Lily tapped her finger against her lips for several seconds. “You might be surprised.”
“I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. I’m sure you’re right, and sewing a beautiful creation takes time and talent. Just give me a try with this one dress—or this one day, if that arrangement makes you feel better,” she practically begged, looking at Mrs. Harbinger.
I’ll get on my knees if I have to.
“Oh, I forgot to say, I’m not here permanently, only for a couple of months at the most. Still, I’m in desperate need of a job for the time being. I’ll give you all I’ve got for the time I’m here, if you want me.” Sidney clasped her hands at her waist. “I promise; you won’t be sorry.”
“Do it, Lily!” Mrs. Harbinger said sternly, her gaze bouncing between her and Lily. She reached out and nudged the shop owner just above the elbow. “Hire her so I can have my dress. If you don’t, I just might cry!” The woman sucked in a deep breath, and her large bosom expanded.
Lily stuck out her hand. “How can I argue with that? You’re hired.”
Sidney inhaled as a huge wave of relief poured over her, as well as a good dose of uncertainty. Could she do as she’d just promised Lily?
Pushing away her doubts, she grasped Lily’s hand firmly. “Thank you. My name is Sidney, and I’m staying at the hotel. Room sixteen.” She glanced around. “What would you like me to do first?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Anxious to check on Noah, Dustin loped into the ranch yard a few strides ahead of the two riders he’d brought along as guards for the payroll, and then pulled his horse to a halt. Dismounting, he handed his reins over to the hired help, the twelve-year-old son of one of their ranch hands.
“Thanks,” Dustin said, almost smiling at the seriousness of the lad intent on doing his job properly.
Seeing the boy turn to lead away his gelding, Dustin stopped him. “Hold up. I need to get my saddlebags.” And the men’s two weeks’ worth of wages.
Dustin slung the bags over his shoulder, thanked his men for their help, and then headed inside. Walking into his father’s office, he found Chaim comfortable in the chair by the unlit fireplace, and his father behind his large mahogany desk.
He plunked the money down.
“How’d it go?” Winston asked, his voice so neutral, his words sounded strange. The lines around his eyes had deepened, and he looked haggard. He wasn’t letting on, but this situation with Noah and Sidney had him on edge.
“No problems. I like Jorgensen; he’s a decent man. I think Rio Wells will see a lot of positive changes now that we’re rid of that thief who used to run the bank.”
Chaim looked up from the newspaper he was perusing.
Maria stepped into the room. “Buenas tardes, Señor Dustin. May I bring you the thing to eat?”
He smiled. Her English never improved, even after all the years working at the Rim Rock. He noticed the cups of coffee his father and brother were drinking.
“Gracias, Maria. A cup of coffee, if it’s already brewed.”
She hurried away.
“And what about the other business?” Winston asked. “The Calhoun girl? Is she holding true to her roots and causing trouble around town? I wouldn’t expect any different.”
Sidney was now business?
“Her name’s Sidney, Pa, and she was only a girl when this whole fuss started. I don’t think we can lay the blame at her door.”
Dustin wasn’t taking sides. He wasn’t! But, damn it, Sidney wasn’t responsible for her father’s sins. As irksome as she could be at times, no logical person could hold her accountable.
“But to answer your question, yes, she’s settled in the hotel, and they’ve given her credit until funds arrive from Santa Fe. She sent a telegram, but I didn’t wait for the reply. She should have funds soon.”
“Maybe,” Winston grumbled. “What if her old man personally brings the money? I don’t like the situation one bit. Dealing with that family in Kansas once a year is bad enough.”
Chaim nodded. “He has a point.”
“He wouldn’t go to that trouble,” Dustin countered. But to spite Pa, he might.
Winston took a healthy hit from his mug and clapped it atop his desk. “She could’ve taken a loan from us, but she’s cut from the same cloth as her old man. Would rather make us worry about her than accept a little help. As they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He pointedly looked at Dustin, his lips crushed together in a straight line. “Don’t let that pretty face fool you, Dustin.”
“Me?” he barked out. “Why do you think that?”
“I just do.”
“Well, don’t. She wouldn’t take any money outright, but I left an envelope in the safe at the hotel with instructions to deliver it later tonight. By then, she’ll be good and hungry, and more than happy to accept.”
Winston grunted, gazing at him over the rim of his cup. His bloodshot eyes attested to a lack of sleep.
Maria returned with a tray full of goodies. The slender, forty-something woman had a way of walking that always brought to Dustin’s mind a ghost floating through a graveyard at midnight. Not because she was scary, but because her steps were totally silent, and her head moved along a perfectly straight plane as if her feet didn’t touch the tile floor.
She set the tray on a table under the window and turned in his direction. “Here are you, señor.”
“Gracias,” Dustin said.
“Thank you, Maria,” Chaim added.
She held up a finger, her eyes going wide. “You niños eat not too many. I prepare good supper.” Her stern tone couldn’t hide the amused twitching of her lips.
“What about me?” Winston asked playfully.
She just smiled and hurried away.
Dustin eyed the persimmon cookies with interest. Taking one, he put the whole thing in his mouth, the mild sweetness firing his taste buds. He chewed for a second, swallowed, and repeated the process.
“Have either of you seen Noah today? I paired him with Brick, and instructed Manolito not to let him out of his sight. You haven’t heard of any trouble?”
“The day’s been dead as a doornail,” Chaim said with a shake of his head. “I keep expecting Emmeline will walk into the room any moment. Doesn’t feel right around here at all.”
Dustin picked up another cookie and turned. “I’m headed out to the bunkhouse to check on Noah.” He glanced at Chaim. “Coming?”
“Naw.” Chaim raised the newspaper and shook out the pages, sticking his nose inside. “I’m plannin’ to sit right here until supper.”
This is worse than I thought!
“That’s a good four hours. Won’t you get bored?” Dustin would climb the walls if someone asked him to sit inside for more than ten minutes.
“I’m bored already, and nothing’s making me unbored until Emmeline returns. My life’s nothin’ without her.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Today was not only payday, but shower day for anyone who felt so inclined. Noah stood at the end of a line, waiting for his turn at the outdoor facility. He’d been told that bathing wasn’t a requirement of a hand receiving his pay, but was highly encouraged. Made sense since most men he knew went straight into town as soon as they had money in their pockets, and blew their whole month’s earnings on whiskey, women, and poker.
A warm breeze fluttered his hair across his forehead. He’d left his hat and shirt inside his small sleeping quarters, thinking the less he had to carry back, the better. With a towel under his arm, he’d followed Larry Linstrom, a relatively amicable cowhand, out the fifty feet behind the bunkhouse.
Two walled-in stalls, open at the top and bottom, stood under a large cistern. The tank was filled from a pipe leading from a rivulet on the top of the knoll. The siding was tall enough to cover a man’s body and head, but his legs were visible from the knees down. A sturdy platform, constructed of wooden slats, kept the person showering above the dirt and mud. Beyond the stalls, the land sharp
ly cut away.
Noah smelled strong, even to himself. He couldn’t last another day in his present condition, since the jailers in San Antonio hadn’t cared if their guests went their entire life without bathing. The memory made him suck in a lungful of clean air.
The white cotton towel hanging over the door of the first stall disappeared inside. A few moments later, the door opened and a middle-aged cowpoke came out, his towel wrapped around his sinewy middle and his wet hair finger combed back.
The next fella in line advanced. A couple of minutes after he closed the door, his clothes, wrapped into a ball, came flying out as if he’d given them a healthy pitch, and over the embankment they went.
Curious, Noah strode over to the drop-off to see a container twenty feet below heaped with dirty laundry. Ah, someone must come along and do the wash. That’s not so bad. I should have worn my shirt. He was amazed that everyone’s toss had hit the mark. Years of practice. He took mental note of the target.
Finally inside, Noah stripped down and let the cool water flow over his head. He’d given his pants and unmentionables a hefty toss, wondering how they kept the clothes straight once they were laundered. Oh well, wasn’t his problem. He had extras in his saddlebag.
He closed his eyes. The water felt good.
A moment hadn’t passed before his sister popped into his head. How was she? Guilt for the mess he’d created weighed his shoulders. Was he the only one at home who noticed her unhappiness? She might profess she loved ranching and her life, but he wholeheartedly doubted it. And now she was navigating strange waters among enemies, with no one to help.
Or maybe there was someone. McCutcheon. The man’s interest in her was impossible to hide.
He lifted the small clump of soap from a shelf nailed in the corner, and rubbed the slimy mass over his chest, lathering up good.
I need to quit worrying. She’s smart. A Calhoun. She can take care of herself. I didn’t ask her to come trailing me like a mama cat following her kit.
Another stab of guilt.
Didn’t I? She always follows. I’d be pretty damn stupid to think this time would be different.
What if she decided to go home? She wouldn’t cross the badlands alone, would she?
Dang it. His body jerked. She might.
Agitated, he lathered his hair, his face, every appendage, and then stuck his face up in the stream, his eyes tightly closed.
A chuckle reached his ears from somewhere. He didn’t give that a thought until he reached for the towel slung over the top of the door and discovered the rub gone.
With the good report from Manolito and another from Brick Paulson, Dustin let go the breath he’d been holding and relaxed his shoulder against the stones of the bunkhouse fireplace. He’d expected the worst. Noah running off, getting into a fight and hurting someone, or worse. This was certainly a welcome surprise.
The men who weren’t out on watch at the moment were lounging around the bunkhouse main room or playing cards at the table. One fella sat in a chair with a small writing desk on his lap, pen and paper in hand. The serene, wholesome atmosphere actually made him proud. The McCutcheons provided in every way possible for the men who rode for their brand.
According to Switchback, the bunkhouse cook, Noah was at the showers and should be back anytime.
“Coffee, boss?” the cook asked, stirring a large pot of beans. A foot-high stack of tortillas sat on the side of the stove with a basket filled with corn on the cob.
“No, thanks. I’m waiting for Calhoun.”
Right then the door banged open with a crack. Outlined in the evening light was Noah Calhoun, buck naked except for his boots. If the expression in his eyes was any indication of his mood, he was furious.
Laughter erupted.
Dustin glanced around the room. Wasn’t difficult to see every man there had been waiting for the show.
A round of unruly glee reverberated around the bunkhouse and into Noah’s head like a hive full of bees.
Dustin McCutcheon stood in the middle of the room. His eyes wide, he barked out a surprised chortle.
Unashamed, Noah stomped across the wooden planks, overtop the braided rug that divided the room, and into his sleeping quarters. Once inside, he slammed the door so hard, his hat fell from the small antler stub on the wall.
He counted to ten.
The laughter in the other room continued.
A McCutcheon had gotten the best of a Calhoun—again! He recognized Dustin’s voice as he growled out an order for the men to shut up, but the laughter continued for almost another minute. After that, silence was restored to the room.
Someone rapped on his door. “Noah, I didn’t know—”
“Bite it, McCutcheon! I wouldn’t expect any different from hands at the Rim Rock.”
Heated grumbles sounded through the door as Noah pulled on his extra pair of pants. He’d give them a taste of their own medicine as soon as he was decently covered. He threw a shirt angrily over his shoulders and pulled the garment into place.
“Nothin’s sacred to you, is it?” he yelled. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth so tightly, he heard them squeak.
“Just a little good-natured hazing. No harm done,” Dustin said through the door. The laughter in the man’s voice was impossible to hide.
Again, a buzzing filled Noah’s head. He yanked open the door and shoved Dustin back before the devil knew what hit him, throwing a punch into his face. Dustin was taller and outweighed him by a good twenty pounds, but still he stumbled back and caught the heel of his boot on a chair. He fell halfway to the floor before righting himself.
Several men jumped to their feet and dashed forward. Noah took a blow to his own face, but planted several punches he knew couldn’t have felt good. In seconds, Dustin was back, pulling off his men as they jabbed a few punches of their own.
Horrendous clanging filled the small space.
Whirling, Noah saw Switchback with the dinner triangle held high, rounding it with lightning speed with the metal spoon in his hand. The sound painfully ripped through Noah’s head.
The distraction gave Dustin an opportunity to get his men under control, shoving them back toward the other side of the room. He stood between them, hands on hips and gaze intense. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“No fighting in the bunkhouse!”
Unspent energy still coursed through Noah. His stare connected with Brick Paulson, the man he was sure was behind the childish stunt that had left him naked as a jaybird.
Outnumbered by a good ten or twelve, he had to be sensible. He couldn’t take them all on. McCutcheon was the only one that mattered. All the others could go straight to the devil.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Early Saturday morning, Lily quietly made her way down the stairs, not wanting to awaken John. She avoided the fifth step, which squeaked loudly with anyone’s weight, and continued into the kitchen.
John had stayed up late last night at his office, poring over books that didn’t look like his normal medical journals. When she’d asked what he was doing, she’d watched him smile and shove them under the Farmer’s Almanac, the periodical that Doc Bixby subscribed to.
Each time she moved close so she could tell him about the assistant she’d hired, she’d see a smile and receive his kiss—his best method for stopping her questions. She eventually gave up, returned to the shop, and pulled out her novel.
This morning, though, as soon as she’d served his first cup of coffee, she’d share her news.
Nervous, Lily swallowed down her uncertainty. Would he care that she’d made such a major decision without consulting him first? Surely he’d be happy, wouldn’t he?
Without the promise of Sidney’s help, she couldn’t take on the gown Mrs. Harbinger commissioned yesterday. And now, if Sidney turned out to be helpful at all, Miss Schad’s dress was sure to be completed on time, if not early, as would Mrs. Tuttle’s. The workload was a worr
y that had plagued Lily for the past two weeks. She was punctual and promoted herself as such.
Sidney. She was a lovely young woman. Pleasant and smart. Older than herself by a few years, she suspected. By the time Lily had made a pot of tea at four and brought out a plate of shortbread cookies, she noticed the young woman looked practically starved. She had tried to hide the fact, but her hand shook with intensity when she reached for a cookie.
Lily scooped coffee beans into the grinder and began turning the handle, knowing John wouldn’t sleep long after she’d left the bed. She pumped water into the heavy coffeepot, but as she turned, she accidently caught her funny bone on the pump handle and let out a screech, clenching her eyes closed as pain rippled up and down her arm.
“Lily? Lily! Are you all right?” John bounded bare-chested down the stairs, his expression tight. His rumpled hair fell over his forehead and into his eyes. “You cried out, darlin’. What happened?”
The pain was still too great for her to utter a sound. She clenched her fist open and closed a few times, and then dashed away a rogue tear from her eye.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” she pushed out through her tight throat. “I know how tired you were when you finally came to bed last night.”
“I don’t care about that! Are you hurt?”
“Just something silly. I hit my elbow when I turned.”
His brows tented. “Caught your funny bone?”
She nodded.
He took her arm and rubbed her elbow in a soft circular motion. He increased the pressure until he was rubbing quite brusquely. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. My clumsiness is the cause, nothing else. Next time, I’ll look before I move.”
“If this place weren’t so darned small, there wouldn’t be a problem. As it is, this kitchen with the table and chairs can hardly hold the two of us.”
Texas Lonesome Page 13
