“Really it’s just a curio shop next door to the saloon, but some people have recently been referring to Winton’s collection as a museum. Two years ago he had an absolutely marvelous display there of fossils uncovered at the Finch ranch dig.”
Livvy frowned. “A dig?”
“Yes, a paleontological dig.” Marti’s voice assumed a dignified tone as she enunciated the foreign-sounding word. “Our school superintendent has been excavating near Garden Park for quite some time and has uncovered the most amazing dinosaur bones.”
Livvy’s newspaper hat lining came to mind.
“Two years ago they hauled off five wagonloads of fossils all believed to come from the same animal. Can you imagine anything so large?”
Livvy caught the glow on Marti’s face as the girl shuffled through her notes.
“Where did the wagons go?”
Marti paused in her rearranging and looked at Livvy in apparent surprise. “Why, to the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia, of course.”
Of course.
Marti spit out a most unladylike huff. “Papa wants me to go to school to be a teacher, but I want to be a paleontologist. It sounds ever so much more exciting.”
“Well, at least those animals would have no blood or feathers to contend with.”
The girl sucked in a quick breath and burst out in that hearty Hutton laughter. “Oh, Livvy, you are so right!”
The back door opened and Annie stuck her head inside. “I need your help with the feathers, Marti. Bring a bowl we can drop them in to wash later.”
If Marti had been a balloon she could not have deflated any quicker or more completely. Casting a remorseful eye at Livvy, she rose and took a bowl from the sideboard with all the excitement of a funeral procession. “Coming, Mother.”
Livvy adjusted the damper and set the potatoes on to cook. Martha’s parents wanted her to be a schoolteacher. Livvy’s wanted her to be a nurse. Did the Huttons want Whit to be a preacher like his father, or a storekeeper like his grandfather?
She let out a heavy sigh. No one asked them what they wanted to do with their lives.
With the eggs and potatoes cooking, Livvy dried her hands on a towel and poured herself more tea. At the table she added a heaping spoon of sugar from the double-handled bowl. Tarnished by daily use, the old silver relic boasted a dull patina rather than a shiny polished exterior. A well-used dinosaur.
Livvy assuaged her guilt at not volunteering to pluck feathers by setting the table for four and hunting down a jar of pickled cucumbers to cut into the potato salad. When Marti returned from her most dreaded chore, she washed her hands and arms at the sink and splashed water on her face.
“Would you like to go with me to the mercantile for supplies?” Livvy said. “We could even stop by the curio shop and you could show me Mr. Winton’s bones.”
The girl perked up immediately and yanked off her apron. “They’re not Mr. Winton’s bones. He’s not even dead yet.”
Livvy laughed. “Oh, Marti, where did you get your delightful sense of humor?” She set her half-finished tea on the counter and picked up her bonnet.
Marti ran upstairs and back down before Livvy made it out to the porch.
“I’m running errands with Livvy, Mama. Any messages for Grandma and Grandpa?”
Livvy watched Annie’s face for disapproval of her daughter’s quick escape but instead found the usual sparkle in her eyes. “Yes. Tell them I love them and to come for supper tomorrow.”
Marti bounded into the wagon seat.
Annie’s head wagged again. She dangled a quite naked and headless bird in one hand and pushed graying strays from her temple with the other. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with that child.” She gave Livvy an encouraging look. “Maybe your housekeeping and cooking sense will rub off on her. I daresay mine hasn’t made much impact.”
Livvy climbed up next to the girl, and with a parting wave, turned Bess down the short lane to Main Street.
Even her parents’ home wasn’t so close to the markets. But Denver was so much larger than Cañon City. A body couldn’t live this close to downtown unless they took a room above a storefront or moved into a rooming house. Livvy shuddered. Living that close to so many people and so much noise? How could she ever?
Visions of purple columbines bobbed into her thoughts, whispering their secrets in the cool aspen shade. The palm of her hand warmed around Bess’s reins and Livvy tried to measure which was softer—the mountain flower’s delicate petals or a certain cowboy’s kiss.
“You passed the mercantile.”
Marti’s voice jerked Livvy from her high meadow and back to Cañon City. “Yes.” Daydreaming could land them at the opposite end of town. “We will come back after the museum.”
“Oh, good.” The girl straightened and pointed ahead on the right. “Just ahead in the next block, this side of the saloon.”
Wonderful. Livvy was escorting the preacher’s daughter into the neighborhood of the saloon. Lord, help them.
Chapter 15
Whit’s imposed day of rest for everyone nearly drove him crazy. Without something to do he’d be loco by noon, and cutting hay wasn’t his idea of a good distraction.
Two colts waited in the near pasture. He could run them into the corral at the barn and start working with them. His gut told him that wasn’t a good idea, either, not with the way his thoughts kept wandering off after Livvy and the buckboard.
But he’d for certain lose his mind soaping saddles, mending tack or helping Buck repair the garden fence. He watched the boy wrestle with the newfangled barbed wire that Baker wanted strung in a double row above the top rail. It sure enough lived up to its name—the devil’s rope—with those spiny points laced into the wire.
Whit hunted for Baker and found him in the barn resetting a shoe on Ranger. As Whit walked up, his boss let the horse’s back left hoof slide off his leather apron and stood straight. Stooping over didn’t seem to bother the man as long as he didn’t have to bend his right leg.
“I’m riding up to Overton’s, see if she needs help with her chores.”
Baker dropped his hammer in a small wooden box, unbuckled the apron and hung it on a nail. “Tell her we’ll come brand her calves in the next few days. See if she has irons. If not, I’m sure Buck can work out her brand with the rings.”
Whit nodded and turned on his heel, not interested in conversation or in explaining his jittery condition to the steely-eyed Baker. He saddled Oro, swung up and struck out for the widow’s, six miles west as the creek ran.
And the creek was more than runnin’. The usually clear stream gushed across the meadow. Muddy with mountain storm water, it swamped its banks like syrup on hotcakes. Oro pranced across, tucking his chin and twitching his ears at the chattering late-spring runoff. Yesterday’s storm had hurried the high-country snowmelt and most likely set the Arkansas to churning.
Not any more than Whit’s gut. That little catch in Livvy’s breath when he kissed her hand had spurred his heartbeat as sure as any Mexican rowel set a bronc to twisting. And she’d not jerked away. From the look on her face, she’d liked it. But that didn’t solve his problem of getting her father’s blessing and having something to show for his own worth.
He should have bought those cows when he was thinking about it instead of chewing on the matter. Three, four head even. Anything was better than nothing.
Whit rode over a draw in the near hills and paused to look down on the Overton place. The woman still lived in the tent her husband had put up. An unfinished cabin slouched next to it. Another winter like the last one and she and her no-account son might freeze to death.
Whit took the trail down in plain view of the camp and waved his hat over his head, hoping the widow would see the movement if she didn’t hear him coming. He didn’t need a
startled woman peppering him and his horse with buckshot or bullets.
She stooped over a campfire tripod stirring something in an iron kettle. Supper, he supposed. Beans and a little pork wafted toward him. She set the spoon aside, returned the lid and straightened. As he reined up next to the half-built cabin, Whit could easily see the worry lines that creased a face too young to look that old.
Would that happen to Livvy if she married him?
The thought cut him like a barb on Buck’s new garden wire.
The widow pushed hair off her face with the back of her hand. “Good morning, Whit. What brings you over?”
He stepped off Oro and ground tied him, then he took his hat off and walked to the fire. “Mornin’, ma’am.”
She handed him a tin cup of strong-smelling coffee. He nodded his thanks and sat on an upturned stump. She took a stump opposite with the tripod between them and cradled a similar cup. Even from a distance her hands revealed the rough cracked skin of hard work.
“I’ve come to see if you need any help with your chores.” He glanced around for some sign of what needed to be done.
The woman looked over her shoulder at the tent then returned her attention to Whit. “We’re doing all right. Tad’s been getting stronger every day, but he’s resting now. Takes it out of him in the mornings.”
The tent flap pulled back and the boy stepped out, his arm in a sling and his hair dirty and wild like a mountain man’s. Gaunt and weary, he lowered himself onto a stump and his mother handed him her coffee.
Surprised to see Tad back so soon, a knot yanked into Whit’s gut. The odds were against these two. Sure, he and Buck could finish the Overtons’ cabin before winter, but would the widow and her boy get enough food stored up? Did they have warm clothes and enough ammunition to keep varmints away?
Did they have any money for supplies?
An old buckboard sat behind the tent and two horses grazed a ways off.
“We’re makin’ out.” The boy’s defiant tone made Whit think otherwise.
“How many head do you have?” Whit swirled the thick coffee, watched it lap around the inside of the cup rather than catch the boy’s eye and get his back up.
“Twenty,” the widow said. “Twenty cows. At least that’s how many my husband bought.” She looked down at her hands and the hair fell back across her tired eyes.
“You be interested in selling them?” Whit spooked himself with the question, wondering how it had fallen out of his mouth without so much as a serious consideration.
Mother and son exchanged a look and she sat a little straighter, pushed her hair back again.
“You offering?” the boy asked.
Was he? Baker had tried to buy her out in early spring, but she’d refused. Had loneliness, backbreaking work and the boy’s stupidity changed her mind? Whit made an offer—every last dollar he had in his bedroll.
The boy looked at his mother and she jerked a nod.
“Done.” Tad rose and walked to Whit and stuck his left hand out in a backward handshake. “They’re yours.”
Whit stood and took the boy’s hand but kept his eyes on Mrs. Overton. The cattle were more hers than her son’s. The transaction was hers to make.
She looked at Whit. “You can have the land, too, for another hundred.”
Whit didn’t have another hundred and wasn’t sure he wanted the place. Things were getting outta hand. Helping with the Overtons’ chores was a lot different than buying the whole kit and caboodle.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Again his gut knotted. See what he could do? He’d already done too much.
She sighed and a few worry lines slipped off her face. Whit looked again to make certain, and sure enough, she seemed ten years younger already. She almost smiled.
“We can be out tomorrow. Can you get the money by then?”
She didn’t beat around the bush any more than Livvy.
“There’s no hurry, ma’am. You can take your time. I might not be able to get back over here tomorrow.”
Her shoulders slumped and she shrank before his eyes. Tad coughed and wiped his mouth on his dirty sleeve. “Doc Mason told me he needed a nurse, or someone who could help him with his patients. I told him Ma here was right good with fixin’ people and he said he’d think on it. We could sure use that job ’fore somebody beats us to it.”
We? Us? Whit wanted to thrash the boy. “What will you be doing while your ma’s working for the doctor? Taking potshots at the railroad crew?”
Whit’s conscience barely nipped him as a scowl curled Tad’s brow into a dark snake. With a bold stare, Whit dared the boy to make something of the remark. He’d gladly give him the lickin’ he needed.
“We’ll be ready when you come with the money.” Mrs. Overton stood and Whit heard goodbye in the movement. He handed her his coffee cup and put on his hat. But Tad wasn’t finished.
“I ain’t the only one worked on the rail lines.” He smirked as if his information was valuable. Whit took the bait.
“Is that right? Someone from around here?” Suddenly Jody galloped through his thoughts.
“You missin’ a hand over at Baker’s spread?”
Whit took a step toward the boy. “You know something you should be tellin’ me?”
The smirk held but Tad moved behind the stump. “Jody Perkins rode through here three days ago, first day I was back. Said he was gonna lay rail.”
“Hush, Tad. You don’t know if he really went to work for the railroad. He could have been full of bluster.”
Tad snorted and hung the thumb on his good hand in his waist. “He’s there. Makin’ three dollars a day at it. A whole lot better’n punchin’ cows.”
Whit wanted to wipe the sneer off the boy’s face but he figured he’d have a she-bear on his back if he tried it. He shoved his hat down hard and looked at Mrs. Overton. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
* * *
Curious, indeed. Livvy looked at the sign above the store as they left: Winton’s Curiosity Shop. She had read about prehistoric creatures once roaming the earth, had even seen drawings of their massive bones the size of a man. But to see one right before her eyes was an experience she’d never dreamed of. In a small way, she understood Marti’s fascination with the unusual and her rejection of the mundane.
Not that teaching children was mundane. It was honorable work for any woman. But studying fossils and discovering secrets of the past offered the mystique of the unknown.
She drove Bess around the corner, two blocks east and back to Main Street, where they stopped at the rail before Whitaker’s Mercantile. Marti jumped down with a young boy’s enthusiasm rather than a lady’s grace and restraint. No wonder Annie Hutton had fits over her daughter.
The girl dashed through the door, setting the bell to singing as she raised her own melodic “Hel-lo-oh.”
Livvy set the brake, looped the reins and followed Marti through the open door. The smells swept her back to childhood days of visiting her grandparents and stopping here for a sweet. And Mr. Whitaker looked the same, with his snowy hair and mustache and rosy Father Christmas cheeks. Marti greeted him with a kiss and a hug, then hurried to the back, where her grandmother Martha ground fresh coffee beans. Arbuckle’s, Livvy guessed from the rich aroma. Mentally she added several pounds to her list.
Livvy held her hand out to Mr. Whitaker. “Good day, sir. How nice to see you again after so long.”
He smothered her hand in both of his and cocked one white brow. “It’s Daniel to you, young lady. Why, you’re nearly kin, you know.”
Feeling as much, she warmed in his welcome. “I feel the same, Daniel. Thank you.” Withdrawing her hand, she turned to survey the goods and stopped at the sight of the bright flag that hung on the store’s back wall—new since her last visit. Thirty-eight white stars gleamed
against a deep blue field, flanked on the right and below by white and red stripes.
“Is this the first time you’ve been down since Colorado joined the union?” he said.
Livvy tallied the years. “The first time I’ve been in the mercantile. The last time we came was for Mama Ruth’s services. We didn’t stop in then.”
A sudden sadness flickered in the man’s eyes. “So sorry to lose her, dear. So sorry.”
He patted his ample stomach and came around the counter. “Well, now, you must be here for supplies. I understand you are helping your grandfather Baker at the ranch.”
“Yes.” She reached in her skirt pocket for the list.
“Did Whit ride in with you?”
Against Livvy’s deepest wishes, warmth raced up her neck and into her face. She turned away, suddenly interested in the nesting salt boxes against the opposite wall. “Not this time. He had too much work.” She bit her mouth at the near lie, trying to assure herself it was partially true.
A deep chuckle rumbled in the man’s chest and she suspected Daniel Whitaker saw through most of his customers’ defenses. “I was hoping the boy would take over the store for Martha and me, but he’s set on cowboying.”
Daniel laughed. “His father was the same way. He wasn’t always a preacher, you know.”
Livvy did not know. That story had not made it to the dinner table. “No, I have not heard about Pastor Hutton’s younger days.” She faced the storekeeper, hoping to learn more.
Instead, Daniel held out his hand for her list.
“I will also have five pounds of that wonderful Arbuckle’s I smell cooking,” she said.
“I married a mighty smart woman.” He glanced at Martha and her namesake, their heads bent together over some intriguing topic. “We’ve sold more coffee since she keeps it going all day instead of only in the morning. People can’t resist the smell.”
Within an hour, Livvy had her flour and sugar, coffee and toweling, and a few other things not on her list that she knew her grandfather wouldn’t mind. Daniel had the wagon loaded, and she stood at the counter as he wrote out her ticket.
Branding the Wrangler's Heart Page 12
