“Probably. Joe’s a good man. He wouldn’t have mentioned it if he didn’t think he could help.”
“It sounds so perfect. A job in a mercantile.” Faith closed her eyes for a moment and imagined she was waiting on a customer: she was cutting a beautiful dress-length piece of blue calico, and the lady was smiling and complimenting her on her steady hand. “It’s entirely too good to be true. If only…” She left the sentence unfinished, embarrassed at having spoken it out loud.
“If only what?” Luke was looking at her now with his dark, intelligent eyes. He seemed truly concerned. Her stomach did a flip-flop. She remembered the feel of his lips on hers.
She straightened her shoulders and smiled. “If only she’ll hire me. It would mean everything.”
“A woman alone with two young’uns is asking for trouble and heartache. I don’t think you know how hard it’s going to be.”
“Luke, I know it will be hard. But I’ve worked hard every day of my life. And you heard Joe. His sister did it and so can I. Besides, if I don’t…that would mean going home with Ward, and that’s out of the question. I’ve traveled the route of marriage, and I’m not interested in trying it again, with him or anyone else. So it’s up to me to support my children. I don’t know why everyone thinks women are so weak. We’re not! We just don’t get the same opportunities as men. We aren’t as strong physically, but we aren’t helpless. I aim to prove it.” She nodded her head, hoping she sounded confident, that she’d convinced him that her working for Joe’s sister was all she intended on doing. “I know I can succeed.”
He eyed her and shook his head. “Maybe that’s what’s scaring me. I think you can, too.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was late when they finally pulled up next to the barn. Luke looked down into Faith’s face. She had fallen asleep shortly after Three Toes, the landmark indicating the halfway point, still worn out from the long journey and her recent birthing of Dawn. Or maybe she’d lain awake all night like he had. Was it possible she’d been pining away for him, too?
Her head rested on his shoulder as Dawn slept like a peanut on his lap.
Luke ran his finger up the silky line of Faith’s jaw and stopped just below her ear. He moved close, his mouth mere inches from hers. “Faith, we’re home.”
A huge harvest moon bathed her upturned face in muted white light, reminding him of peaches and cream. He could almost taste the sweetness. Thick, long lashes lay dark on her cheek. She sighed.
“We’re home,” he repeated, this time unable to resist brushing her lips with his own.
She came awake. Her lips trembled beneath his; her eyes opened and gazed into his.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he admitted, smiling.
“Have you?”
“Yes. I have,” he murmured, brushing her lips again with his.
“Luke, I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
But she hadn’t pulled away. Was she enjoying the moment as much as he? After having been in such close proximity for hours without being able to touch her, he longed to hold on a little longer.
When he kissed her again, she leaned into him. He said, “I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long while.”
He felt her tense, and she held him off with her hand. “I really must go in.”
Knowing he was pushing his luck, he nuzzled the spot below her ear and inhaled her sweetness. “Why? The weather is nice, the moon is hanging up there, a pretty light just for us. Dawn here is aslee—”
“Luke McCutcheon,” she said in a no-nonsense voice. “If I have to spell it out for you, I will. I’m smart enough to know you’re just toying with my affections. You have no honorable intentions towards me whatsoever. Now let me go inside.”
Annoyed she couldn’t see he’d been trying his best to help her in every way possible, he attempted to ignore her statement. “How do you know what my intentions are? Could be that I’m getting the urge to settle down.”
“Ha!” Faith laughed, making Dawn jump. “You no more want to settle down than I want to get married again. You’re just looking to sow a few wild oats.”
She fisted a hand and pushed against his chest. Luke couldn’t help but smile. She looked so serious.
“My pa wasn’t good at rearing children,” Faith said, “but he did educate me on the things a man tries to sweet-talk a woman out of: her house, her clothes, her heart. Sweet talk is what got me into trouble last time, and I’m not falling for it again. Oh, no. I was much better off with just Colton, Pa and me. I’m much smarter now than I was.” She heaved a sigh. “Let’s not do anything that will only break my heart.”
She’d turned his warm feelings into something altogether different and Luke found himself more aggravated than he cared to admit. “Break your heart, darlin’? I’m not sure you have one.” He scooped up Dawn and climbed out of the buggy.
The crickets stopped their chirping when the bunkhouse door opened, and Luke saw Francis coming toward them. “Evenin’, Luke. You want me to stable Buttercup?”
“Thanks, Francis,” Luke replied, helping Faith from the buggy and to the house. He marched her through several rooms and up the stairs, stopping finally at her bedroom door. They hadn’t seen anyone, and the house was quiet.
“I don’t sweet-talk anyone out of anything, Faith.”
She simply stared at him.
Handing her the baby, he walked back down the hall and descended the stairs. Hell, if she wasn’t one irritating woman. Just when he felt like he was getting to know her, understanding her a little, she went and stirred the pot. She was worse than the most cantankerous, barley-broke broomtail he’d ever had the pleasure of breaking. Damn it, though, if he didn’t feel up for the challenge.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Luke knew better than to try to retire at seven o’clock in the evening. Usually if he hadn’t eaten by this time he’d go to the kitchen in search of some hearty morsel Esperanza had put aside exactly for that purpose, but he was still sated from the late lunch at the bridge and that held no appeal. He needed to get out and take a walk. Agitation rippled through him. Last night had been torture, seeming to stretch on for days. He wasn’t going to go through that again, so he’d head for the bunkhouse. The people there would know where everyone else was.
He paused on the porch, appreciating being home. The soft moonlight and the chilly night air reminded him why he loved this ranch so much.
The long log bunkhouse was lit up brightly, and laughter and talk could be heard from within. The heady aromas of coffee and freshly baked cake wafted on the breeze. A moment later, a new collection of smells engulfed him, yanking him into the past, into his childhood. As he stepped through the door of the building he caught the rich scents of tobacco, grilled onions, old sweat, earthy and strong. Sandalwood soap mingled with leather. Horse manure. Mixed all together, they created the bunkhouse. He’d spent most his time down here with the other men, listening to all kinds of talk, some true, some fictitious.
All eyes turned to him. “Evening,” he said—as a companion instead of the boss.
“Luke, how’s the bridge on the upper crest?” Roady called. He sat at a large round table with some men in a game of poker. Most others were washed up and ready to turn in.
Ten beds ran the length of the room. Each sported a thick goose-feather mattress and pillow, as his ma insisted everyone at the ranch deserved the best when it came to comfortable sleeping. A rock fireplace warmed the room from one end, and on the other were the stove and kitchen supplies.
“Coming along.”
Lucky approached with a mug of coffee and handed it to Luke. He looked a little out of joint, and Luke figured he was still upset over the morning in Pine Grove. The cook was loyal to a fault. The problem was, it seemed he had switched his loyalties to Faith.
Lucky eyed him, a small smile curving his lips. “Pull up a chair, boy. I’ll cut you a piece of chocolate cake still warm from the oven.”
&n
bsp; “No, thanks,” Luke replied, happy over the peace offering. “Coffee’s fine.” Taking a sip, he watched the men. “Where’s everyone from the house?”
Roady, who sat with a pile of coins in front of him, smiled. “Over at Rachel’s for supper.”
Chance, Pedro, Uncle Pete and Ward sat around the table also, varying sums of money in front of each, every player holding five bent and tattered cards. Ward’s homemade crutch leaned up against his chair.
Luke had come to the right place for a little diversion. “You got room for one more?”
Chance and Roady scooted back, making room for him to pull up a chair. Ike was reclined on his bed reading a copy of Jane Eyre.
“And Smokey?” Luke asked, looking around as the men anted and Uncle Pete dealt.
Chance answered. “Matt asked him to take early watch tonight.”
Flood had taught Luke and his brothers how to play poker at this exact table when he was no more than five or six years old. They’d played with sour balls, and that night he’d ended up with a stomachache to end all others. He hadn’t eaten one since. His mother would have raised holy hell if she’d known what Flood was up to in the bunkhouse, but playing on the hush-hush had made it all the more exciting.
“Always watch a man’s eyes, boys,” he had instructed his captivated sons. “You’ll be able to tell if he’s one to be trusted.”
The men now looked at their cards, and each tossed in his bet.
“Pedro?”
“Dos,” the man mumbled in deep concentration.
Uncle Pete nodded, sliding two cards over to the Mexican ranch hand.
“None for me, Pete,” Ward said, and raised a glass of whiskey to his lips. Drinking was allowed in the bunkhouse, but never to excess. All the hands knew the rules and abided by them; Luke’s ma made sure each new employee was shown the sign posted on the wall.
“These are real nice accommodations, McCutcheon. You’re real good to your people. And your house is really something. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so nice.” Ward took another sip and smiled.
Luke wondered if his mood had anything to do with the smarminess of Ward’s tone. Could be that, he reminded himself. Or frustration with Faith might be playing a part. He recognized himself as the least trusting of the family, and Ward had saved Mark. He’d do well to give the farmer a wide berth until he was gone. But there was indeed something about this man that set him on edge. Why was Faith so unwilling to talk about him?
Uncle Pete looked at Chance, who paused, looking at his hand. “Better give me three…uh, no. Make that four.” He discarded the old cards and took the new. With a small, satisfied smile he sipped his coffee.
“You sure, uh, you don’t need, uh, five, Chance?” Ward said, mocking the other man’s speech. When he saw he was the only one amused he added, “What? It was only a little joke, boys.”
Luke scanned his cards, holding his temper. Brown was a guest for a few more days. That’s all. The hands were grown men and could fight their own battles. Nothin’ worth trying to build on. “Fold.” He slid them to the center of the table and relaxed back in his chair.
“Roady?”
His friend’s face showed nothing, no clue of what he was thinking. “One. Luke, how was your buggy ride?” he asked, taking the dealt card and putting it into his hand. His brows arched and the men chuckled.
Luke should have seen it coming. Of course they’d tease him about taking Faith on a picnic. “Fine.”
Chance fingered one of his coins. With an overt look of innocence, he glanced directly at Ward. “She was about the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen, setting in that buggy. You’re one lucky man, Luke.”
Ward’s jaw clenched several times and his face flushed.
“I’m taking two,” Uncle Pete spoke up, spitting a string of tobacco juice into a rusted tin cup.
The door banged opened and Francis came in. Lucky grumbled at the boy, “How many times do I have ta remind ya not to open that door so hard. That head of yours full of feathers?”
“Sorry,” the youth responded, taking off his coat and hunting for a peg on the coat rack between the ponchos, dusters and leather coats. Giving up, he threw it across his bed and headed for the coffeepot.
After the second round of betting, the only two left in were Pedro and Ward. “Call,” Ward said. The man was practically gloating.
Pedro placed his cards on the table, revealing three aces, a jack and one nine. He addressed Luke at the same time. “The senorita, she like you, no?”
Damn. He wasn’t a kid to be ribbed about his attractions. When had his every move become the concern of everyone on this ranch? “She just needed to get out,” he answered.
Ward’s face clouded again, and his flashing eyes challenged Luke for one instant. Then he laid down a full house and scraped the pot money over to his dwindling stack.
The cards were dealt again and play continued. Roady fared best, with Ward a close second. It didn’t matter that Luke only won a couple of times, losing more than he took in; he was content just getting a chance to watch Ward. But after an hour crept by, Luke’s loss of sleep the night before started to weigh heavy.
He wasn’t the only one who was tired. Lucky turned in. Saying good night, the cook closed the door to his private room that opened off the side of the kitchen. Ward shuffled the cards for another hand, but before he got them dealt Pedro pushed his chair out and gathered his money.
“You ain’t quitting, are ya, Mex?”
Pedro looked surprised. “Sí. When it’s time to quit, I quit.”
Luke really hated Ward’s tone. He had reached his limit. Still, he knew his parents felt indebted to the man, so he satisfied himself to say, “We play for fun, Brown. Not to see how much we can fleece one another.”
“I’m out, too.” Roady stood and scooped up his plentiful winnings. He smiled at Pedro in solidarity.
Ward couldn’t conceal his hostility as he watched Roady fixing to leave. He struggled to rein in his temper. “I’d think the winner would give the others a chance to win back some of their hard-earned wages. I was just giving Pedro here a chance to recoup his losses. I’d expect the same courtesy in return.”
“Time for my watch,” Roady said. He took his coat from the wall. “Luke, you better get back to the house. I’m sure Faith is longing for them pretty brown eyes of yours.”
Everyone laughed except Ward.
Chance and Uncle Pete stood, slowly tossing down their cards. The friendly atmosphere had been shattered, and the men all went their separate ways. Ward stood holding the remainder of the deck, shuffling from one hand to the other. He was fast and nimble, confirming cards were nothing new to him. Luke figured he’d been bluffing early, letting the other men win at first to gain their confidence. He hadn’t counted on the game breaking up. Not before he had a chance to take everything.
“You out, too, McCutcheon?”
“That’s right,” Luke said. Standing, he stretched his tired legs.
“You wouldn’t want to go one more hand? Bet on something, say, a little more interesting than a few dollars.”
Luke shook his head. “Nope. I’m turning in.”
“I guess it’s not as appealing as what my dear little sister-in-law is offering you up at the house. I don’t blame you in the least. No question about what I’d be taking pleasure in. As a matter of fact, maybe we could bet on—”
Quick as a rattler, Luke had Ward by the throat, pinning him to the table. Red-faced and angry, the man bucked but couldn’t loosen Luke’s vise-like hold. Uncle Pete’s half-full cup of spittle went flying, and cards fluttered to the floor. Ward’s eyes glittered with fury. Mere inches from his face, Luke glared back.
Francis and Ike sat up in bed, trying to see what was going on. Lucky opened his door.
Luke spoke quietly. “Don’t you ever talk about Faith like that again. If you do, you’ll wish your sorry hide was never born. I don’t care if we’re beholden to you because of Mark or an
ything else. I held my tongue when you insulted the men. And again the first night when you made jest of Faith’s plight, because I wasn’t sure where you were coming from. Now I know. Don’t make the mistake of testing me. I won’t tolerate you insinuating anything about Faith, ever!”
Again Ward struggled, trying in vain to free himself. The two men were about the same height and weight, but Luke’s fury made him unstoppable.
“I’d expect as much from a dumb Injun,” Ward muttered under his breath.
The whiskey vapors hit Luke in the face along with the insult. The man was drunk. Briefly Luke wondered how Ward had found out about his past, if one of the men had told him. But what difference did it make? A comment about punching Ward in his slimy mouth was offered by someone behind Luke. “Brown, how long you planning to take advantage of my father’s hospitality?”
“Just until my leg is healed and I can ride easier,” Ward wheezed. Luke didn’t loosen his hold. “A couple weeks?”
“I’m real anxious to see you gone now. In the meantime, don’t be harassing Faith. She’s made it plenty clear how she feels about you. Understand?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good, because I’ll be watching—and so will the boys, just itching for any excuse to take you down. Some have been known to shoot first and ask questions later. They’re loyal to me, and now to Faith. I’d step lightly if I were you.”
Luke shoved Ward away. The man slid sideways, then gripped the table to keep from falling to the floor. He stood, going eye to eye with Luke, and straightened his collar. Then he turned and limped to his bunk, a small smirk curving his lips.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Faith meandered down the staircase, feeling like a trespasser in the large, attractive ranch house. She glanced around but still everything was quiet. It had taken some time to get Dawn bathed, fed and back to sleep, but now that she had, she could no more stay cooped up in that room than sit on a bed of hot coals.
Homespun Hearts Page 14
