“On the table. Thank you.”
Hunter lifted a rack from each huge pot and put it on the long, scarred wooden table. Glass steamed and dried instantly.
Quickly Penny and Elyssa filled the jars with green beans, added salt and water, and screwed down the lids. Normally Elyssa would have added onion or garlic or herbs to the beans, but there was nothing normal about this canning session.
Today they were canning everything they could, no matter if it wasn’t at the peak of ripeness.
Once the dissolved salt in the garden reached the plant roots, there would be no ripening. The garden would die. Then vegetables would rot, unless they were picked quickly and canned immediately.
While Elyssa and Penny went to work on the canning jars, Hunter surprised both women by calmly beginning to scrub the smallest potatoes, preparing them for canning. The larger potatoes would go in the root cellar, along with the bigger onions, carrots, turnips, and the like.
Elyssa screwed down the last lid and lifted one of the racks of jars. Before she had it more than an inch off the table, Hunter’s arms shot around her and took the weight. She made a startled sound that went no farther than Hunter’s ears.
“I’ll take that,” he said. “You chop up some more beans.”
Elyssa wanted to be as matter-of-fact as Hunter was, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. The feel of Hunter’s arms around her was literally breathtaking, despite the fact that he was simply being helpful.
Then Elyssa looked over her shoulder and saw Hunter’s quicksilver eyes. The desire in them was as naked as the power of his arms caging her.
“I—I can’t,” Elyssa whispered.
“Can’t what?”
“Cut up green beans.”
“Why not?”
“We just did the last batch.”
“What about peas?” Hunter asked.
Elyssa licked her lips nervously.
The sudden narrowing of Hunter’s eyes as he watched her tongue was as clear as the too rapid beating of the pulse in Elyssa’s neck.
“Then maybe you better duck under my arm and shell peas,” Hunter suggested softly.
“Peas?”
“Little round green things. They come tucked close together in little green pods. Remember them?”
At the moment Elyssa was lucky to remember her own name. All she could think of was how Hunter’s mouth had felt against hers, how he had tasted, how sweet his breath had been.
“If you tease me by licking your lips again,” Hunter said low and hard, “I swear I’ll back you up against the table and give you exactly what you’re begging for.”
A flush climbed Elyssa’s cheeks. She ducked beneath Hunter’s arm and went to the sink.
Blindly she began cleaning out a pumpkin. Great handfuls of the sticky center plopped heavily into a colander that stood in the sink. The pulp hit the colander so hard it rattled on its three metal legs.
“Do you want to save those pumpkin seeds for planting?” Penny asked Elyssa.
“What?”
“The pumpkins seeds.”
“Oh. Them.”
Elyssa looked at the pumpkin seeds as though they had just grown in the sink. The creamy, slightly pointed ovals were plump, obviously ripe.
“Save them for next year’s garden,” Elyssa said.
If there is one.
For a moment Elyssa was afraid she had spoken her doubts aloud. When no cool retort came from Hunter, she let out a silent breath of relief.
Behind Elyssa, Hunter set one rack of full jars in a huge kettle, then put the other in a similar kettle. He added more wood to the stove. Afterward he went back to scrubbing potatoes as though he had never breathed Elyssa’s scent and felt pure fire in his veins.
Sonny came up to the kitchen door. Leafy stalks of dill overflowed his arms. Beets dangled from his fingers, which were clenched around the red-streaked green of the tops.
“Miss Elyssa?” he called out.
She sighed and stretched her back subtly. But she was smiling when she turned toward Sonny.
“Come in,” Elyssa said. “Set the dill on the table and the beets in the sink.”
Sonny approached her slowly. He was so busy looking at the orchid silk of her dress and the tendrils of flaxen hair that had escaped her chignon that he ran right into Hunter.
“Uh, sorry, sir.”
Hunter gave Sonny a look that was both impatient and sardonically amused.
“That’s all right,” Hunter said, “but I’d take it as a personal favor if you would stand on your own feet from now on. Mine have their work cut out as it is.”
Sonny looked down, saw that he was indeed standing on one of Hunter’s big feet, and backed off hastily.
“Uh, sorry. Truly am,” Sonny said.
Hunter sighed.
Hurriedly Sonny put the beets in the sink and the herbs on the table. He stumbled several times because he was looking at Elyssa when he should have been watching where he was going.
“How are the cucumbers coming?” Elyssa asked.
“Three bushels so far,” Sonny said eagerly. “Maybe four in all. Little fellers, all of ’em.”
“Good,” Elyssa said. She smiled wearily as she thought of the long hours stretching ahead. “Everyone likes pickles.”
Sonny smiled as though he had been given a month’s pay. Then he just stood and watched Elyssa, who had turned back to gutting pumpkins.
“Sonny,” Hunter said.
It was all he had to say. Sonny jumped and left the kitchen as though his heels were on fire.
Elyssa cleaned pumpkins and scooped out pulp and tried not to think of Hunter. She was fairly successful until Hunter came and stood alongside her at the sink. With swift, strong motions he worked the pump. Water gushed out over the mound of pumpkin fiber and seeds in the sink.
From the corner of her eye, Elyssa watched while Hunter separated seeds and pulp with surprising deftness.
“You’re good at that,” she said.
“You sound surprised.”
Wisely, Elyssa changed the subject.
“We already have more than enough seeds for next year,” she said. “You don’t need to bother with the rest.”
“Why let the ripe ones go to waste?” Hunter asked. “They’re good eating.”
Elyssa blinked.
“I beg your pardon?” Penny asked, turning to Hunter.
“I learned to eat pepitos when I was in Texas,” he said.
“What’s that?” Elyssa asked.
“Roasted, salted pumpkin seeds,” Hunter said. “My vaqueros loved them.”
Elyssa looked at the mess in the sink with new interest.
“Truly?” she asked.
Hunter nodded. Then he smiled.
“Of course,” he added, “they put enough chili powder in with the salt to set fire to the baking tin.”
“We have chiles,” Elyssa said.
“Saw them.”
“You didn’t pick any.”
“You don’t like chiles?” Penny asked.
“Love ’em.”
Elyssa looked at Hunter, lured by the laughter buried in his voice.
He was still smiling. It gentled the lines of his face, making Hunter so handsome to Elyssa that she couldn’t help staring at him.
“Then why didn’t you pick the peppers?” Penny asked.
“Only have one set of gloves,” he said succinctly.
“Oh. The juices,” Elyssa said, frowning. “They burn.”
“Hotter than the devil’s breath,” Hunter agreed. “Darned shame that Mickey drove off your vaqueros and the Hereras are too busy to garden.”
“I have quite a few gloves,” Elyssa said. “I’ll pick them.”
“No need,” Hunter said easily.
“I don’t want them to go to waste.”
“They won’t. Mickey is harvesting the little devils.”
Elyssa tried not to smile.
It didn’t work. She knew that Hunter was punishi
ng Mickey for his treatment of the vaqueros.
“Did you tell him not to rub his eyes?” Elyssa asked.
“Twice. Once when I put him to work. Again when he started bleating that his eyes hurt.”
“Maybe next time he’ll listen,” Elyssa said.
Hunter shrugged. “Doubt it. That boy makes a stump look real bright.”
The mound of cleaned pumpkins grew.
“Dear me,” Penny said after a time. “Do we have enough spices to make pie filling of all that?”
“I’m thinking about pumpkin chutney, pumpkin relish, and dried pumpkins,” Elyssa muttered. “Soup, too.”
“Chutney.” Penny smiled despite the sadness that came to her face along with the memories. “Gloria loved chutney.”
“So do I. I’ve never made it with pumpkin, but…” Elyssa shrugged.
“It should work,” Hunter said.
“Do you think so?” Elyssa asked, surprised.
“Sure. Most recipes were invented when a cook had too much of one thing and not enough of another. Pumpkin chutney shouldn’t be any different.”
“It shouldn’t?”
“No.”
Elyssa looked bemused. “I do believe you’re right.”
Hunter shot her a sideways look.
“I think he is, too,” Penny said. “Gloria always told me that food customs began with what was at hand.”
“Good food is like beauty,” Hunter said, looking away from Elyssa. “A matter of taste.”
“Ha,” Penny said.
She chopped a pumpkin in half with one swipe of her big knife.
“There’s one ‘taste’ that men the world over share,” Penny added, her voice hard.
“Really?” Elyssa asked. “What?”
“Blondes,” Penny said succinctly.
“Not all men,” Hunter said.
“Name one,” Penny challenged.
“Me. I prefer a good, steady woman with a smile that lights up a room. Like yours.”
Penny looked surprised. Then she smiled, and proved Hunter’s words about lighting up a room.
“Like food,” Hunter said without looking at Elyssa, “beauty is a matter of working with what you have rather than worrying about what you don’t have.”
This time it was Elyssa who went through a pumpkin with a single slashing cut.
“You’re a good woman,” Hunter continued, looking at Penny. “You should take one of the marriage offers you’ve gotten from the men around here.”
Again, Penny was surprised.
“How did you know?” she asked.
Hunter shot a look at Elyssa and said, “All men aren’t blinded by sunlight shining on pale hair.”
Penny’s smile faded.
“The right one was,” Penny said. “And he’s the only one that matters.”
That afternoon everyone but Penny, who still wasn’t feeling well, abandoned the kitchen and garden to go back out on the range. Lefty had come in on the run, full of news about a big band of mustangs to the south, down by the marsh. It was an opportunity too good to ignore.
The shortage of mounts was more critical than the need to can vegetables. The hands had only one or two extra mounts apiece. They needed at least six for the brutal work of combing cattle out of the Ladder S’s rugged highlands. On hot days like today, they would have gone through eight horses each, if they had them.
Morgan rode with Hunter and Elyssa in search of the mustangs. When Hunter had anything to say, he said it to Morgan. Otherwise, silence reigned while the three of them combed the hot, rumpled land along the edge of the marsh for any sign of mustangs.
Elyssa was just as happy to be ignored. The sharp side of Hunter’s tongue was no pleasure, and the sharp side was all she had felt since last night.
The land dipped down once again, leading to the bottom of yet another ravine. The mouth of the ravine was the marsh itself. Without a word Hunter dismounted and looked around for tracks. Very quickly he vanished in the tall grasses that flourished above the rich, damp earth.
Morgan drew his shotgun and urged his horse to stand close to Elyssa’s.
Elyssa couldn’t help wishing that it was Hunter guarding her and Morgan doing the tracking.
The horses waited with their heads low, dozing on three legs, as though struck dumb by the sun. Their stillness underlined the relentless labor of the past weeks. The animals wasted no time grabbing whatever rest was available.
Though Elyssa would never admit it to Hunter, she wished for a break herself. She had left Leopard in his paddock, giving him a rest from the grueling schedule of dawn-to-dark work. The big, rawboned mare she was riding now was rough-gaited, but wise in the ways of mustangs.
Bugle Boy grazed calmly just a few feet away. From time to time he raised his head and looked around. Then he went back to grazing.
Overhead, hawks turned lazy circles in the deep autumn sky.
Elyssa looked across the gully where Hunter was working his way up to the top of the ravine on foot. With an intensity she wasn’t aware of, she watched his every move. She enjoyed his unique combination of masculine strength and grace.
At the moment Hunter was moving very carefully. He had no desire to give away their position to mustangs or hostile men. A small spyglass was in his hand.
The horses Lefty had seen near the gully weren’t wholly wild. A Ladder S brand had been put on most of the animals.
But the horses were nonetheless spooky.
“Hope Lefty was right about those brands,” Morgan said softly to Elyssa. “We need more horses the way guns need bullets. Green-broke mustangs aren’t good enough, especially if it comes to shooting.”
“Lefty knows Ladder S horses,” Elyssa said in a low voice. “If he says they’re ours, they’re ours.”
“What if they’re wearing the Slash River brand?”
“Then the brand will be so new the flesh won’t have healed,” Elyssa said bluntly. “And a Ladder S brand will lay just beneath.”
“Likely,” he agreed. “You plan on killing one and skinning it out to be sure?”
Elyssa grimaced. The customary way to prove that an old brand had been altered was to kill the animal and peel off the part of the hide that had been branded. From the inside, the first brand usually showed clearly, no matter what changes had been made to the outer hide.
“I’ll take Lefty’s word for it,” she said.
“Them Culpeppers won’t.”
“The Culpeppers are keeping low to the ground since the shooting odds have changed,” Elyssa said dryly.
“Like Hunter says, it’s the nature of snakes to be low to the ground. Don’t mean there’s no poison in their fangs.”
Elyssa’s eyes narrowed against the wind that was gusting over the land. To her immediate left lay the nearly dry marsh. Tawny reeds bent and rattled and bowed beneath the weight of the wind. To her right the grassland rumpled up to the base of the Ruby Mountains. Storm clouds were gathering over the peaks, concealing their jagged outlines.
The wind rushing down from the heights had the taste and feel of winter in it.
“Then you think Hunter is right, that the Culpeppers are just waiting for us to do all the work of roundup before they attack?” Elyssa asked.
“First thing you learn about Hunter,” Morgan drawled, “is that he’s usually right.”
“Not always.”
Morgan’s smile flashed.
“No, ma’am, not always. He chose the wrong side in the war, and that’s gospel.”
Shifting in the saddle and shading his eyes against the brilliant, relentless sun, Morgan looked behind them. Unlike his soft, easygoing voice, his eyes were swift, probing, and hard.
“Of course,” Morgan said, “joining up with the South was mostly Case’s doing, and Belinda’s. Young hotheads, believing all that moonshine about nobility and cotton.”
“Belinda?”
“His wife, God rest her soul.” Then, under his breath, Morgan added, “More likely the
devil is closer to her resting place.”
Elyssa didn’t hear. Knowing the name of Hunter’s dead wife made her all too real.
Hunter had loved a woman. He had married her. She had died.
And now his heart was buried with her.
“Case?” Elyssa asked quickly. “Who is he?”
“Hunter’s younger brother.”
“Did he die, too?”
“No, ma’am, though more than one Union boy did his best.”
“Including you?”
Morgan shook his head.
“I owed the Maxwell brothers my life,” he said simply. “When the time came, I helped them the same way they had helped me.”
“How?”
“I helped Case get into the prison where Hunter was being held. Case did the rest.”
Elyssa flinched at the thought of Hunter being imprisoned. Military prisons had been infamous for the pain they inflicted on their inmates.
“Case might have been a hothead before the war,” Morgan continued, “but he got cured of it all the way to the bone. He’s a hard man, now. Real hard.”
“And before the war?” Elyssa asked. “Is that when Hunter helped you?”
Morgan nodded.
“What happened?” Elyssa asked.
Sighing, Morgan shifted in the saddle and reined his horse to the right so that he could watch a fresh section of marsh.
“Long before the war,” Morgan said softly, “some white trash down Texas way thought they’d hang this colored boy from a tree, just to see how long I’d kick.”
Horrified, Elyssa turned and stared at Morgan. He was watching the ridgeline and the marsh in turn.
And he was smiling like a man enjoying a memory.
“Hunter rode up and started talking to them boys,” Morgan said. “He was real quiet like. Didn’t take him a minute to figure out I hadn’t done anything to earn a hanging.”
Elyssa watched Morgan, appalled.
“Hunter made some sign and Case came out of cover behind those boys,” Morgan continued.
“So they let you go,” Elyssa said.
“No, ma’am. All six of them went for their guns.”
“Six?” Elyssa asked faintly.
Morgan nodded.
“Case is as quick with his hands as his big brother,” Morgan said. “When the shooting stopped, two Culpeppers were dead and the other men were bleeding and looking for ways to be somewheres else. Pronto.”
Autumn Lover Page 18
