“Yes’m. Me ’n’ my pa hunt turkeys and rabbits. Arrows don’t scare off the rest of the game like a rifle.”
“I wouldn’t have thought of that. But then I’ve never hunted. Do you cook the game you catch?”
“Had possum stew last night,” he replied. “I caught the possum.”
“I like turkey, but I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten a possum. Is it good?”
“One of our favorites.” He withdrew another arrow and swiftly anchored it in the shoulder of the burlap rabbit. “That wasn’t a good shot. Just wounded the critter and that’s not kind.”
“I see. Has it taken you an awfully long time to learn to do that?”
“Yes’m. Got a little bow when I was four.”
“Do you think you could show me how?”
Daniel glanced around, as though wondering if his father would object, then locked his dark gaze on her. “Why do you want me to show you?”
“I don’t know. I’d just like to see if I can do it.”
“You might be too big for this bow, but I’ll show you.” He instructed her how to stand, showed her how to hold the bow with her hand on the section of polished horn, then how to lock the arrow into place and stretch the bow taut. He stepped back and encouraged her to do it just the way he had.
She did her best imitation, but the string slapped her arm and the arrow fell at her feet.
Daniel laughed, and though she was sorry she hadn’t been more accomplished, she was pleased her clumsiness had amused him.
She picked it up and tried again. After five minutes, she actually got it to land a few feet in front of the stuffed squirrel.
“I didn’t know where you’d gone off to.”
Charmaine turned toward Jack’s voice. He strode from the corner of the barn to join them in the practice area.
“Daniel was showing me his skills with his bow and arrow. I’m afraid I would need a lot more practice to actually hit one of the targets.” She handed Daniel his bow and curled and uncurled her sore fingers, then rubbed the inside of her stinging forearm. “His bow is strong and flexible. It’s an ingenious creation.”
“The deer tendons make it like that,” Jack replied.
“Oh.” She didn’t want to think about where deer tendons came from or how they’d acquired them. “His quiver is beautiful. Wherever did you buy it?”
“Daniel’s aunt made it for him.”
“It’s amazing work. She’s talented.” She thought a minute. “You made the bow yourself?”
“I did.”
He had done things with deer tendons. Unconsciously, she brushed her palms together. “Thank you for the lesson, Daniel.”
“Yes’m.”
“I didn’t mean to shun the work effort, Mr. Easton. I’ll paint now. How is our little school coming along?”
“We’ll put a roof on sometime during the week.”
She headed around the side of the barn and he followed. “Do we have roofing?”
“I have a stack of wooden shingles in my lean-to.”
“How generous of you.”
“They’re pieces mostly, nothing fancy, but we can make do.”
Glenda had the paint stirred and Charmaine hurried to climb onto the wagon and help her brush the first coat onto their now-sided structure. Someone had drawn on the windows with charcoal, and those would be painted black with white trim for the sills and sashes.
“Isn’t this just the cutest thing you ever saw?” Charmaine asked, as they stroked red paint on the wood.
“We’re sure to win,” Glenda replied. “No one has ever done anything this clever.”
The men took a break in the shade of two interlocking oak trees, where Jack had fashioned benches and a table from thickly sliced tree trunks. Tim sprawled on the ground, his face covered by his hat.
From beside her, Glenda commented, “Jack has a nice place here, doesn’t he?”
Charmaine glanced around. The house was small and had seen a good many seasons, but the exterior was well cared for with fresh whitewash and clean windows. The barns and stables were more numerous than her father’s, but equally as neat and sturdy-looking.
“His workshop is in that barn down there,” Glenda said. “The boys and I rode out with Tom once when he was buying harnesses.”
“There’s no garden,” Charmaine noted.
“Probably wasn’t here in time for spring planting, and it looks like he has a lot to do, what with the house and the shop and no mother for Daniel.”
“He’s a charming boy.”
“Talk is he’s part Indian,” Glenda told her.
Charmaine glanced at Daniel, once again standing off to the side watching the other children. Of course. Straight black hair and an aunt who did bead work. Jack’s wife had been an Indian. How much of his standoffishness was self-imposed and how much was a result of being ostracized? “He doesn’t join the others. Do the other children treat him any differently?”
“Not that I’ve seen. Children learn from their parents, though. I’ve asked the boys to include him. He seems untrusting, doesn’t he?”
Like his father.
Charmaine’s gaze drifted back to the men. Jack was sitting with his back against the trunk of a tree, his hat on the grass beside him, looking directly at her. His intense study made her skin warm.
“Handsome father and son,” Glenda said.
Charmaine turned to find the woman watching her. She busied herself with her paintbrush. “I suppose so.”
“Wayne might be jealous if he saw the way that man was looking at you just now.”
Charmaine’s cheeks warmed at Glenda’s teasing. “He was watching us paint.”
“I don’t think so. His attention was on you. Has been most of the morning—except when you disappeared, and then he kept glancing around for you.”
“Nonsense, I’m sure he was looking for his son.”
“Uh-huh.”
Charmaine reached over and dabbed a red dot on the back of Glenda’s hand, then went back to her work.
A moment later, the other woman’s brush entered her vision and the bristles touched the tip of her nose.
Surprised, Charmaine jerked her gaze up.
Glenda chortled with laughter, and Charmaine found a rag to wipe away the paint.
“You’d skin our boys for doing that,” Tom said, jumping up on the wagon, a grin on his lips.
“That’s why they’re not helping with this part,” his wife replied.
He leaned over her, and their noses almost touched. Charmaine looked away in embarrassment. Unfortunately, she looked right at Jack, who was once again watching her, and she felt warmth climb her neck and cheeks.
She resumed her task, and the men went back to work, eventually gathering the scraps and cleaning their work area. Their little schoolhouse still needed the windows painted, a roof and a bell. They’d discussed setting a few small bushes and flowers in buckets around the outside to give the completed project an outdoor look.
One by one the committee members headed for home and chores, until only Charmaine was left.
“We’ll see you home,” Jack told her.
She’d neglected to ask one of the other families to tie her horses to their wagon and give her a ride, like she’d intended.
Jack offered her a rag dampened with turpentine to remove paint from her hands. She worked at it the best she could while he brought his wagon around and tied her father’s horses to the rear.
She handed him the rag.
“You still have some on your nose.”
She chuckled. “That’s Glenda’s doing.”
“Stand still.”
She obeyed while he held her chin with one hand and dabbed at her nose with the other. The smell made her light-headed, and she blinked up into his mysterious dark eyes.
“There,” he said, releasing her. “There’s soap and clean water on the back porch.”
Her chin tingled from his touch. She rolled back her sleeves as she appr
oached the house. The back door stood open, with no screen door, and she glanced into the simply furnished kitchen. Feeling nosy, she looked away and washed her hands and face, then made her way out to the yard while Jack washed.
Daniel joined them, taking a seat in the back of the wagon.
“You may sit with us, if you like,” she offered, climbing unassisted up to the bench seat and thinking to place the boy between herself and his father, but Daniel silently declined.
Jack climbed up and took the reins.
“I’m pleased with our progress today,” she said. “Glenda and I think we’re sure to win the contest. Our float is entirely original.”
He glanced at her, then watched the road.
“What was your wife’s name?” She wanted to bite her tongue for asking that, but she’d been curious ever since Glenda had mentioned her.
He didn’t look at her for long uncomfortable moments, and she was just forming an apology when he replied, “Silver Moon.”
“That’s beautiful. She was an Indian?”
He looked straight at her then as though gauging the sincerity of her question and whether or not he wanted to answer. “My son’s mother was half Cheyenne.”
“I’ve never lost anyone except my grandparents. My grandma lived with us when I was little.” Charmaine gazed out across the expanse of a meadow dressed in spring wildflowers. “Annie lost a baby once. That was a sad time. She blamed herself and didn’t think she was a good wife to Luke. But that man adores her, plain and simple. They met when we were just girls, Annie and I. Her parents and brother didn’t approve of him, though, and years later, they had to see each other secretly. It was all incredibly romantic.”
She was blathering now. The last time they’d been together she’d been at a loss for words and this time she was blurting anything that entered her head.
She wished she didn’t feel obligated to him for a ride home. “Why don’t the two of you stay for dinner?”
This time he didn’t look at her. Daniel scrambled to stand behind them, holding the back of the seat for balance and seemed to be waiting for his father’s reply.
“Please,” Charmaine coaxed. “My mother would love the company, and we always have plenty. My father enjoys having another man at the table.”
“I have chores to get back to.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Daniel’s hopeful expression. “I should have helped you,” she told Jack. “I don’t want this project to set you back. But you have to eat. This way you won’t have to take time to cook.”
They were driving alongside her father’s fields, where corn and hay sprouted from acre-long rows in healthy green shoots.
He changed the subject. “Does your father have hired hands?”
“The farmers take turns helping each other with planting and harvesting, and he hires on older boys during busy seasons. Perhaps one day Daniel will hire himself out.”
“We don’t know much about farming.”
“I noticed you didn’t have a garden.”
“Didn’t have time.”
“You could still have a late crop.”
They reached the Renlow spread, and Jack pulled his wagon up before the barns.
Mort had heard their approach and sauntered out to greet them.
Jack jumped down and untied the pair of horses from the rear of his wagon.
“Daddy, this is Jack Easton.”
Jack took a few steps forward to shake the older man’s hand.
“I invited Jack and Daniel to stay for supper,” she added.
Jack looked up at her, then glanced at Daniel, who scrambled down to the ground.
“The missus put on a roast earlier,” Mort said, taking one horse’s lead while Jack held the other. “I’ve been smelling it for hours.”
Daniel sidled up beside his father and took his hand. Charmaine noticed the beseeching look he raised, and the way Jack’s expression softened.
“Thank you kindly. We’d enjoy sharing your supper.”
Charmaine hopped down and headed for the house. She had to change out of these old clothes and wash up. “I’m going to go help put the meal on.”
“Mama?” she called, sailing in the door while removing her hat. “We’re having company for supper. I’ll be back down to help in a minute!”
“The Easton fellow?” her mother called on her return from the pantry.
“That’s him. They’re putting the horses away.” Charmaine dipped warm water from the back well of the stove and carried the pitcher up the stairs to her room. She couldn’t explain the tremor of excitement in her voice—nor did she want to.
Chapter Five
The walls were covered with rosebud paper, her furniture painted white and lacy curtains hung at two wide windows. It was a frilly feminine space. Charmaine and her mother had sewn the curtains, pillows and coverlet when she’d been quite young, then she’d inherited part of the furnishings from Annie when Annie’d moved away from her parents’ home.
After pouring water into the basin on her washstand, she shrugged out of her dress and chemise and washed quickly.
Her face needed a good scrubbing and her nose was still red, whether from paint or irritation she didn’t know. Opening a jar, she smoothed glycerin on her face and hands. She brushed out her hair, which had wilted, and settled for an upsweep with unsatisfactory curls before pulling on a fresh gown and powdering her nose.
Ten minutes later, she was wearing an apron over her dress and peeling extra potatoes.
Her mother inquired about the float, and she chattered until the hinges on the mudroom door squeaked.
The sound of the men washing and talking in low voices created a stab of nerves in her belly, though she couldn’t imagine what she had to be nervous about. They’d had company to supper a hundred times.
“Mama, this is Mr. Easton and his son, Daniel. Mr. Easton, my mother.”
He’d already removed his hat, so Jack nodded politely. “Ma’am.”
Daniel copied his father.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Vera said with a broad smile. “Please take seats. We’re not fancy on Saturday evenings. We eat in the kitchen.”
“Supper smells first rate, ma’am.”
“Just simple fare, roast and potatoes,” she replied.
Once everyone was seated, the family lowered their heads and Mort, seated at the head of the table, asked a blessing for the food. Charmaine glanced across to see Daniel’s inquisitive expression as he sat with his hands folded, his elbows planted on the table in imitation of Charmaine’s father.
She couldn’t resist a smile, and he ducked his chin in embarrassment.
The serving bowls and platters were passed, and Jack placed food from each on his plate, then a smaller portion on Daniel’s before passing to Vera.
Seated directly across from Jack, Charmaine sensed his discomfort. Perhaps some relaxed conversation would put him at ease. “Mr. Easton has put a lot of work into his place already,” she told her father. “His barn is as neat as a pin.”
“Saddles and harnesses, I hear.” Mort poured steaming gravy on his pile of mashed potatoes.
“I got my own horse,” Daniel said. “My pa bought ’im for me.”
“You do? That’s a big responsibility, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. I gots’ta give ’im feed and water every day.” Daniel watched with wide eyes as Jack topped their potatoes, then the lad took up his fork and tasted. His look of delight had Charmaine and her mother exchanging a grin.
The men conversed on bits and bridles, and Vera questioned Daniel regarding his studies.
Charmaine passed a platter of sliced bread and buttered a piece for herself.
Both father and son cleaned their plates.
“Would you like another helping of potatoes and gravy, Daniel?” Vera asked.
He glanced at his father warily.
Jack nodded permission.
“Yes’m. And a slice of bread, please.”
“
Our bread doesn’t hold a candle to this, Mrs. Renlow,” Jack admitted.
“Charmaine makes the bread on Fridays,” Vera told him proudly, buttering a slice for the young man beside her.
Jack’s brows rose appreciatively, his dark gaze sliding to hers, and once again Charmaine experienced that surprising jangle of nerves in her belly.
They finished their meal, and Charmaine picked up the dishes, as she normally did, while her mother sliced a peach pie.
Charmaine turned from the cupboard to inquire, “Coffee, Mr. Easton?”
“Yes, miss.”
She poured a cup for both of the men.
Jack noticed the change in Charmaine when she was around her parents. She appeared more relaxed, her posture and conversation at ease. This didn’t seem like the same fancified woman who’d climbed down from that buggy at Noah Cutter’s place, every perfect curl in place, her small hands encased in spotless white gloves.
When Charmaine set a cup of coffee before her father, she leaned over him, a hand on his shoulder. Without so much as a thought it seemed, the man raised his own hand to cover hers where it rested. The period of time their fingers touched was only a matter of seconds, the blink of an eye, but the wealth of uncomplicated love expressed by that simple gesture touched Jack in a place he figured had grown too callused to notice. With a swish of skirts, she moved away to pick up another mug.
When Charmaine walked toward him, his heart chugged to a rhythm he feared she would hear. Though he knew she wasn’t going to touch him, the possibility turned his insides to jelly.
She leaned around his shoulder to place the cup at his right hand, and he caught a whiff of lilac water and soap, a smell so fresh, so feminine, and so out of his realm, he blinked in surprise.
Jack’s head roared at her nearness. He couldn’t look up. He stared at the mug—practical ironstone—heard her move away. The aroma of the brew replaced her scent, and he forced his hand to reach for it.
Raising his gaze, he met Mort Renlow’s friendly blue eyes. Had her father noticed Jack’s reaction? He didn’t seem threatened or concerned. He was a man content in his home. Confident in the love of his wife and daughter. Secure in his ability to provide for them and protect them.
Wed Under Western Skies Page 14
