He’d mentioned them at breakfast, and Joe and Jessica had lit up like Christmas candles. Now Corra knew why. She gripped the porch railing, thrilling to the unleashed power, tasting the freedom. She looked for Josiah and the children and found them riding wide behind the herd. A different approach from moving their cattle through town. With good purpose, she concluded. Josiah Hanacker did nothing without good purpose.
Her stomach quivered, and she returned inside, intent on not imagining her fingers pushing through his hair. He’d not mentioned the haircut, and she refused to suggest it herself. She had enough to do just keeping his bold gaze from her thoughts during the day. She picked up the shears and focused on the dress she hoped to have ready for Jessica by next Sunday.
Her first day of worship with the Hanackers had found Letty waiting like a posted guard at the steps of the white clapboard church. Disappointment washed her sister’s face when the family climbed from the wagon and entered the sanctuary like civilized folk, in spite of Jessica wearing trousers because she wasn’t “no sissy girl.”
Corra had assured Letty that things were going just fine. Much finer, in fact, than the judgmental looks from several matronly members of the congregation would indicate. She held her head high against their whispers, bidding them each good morning, confident that she owed no explanation to anyone other than her Lord, who knew all was as it should be. And thankful that she was not chained to their staid, predictable way of life.
Since then, she’d found herself thanking Him at odd times throughout the day, grateful for things like Pop tending the kitchen garden and collecting the eggs, yet letting her have her way with the cooking. Josiah, too, had not interfered with her tutelage, even when Jessica bristled.
By suppertime that evening, the dress was pinned and ready, but Jessica’s demeanor precluded another fitting. Fatigue drooped the girl’s shoulders when she walked through the door with her father and brother. The men washed and slumped into their chairs, and without complaint Jessica set the table and added sliced bread and roast, butter, and honey in the center. Corra offered silent thanks again as she watched the dust-caked girl, her gold luster dulled to a dingy brown. Corra tucked her own loose strands behind her ears as she set the coffeepot on a folded pad. One day of driving the band of mares from the mountains had worn Jessica more than a week’s worth of regular chores. Tonight might be the perfect time for a review at the wash basin. A bath must wait until Saturday.
Corra had not worked half as hard as the others, but after the supper dishes were done, she longed to fall into bed and surrender to blissful sleep. However, her Bible stories could not be neglected. She took her evening seat next to the lamp, and Joe and Jess plopped onto the rug before the cold hearth. Josiah sat at the table with leatherwork that kept his hands busy and his head down.
Pop toed his rocker that, thank the Lord, did not squeak like the one on the porch. “Who you got picked out for tonight?”
Corra opened her Bible to the book of Esther, rested it against her stomach, her head against the chair back, and closed her eyes. She began the story in the words of the day, adding flesh and blood and color and sounds that might accompany a young girl whose life was suddenly turned upside down.
Moments later, she opened her eyes to find Jessica facing her and Pop leaning forward in his chair. Josiah sat like a statue watching her, his hands still, his eyes colorless in the dim light. Corra trailed her voice out on a whisper and softly closed the Bible.
Jessica rose, kissed her father’s cheek, and went to her room. Joe headed outside.
“Hold up, Son.” Josiah took the soap cake from the sink. “Carry this and some fresh clothes to the creek. We’ll wash off before we turn in.”
Amazed that Josiah cared about such matters, Corra laid her Bible on the small table beside her and trimmed the lamp. “A good plan. I’m sure you’ll both sleep better, but I’ll help Jess here at the house.”
Josiah snagged a length of toweling from a drawer. “No doubt.”
And what did he mean by that? Corra stiffened and went to the stove to heat water for the girl. Did he not approve of her efforts? He’d not said much in that regard. He left the door open on his way out.
Pop pushed out of his rocker. “I bless the day you came to us, Miss Corra. I haven’t et so good since Josiah’s ma passed on.”
Corra blinked several times. “Thank you, Pop. I’m glad to hear it.”
He rubbed his hand along his jaw and the white stubble reappearing there. “Don’t take it to heart.”
She looked at him.
“What Josiah says to ya. He’s got a big hurt. Been tucked down so deep for so long it’s festerin’ and hard to get at.” The old gentleman hobbled to his room and softly closed the door.
A big hurt. Now, there was a cowboy’s way of saying what was so. She chewed on the phrase while waiting for the water to heat then took the warm kettle to Jessica’s door and knocked gently. At no answer, she cracked it open. Jessica lay sprawled across her bed, fully clothed, boots and all. Corra crossed the room to the washstand and filled the bowl. Then she sat on the bed and lightly stroked the girl’s dirty hair.
“Wake up, Jess. You need to clean up a little and get into your nightclothes.”
“Mama?”
Corra’s eyes teared at the breathy question. She helped Jessica undress and slip on her shift, and the weary child revived enough to wash her hands and face and clean her teeth without complaint. She even allowed Corra to comb out her hair and rebraid it. Corra tucked her in and left a soft kiss on her brow. “Good night, dear.”
She clicked the door closed and started toward her room, but the night-cooled air drifted in, teasing around her skirt. Succumbing to its lure, she went out and sat down on the top porch step.
Evening lay close against the barn and outbuildings and drew a restful sigh from the pastures. Horses stood in loose groups, an occasional foot stomping or tail swishing. The cattle clustered to themselves, lying in the sweet grass. Such peace caught Corra by surprise. Nearly as much as the approaching man, silhouetted by the western rim of fading light.
Her stomach tightened as Josiah made his way up the porch steps and sat down beside her. For a long moment he stared at the mountains and the slice of sky not yet darkened above them.
“It’s almost as good as dawn.” His damp hair was slicked back, and the pinch of lye soap tickled her nose.
She pulled her attention from the rancher to his land. “‘Thou makest the outgoings of the morning and evening to rejoice.’” The words came easily, without conscious thought.
Josiah looked at her with shadowed eyes. “You know the Good Book.”
Another criticism? Pop’s comment flitted by, softening her defensiveness. “It’s been a comfort since my youth.” Crickets took up a chorus, congratulating her for giving Josiah the benefit of the doubt.
“I’m sorry I bit like I did back there.”
Surprised by his apology, she had no answer, other than to say she forgave him, but that seemed so trite. If she was doing something he didn’t like—
“You’re doing a fine job with Jess. Rubbin’ some of her rough edges off.”
Corra stole a sideways glance. “Thank you.”
“It’s just that sometimes I—” A heavy sigh escaped and he ran his hand through his hair. “You too tired to take a whack at this?”
Emboldened by his change in mood, she stood. “I suppose if I don’t, you won’t be able to see where you’re going and will likely run into something and crack your head. Then Pop and the children will be left to run this place without you.”
He grinned at her mock scolding, pushed to his feet, and stepped to the doorway, holding a hand out for her to precede him. “Then let’s be about it.”
Chapter 9
Corra’s acceptance and good humor washed through Josiah as strong and clear as the creek he’d just bathed in. Feeling forgiven, he waited until she passed close enough to trail a fading hint of lilac. Nothing
yet had put her off. Not Jess’s sullen ways, not his own mulish temperament. And she hadn’t complained about the lack of conveniences. It was as if she fit. The notion gave him pause.
She pulled a dinner chair back and set a lamp at the edge of the table. Then she brought the small table and lamp from where she read, positioned them on the opposite side, and turned up the wick.
“Please.” She gestured to the chair. “I’ll get my scissors.”
A moment later, she returned with a comb and shears big enough to clip a horse’s mane. He shot from his seat. “You use those on Pop?”
“These?” She held up the shears with wide-eyed innocence then laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed. “Sit. I’m just having a little fun. I cut fabric with these. But I admit, I had to hack away at Pop’s beard with them before I could shave him clean and trim his hair.”
She was laughing at him, and he refused to join her. Hang fire, he’d thought he had her figured out and then she had to go and scare him half to death.
She draped a length of toweling around his shoulders then combed her fingers through his hair. Fire trailed over his scalp.
“How short do you want it?” She came around and stood in front of him, holding a smaller scissor in one hand and the comb in the other.
He could make it to the door in two strides. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
She leveled a dead-eye glare. “You saw Pop, right? Did he look like I know what I’m doing?”
Her scowl shot him full of shame for being a coward. But he’d rather peal a bronc any day than sit here in his kitchen at the mercy of a woman who made his skin hot.
Looking down at his hands, he wondered what he should do with them. “Off my collar and out of my eyes.”
She moved behind him, and he tried to relax beneath her touch. She combed his hair back and lifted parts of it with her fingers. The scissors cut and a length of hair fell to the floor.
She hissed. “Don’t be jerking your head like that, or you’ll turn out a porcupine and it won’t be my fault.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
The smell of her reminded him of what he’d lost when Maisie died—a woman’s warmth and softness. A lighter touch, a sweeter laugh. He folded his arms across his chest and hooked his feet around the chair legs. She moved around him as she worked, and her skirt brushed his trousers. Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, she stopped cutting. He opened his eyes.
She stood in front of him with an odd look on her face, as if she were hungry.
He unfolded himself. “Done?”
She nodded. “Not bad.” Then she held out a hand mirror he hadn’t seen before, and he drummed up the courage to take a look. The man peering back was older than he remembered. Lines forked the corners of his eyes. Stubble covered his jaw. He handed her the mirror. “You know what you’re doing.”
She smiled and laid her instruments of torture on the table. “I should say so. I cut my father’s hair the last few years of his life and he never uttered one complaint.” She moved closer to pull the toweling from his shoulders and brushed at his shirt collar. “If you get itchy, it’s just some cut hair that fell down your neck.”
He hunched a shoulder and turned his head from side to side. She returned the small table and lamp to its corner, and for something to do, he scooted the chair in. “Jess and Joe won’t know me in the morning. Most likely forgot what I looked like without that mane.”
She folded her arms and looked at him straight on. “I think they’ll be pleased.” She held his eyes and he wouldn’t look away. He wanted to see deep down inside her. See what made her bold enough to take on his unthinkable proposition. He took a step forward and the air between them charged. She averted her gaze and returned to the table for her things.
Fighting the urge to do otherwise, he went to the door and took his hat from the peg. “Much obliged.”
She gripped the back of the chair. “I’ll have biscuits and gravy ready in the morning.”
He pulled the door closed behind him and sucked in the clean night air. That was close. Closer than it ought to be. With a habitual shove through his now shorn hair, he took out for the barn. This sure enough could be the longest summer of his life.
Corra held her breath until the door closed, and then took her comb and mirror and scissors to her room. Her hands trembled as she placed them on the dresser then smoothed her damp brow. The ordeal had been almost more than she could bear, in spite of her attempt at humor. Falling across the bed on her back, she crossed her arms above her head. She’d wanted to cut Josiah’s hair since she first saw him pushing it out of his face. But she’d not considered what such close proximity would do to her. Standing so near, touching him—even as little as possible—only confirmed his strength, his vigor. He was no author’s fanciful hero. He was flesh and bone and muscle, and she’d not anticipated her reaction.
Pushing up onto her elbows, she reminded herself why she was there. She would just have to keep her distance from Josiah Hanacker, aside from meals when others were around. With a renewed sense of purpose—and a plan of escape—she prepared for bed. Morning came all too soon at the Hanacker Land and Cattle Company. And she’d promised the altogether disarming owner biscuits and gravy for breakfast.
Chapter 10
Corra took a deep breath, winded from merely listening to her sister rattle on. It was like this every Sunday after service, but today was worse, and the midday sun bore down unmercifully.
“The picnic is next week, of course, since that’s the Fourth of July, and everyone is bringing a dish and a dessert, and there will be ice cream, for you know it wouldn’t be the Fourth without ice cream, so you must promise me you’ll come.”
Corra laid a hand on Letty’s arm. “Stop. Yes. We’ll come. If Josiah agrees.”
Immediate elation burst into a sour pout, but Corra held her ground. “It is up to Josiah. No arguing.” She glanced to the small cluster of men discussing Josiah’s crop of yearling foals. The way he rubbed the back of his neck meant he was making a deal. She smiled, confident he’d come out on the better end, but also confident in his integrity.
“What’s that look?” Letty narrowed her eyes.
“What look?”
“That look. Like you’ve been smitten.”
Corra laughed aloud and two matrons turned her way with raised eyebrows. Tucking her Bible under her arm, she pushed up her sleeve. “Bitten, you say? Why yes, I was bitten just the other day by a garden beetle. You know everyone insists they don’t bite, but see this. What do you think?” She raised her most innocent look to Letty, who was shaking her head and hiding behind a hankie.
“You are hopeless.”
Corra smoothed her sleeve. “Never, my dear sister. It’s been little more than a month and I’ve made good progress with Jessica.” She turned to search for the girl and found her running around the wagon after two boys. “Well, at least she’s wearing a dress and a ribbon in her hair, so that’s something, don’t you think?”
“What I think is you are making progress of another sort.” Letty cut a quick look to Josiah. Corra followed her glance and found him watching her.
“Goodness, but it’s warm for the end of June. I do believe it’s hotter in town than up in the canyon by the creek.” Corra gave her sister a brief hug then turned for the wagon.
“Next Sunday. Don’t forget.”
Corra raised a hand over her shoulder then hiked her skirt to climb into the wagon. Josiah appeared at her arm to steady her. She’d been quite successful in keeping her distance until this morning, and his attention heightened her awareness of every little detail—his clean-shaven face, meadow-green eyes. Her short breath and nervous hands. She thumbed through her Bible for an old letter she kept there and fanned herself. Next week they must leave the wagon beneath a shade tree.
The children and Josiah climbed in. Corra stiffened, determined to ignore the comfort of his presence. Before they reached the sandbar, Joe was p
lying his father about the July Fourth picnic. Josiah smiled and slid a look her way that sent the flimsy letter into a frenzy.
“Warm?”
Eyes straight ahead, she heard that half-hitched laugh of his. “Quite.”
“Miss Corra, don’t you want to stay for the goings on next Sunday? You and Jess could bake a couple of pies.” Hunger edged the boy’s voice.
“I know where there’s some strawberries.” Jessica’s enthusiasm contrasted sharply with her usual resistance. “Down by the creek near the aspens. It could be our first fruit pie.”
The girl’s eagerness captured Corra’s heart, and she turned to look at two pleading faces. If Letty only knew what sympathizers she had for the celebration.
Josiah chuckled. “All right. We’ll go. But only if Corra agrees.”
She felt his eyes on her and weighed the probability of breaking her neck if she jumped from the moving wagon. Instead, she flicked a glance his way and nodded once.
Later, after a dinner of sliced roast and bread and butter, Corra gave Jessica the afternoon to herself—a true Sabbath, she explained. She had no intention of cutting the girl off from what she loved, which was riding the hills with her brother. In her absence, Corra found a small basket and set out across the near pasture. Jessica’s wild strawberries would sweeten the pieplant flourishing in Pop’s garden and make a dish fit for the picnic.
Her skirt snagged on the barbed wire as she ducked through, and she stopped to pick it loose. Two meadowlarks sang, one from the tall grass answering the other atop a nearby fence post, its yellow chest swelling with song. Clear air with no kiss of coal dust invigorated her, and she cut across the ankle-deep grass. With beans simmering in the oven for supper, she, too, had time to relax and enjoy herself.
Bright green aspen leaves at the pasture’s edge fluttered an invitation. Mindful of where she stepped, Corra gathered her skirt above her shoe tops and walked into the grove. Immediately the air cooled. Looking for a stump or fallen tree to sit on, she stilled at an unexpected discovery. Heart pinching, she pressed a hand against her breast and stepped closer to read the crude carving:
The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches Page 41
