Her weary mind refused to contemplate a future in Columbus with Harrison or a future in Wyoming without him, so she changed the subject. “If the calf crop was less than you expected, how are you planning to make up the difference?”
His lips pressed thin, and he shook his head. “I’m not sure. I can’t sell cattle. Keeping the herd up is part of the contract. I’ve cut expenses to the bone. I can’t run the ranch without Reed and Lem, and they’re taking less than standard wages as it is. What I need is cash.”
“What do you have to sell?”
“That’s just it. I don’t have anything. I wouldn’t make enough over the next few months hiring myself out to make it worthwhile, and I can’t afford to be away from here that long. And I’ve got to cut hay for this winter.”
An idea sparked. “Do the other ranchers around here cut hay?”
He shook his head. “No, most of them just let the cattle fend for themselves. I learned the hard way that winters here can decimate a herd, and I promised myself I’d never be caught out like that again. There were plenty of ranchers who came knocking last winter, though. I could’ve sold a barn full of feed.” He sucked in a deep breath.
“Exactly. What if you cut and stacked hay, not just for your herd but to sell? Your neighbors would buy hay if it was available, wouldn’t they?”
“They might. They just might.” A smile spread across his face, bringing out those devastating dimples. “I could send Lem to make the rounds, see who would be interested. And Reed can keep an eye on the cattle while I cut and stack hay.” He bounced out of his chair, grasped her hands, and pulled her to her feet. “That’s brilliant, girl.”
He hugged her, lifting her from the floor, but when he bent his head to kiss her, she turned her face so his lips just brushed her cheek. Though she longed to stay in his embrace, to savor his kisses and more, she forced herself to ease out of his arms. “I’d better clear the dishes.”
Late that night, when he reached for her, she rolled onto her side away from him and feigned sleep. If he succeeded in winning the ranch, then she might be willing to risk her heart again, but until then, she had to be on her guard.
Chapter 6
Harrison pulled the whetstone from his pocket and ran it along the curved blade of his scythe. Bits of grass and dirt clung to his sweaty skin, and he swiped a rivulet from his temple. His shoulders burned, his muscles aching from the constant motion of swinging the scythe, and all around him the smell of fresh-cut grass rose up. Swallows darted over the hay field, feasting on the bugs stirred up by his passing.
Across the creek, Jane toiled in the garden, surrounded by knee-high corn plants. She toted yet another bucket of water. Cold, chilly spring had given way to hot, dry summer. Enough rain fell to keep the grass fairly green and thick, but her garden needed more. Her first crop of peas had come up like hair on a dog, and she’d spent hours shelling and drying them.
His chest pinched. He needed to send Lem to town to get Jane some canning jars, but he didn’t want to spend the money. Every precious dime needed to be saved. The deadline, only four months away, stalked his dreams and pressed on his shoulders every waking minute.
As did his concern for Jane. She remained as remote as ever, and if he wasn’t so dead tired every night that he could hardly muster the energy to fall into bed, he’d break down those walls and find the loving, generous girl he knew lived inside her, the girl he’d married.
Returning the stone to his pocket, his fingers brushed the latest letter from his father. He pushed his hat back on his head, set the scythe on the ground, and eased himself down to the warm grass. He unfolded the letter and squinted when the sunshine glared off the white pages. Short and right to the point, it opened with a bang:
Married? What were you thinking, son? Who is this girl? What am I supposed to tell the Norwoods? To say you’ve put me in an awkward situation would be an understatement. I can only ask again, what were you thinking? I’ve half a mind to come out there and see for myself just what you’re up to.
Harrison sighed and shook his head. He couldn’t imagine his father jolting across the prairie aboard a stagecoach. He’d never make good on that threat. As to what to say to the Norwoods, his father could hold his own with the Norwoods or anyone else he came in contact with. Harrison wasn’t worried there. It was his father’s own fault if he’d made promises on Harrison’s behalf. He should’ve known better.
You sent no word on the progress of the house. I imagine now that you’re married—I still can’t believe it—your new wife will want the house put up as soon as possible. Any woman who’d be happy living in a dirt house can’t be a suitable bride for you, though at this late date in the contract, building the house seems like throwing good money after bad. Still, if you build it, I can sell the property for more money once the deadline passes.
His father’s lack of faith in him was galling. And his sideways swipe at Jane set Harrison’s teeth on edge.
The house. His eyes strayed to the shed where the building materials lay under canvas shrouds. A fetter and a promise, an obstacle and a goal, a blessing and a curse. Someday, when the land was his, when he could pay his father for the building materials, he would build that fine house, but until then, knowing it was there waiting in the dark shed, it taunted him, accused him of being a poor provider.
He shoved the letter back into his pocket and picked up his scythe. Enough time wasted.
Jane poured the last of the bucket of water onto the thirsty corn plant and straightened her aching back. Pressing her hand to her temple, she tried to still the dizziness. The sun baked everything, and she could well believe the nation’s Independence Day was less than a week away.
She toted the empty bucket back toward the spring. Only half a row to go and she could be done with the watering for today. She’d have to remember to move the stick—her memory stick, she called it—to remind her where to start watering tomorrow. Dividing the garden into six parcels, one for each day, helped her keep up with the weeding, thinning, watering, and picking.
Boadicea stalked down the row, her tail erect. She stopped when she reached Jane and rubbed against her ankles. Jane lifted the animal into her arms and cuddled her, loving the hearty purr and the sleek fur. Gone was the wary, skinny, combative feline she’d first encountered. Satisfied, she set the cat down. “How are the babies?”
The triplets had quickly outgrown both the box and the soddy and spent their days prowling around the ranch buildings and wrestling one another in the high grass. The wagon rattling out of the barn drew her attention, the hayrack jostling and tilting over the ruts created by so many trips to and from the hay field. Lem slapped the lines on the team’s rumps and waved to her.
She followed his progress back to the piles of hay he and Harrison had raked together yesterday and beyond to where her husband, with what seemed tireless strokes, sliced swaths of long grass into rows. With such a favorable response from the surrounding ranches, he had hope that he might be able to make up the difference between his resources and the contract’s bottom line. But it was taking everything they all had. From before sunup to well past sundown, he drove himself. And she and Reed and Lem worked alongside him, as driven as he to achieve his goal.
Jane refused to let herself hope, though. Until the deed to the ranch was in Harrison’s hand, there was always the chance they would fall short, that he would leave her.
She picked up her bucket and headed toward the house. Halfway there, she stopped, holding her side, low down. For days, off and on, she’d experienced twinges and aches in her abdomen, some sharp, some persistent. Shrugging it off as the result of toting so much water from the creek, she rubbed the spot and resumed her journey. Her favorite part of the day was fast approaching, and she wanted to be ready for it.
Harrison moved steadily, but he glanced at the angle of the sun frequently. His favorite time of day would be here soon. Step. Slash. Step. Slash. Keep up the rhythm, keep moving forward. Every swipe, every
row, haycock, load, and stack meant he was closer to reaching his goal.
Another check of the sun, another glance toward the creek.
There she was.
His heart tripped. With a basket over one arm and a brown earthenware jug in the other, Jane crossed the stubble. Her bonnet hid her face from the merciless sun, but he knew when she arrived she would slide it off her silky hair so she could survey the landscape.
He waved across the field to Lem, who forked hay into the wagon. The older man waved back, flung his pitchfork into the pile of hay beside the team, and limped toward Harrison.
They arrived at the same time. Harrison reached for her basket while Lem took the jug. As anticipated, her bonnet slid off, and she swept the terrain. “I can’t believe how much you’ve gotten done.”
She said it every day, but every day it made his heart swell. Peeking under the napkin in the basket, he found his favorite sugar cookies. He took one, letting the sweet, sugary goodness melt on his tongue.
“We’re going to have to start stacking in the field, boss. The barn’s full.” Lem took a long drink from the jug and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I can’t get so much as one more blade of grass in there.”
Harrison traded him the basket for the jug and shook his head. “I don’t want to stack it out here on the range. That’s asking for trouble. We’ll put the horses in the barn and stack hay in the corral. That way none of the cattle can get at it, and it will be handy for when the buyers come.”
“We sure could use an extra hand or two. Stacking’s a two-man job.” The older man rubbed his hip. “Having to climb on and off that wagon is wearing me thin.”
Familiar guilt settled in Harrison’s gut. Lem couldn’t swing a scythe all day. With his bum leg, he couldn’t get the proper leverage. And yet, he was right. He wouldn’t last long climbing on and off the hayrack like he’d have to do if he was stacking the hay.
“I wish I could afford to hire someone to help us, but I’d just be paying out in wages everything we were earning selling hay.” Harrison took off his hat and tunneled his fingers through his hair. “Maybe I can help stack after I’m through cutting for the day.”
Lem grimaced and shook his head. “You can’t cut all day and stack all night. You’ll kill yourself. I’ll manage somehow.”
“I can help.” Jane twirled her bonnet string around her finger. “The garden work is well ahead. If you’ll show me what to do, I’m sure I can manage.”
Harrison’s immediate response was to say no. She had enough to do with her own work without doing his, too. And yet, what other choice did he have? “It’s hard labor. Lem would pitch down the hay from the rack, but you’d have to rake it smooth and walk it down tight.”
“I can do it.” She straightened her spine and tugged her bonnet into place.
The stubborn light in her eyes made him smile. The newest member of the Garvey family just might be the most determined of them all. He couldn’t deny the relief her offer gave him. “I’ll let you help on one condition. If it’s too much for you, you’ll say so. No standing on pride. And I’ll rope Lem in on the decision, too. If he thinks it’s too much for you, he has the authority to stand you down and take your hay rake away.”
She tugged her sunbonnet into place and took the now-empty basket and jug. “I’ll just take care of a few things at the soddy, and I’ll be ready when Lem brings the next load.”
Harrison followed her with his eyes, thankful for her and puzzled by her. Lem nudged his elbow.
“She’s a fine woman. Reminds me of my wife.”
Harrison’s head swiveled to the older man. “I didn’t know you were married.”
“It was a long time ago. My Deborah passed away when you were just a youngster, before I came to work for your dad. She was a hard worker, always looking to my comfort. Her passing left a big hole in my life. I always felt bad that I never told her how much she meant to me. I think she knew, but I never said it. I guess it was the way I was raised. I took her for granted and didn’t realize what a treasure I had until she was gone.”
Harrison didn’t know what to say. He picked up his scythe and slipped the whetstone from his pocket once more.
Lem shrugged, hitched up his pants, and took a couple of steps away before pausing. “I’d hate to see you make the same mistake I did, son.”
Chapter 7
Jane adjusted the kerosene lamp, slipped out of her wrapper, and eased her aching body into the tub. A glance at the clock told her Harrison wouldn’t be in for another hour yet, so she had plenty of time for a good soak.
And a good think.
For the past month, she’d been too busy and too tired to think, but a rare rainy day had put a halt to the haying and endless garden work and allowed a respite. Harrison, ignoring the chance to rest, had donned his slicker, saddled up, and gone out to check on his herd, spelling Reed and giving him his first day off in weeks.
She rested her head against the back of the tub and closed her eyes. They were so close. Ranchers had already started sending hands to buy winter feed, wagonload by wagonload. With each purchase, Harrison added to his reserves, making notes in his ledger. If she could just hold out until the deadline, this endless round of toil would ease off. Harrison would’ve won his ranch, and her future here with him would be secure. She would be safe to let herself love him.
Raising her hand to the lamplight, she studied the hard-earned calluses. Though she couldn’t remember a time when her hands had been soft and beautiful, they’d never been this rough and work-worn. In spite of wearing gloves, the daily toil with the hay rake had raised blisters. She’d had to keep her hands hidden from Harrison until new calluses formed, though with as little as she saw of him these days, it wasn’t difficult. He left before sunup, returned after dark, ate whatever she left for him in the warmer, and fell into bed.
Not that her days looked much different from his. Early mornings she hurried through her housework and cared for the cows and chickens, picked whatever was ripe in the garden and spread it to dry between layers of weighted cheesecloth, and then it was off to the corral to stack hay, walking in endless circles, spreading what Lem pitched from the hayrack. In the evenings she pulled together a simple meal for herself and Lem, who helped her put up whatever foodstuffs she hadn’t gotten to from the garden that morning, and then to bed to fall asleep before Harrison came in.
Today, in spite of the rain, she’d done laundry. Lem had protested that she should rest, but she pointed out that since they couldn’t work outside this was the perfect opportunity to catch up on other chores. Now garments hung drying from lengths of rope stretched across the soddy, shirts lay over the backs of chairs, and her delicates draped over the foot of the bed.
In the midst of all this splendor, she let the hot water soothe her aches. Boadicea rose from the quilt, stretched, and wrapped her tail around herself, regarding Jane with accusing eyes. Or at least they seemed accusing to Jane’s tender conscience.
“I know. But how am I going to tell him? And when? He’s never here.” The suspicion nagging at the back of Jane’s mind for weeks now had become a certainty. She counted backward to her wedding day, to that first week of happily wedded bliss. Almost four months. Guilt tightened her chest. The timing couldn’t be worse. Her desire to linger in the warm water waned.
Scrubbing quickly, she got out, dried, and donned a nightgown and wrapper. Placing her hands on her abdomen, she couldn’t deny the thickening at her waist. It was time to acknowledge that she was carrying Harrison’s child. She drew a shuddering breath, not knowing whether to laugh or cry and too tired to do either.
How would a child affect Harrison’s plans? They had never spoken of starting a family, and since their first week of marriage, it hadn’t even been a danger. He’d apparently taken her touch-me-not demeanor to heart. That and they were both too exhausted every night to do anything more than collapse. A baby was the last thing on Harrison’s mind right now, and the very la
st thing he needed to worry about.
She couldn’t tell him. He’d forbid her to work on the haying. Not that she would mind never picking up a hay rake again, but he needed her. Harrison was focused on his goal, throwing all his effort into winning the ranch. He didn’t have the time or energy to be burdened with anything else.
Thunder boomed as she climbed into bed and scooted over toward the wall. Boadicea protested with a meow and settled herself near Jane’s feet. Jane pressed her hand against her stomach. A tiny fluttering under her palm made her freeze. Had she imagined it? Lying perfectly still, she waited …
There it was again. Like butterfly wings. Faint, but insistent.
Her throat tightened. Nothing in her marriage was right. Her husband, who was supposed to be her gallant knight and rescuer, needed her hard work but didn’t love her, was even now riding through a downpour to check on his herd instead of snuggled beneath the covers with her, and what should’ve been the most exciting and happiest news she could share with him was now her secret burden to bear.
Lord, I feel so alone.
Sleep dragged at her eyes, and her last thought was to wonder if the wait to be loved would ever end.
The rain finally slackened off, just in time for Harrison to make it back to the barn. Soaked to the skin, hungry, and more tired than he could ever remember being, he stripped the saddle from his wet horse. Mechanically, he rubbed the animal down with a grain sack and fed him.
Not a glimmer of light shone from the soddy. Jane must be in bed already. His heart sank. He’d hoped that with a day to herself with no outside chores, she might’ve been rested enough to at least stay up until he got home. He headed toward the bunkhouse to check in with Reed and Lem. His boots squelched with each step along the path.
Love Is Patient Romance Collection Page 12
