Big Sky Rancher

by Carolyn Davidson

  “Where’s the cellar?” Jennifer asked. “At home, we had a door off the kitchen and a set of stairs going down. I haven’t noticed any such thing here.”

  “Well, land sakes, girl,” her mentor said with a laugh. “I just thought you knew that any respectable farmhouse has a fruit cellar. You go out back and look for a door lyin’ on the ground, kinda at a slant. Just lift on the handle and you’ll find a set of stairs.”

  Jennifer was doubtful, but managed to swallow her discomfort and go outside. There, just to the right of the back porch, was the slanted door. With relief, she pulled it open with a mighty effort, then made her way down the rough steps into a room under the house. It was cool and damp within, and she felt a tingle of fear climb her spine as she considered whether there might be mice or even snakes there. But not both, she thought, her good sense kicking in. Snakes were fond of eating mice. It was a fact she’d learned somewhere, sometime.

  A set of shelves sagged against the wall, filled with foodstuffs that might prove to be worth investigating, Jennifer thought. In one corner of the room, a pile of dark, dirty lumps lay in a heap, looking much like potatoes. She stepped across the earthen floor to where they lay, bending so as not to bump her head on rafters overhead. She’d barely loaded up five or six good-size specimens when she heard Lucas’s voice from the yard.

  “Who the hell left the cellar door open?” he roared. And then with a solid bang, the door was dropped into place and Jennifer heard the sound of a latch closing. She hadn’t noticed one when she opened it herself, but now she stood in the darkness and searched her mind.

  If it indeed was locked from the outside, she was trapped. Lucas would probably be tempted to leave her here with the spongy potatoes and the dilapidated shelves that held jar after jar of canned goods and piles of carrots and onions.

  “Lucas?” Her voice sounded as though she’d just recovered from laryngitis. She tried again. But the only answer she heard was the slamming of the screen door. The man had gone into the house and left her to fend for herself. And it was dark. Darker than midnight, as a matter of fact, and suddenly she wasn’t at all certain that snakes always ate mice. And what if the snakes down here were poisonous?

  At least Lucas wouldn’t have to worry about getting rid of her. She’d accomplish that little matter all by herself and he’d find her in a lump on the dirt floor, covered with snake bites.

  She shivered as she wondered how long it would take to die from snake bites, and how many times such a critter might bite her before he gave up and went looking for a mouse.

  The light from outside wasn’t worth talking about, but it managed to penetrate through a crack next to the door, revealing part of the stairs, She went to where she could see a clear spot on the least dirty step. Her hand brushed at the area for just a moment and then she lifted it in disgust. What difference would a little dirt make when she was probably going to die anyway? But surely Lucas would find her soon.

  Her fanny fit nicely on the step and she looked into the darkness. Her potatoes were lost, dropped when the door slammed shut, and she decided to leave them where they were, unless the snakes decided to wait a while before their dinner and she got hungry in the meantime. A raw potato wasn’t much to write home about, but anything was better than nothing at all. And nothing at all was what she’d had on the last leg of her journey to this god-forsaken part of the country.

  In less than five minutes she’d worked up to a good cry and had only begun to search for a handkerchief in her pocket when she heard Lucas’s voice calling her name.

  Even as she looked upward, the door was lifted and he stood above her, the sunshine lending him a golden aura, as if he were a heavenly being. And then he ruined his image with a droll reminder.

  “You told me you never cry,” he murmured, his gaze seeming to count the tears that fell to stain her dress.

  “I don’t usually. Only since I met you.”

  He was looking more and more like an avenging angel. It was a wonder he didn’t carry a two-edged sword, she thought, for surely she’d read somewhere in the Bible that the angels were armed for battle. At least those who fought the forces of evil.

  And Lucas was sure to think by now that she was a prime exhibit of those who might anger the angels themselves.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “WHAT THE HELL do you think you’re doing?”

  Lucas took one step into the cellar and reached down for her, hauled her outside by one arm, and then proceeded to shake her as he might a wet towel before he hung it to dry on the clothesline. Although the chances of him having ever had anything to do with laundry were pretty sparse.

  Her teeth clattered together and her arms felt bruised as his big hands clamped around them. Her hair flew around her head, the ribbon holding her braid together flying off. She felt dizzy and disoriented, her hands reaching for him as if seek ing a hold to keep her erect.

  But there was no chance of her falling to the ground, or back into the cellar hole, for his grip was firm and she felt her self drawn into his embrace. Her shoulders shook as she fought the sobs that welled up in her throat, and she trembled from head to foot.

  Her tears would not be held at bay any longer, and she felt like a watering can being dumped in one spot. In moments, the front of her dress was damp. And then, as his hand held her head against his chest, she proceeded to leave huge, dark spots all over his shirt.

  “It’s a wonder you weren’t left down there all day,” he said sharply, his voice muffled as he pressed his lips against her hair.

  “Ida knew where I was,” she muttered, “and I would have been just fine if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to shut the door on me.” She hiccupped once, then again, and he chuckled.

  “It’s not funny,” she managed to say. “I could have been bitten by snakes or mice or whatever else is down in that miserable hole.”

  “Mice don’t bite,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “And the snakes, if there are any down there, are harmless.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she whispered, rubbing the back of her hand against her nose, wishing desperately for a handkerchief.

  As if he sensed her need, he handed her his, neatly folded. Not ironed, but clean, and she wasn’t in any mood to argue the point. She leaned back from him and blew her nose, and then rubbed her eyes with her fists.

  “Stop it now,” Lucas said. “You’re getting your face all red and splotchy. Just calm down, sweetheart.”

  She reared back and aimed a scornful look at him. “How can you call me that when you’ve just shaken the stuffings out of me and treated me like an idiot? It certainly wasn’t my fault I got stuck down there, and I resent you acting like it was.”

  She caught her breath and opened her mouth again, only to find his lips pressing against hers, silencing her tirade. He knew how to kiss—but then, he’d probably had a lot of practice. There was no doubt in her mind about that fact. And his hands were firm around her, holding her safely against himself.

  “Did you find her?” Mrs. Bronson called her query from inside the kitchen.

  “I found her,” Lucas said. “I’ve got her, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Bronson said no more, apparently satisfied with his reply and in seconds Jennifer could hear her singing to herself.

  “You can let me go now.” Jennifer managed to work herself from his grip and regain her balance, stepping away from him.

  He caught her elbow. “Now, don’t be falling back down those steps,” Lucas warned her, pulling her away from the gaping hole.

  She allowed his touch, aware that it was comforting, that she had been in dire need of rescue, and Lucas had only been upset because he was fearful of what might have happened to her. His next words underlined that.

  “I was afraid you’d fallen down the steps and gotten hurt,” he said. “I wouldn’t have shut the door if I’d known you were there.”

  “I thought maybe you were trying to get rid of me,” she told him, tilting her head, the
better to see his face.

  He grinned. “Not a chance, sweetheart. After last night, I’m planning on keeping you around for a very long time.”

  “Last night?” She searched her mind for his reasoning. “What happened last night that persuaded you to continue this farce we’ve managed to create?”

  “We slept together,” he said, with satisfaction, as if his fondest dreams had come true.

  “And that was all we did,” she stated. “Slept is the right word. At least, you did. I was awake half the night, suffering with my burned hand.”

  “Well, for a suffering woman, you sure did snore up a storm.”

  “I don’t snore,” she said, certain of her ground.

  “Haven’t you ever slept with another person?”

  “No. Except my sister when I was very small.”

  “Maybe you didn’t snore then,” he suggested. “And you really don’t snore too badly now, just a little hissing and then puffing when you let out your breath.”

  “Well, thanks a whole lot, Mr. O’Reilly,” she said, wondering how much hissing and puffing she’d done during the night.

  “I didn’t mind one bit. I was so pleased to be snuggling up behind you, your snoring was the least of my worries. I just wrapped my arms around you and hugged you tight and enjoyed the company.”

  “I think you took advantage of me,” she said, feeling at a loss and just a bit abused. “You had no business sleeping with me.”

  “I don’t know why not,” he said. “We’re married, sweetheart. And married folks sleep together. And some of them actually do more than that.”

  She felt a flush travel from her throat, the heat washing her cheeks and causing her an enormous amount of confusion. She stammered as she did her best to refute his words.

  “Well, y-y-you can j-jus…just forget that idea,” she managed to spout. “I have no intention of performing any such acts with you, sir.”

  “And you think that’s going to stop me?” he asked, his smile reminding her of a bobcat on the prowl, with herself as the prey.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose I was hoping to see some small grain of human kindness in you. I think that’s a lost cause, though.”

  “I’ll give you a little time. And that’s about as much kindness as you’re gonna get outta me, sweetheart.” He looked beyond her into the cellar and changed his tone of voice. “Now, tell me what you were looking for down there. I’ll go and get it.”

  “Potatoes. For your supper.”

  “And if I go down, will you slam the door on me?” he asked, tilting an eyebrow at her, a grin curving his lips.

  “I’m above such shenanigans,” she announced. “I’m going into the house to help with supper. You can bring in the potatoes. And I hope the snakes bite you.”

  “I’ve got on boots and long trousers,” he said. “Not much chance of that.”

  “Well, good for you.” She stomped up the steps and across the porch, allowing the screen door to slam behind her.

  “What’d you do? Get lost down there?” Ida asked cheerily. “Luc came in here lookin’ like a thundercloud, frettin’ and stewin’ over you.”

  “Ha!” The single syllable burst from Jennifer’s lips. “He was a long way from being worried. He hollered at me and gave me what-for, and the whole thing was his fault. He closed the doggone door on me and left me in the dark.”

  “Well, you’re out now and no worse for wear.” Ida’s eyes were sharp as they examined Jennifer. “Where’s the potatoes you went after, girl?”

  “Lucas is bringing them. I’ll peel them as soon as he finds his way back upstairs.”

  “I’ll do it. Probably do a faster job than you, young’un. I’ve been peelin’ potatoes for more years than I can count. Just keep an eye open and watch how we put this meal together. Luc says you need a few lessons in the house.”

  “He would. I didn’t tell him—” She halted and began again. “Well, I suppose I did, at that.”

  “You s’pose you did what?”

  “Told him I knew how to keep house and cook and so forth. But it wasn’t my idea. The man who took my application embellished my talents a little bit.” She frowned and sat on a chair. “Actually, he embellished a lot, Ida. I told him I was a failure at housework and my mother had never let me cook at home. We had a lady who lived in and did all that.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I made my bed and set the table most nights for supper. Oh, and there was schoolwork to do up until a few years ago, when I graduated.”

  “You graduated?” Mrs. Bronson’s eyes widened as she asked the question.

  “Of course. All young ladies need an education. Mine only went as far as secondary school, since going on to university was out of the question. I guess I was lucky my parents let me stay in school as long as they did. A lot of my friends had to go to work.”

  “What did they work at?”

  “Belle was an upstairs maid and Sissy was a nanny for the minister’s children. Some of the others worked at restaurants or dressmaker’s shops.” She smiled, remembering. “They thought I was lucky to be able to stay in school.”

  “You were. I sure wish my girls could’ve spent that long with book-learnin’ and figurin’ their sums and such.” Ida seemed pretty sure of her ground, Jennifer decided. Apparently the young ladies here didn’t have much of a chance for higher education.

  “Well, if I’d been able to go to Normal school, I could have been a teacher in two years,” she said. “It was what I’d liked to have done, but it costs a lot of money.”

  “You could teach here with a high school diploma,” Ida said. “Our teacher now is just a little bit of a thing, not more than eighteen, I suspect.”

  Lucas stepped in the door and propped one shoulder against the frame. “You got a diploma?” he asked Jennifer. “Then how come you were so hard up for a husband that you had to apply at an agency to get one? I’d think a man would snatch you up, with that piece of paper in your hand. You could make a good living with that sort of education, I’d think.”

  “I wasn’t hard up for a husband,” she said, wishing she’d never heard of Wives Incorporated, operated by Mr. Horace Bloom. “I just wanted to get away from New York City and see some of the country.”

  “You sure did that,” Lucas told her. “This is about the largest part of the country there is.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen too much so far to recommend it. Some scruffy miners and a rutted road that goes nowhere.”

  “Those scruffy miners have made this town into a thriving community,” Lucas told her. “We put together a town charter and elected officials and hired a sheriff. In fact, you’re looking at the mayor of Thunder Canyon, right here in front of you. What more could anyone want in a town?”

  “You’re the mayor? Yes, well, I guess I did know that, but somehow it lacks the prestige I’d attached to it.” She looked at him with pity, and he glared back. He’d never seen such a little priss. What had she called them? Scruffy miners. And here he’d shaved just last night, all for her benefit. It would be the last time he snagged a razor across his beard with her comfort in mind. Of course, given the way she was behaving, he’d probably have to fight his way into his own bed come nightfall.

  She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “What more could anyone want?” she asked, repeating his earlier question. “How about a decent ladies’ store, where they sell clothing and shoes that are up to date? Or maybe even a bakery with bread and rolls and pies in the counter? And how about a furniture store?”

  “You can find pretty much anything you want in the general store,” he told her. “That is, if your needs aren’t too high-falutin’. Around here, we’re used to makin’ do and baking our own bread and making our own clothes.”

  “How many shirts have you sewn lately?” she asked him. “And if you’re so smart, why do you have two buttons missing on the one you’re wearing?”

  “Why do you suppose I sent for you?” he a
sked. “Besides needing a woman to warm my bed.”

  “Lucas O’Reilly.” Mrs. Bronson’s voice was sharp as she spoke his name, her meaning obvious. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. What a way to talk to your new bride. If I were Jennifer, I’d find a bed for myself upstairs and keep you out of it.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Jennifer said. She tossed her head, her hair flying, free from the braid that had held it immobile earlier.

  “Sound like my worst nightmare,” Lucas told her. “I didn’t marry you to let you go settling down in one of the other bedrooms. You’ll sleep with me.”

  “We’ll see,” she said. She waved at him. “Put those potatoes down here on the table. Ida is going to peel them.”

  “Why don’t you?” Lucas asked. “Seems like you ought to be able to do something other than cause a fuss around here today.”

  Mrs. Bronson took the potatoes from Lucas, put them in the sink and washed them beneath the pitcher pump. “I’ll take care of these,” she said, ignoring the argument that seemed to be the order of the day.

  “Who’s in charge of this town you founded?” Jennifer asked, speaking the word as if it were something she’d just scraped off her shoe.

  “I already told you. I am,” Lucas answered. “I’m the official head of things around here, and I’ve got five men on my town council. Together we run the place. Along with the sheriff.”

  “Well, it didn’t strike me as being too well run, from what I saw of it.”

  “You didn’t see much. Just the lobby of the hotel, the church and the back end of my team of horses when we left town.”

  “You’re right there. I was hoping for a city with a newspaper and—”

  “We have a newspaper,” he said, cutting off her tirade. “And a community hall where we hold dances and have parties. In fact, you might be surprised at what all goes on in this town.”

  “Like what? Drinking and dancing till all hours of the night, not to mention those old men passing gossip back and forth every morning.”