by Sharon Ihle
Another bonus during this period was the fact that Lacey had gradually begun to get over her extreme modesty, allowing Hawke more than just an occasional glimpse of her pert little breasts.
That loosening of her modesty extended to him as well. Now whenever he caught Lacey gazing at his naked body—an almost daily occurrence—her glances were less furtive, more curious and open. Hawke rather immodestly put this down to the method he used for getting to know her better; gentling, his specialty.
Gentling worked so well on his horses, Winterhawke trained animals were bringing top dollar in the area and Hawke's reputation as the finest horse-trainer around was spreading into the state of Colorado and the Dakota Territories as well. Some of the neighboring ranchers laughed at his methods, preferring the more rough and tumble force-breaking of stock, but with Hawke's way, there was less chance of ruining a good mount. And fewer broken bones.
So far, he'd never come across a horse that didn't respond to gentling, and had been able to turn even the most ornery steed into an animal worth its weight in gold. Now, he thought, holding Lacey tighter, even though he hadn't been looking for a wife or even thinking that he needed one, he'd found a woman who responded to him in much the same way. And she was worth far more than mere gold. The Irish miss brightened Winterhawke Ranch in a way he never could, making the entire spread seem more welcoming, warmer somehow. A part of that was the way she'd taken to the livestock. With the exception of the chickens, who still didn't know quite what to make of her, all the animals were very fond of Lacey, a talent that couldn't be forced or faked. Why did she have so much trouble seeing the good in herself? he wondered.
Her tears dried-up at last, Lacey pushed away from her husband and took a handkerchief from her skirt pocket. After drying her eyes and blowing her nose, she faced Hawke and made an attempt to apologize for ruining a perfectly good riding lesson.
"Please forgive my silliness, husband. I know that wailing is best left to the banshees," she paused for a hiccup, "and that all this blubbering cannot be much help in learning to ride one of your fine beasts. Maybe 'tis a better idea for me to leave the horses to you. I could try the mending again, I suppose."
Hawke couldn't have kept the burst of laughter in if he'd tried. Between Lacey's tear-and-dirt-streaked face, hair that as usual was half in and half out of its bun, and the memory of his flannel shirt sewed to the front of her skirt, he might have done some damage to his throat if he'd tried to keep it inside.
When his laughter ebbed, Hawke climbed to his feet, pulling Lacey up with him. "Is that really where you'd rather be on a beautiful day like this, Irish? In the house sticking your pretty little fingers with needles?"
Her stained features fell into a pout. "I would rather be shoveling up cow flop, and you know it, but I fear I don't have the talent to sit atop a horse. I ne'er will have."
"Well, then maybe I ought to send you to the barn. Last I looked, there was plenty of cow flop just waiting for someone to get on the business end of the shovel."
Lacey made an effort to keep her pout, but a grudging smile broke through anyway. "I wasn't serious about that, but I do wish I could cook your meals, mend your clothes, and ride horses the way you do. If I could only—"
"I like you just the way you are, Irish. Haven't you figured that out yet?" He caught her chin in the web of his hand, looked deeply into her eyes and impulsively added, "I don't care if you never do a thing around this ranch as long as you keep looking at me the way you do and smiling."
Afraid if he allowed himself to go on, he'd make a complete jackass out of himself, Hawke brought his lips down on Lacey's and kissed her for all he was worth. She'd begun crying again, he knew that when the salty taste of her tears slipped into the corners of his mouth, but Hawke kept on kissing her, holding her as if she might disappear should he let her go. Then at once, some second sense told him they were no longer alone.
Hawke abruptly released his wife and turned to find Crowfoot, who hadn't stopped by the ranch in over a week now, standing at the edge of the ring.
"Soldiers come," said the boy, pointing down the road. Then he turned as if to head for his hideout in the barn, but Hawke stopped him.
"Wait there a minute, Crowfoot. I want to talk to you." He took Lacey by the hand and led her to the other side of the ring. "You ought to go into the house now and wash up a little. I've got business to conduct with the cavalry, and you'd just be bored out here with us anyway."
She bristled, remembering the way he'd rushed her off the last time soldiers came to do business. "Save your false music for the animals without brains to understand the words or tongues to feed it right back to you." Lacey turned on her heel, her head held high, and added, "Just let me know when 'tis acceptable for me to come outside again." And with that, she swished her skirts and stalked off toward the house.
Hawke wasn't quite sure where he'd gone wrong with her, but he didn't have time to do a damn thing about it. The quartermaster from Fort Sanders was coming up the road along with a detail to fetch the horses he'd agreed to purchase. And Crowfoot was still waiting by the corral, pacing in place, looking more than a little anxious to get back to Three Elk—where surely he felt more appreciated. How in God's name, Hawke paused to wonder, had his life ever gotten so damned complicated?
As the cavalry officer neared, Hawke shouted, "Just give me a minute, and I'll be right with you." Then he hurried over to where Crowfoot waited, and asked, "Are you figuring on staying a while?"
The boy shrugged, averting his gaze.
"I'd really like it if you'd stick around here at least a week, Crowfoot. I realize that I kinda of ran you off before, but it was just so I could get acquainted with my new wife. I need your help around here, you know, and besides that—" Again he paused, swallowing a pea-sized knot of leftover jealousy. "Lacey's missed you, too. In fact, she's kinda upset right now. Maybe you could go to the house and say hello to her while I help the cavalry round up their horses."
Crowfoot stared hard at him a good long time, and for a moment, Hawke wasn't sure the boy was going to agree to anything. Finally, his eyes still a little hostile, he said, "I go see Lady. She likes Crowfoot." Then he was gone.
* * *
Inside the house, Lacey stalked from room to room, alternately cursing her husband for sending her away each time visitors came to the ranch, and lamenting the fact that she couldn't figure out what it was that made him feel so ashamed of her that he couldn't bring himself to introduce her to the soldiers outside. Hawke had told her several times over how pretty he thought she was, so Lacey was reasonably certain he didn't think her too plain to show off. She was well-spoken and mannered enough to get by in the American West, more so than most, in fact. So what was it about Lacey Winterhawke that embarrassed her husband so badly? Surely a stranger couldn't guess that she was unable to perform the most basic wifely duties just by merely making her acquaintance!
Pausing to glance at her reflection in the only looking glass in the entire place, a small mirror nailed to the wall by the hat rack, Lacey gasped. She figured she'd be a wee bit disheveled after the tumble she'd taken from Dolly, but not only was her hair messier than usual, her tear-streaked face looked like a map of the Laramie River and all its tributaries! Was it possible Hawke had sent her inside to spare her the embarrassment, not himself?
A light knock sounded at the door then, and Crowfoot poked his head inside. "Hi, Lady. I come in?"
"Oh, aye, and please do," she said, happy for the company. "Why don't you wait for me in the kitchen? There's a bowl of fresh-picked berries on the table just waiting for a lad like you to eat 'em all up. I need a moment to run upstairs and clean the dirt from my face."
Crowfoot didn't move toward the kitchen. He just looked at her closely, then let out a muffled giggle.
Her own image still sharp in her mind, Lacey laughed along with him. And in that moment, she saw a way to make a point with the boy. "Tis a frightful sight a little dirt can make of a person, is i
t no? And sad, too, when that person cannot see how one little speck of dirt might turn other folks away."
Crowfoot's expression was guarded, but reflective, so she went on. "I'm thinking you and I have been so quick to defend ourselves, we haven't taken the time to learn what Hawke can teach us. He is a very good teacher, too, I'm thinking. 'Tis possible, I think, that we haven't let him help us all he could. What do you say?"
Crowfoot stopped laughing immediately, frowned, then cocked his head to one side as if thinking the matter over. "Yes, lady. Possible."
"Good, then. Would you like to help me make a little surprise for Hawke, something so grand he'll be proud of the both of us no matter how it turns out?"
Crowfoot gave her a shy smile. "A surprise? Good idea, lady."
"All right then." She grasped his hands, ignoring the grit and days-old grime built up on his palms and fingers, and danced the boy around in a circle. "Time's a wastin.' Let us be getting to it."
* * *
After the cavalry left with their horses, Hawke was in such a good mood, he couldn't wait to get back to the house and share the account of the new deal with his bride. He'd hardly stepped one foot inside the door before she stopped him, insisting that the floors were wet and asking him to stay outside and finish his chores before joining her for the evening meal.
He grumbled to himself over the delay, but agreed to her request and went to the barn in search of Crowfoot. He was nowhere to be found. Hawke supposed the boy had taken off for Three Elk in spite of the need for him here. In light of the way the young man had been treated at Winterhawke of late, Hawke couldn't really blame him for leaving, and thought he probably would have done the same thing under the circumstances. The next time Crowfoot stopped by, Hawke promised himself, he'd take him aside and do a little fence-mending.
As he finished the final chore of the night and headed for the house at last, it occurred to Hawke that a good start with the boy might be to let him have his pick of the remaining three-year-old mustangs. He was old enough for his own horse, and more than capable of taking care of one. Feeling good about the decision, Hawke removed his hat and vest as he climbed the steps to the back porch, hung the items on a large brass hook near the door, and walked into the kitchen. Surprising him, a mélange of aromas assailed his senses; slowly roasted beef heavily scented with onions, spices, and other unidentified vegetables, along with the contrasting odor of something sweet. Had Lacey cooked the berries they'd picked the other day? he wondered. If so, what in hell could she have made out of them?
Cutting off his thoughts, she stepped into the room from the back porch, carrying a pickle jar filled with fragrant bluebells. "Oh, I didn't hear you come in, husband. Have you finished your chores for the day?"
He nodded slowly, suspicious of her brightly innocent expression and general crisp clean appearance. She wore the same white blouse and navy skirt as always, but they were freshly ironed, and she'd even pinned a small cluster of bluebells to her collar. More unusual than all that, not so much as one spiral of russet hair was out of place, a feat all on its own.
"What have you been up to?" he asked bluntly.
Lacey looked at him as if to say, "Who, me?" then inclined her pretty head toward the stove. A large kettle gently simmered on the back burner, the low heat pushing intermittent bubbles to the surface where they exploded with a tantalizing fragrance.
Hawke was instantly hungry—and confused. Since the day Lacey had nearly burned the house down, he'd done all the cooking, and she'd been extremely grateful for the concession. "What's that on the stove?" he asked, "and who cooked it?"
"'Tis a pot of Irish stew I made using Kate's recipe, but I had to use beef in place of lamb. I think it didn't matter, though—does it smell good to you?"
Although it was unnecessary, as his mouth had been watering since he stepped into the room, he sniffed the air. "It smells wonderful. Did you just say that you fired up the stove and cooked the stew?"
"Well, a leprechaun didn't come along to do the chore for me, if that is what you're suggesting, sir." She deposited the flowers at the center of the table—rather, at the center of a sheet she'd fashioned into a tablecloth—then turned back to him with a sweet smile. "I did cook the meal, but I must confess that I did not build the fire in the stove. I had a wee bit of help on that score." Hurrying back toward the living room, Lacey poked her head around the corner. "'Tis time we were taking our meal. Will you join us please?"
It wasn't until then that Hawke noticed she'd set three places at the small table and added the rocking chair from upstairs to the two in the kitchen. "Who in the—"
Crowfoot, or rather a new version of the young man, walked into the room then, and the sentence died in Hawke's throat. The boy was, in a word, clean! His hair had been freshly washed, trimmed, and plaited into neat braids which hung down his back. Even more surprising, his hands and face, maybe his entire body, had been scrubbed clean, and he wore the new set of buckskins Hawke had been trying to get him into ever since the first day of spring. As the boy limped over to the table, Hawke couldn't help but notice that he still wore a ball of burlap around his crippled foot, but it, too, looked as fresh and clean as the rest of him.
Crowfoot took a seat in one of the old kitchen chairs, leaving Hawke to choose between the other and the rocker. "We eat now." He grinned, an expression as rare as a bath. "Good surprise you think?"
"A hell of a good surprise." Hawke found himself grinning back, then he glanced at Lacey and gave her a nod of admiration. Not only had he and Caleb been unable to get the boy to wash, but the kid had always been adamantly opposed to joining them at mealtime unless they were huddled around a campfire. How had Lacey managed the impossible?
Stunned, Hawke took the seat opposite the boy, leaving the rocker for his wife, and then he took a cautious glance at her. She was busy dishing up the stew and looking so confident, if he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn she'd been doing it all her life.
"And how did your business with the cavalry go?" she asked, the jingle of spurs accompanying her as she approached the table with two steaming bowls. After depositing the food in front of her "men," Lacey returned to the stove.
"Ah, it went better than I expected, another surprise I guess, in this day of strange goings on."
"A surprise? I thought you were expecting the cavalry to come get their horses. What is so odd about that?"
Waiting until she'd returned to the table with a basket of biscuits and her own bowl of stew before he answered, Hawke's news fairly burst from him. "While the quartermaster was here, he took the time to look over my two-year-olds. He was as impressed with their quality as he was by the way I've broken the horses he already bought. He decided on the spot to draw up a contract with me personally for all fifty head. There's no question now that come spring, I'll finally own this place lock, stock, and barrel."
Although seated at the table, Crowfoot did not yet possess the manners this arrangement demanded. He banged his spoon against the crockery bowl several times over and leapt up and down in his chair. "Good, good! This is very good."
"You bet it is," Hawke agreed, resisting the urge to correct the boy. "And just to make the deal even sweeter, the cavalry is going to pay me directly instead of going through Braddock Savings and Loan."
Again the boy reacted joyously, but Lacey was less enthusiastic. "I do not understand the part about the loan company. Why not deal with them if they be the ones you'd be owing the money to?"
"Because figures have a way of getting... confused at the savings and loan companies in town." And Braddock owned them all, which reminded Hawke of the only area in which he hadn't been completely truthful with Lacey. He had not told her that William Braddock was his uncle, nor would he. It was one thing ignoring the taunts and sneers of strangers over his half-breed status, but quite another to endure them from blood kin. That kind of shame he would never share with Lacey. Not even if his life depended on it.
"Just trust me when I
say that it's best for the deal to be done this way, and definitely cause for celebration. Come spring, we'll not only own Winterhawke free and clear, but we'll have a good sum leftover to spend on ourselves for a change."
Wanting desperately to share in her husband's joy, Lacey glanced around the kitchen, then put in a bid for a piece of the good tidings. "What you're saying is, that come spring we might be able to buy a few more items of furniture so we don't have to drag the chairs from room to room?"
Furnishing the house had never really been a priority with Hawke. He laughed at the oversight, then conceded. "I'd be happy to buy you some new chairs, Mrs. Winterhawke. Maybe even a couch to put in front of the fireplace. Would you like that?"
"Aye. Almost as much as knowing that you like the supper I cooked for you."
After that strong hint, the three of them fell to the meal which turned out to be very decent considering Lacey's previous lack of training in the kitchen. Hawke had baked the biscuits the night before, and while they weren't terribly fresh, if they were sopped in the stew it didn't really matter and they made a perfect complement to the meal. Surprisingly enough, most of the conversation as they ate came from Crowfoot. His main reason for visiting Winterhawke was to inform Hawke that Caleb's leg had healed well enough for him to plan Three Elk's much-delayed cattle branding, an event that was to take place in three days.
Lacey had never heard of such a thing. Once Hawke explained how each rancher burned his own unique brand into the hide of the animals to keep them from being stolen, she shivered from head to toe. "I don't think the cattle can like that very much. I think I shall stay here and practice my cooking whilst you men do your terrible deeds."
