Maybe she had been a bit harsh. What harm was there in him returning a dirty dish to the basin? He appeared to have been minding his own business before she came into the kitchen. Dusty was many things, but he wasn’t rude. He wouldn’t have barged into the dining room on account of not being invited to the table.
She looked out the dining room window facing west. The setting sun cast a shadow over the pane preventing her from seeing where Dusty was in the field. She would go out and have a word with him after Chad left, provided he hadn’t retired to the bunkhouse for the night.
Dinner ended at a quarter past eight. Sophie’s father shook Chad’s hand when he stood up to leave. “We really must have you over for supper again. I’ll come to the bank this week to look at those investitures.”
“Very good, Mr. Charlton. Enjoy the rest of your evening. The supper was very pleasant.”
“I’ll see you to the door.” Sophie rose from her chair, feeling the lethargic effect of the heavy meal beginning to work its course.
She walked down the hall ahead of Chad. He reached for his coat and hat on the peg before going onto the front porch. “Where’s Sterling? He should have my horse waiting for me.”
Sophie scanned the area for Chad’s gelding. “You did tell Dusty that you would be here for a while. I’ll get your horse from the barn.”
“You certainly will not.” He stopped her with a touch on the arm. “You’re a lady. You shouldn’t have to go behind the workers to finish their tasks.”
“Dusty must still be working. Otherwise he’d be here to assist you.”
Chad shook his head. “You’re too lenient with him, especially when your father’s paying him good money to help keep the farm running.”
His strong words cast away her drowsiness, as did the evening chill that crept through the thin sleeves of her dress. She rubbed her arms. “We all work on this farm. It’s no trouble for me to get your horse.” She went down the porch steps before he could protest further.
Dusty hadn’t completely forgotten about Chad’s horse; he left a lamp and a set of matches near the door. Sophie lit it before entering. The smell of freshly laid hay filled her nostrils as she located the gelding in the stall beside Bess. “Hello, Bess, my good girl.”
The animal raised her chestnut mane and nickered. Sophie entered the mare’s stall to inspect her hoof. The appendage was healing neatly between nail and skin. Dusty did a commendable job caring for her. Sophie reminded herself to thank him even as she wondered where he was. It wasn’t like him to leave the premises when he knew he might be needed.
She left the barn with Chad’s horse minutes later. He remained standing on the porch, arms crossed. “You should report this incident to your father.”
“I will if it happens again.” She knew it wouldn’t. Dusty was fastidious with his work. Tonight had been the only slip. “Thank you for coming.”
His countenance changed in the moonlight. Annoyance no longer showed on his face. “I thought more about your cause. I could ask my father about what you should do to get school elections on the ballot, and letting women vote in them.”
Sophie experienced a warm glow of hope. “You mean, you’re agreeing to get involved? I’d love to have someone who knows these things assist me, but I fear I made the mayor uncomfortable.”
“Let me speak to my father over breakfast tomorrow. I’ll let you know what he says.”
“I’m most thankful.”
He took the reins from her, letting his fingers linger momentarily over her hand. “May I call upon you again?”
“Yes, of course,” she gushed, smiling up at his face. With the hat and expensive suit, he looked positively dapper. She rather liked being the object of his attention.
“Have a good evening, Sophie.”
As he rode away from the farm, she took the lamp and went around the house. Crickets chirped in the grass and a hog grunted in the pen. The unplowed wheat field, gray and flat in the dark, stretched across the distance.
Dusty may have retired for the night. No light shone in the bunkhouse. She waited in case he came from the shed or chicken coop, so that she might be able to make her apology now instead of having to delay it until morning, but nothing stirred. As the hour grew late, the blackness of night threatened to swallow both her and the sliver of light in her hand. The wind began to howl, and she shivered.
When Dusty didn’t show, Sophie went inside the house, strangely unsettled. The dinner had been a success, and she looked forward to seeing Chad again. So why did she find herself worrying about Dusty?
CHAPTER 6
T HE WHEAT FIELD took three days to plow with a team of mules. Dusty saw no other people besides David and Mr. Charlton for the expanse of time. The three of them started work at sunrise. When they returned to the house at midday and suppertime, meals were already placed on a table outside the kitchen.
As Dusty hungrily tore into a chicken leg one afternoon, he spared a thought for Sophie. He hadn’t seen her since that night Chad came over for dinner. He wondered if Sophie and Chad had seen each other since then.
Dusty couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten so angry. He was glad it was in front of Sophie and not her father, else he could be in town looking for another job. The Charltons were kind enough to let him eat with them most of the time. It was their house after all, and he was the hired help as Sophie had so readily reminded him.
So why was it getting harder to accept his place?
“You’re quiet today, Dusty.” Mr. Charlton stirred butter into his mashed potatoes. “Anything wrong?”
He could never share his thoughts about Sophie to her father. “No, sir. Worn out from plowing, is all.”
“We still got half a field left, so don’t wear out just yet.” The patriarch lifted his sunburned face into a smile. “You and David are doing good work. This time last year we weren’t even a quarter of the way through.”
“I wish we were done already,” David grumbled over his plate of food.
“Patience, son. Hard work doesn’t always yield quick payoffs.” Mr. Charlton stood up to get more water from the pump.
“Ain’t that the truth,” David said when he was out of earshot. “Wish I could be practicing on that lasso.” In their spare time, Dusty had shown him a few maneuvers.
Dusty chewed on a gristle. It may have been a bad idea to humor Sophie’s brother. He should have carried on about how rewarding it was to plant seeds and wait for the harvest.
He just had to convince himself of it first.
Mr. Charlton returned with water to refill their canteens. “Dusty, I need you to make a run into town for me. We’re short on seed. David and I can work on that last field until you get back.”
“Yes, sir.” Dusty was happy to be relieved of the backbreaking drudgery for a good portion of the afternoon.
“I’ll get you some money. Don’t take too long in town. These fields have to be finished tonight. We’ll work through supper if we have to.”
David grumbled. Dusty felt guilty for wanting to do the same.
Close to an hour later, Dusty purchased five bags of wheat seed from the gene
ral store in town. The clerk chatted with him as the purchase amount was totaled. “So Charlton’s getting the fields ready, is he?”
“Yep, almost done. How’s business?” Dusty handed him the money.
“Growing now that we have a rail station. I never sold so many travel sundries before. Business would be even better if I could get those men over by the stove to actually buy something when they come in.” The clerk gestured with his chin toward the back of the store.
Dusty swiveled to see a handful of older gents playing a game of chess atop a stack of crates. On a table nearby rested a coffee pot and tin mugs.
“Yes, sir,” the clerk griped. “I thought to draw customers in by having a chess table and a pot of hot coffee on the boil. All I did was turn the store into a free social club. Those men do nothing but talk weather and keep track of those outlaws.”
“Outlaws?”
“Sure. The Lubbett Brothers. They robbed two banks in Texas. Last I heard they went through a reservation in the Territory and made off with a couple hundred dollars and a musket from one of the chiefs. They’re gonna have the marshals after ’em real soon.”
“I used to travel through Indian Territory when I ran cattle up to Abilene.” As Dusty talked, memories of his former life surfaced—days spent riding beneath the open skies with nothing but longhorns, a few wranglers, and a chuck wagon driver for company. It was hard work, with rough terrain, snakes, and cattle thieves, but each day brought something different. A challenge that refreshed the soul and gave purpose.
“You need help getting that seed onto the wagon?”
“I got it. Much obliged, though.” Other customers had come in, and Dusty didn’t want to keep the clerk from assisting them. He lifted two of the thirty-pound sacks and carried them out the store to the wagon.
Dusty went back inside and hefted the other three sacks. He tottered to the door, intending to kick it open. His foot met an opposing force. He heard someone grunt out a sound of surprise and pain.
“Careful there, stranger.”
“Beg your pardon.” Dusty peeked around the bags of wheat seed. He lost his grip on the top bag and sent it plopping to the floor. It burst open at the top and spilled golden kernels across the threshold and onto the sidewalk outside.
“It looks like you got your hands full.” The man bent down and picked up the bag. It contained about half its original contents.
“Thanks.” Dusty sighed. He had some sweeping up to do.
“Is that your wagon over there?”
“Yeah, just set it behind the bench.” Dusty followed with the two intact bags. He glanced at the man’s face as they loaded the cargo. He was deeply tanned, almost leathery, and dressed in layers of a brown jacket, gray striped shirt, kerchief, heavy canvas trousers, and boots. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in town before. Name’s Dusty Sterling.”
“Eli Mabrey.” The man shook his hand. “I moved here a week ago. I bought a ranch about five miles outside town. Well, it will be a ranch, soon as we get the property fenced in.”
Dusty’s curiosity piqued at the mention of a ranch close to town. “What are you raising?”
“Cattle. What else?” Lines formed in the man’s face and around his eyes when he smiled.
“I thought you couldn’t raise longhorns in Kansas ’cause of the law.”
“You’re from Texas, aren’t you? God made more types of cattle than longhorns. I have Herefords at my ranch.”
Dusty consulted his knowledge of the breed. “I knew a man who tried to keep them on his land in central Texas. They didn’t do so well in the heat.”
Eli agreed. “But this land here’s good for them. Plenty of grass to graze on and more rainfall than in the south.”
“Herefords can be a hardy breed, I guess, once the conditions are right. You’re in a good place too, market wise. That Katy rail here will let you ship them up north and back east when it’s time to go to market.”
“You sound like a man who knows his cattle.”
“I’ve been around ’em long enough.”
“Ever been on a drive?”
“I took the Chisholm, the Santa Fe, and the old Texas Road up here.” Dusty was prepared to thank Eli and head back to the farm when the man said more.
“So what’s a cattleman doing buying wheat seed?”
“I work for a farmer in town.”
“Does he have a herd too?”
“Not unless you count the pigs and two milk cows.”
Eli laughed. “If you don’t mind my asking, do you like the work and pay he’s giving you?”
Dusty didn’t want to say anything negative about Mr. Charlton to a stranger. Farm work carried a different set of aches and pains than ranching, but it was still decent work. “I’d say it’s been good for the past couple years.”
Eli’s eyes were keen enough to see right through him. “You don’t sound convincing.”
He touched the blistered sunburn on the back of his neck. His back hurt from bending over a plow. “We’ve been real busy this week. It should get better once the crop’s sown.”
Eli nodded as if he still didn’t believe him. “I’m not a man out to take another’s employee, but if you’re interested in having a look at the ranch, it’s down the road going to Claywalk. Ask for me and I’ll be glad to give you a tour.”
“Thanks, Mr. Mabrey.”
Eli pushed one of the wheat bags into a position where it wouldn’t fall over. “I won’t take up the rest of your afternoon. Good day, Mr. Sterling.”
After Dusty had swept up the spilled wheat, he set off for the farm, his mind fixed on the rancher’s words. The prospect of working on a ranch again was tempting, but he couldn’t just up and leave the farm during the middle of sowing season. He berated himself for even letting the idea sink into his head. The Charltons needed him, and he couldn’t think of abandoning his chances of courting Sophie someday. All the longhorns, shorthorns, and remaining bovine in the world wouldn’t tear him away from that opportunity. Let her feign interest all she wanted to with that stuffed shirt Chad. One day she’d come to her senses. And he would be waiting.
You think she wants a man that works for her father? He heard a voice on the wind that zipped through the trees.
Dusty ignored it. Folks around these parts always said the devil was in the wind, taunting men and women alike with their worst fears. He supposed that was the locals’ way of explaining why there were more twisters than soft breezes. Well, Texas had its share of strong winds and twisters too. It’d take more than puffs of air to make him change course.
And the devil had a challenge if he thought to make Dusty leave Sophie alone.
As he reached the farm and saw Sophie and her mother greeting ladies at the front door for their weekly tea social, his mood lightened considerably.
Sophie spotted Dusty driving the wagon to the back of the house. She had a mind to make her apology to him today, as soon as the weekly tea social came to a close.
The ladies gathered in the sitting room. Rosemarie squirmed next to Sophie on the settee. Sophie stilled the girl’s restless hands while the guests,
an assortment of her mother’s friends from church and their sewing circle, talked.
“What beautiful draperies, Lucretia.” Mrs. Gillings, the town physician’s wife, admired the lacy white fabric hanging from the tall windows. “It makes your house look so airy.”
“Thank you, Anne. I had them sent from a textile house in England. Clara helped me.”
“You have excellent taste,” Clara Rheins demurred.
Sophie watched her mother beam from the compliments. Her father worked hard to have their beautiful house built, and her mother spent large amounts of time seeing that it was properly furnished and decorated. Having multiple rooms alone was a vast improvement from their humble dwelling in the Louisiana bayou.
“Sophie, your mother tells us that young Mr. Hooper came over for dinner a short time ago,” Linda’s mother, Freda Walsh, commented with a telltale smile. The other ladies tittered. “Do tell us more.”
Sophie helped herself to powdered sugar cookies being passed around on a silver tray. “We all enjoyed Chad’s company. Mother helped me prepare the egg custard.”
“We made a four-course meal that night.” Her mother sipped tea from a dainty floral cup before setting it back on a gold-rimmed matching saucer. “I think we can expect Chad to call upon Sophie again soon.”
“I should say,” Mrs. Gillings conspired. “He did spend a pretty penny on your basket, didn’t he, young lady?”
Sophie nodded. “Chad also said he would help me get school elections on the ballot so that we can vote.”
The effervescent mood of the tea party changed. Her mother cleared her throat. A cup clinking against a saucer sounded like a crashing cymbal.
Mrs. Walsh spoke first. “Is that really what you prefer to do for your cause, my dear? If you want to do something more suited for feminine tastes, Linda and I could help you sew quilts for the sick and shut-in.”
A Windswept Promise Page 5
