by Jodi Thomas
Two of the card players began to speculate on how the boss planned to enlarge his ranch. They talked of first one place bordering Double R land and then another with Brody only half listening until Earl said, “I tell you one place that Boss will never buy and that’s Widow Allen’s land.”
Brody closed the book and made no pretense of reading.
“Why wouldn’t he take her place on?” a new cowhand asked. “A widow without a man to run her farm would be easy land to pick up, I’d think.”
Earl leaned his chair back and stared at his cards. “Oh, it’s a good little farm, but a natural wall of rocks separates her land from the Double R.”
Montie Timmons nodded. “Boss likes his property to be as flat as possible for moving big herds.”
“Don’t matter anyway,” Caleb said. “Nothin’ getting her off her place. Not even her father can talk her into spending a night away. She’s tied to it as sure as if she’s a ghost haunting Venny’s farm.”
“You’re right, old man,” Earl added. “I remember years ago when Venny courted her. He was ten, maybe twelve years older than her and he didn’t waste much time courting before he asked her. She was still more kid than woman, as I remember. He promised her all kinds of things, but the minute he slipped the ring on, it might as well have been a yoke. He never let her off the place. Wouldn’t even let her go home to see her papa.”
“I remember him. Always thought he was a bull of a man, big and rough,” Montie, as always, added to his brother’s rambling. “He told me once he didn’t have any family and planned to keep her pregnant until she had an even dozen.”
Caleb laid down his cards and collected the pot as he continued the conversation, “That plan didn’t work. Five years of trying and not one kid. He left when the war started, knowing if he died, so did his family line.”
“He must have ordered her to stay on the farm ’cause folks hardly saw her in town all those years he was gone.” Earl frowned at Caleb for winning and dealt another hand. “I swear, after her second husband died, I would have offered for her if it hadn’t been for the curse on her.”
Caleb wiggled his eyebrows. “She’s one fine-looking woman, I’ll say that, but the risk is too high. I heard a while back a peddler stopped by her place and barely made it to town without bleeding to death. He claimed all he did was talk to her a minute and something flew out of the sky, nearly splitting his head open like a ripe watermelon.”
The new cowhand snorted. “The widow must not be a caring person, ’cause I heard that story in town and the peddler claimed she stood on the porch and stared at him as he left. He said she didn’t even offer to help.”
“That peddler’s nothing but trash if you ask me. Him losing his head wouldn’t be any great loss. I doubt I’d help him either,” Caleb added. “Boss’s wife says he gets a little too friendly with the ladies. She won’t even have him on the ranch.”
The new cowhand asked the question Brody had been hoping to hear. “How’s this widow with a curse manage out there all alone?”
Brody leaned forward so he wouldn’t miss the answer.
Earl volunteered, “She’s got milk cows and chickens or she would have been starved out long ago. I’ve seen her with her little specially made wagon, hauling milk and eggs to town. Makes bread, too, and sells it at the mercantile.”
The men around the table all agreed that the widow was a hard worker and probably a hard woman.
Brody sat waiting, but the conversation never went back to Widow Allen. The woman he’d held for a moment in the shadows hadn’t seemed hard, he thought ... maybe lonely ... but not hard.
The next time he headed to town, he spotted a little place with a natural fence of rock about twenty feet high on one side, but he couldn’t think of a reason to turn onto the land.
On the first Monday in March, Mrs. Molly Clair sent him to the carpenter to see when her sewing machine would be ready. She was wanting to start sewing again and didn’t seem to think threatening clouds should slow Brody down on her mission.
When he found the building the boss’s wife had described, which looked half shop and half house, he knew he had the right place, but he wasn’t expecting Valerie to answer the door.
She looked as surprised to see him. They just stood staring at each other for a moment, neither having any idea what to say.
“I’m here about Mrs. Molly Clair’s machine,” he finally got out.
She waved him into the parlor. “My father’s had a cold, but he’s on the mend.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Brody said without really caring. All he wanted to do was stare at her. She was still dressed in black, this dress with far fewer frills than the one she’d had on at the dance. In the shadows of the barn he hadn’t noticed that her hair was so light or her eyes were so green. He’d spent most of that night trying not to look at her for fear she’d tell him to leave.
“If you’ll follow me ...” She turned and moved down a corridor that he guessed led to the living quarters.
“Papa,” she called as she stepped into a wide kitchen. “You have a customer.”
She looked back at Brody and their gazes met. Neither said a word as they waited. Brody balled his hands into fists, fighting the need to touch her. He’d been thinking about her so much, he didn’t care about a curse, even if it was real. He’d risk death if he could just move his fingers down her slim back and pull her close again.
When the carpenter walked in, he apologized for keeping them waiting.
“It’s early,” was Brody’s only answer. “I’m just here about the sewing machine. Mrs. Molly thought I’d have plenty of time to pick it up, if it’s ready, and get back before the storm hits.”
“I’m not moving as fast as I used to but it’s on my next-to-do list.” He waved Brody to the table. “Let me offer you some coffee at least for making you wait.”
Brody would have turned it down, but he was in no hurry to leave. The idea of being able to look at the widow seemed promising. He nodded and took the chair against the window so he could see Valerie moving about the kitchen.
She had a grace about her and Brody couldn’t turn away.
Papa Riley appeared hungry for company. He asked his daughter to get out some of the bread she’d brought him and offered it to Brody.
“My daughter’s a fine cook and a hard worker, too,” he bragged as if trying to sell her talents.
The loaf could have been made of sand and Brody wouldn’t have noticed. He watched her slice off a piece and hand it to him while Papa talked about how he hated getting a cold in early spring when all the weather did was rain.
Brody’s fingers covered hers for a moment when he took the bread, and she glanced at him without a smile.
A bell rang from beyond the corridor, and Papa shoved himself up. “I’ll get this one, Valerie.” He looked at his daughter. “Offer the man more coffee and try not to talk his ear off.” He disappeared, laughing at his own joke.
She lifted the pot and refilled Brody’s cup without saying a word. The hem of her skirt brushed against his leg. Brody didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he would have if he’d heard a shot.
He knew this might be his only chance to say anything to her, but he couldn’t think of a way to start. Finally, he cleared his throat, fully aware that something might come flying and hit him on the head at any minute. “I pass by your place a few times a week. I could stop by and see if you need anything the next time I make the trip to and from the Double R.”
“No, thank you for your kind offer.” She said the right words, but they sounded hard somehow as if he’d made her mad by asking.
She moved away as her father entered talking. “Josh Minor’s porch blew down last night in the storm. He wants me to get over there and help him shore it up before the whole side of the house collapses. I told him three years ago he should have had me put it up, but he gave that cousin of his the job.”
“Why doesn’t the cousin come fix it now?” Valerie asked.
“You’re not over your cold, and it looks like it could start raining at any moment.”
“The cousin’s too drunk to stand, and stop fretting over me, dear. I’ll be f ine.” He turned to Brody. “Tell Mrs. Molly Clair I’ll get her machine out to her the first sunny day.”
While the man she called Papa pulled on his coat, Valerie did the same. “I might as well get back, too. If it starts raining, the road will be muddy.” A loud clap of thunder rattled the house as if warning her.
Brody followed them out the back door and across to a little barn as drops began to fall. Without a word he helped Papa load enough lumber to do the job, then turned and lifted Valerie into her little buggy made to get milk and eggs to town. It was well built and would keep out most of the rain on her ride home, but he took the time to check the harnesses and found one of the lines twisted. When he handed her the reins, her fingers were freezing, but she didn’t look like she wanted to be lectured about wearing gloves. He touched two fingers to his hat in farewell as she hurried away.
After he closed the barn door, Brody circled round the house and collected his mount. From the look of the clouds, he’d be soaked to the bone by the time he got home.
When he saw Valerie’s buggy ahead of him on the road, he followed, telling himself they were going the same direction. He could have moved faster and been home in half the time, but he wanted to keep her in sight. If she didn’t like it, she could just ignore him, as she’d done most of the time he’d been in her father’s kitchen.
By the time they reached open country, her mare acted up every time lightning flashed. Brody caught up to the widow the third time she pulled the buggy to a stop.
“Will you let me help you?” he yelled over the thunder.
She nodded. He didn’t miss the fear in her eyes.
Without another word, he tied his horse to the back of the buggy and climbed in beside her.
When she handed him the reins, her palm was bleeding. He frowned at her and took control of the horse. With a strong hand he kept the poorly trained animal in tow while being very much aware of how close the widow sat next to him in the buggy. She was shaking, but he had no idea if it was from fear or the sudden north wind.
Twenty minutes later they were at her place. From the road the house looked plain, almost abandoned, huddled into a rise of rocks, but up close he could tell it was well built and organized. A square house with a wraparound porch and a low roof stood solid against the storm.
He drove the buggy straight into open barn doors and helped her down before taking care of the horse. She just stood, cradling her hand and watching the rain. He thought she might be crying, but somehow she didn’t seem like the sort to cry over a cut. She was afraid, he realized.
When he finished, he closed one barn door and latched it against the storm, then lifted her up and ran for the wide back porch. The need to protect her, to shelter her, surprised him as he set her out of the rain.
“I don’t need your help.” She pushed away and he was almost glad to see anger overrule fear.
“You’re hurt.”
“I can manage.”
He didn’t want to fight with her. Just holding her for a few minutes while he ran to the house felt great, but the lady glared at him as if the storm in her gypsy green eyes might be bigger than the one outside. “How about you take care of that hand? I’ll close the barn door and see to my mount. I’ll be out of your way as soon as the storm breaks.”
She didn’t look as if she liked being ordered around, so he took the coward’s way out and ran. By the time he got back from the barn, he was dripping wet. He hesitated only a moment before opening the back door. If she planned to shoot him, he might as well get it over with.
A fire was raging in an old potbellied stove. She stood, her hair still dripping, at the sink.
He knew he was tracking in mud, but he’d apologize later. Right now he needed to have a look at her cut. When he held out his hand, she laid her palm in his and he felt her tremble.
“It’ll be all right, Mrs. Allen.”
She shook her head. “I know. It’s not the cut, it’s the storm. I don’t mind the lightning, but I’ve always hated the sound of thunder.”
As he opened her hand, he smiled, thinking she sounded more like a little girl than a full-grown woman. “The cut’s long,” he said more to himself than her, “but not deep.”
She was so still as another roll of thunder rattled the house, it almost frightened him. “You have a medicine box, Mrs. Allen?” he said, hoping to distract her.
She pointed to a box already on the tiny kitchen table.
He led her over to the table and sat down across from her, then opened the box without letting go of her hand. The kit was well supplied with everything he’d need. “If I wrap it correctly, and you don’t try to use it much for a few days, I think it’ll heal without needing to be stitched up.”
“You a doctor?” She sounded more in control now.
“No, my dad was a vet. I followed him around for years, then went one year to college before the war. You’re my first human.”
She smiled and her whole face lit up for a moment. “How about I moo now and then to make you feel more comfortable?”
“That might help.” He looked up, glad to see that her eyes were no longer angry or frightened. Being as gentle as he could, he cleaned the wound and applied salve to keep infection out, then wrapped the hand carefully so the bandage wouldn’t wear against her palm.
After a long silence, she asked, “Were you a vet in the war?”
“No.” He didn’t want to talk about the war. He didn’t want to think about what he’d done to stay alive. “They needed soldiers more than they needed vets.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said as she pulled her hand away. “It’s not proper.”
He closed up the medicine and put it back into the box. “I know. I’ll wait out the storm in the barn and be gone as soon as it lets up.”
She thought for a moment and seemed to change her mind. “I guess you could wait in the kitchen, if you like. I’ll get you a towel, and if you stand by the stove, you’ll be dry in no time. It is the least I can do to repay you for the doctoring.”
He moved to the stove. She brought him a towel and left. Brody wasn’t sure what he should do. She offered him the comfort of the kitchen, but she hadn’t told him to make himself at home. They both knew how it would look if someone found out that he was in her house, but no one was likely to drop by in the storm.
When she returned, she’d changed into a dry gray dress. Over it she wore a pale gray apron and she’d pulled her hair back with a black piece of ribbon. It occurred to him that she might be trying to hide her beauty and he couldn’t help wondering why.
“I forgot to thank you for helping me. My horse often gets—”
“The horse needs training.”
“I know.” She smiled. “So does the driver. For years I had an old mare who knew the way back and forth to town. All I had to do was ride along.”
“I could teach you. It’s not hard. You could come over to the Double R some Sunday and I could show you how to work with the horse.”
She looked down and he feared he’d been too bold.
He didn’t feel right being alone in her house with her, and he guessed she felt the same. “I’m about dry,” he lied. “I thought I’d sit on the porch and watch the storm die. Sometimes it’s a beautiful sight.”
She seemed to like the idea. “I’ll get a couple of quilts and join you.”
It wasn’t all that cold to Brody, but he thanked her for the quilt and held the door as she stepped onto the porch. The western sky put on a show as they watched, and he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to sit there and watch the sunset some night.
They didn’t talk as they watched the thunderstorm play itself out. He felt her jump a few times when the thunder rolled, and he wished they’d been close enough that she’d let him put his arm around her.
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br /> When the first touch of blue sky showed through, Brody knew it was time for him to go.
He moved to the steps and turned. She was so close behind him he almost bumped into her. “Thanks for letting me stay awhile.” He watched her, trying to memorize exactly what she looked like. “I know you don’t want a man around and I’m not anyone a woman would consider seeing. I understand that, but if you’re agreeable, I’d like to hug you good-bye. Then I promise I’ll never bother you again.”
He thought she was going to turn away, but she finally took a step toward him and he closed the rest of the distance between them. He held her as he had that night after the dance and she felt so good in his arms. She was a woman he could dream about, but someone like her would never belong to him.
Without a word, he turned to leave.
“Mr. Monroe,” she stopped him. “How do you like working for Boss Ramsey?”
The question surprised him, but he answered, “It’s a job. I figure in five, maybe six years I’ll have enough saved to buy a place. Somewhere like this away from people, where I can live in peace. As long as there is hope of that, I can put up with anything.”
She looked up at him as if weighing his worth by the pound. “Mrs. Molly Clair says you’re a good hand. Maybe one of the best Boss has ever hired, but you don’t mix with people. That true?”
He nodded. “I don’t know about the first part, but she’s right about me being a loner.”
“If you had my place, what would you do with it?”
He thought she must be as starved for conversation as he, so he answered, “I’d farm that spot by the road. If you planted grain, you could harvest enough to have a good cash crop by fall. Along the back, where it looks rocky, you could run a few head of cattle, or sheep.”
“Which would you run?”
“Cattle probably. There looks like enough grass to fatten them up then mix them in with a passing trail drive. With the price of beef, you could double your money in a year.”
“How many could you keep up with and still farm the front?” She stared at him directly as if truly needing to know.
