Waiting on Waylon

by Jo Noelle

  “Toria.”

  “Toria.” There was a sincerity about the woman that made Vivian feel as if they were good friends already. “I’d like to purchase some yard goods for some dresses.”

  “Oh, we have some lovely fabrics over here that just came in.”

  Toria cut the lengths Vivian needed. Most of the fabrics were sensible. Most. One wasn’t, but oh, how she loved the feel of the fabric. The green color was deep and vibrant like the pines on the mountains. She wouldn’t be able to make as many dresses, but this one would be special and make up for the difference in profit.

  Mr. Jackson stopped as he rolled her purchases in brown paper. “Bring the dresses in when you’re done, and we’ll take a look. You chose my finest material. If your stitches are as good as your taste, I’ll sell them.” He finished tying the bundles with twine.

  “Thank you. If they sell, please send me more fabric with the proceeds, and I’ll make more.” Vivian turned to Toria. “I trust you to make the selections. You really do have lovely material. Thanks for your help.”

  “I’ll write down the fabrics you liked, so I remember which ones you’d want,” Toria replied. “We’ll see you again soon,”

  Vivian joined Waylon as he was being handed a package, too. He also picked up a small bag of Beatrice’s delicious chokecherry scones. He held the bag up like it was a prize. “For the ride back.”

  “Do we have anywhere else to go?” Vivian asked.

  “I’d like to send a telegram before we leave town.”

  “Oh, good. I can visit with Beatrice. Your mother introduced me to her when I first got to town.” The telegraph office was just at the end of the street, so they grabbed their horses by the reins and walked them, crunching over the packed snow.

  Inside the warm office, Beatrice was holding little Sally and standing next to a man. Beatrice gave a happy squeal and rushed across the room to embrace Vivian, baby Sally between them, as Waylon continued over to the man.

  “You’re still here! I’m so happy to know that a few more women are staying around Creede. How do you like living at the ranch? Are you and Waylon—?”

  “Shh.” Vivian hooked Beatrice by the elbow and dragged her away from the men. “No. We’re not married—yet. I don’t want him thinking that I gossiped all over Creede about him.”

  Beatrice laughed. “Well, you didn’t, but Seffi sure did.”

  “Promise me you won’t say anything.” Vivian sounded worried even to herself.

  “Of course I won’t. I just wanted to wish you both happy if you were.” Beatrice shifted Sally to her other hip. “It looks like the men are done. Come, meet my husband.”

  As the women approached, Waylon extended his arm to Vivian. “Miss Lette, may I introduce you to Arthur Jameson?”

  “I’m pleased to meet you.” Please don’t let Beatrice’s husband say anything.

  “It’s my pleasure.” He tipped his head toward her. “My wife told me she’s made a few new friends in town.”

  Whew. “I’m so glad that I have too.” She smiled at her friend, then she looked toward Waylon. “I suppose we should get back to the ranch, so I can help Mrs. Morgan with the chores.”

  They exited the telegraph office, and both looked at the dry goods store next door. Benita was standing outside. She tipped her nose to the air and spun while flinging her skirt before she reentered the store.

  “Oh, good.” Vivian covered her mouth. Her eyes were wide as her head jerked toward Waylon. Did I really say that out loud? “It’s just that...well, I mean…”

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t hear anything.” He chuckled and gave her a leg-up onto her horse. “If you’re hungry, we could eat before we leave town.”

  Oh, yes. She would like to spend more time with Waylon. “I’d love to, but Seffi said Creede had a big fire this past June that caused all that destruction on Main Street.” She pointed toward the charred remains and the reconstruction. “She told me the restaurant was blown up in the process.”

  “It was.” Waylon turned his horse up Main, and Vivian followed suit. “This is where Edwin’s place used to be, and that’s his house back there.” He pointed out the spots. “He sells food out of his kitchen now until he can build again. We can eat out here or in the saddle on our way home. Do you think you need another new experience that you can do on horseback?”

  “Why, yes, Mr. Morgan. I do.”

  They rounded the construction project rebuilding the Nugget Saloon, and when they reached Edwin’s house, Waylon jumped off his horse, then handed the reins to Vivian. Oh, goodness. What was she supposed to do if both horses decided to be ornery?

  “I’ll go see what he’s serving today. If it looks all right, I’ll get two.”

  Vivian waited only a couple of tense minutes, and thankfully, the horses stood still. Millie Bing left the man’s house and approached her. She took one horse by the bit, rubbing the white blaze on its nose. The horse seemed to like it and pushed its ears forward.

  “How are you doing?” Millie asked, waggling her eyebrows.

  “Fine. And before you ask, no, I’m not married.”

  “Would you like me to talk with him? I could say something to move things along.” Millie scooted closer to Vivian. “Men don’t know what’s good for them. Sometimes you just have to tell them what to think.”

  Vivian giggled. She was sure that wasn’t the case. “We’re taking our time getting to know each other. We haven’t decided yet.”

  The door to the house opened, and Waylon returned with another sack. “Miss Bing,” he said, tipping his hat. To Vivian, he said, “Fried chicken. Can’t do better than that for eating on the run.”

  “Bye, Vivian. Bye, Waylon.”

  Vivian waved to Millie as they started back home. The chicken was good, and the scones afterward were divine. They chatted as they rode. Nothing about the topics was significant, but talking together so easily was. When it went silent for a space, Vivian heard Waylon whistling again.

  Waylon stopped his song abruptly. “Did you figure out how to whistle yet?”

  “Afraid not. I’m probably one of those people never meant to whistle.”

  “Anyone can do it. It just takes practice.” Waylon turned in his saddle. “Let me see what you’re doing.”

  Vivian turned likewise as if she was comfortable in the saddle. Then she puckered and tried. Nothing. Just a little whoosh of air. She demonstrated several times.

  “Hmm. Try this.” Waylon whistled.

  “I really can’t tell what it is I’m supposed to notice.”

  Waylon reined his horse back and jumped down. Vivian slid from her saddle, too.

  “When you whistle, you can blow out.” Waylon whistled.

  This time, Vivian was close enough to notice that his tongue was a little behind his teeth as he exaggerated the movement when he started.

  “Or you can draw air in.” He whistled again.

  She looked closely to confirm her guess. Yes, and the sides of his cheeks closed over his edge of his tongue that was in his teeth. My, oh, my. Watching his lips so closely was quite distracting. She thought he must have a very talented mouth. Well, that’s not really what he wanted her to think about.

  Vivian tried drawing air in this time. She made a tiny trill of sound. She smiled and then tried again. The sound was a little stronger. “Is that it? Am I doing it right?”

  Waylon was focused on her lips, too, but he didn’t look entirely interested in the sound. His gaze moved from her lips to her eyes and back, very slowly. Vivian licked her bottom lip and caught it between her teeth. Foggy air puffed from their parted lips and mingled in the air.

  His hands reached out as if to steady her, his eyes not straying from hers. “Yes, I do believe you’re doing it right.”

  His head dipped lower, and Vivian held her breath, her hands now on his waist. This moment would change their futures forever. Her whole body seemed to reach for him. This was the beginning of falling in love. There was a heady ple
asure about it—tense and wonderful.

  They stood together, leaning toward each other, neither closing the gap. Vivian wanted to, and she thought he might. Neither one did, and the moment stretched. Then he smiled, but it looked a little sad to Vivian.

  “Yeah, I think you can whistle now. Just practice, and it will get louder.” He studied her for a moment. “We best get on home now.”

  Vivian wondered if she’d misread his intentions. In the crazy mix of rejection and desire, her mind shouted, yes, over the whisper of her heart, no.

  They remounted their horses and continued home. Vivian wasn’t sure what had just happened, but it seemed important. Maybe if she had any, any experience about what goes on between men and women, it might have helped. This was new territory. Her whole body acted differently around him. Her heart raced, and her senses heightened. It had felt natural to lean into him, but that hadn’t resulted in the kiss she’d expected—wanted. Was she supposed to do something that she had no idea about? Probably.

  Waylon kept up a light conversation for the rest of the trip. Upon their return, he took the horses to the barn and didn’t come back to the house until supper.

  Seffi sent Vivian sideways glances as they finished preparing the meal and setting the table.

  “How was the trip to Creede?”

  “I got some nice cloth. I’ll show you after supper.”

  “How was the horse?”

  “Surefooted and sweet as always.”

  Seffi tasted the stew and added a few more shakes of salt and pinches of spice. “And the trip back?”

  A disaster. “Fine.”

  “Ah-ha! The trip back.”

  Vivian quickly looked away. How did she know? She would not talk with Seffi about her misstep with Waylon. It would be unbearably awkward. She knew Seffi orchestrated all of this with the suspicious injury and miraculous healing of her ankle. Seffi had never denied wanting the two to marry. But Vivian could—would—never talk with her about romantic ideas.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know how to attract Waylon’s attention.” Oh, well.

  “Of course. You haven’t had a mother to guide you. I’ll help, if you’ll let me.”

  Vivian only had time to nod her head once before she heard boots stomping on the back porch. Waylon was on his way in to eat. She went to the oven to pull out the biscuits. More boots kicked against the boards. Who else was coming?

  When the door opened, three large men stepped into the kitchen and kissed Seffi’s cheek before they removed their coats and hung them by the stove.

  “I thought the wind might blow you two in soon.” Seffi turned toward Vivian. “These are my other two sons, who’ve been hiding out with the ranch hands since last spring.” She pointed to the one with brown hair. “This is Holt. He’s my youngest.”

  “Miss.” He nodded.

  The next man leaned over and kissed his mother again. His hair was blond, but not the white color of Waylon’s. “You know that won’t get you extra pie,” she said.

  “How about whipped cream?”

  “Yes, it will do that.”

  Both Holt and Waylon played along, kissing their mother’s cheek again.

  Seffi pushed them away. “This charmer is Boone. He’s the middle boy, and he acts it. He’s a rascal.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” He bowed, and Waylon’s eyebrows pinched together a little.

  “And you as well,” Vivian replied. “Your mother talks about you all so much, I feel like I’ve met you.”

  Boone laughed. “I was the perfect son. There was nothing but good to tell. Am I right?”

  Vivian laughed too. “You peed on the flowers.”

  Holt howled and shoved his brother, enjoying his humiliation.

  Vivian turned on Holt with a teasing finger. “And you tried to kiss a girl at school. She socked you in the nose, leaving you with two black eyes.”

  Now was Boone’s turn for revenge. “His only kiss.” The three men chuckled all the way to the table.

  When their mother approached, they stood until both women sat. Vivian hadn’t seen such chivalry before, but she liked it.

  “It’s good to have all my men in the house again. Eat up.”

  Vivian sat between Seffi and Boone at one end of the table with Holt across from her. They were very entertaining with stories of moving the cattle. Waylon sat at the other end. He seemed sullen.

  When the meal was over, the family went to he front room. Vivian sat in a chair and picked up her darning. Boone sat near her.

  “Would you like to go for a ride tomorrow? I’d be happy to be your instructor.”

  Waylon’s head snapped up.

  “I’d be happy for the company,” she replied. “Waylon was telling me about an old homestead. Is it far from here?”

  Holt answered instead of Boone. “Nah, it’d take less than half an hour to ride to it.”

  Boone interrupted before Holt could say more. “I’d be glad to take you there.”

  Seffi cleared her throat. “I believe my ankle is good as new, Vivian. I can resume your horseback lesson tomorrow. Thank you, Boone, for your offer, but maybe another day would be better.”

  Boone nodded to his mother and stood to leave. “You’ve certainly made it enjoyable to come home, Miss Leete. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

  Seffi laughed and motioned to Vivian to get back to her stitching.

  Waylon grabbed Boone by the arm and forced him up the stairs. Vivian could hear them exchange heated words but couldn’t tell what either man said. Holt excused himself and went upstairs too. Finally, Vivian understood a few words. It was Boone’s voice. “I’m not staying in the barn this winter. Forget about it. I don’t have to do what you say now or ever.” Then it sounded like doors slamming.

  Vivian turned to Seffi to see if she’d do something about what seemed to be a problem, but Seffi’s toe pushed off the floor in a slow rhythm to rock her chair. “Yup, good to have them home.”

  Chapter 10

  Waylon Morgan

  Waylon pulled his hat down and tugged his collar up in the foggy morning just before sunrise. It had been a few days since the last snowstorm, and with the clear skies at night, the chill had dipped into bitter. His brothers had a knack for showing up just when the worst of the winter weather was beginning, and three days ago, it was no different. They were as unwelcome as the blizzard that followed them—well, Boone anyway.

  It was shameless, the way he flirted with Miss Leete. Surely he was making her regret taking the job with their mother. Waylon stepped off the porch and headed out to the barn. Fact was, Miss Leete didn’t appear annoyed at all. Waylon acknowledged that he seemed to be the only one who was. He also admitted to himself that he was relieved Miss Leete didn’t return Boone’s interest.

  The trip to Creede made him more than sure he knew what that would look like—her perfect mouth, her eyes alight with fire, their hearts reaching for each other. He hadn’t seen that look on her face since that day.

  This would be a special torture for him. He was likely to see her several times every day. He doubted that his feelings for her would lessen but instead grow. Waylon didn’t know how he’d watch her get courted, which for sure would happen come spring as they made more trips into town. Women were scarce, especially beautiful ones. Men would be attracted by that alone. It was too bad. Miss Leete had a heart purer than the gold and silver mined from this area.

  He saddled his horse, all the while thinking of her. Vivian. He wished he had a right to use her first name.

  Waylon rode out south of the ranch and crossed the Rio Grande. He hated checking the cows out this way—too many bad memories. He met the Goose Creek and followed it uphill, keeping Mount McClelland to his left. This was where it had happened, and his life had been irreparably changed.

  An unusual glow appeared between Waylon and the canyon. His curiosity made him want to check into the light, but he always avoided that place unless his c
attle demanded that he go there. The sun was peeking over the range to the east, making it near impossible for sunlight to make that glow on the western slope of the hill. As his horse trudged in that direction, the light seemed to move, always keeping just ahead of him and moving toward the dreaded spot.

  He could hear it—cattle bawling from up the canyon. He would have to go there today. The light continued to move before him until he was in the very place of his nightmares, and then it flickered out. A horseman came riding from that direction. Waylon thought he recognized the cowboy sitting atop—the vaquero.

  “Que’ tal, Waylon?” The man waved his hand as he approached. “You know this place?”

  Waylon nodded stiffly. The sounds of cattle had quit. There was no reason to stay. He tried to turn his horse, but it didn’t respond, and he found that he couldn’t leave his saddle, either.

  “Don’t worry, mi amigo. There’s something here God wants you to see.”

  It seemed as though lightning flashed, completely obscuring Waylon’s vision. When his eyes adjusted, he and the angel were set up on the side of the hill to watch it all play out.

  “You may see things differently this time.” The vaquero pointed to the canyon below.

  This is where the gunmen were. Waylon would watch from their vantage point.

  Before Waylon’s eyes, the mountain and pastures turned to spring green. He saw himself riding at the front of the herd with his father. He knew Boone was behind him to the left of the herd with some of the hired hands while Holt was doing the same to the right. A few more men rode herd at the back.

  “No. I don’t want to see this.” He knew he was going to have to watch that day again. The broken pieces of his past slipped into his veins like crushed glass. “Please, don’t show me that day.”

  “I’ll stay with you.”

  Even as Waylon shook his head, the scene began. The vaquero reached out to Waylon’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. Waylon felt calm entering him. It warmed him through.

  The scene before him was a narrow part of the trail that stretched the cattle out in a long line. He was high enough on the hill to see both the front of the herd and the back. After they passed through to this side, there would be an open pasture and a pond that naturally encouraged the cattle to stay, making it easy to collect the herd before moving farther south to the summer range.