“I know,” Augusta had agreed wearily. “The gardener threatened to quit if she doesn’t stop badgering him for details about every plant in the yard. I also found her trailing Ethel around while the poor girl was trying to finish dusting so she could leave for the day. Hattie wanted to know everything about Ethel’s nine brothers and sisters.”
Jake grinned into his whiskey glass. You never knew when or where Hattie would pop up, Lillian in hand. But you could be sure she’d be found engaging her latest quarry in conversation, endlessly interrogating the poor sod or espousing opinions of her own. He, too, had come under her conversational guns. But unlike a good many adults, he enjoyed it.
Since Augusta removed the womenfolk to the ranch the day after Hattie arrived in Mattawa, he hadn’t spent as much time with her as his mother and Mirabel. With his schedule, there wasn’t time to make the trip from town to ranch and back during the workweek—not without getting up before the crack of dawn to get to the office, then coming back home late in the evening. But during his weekend exposure to Hattie, he found her extremely interesting.
The girl was one of a kind, her personality no doubt a result of the unique circumstances that allowed her to run wild before arriving in Mattawa. Or perhaps her outspokenness stemmed from the fact that she didn’t harbor a shy bone in her sturdy little body. Whatever the reason, she was pretty damned adaptable; you had to admire that. Her life to date couldn’t have been easy.
All the myriad rules governing proper behavior were obviously new to Hattie and, clearly, to her way of thinking, often incomprehensible. He didn’t doubt for a moment that she could be a trial for his mother, for she was a volatile little package. He’d heard her shouting with rage one minute and laughing uproariously the next. It was exactly that behavior, truth to tell, he found so fascinating. The things that set off other girls, reducing them to tears, seemed to elicit a different response entirely from Hattie.
Jake had never seen her cry. He’d heard her respond with anger or laugh something off with an unexpectedly timed sense of humor. But he’d never seen her blubber or lament. Even the day when her cursing finally caused Mirabel to follow through on the threatened mouth washing, Hattie hadn’t shed a tear. She had come up spitting out soap and screaming at the top of her lungs. And if her eyes had glittered, it sure as hell hadn’t been with tears. She was a stubborn little cuss, but he’d noticed she didn’t let it carry her to the point of idiocy. Since the mouth-washing episode, Jake hadn’t heard the infamous swear word pass her lips. He’d heard her whisper, “Hell’s bells,” a couple times, but Mirabel must not feel as strongly about that combination. Well, either that or Hattie had yet to use it anywhere near her.
A tutor had been engaged for her when they discovered how sorely her education had been neglected. Now Hattie had John Fiske to hound with her endless questions, and she appeared to take full advantage of his services. She was already on book five of the six-volume series of McGuffey’s Readers, which pleased everyone. Hattie’s mother had given her a good start in reading and writing, but it had been only a start at Elvira Witherspoon Taylor’s death. Hattie had had limited access to books after that. Luckily, she was a quick learner with an inquiring mind.
Last night he’d brought the females back to Augusta’s house so Hattie could watch the town’s Fourth of July fireworks from Augusta’s bedroom window. He, his mom, and Mirabel had gotten a huge kick out of watching the kid’s enthrallment with the display. Less thrilling were the piano lessons Augusta insisted Hattie have. She hated being confined indoors doing repetitious scales and wasn’t shy about sharing her opinion. They had all come to dread those moments when her frustration got the best of her and she took it out on the piano keys, pounding up and down the scales, filling the house with discordant, earsplitting noise.
A rustle in the doorway and subtle drift of attar of roses alerted Jake that he was no longer alone. Looking up from the contemplation of his whiskey glass, he saw Jane-Ellen standing just inside the room. Thoughts of Hattie fled, along with his irritation at having been kept waiting. He set his glass on the nearest table and rose to his feet.
Jane-Ellen moved into the room. “I’m sorry I took so long,” she murmured.
“It was worth the delay,” Jake replied and smiled widely, eyeing her in appreciation.
Jane-Ellen blushed beneath his frank regard and decided it was worth having deliberately delayed coming downstairs in order to fuss with her hair and change her dress three different times. She peered up at him from under partially lowered lashes. Her friends simply swooned over Jake Murdock. He was fun, he was very nice to look at, and he had prospects beyond the already established wealth of his family. He was considered one of Mattawa’s finest catches, and Jane-Ellen loved being the envy of her friends. It made up in part for the fact that his virility sometimes frightened her to death. “Um, may I offer you some refreshments?”
“No, thanks,” Jake replied. “Actually, I hoped you’d ride out to the ranch with me.”
Jane-Ellen accepted immediately, excited at the invitation. She’d heard of the Murdock Ranch; everyone knew it was where their wealth originated. But she had never been there.
It was exhilarating to bowl along the country roads in the summer sunshine. Autumn’s approach was still in the future and it was beautifully warm but not yet ungodly hot. Jake raced the buggy along a straight stretch of road, and clamping her hat to her head with one hand, Jane-Ellen turned to study him. “I don’t believe I’ve ever known anyone who owns two residences,” she confessed, raising her voice a little to be heard over the pounding of the horse’s hoofs.
Jake laughed, enjoying the weather, the speed, the girl at his side. He turned his head to look at her. “We moved permanently into our town house just before my father died.”
At Jane-Ellen’s quizzical look, he said, “Dad knew he didn’t have long to live and he wanted Mom settled in town. Before he became ill, we rarely used the town house.”
“I’ve heard Luke Murdock was a wonderful man.” Jane-Ellen smiled at him.
“Yeah, he was.” Jake was surprised by the strength of the grief that could still sneak up and wrap him in its grip. It had been several years now since the funeral. “I still miss him.”
Jane-Ellen noted the veil of sadness flitting across his hazel eyes and felt a surge of tenderness for this usually easygoing man. “He was sweet to see your mother situated in town.”
Her remark made him laugh, dispelling his sadness. “Mom didn’t think so. She loved the ranch. My parents built it together from scratch and it was her home for all but the end of their married life.” He grinned. “But she loved Dad more and he wasn’t above fighting dirty, using his illness to make her promise to stay in town. He thought she needed people around her, and it bothered him to think of her way out here without his protection.”
Jake slowed the mare’s pace with a tug of the reins, then turned his attention back to Jane-Ellen. “Mother still comes here for extended periods. She and Mirabel brought Hattie here the day after she arrived to begin the civilizing process away from the town’s prying eyes. They went home last night so Hattie could see the fireworks from the house, but they’ll be back tomorrow.”
Jane-Ellen’s curiosity was piqued by Jake’s mention of Hattie’s name. Few people had yet to meet the Murdocks’ ward, but already there were whispers about the girl’s outspokenness, rumors she’d been allowed to run wild before her arrival in Mattawa and had arrived wearing boys’ clothing.
Firmly, Jane-Ellen suppressed her avid interest. Jake wouldn’t have said as much as he had if he didn’t believe she could be trusted not to carry tales. Instead, she asked, “What about you, Jake? Do you miss the ranch as well?”
“I do.” He slowed the rig to turn onto a private road. Clucking at the horse and dragging on the reins, he halted the buggy at a wrought iron gate.
Jake swung down from the buggy and walked
the gate open. He guided the horse and buggy through, then closed and fastened the gate behind him. Slinging an arm over the mare’s rump, he thumbed back his hat to stare up at Jane-Ellen.
“I love this ranch, but Dad considered me too young to take over for him when he fell ill,” he said regretfully. “As long as I can remember, he wanted me to be a lawyer. Or at least to receive the education he never had. And I like being an attorney. But, it’s an odd thing, Jane-Ellen. I miss ranching more than I thought possible. Particularly working with the horses.”
Jake slapped the horse’s rump and swung back up into the buggy. “Maybe someday, when my practice is well established, I’ll move out here and have the best of both worlds. Part-time rancher and part-time lawyer.” Grinning at her, he shrugged. “Who knows?”
Jane-Ellen didn’t know what to think about that. She had only ever lived in towns and cities; she knew nothing of ranch life. Still, she found the afternoon exhilarating, enchanting. Jake left her in the ranch house, which was unexpectedly grand, while he attended to business on the spread. She was given tea and a brief tour of the house by the cook.
As the afternoon waned, she was served dinner. For just a while, as she ate in solitary splendor in the plush dining room, she pretended she was Mrs. Jake Murdock, mistress of all she surveyed. It was a daydream, but a harmless one. And it was exciting to pretend.
The sun was lowering in the western sky before Jake reappeared, noisily entering the parlor where Jane-Ellen sat. She glanced up at his arrival and gaped in surprised dismay. She had only seen him immaculately attired. Certainly, she’d never seen him all . . . sweaty.
He wore a pair of those heavy work pants by Levi Strauss, tight and slightly faded, and a cotton shirt with a western yoke. Wet rings spread between his shoulder blades and under his arms, and he was covered in dust. His usually well-groomed hair was plastered to his forehead, bent oddly by the hatband of the disreputable Stetson in his hand.
Her nose wrinkled with distaste. He smelled strongly of horse. Her smile stiffened as he advanced into the room. Somehow, she had expected his inspection of the ranch to be more . . . gentlemanly. Poring over accounts in a tidy office or something of that nature. This was a side to him she’d never seen before, yet had always instinctively feared to see. A raw, earthy, and—oh dear, dare she even think it? A lusty side.
“I apologize for appearing before you in this state,” he said properly enough, but it was obvious he was in high spirits. “I just wanted to let you know we’ll be leaving as soon as I clean up. That should allow us enough time to reach town before the sun sets. I’m sure your father wouldn’t want you traveling these country roads after dark.” He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. “Is your wrap still in the buggy? It’s getting cooler.”
Jane-Ellen assured him she would be ready, and he grinned as he excused himself and took the stairs two at a time. When he returned surprisingly quickly, looking once again like the Jake she knew, she’d donned her redingote and gloves and was in the process of anchoring a pearl-headed hatpin through her hat. She thanked the cook for her courtesy and allowed Jake to usher her out to the buggy.
Jake was in a marvelous mood, and all the way back to town he regaled Jane-Ellen with progress reports of the ranch, unstintingly praising the foreman’s custodianship. When Jake was away from it, he tended to forget how much he loved the place, with its clean country air and particularly its stables, redolent of horses and hay. He caught himself just as he was about to launch into an enthusiastic accounting of Thunder’s mating with Buttercup. Lord, man, he reminded himself in the nick of time, you can’t tell a gently raised female that!
But he grinned in the gathering dusk. There was nothing quite so elemental as witnessing a stallion cover a mare. It was nature at its finest, basic and honest and inherently erotic, with the stallion’s advance, the mare’s retreat—until both were quivering with expectation. He’d watched Buttercup reject Thunder again and again. It wasn’t until she was damn good and ready that the stallion had finally cornered her and climbed over her back, teeth sunk into her neck to hold her in place. Then, with thrusting haunches, Thunder had completed his mission.
Jake had envied that damn horse. And he’d sympathized with the amount of effort needed before the beast finally achieved its goal.
When Jake walked into the parlor and saw Jane-Ellen sitting there, cool and pristine on the velvet settee, he’d wished for a moment they were married. Wished he had the right to stride across the room, roll Jane-Ellen onto the floor, throw up her skirts, and take her right there on Augusta’s antique carpet. He longed for the right to muss her up a little. There was something a bit unearthly about Jane-Ellen, which he figured originated in her perpetual tidiness. As a result, he was endlessly careful with her. But, Lord love him, in his imagination—?
Jake harbored too many pent-up emotions right this moment to be satisfied with chaste kisses, so in his mind he kissed her with every bit of passion in him.
They arrived at Jane-Ellen’s house just as the mauve streaks of twilight faded into night’s darkness. Jake escorted her to her front door.
“Thank you for taking me with you,” she said and smiled at him. “I had a lovely time.” She stood on tiptoe to deliver a chaste kiss. She’d learned from past experience that there was a high level of pleasure to be derived from kissing Jake Murdock.
But then he slipped his hands into her hair and twisted his mouth over hers, breaking the closed seal of her lips. And with a small groan, he slid his tongue into her mouth.
Slapping her hands to his chest, Jane-Ellen shoved him away. “Jake Murdock!” she exclaimed, experiencing the small surge of distaste she’d felt when he’d invaded the ranch parlor reeking of man, horse, and work. She pinned a reproachful stare on him as she patted her mussed strands of hair back into her coiffure.
Jake blinked down at her. It only took him an instant to note her patent disapproval, and it flicked him on the raw. In the cool silence, broken only by the nightly chorus of frogs and crickets, he acknowledged her inexperience and mustered a smile. But he couldn’t block the trace of coolness in his tone when he said, “You needn’t look as though you kissed a toad.”
“You put your tongue in my mouth!”
“It’s a lover’s kiss, and the way men and women show affection . . . desire. Don’t expect me to apologize for it.”
Jane-Ellen blushed to the roots of her hair and Jake sighed. Running a hand around the back of his neck, he looked down at her. “Jane-Ellen, do you like me?”
“Yes, you know I do.”
“I like you too. Very much. I think perhaps I even love you, girl. But I need to show my feelings with more than the virtuous little kisses we’ve exchanged up until now.” Annnnd . . . shit, she looked scared to death. So, he smiled gently as he brushed his fingertips over her cheek. “Nothing improper, Jane-Ellen. But I need to kiss you like a man kisses a woman.”
“With your tongue?”
“With my tongue.”
She shivered a bit, but then she tilted her head up. “Very well.”
She acceded to his wish with all the enthusiasm of Saint Joan offering her executioners a match, but Jake smiled and leaned over to kiss her the way he’d wanted to for so long. He kept it brief and gentle, but even so she stood stiffly in his embrace.
He raised his head, disappointed in her response. But he reminded himself she was a virgin and that this was all very new to her. He pressed a final, closed-mouth peck on her lips, and she seemed to perk up. Stepping back, he whispered, “Good night.”
“Good night, Jake.” Jane-Ellen gazed up at him. That kind of kiss wasn’t quite so terrible when you were braced for it. She supposed, if she had to, she could grow accustomed to it. “Thank you again for taking me to the ranch.”
Jake sat in the buggy for a moment after Jane-Ellen went inside. Finally, he picked up the reins. And eschewing Mamie
Parker’s sporting establishment, where he’d really like to go, he headed home.
5
Augusta’s house
SATURDAY, JULY 22, 1899
Hattie ripped the big bow from her hair. “I look ridiculous!”
She had been unnaturally subdued the past few days, but it wasn’t until this moment that Augusta realized why. In all honesty, Augusta hadn’t questioned the reasons at first. She had simply given thanks for the respite.
Hattie was imbued with excessive energy that at times plumb wore Augusta out. It reminded her of Jacob as a boy, only somehow worse, for she supposed she’d never questioned the bromide decreeing it acceptable, even expected, for a boy to be rambunctious. Girls were supposed to be quieter and easier to raise.
Not to mention Luke was alive when Jacob was a young, energetic scamp hell-bent on driving her crazy. Her husband had possessed an uncanny knack for sensing when she’d reached her limit. He’d take Jacob with him to some far-flung corner of the ranch so she could catch her breath. And of course, she’d been a decade-plus younger then.
So instead of looking for reasons why Hattie was uncharacteristically subdued the past few days, Augusta had merely said, “Thank you, Lord,” and put her feet up for a spell.
But it was a funny thing. Once she’d had a day’s rest, it began worrying her when Hattie remained quiet and withdrawn. Augusta was sometimes wearied by the child’s antics, but more often they amused her. In the handful of weeks since Hattie had come to live with them, Augusta had grown extremely fond of her. It disturbed her to realize that Hattie wasn’t comfortable enough in return to share her troubles. And now, like a thunderbolt, as she watched the girl in the cheval glass fussing unhappily with her attire, comprehension struck.
Today was Hattie’s official coming out, her introduction to society. A dinner party had been planned for weeks, and as parties went, it would be a small affair. Only Jacob, Hattie, and herself, plus Dr. Fielding and Jane-Ellen, Hattie’s tutor, John Fiske, and the family lawyer, Roger Lord. And, clearly, Hattie feared the impression she’d make.
The Ballad of Hattie Taylor Page 4
