Dreaming on Daisies: A Novel (Love Blossoms in Oregon Series Book 3)

by Miralee Ferrell

  She’d been honest when she said he wasn’t lazy—far from it. He flew at every job Pa or she gave him with a willingness that engendered a newfound respect on her part. But while she enjoyed his company more than she’d admit, she still couldn’t help believing he didn’t belong here. She was constantly torn where the man was concerned. Hearing his jaunty whistle as he went about his work lifted her spirits, and when Steven smiled at her—oh my—she wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet.

  She grabbed another post and rolled it toward the fresh hole. As if she’d ever tell him to leave … but she would like to look him in the eyes without being addle-brained. She hadn’t gotten nearly enough work done since the man had shown up.

  Somehow Leah had to regain control of her life. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to toss you out, but Pa might try, if he gets wind you’re a banker. How’s he been treating you the past couple of days?”

  “Not bad, although he’s barely spoken a word. I don’t understand it. He does business at the bank, so why is my occupation a problem?”

  Leah nibbled on her lip before replying. “I suppose because he’s not happy I asked about a loan, although we could still use one. I’m sure he’d think I brought you here to talk him into something he doesn’t care to do.”

  Steven placed the last shovelful of dirt close to the hole. “I see. I would have thought he’d want to improve the ranch.”

  “He believes we’re doing fine.” She hesitated, not sure how much to trust this man. Then again, he’d already seen Pa in bad shape. “It’s no secret Pa likes his liquor, even though Millie, Buddy, and I have asked him to quit. He thinks he’s in control.”

  She exhaled in disgust. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be disrespectful.”

  When he continued to quietly work, Leah tossed him a smile. “So you really weren’t drinking with him the day you brought him home?” In her heart she knew the truth. She’d never have allowed him on the place if he hadn’t proved to be a man of his word. But the fear inside drove her to ask. She needed to hear him say the words … needed to know his stand when it came to liquor.

  “No, ma’am, I was not. I don’t touch the stuff. Never have and never will.”

  Leah heaved a sigh, and her shoulders relaxed. “I guess I knew that.”

  He propped the shovel against the side of the barn and dusted off his hands. “I think we’re about done here, aren’t we?”

  Leah stared at him, trying to probe his depths. Was he asking if they were done with the job—or the subject? Had he been too quick to deny her question, then changed the subject, or was he irritated she’d doubted him?

  It had been unfair to ask. She knew very well he was telling the truth, and she’d had no business prying. “We’ve done more than I planned, and I appreciate all of your help. I’ve kept you long enough.”

  She grabbed the shovel and headed for the barn, but her feet dragged. It took all of her willpower not to look over her shoulder to see what he was doing. She wanted to race back and assure him she didn’t mean what she said—had truly never thought the worst of him, even when he’d brought Pa home. She’d hate it if she’d upset him to the point where he decided to leave. This entire conversation had rattled her more than she cared to admit.

  What if she started to fall for this man who’d been nothing but kind to her, and he failed her as Pa had done? And Tom. Her little brother had run away and left her alone as soon as he was old enough to care for himself.

  Leah wanted to believe in Steven—to trust he would stick with the job, and that he’d be a true friend … maybe even more, if God willed it. But terror filled her at the prospect of trusting any man. It would be easier if he decided to leave the ranch now, than for her to take the chance of being betrayed yet again.

  Steven shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked on his heels as Leah stomped around the corner of the barn. Maybe he’d been too abrupt in his reply, but her question had caught him off guard. She’d asked if he’d been drinking with her pa. Sure she’d smiled when she asked, but why had she invited him to live here if she still didn’t trust him?

  He’d come here praying he could help Leah—and not simply by digging post holes and fixing fences. He wanted to get to know this woman, to find out what drove her, what caused the sadness he’d seen flash across her expressive face more than once, and maybe even find a way to erase it. His heart twisted. Did she really look at him in the same light as her father? Had Charlie’s actions soured her to such a degree that she would turn away from an offer of friendship from a man?

  He headed across the barnyard, a deep sickness gnawing at his insides. He’d worked so hard to care for his mother and help find his sister, only to be shunted aside once they were reunited. Was it really worthwhile pouring time and energy into Leah’s ranch—and life—in the hope of making a difference? And was he doing so because he wanted to feed a need of his own, hungry and raw, or because he cared about this young woman with the sad eyes and stormy expression?

  Steven drew his gloves off again and peered at the raw blisters that had ruptured after digging the holes. Not that he’d been a lot of help either physically or emotionally since he’d arrived, but at least he’d taken some of the heavier chores off her hands.

  Too many years away from the farm and soft living hadn’t done him any favors. He hated discovering that about himself. He had always seen himself as the man of the family, someone who could get things done with ease. Now he discovered he could barely keep up with a woman.

  He gave a rueful grin as he remembered Leah’s sparkling eyes. A strong woman with a mind of her own, but one worth getting to know, if only she’d allow it.

  Branding would start this weekend. While growing up he’d mostly followed a plow, helped cut and bring in the hay, and tended the animals. They’d had a milk cow that birthed a heifer each year, but they’d never needed to brand a calf.

  No matter—he’d take whatever Leah and Charlie threw at him and not complain. He headed toward the bunkhouse, hands still stuffed in his pockets.

  But it galled him that she’d compare him in any light to her father and his liquor. And in all fairness, other than the day he’d brought Charlie home, Steven hadn’t seen the man under the influence. Was it possible Leah had become overly critical toward her father?

  Not that Steven sanctioned the use of alcohol. He’d seen many a man who was mean and surly when he imbibed. But he’d hate to think Leah was unfairly misjudging her father based on one or two times he might have fallen from grace.

  From now on he’d keep his own counsel, do his job, and stay out of everyone’s way. He didn’t want to raise Charlie’s ire or cause trouble for Leah, but neither did he care to be an object of worry to a woman who apparently didn’t completely trust him.

  A dog whimpered, and he whirled around. The rangy brown mutt that Buddy called Rusty crept out of a stand of brush. “What’s the matter, fella? You lonely?” He ran his fingers over the floppy ears and soft fur. “Hey, you can keep me company for a while.” Moving toward the bunkhouse, he whistled, but the dog didn’t budge. “Come on, Rusty. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The dog’s ears pricked at his name, but he backed away, whining and trotting toward the brush. He turned and gave a short bark.

  “You want me to follow you?” Steven glanced back toward the barn, wondering if he should call Leah. No sense in alarming her when the dog probably simply wanted attention. “All right, I’m coming.” He had to trot to keep up as the dog disappeared through the shrubbery beyond the newly rebuilt corral.

  A prolonged whine came from the other side, somewhere in a stand of trees on the edge of a pasture. Steven broke through, stopping at a split-rail fence where the dog waited, staring into the middle of the field. Young calves frolicked a few hundred feet away and what looked like a pile of laundry was heaped under a lone tree. His gaze focused on it. Why would s
omeone dump anything out here away from the house or barn?

  He whistled to Rusty, but the dog darted past him, slipping under the rails and racing toward the tree. From the edge of his vision, Steven saw a dark, massive body move. He walked to the fence and surveyed the pasture, looking more closely. Some distance from the tree a bull pawed the ground, his head lowered and attention pinned to the pile of clothing that stirred and lifted what appeared to be an arm.

  Vaulting over the top rail, Steven twisted his head back toward the barn. “Leah! Get out here. Hurry! There’s someone in the pasture with the bull.” He waved his arms and shouted, running as fast as his boots would allow, praying he could draw the animal’s attention.

  Chapter Twelve

  Leah heard Steven’s shout and came running. She skidded to a halt and took in the scene, then leaped forward, bounding over to the fence, her heart pounding and chest heaving. “Pa! That’s Pa out there.”

  She struggled to breathe. Should she run back to the house and grab her rifle, or shout for Buddy and hope he’d hear and bring one? Never in her life had she felt so helpless.

  Whirling around, she cupped her hands around her mouth and sucked in a deep breath. “Buddy! Bud—dy!”

  Steven sprinted across the pasture, waving his arms and shouting at the bull.

  The front door of the house flew open, and Buddy bolted outside. He shaded his eyes against the lowering sun. “What’s wrong? Somebody hurt?”

  Leah stepped onto the bottom rail of the fence and pointed toward the bull. It remained in the same position, head lowered and gaze trained on her pa, only a dozen yards or so away.

  “Get the rifle. Pa is down, and the bull is in the pasture. He’s not far from Pa.” She waited only long enough to be sure Buddy had heard, then jumped down from the fence and raced across the grass, closing the distance toward Steven, who’d stopped between the bull and her pa.

  Steven halted and spun. “Get back! I can handle this. I don’t want you hurt as well.”

  Leah slowed her pace, anger surging. Who did he think he was, telling her to leave? That was her pa out there, hurt and in danger, not his. If anyone needed to be here, it was her. “I know cattle better than you do, and you’re the one who ought to leave,” she called. “That bull is going to charge if you keep running at him.”

  She’d been right all along. He was a city slicker who didn’t know a thing about ranching, and she should have sent him packing. He’d get himself trampled, and then they’d have two people to rescue.

  She pulled to a halt, her gaze darting from her father, to Steven, to the bull, and over to her father again. Pa sat slumped against the base of the tree, his arm lying at an odd angle by his side, his eyes closed and face drained of color.

  The bull swung his head back and forth, froth flying from his open mouth, and a bellow rent the air. He pawed the ground and dropped his head, while his entire body shook with rage. What had set the bull off, and why was he in this pasture instead of in his own pen? And what in the world was Pa doing out here?

  Steven pointed off to Leah’s left but kept a wary eye on the bull. “Swing wide and come up on your pa as far away from the bull as possible. If you can get to Charlie, find out how bad he’s hurt and help him to his feet, if he can walk.”

  Leah edged to the side, keeping her eyes riveted on the bull. “What about you?”

  “Worry about yourself and your pa right now. I’ll distract the bull, hopefully long enough for you to get Charlie out of danger.”

  Increasing her pace but not breaking into a jog again, Leah covered the distance between herself and her pa, keeping to the far side of the base of the tree where he lay. If nothing else, she could drag him behind the trunk if the bull decided to charge.

  Her wild thoughts settled, and she forced herself to focus. The tree wouldn’t do much good if the bull swung around and made another pass. She couldn’t keep dragging a grown man from one side to the other, and Pa wasn’t a lightweight. Not that he was heavy, but right now he was a dead weight. She balled her hands into fists. Why had she used that phrase? Pa would be fine. He had to be. It appeared he’d only injured an arm. But why wasn’t he moving or opening his eyes?

  Glancing up, she gauged the height to the lowest limb. An easy climb for her, but not likely if Pa was hurt bad, as she now assumed he must be. Otherwise, he’d surely be on his feet by now, running the other way or tossing epithets at the bull.

  A slight smile formed at the picture. She squelched it and bent over, touching her father’s shoulder and being careful not to move his arm. “Pa? Are you awake? Can you get up?”

  Not even a groan answered her, and his eyes didn’t open.

  What was taking Buddy so long? She hazarded a look back at the house. He’d made it to the pasture fence, but his bad back must be giving him fits, as he appeared to be barely moving.

  She dropped down onto her knees behind the tree and surveyed the scene before her. Pa lay quiet against the trunk, but she could see his chest rising and lowering, so he was alive.

  Steven stood between Pa and the bull, his arms at his sides, but approaching the beast at a slow, steady pace. Rusty raced around in circles, barking and lunging at the bull, which swung his head and bellowed at the dog. Rusty would get himself trampled, and Buddy’s heart would be broken. Besides, the dog wasn’t used to taking orders from Steven and might get in the way.

  “Rusty!” She placed her fingers to her lips and let fly the piercing whistle Buddy had taught her years ago—one Rusty knew better than to disobey. He gave one lingering look and a bark at the bull, then tucked his head and came to her side.

  “You sit and be quiet.” She stroked his silky ears, wondering if she should have called him off. Maybe he could keep the beast away long enough to allow her and Steven to get her father to safety.

  She raised her head and focused on Steven, praying God would somehow deliver them from this madness. What a fool she’d been to allow a greenhorn like Steven to tackle the bull on his own, but there was no help for it now. She’d never forgive herself if he was seriously injured, but gratitude for his sacrifice and bravery swelled her heart nearly to bursting.

  A loud snort broke the stillness of the late-spring evening. Leah’s head jerked up from where she’d crept a few feet from her father’s side.

  The bull pawed the hard dirt beneath his hooves, stirring up dust, and shook his head, his fiery gaze riveted on Steven.

  Leah jumped to her feet and screamed, sheer terror coursing through her body. “Run! He’s going to charge! Get over here behind the tree before you get trampled!” Leah’s insides bunched into a tight coil as Steven sprinted away from the bull—but not toward the tree as she’d instructed.

  Steven heard a rifle shot ring out at the precise moment the bull plunged into action. The bull kept coming, so apparently the bullet missed its mark. Steven ran farther into the pasture, away from the tree protecting Leah and her father, and away from the fence.

  He had to draw the bull away from Buddy. He’d seen the older man hobbling across the field toward Leah—no way could the man outrun the beast if he charged.

  Steven’s lungs emptied and screamed for air, and his legs, which were more used to sitting at a desk than plunging across an uneven pasture, cried for rest. Thundering hooves beat the ground not far behind, and new energy pumped through Steven’s body. Would Buddy get off another shot before Steven reached the far side of the pasture—and the fence that seemed to recede with each succeeding step?

  He zigzagged and jumped clumps of brush, praying his feet wouldn’t tangle. The bull had no such concerns, as Steven heard the animal plunging through the brush at a steady pace.

  He hated the thought of Leah and Charlie losing their prized bull to a bullet, but he didn’t relish the pain and possible death that would come if the bull’s horns hooked him or tossed him onto the ground. Being stomped by th
e animal could do as much damage as being gored by those wicked horns.

  Finally, the crack of another bullet ripped the air, and the bull bellowed in rage. A second, then a third shot rang out. Another sound caught Steven’s ear—the pounding of multiple hooves. He chanced a look over his shoulder, praying the brute had lost interest in him, but also dreading the thought the bull might turn his attention back on the injured man or his daughter.

  A dozen cows and calves galloped across the pasture, straight toward the angry creature. As Steven veered to the left, the herd cut between him and the bull, slowing his pace and catching his attention. The bull’s head lifted. He bellowed, then adjusted his gait and followed the last cow in the line, heading toward another pasture.

  Steven stopped, placed his hands on his knees, and leaned over, trying to get his breath. Thanksgiving to God, as well as to Buddy for firing those shots, flowed through him.

  Buddy lifted his rifle in the air. “Over here. You’re safe now. Come help us get Charlie to the house.”

  Steven straightened and jogged across the intervening space, shaken from his close miss, but grateful to see Charlie sitting without assistance. He made his way to the older man’s side and drew to a halt, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. Thank the Lord Leah and Charlie had avoided serious injury. He grinned at Leah. “Everything all right now? How’s your pa?”

  Leah couldn’t stop her hands from shaking—or her entire body, for that matter. She stared at the man who’d risked his life to lead the charging bull away from her father, wondering if she should throw her arms around him and kiss him, or chew him out for the risk he’d taken.

  For the space of several long seconds she’d been certain the bull would trample him, leaving nothing but a bloody, limp rag of a man. A shudder shook her frame, and she choked back a sob. If their bull had injured or killed Steven, it would have been her fault for putting a tenderfoot in that position. And she’d have lost the first man who’d managed to touch her heart.