Behind the woodhouse and a fair distance from the house stood another barn with the milking cows, goats and pigs. Helen knew from limited experience at the ranch that the water well stood on the opposite side of the house, away from the animals and the privy near the chicken coop. Another privy for the bunkhouse was behind that building.
“Getting your bearings?” Frederick asked as he joined her, taking a sip of coffee.
She shivered in the cold morning air. “Yes. I think so. Where do you have your vegetable garden?”
He tilted his head backward. “Behind the house, but it’s frosted over and covered with snow right now. I’m thinking of putting a fence around it, as the deer and other animals tend to raid it.” He smiled. “If you’re here long enough, you’ll see some of the flowers my grandmother planted in the flower garden that sits before the vegetable garden. There is also a root cellar to the side of gardens.”
Helen smiled as she envisioned such a sight on this cold midwinter morning. “How did you family obtain all this land? I thought you only received 160 acres with a homestead patent.”
Frederick smiled. “We began with two homesteads. My father had one and my grandparents another. Once they had proved up after five years of ownership, they decided to combine and make one larger homestead here. Then, when our neighbors proved up but decided to sell because of economic downturns, we bought their land. We’ve been buying plots of land for years, and now we have a good-size ranch.”
“It’s immense,” Helen said as she looked out over the rolling hills in the distance. The mountains were behind them. “How do you know where it begins and ends?”
“I’ll take you out on horseback someday and show you the landmarks. We don’t need fences to know what’s ours.”
She frowned at the empty corrals. “I thought this was a cattle ranch. Where are all the cattle?”
He laughed and motioned with his arm to the space in front of them. “Out there. On the range. We don’t care for them in the winter. They’re hardy enough to care for themselves.”
Helen frowned. “Seems harsh to leave them out all winter.”
“We lose some but never too many that we can’t survive. The roundup in the spring is hard work, and we always lose more than we should to rustlers.” He frowned. “But we do all right.”
Helen laughed. “You’re barely thirty, and you own all this. You’re doing much better than all right.”
He smiled. “It’s not all mine. I share it with my brothers. And my grandparents have a say in what occurs.” His expression was pleased. “But you’re right. I am fortunate, and I don’t take this for granted. It’s hard work, but I love it.”
“You love cattle?” Helen asked.
“I love the challenge of managing a herd. Of rounding them up.” He met her apprehensive gaze with a chagrined smile. “I lost the toss and had to stay here while my brothers earned the right to drive the herds from Texas north.”
“And you still wish you’d been able to go along on that adventure,” Helen whispered. “I think you’re a fool. You’ve been given stability and a place that you can call yours. You don’t have to doubt who you are.” She blushed. “Forgive me.”
He shook his head. “I’m not offended. It’s always good to be reminded of what I have. And although cattle are my brothers’ lives, I’m much more interested in horses. I’m trying to raise the best horseflesh in the Territory.”
Helen laughed. “Knowing your family, you will succeed.” She paused as she upturned her face to the bright sun. “It’s midwinter. Where are your brothers? I can’t imagine they are driving herds of cattle now.”
He chuckled. “No. They generally spend the winter here, but this year Cole and Peter opted to spend time in Texas. Said they wanted to look for land there and to have a southern ranch.” He shrugged. “I think it was their excuse to avoid another Montana winter.”
“I can’t say I blame them. Why is the ranch named as it is? I thought it would be more …” She broke and flushed at his intense stare.
He flashed a quick smile. “If you’ve met my grandparents, and I know you have, you understand that Grandmother Irene is a handful.” He raised an eyebrow when Helen chuckled. “She knows that ranching tends to be a man’s domain and insisted that she be allowed to name the ranch.” He shook his head. “Like a bunch of fools, we allowed our grandfather to convince us she had sense.”
“You could always change it,” Helen said as she attempted to swallow a giggle.
“Too many folks call it the MBR, which is how I prefer to as well.” He gave her a warning glance. “Only on official contracts and forms will I ever refer to it as the Mountain Bluebird Ranch.”
She let loose a laugh. “It’s nice to see you are good to your grandmother.”
He took a sip of his now-cooled coffee. “It’s the other way around. She’s always been good to me. To my brothers. There’s little we wouldn’t do for her.”
She fought envy at his familial bond. “Well, I’d best head in and determine what I can concoct for the midday meal.” She and Frederick walked toward the house in relative silence.
“Like I said, no need to worry about today. Slims is cooking at midday, and I’m in charge of supper.” He squeezed her arm. “Take the day to acclimate. This is a big change for you, Helen.” He held the door open for her, and she preceded him inside.
She stopped in the formal parlor. “Thank you, Frederick, for your kindness.”
He laughed. “You thank me now. When you start to cook for me and the men, then you’ll realize I’ve done you no favors.” He winked at her and moved into the kitchen for another cup of coffee.
After a relaxing free day, Helen woke early the following morning, ready to begin her new role. She rose, donning her most demure dress. She slipped into the kitchen and built up the dormant embers in the stove. Soon she had a pot of coffee brewed for the early risers, and breakfast was almost ready.
The men piled in, pouring themselves coffee and serving up heaping portions of eggs, bacon and toast before they sat at the table. “We’ll bring in more eggs soon, Miss Helen,” Slims said.
He was the largest man she had ever seen, towering over her at more than six and a half feet tall with a barrel chest. “Thank you, Slims.”
Frederick wandered in, his black hair damp and blue eyes sleepy. He accepted a cup of coffee and drank it down in a few sips. He sighed after a moment and seemed to awaken. “Thank you, Helen, for preparing such a meal for us.” He served himself and poured another cup of coffee before sitting with his men. They talked about the chores they needed to complete that day, the mares on the verge of birthing and whether or not they needed to send for a man with excellent animal husbandry skills.
Helen let their conversation wash over her as she worked, content to be in the warm kitchen with conversation and no dissension or tension. She jolted when the chairs scraped away from the table. The men left their dishes in the sink, each thanking her for the meal, and exited out the side door after bundling up.
Frederick lingered a moment. “I don’t know why you were hesitant to proclaim your abilities in the kitchen. You are quite proficient, Helen, and we enjoyed your meal.”
She scoffed. “Anyone can make such a simple breakfast.”
He rose and set his dishes among the other dirty ones. “Someday you will be able to accept a compliment with grace. Someday you will realize that the simple things in life are to be celebrated.” He waited until she met his gaze. “Someday you will understand that it’s the little things that determine if life will be joyous or not.” He nodded at her and followed his men to the barn.
She shivered as he let in cold air and from his words. She turned to wash the dishes, the mindless activity doing little to alleviate her tension. She forced herself to focus on her tasks, ignoring the wisdom and insight of Frederick’s words.
Chapter 6
Two weeks later Helen pulled a cake from the oven. She was still learning how to use the fancy
wood-burning stove in the kitchen, and she prepared most meals for the men in large fry pans and Dutch ovens atop the stove. However, she was determined to master the oven and broaden the fare they ate. She smiled with satisfaction to see the cake perfectly cooked, and she pulled it out to cool on a rack. She set another into the oven and sat with relief after hours on her feet.
She poured herself a cup of tea and settled in a comfortable rocking chair near the stove, warm and content for the moment. She closed her eyes, understanding that momentary contentment was a gift. After her flight from Warren’s house, she had doubted her ability to ever be happy again. Now she understood she would find snatches of time for joy and happiness. Even if an overwhelming loneliness pervaded her.
The men treated her with respect, which she knew was in large part due to Frederick’s deferential nature and unspoken threat to treat her well. She knew from a few interrupted conversations that rumors of her escapade at the Boudoir had reached the ranch. Thankfully none of the ranch hands treated her as ripe for seduction.
Her hand shook as she raised it to take another sip of tea. She thought about her decision to go to the Boudoir and cringed. Although she had been desperate, she acknowledged that her plan had been poorly implemented. The thought of any man she did not love touching her sent cold shivers of fear down her spine.
As one day passed into the next, her faint hope faded that Warren would send word or come after her. She knew that, as long as she remained at the ranch, there was little reason for her to ever see him again. She swiped at a tear and set her head against the back of the rocker.
“Why the tears, Helen?”
She bolted, nearly upending her half-empty mug. “I didn’t hear you enter.” She glared at Frederick who stood near the sink.
“I saw you rocking in contentment and had no wish to disturb you, until I saw you crying. Are you all right? Is this job too much for you?” His blue eyes shone with concern.
“No, this job is perfect, and I’m thankful for the work.” She rocked and set her cup on the nearby table. “I’m being a fool and wishing for what can never be.”
“Unrequited love does that to a person,” Frederick murmured.
Her gaze sharpened as she stared at him. “I did not expect you to understand what I’m feeling.”
He chuckled. “You haven’t cornered the market on the sentiment.” He nodded to her. “If you want him, show him.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. He thinks I’m no better than a woman in the Boudoir.” She flushed. “Which is nothing less than I deserve, but I can’t stand that he would think so little of me.”
Frederick sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “This is why I will never understand women.” His amused smile eased her tension rather than irritated her. “You have to admit the part you played in your own downfall. Your secrets, your actions, your deceptions did as much to harm your chance with the lawyer as anything else.” He shrugged. “Be angry with him because he wouldn’t listen to you when you’d been found out. But I’d be angry with myself that I hadn’t spoken with him before and prevented the whole misunderstanding in the first place.”
She sighed. “I know you’re right. But there’s more you don’t understand.”
Frederick held up his hand. “Of course there is. And I have no desire to know what it is. But you should determine what you want. You know as well as I do, living on this ranch, you will have no reason to see him again unless you want to.” Frederick met her stormy gaze. “For he’s made it clear he isn’t coming after you.”
Helen paled. “I know. That’s why I was crying. I realized just that.”
Frederick raised an eyebrow before approaching her and pouring a cup of coffee from the pot always warming on the stove. He pulled out a chair and sat near her. “In just a few weeks you’ve changed, Helen. I hope you can see that.”
She tilted her head and then shook it. “How have I changed?”
He laughed. “You no longer dismiss the men’s thanks. You accept their words of praise and seem to take joy in them.” He paused, as though measuring his words. “In the beginning, it seemed you were always waiting for criticism. For someone to say something to take you down a peg. Each time you set out a meal, you stepped aside, waiting for that first disparaging comment. Now you no longer do that. You expect us to find it delicious.”
“Except for the rutabaga stew.”
Frederick laughed. “That was horrid. But we laughed about it, rather than make you feel bad.” He watched her with fondness. “I hope you are beginning to understand that life is not about making those around you feel smaller but allowing them to blossom and to be what they were meant to be.”
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you, Frederick. You must have had a wonderful mother to teach you that.”
His gaze hardened instantly. “I learned nothing of value from that woman. Everything good I learned from my father and his parents. From Irene and Harold.” He set down his cup with a thunk. “I’ll see you tonight, Helen. I’m mightily looking forward to trying your cake.” He strode out the door, and it slammed shut behind him.
She rose, pulling the second cake from the oven. “Seems I’m not the only one with a horrible mother,” she muttered to herself before she began preparing supper.
Sorcha knocked on Warren’s door. She smiled at his neighbors who eyed her with blatant curiosity. She held a basket on her arm, filled with baked goods from Annabelle’s Sweet Shop along with a scarf she had knitted with Warren in mind. The deep blue would accent his eyes to perfection. She waited another moment before pounding on the door.
When it lurched open, she did not give him time to prevaricate about why she would not be allowed in but pushed past him. She entered the parlor, lit by only a dim lamp and the fireplace. After setting the basket on a side table, she moved to the fire to warm her hands.
“Why are you here, Sorcha?” he asked. “You shouldn’t visit me alone.”
She rolled her eyes and took off her mittens, having warmed sufficiently by the fire. She sat on a nearby chair and motioned him to his customary chair. “Why have ye been avoidin’ us? Ye have to know we’d do what we could to help ye.”
“There is nothing you can do. I’ve been a fool, and I must find a way to overcome my desire to see her again.” He closed his eyes. “Only time will help me with that.”
She snorted. “That’s what fools say in an attempt to make them feel better. Nothin’ will ease this ache, Warren, until ye speak with her. Until ye see if she can forgive ye and if ye can forgive her.”
He sighed, settling into his chair. “That’s the crux of the problem though, isn’t it, Sorcha? I doubt either of us can forgive the other.” He stared into the fireplace’s dancing flames a moment. “Too much is between us. Too much deceit. Too much mistrust.”
“’Tis a load of horse manure, and ye ken it as well as I do,” she snapped. “Ye were with Alistair when ye urged him to forgive Leticia. How could ye do that when ye willna even do this for yerself?” She watched him with blatant confusion. “Ye are no’ a mean man, Warren.”
Her gaze flicked around the room, her posture relaxing when she failed to notice any evidence of bottles near his chair. His humorless chuckle grated as she realized she had not been subtle and had been caught.
“I haven’t touched a drop,” he said. “Although I’ve been sorely tempted.”
“Does anyone ken that yer whiskey jar is filled with watered-down tea?” she whispered.
“No. Your brothers know better than to ask for a drink when they stop by. I think that’s why they prefer to visit me at my law office during the day and accept my coffee.” He saw her flush and grinned. “Although I’ve heard them say that your coffee is improving of late.”
“Why should a woman have to spend her days in a kitchen?” she grumbled. “I’d rather do other things.”
He nodded with approval, his gaze alighting on the scarf atop the basket. “Yes, like weave beautiful wo
ol and gift it to friends. I can’t accept this, Sorcha. It’s too dear.”
“Nonsense. Asides, if that woman ever has the nerve to show herself in town again, ’twould do her good to believe she has competition for yer affections.” She sniffed in disgust. “Canna have her believing she can sashay back and have ye run to her, like …”
He saw her bite her lip and laugh. “Like what?” he teased.
“Ye ken the end of the sentence as well as I do,” she said, although there was no bite to her words. “I hate to see ye sad, Warren.”
He shrugged and stared into the fire for a few moments. “I’ve done this to myself. I allowed anger and righteous rage to rule me, rather than calm reason.” He frowned. “I still fail to understand why she was with him. Why she would be absent from her home at all hours. It makes no sense to me.” He sighed.
“Ye could visit her at the ranch,” Sorcha whispered.
He stiffened and shook his head. “No, I’ve chased after her for the last time. If she wants me, she knows where I am.”
Sorcha made a low sound in the back of her throat, in disgust and disagreement. “Ye threw her out, Warren. No woman would come back after such an event. No woman with any pride, that is.”
He speared her with an intense stare. “If I recall, you said that day she left with Frederick that you would never like her. That you would despise her forevermore for my sake. What’s changed?”
Sorcha shrugged. “I tend to say rash things, even when I dinna ken all that has transpired. Cailean and Alistair are the levelheaded siblings, no’ me.” She shrugged again. “Ye’re miserable, Warren. I hate seein’ ye this way.”
Warren scrubbed at his face. “What else is in that basket you’re foisting on me?”
“If ye dinna want it, I’m sure plenty of others are eager for Anna’s fresh-baked treats,” Sorcha snapped.
“You brought me a basket of her goodies?” He rose and pulled out her scarf. He ran his fingers over the wool and tied it around his neck. “Perfect.” He smiled his thanks and then set it aside as he peered into the basket filled with bread, cookies and a few meat pies. “Wow,” he murmured.
Montana Renegade (Bear Grass Springs Book 4) Page 9
