Claiming Mariah

by Pam Hillman

  A hint of a blush stole over her cheeks; then her gaze lifted and collided with his before she turned away. Perhaps it was the heat from the stove, or maybe she’d felt the same jolt he had when they’d touched. Whatever the reason, he liked the way her cheeks bloomed with color and her brown eyes sparkled in the light cast by the lanterns.

  He sipped his coffee, aware of every movement she made. Soft tendrils of brown-sugar hair resisted the neat bun gathered at her neck, softly framing her face. His fingers itched to tuck the wayward curls behind her ears. He turned and found Buck watching him with a curious look on his face. Slade scowled, moved to the table, and sat down.

  Just like Buck to see something where nothing existed.

  Nothing at all.

  Nothing except a scalding-hot cup of coffee and an overheated kitchen.

  Dawn gave way to a cool, clear day. Mariah rose with the sun, stoked the fire in the woodstove, and headed to the chicken coop to gather eggs. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders to ward off the chill as she made her way across the barnyard.

  It wouldn’t be long before the sun would chase the coolness away and she’d be comfortable without her shawl, but for now early morning still carried a wintry bite. She filled her basket with eggs, then stopped in the barn to milk the cow and check on Dusty.

  Alone except for the animals, she took her time milking. She liked the early morning quietness, hearing the ping of the milk as it hit the bottom of her pail, the squirt-thunk as the bucket filled.

  She rested her forehead against the cow’s flank, closed her eyes, and let the barn sounds wash over her in waves. The cow munching on hay, the swish of her tail. The snort of a horse in the next stall. She lifted her head and took in every nook and cranny of the barn she’d explored from the time she could walk. She’d miss the barn, the house, and the animals.

  The cow switched her tail, slapping Mariah in the face. She swatted the coarse strands of hair away. And yes, she’d even miss the cow.

  Dusty nickered from the next stall over. Mariah set the pail of milk to the side and rubbed the mare’s velvety nose, scratching one hand along the horse’s long, hard jawline. Dusty whinnied and nudged her arm.

  Mariah laughed. “Hey, Dusty girl. When are you going to drop that foal?”

  She rubbed a hand along the mare’s distended belly. The maiden mare’s dam was notorious for foaling early, but who knew if Dusty would follow suit? Other than carrying low and heavy, she hadn’t bagged up, but they’d started keeping her in the stall at night, just in case. Mariah determined to ask Buck what he thought when she saw him. She gave the horse another pat before turning to go. The black-and-white mama cat met her on the way out: slim and trim and obviously not expecting kittens anymore.

  “Well, what have we here?”

  The cat ignored her and headed to the far corner of the barn. Mariah waited a moment and followed.

  She eased around a stack of hay toward the corner stall, a catchall for anything and everything no one wanted or needed anymore. A faint mewling sound caught her attention.

  Pausing, she squinted into the dim corner and listened for the kittens again. She heard a faint snuffling sound and a whimper. She bent down and peered beneath a jumble of old harness and rope. There, out of reach, in the corner on a bed of old sacks, a litter of newborn kittens nursed. The mama cat reclined on the sacks, eyes half-closed, a contented purr emanating from her.

  Mariah was trying to figure out how to reach the kittens when a movement in the open doorway caught her attention. She grinned at Slade, unable to contain her excitement. “We’ve got kittens.”

  He came closer and squatted down to see the mama cat and her offspring. “Looks like she’s got a good-size litter.”

  Mariah leaned over and peered into the cozy nursery. “How many are there? Can you reach them?”

  He pushed the harness to one side and reached toward the kittens, managing to grab one around its belly and haul it out. He held out the tiny animal for her inspection.

  Gently she scooped up the black-and-white ball of fur and cradled it, marveling at the soft tufts that were ears and the pink nose not even as big as the tip of her little finger. “Isn’t it the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”

  He reached for another kitten and held it up in front of him, giving it a once-over. “I reckon they’re cute enough. At least they’re good for something. When they get bigger, they can catch mice.”

  The yellow kitten squirmed and mewled its displeasure at being dangled in the air away from the warmth and safety of its mother. The mama cat’s ears perked up and she meowed in protest.

  “Slade, it’s scared.” Mariah’s own kitten lay snuggled against her, emitting a quiet snuffle every once in a while. “Here. Give it to me.” She reached for the kitten and placed it next to its sibling. The yellow kitten mewled and snubbed around for a moment before settling into the warmth of Mariah’s arms. “Poor baby. The big, bad man scared you to death, didn’t he?”

  She glanced at Slade. He was crouched down, back braced against the barn wall, watching her, an amused smile on his face.

  Her face grew warm at his scrutiny, and she ducked her head and studied the kittens again. “What’s so funny?”

  “You.” A crooked grin creased his face. “Cuddling and talking to those kittens as if they were babies.”

  Mariah concentrated on the kittens, idly rubbing one finger over their backs. The black-and-white kitten took a deep, shuddering breath. “They’re not babies, but they’re still sweet.” She hoped her voice didn’t carry the wistfulness she felt in her heart.

  “Why haven’t you married, Mariah?”

  Her heart skipped a crazy beat, and she kept her attention firmly on the kittens. “Because the right man hasn’t come along.”

  Until now.

  Her hand froze in midstroke along the kitten’s back. Where had such an outrageous thought come from? She hoped Slade couldn’t see the blush that stole over her face. “And . . . and I’ve been busy taking care of the ranch and my family. Then Papa got sick. I really haven’t had time to get married. And I haven’t found a man I wanted to marry either.”

  She clamped her mouth shut to stop herself from babbling like an idiot. What would he think of her?

  “Here,” she said, needing to get away from him before she embarrassed herself further. “Put the kittens back. Grandma will be wondering what’s happened to me.”

  As Slade tucked the kittens in beside the others, Mariah’s heart turned over. For all his gruff talk about the kittens, he showed a gentleness with them he’d never shown with her. She wondered what he acted like with his mother and sisters, and a sudden, deep longing to know the kinder, gentler side of this man swept over her—a longing that shocked and surprised her.

  She hefted the pail of milk and the basket of eggs and hurried toward the house, her heart aching with a need she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—identify.

  Slade watched her go, then stood and dusted off his jeans. One minute she’d been talking, and the next she’d almost thrown the kittens at him and rushed out of the barn.

  He frowned as he went to saddle his horse. When he asked her why she wasn’t married, she’d run like a scared rabbit. Maybe she’d been jilted, or maybe she felt the same way he used to feel about marriage. He’d never intended to get married and force a wife and children to live the way he’d lived as a kid.

  Marriage was for men who could provide a home for a wife and kids, take care of them, and make sure they had a normal life like everybody else. He placed a blanket on the gelding’s back and reached for his saddle.

  Now that he had a home, land, and a future, there was nothing to stop him from finding someone to spend the rest of his life with.

  As he pulled the cinch tight around his horse’s belly, he pictured a family—his family—riding into Wisdom in a wagon. They’d ride down the street, friends and neighbors calling out greetings to them. The Donovan name would be respected here in Wisdom, if he had any
thing to say about it.

  Slade let the elusive dream play itself out. He imagined pulling up in front of the mercantile and jumping down to help a small girl with sparkling brown eyes out of the back of the wagon, while a boy with dark, curly hair tumbled out on his own, skinned knees and all.

  He imagined walking around the wagon and reaching up to help his wife down. He lifted his gaze, coming face-to-face with a hazy vision of Mariah Malone smiling down at him from the wagon seat.

  Slade’s daydream disappeared faster than Mariah’s biscuits, and he shook his head. Mariah as his wife? Even if she did have a soft spot for kittens and babies and could cook better than any woman alive, she’d never consider marrying him, not with the bad blood between their fathers.

  He swung into the saddle, his daydreams left to die on the sawdust floor of the barn.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE HOE SWUNG in a downward arc, the blade turned at the perfect angle to slice through the dirt. One jerk, and Mariah plucked a clump of weeds out by the roots. She dreaded the chore, but someone had to do it if they were going to eat. She glanced toward the end of the row. Another ten minutes and she’d be finished for the day.

  Long minutes later, she breathed a sigh of relief and wiped her brow. Three more rows to go. She trudged back to the house, deciding she’d work on those tomorrow. When she reached the porch, she scooped a dipperful of water and sat down on the steps, cooling off in the shade of the porch before she went inside to start dinner.

  Buck exited the barn. She gave him a wave, and he headed across the way. “I thought I’d come out to check on you. I figured it might be way too hot out there in that garden.”

  “You figured right.” Mariah fanned herself with her apron.

  “Is it usually so hot this time of year?”

  “No. We need more rain.” She took another sip of water. “What about down in Galveston? What’s it like there?”

  “Galveston’s not so bad. The breezes from the ocean keep it pretty cool this time of the year.”

  “It sounds like a nice enough place.”

  “It is, I reckon.”

  “You don’t miss it? Or miss your friends?”

  Buck stood hipshot, watching her. “I didn’t make many friends back home. I preferred being with horses to people.”

  “You mean after your accident?”

  “No, even before. A lot of young fellers wanted to sneak off to the saloons, but I wasn’t interested in that.”

  “Because of your father?”

  He gave her a questioning glance.

  “Slade mentioned that he used to . . . drink a lot. . . .” She trailed off. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “It’s all right.” Buck dropped to the porch steps beside her, draped his arms over his knees, and stared into the distance. “They called our pa Black Jack Donovan down in Galveston. Everybody knew him as the town drunk.”

  “It must have been hard growing up like that.”

  “Harder for Slade than for the rest of us, him being the eldest. He always had to go find our pa and drag him home when he got drunk, listening to his drunken rages for hours on end. Our sisters were small when Pa died, so they don’t remember him at all, and I remember very little.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Buck shrugged. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Mariah pleated her apron between her fingers. “That’s not the way Slade sees it. He blames my father for what happened to your family.”

  “It’s my turn to say I’m sorry. I guess hauling Pa home night after night from the saloons in Galveston and listening to him rant and rave about the misfortune that befell him because of your father did something to Slade down deep inside.” He squinted at her, a sad look on his thin, misshapen features. “I didn’t read that letter you sent, but I knew Slade might do something he’d regret if I didn’t stop him. I finally convinced him I could travel and had a hankering to see Wyoming.”

  “And did you have a hankering to see Wyoming?”

  One side of Buck’s mouth tilted in a lopsided smile. “Not as much as I wanted to keep my brother out of trouble.”

  It made her feel better to know that Buck didn’t share Slade’s bitterness. Did Buck know the whole truth, or had Slade kept part of it from him, too? She bit her lip. “Do you blame my father for what happened to your family?”

  “I don’t know what happened between our fathers, but I do know that one person shouldn’t let another have that much power over them. No matter what your father did, it shouldn’t have caused Pa to turn into a sot drunkard for the rest of his life.”

  Mariah’s eyes misted with tears. “Thank you, Buck.”

  Buck gave her his uneven smile. “Now what did I say to make you cry? I tried to make you feel better.”

  “You did.” She sniffed. “It’s just that I wish Slade had the same attitude as you do about what happened all those years ago.”

  “Yeah. Things might have turned out differently if he did. But there’s no arguing with him when he gets his mind made up. And Pa’s name is on that deed. No question about that.”

  Mariah tried to smile.

  Buck turned to walk away, and Mariah reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes.

  “Mariah?” Buck faced her again.

  She looked up. “Yes?”

  He scratched his head, looking unsure of himself. “There’s something else I think you should know. It might help you understand why Slade is so bitter at your father.”

  “All right.”

  “Slade was nine years old when he found Pa dead outside a saloon in Galveston. He’s never forgotten it.”

  Buck turned away and trudged toward the barn, his shoulders slumped. Mariah stared at his retreating back, wondering if laying claim to the land would be enough to erase the bitterness rooted deep in Slade’s soul.

  For his sake, she prayed it would.

  The mingled smells of warm bread, ham, and peas filled the air, but Slade barely noticed. Instead, his thoughts and his gaze lingered on Mariah. All day, he’d tried to concentrate on something—anything—else, but then he’d find himself thinking about her and the way she’d looked cuddling those kittens. Next thing he knew, he’d be wondering what she was doing: weeding the garden, bustling around the kitchen, or helping her grandmother. Then he’d get mad at himself all over again for letting his mind wander into forbidden territory when he should be working.

  Mrs. Malone looked up from her place at the table. “Evening, boys. Did you have a good day?”

  Mariah turned from the stove, and Slade glanced away, not wanting to be caught staring. He focused on her grandmother. “Yes, ma’am. Good but busy.”

  “The work on this ranch never ends. But then I suppose it doesn’t anywhere else either.”

  Mariah placed a pan of piping-hot corn bread on the table. “How’s Duncan’s horse?”

  “She’s mending.” Buck pulled his chair up to the table. “There’s still a lot of swelling, but she’s eating and her leg looks good. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “That’s good. Duncan sets a lot of store by that horse. I’d hate to see her put down.” Mariah took a seat. “Grandma, would you say grace, please?”

  Slade bowed his head and listened to Mrs. Malone’s prayer. Sometimes she blessed everybody in and around Wisdom. He’d learned a lot about the community listening to her prayers.

  “Lord, thank You for this day, and bless this food and the hands that prepared it. We ask that You ease the widow Ames. She fell and broke her hip, and she’s in a lot of pain. And bless old Mr. Dickinson. He’s been feeling poorly lately. Take care of us all, and help us all to have a good night’s sleep. Amen.”

  Mrs. Malone passed Slade a bowl of peas. “Tomorrow’s wash day, in case Cookie hasn’t mentioned it. You boys leave your dirty clothes on the porch, and Mariah and I will see that they’re washed and mended.”

  Slade shook his head. “That’s too much trouble, ma’am. We can
just wash our stuff down at the creek.”

  “It’s not a lot of trouble. Most of the hands only have one or two changes of clothes. We’ve got to heat the water anyway, and it costs too much to take them to town. No, we’ll do it. Another shirt or two won’t make much difference.” She peered nearsightedly at the rip in Slade’s shirtsleeve. “Bring that one. I’ll have Mariah mend the tear. If it’s not fixed, you’re going to ruin a perfectly good shirt.”

  “Grandma,” Mariah protested.

  “Thank you for the offer, ma’am.” Slade picked up his fork.

  But he had no intention of letting Mariah or her grandmother anywhere near his clothes.

  “You’ve been mighty quiet tonight. Is something ailing you?”

  “I’m fine.” Mariah opened a drawer and pulled out her grandmother’s nightgown. “Just thinking about leaving Wisdom. Leaving my friends.”

  And thinking about Slade and the feelings he’d stirred in her heart.

  “What did Sally say when you told her?”

  “She was disappointed, of course.” Mariah fingered the tatted lace on the nightgown. “I didn’t tell her everything.”

  “Oh?”

  “Slade promised not to tell the community what Papa did.” She shrugged and slipped the nightgown over her grandmother’s head. “I just don’t think it’s anybody else’s business.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. People can twist things out of proportion, given enough fodder to gossip about.” Her grandmother gave her a long, searching look. “Mariah, I hope you don’t let this situation with the Donovans make you bitter.”

  “I’m not bitter. Angry, yes, but I’ll get over it . . . eventually.”

  “Angry at Slade or at your father?”

  She turned back the covers, considering the question. She sighed. “Both.”