With practiced moves, he tied off Pepper and gave his horse a few strokes along his neck. While he waited for Mrs. Bernhard to travel the short distance and park her buggy, he busied himself with rolling up his duster and securing it behind the saddle. Crooking his legs one at a time, he removed his spurs and tucked them into a saddle bag.
From his position beside his horse, Kell noticed Sheriff Woodman lounging in the jail’s doorway, his narrowed gaze fixed on Mrs. Bernhard’s movements near the buggy. Why the interest? Was the sheriff making overtures of a romantic nature and being rebuffed? If that was his intent, the man needed advice in courtship behavior. But Kell spotted an edge to the sheriff’s wariness that spoke of something darker in his perusal. An issue that might need investigating.
Chapter Two
After driving the buggy across the street, Vevina hurried through tying off the mare and hustling Timmy into the mercantile. Being watched by the tall stranger set her nerves on fire. Her boot heels clomped on the hardwood floor as she walked down the main aisle, a quieter footfall echoing hers for a few steps. Stopping at the end of the long wooden counter, she wrestled open the strings of her reticule to pull out a slip of paper. “Good afternoon, Alda. How be ye?”
The slim brown-haired woman looked up from the bolts of fabric stacked before her. “Doing well, Vevina. How about yourself?” Her brown-eyed gaze slipped toward the front door, rounded, and then flicked back. A frown lowered her thin brows.
“We’re fine. Here’s the list of needed supplies Myrna sent along.” She half-turned to look for the tall man clad in denim shirt and pants with a weathered leather vest waiting near the entry and waved him forward. “Mrs. Othmann, this man is Mr. Hawksen, and he’s a new worker at Shady Oaks as of today. I wanted ye to meet him fer when he comes to town at a later time on ranch business.”
The wrinkles in her forehead eased, and Alda dipped her chin in greeting. “How do, sir.” Then she reached under the counter for a shallow wooden crate.
Boot steps approached, hollow clumps on the plank floor in a measured stride, and he lifted a hand to his forehead. His hat was held in his other hand. “G’day, ma’am.”
List in hand and with the crate balanced on a hip, the storeowner moved toward the stocked shelves that lined the back wall.
This close to the man, Vevina scented leather, travel dust, and a spicy sweet smell she couldn’t quite identify. The fact she stood in this store at the side of a stranger she’d spontaneously offered a job was just settling over her thoughts. What in the world would her foreman say about a new hire? Would there be enough chores during the bad weather season to keep a strong man like him busy?
Timmy squeezed and tugged at her grip. “Mama, can I go look?”
“Stay in sight.” She watched as her son scampered off to where big jars of candy rested on the other end of the counter. That little guy was the light of her world, and her breath caught in her throat at how lucky she was he was healthy once again. The croup had hit him hard last winter, and for many sleepless nights, she’d sat sentry at his bedside, willing him to keep breathing.
“Looks like the tyke keeps you on your toes.”
His deep voice struck a chord in her body and she turned, feeling like a flower orienting to the sun. The man’s chiseled features were softer as he gazed toward Timmy. Flecks of yellow accented his green eyes over a nose that had seen a fight or two. “That he does. But wee ones are such a blessing I never begrudge the work and worry. Do ye not agree, Mr. Hawksen?”
“Wouldn’t know, ma’am. Got none to call my own.” He took a step backward and stood between the barrels of oats and barley, but his sharp gaze scanned the entire store.
His brisk tone caught her up short, and she stiffened. She hadn’t been digging for personal details, had she? Well, maybe she had, but as the stranger’s employer, she thought she had the right. More importantly, as the sole parent to a young son, she needed to be careful of those she brought within the ranch boundaries.
Vevina closed the distance to where her son pointed. “Alda, Timmy would like some lemon drops. Go ahead and give us a dozen.” At the sight of her son’s wide grin and bright eyes, she couldn’t help but send him an answering smile. Try as she might to focus on Alda gathering their supplies, Vevina couldn’t keep her gaze from straying to where the tall stranger with long wheat-colored hair stood, the perfect image of a sentinal at his post.
Only a few minutes passed, but Vevina was too aware of the shopkeeper’s curiosity over Mr. Hawksen’s presence. A curiosity she couldn’t deny experiencing herself. This man was strong, protective, virile—and so different than her much-older, late husband, Eugen. Unbidden, heat bloomed in her cheeks. Vevina was not the type who normally indulged in flights of fancy, and she ducked her head, fussing with Timmy’s collar.
Timmy rolled a shoulder and stepped to the side, frowning.
“Shall I add the total to your bill, Vevina?” Alda waited, her hands resting on two wooden crates bulging with foodstuffs.
“Yes, thank ye. Mr. Hawksen will load the boxes.” Vevina reached for Timmy’s hand and turned. “Let’s go, son.” Not daring to glance toward the quiet man, she sailed out of the store, down the wooden steps, and untied the reins for the buggy.
Within moments, the purchases were loaded into the buggy’s covered back compartment. Vevina accepted the man’s offered hand and stepped into the driver’s seat. Timmy laughed at being swung in the air and then plopped onto the other half of the padded bench. At a walk, they rode through the main street and soon were past the outlying buildings.
Mr. Hawksen moved well in the saddle, at ease atop his black stallion to the left of her buggy.
Toward the west, the clouds had cleared, and the sun flooded the prairie with golden afternoon light. Wanting to prepare the new hire, Vevina thought of what to best tell him. Because she was still in the process of learning about the running of the ranch, she wasn’t sure what the most important details were. “I suppose ye have questions about the ranch and its operations. Please feel free to ask.”
A shoulder moved in a shrug. “I’m content to see the layout when I arrive.”
Timmy squirmed beside her hip, lay on his side, and rested his head on her leg.
Using a gentle move, she tugged his coat collar higher on his neck. She knew her little guy would probably drop off to sleep before they reached home. No matter the man’s answer, she wanted to apprise Mr. Hawksen of the situation he was riding into. “No doubt ye heard I’m a widow. Me late husband, Eugen, died in the spring.”
“Condolences on your loss.”
“Thank ye.” The words were ones that everyone said, but she didn’t truly feel a loss. The shock had passed quickly, only to be replaced with the happy realization that his death left her in control of land and a business. A position she’d yearned for all her adult life. “He was quite a few years older, but the conditions of his death were mysterious.”
“Oh? How so?”
His tone conveyed curiosity, not condemnation. A tiny hope that someone would give credence to her speculations was born. But how much to say? Hawksen’s name didn’t label him a countryman from Ireland. But she’d learned that those coming to America often used the immigration opportunity to take on another identity. Since she hadn’t detected any particular accent in his speech, she guessed he wasn’t a recent arrival. “Some say he was foolish enough to tamper with the stone circle, and the fairies did him in.”
“The fairies?”
A quick sideways glance noted his raised eyebrows. Ignoring the disbelief in his tone, she gave a decisive nod. “Aye. The very same. Earlier this year, I came upon a perfect ring of stones near the sprawling live oak in the north pasture. From my Irish upbringing, I learned not to bother physical signs of the fairies at work. I warned him we should put out a sprite trap to capture them. But Eugen was German, had come to America a decade earlier, and didn’t believe in the fairies’ awful power.”
Blessed be to the Godd
ess. She raised a hand to touch the black amber stone she wore on a chain under her dress to ward off the fairies’ curses. “One morning after breakfast, he rode off to check on the spring roundup, and he never come home. The cowhands didn’t find his body fer two days. One of his legs was black and all swelled up.” She shuddered at the memory of the gruesome sight.
“And that’s the work of fairies?”
“Me housekeeper, Mrs. MacElroy, said she’d spied similar cases back home in County Mayo. Her mother was the village healer, and I know Myrna has seen plenty.” With her hands occupied with guiding the horses, she could only nod as she related the story. “If ye’d have seen the hysterics of my housekeeper when the cowhands brought Eugen’s body home, ye’d believe, too. Anyway, that’s the area where the lights have appeared at night, and I won’t go near it—day or night.”
“At the stone circle?” Mr. Hawksen spurred his horse forward a few steps so he could turn and meet her gaze. “What type of lights?”
The man acted as if she’d made a study of this mysterious activity. Not her—best for a body’s peace of mind to draw the shades and stay close to the warm fire indoors. “Moving lights in the night. What do ye mean by type?”
“Low to the ground or high as a man’s head?” He gestured by moving a big hand between the described heights.
Now there was a question the sheriff hadn’t asked. And a right smart one. She thought back to the last sighting that she’d spied through her bedroom window as she was settling Timmy in for the night. “Both, and in-between. Like a body is searching high and low.”
“Only one person? Or more?”
“Just one light.”
Giving a nod, he turned to face forward. “All right.”
His questions made her think harder on what she’d seen. The lights had been like someone was searching…but for what? The ranch had fields of feed grain for the animals, between two and three hundred cattle—depending on the season, a dozen horses, and a big vegetable garden. Everything of value was visible, not hidden. A shiver ran over her body, like the Devil hisself was dancing a jig up her spine. “Might be ‘tis Eugen’s ghost come to haunt me.”
“A ghost?” The stranger guffawed then cut a glance at her face. In an instant, his expression tightened. “Uh, beg pardon. I thought you were joking.”
Vevina held to the old Irish ways and knew when a body had unfinished business on this earth, its soul hung close to the place where it had died. What she didn’t understand was what Eugen might need to tell her. Lordy be, the man talked hardly at all during their marriage.
As the buggy carried them toward home, she couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at the man who rode nearby. He sat loose in the saddle, moving with the horse with a rhythm that indicated many hours together. The hand not holding the reins rested on his thigh, not far from the holstered revolver. Everything about his stature indicated this was a man who was capable of taking care of himself. He looked old enough to have been a soldier in the War Between The States—even if he’d probably fought on the losing side.
Satisfied with her decision to hire him, she relaxed and looked around at the beautiful fall day. The leaves of the pecans and pistacia trees bordering the creek to her right displayed a glorious palette of yellows, reds, and oranges. Soon, she’d have to send out the hands to harvest the nuts. She hated to waste any food, and the pecans found their way into many of Myrna’s baked treats.
“This it?”
The deep voice startled her. She jerked, breaking the mare’s stride. Blinking, she looked around and spotted the arched entrance to her ranch. “Yes, we turn here.” No matter how many times she saw the name Shady Oaks on the wooden carved sign, she still got a thrill. Imagine a little girl born on a poor Irish potato farm owning a Texas ranch one hundred times bigger than her ancestral home and ten times bigger than her parents’ Ohio dairy farm.
Thinking of her own background made her curious about the quiet man riding nearby. “Where are ye from, Mr. Hawksen?” She steered along the hard-packed path that wound through a stand of bare-limbed peach trees on one side and an apple orchard on the other. Eugen hadn’t seen the need, but she’d insisted on planting the fruit trees. Deprived of such luxury during her growing years, she’d vowed her own child, children if the marriage had lasted, would not go wanting. This fall, they’d harvest the first apple crop.
“If I’m not being too forward, ma’am, I wouldn’t mind if you use my given name, Kell.”
“All right…Kell. And I have to admit I don’t hear me own name near enough. Ye can call me Vevina.”
“Vevina…I like it.” A grin crossed his lips and then disappeared. “My folks have acreage in north Texas and farm cotton. I lived there until the war.” He looked forward again and gave a shrug. “I suppose they’re expecting me to come back someday.”
This man didn’t strike her as a farmer. No, he looked like a wanderer, searching for what…she had no idea. “Family ties can be strong.” She thought of the last time she’d seen her parents and siblings, on the train platform in Wilmington, Ohio. Her throat tightened. Someday, she’d promised herself she’d travel back for a visit. Maybe when Timmy was older. “I came from a dairy farm in Ohio as a mail-order bride five years ago. Me parents had plenty of mouths to feed. The best thing for all was for me, the eldest, to set out on me own.” The memory of that naïve girl and her hopes for a happy marriage in the West made her shake her head.
Kell rode on, silent, but his gaze took in everything.
What am I doing prattling on about meself? Vevina jiggled her leg, knowing Timmy needed several minutes to come fully awake. “Hey, son, we’re almost home.”
The boy wiggled, burrowed his head into her thigh, and then sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Home?”
“Soon, see the big willow up ahead by that curve.” Vevina used her elbow to point to the side. “What comes after that tree?”
Yawning, Timmy leaned forward. “The barn. I gonna see it first, Mama.”
One of the games she’d invented to keep her son entertained when he accompanied her on rides to Dorado. “What color is the barn?”
“Red.”
“Right. And the roof?”
Timmy glanced her way, and his eyes widened at the stranger riding nearby. He lifted a small hand and pointed. “Who’s that man?”
“Timmy, pointing is impolite. That is Mr. Hawksen, ye remember him from the mercantile.”
Leaning toward the buggy, Kell lifted his hat. “Afternoon, Timmy. Bet that nap was pleasant.”
Vevina stiffened and shot him a narrowed glance. What did he mean by that comment?
“You’re coming to my house?” Timmy sprawled across her lap, grabbing onto the end of the seat for balance. “Want to see my dogs? We got two and they’re black and white and their names are Bandit and Scout.”
“Sure. I like dogs.”
Vevina adjusted the tension on the reins, and the horse rounded the curve. The barn, bunkhouse, and her house came into view. With a river rock foundation that matched the twin chimneys, the house stood two stories tall, the western side shaded by a row of madrone trees. Home. She waited for Timmy to cry out that he’d spotted the barn, but her son seemed agog over the stranger.
He pushed himself upright and stared into her face, almost nose to nose. “I need a horse.”
Laughter was not the answer. Although she’d dearly love to burst loose at this moment. His little face looked so serious with squinted eyes and pinched mouth. “Oh, do ye now? How about ye start with a pony? And please sit yer behind on the bench.”
“I want one just like Mr. Hawksen has.” He climbed off her lap. “So it will match my dogs.”
The buggy approached the corral, and Vevina spotted both cowhands ambling out of the barn, setting the brood of squawking chickens scattering in all directions. “I thank ye, young man, for the wonderful birthday present idea.” Which thankfully doesn’t come ʼround until next spring. “Hold tight now.” She steered t
he horse in a half circle, stopped the buggy at the front steps to the house, and tied off the reins on the buggy’s frame.
Before she could gather her skirts to climb out, she spotted a broad hand extended in her direction. She popped up her head and met Kell’s green-eyed gaze. “Thank ye.” She slid a hand into his and easily descended from the buggy. Through her riding gloves, she could feel the heat from his bare hand. And the strength. Fluttering tickled her belly and, with reluctance, she released the grip. Lordy be, what am I thinking?
Timmy scrambled out, jumped to the ground then dashed for the barn, calling for the dogs. “Here, boys. Bandit! Scout!”
“Mrs. B.?”
At the sound of Hank’s questioning tone, she turned and swept a hand in Kell’s direction. “Hank and Curly, this is Kell Hawksen. I hired him while in town today. He’s worked on a ranch before and has farrier experience.” She angled her body to meet Kell’s gaze before continuing the introductions. “Hank Cameron is the cowhand who’s been here the longest, and the other hand is Curly Wagner.”
She waited while Kell stepped forward and shook both men’s hands, watching the approval in her cowhands’ gazes as they sized up the newcomer. So, the stranger had passed their test. “They’ll direct ye to the bunkhouse. Shady Oaks is a small outfit so supper is served in the main kitchen at half past five in the fall and winter.” She reached into the buggy for her reticule and then moved toward the house, eager to put a solid wall and a couple hours between the new hire and her wild thoughts.
“Uh, ma’am?”
Vevina turned and spotted Kell waiting at the back of the buggy, holding up one of the crates of foodstuffs.
“Where do these go?”
Chapter Three
The choice was hers—either carry a crate herself and stagger into the kitchen, or let Kell carry them both for her. And prolong the time they spent together. “Follow me.” She walked up the sturdy wooden steps and along the wide-roofed veranda to the side door that led to the kitchen. Behind her came footsteps that echoed hers, though Kell’s longer stride hit the wood planks with a slower cadence.
Wandering Home (Dorado, Texas Book 1) Page 2
