“Thank you, miss,” he said as they stopped in front of the barn. Once again, he dismounted easily, then moved to assist her.
When she felt his warm grip on her waist, she didn’t dare meet his gaze. She’d worn only a light corset and the minimum of petticoats. Though it was surely only her imagination, she suddenly felt as if she could feel his touch through the layers of her cotton gown.
The moment her feet touched the ground, he let go of her and cleared his throat. “Well, I’d best take care of Velvet now.”
“And Yellow?”
“I’m going to let him give me a tour of the ranch. I think it’s time I got the lay of the land.”
“Would you like me to go with you?” She was tired, but she was willing to sit in a saddle for hours if it would help the ranch.
“Maybe tomorrow. Today I think it’s best that I do a little bit of riding and familiarize myself with the area on my own, see what repairs and work need to be done. I think it will probably take me several hours.”
Since she’d already told him the boundaries—the creek and the barbed wire to the north and east and the largest pond and wooden fence on the south and west—Laurel knew he wouldn’t have any trouble staying on her property.
“Well then, I’ll make some food for you to take along and then prepare your room. When you get back, come into the kitchen around six for supper.”
“I’ll be back on time.” He paused. “Miss Laurel, do you have weapons? I had a rifle, but it was confiscated when I was arrested. I think it would be best if we were both armed. I don’t want to go out there without protection, and I don’t want to leave you here without it.”
Agreeing, she took him into the house, where her father’s and brother’s rifles were safely locked away. After assuring him she knew how to handle a rifle and giving him her father’s to load, he left the house to ready Yellow.
She noticed his gait seemed stiff and he seemed intent on keeping his back as ramrod straight as possible. With all the commotion of the calf on her doorstep, she’d forgotten about the lashes he’d received.
As she moved to the kitchen to pack some food, she promised herself to check on his wounds that evening.
14
HE’D BEEN AS GOOD AS HIS WORD.
Thomas had ridden out with Yellow as soon as she’d given him the food she prepared. When she saw him return close to five with a contemplative look on his face, she figured he’d had a good look at her property and now understood why she was willing to do almost anything to keep it.
When he entered the kitchen for supper, his hair was wet and he was wearing a fresh shirt, no doubt another gift from his captain.
She served him chicken stew and some more of the biscuits he’d liked so much. This time she said grace while he bowed his head in prayer.
Then they ate in relative silence.
After he cleared his plate and refused seconds, she finally asked him about his ride.
“Did you find your way around okay?”
“I did. At least, Yellow did.” Smiling softly, he said, “That horse could have ridden me around the perimeter without me giving him a lick of guidance.”
“Did you see anything?”
“I didn’t get to where you say the cattle are today, if that’s what you mean. But if you mean anything suspicious, nothing beyond a cleaned-up campground in the north pasture.”
“That was from the squatters. Did you see them anywhere?”
“No.” He seemed to contemplate the problem as he took a sip of water. Then he shrugged. “Could be they’ve moved on. That’s what most do—stay until they feel they’ve outlived their welcome.”
That explanation felt too pat, but Laurel supposed it had merit. “Maybe that is what happened.”
“When we ride together, you can let me know if you spot anything out of the ordinary. Do you know your neighbors well?”
“I do. The Pipps are to the north, and Landon Marshall is on the south.”
“Tell me about Landon Marshall. Is he a family man? Did he serve? Is he married?”
“He did serve, though I don’t recall the name of his unit. He’s about our age. He’s unmarried and lives with his mother and sister, Eva. His father is deceased.” She wondered whether she should share her recent conversation with Landon, then decided to go ahead and tell Thomas. “He wasn’t real pleased to learn I was going to be having you on the ranch.”
“Since he doesn’t know me, I bet he was worried.” He cocked an inquiring eyebrow. “Especially if the two of you are close. Are you?”
“Not exactly.”
“That sounds intriguing.”
“It’s not.”
Thomas examined her expression for a moment before nodding. “Perhaps he’ll feel better about my presence here when we meet.”
“Maybe so. But maybe we could keep the fact that you’re going to be in the house at night just between the two of us for now.”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “Yeah, I reckon that might not go over real well. Hopefully we’ll be able to keep it our secret.”
She hoped so too. However, that morning’s discovery had served to remind her that there was far more for her to worry about than shocking her neighbors.
“I hope so as well. At this moment, however, I might be too tired to care.”
For a moment he was quiet, contemplative.
“I meant what I said yesterday. I might have been in jail, but I certainly am not a man you ever need to fear.”
Gathering her courage, she looked him directly in the eye. “I’m not going to start looking for ways to judge you.”
“Point taken.” After draining the last of his water, he set the glass back on the table, then lifted his chin. “Though I’ve already said this, it might be worth saying again. I need you to know that I would never hurt a hair on your head. I’d rather cut my own arm off than see you hurt or harmed.”
It felt as if they were vowing to do so much more than set the foundation for a work relationship. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or more nervous. His words, together with the heartfelt, sincere way he was speaking, touched her more than she cared to admit, even to herself.
“I trust you, Sergeant. And I would never send you back to jail any more than I would go there myself.”
After staring at her for a moment, he blinked and smiled. “I guess we’ve made our vows then.” Chuckling softly, he said, “I’m thinking what we just promised is more than how most marriages start out.”
His statement was so disconcerting, she giggled. “Perhaps so, though I would like to think most marriages start with love.”
His gaze softened. “Listen to you.”
“What did I say? What is that look for?”
“Your talk of love.”
“Goodness. Surely you believe in love.”
“I believe it’s nice there are still people who want to believe in it,” he said lightly. “How about that?”
Feeling both happy to be talking about something as sweet as love and also strangely exposed, she said, “You don’t ever think about love?”
He looked down at his empty plate. “Actually . . . no. Not often. What with the war and all, I haven’t had much occasion to contemplate love and marriage, Miss Tracey.”
She knew she should let the conversation go. Thomas Baker was a man who had fought in many battles and suffered in a Yankee prison. No doubt he had been filled with anger and pain in many moments of his life.
But she’d also spied something in his eyes that was soft and warm. He was not all cold and battle-worn. That tenderness came from somewhere.
“Were your parents in love?” she asked.
And just like that, the pleasant spark that had filled his eyes vanished like the sun in a dust storm. He seemed to be at a loss for words before he quickly regained his composure. “I . . . well, yes, they were.”
Her instincts had been right. She never should have prodded. But now that she had brought up the
subject, she didn’t know how to retract it without making things worse.
“Mine were in love too.” She stared at him. “Mine are gone, of course. Do you still have either of them?”
“No. I haven’t had them in a very long time.”
“That’s so sad. Did they get the influenza? Or smallpox?”
“No.” Sounding almost as if he were being strangled, he added, “They, uh . . . they were killed when I was a child.”
She hadn’t expected that. “I’m so sorry. That had to have been horrible.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, almost like he was trying to think about that. “I suppose it was.”
The cold bluntness of his words made her feel even worse. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I want you to ask me anything you want. Though I am sorry it happened, growing up without parents probably saved my skin in the war.”
“How so?”
“After they died, I had no one. Because of that, I could fight with honor. Nothing held me back on the battlefield.”
“What did you do after they died?”
“I lived on the streets.” Not meeting her gaze, he looked just beyond her. “I learned to fight and scavenge and do whatever it took to survive.”
She gasped. “Oh, Thomas.”
“It wasn’t all bad. I got used to living with next to nothing. I even got used to being uncared for.” His chin lifted. “Amazing how a good dose of neglect can serve a man well.”
Tears pricked her eyes as she studied him. He was such a handsome man. With his dark hair, truly beautiful blue eyes, and exceptional smile, she imagined he had been a beautiful child. A beautiful child fending for himself. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His voice gentled. “As you can see, I’m just fine.”
His words said one thing, but his tone told a different story. As much as he protested, his lack of family did bother him. She took another sip of water and tried not to glance his way.
She wanted to point out the obvious. He had just come out of jail and had welts on his back that still obviously pained him. But if he was going to pretend, she supposed she could too.
She took another sip of water and tried to think of something else to say. But he beat her to it.
“I’m hoping your childhood was much different. You said your parents loved each other?”
She nodded. “They loved each other and were happy with each other too. I had an idyllic childhood. I spent most of it either following my older brother around the ranch or helping my parents. We were happy.” She sighed. “You know the rest. The war started, and Anderson and my father rode off to fight.”
“Leaving you and your mother to fend for yourselves.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t so bad, not at first. Like everyone else, my mother was sure the war would be over in a few weeks and then everything could go back to how it used to be. She kept my spirits up.”
“I remember thinking that way too. But the war dragged on.”
Feeling the dark memories return, she nodded. “First Anderson died, then less than a month later, we got word that my father had too. Mother and I were devastated.”
“Of course you were.”
Whenever Thomas said things like that, her estimation of him rose. Now that she knew how terrible his childhood had been, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had no compassion for her loss. But instead of making light of it, he looked nothing but compassionate.
After smiling at him softly, she said, “About a year later, Mother met Wayne Vance, who was a truly kind man.”
“He was Jerome and Bess’s father?”
She nodded. “Wayne had some money. After his wife died, he’d felt unable to care for them well. He sent Jerome and Bess off to a fancy boarding school. They spent most of their lives away from home, learning all sorts of things and being attended to. Neither of them was much touched by the war.”
“I didn’t know that was possible.”
She shrugged. “I feel sorry for them, in some ways. They have little in common with most everyone. They weren’t even that close to their father, on account of him sending them off for so long. His death didn’t faze them too much.”
“Didn’t he leave them anything?”
“He did. But not a lot. He left most of his wealth to charity. Then, of course, his Confederate notes became worthless. And I think . . . well, I think his good intentions came back to haunt him. He didn’t like how Jerome and Bess turned out. Though he left them property so they would have a place to live, he didn’t leave them much for expenses. I believe he thought that would force them to work and become more humble.”
“No offense, but I don’t think that worked too good.”
She chuckled. “It didn’t. They sold the house and land he left them and spent their money like water in New Orleans and Mississippi. They arrived here with a whole lot of clothes but little of real worth. They seemed to assume I’d take care of them next.”
“Did their father not leave you anything?”
“Not money, no. But he made sure this ranch would go to me. So in that sense he gave me everything.”
He thought about the beautiful house, the barn, the land. “I think you might be right.”
“If I can get this ranch back on its feet, I believe I will make my mother, father, and even my stepfather proud. I’d like to honor their legacy.”
“I’ll do my best to help you make that happen.”
She smiled. “Thank you. If that does happen, I’ll feel like I can breathe again. Maybe actually begin living.”
“That’s a good goal, then. A woman like you should be living as much as she can.”
“A woman like me?”
“Are you fishing for compliments, Miss Laurel? If so, I’ll be glad to hand them to you, though they probably won’t sound all that good, seeing as they’re coming from a criminal.”
She laughed. There was no way she was going to focus on her looks again. Not after Jerome’s hurtful comments.
Instead, she ached to tease him a bit. To remind him that he was about to do his fair share of living now too. After all, living on a ranch had to be much better than living in jail.
Especially when he was getting whipped there.
“Oh my goodness! I was going to help you with your back.”
He stared at her, his expression alarmed. “There’s no need for that.”
“Oh, yes there is. I noticed you favoring it today. I think I need to check on your wounds.”
He stood up, pushed in his chair, and then stood stiffly behind it, almost as if he was hoping the chair and table between them would keep her from him. “Checking my wounds means taking off my shirt.”
Surely he didn’t think she was that delicate? “I realize that, Sergeant.”
His throat worked. “Since we’re going to be doing our best to keep some distance from each other, I don’t think me taking off my clothes would be the best idea.”
She knew he was right. It was going to be scandalous enough with him sleeping in Jerome’s room. She didn’t need to make matters worse by looking at him when he was half-clothed or touching his bare back. She’d already experienced some of that after her scare with the dead calf.
But it would be even more shameful to leave his wounds untreated.
“Sergeant Baker, I’m not merely trying to be kind. If your wounds fester, you could get blood poisoning. You could die.”
“And if I passed on, then you’d be out of both your money and one new worker.”
She winced. “Please don’t even joke about such things.”
“Never, miss.”
Yet again, that drawl of his sent a little shiver down her spine. Feeling rattled by the curious response she had to him, Laurel jumped to her feet. “Let’s get this over with. Clear off the table and I’ll heat up some water to clean your wounds.”
He didn’t move. “Miss Tracey, I’m still not sure about this.”
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“You don’t have to be. I’m sure,” she said as she put the kettle on. “I heated water for supper, so it shouldn’t take long to heat up again.”
“You know, after we ride out together tomorrow, I plan to start mending some of the fencing I saw today.”
“I’ll appreciate that. Clear the table, if you please.”
He picked up his supper dish. “The reason I’m telling you this is so you understand that whatever good you do on my back might get undone tomorrow. That’s a consideration, I think.”
Scraping out the remainder of food from a bowl into a compost bin, she raised her eyebrows. “If you fear that you’ll undo all my efforts, it’s fortunate that we will both be here again tomorrow evening.”
Grudgingly, he walked back to the table, retrieved a serving platter, and carried it over to her. “You aren’t seeing the point.”
“Oh, I see it,” she said. “I know accepting a woman’s assistance must pain you, but it can’t be helped.”
“It ain’t that. I’m trying to think of what’s best for you.”
She didn’t want to hear another word about what was right and what was wrong. “I know you don’t want or need my help, but I think it would be best if you allowed me to assist you. Let’s not waste another second on this conversation.”
“Yes, miss.”
But of course he sounded as skeptical as she did. Actually, he sounded as if he were on his way to another punishment.
As the kettle whistled and she began tearing a clean muslin dishcloth into strips, Laurel said a hasty prayer. Her hands were shaking, her stomach was in knots, and she wasn’t at all sure she was going to be able to sound as calm and collected as she needed to be when she was examining his bare skin.
“Help me, Lord,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve been here for me many, many times in my life. Although it might not seem like I need you now, I really and truly do. So help me do my best, would you please?”
It wasn’t a good prayer. It was actually kind of frantic and selfish sounding. But still she hoped for an answer.
Half holding her breath, she waited for a response. But no matter how hard she strained her ears, she heard no clatter of thunder or angelic voice.
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