Pop cleared his throat. “Lord, we thank You for all You’ve blessed us with, this food and this ranch, and the work You’ve given us to do. Watch over us tonight, Lord. And bring the boys back safely. Amen.”
“Amen.” Livvy’s quiet agreement matched Whit’s exactly and she felt his eyes on her. Reaching for Pop’s plate, she filled it with steak and potatoes and set it before him. Fixing her attention on the knot in Whit’s gray neckerchief, she held her hand out, waiting for him to give her his plate. She waited until embarrassment forced her eyes to his face. He was staring at her without smirk or smile. Without anything. He handed her his plate and her heart plopped to her stomach as the potatoes hit the floral scene on Mama Ruth’s blue-and-white china.
If she didn’t eat, Pop would question her and she’d have to answer and what would she say? She spooned out a small helping of potatoes for herself. “Where are the boys, Pop?”
Baker looked to Whit, who picked up his fork and pinned an elbow on the table. “I sent them to the high park to cut out a gelding for Jody. He got himself lined out with a cow today that was bigger than that little mare he rides. I’m afraid he’s going to get himself hurt.”
Pop grunted and nodded his head as he herded sliced potatoes and steak around on his plate. “When was that?”
Whit set down his fork and reached for his coffee. “Late afternoon.” He took a sip. “I probably should have had him wait until tomorrow, given them all day to get up to the herd.”
“Do you think they’ll cut out for the railroad?”
Livvy’s fork stuck on her plate and she looked straight at Whit, who was staring at his food. “Before today I would have said no for certain. Now I’m prayin’ they don’t.”
Since when did Whit Hutton pray? Even if his father was a preacher.
“There’s a few wild head in with that herd, you know.”
“I know.” Whit frowned and stabbed his steak. “I should have gone with them.”
“You can should have yourself into the grave, son. Don’t do it. I do enough for both of us.”
Livvy’s heart squeezed at her grandfather’s confession and she blinked rapidly to keep from tearing up at the table. He insisted almost daily that if he’d ridden for the doctor sooner, Mama Ruth might still be alive.
Might. Only God knew the answer to that.
A clatter at the kitchen door jerked Livvy to her feet. The Perkins brothers charged in stomping and slapping and laughing, two young giants dusting themselves off in the kitchen rather than outside at the washstand.
“You march right back out and wash up.” Livvy straight-armed them both with a sharp turn of their shoulders and shoved them toward the door. Thank God, they weren’t dead, or dragging along at the end of their ropes over rocks and down washes in the wake of those running horses.
“And don’t you dare be stomping your dirty boots in this kitchen.”
She returned to the dining room, filled two plates and poured coffee before taking her seat. Whit’s stare burned her cheeks. She took a deep breath and met it with her own.
“Couldn’t you even ask them if they were all right?”
Anger curled her fingers in her lap and she jutted her chin. “They are all right or they wouldn’t be making such a ruckus. And they might as well learn now to clean up outside before they come in. We are not barbarians.”
“Do you even know what that word means?”
Pop coughed and held a napkin to his mouth.
Certain that she’d fall off her chair if she didn’t breathe, Livvy inhaled through her nose and held Whit’s glare. How dare he?
The back door opened again, and two quieter young men came through the kitchen and into the dining room. They nodded first at Livvy, then at Baker and Whit before taking their seats.
“This smells mighty good, Miss Olivia.” Jody plunged into his food and Buck kicked him under the table and jerked his head at the napkin beside Jody’s plate. The younger brother snatched it to his lap and cut a side glance at Livvy before returning to his meal.
Their antics drew everyone’s attention and Livvy couldn’t decide who had given in and looked away first: Whit or her.
“Did you find a mount?” Whit held his cup in both hands, both elbows on the table.
Livvy held her tongue.
“Sure did,” Buck said with his mouth full.
Livvy shook her head. The Perkins boys had no manners at all.
“A real nice black with a white blaze.”
“That’d be Shade.” Pop forked a piece of steak. “Good horse if you take the hump out of him every morning.”
Jody looked up with his mouth open and his fork poised in midair. “Huh?”
Whit quirked a half grin. “I’ll start him for you tomorrow and in a couple of days he’ll get used to you. Either that or you’ll get used to the ground.”
Pop grunted a near laugh and Livvy almost wanted to thank Whit for lightening the moment.
“What took you so long?” Whit set his empty cup in the saucer and glanced at Livvy, the dregs of good humor in his eyes.
She filled his cup and Pop’s, and went to the kitchen for the pie.
“Them horses can run,” Buck said between bites. “Took us all afternoon to cut the black out. Rode back in near dark and by the time we got him in the corral and watered it was well past.”
More grunts from Pop, and Livvy whispered a prayer of thanks. Those crazy Perkins brothers were worth her trouble if they could help keep her grandfather from grieving his life away. Pie server in hand, she paused before the doorway and peeked at Whit from the safety of the kitchen. Maybe she should cut him some slack, as she’d heard her grandfather say. Give him the chance he’d asked for today.
She picked up the pie and entered the dining room just as the back door flew open.
Chapter 4
“Please, can you help us?”
Whit leaped from his chair at the panicked request and almost trampled Livvy in his hurry.
Delores Overton stood against the night, struggling to hold up her near-grown son. Pale and unconscious, the youth sagged against her. On his left shoulder, a hoof-sized bloodstain oozed around a small hole in his shirt. Too small for a cow horn.
Whit took the boy.
“He’s been shot.” She began to sob and covered her face with her hands. Livvy hurried over and wrapped her arms around the woman.
“Bring me some chairs,” Whit hollered.
Pop shoved his chair through the dining room door and angled it beneath the limp body as Whit sat the boy in it.
Buck and Jody stood gaping, slack-jawed.
“Chairs,” Whit demanded.
Jumping at the clipped order, they delivered their chairs and stepped back as Baker and Whit stretched Tad Overton across the three seats. Livvy gave Delores a reassuring hug then gathered clean rags and towels. She poured warm kettle water into a crockery bowl and dipped a rag in it.
Delores swayed on her feet and Whit caught her. “Mr. Baker, please take Mrs. Overton to the dining room and have her sit down on the settee.”
After she left the room, Whit opened Tad’s shirt and peeled it off his left shoulder. Livvy applied the warm rag to his wound without hesitation. Her face showed only compassion and clear thinking. No panic, no revulsion.
Whit was not surprised.
“Someone needs to ride for the doctor,” Livvy said.
Buck stepped forward. “I will.”
“No.” Pop came back to the kitchen and everyone looked at him with the same question.
“We need to take him to the doctor. It will be faster.” Pop turned to the Perkins boys. “Buck, you harness Bess to the buckboard and fill the back with straw. Jody, take care of Mrs. Overton’s horse or wagon or whatever she’s got out there. Wh
it, take the quilt off my bed. You’ll find blankets in the chest by my door. We’ll make him as comfortable as possible for the trip.”
Whit hadn’t seen his boss come this alive since before Ruth died.
Livvy continued with the compresses. Whit laid a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
The look she gave him made him weak in the knees.
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “All that jostling is liable to make him bleed more.”
Baker stoked the cookstove, brought the coffeepot from the dining room and set it on the fire. “Hurry,” he said to Whit. “Delores and I will stay here.”
As Whit passed by, Pop grabbed his arm. “Take it as fast as you can. It’ll be a long ten miles.” He lowered his voice. “But I don’t think he can make it horseback across the open country.”
“We’ll make it,” Whit said, offering a promise he didn’t know if he could keep.
Tad moaned and Livvy smoothed back his tousled hair. Something in her manner stirred Whit. He turned away and hurried through the rambling house to the bedroom at the far end.
He recognized the log-cabin pattern in the quilt on Baker’s oak bed, thanks to his ma’s handiwork, and wasted no time stripping it off. Then he lifted the trunk lid and found extra blankets and other linen a woman kept on hand. He took three blankets, set the lid down and headed outside.
Buck and Jody were pitching straw in the back of the buckboard and Whit stretched two blankets across the top. “Wait out here and help me get him in the wagon.”
Delores had returned to the kitchen and sat on a stool pulled close to her son’s head. She stroked his brow and murmured low as Livvy finished knotting a strip around the boy’s shoulder.
“Looks like you’ve done this before.” Whit watched her, waited for her reply.
She picked up the remaining towels, stuffed them in a satchel and gathered her cloak from a peg by the door. “You could say that.”
He wanted to know more, but now was not the time.
Stooping to slip his arms beneath Tad, he lifted him and flinched as the boy’s head lobbed back. At least he felt no pain.
Whit stopped at the door and faced Delores. “How long ago did he come home?”
“Just after dark.” A sudden sob caught her breath and she held a hand to her mouth. “At first he wouldn’t tell me what happened, but I guessed it.” She looked into Whit’s eyes, searching for hope. “He was up at Texas Creek, on the railbed. The Santa Fe is paying three dollars a day to lay track. He said it was quicker money than waiting to sell our steers this fall.”
Her voice broke on the last word and she covered her face.
Pop swore under his breath, opened the door for Whit and stopped Livvy on her way out. “Keep your seat, because he’ll be runnin’ that horse. But you’ll be safe with Whit—I’d trust him with my life.”
Baker’s words tightened Whit’s throat as he lifted Tad to the Perkins boys, who each grabbed an end. He hopped into the wagon bed and tucked a blanket and the quilt tight around the boy. Then he held out his hand to Livvy as she climbed up the back wheel.
“Will you be warm enough with that light wrap?”
Her mouth curved in a gentle smile and she laid a hand on his arm. “I’ll be fine, Whit. You just give Bess what for and get us to Doc’s.”
He covered her hand with his and squeezed, then shoved his hat down tighter and stepped over the bench.
The Perkins boys stood like orphaned calves watching the herd leave them behind.
“No gathering till I get back,” Whit told them. “You can ride to the Overtons’ and check on things for the widow.” He slapped the reins and then pulled up and pegged Buck with a solemn stare.
“You’re in charge. If anything goes wrong while we’re gone, I’ll blame you.”
Even in the faint light from the kitchen window, he could see Buck’s face tighten.
“You can count on us.” The boy stretched to his full height, all sixteen years of it.
Whit looked over his shoulder to be certain Livvy was seated, and she offered him another gentle smile. He flicked the reins and Bess clopped forward.
* * *
Livvy pulled back the quilt’s top corner and blanket and checked Tad’s bandage. Not as much blood had seeped through as she’d expected. She tucked another folded rag beneath the toweling strip and pressed it in place.
“Hold on,” Whit yelled over his shoulder. At the barn, he turned onto the ranch road, slapped the reins, and hollered at Bess.
The wagon lurched ahead, nearly throwing Livvy on her back. She reached for the seat and pulled herself forward. Turning, she leaned against the low board behind the bench, still close to her patient with his head at her knees. Thank goodness the boy was unconscious.
And boy he was. Couldn’t be more than fifteen. She ran the back of her fingers across his downy cheeks, where no razor had ever traveled.
Moonlight full as near day spilled across Tad’s features as well as the countryside—the rimrock ledges and pastures and close hills, all colorless in the gray light but clear to the eye. A coyote yipped in the distance. Livvy shivered, and pulled her cloak tighter.
Whit had questioned her comfort—an uncharacteristically gallant thing for him to do since he’d spent most of their childhood time together making her miserable. And how quickly he’d responded tonight. Even her grandfather had sparked to life issuing orders and taking charge. Did personal regret push him to insist they take Tad into town rather than wait for the doctor?
The boy moaned and thrashed his legs.
She stroked his cheek, felt the fever. “Hush now,” she whispered close to his ear. “You rest and we’ll be at Doc Mason’s before you know it.” She should have searched her grandmother’s stores for laudanum, or even whiskey, but Tad’s unconscious state had pushed such ministrations from her mind. Doc Mason would soon take over, though even at this breakneck pace, soon wasn’t soon enough.
The wagon hit a hole and she bounced hard, falling across Tad. Ready to give Whit a piece of her mind, her ire vanished at the sight of his shirt stretched tight across his tense back and shoulders. He worked to keep them on the road and in one piece, but had not thought to bring himself a coat.
Livvy retucked the loosened quilt and settled herself against the board. “I’d trust him with my life,” Pop had said, his weathered face reflecting a need to reassure her.
Pop and Mama Ruth never had a son—only a daughter, her mother, Hannah. Other cattlemen had tried to buy Pop out over the years, but he’d held on through good markets and lean. Who was there to leave his spread to? Her mother? Growing up in these remote hills, she knew what to do. But her place was with Daddy, and he didn’t know the first thing about running a cattle ranch. Besides, he’d never leave his Denver pastorate, unless of course the Lord called him elsewhere.
A new doubt shivered through Livvy. What if God called Daddy to another church? The thought of leaving what had always been home clenched her stomach. She could never live anywhere else, except maybe...
She pushed the notion aside and touched Tad’s face again. Hot. Drawing back the quilt, she felt the heat in his shoulder, as well, and left a single blanket to cover him. She prayed he’d live to care for his widowed mother.
Pop had told Livvy about Delores Overton, how the woman’s husband had died from a fall shortly after homesteading beneath Eight Mile Mountain. She had refused to leave even though Pop had offered to buy out her 160-acre claim and her few cows. She was determined to make a go of her dead husband’s dream.
What choices would the widow have if she lost her only child?
Livvy tilted her head back and considered her own options if she found herself in a similar predicament. What would she do in such a place as Cañon City? And to whom would she turn?
Another boun
ce and she grabbed for the side rail. How much longer could Tad Overton take such a beating?
Thoughts of an unpredictable future pulled her into a shallow sleep, but soon a faster gait on a smoother surface awoke her. She straightened and looked around. They’d made the turn at the hogbacks and were on the west end of the road into Cañon City. Doc Mason’s place was ahead on the right.
Whit slowed Bess to a walk and soon stopped before a small two-story house with dark shutters and fenced yard. Livvy felt Tad’s forehead and looked up to see Whit watching her.
“I’m going to wake the doctor, then I’ll be back for the boy.”
Livvy nodded, amazed at the gentleness in Whit’s voice. “The boy” was not that much younger than she and Whit.
Loud and prolonged knocking garnered an eventual light in an upstairs window, and soon Whit was climbing into the wagon. Doc Mason lowered the back, his unshouldered galluses hanging from his trousers.
Whit knelt on Tad’s opposite side. “Grab the blanket beneath him and help me turn him sideways and drag him to the back.”
Livvy complied and they managed to lay Tad along the edge, where earlier in the day she had laid dinner. Whit jumped down. She hiked her skirts to climb down but stopped at the sight of Whit’s uplifted hands. Maybe it was the seriousness in his dark eyes that prompted her to lean over and place her hands on his shoulders as he encircled her waist and deftly set her on the ground. He held her eyes for a moment longer, then turned to cradle Tad in his arms and carry him through the front gate and into Doc Mason’s home.
Flustered by Whit’s conduct, she brushed the straw off her skirt, raised and locked the back rail, and checked to see if Whit had set the brake. Of course he had, and Bess’s reins lay loosely around the handle.
In the shadowy yard, she paused to let her hair down, recoil and pin it against her neck. Then she smoothed the sides and shook out her skirt. The front door stood ajar, and she pushed it farther open and stepped into what appeared to be a waiting area. Closing the door softly behind her, she took in the simple furnishings, obviously bachelor’s decor. No fine cabinet held crystal and china, no imported floral carpet covered the plank floor but instead a large braided rug, encircled by mismatched chairs hugging every wall. An empty fireplace yawned at one end and a small table and unlit lamp posed against the other.
Branding the Wrangler's Heart Page 3
