered, he spotted the marshal’s four-year-old daughter engaged in concentrated play with blocks on the floor. The house was in a state comfortable disarray, indicating a place well-lived-in and bustling with activity. The smell of chicken wafted in from the kitchen.
“I’m alright, Mr. Wolfe,” Sadie said with a wavering voice. “My pa ain’t here. Grace and the twins ran off, and he’s out searching for them. When he gets home, I’ll tell him you stopped by, if you like.”
“That’s fine, Sadie. I’m sorry to hear about the children. Any thought about where they might go?”
There was a slight shift in her eyes before she looked down at her feet. “I didn’t tell my pa this. I thought about it after he left. I think they might be headed to your place. I talked an awful lot about your nice kitchen and how big the barn is. They might try to hide out there.”
“Why did they run away?”
She sighed deeply, like a weary old woman rather than a young girl. “I might have gotten sore at them. It’s just a lot for me to do with them being here, and they don’t help at all.”
“Anyone can understand that. Don’t blame yourself for them running off.”
“Thanks,” she said, and glanced up at him. “I hope my pa doesn’t blame me too much.”
He offered her a smile. “Your pa knows what a fine girl you are. I don’t think he’ll blame you.”
She smiled weakly back at him, but she didn’t look convinced.
Heath headed home in his wagon, hauling the supplies he’d packed from the mercantile. By the time he arrived at the cabin, the heat of the day was at an all-time high. He unhooked his horse and set her to pasture, making sure the trough was filled with water. He walked inside the house and found Willow sitting near an open window, fanning her face.
She glanced at him without a smile, then returned to staring out the window.
There was something odd and reserved about her that took Heath by surprise. “Hello, Trouble. You alright?”
“Yes.”
Heath continued to observe her a moment. Usually when he called her Trouble, he could spot the hint of a smile that she always tried to hide, but this time no trace of amusement could be seen on her features.
He remembered the news he needed to share. “Say, the marshal’s young’uns took off, and Sadie thought they might head here. You haven’t seen them, have you?”
“I haven’t,” she said shortly. Before Heath could speak to her further, she stood abruptly and walked down the hall to her room.
It wasn’t until after supper that Heath realized she’d lied to him. He saw her shove a loaf of bread into a sack when she thought he wasn’t looking, and it was then that he put it together that the marshal’s children were somewhere near and she was going to feed them.
It puzzled him why she hadn’t told him the truth, but he didn’t waste time dwelling on it. He knew the marshal was likely worried, and he intended to load those children up in the wagon and take them straight home.
Heath followed Willow to the barn. She walked to the corner where an oil lamp was lit, revealing the three small shadows huddled next to the hay. As she was handing the bread to the children, he came up upon them.
He addressed the children straight away, his voice seeming especially loud in the quiet space. “Well now, I know hay can make a tolerable place to rest your head in a crunch, but there are beds for sleeping at your home, so you won’t be spending the night here. On your feet.”
Willow gasped and whirled around, while the children stood. One of the boys said, “We don’t belong there, sir. We ain’t the marshal’s blood like Sadie and Ada.” The other boy and the girl nodded and mumbled their agreement.
“They don’t want to go back, Heath,” Willow added emphatically. “Why should they have to return to the marshal’s house if they don’t want to?”
“Why? Because it’s where they live,” Heath said, astonished. He didn’t know what she was thinking. Did she believe the marshal’s children could spend the rest of their childhood holed up in the barn? Addressing the runaways, he said, “You three finish your bread while I hook up the wagon.”
“No!” Willow cried. She placed herself between the children and Heath and stared up at him defiantly. Her eyes flashed. “I won’t allow you to take them back where they will be mistreated and beaten. The marshal doesn’t want them. They should be allowed to stay until we can find them a more suitable home.”
“Now look here, Willow McAllister,” Heath said firmly. “You have it in your head one way about the marshal, but you’re
out-and-out wrong. I know he he’d sooner break his hand than raise it on a child.”
A long silence followed in which Heath and Willow glared at each other, neither willing to back down.
Finally, the girl named Grace moved to stand next to Willow. She touched her hand. “It’s not the marshal,” she said softly. “It’s Sadie who don’t want us there.”
Heath could almost see the wheels turning in Willow’s head. She first looked confused, then upset, and finally her gaze softened with understanding. Her shoulders stooped in a humble pose after realizing her mistaken assumption about the children’s reason for running away. “I’ll go get Jack and Bitty ready for bed,” she mumbled.
Heath watched her leave. When she was out of his view, he grabbed the halter that was slung over its hook on the wall and addressed the children. “You can tell the marshal your troubles and work it out with Sadie. Sometimes it’s hard being part of a family, but that’s no reason to run away. Now y’all stay put until I get the mare hooked up, you hear?”
Resigned to their fate, three heads nodded and murmured, “Yessir,” in matching subdued tones.
As Heath finished hooking the mare to the wagon for the second time that day, he heard the clip-clopping of hooves approaching quickly. He guessed it was Clyde, coming to pick up his brood after learning from Sadie where they might be.
As he suspected, it was the marshal who hopped down. “Howdy, Heath. I see you’re fixin’ up the wagon. Am I right that my children are here and you’re of the mind to take them home?”
“Yup, you’re right.”
Clyde closed his eyes and let out a long sigh of relief. He shook his head and relaxed his shoulders. Then his face hardened. “Where are they?”
Heath tilted his head in the direction of the barn. Clyde strode in. Heath couldn’t make out the words of the dressing-down that took place then, but he could imagine the gist of it, and he was secretly thankful Willow had excused herself before hearing the marshal’s bellowing. Clyde was a man few dared to cross, and he could deliver a scolding that would cause the bravest child’s eyes to sting. When they finally emerged, the boys were sniffling, and the girl was outright crying.
Clyde walked ahead of them to where Heath was leaning against the wagon. “I’d be much obliged if I could borrow your rig to get these naughty young’uns home. I’ll bring it back with my deputy tomorrow at first light.”
“’Course,” Heath said. “I don’t need it tomorrow, so you can take your time.”
The wagon ambled away, with the marshal’s horse tied to the back, one wheel squeaking conspicuously in the silence of the warm evening. Heath continued to stare in the distance long after they’d disappeared from his sight.
The cabin was quiet when he entered. Jack and Bitty were settled in their rooms, and a quick glance in the kitchen told him Willow was too. He walked to her room and knocked.
“Come in,” she said, her voice meek.
He opened the door. “Here’s the thing, Willow,” he said, offering no greeting as he strode in. He closed the door behind him. “Perhaps being an orphan yourself, you thought it necessary to stand up for those young’uns, and that’s admirable. But you’d do well to learn the truth before pointing your gun and firing.”
She looked up at him from where she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. She had changed into her nightgown, attire that looked markedly feminine compared to her usual. It was an ankle-length slip of light white cotton that brought out the tan in her arms and face. Her feet were bare, giving her a touching appearance of vulnerability. She’d let out her dark hair from the single braid she usually wore. The black tresses fell in waves around her shoulders. The effect of her flowing hair and sleeping gown was so stunning, Heath had to stifle a sharp breath of desire.
“You’re right, Heath. It was foolish of me to assume I knew the problem, without even querying the children.”
Heath walked to the desk and pulled out the chair to take a seat in front of her. “It takes a fine person to admit when they’re wrong.”
“Thank you. I don’t feel so fine at the moment. I feel a right fool.”
“You’re not a fool,” he said gently, “but I must admit you have offended me, darlin’.”
She looked distressed. “How?”
“I thought we were becoming friends, but you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about the children being here. If you think I would return them to a man who would mistreat them, you must not think well of me at all.”
She looked at him for a long time, her soulful eyes moving from side to side as she gazed into each of his. He held her gaze until she eventually looked away. Shaking her head, she said, “Now that you put it that way, I should have known. You wouldn’t let anyone be mistreated.”
He felt the nearly irresistible urge to take hold of her sweet little body, turn her over his knee, and give her a good spanking. Either that, or kiss her soundly. She seemed to deserve both equally. Instead, he reached out and took her small hand in his. “Then give me the courtesy of trusting me in the future, won’t you?”
She didn’t pull her hand away and instead seemed to lean toward him. “I can’t say as I’m used to trusting anyone but myself. But I will try to trust you, Heath.”
“That’s all I can ask for.” He squeezed her hand gently and rubbed his thumb over her delicate wrist.
He wasn’t sure, but it sounded like she drew a sharp breath, and he wondered if she felt the same strong desire for him that he felt for her. Before he could think on it further, she tugged her hand toward her, and he released it. He stood and scooted the chair back to its place at the desk. He reached for the doorknob.
“Heath…”
His hand stilled, and he looked back at her. “Yes?”
She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. He waited patiently until she was able to say what she wanted.
“I think very highly of you. And… If you thought half as highly of me as I do of you, I would be pleased.”
He smiled at her, relieved that his belief in their friendship hadn’t been something falsely construed in his own head. “Then you should be doubly pleased, honey. I hold you in high regard.” He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, that he admired her courage in defending the children, and that she was the one person who had managed to make him laugh since his wife had died.
Instead, he left, closing the door softly behind him.
Chapter Nine
The agreed-upon trial period of one month passed. Neither Willow nor Heath made mention of it, and soon two months had passed. The sweltering summer came to an end, and the leaves on the trees began to change colors, turning from green to golden before falling to the ground.
Their days were routine. Heath took off for the range after an early breakfast, not returning until dusk, and Bitty and Jack rode Ashton to school and back again every day. Only Willow had no place to go, leaving her to occupy herself alone in the cabin.
Work was never in short supply. Her days were filled from sunup to sundown baking bread, churning butter, washing clothes, and the hundreds of other tasks required to run a household. Though her hands were occupied, her mind was not, and she found a restlessness growing inside of her that she knew could lead to trouble.
She thought about telling Heath she was bored. She even formed the words she would say to him in her mind, requesting that he give her some time off to spend in town, but she could not bring herself to speak the words out loud. She worried that by telling him how she felt, she would be upsetting the balance of a very good thing. She was happy at the ranch, mostly, and she figured it would be better to squash the wild streak in herself that threatened to surface, rather than tell Heath about it and acknowledge its existence.
But in trying to subdue her restlessness, it seemed only to grow. As the days passed, she grew more irritable. Soon her comfortable existence seemed nearly unbearable, and Heath’s politeness toward her was maddening. Her feelings for him
had grown stronger than she’d ever experienced for a man. She thought often about how he’d taken her hand in his and brushed her wrist with his thumb. It had caused her such a rush of excitement she’d been nearly frantic. Every day since then, she found herself wishing he would hold her hand again. She imagined him kissing her, and she even imagined him spanking her like the one time he’d swatted her in the kitchen. She would have welcomed any of that over his infuriating politeness.
One Saturday morning, when her restlessness was at an all-time high, Willow prepared the family’s favorite breakfast of flapjacks and molasses with bacon. She stood over the stove in a new apron she’d managed to sew using bright blue material from the back of the family’s storage closet. When she wore it the first time, Heath had complimented her on it, saying it was nice to see her wearing something other than brown.
It had been an offhand comment, but it left Willow with the desire to wear more of what would please him. She even considered sewing a pretty dress for herself, if she ever found the time. But her days were filled from dawn to dusk with other work that seemed more pressing.
The bacon sizzled in the pan, the flapjacks bubbled. Heath sat at the table, silently drinking from his coffee mug without removing his eyes from the newspaper in his hand. Willow had come to learn that before coffee, Heath was as conversational as a grizzly bear, and about as growly too.
Willow knew better than to fill her own coffee mug until later. It would go cold in the time it took her to serve everyone breakfast. She felt uncommonly annoyed by that on this morning. She needed coffee to lift her from her bad mood. During her moods, she daydreamed about running away to town, catching up with her old friends, the “bad seeds” as the marshal called them, and getting drunk from laughter and whiskey. It seemed to be the medicine she needed to cure her of her growing feelings for a man who remained mostly indifferent toward her.
Willow’s thoughts were interrupted by the children, who argued loudly about whether Bitty could join Jack and his friends to play Capture the Flag. “You don’t know how to play,” Jack insisted. “You can stay here and play dolls or something.”
Bringing Trouble Home (Lost and Found in Thorndale Book 1) Page 5
