by Ana Seymour
Susannah’s face grew wistful. “I bet she has elegant clothes and talks fine.”
“She can talk fine when she wants to, I guess. But she’s not any more elegant than you or Mary Beth. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the two of you standing in the street in Canyon City.”
The ground was too wet to sit down, so they stopped and leaned their backs against twin birch trees whose branches were bare except for an occasional tenacious yellow leaf. Susannah looked up at the sky. “That’s your Eastern charm talking, Parker Prescott. There’s no way Mary Beth and I can compare to the ladies back in New York.”
Parker recognized that the conversation was drifting from getting acquainted to flirtation, but he was enjoying himself too much to worry about it. He had no intention of letting it go too far, and Molly and her buffalo gun were safely back at the house, so what did it matter?
“I swear to you, Susannah,” he said. “In all of New York, in all of Boston, even in Paris and London, I’ve never seen any girl prettier than you.” He hadn’t mentioned Deadwood. It was a beautiful fall afternoon and he was flirting with a lovely girl. It was not the moment to think of Deadwood or Claire.
Susannah pushed away from the tree with a little twirl and spun her way over to Parker. “Molly says I shouldn’t believe it when men start to talk fancy, but I think I will anyway.”
She nearly spun right into him and he reached out his arms to steady her. “Molly may be right, Susannah.”
“Fiddle. I don’t care if she is. I intend to enjoy listening to your fancy talk, Parker. I’ve never had the chance before—first there was Papa hovering over me, and now Molly. But I’m too old to have a nursemaid, and it’s about time Molly understood that.”
His hands were still gripping her upper arms and her flushed face was just inches from his. Parker took in a slow breath. Flirtation was one thing, proximity was another. He turned her around and placed her gently up against the tree, then took a long step back. “I’m sure Molly just wants to protect you. I feel that way about my sister. I worry about her. It’s hard to stop worrying just because you’ve both grown up.”
Susannah’s lower lip stuck out a little, but instead of making her look petulant, it merely served to call attention to the ripeness of her mouth. “Sometimes I think she’s jealous of us.”
“Jealous?”
“Of me and Mary Beth, because we’re…you know…the cowboys all say that we’re the pretty ones.”
Parker frowned. “But it seems as if your sister doesn’t care about being pretty—doesn’t even want to be.”
Susannah looked at him as if he were a slow-witted child. “There’s no such thing as a girl who doesn’t want to feel pretty, at least sometimes, deep down.”
Coming from Susannah, the sudden nugget of wisdom surprised Parker. In a different way, he realized he was being as prejudiced as the cowboys in town. He’d already categorized Molly as the smart one, Susannah as the pretty one. His mother would be ashamed of him. Hadn’t she always taught him that each human being was made up of far too many layers to be put into a category?
“Well, maybe one of these days we can do something to make Molly feel pretty,” he said lightly.
Susannah’s serious moment was gone. She giggled and said, “I don’t know how. If you try some of your sweet talk on her, she’s like to lay you out flat.”
“I wouldn’t be able to let her get away with that, I’m afraid.”
Susannah considered him for a moment, rocking back and forth against the tree trunk. “I think you’d do best to stick with me, Parker. You and Molly might really get into it one of these days.”
“We might get into it if I stick with you, Susannah. Molly’s warned me off you and Mary Beth. I’m surprised she agreed to let us ride alone together today.”
Susannah gave a huff. “There! You see what I mean. How does she expect us to ever get a…I mean, get acquainted with any gentlemen…if she keeps them all away with threats?”
“Maybe that’s something you should ask her.”
He hadn’t meant to say it quite like that. He’d resolved not to take sides between the sisters. Of course, he’d also resolved to keep his hands off Susannah, and that was proving far more difficult than he had expected. As she danced and squirmed against the tree trunk, not more than a yard from him, his feet were ready to take a step closer of their own volition. The palms of his hands itched to close around her silky hair. He had to force himself not to move.
“Well, maybe I just will,” Susannah said, a frown marring the smooth skin of her forehead. “Maybe I will ask my sister exactly that.”
While taking care to avoid the scattered patches of melting snow, Susannah and Parker raced their horses over the last long stretch of prairie toward the ranch house. The speed felt good. Parker laughed as the wind hit his face and his muscles moved in harmony with Molly’s fine mount. He might be a novice at most things around the ranch, but he could ride. It had been one of the few activities his family had engaged in together back in the rolling countryside of upstate New York. It had been a while since he’d ridden just for the joy of it, and at the moment it seemed exactly the remedy he needed to take his mind off Susannah’s unconscious invitation back by the stream.
“I think you should tell Molly that you’re too sick to work more than half days,” she shouted to him as they slowed their horses at the outer gate. “Then we could ride together every afternoon. There are still some more places I could show you. More private places.”
Parker gave her a sideways glance. He had thought her invitation had been unconscious. But Susannah, though inexperienced, seemed to be one of those women who just had an instinct for this kind of thing. Whereas Molly turned shy and silent when things turned personal, Susannah reveled in it. Perhaps her sister’s warnings were well-founded. A young woman as ready for loving as Susannah could get into a heap of trouble mighty fast.
“I’d love to ride out with you again, Miss Susannah, but I’ve got to show your sister that I can earn my wages around here.”
“Now you’ve gone all formal on me again, Parker.”
“I don’t mean to. But you yourself agreed that we’d need to be more formal when other folks were around.” He nodded toward the other end of the corral where Molly, Mary Beth and Smokey were standing with Jeremy Dickerson and three other men Parker didn’t know.
“I wonder what’s going on?” Susannah asked.
“We’d best find out.”
They turned their horses around the corner of the rail. As they approached the group, Parker saw that they were standing around a pretty, light brown calf with a moon face.
“It’s about time you two got back,” Molly called, her voice harsh. Susannah made a face.
“Is something wrong?” Parker asked, jumping lightly from Midnight’s back. The other two Dickersons were easy to recognize. The father and brother had Jeremy’s same slick black hair and prominent nose. The other stranger was wearing a star on his rawhide vest.
All four men glanced at him with varying degrees of indifference, then the man with the badge spoke to Molly. “This little feller came wandering practically up to the Dickersons’ front door this morning, Miz Hanks. It’s not branded.” His eyes were reproachful.
None of the shyness Molly had shown with Parker was in evidence as she faced the sheriff. “You know darn well, Sam Benton, that I couldn’t round up my heifers for branding this fall because there wasn’t a single blasted cowpoke west of the Mississippi who would hire on to help me.”
“You can’t keep track of cattle without branding,” the sheriff said with a shake of his head.
“Well, what in tarnation was it doing all the way over at the Lazy D?”
The older Dickerson took a step toward Molly and put his arm across her shoulders. “Cattle wander, Molly. You know that. You’ve got to get yours marked up. If the weather holds, we’ll come on over and help you out.”
Molly hesitated. Parker had the feeling that she wa
s more than a little reluctant to accept help from the Dickersons, even though it appeared that the old man was just trying to be neighborly.
So far none of the visitors had acknowledged Parker’s presence. “How many men does it take?” he asked, not afraid to show his ignorance. There was no point in pretending to be something he wasn’t.
All the heads turned toward him at once. “Who’s that?” the older Dickerson asked Molly.
Parker stuck out his hand. “Parker Prescott. You’re Hiram Dickerson, I presume.”
After a minute’s hesitation Hiram shook his hand. Then Parker offered it to the younger Dickerson brother, who accepted it more readily than his father. “Ned?” he confirmed with a smile and a nod. Finally he turned to the lawman. “Jeremy and I have already met, but I haven’t had the pleasure, Sheriff.”
Sheriff Benton was a big man, but middle age had shrunk his shoulders and increased his girth, making him a less formidable sight than he had been in his prime. He drew back as Parker took a step toward him and extended his hand. But finally he, too, shook it. Parker stepped back and surveyed the group. “So now that we’re all acquainted, let’s get back to the problem here. How many men does it take to do this branding procedure?”
They were looking at him as if he were some kind of unknown species, and Molly seemed to be enjoying their discomfiture. She laughed out loud. “Parker is our new hand,” she told the group.
“It doesn’t sound like you know much about wrangling, young man,” the older Dickerson observed.
“I believe Mr. Prescott specializes more in the ladies than he does in cattle,” Jeremy said with a sneer.
Parker met Jeremy’s sharp eyes. So it was to be open battle. Right from the start. Well, that was all right with Parker. It never hurt to know where you stood with someone. He turned away from Jeremy and addressed his calm answer to the elder Dickerson. “I know nothing about wrangling, sir. But I’ve told Miss Molly here that I’ll do my best to learn.”
Jeremy gave a snort. “It’s not exactly like dealing a deck of cards. This calf’s almost four hundred pounds. You think you could throw her down and burn a brand on her?”
Parker gave Jeremy a quick up-and-down glance. Though the two were of similar height, Jeremy had a more slender build. In his three-piece suit and string tie he looked much less rugged than Parker in his worn Levi’s and rough linen shirt. “I’d wager I could pull her down just about as quick as you could, Jeremy, my friend,” he answered with a smile.
Jeremy did not smile back. He turned to Molly. “Don’t be a stubborn fool, Molly. The snow will be blowing back in before long and then there’ll be nothing we can do. Next spring you’ll have a rangeful of year-old heifers wandering around with no identification.”
“I’m hoping to have an early spring roundup,” she said defensively.
“With what help? Cowboy Joe, here?” he asked with a dismissive nod toward Parker.
“If I offer enough money, I can get hands.”
“And where do you get the money?”
It appeared that everyone but Jeremy could see that Molly was getting angrier every time he opened his mouth. Parker rocked back on his boot heels and waited for the explosion. He wasn’t disappointed.
“That is none of your damn business, Mr. Dickerson.”
“I’m just trying to—”
“And furthermore, the next time you come around here trying to tell me how to run my ranch, I’ll take that fancy hat of yours and cram it down your throat.”
Susannah and Mary Beth were watching their sister with their mouths open. Smokey was noncommittal, but there was a twinkle in his gray eyes.
Ned Dickerson tried to soothe her down. “There’s no need to get riled, Molly. Jeremy is only concerned about your welfare. Yours and Miss Susannah’s and Miss Mary Beth’s.” As he said the last name he darted a quick glance over at the youngest sister, who immediately averted her eyes.
Molly turned to his father. “Mr. Dickerson, can you imagine coming in here when my father was alive and asking him about how he was managing things and how he was going to get the money to run his operation?”
The older man shook his head. “No, but Charlie’d had years of experience and, besides, he was…”
“A man,” Molly supplied.
“Well, now, child, there is a difference.” He tried to give the observation a touch of humor by smiling and reaching out to give a little pull at her chin.
Molly’s temper was cooling, and her answer held a tone of resignation. “That’s the problem, Mr. Dickerson. I’m not a child. And I don’t want to be treated like one.” She turned to the sheriff. “Thank you for bringing back the calf, Sheriff. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we still have some work to attend to before dark.”
Chapter Six
The visitors had left without further suggestions as to how Molly should run the Lucky Stars. But no one had gone back to work. When Parker had asked her what she wanted him to do, she’d told him that they would start in again in the morning. She’d gone in to help Smokey with supper, leaving Parker and Susannah to tend to their horses. Mary Beth had disappeared somewhere about the time the Dickersons rode off and didn’t show up again until after the rest of them had already sat down to supper.
There was a subdued mood at the table that evening, and Parker surmised that Susannah had decided to put off any confrontation with Molly for a later date. She was as decorous as a schoolmarm in the few comments she addressed to him. There was not a hint of the flirtatious tone she’d used during their ride together. Molly herself had little to say to anyone. The meeting with the Dickersons and the sheriff seemed to have sapped her strength.
Parker volunteered to help Smokey clean up the dishes following the meal. When they’d finished, he asked the cook if he’d be interested in a game of chess.
“Too dadblamed many rules in that game.” Smokey had refused with a smile. “Besides, at my age, I need my beauty sleep.” With a wink he headed off toward his room at the back of the house. Parker looked around the empty dining room, somewhat at a loss as to what to do next. None of the sisters was anywhere in sight. He didn’t feel much like heading out to the cold, empty bunkhouse, but it didn’t look as if there would be any after-supper socializing in the parlor, either. He’d been invited to take his meals at the big house, but was he welcome to stick around once he’d been fed?
Finally he decided he’d better not stay without an invitation and, reluctantly, he crossed the big hall and went out the door.
Molly’s voice came out of the darkness. “Thanks for helping Smokey out with the cleanup. I wasn’t much up to it tonight.”
She hardly sounded like the same woman who had roundly dressed down the Dickersons out in the yard just a few hours ago. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he could see that she was sitting on the porch steps. Her oversize coat was hunched around her shoulders, making her look small and vulnerable, not at all the way she appeared when she was striding around the ranch giving orders.
Parker hesitated a moment. “Would you like some company?” he asked finally.
She cranked her head around and looked up at him. “Mmm.”
He took her answer as affirmative and sat down alongside her. “It’s starting to chill up again,” he said, picking a safe topic.
“Well, it is November after all.”
They sat in silence for several moments.
“I enjoyed seeing the ranch today. You have quite a place here, Miss Molly.”
“You know what, Parker?” she said suddenly, cocking her head. “Let’s just make it plain Molly. Miss Molly sounds like some kind of barn dance.”
Parker grinned. “Just plain Molly it is, then.”
“That’s me, all right,” she said under her breath. She sounded dispirited. Parker thought back to his conversation with Susannah that afternoon. “You’re not, you know,” he said softly.
“Not what?”
“Plain.”
She ducked her head i
n embarrassment. “Spare me your fancy New York flattery, Parker. I’m not like my sisters. I don’t need that kind of attention.”
The moonlight softened her features, blended the lines that were etched in her sun-weathered face. She was beautiful, he realized with a start. Not peachesand-cream perfection, but a kind of beauty that would last a lifetime. When Molly Hanks was ninety years old her face would still have the strength and character he was looking at this minute. Her blue eyes would shine with the same intensity. He shook his head, keeping his eyes on her. “It’s not New York flattery, Molly. You’re a beautiful woman, every bit as beautiful as your sisters.”
She just shook her head and looked away. “Blarney, my mother used to call it.”
“Your mother?” Max McClanahan had told Parker that Mrs. Hanks had died when Mary Beth was born.
“I was only five when she died, but I can still remember some of the phrases she used to say. I have a picture of her in my mind with a dish towel wrapped around her tiny waist, waving a soup ladle at my father and saying, ‘That’s enough of your blarney, Charlie Hanks.’“ She gave a sad smile. “My mother was from the old sod—Irish.”
He was intrigued by this new, reflective side of his boss lady, but he had the feeling that if he tried to take advantage of it to get to know her better, she’d skitter back into the shell that she wore around herself most of the time. He kept his voice light and teasing. “Irish. So that’s where the temper comes from.”
She chuckled. “My father used to say that I was most like her of the three of us. But I remember her as being an absolute angel. I don’t think my temper comes from her, though maybe it’s the Irish blood inside me.”
“Wherever it came from, it’s healthy enough, if today was any indication.”
She sighed. “I do occasionally have a tendency to fly off a bit, which I sometimes regret. But today I believe my anger was justified. The nerve of that man asking me where I’d get money to hire a crew!” Her face set in tight lines at the memory.
Parker studied her curiously. “I thought… that is, Susannah told me that you and Jeremy were almost engaged to be married.”
