“Let him sit down before you try climbin’ on his lap, boy.” John pulled Jacob off Ty’s leg. “Thought I told you to stay away.” He grinned and motioned for Ty to sit. “Ya look plumb tuckered. Care for a glass of something cool? Me and the other man of the house was puttin’ the last bite around supper.”
The kitchen was nothing like Anna described. Floor clean. Stove clean. Nothing, except the dishes they used for their meal, seemed out of place. “Buttermilk sounds mighty good, John. It’s been another hot one, hasn’t it?”
He sat and took Jacob on his lap. “So, my little buddy, what have you been doing today?” He poked his fingers in the boy’s ribs, and Jacob wriggled with laughter. “You smell like a horse barn.”
“I know. Me and Uncle John worked like mans do. I pitched horse––”
“Jacob.” John’s voice was stern.
“I learned how to sling a pitchfork.” The lad glanced up at John.
John winked at him. “He sure did. Was a big help, too.” John set the drink on the table for Ty. “Got a few sweets left if you care to have one.” He pushed a plate of cookies his direction.
“You make these, Jacob?”
“No. Robin made ‘em. But she don’t work in the kitchen no more. Uncle John hired her to muck out—”
“I did no such thing, Jacob.” John scowled. “Ever have one of them there days, Ty, when ya should a stayed abed and waited for it to be over?”
“That’s why I came, despite your telling me to stay away.”
“Will you read to me, Ty?” Jacob jumped from his lap and grabbed onto his hand. “Come on.”
“Jacob, leave him be. He ain’t even swallered his drink.” John pulled the boy onto his own lap.
Ty tickled Jacob’s tummy. “It’s too early, isn’t it? I don’t think Miss Robin would want you crawling into bed smelling like a horse.
“Robin isn’t here. She won’t know.”
Ty didn’t miss John’s frown. “Not here? John, you didn’t let her go off alone, did you?”
John shook his head. “I’m old, not stupid. She’s on the place, just not in here.”
Ty nodded. “Tell you what, Jacob, let’s you and me go out to the pump, and I’ll give you a cold water bath. How would that be?”
“But what if somebody sees me? I can’t take a bath with my clothes on. Robin said.”
“If Miss Robin scolds you, I’ll tell her it was my idea.” He stood and reached for the boy’s hand.
Half an hour later, with a clean-smelling Jacob in tow, Ty bent to pull back the covers on the small bed. “I’m not sure why I’m nearly as wet as you were, my little friend. Here”—he patted the pillow—“lie down.”
“Do I have to go to sleep? It’s not even dark.” Jacob pouted but wiggled onto the bed.
“It’s plenty dark, fella. You promised you would settle down if I read to you. Now you’ve had your story. You don’t have to sleep right yet, but you could lie here and think about what I read.”
“Are there giants for real?”
“Goliath was real. But I’d rather have you think about the boy named David. He was brave, wasn’t he?”
Jacob planted his feet flat on the bed and bounced his bottom. “I’m not brave. I get scared a lot.”
He straightened the boy’s legs and held them still. “Being afraid doesn’t mean you aren’t brave, Jacob. Brave is when you do the right thing, even though you are afraid.”
“Oh.” Jacob giggled as he fought to continue his bouncing.
“No more wiggling. You’ve worked hard today. Now you need to settle down and rest.” Ty ruffled the boy’s hair. “G’night.”
“Wait. Aren’t we going to pray?”
Ty sat on the edge of the bed. “Sure enough. Thank you for reminding me. How about you go first?”
Jacob scrunched his eyes and tucked his chin into folded hands. “Dear Jesus. Thank you for Robin and Uncle John and Ty and for cuz we don’t have a giant living here anymore. And don’t let Robin make Uncle John so mad any more, and let me be brave and let Ty teach me how to ride a horse, and don’t let me be afraid of storms anymore. Amen. And, oh yeah, I almost forgot—let me have a new ma and pa and if you need ideas of who I want then I would say Robin and Ty, but Robin says I shouldn’t try to get my own way when I talk to You. Amen again.” Jacob squeezed Ty’s hands. “It’s your turn now.”
Ty swallowed. “I think you said my prayer for me, Jacob. Thank you.” He smiled. “Shut your eyes, and first thing you know it’ll be morning.”
“Will you still be here? I wish you could live at this ranch.” Jacob turned on his side and tucked his hands under his cheek.
“I won’t promise, Jacob. But I’ll try to be back to read to you tomorrow night. How’s that?”
Jacob yawned and nodded. “G’night, Ty.”
Ty stood outside the closed door for several minutes. Why had the boy prayed about John being mad? Had he actually knocked Robin down as Anna suggested? That didn’t sound like the John Wenghold he knew. And what would Robin think of the boy’s prayer? He believed all things were possible with God. Why did this seem so impossible?”
###
John was in the kitchen when Ty came back downstairs but still no Robin.
“You get the boy down for the night, did you?”
Ty nodded. “Not asleep, but quiet for now. He grumbled about it not being dark, but it will be soon, and if he’ll close his eyes it shouldn’t take him long to drift off to sleep.”
John pointed to the basket on the table. “Thought you might want this, Ty. As far as I can tell, Robin ain’t et nothin’ all day.” He folded a towel and placed it on top.
“Where is she?” Ty peered under the towel and found a pot of coffee, two cups, and a plate of biscuits. “You think she’s going to agree to a picnic?”
John shrugged. “Never hurts to try. You’ll find her in the barn, I reckon. Oh, and Ty—don’t let her come back in ‘til the two of you talk.” He wiped out the dishpan and hung the towel on the hook by the sink.
“About what?” Did John know Anna asked Robin to clean his house? Did he suspect Jacob drew his picture on the back of the crazy advertisement for a husband?
“A lot happened today. It started with me a fussin’ at her like a silly old man and ended with Anna Blair paying a very untimely call—before noon.”
“So you know about Miss Blair’s request?”
“Did you put her up to it?” John stepped closer. “Cuz if ya did we’d better be havin’ us a little talk.”
“Anna paid me a most inopportune visit as well, John. And no, I did not know she was going to pull such a stunt. I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into her. It’s hard for me to believe she’s being intentionally unkind, no matter how it seems.”
“Did she tell you she walked in on a fight?” John sat down and dropped his hands between his knees. “I don’t mind confessin’ I’m plumb ashamed of myself.”
Ty lifted the basket. “None of my business so long as no one got hurt.”
John sighed. “More than one way to hurt a body. I reckon what comes out of a mouth can hurt as much as a punch in the gut. The pain of a punch goes away after a while. The sting of words can settle in like squatters and be just as hard to get moved out.”
“Have you talked with her since Anna left?”
John nodded. “We done spoke our apologies.”
“Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll go see what kind of fence mending I can do.”
On the way to the barn Ty rehearsed his request for forgiveness. How would he start this conversation—if she would even listen? John said words could hurt forever, but what about words never spoken? Anna intended to hold him to everything he’d ever proclaimed to her. This might be his last opportunity to voice his heart to Robin.
He stepped into the dusk darkened barn and lit a lantern. “Robin? Are you in here?” He found her asleep, propped in the corner of an empty stall. He shook his head. The girl indeed wore men’s clot
hing, but only a fool would mistake her for a man. Her legs were stretched in front of her, crossed at the ankles. A dirty rag wound around both hands, which still held the handle of the pitchfork draped across her lap.
Ty set the basket on the dirt floor and knelt beside her. Pieces of straw adhered to her hair, which hung tangled across her shoulders. Long lashes curled against her cheek. A smudge of something graced her forehead. And she smelled like a barn. But this was the same woman who loved a little orphaned boy as if he were her own. The very same feisty lady who defied crusty old John Wenghold. The girl who made his heart skip when she smiled and caused him to wonder how it would be to come home every evening to someone like her.
He pulled a fragment of straw from her hair. Was this proper? To be here alone, wanting to wipe the smudge from her face and take the pitchfork from her rag-wrapped hands? What did John have in mind when he’d sent him out here like this—with orders not to come in until they talked? Shouldn’t John himself have come with him and helped her into the house where they could talk with him as a witness? He was a preacher. Ty groaned. Yes, he was a preacher, but he was also a man.
“You’re staring, Ty Morgan. I’ve told you before it makes me very uncomfortable when someone stares at me.” Robin’s eyes remained closed.
Ty jerked his hand from her hair. “How did you know it was me?”
She opened her eyes. “I smelled you.” Her face remained expressionless.
“You smelled me?” Ty sat back on his heels and laughed. “Well, guess what—I can smell you, too.”
Robin glared at him. “I’m so very sorry. Had you been invited perhaps I might be a bit more presentable, but I doubt I would’ve bothered.” She tossed the pitchfork to one side. “Now, if you don’t mind. I still have work to do.”
“No, please, Robin. Let me explain.” Ty grabbed her hands.
She attempted to pull them away then cried out in pain.
“Robin? Let me see your hands.” Ty turned them palm up and his heart stuttered at the sight of the bloody rags. “Oh, dear lady. What have you done to yourself?” He tried to unwrap her hands, but the cloth was stuck.
“Don’t. I can do it myself.” She pulled at them.
Ty held fast. “Hold still or you’ll make it worse.” He fished the coffeepot out of the basket, relieved that it had cooled somewhat. “Here. This might be a little warm, but at least it will soak through enough to loosen this filthy rag. What were you thinking, Robin? Why didn’t you stop? Don’t you have any sense at all?”
She grimaced, and Ty bit his tongue. Why scold her? He was frightened, that’s why. What if he hadn’t come looking for her? What if John assumed she wanted to be left alone and went to bed? What if . . .
“Please, don’t. That hurts.” Robin struggled to free her hands. “Why are you so angry at me? No one asked you to come here, you know. I can take care of myself.”
“Apparently not, Miss Wenghold. Do you have any idea what this kind of injury can do?” He continued to pour coffee onto her hands to release the crude bandage.
“It’s just blisters. I’m not used to handling a pitchfork all day, that’s all.” She sniffed.
“You’ll be lucky if you don’t get an infection. And infection could lead to . . .” He didn’t want to think about it. “We’ll get some clean bandages on here, and in the morning I’m taking you to see Doc Mercer.”
“That’s silly. I won’t go. And who do you think you are, giving me orders—threatening to take me to Doc Mercer? Go home. Don’t you have some kind of animal or something that needs your doctoring skills there?”
Ty unwrapped the last length of cloth and took a closer look at her hands. He shuddered. Dirty, open blisters covered the palms of her hands. Loose skin curled at the edges and fluid seeped from the worst of them. She must be in terrible pain.
He raised his eyes and met her gaze. Tears puddled then ran down her cheeks. She sniffed them away. “Don’t move your hands, Robin. Please.” He lowered her hands to her lap, palms up, then wiped her face with his handkerchief. “Better?”
She shrugged.
“You want to know why I’m here?”
She nodded.
“I need your forgiveness. I wish, with all my heart, we could start over. I should have told you right away I was the preacher. If I could take Sunday back, I would. Robin, I never wanted to hurt you.” He pulled a piece of straw from her hair and tucked the loose strand behind her ear. “Will you forgive me? Will you give me another chance?”
Robin’s forehead wrinkled. “Anna came here today. I know about your upcoming marriage, and I congratulate you. She’s very beautiful.”
He couldn’t argue with that statement. But did Miss Wenghold realize the effect she had on him? He longed to explain that marriage to Miss Blair may not be a sure thing. But a man didn’t discuss such matters. Not between two women who, at this point, had him in such a muddle it was a wonder he could even remember his own name.
“Anna told me she asked you to . . . to—”
“Be your maid?” Robin interrupted. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“I would never think of you in that manner.” But what would Robin think if she knew Anna wanted to invite her to continue to work at the Hawk after their marriage? Robin was right. Being their maid was exactly what Anna inferred. “Besides, I won’t allow it. Especially not with your hands like this.”
Robin’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t allow it? Not with my hands like this? Well, guess what, Mr. Morgan? I heal quickly. In a day or two my hands will be good as new, and then I’ll fulfill my obligation to see the grand house on your ranch is ready for the big day and the most important announcement.” Fresh tears rolled down her face, and she raised her hands to wipe them away.
Ty grabbed her wrists and forced her hands back to her lap while he mopped his handkerchief across her face. “Look at me, Robin.” He waited until she locked her gaze on his. He expected to see defiance. Anger. Condemnation. Instead, her dark eyes were wells of such sadness he could barely speak. What had he done to this girl? This . . . this woman?
“I wouldn’t care if your hands healed right before my eyes, tonight, here in this dirty barn. You are not my maid, Robin Wenghold. Not mine. Not Anna Blair’s. Not even your Uncle John’s. You are a fine, wonderful, beautiful woman.” He wiped her face again, but it seemed in vain as rivulets of tears continued to run down her cheeks. He ached to pull her to him, to tell her all that was in his heart. He wanted to hold her and feel her close but busied himself tearing the towel into strips and wrapping her hands. She winced with the movement but didn’t make a sound. Ty appreciated her silence. He would have to look at her if she spoke—and if he did, he wouldn’t be able to think. Why did this girl he’d known such a short time cause him to question his commitment to the woman he’d loved for most of his life?
He could have taken Anna in his arms this very day, in the home they were destined to share, and no one would have questioned their embrace. Anna had invited his arms and would have welcomed his lips. He was free to declare his love with all the words of endearment he could imagine. Anna was, after all, his betrothed. And she wore his ring to prove it. The same diamond and ruby circle of promise his mother wore from the day his pa asked her to marry him.
But what if Ma could know Robin? If she could help him choose, who would it be?
He finished tying the bandages then took her hands. “You haven’t said you would forgive me.”
Her gaze met his. “I forgive you.”
Ty took a deep breath. “Robin . . . if we had more time—if things were different—would you give me another chance?”
Robin shook her head. “Time is not something either of us can promise. Any chance that might have been ours ended when Anna returned wearing your ring.” Her smile belied the sadness in her eyes.
Ty touched the dimple at the corner of her mouth.
One small circle of gold and jewels and a promise that threatened to become a noos
e.
One small indentation at the corner of lips he had no right to claim, and a promise he was not free to make.
He groaned.You are in so much trouble, Ty Morgan.
SIXTEEN
“Why in granny’s name didn’t ya come get me?” John barked, while he unwound the strips of toweling from Robin’s hands.What was the guy thinkin’ anyway?He weren’t thinkin’ as far as he could tell.
Ty stuck his hands in his pockets. “You were the one who told me not to let her come in until we talked.”
John discarded the last bandage and examined Robin’s hands. “And I suppose you would’ve talked ‘til the blood quit runnin’ if you’d found her bleedin’. Go in the cupboard by the sink and bring me that squatty little green jar sittin’ on the shelf.”
“You have medicine?”
“Shore, I got medicine, but it ain’t gonna do a lick of good sittin’ on the shelf and you a standin’ with your hands in your pockets. And bring me some fresh water when you come and another towel.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle John. I don’t want to be such a nuisance.” Robin winced as he applied a wet cloth to her hands.
“Pshaw, child. Ain’t nobody worth their salt what hasn’t had blisters on their hands. I jist wish you’d a come in when they commenced hurtin’.”
He blotted her hands dry and applied the salve from the jar. “Whooee, but this stuff does stink. Doc calls it goose grease. It’s his own concoction. Supposed to be good for anythin’ what ails a person.” He laughed when Robin screwed up her face. “Told you it stank, didn’t I?”
Ty’s nose wrinkled, too. “How’d you come by this? I don’t remember having anything like it at our house.”
John wrapped clean bandages around his niece’s hands. “Abe Mercer and me been friends since he come a ridin’ into Cedar Bluff nigh on thirty years ago, lookin’ for somewhere to hang his brand-new shingle. He’s never been content to deliver babies and take out splinters. Nope. He sees himself as the one man what might someday be famous for findin’ a cure for everything.” He screwed the lid back on the jar. “This here stuff probably comes about as close as he’ll ever get. Course, far as I know, me and Abe are the onliest ones to have any of it.”
Robin Page 15
