“We had to smoke the place to get rid of the smell in the yard. You should’ve been here yesterday. It stunk something awful outside.” “I’m glad that I wasn’t, Will. ’Course, I can’t say that it smells all that great now,” Morgan teased. Walking over to the stove, he lifted the coffeepot lid with a dubious sniff at the day-old coffee. “I’m gonna make us some fresh coffee. You interested?”
Will closed the cash drawer. “Nope! Soon as I’m finished here, I’m heading to the bank with this deposit. I don’t like having that much cash on hand. You want to check it, Boss?”
Morgan shook his head. “I trust you, Will. You know that.”
Will left, and Morgan filled the pot with coffee and placed it on the potbellied stove. Leon trudged in and plopped down into the rickety wooden chair by the front door, removing his hat. “I could shore use a cup of that coffee, pardner,” he said, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. He yanked his boots off, wiggled his toes, and exhaled. “Ahh . . .”
“Doggone it, Leon!” Morgan walked over and poked him in the shoulder. “Put your boots back on, or the office will need fumigatin’ again.”
“There ya go again, telling me my feet stink,” Leon sputtered. “I can’t smell a thing.”
“That’s just my point! You can’t smell it!”
Leon laughed heartily. “Okay, okay. I get the point. After that coffee, I’m goin’ in search of a good hot bath.” He snapped his boots back on as fast as he’d pulled them off.
“Makes perfect sense to me—” Morgan stopped short at the sound of footsteps on the porch. “Oh no . . . here comes trouble, Leon,” he whispered right before April swung the door wide open. Her honey-gold cheeks were stained red with irritation.
Even with the annoyed look on her face, Morgan thought she looked pretty, but like a spoiled, unpleasant child. It was hard to overlook the sunlight that touched April’s hair, and it appeared as fine as the spun silk of an angel’s wings, but not quite—he knew better. And he knew that she wasn’t a child. She looked a little the worse for wear in what appeared to be a party dress. A little too early for that, he surmised. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leon gape.
“Mr. Kincaid! Where in the world is my trunk?” She sashayed in like she owned the entire worn-out depot. “I was told that it was left on the porch here until I could have it transported.”
Leon jumped to his feet, his hat in his hand, nearly toppling the wooden chair. Morgan threw his eyes heavenward. Lord, I need me a huge dose of Your patience right now. He meandered toward her.
“Miss McBride. Nice to see you again,” Morgan said, ignoring the question for the time being, which only irritated her more. “How about a cup of coffee? Just brewed up a fresh pot myself.”
April blinked at him and tapped her toe again on the floorboard. “I’m not here to have tête-à-tête. I came to get my trunk.”
Leon shifted on one hip as he watched Morgan take his time stirring sugar in his tin cup. Morgan took a sip before looking April squarely in her narrowing eyes.
“Will dragged it to the edge of the woods. He said there was a skunk around and he was afraid your trunk might have been affected.”
“What?” April expelled a breath of exasperation. “How can that be? Was mine the only one? Sounds pretty suspicious to me.” She tossed her head angrily.
Morgan briefly closed his eyes then snapped them open. “Yours was the only trunk that wasn’t picked up when I left the depot late last night. With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t think anyone knew where you wuz staying.” Morgan shook his head. “No one is to blame.”
April stalked out the door, then said over her shoulder, “Well then, someone should have at the very least gone to enough trouble to find me! How ridiculous!” She grabbed her dress in her hands and tripped down the porch steps with Leon pounding down the steps behind her.
“Miss McBride, don’t get all het up. I woulda brung it to you myself personally, if I’d known where to haul it to.”
April hurried on, but just as she reached the last step, she heard the rip of material as a rusty nail poking out from the handrail snagged her dress, tearing it halfway down and exposing her naked calf. Stopping in her tracks, she turned sideways and looked down at her exposed leg. She had foregone her stockings this morning, waiting until she’d retrieved a fresh pair from her belongings.
“Creeping spiders and slivering snakes!” April yanked the rest of her dress free. “I don’t need this aggravation today!” Behind her, she heard a chuckle from Morgan and an “Aw, shucks” from Leon.
She looked back over her shoulder to see Morgan and Leon staring at her leg. “Well, what are you staring at? Never seen a woman’s leg before?” Morgan’s stupid grin was getting under her skin.
“Leon”—Morgan shot him a look—“put your tongue back in your mouth and go help the lady out. Take her trunk wherever she wants.”
With all the dignity that April could muster, she tripped toward the clearing but then stopped and turned around. “Oh, Mr. Kincaid . . . I guess I should express my thanks for the use of your horse.” She watched as he stood on the porch saying nothing. His lips were pulled into a tight scowl as he cleared his throat. “No trouble—glad I could help you out, Miss McBride.”
April straightened her shoulders, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the bright afternoon sun. “Yes, well . . . thanks to you I made it to the wedding, but just barely.”
“I’m sure that made your brother happy,” Morgan said dryly, then he scooted back inside the depot.
Leon waved his arm. “Come on, Miss McBride. Let’s go see about that trunk.”
“Mr. Kincaid is a man of few words, isn’t he?”
Leon chortled. “Yep. Morgan is not one to waste his time repeating words.”
April was curious that Leon wanted to help and thought him an odd sort. The kind of man who respected his friend but at the same time liked having someone else in charge.
As April neared the clustered pines with the largest tree trunks she’d ever seen, a peculiar smell caused her to catch her breath, threatening to dislodge her lunch. “Oh no. Is that my trunk I smell?” She stopped two feet away, covering her nose with her hand.
“Reckon it is. That’s too bad, but I think Will said the skunk just barely caught the edge of the porch and your trunk, so it might not be too stinky inside.” Leon held out his palm as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do. “Your key, ma’am.”
April took a couple of steps closer, handing him the key. Leon walked to the trunk. “It could be worse. Just be glad that Will smoked the entire area, or you wouldn’t be standing this close.” With a serious glance at her, he bent over, inserted the key, and flipped the lid back, exposing not only her outerwear but also lacy cotton underwear.
Leon’s eyes slid discreetly away from the trunk’s contents. “Aw . . . not too bad. You lucked out, but you need something else to put your clothes in. Then we can burn the trunk.” He stood back up to face her.
“What do you mean, burn my trunk?” April exclaimed.
Leon scratched the scruffy stubble on his jaw. “You heard me right.”
“But I have nothing to put my clothes in! Those are all the possessions I brought with me. Now what do I do?” April looked around in desperation.
“Excuse me, Miss April,” a voice said behind them. April and Leon wheeled around simultaneously to see young Billy walking over to them. “I can help you with that.”
“Now how do you figure that, young man?” Leon squinted at the kid.
“I have a burlap sack here that she can put all her things in. I just told Mr. Kincaid that I’d carry them over to the creek to be washed for you.”
“Washed? I think that’s a hopeless thing to do, Billy. Thanks all the same. I’m afraid my clothes are ruined!” April tossed her head in the direction of the depot. “The stagecoach manager is at fault. They should have put my belongings inside the depot for safekeeping overnight!”
&
nbsp; “Now see here, you can’t go blaming our operations for what happened,” Leon said sharply.
April lifted her torn skirt, walking toward the depot. “Who’s in charge of the stagecoach, Leon? I need to talk to him.”
“You just did,” Leon replied, indicating the depot’s office with a nod of his head.
April stopped short and looked from Leon to Billy. “Mr. Kincaid? How can that be—why, he never said a word.”
“Why should he? He owns the franchise for Overland Stage here in Lewistown.”
Billy added, “That’s right, Miss April. I just talked to him about working here. And he’s gonna let me lend a hand at the depot. He told me that my first assignment was to get your belongings to you.”
April laughed. “Is that so?”
Leon turned to the boy. “Let’s put everything in that sack, but before you go a’washin’ your clothes in the creek, Miss McBride, you need to soak them in a tub of tomatoes. It’ll get most of the smell out, and you’ll be all set.”
April rolled her eyes, finally comprehending what he was telling her to do. She hadn’t washed an article of clothing in her life and didn’t want to start now. “All right. I’ll put them in the sack myself, but where are we going to find a tub filled with tomatoes and a creek, pray tell?”
Billy handed her the sack, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m glad you asked that question.”
April took the sack and marched back to her trunk, then looked helplessly at Billy.
“I’m gonna leave you two to take care of that. I’m off in search of a bath and a nap. Billy, welcome aboard, as we say on the stage.” Leon smiled and winked, then extended his hand to Billy’s smaller one in a firm handshake.
April saw Billy’s eyes shine like the rhinestones on her favorite concha belt while he stood watching Leon mosey off. Poor little guy, bet he’s never had a real father. Behind her, she could hear Morgan singing in a rich baritone voice, “’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus . . .”
7
Wes pulled back on Dakota’s reins, listening. Off to his right, he thought he heard the sound of a woman’s laughter. Couldn’t be. Not way out here. Still, since he was in no hurry today to return home after spending the night in town, a rare luxury he allowed himself, he urged his horse down the grassy slope in the direction of the creek where the laughter came from. He knew of no ranch close by. Probably just travelers stopping to water their mounts.
As he drew closer, a young boy and a woman, both fully clothed, were splashing each other in the creek with great frivolity. What appeared to be laundry was strewn across the bushes to dry. Wait a minute . . . That yellow dress, now sodden and clinging to the shapely woman who was wet up to her waist, looked very familiar. Wes pushed his hat back and folded his arms across the saddle horn, quietly watching the two of them totally unaware of an outsider’s presence. His eyes narrowed to be sure, but he realized that the woman was Josh’s sister April. It was the same Miss High and Mighty who’d tried to tell him how to tame Lars’s wild mare.
They looked to be having a good time, and for a moment Wes wished that he was a part of the fun. He had never had that kind of fun, even as far back as he remembered when he was a little boy. His father would have skinned him alive if he’d slipped away to play in the creek. There were always chores he had to do, and though his father could’ve helped out with some of the work, he chose not to. He’d said he was better at giving orders.
Wes shook his head. No point in going back over that again now.
Suddenly, April stopped splashing water on the young lad and stared up the hill at him. The kid turned around, and Wes touched his finger to the tip of his hat. Hmm . . . maybe the lad was her son. She didn’t seem old enough, though. He tapped Dakota lightly with the reins, and he tossed his mane and picked his way down the path to the creek bed. Wes slowly slid off the horse’s back.
“Y’all havin’ a party of sorts? Or is today just laundry day?” He watched as April’s face flushed all the way to the widow’s peak at her forehead, making her even more attractive.
She motioned to the lad. “Billy, we need to get going.” She started sloshing through the water toward the edge of the creek, her clothes plastered to her slender form.
Wes tried not to stare and held out his hand to assist her back onto dry ground. He firmly pulled her up the slippery grass and over the rocks covered with algae. The boy she called Billy hurried up behind her. Without much ado, April released Wes’s hand and crossed her arms over her chest. Droplets of water dripped from her hair onto her shoulders and slid into the secret place between the swell of her breasts. Tearing his eyes away, Wes looked at the boy, who couldn’t have been much more than thirteen or fourteen. “Miss April, is this your son?”
April laughed. “Hardly. I’m not that old. Billy, meet Wes Owen.”
Billy pumped Wes’s outstretched hand. “I’ve heard about you.”
“You have? Well now . . . what have you heard?” Wes grinned at the boy.
Billy wrung out his shirttail as he spoke. “Just that you’re about the best horse trainer in these parts! According to Mr. Kincaid.
” Wes saw April roll her eyes upward. Now, why’d she do that? She knows nothing about me. Nothing! “I don’t recall seeing you around Lewistown.”
“I came on the stagecoach late last night, and that’s how I met Miss April. I was looking for a job, and Mr. Kincaid who runs the stage line said he’d give me a chance helping out doing odd jobs for him.”
Billy’s eyes were bright and held a pure zest for living. Wes knew he himself had never been that happy as a kid. Billy seemed all right. “Good for you, Billy. I’ve known Morgan Kincaid for a long time. He’ll treat you fairly.”
Billy looked down at his bare toes as a brief shadow of sadness crossed his face. “I hope so. I’d like to hang around here. I really need the job.”
April started picking up clothes from the bushes, turning to Billy. “If you’re finished jawing with Mr. Owen, I’d appreciate it if you could get me back to the boardinghouse.”
Wes stared at the pile of laundry. “I never knew anyone who needed to wash clothes as soon as they got to town,” he commented wryly.
“Never mind that, Mr. Owen.” April’s eyes snapped as she pulled the clothes off the nearby bushes, throwing them into a washtub. “You should get on back to whatever you were doing before you stopped by.” He watched as she stopped and propped her backside against a rock, then slid her shoes back on. Briefly he caught a glimpse of her legs and noticed for the first time that her dress was torn. She was definitely a strange one to contend with. At the same time, he envied the carefree manner about her.
“You sure you don’t need some help with all that?” Wes walked over, intending on helping Billy load the washtub back onto the wagon. The horse was tethered to a chokecherry bush nearby.
“Thanks, Mr. Owen, but I can handle it. I’m used to hard work,” Billy said.
Wes helped him lift the heavy metal tub into the wagon anyway. “It’s no bother, kid. You look like you have a strong set of arms on you.”
“I do? Gosh, maybe I do,” he said, holding up his bicep for inspection.
Wes reached out and felt it. “Yep, strong as steel, boy.” Wes gave his muscle a brief squeeze. He knew what it was like to be Billy’s age—it didn’t seem all that long ago when he’d tried to prove himself. Wes shut out those memories for now and smiled at the kid.
April tossed her damp hair back over her shoulders and walked toward Dakota. She stood admiring him, speaking in a hushed voice, then glanced back at Wes. “Mr. Owen—”
“Please, Miss April, just call me Wes. No need for ceremony in these parts.”
“Er . . . Wes.” She stumbled over his name. “Is this horse you’re riding for sale? He’s a mighty fine specimen of horseflesh.” She patted Dakota’s muscular neck as Dakota nuzzled her hand in search of a treat.
Wes removed his hat and slapped the dust off against his thigh before placing it
back on his head, then laughed heartily. “Not on your life, ma’am. But if it’s a horse you’re looking for, you can ride over to my farm and look-see for yourself.”
“But I’d like this one. He’s a beauty.” She ran her hand slowly across his haunches, then checked out his legs. Her lips curved into a tantalizing tilt. She was trying to speak like a serious horse buyer, but she looked like a homeless, rumpled stray. Wes almost laughed outright at the picture she made.
“Well, you can just keep on a-wantin’. Dakota will never be for sale. If you change your mind, you can come look over the mares and geldings I have for sale.” He leveled a dark look directly into her blue eyes. “Everyone knows where you can find me.” Slightly irritated, Wes grabbed the reins and pulled his long legs into the saddle.
April gave him a taunting look. “There’s not a horse that can’t be bought.” She staggered back just before Wes kicked his heels into Dakota’s side, forcing him up the ridge. Wes turned and waved good-bye to Billy.
Shadows of the town’s outline, created by the late afternoon sunlight, were imprinted in the dusty streets of Lewistown by the time April and Billy stopped the wagon in front of the Stockton Hotel. April scrambled down, ignoring the pointed stares of two ladies conversing on the porch. “Billy, you can bring my things on in.”
She swept through the entryway and marched straight up to the front desk. Not seeing the desk clerk, she slammed her hand down on the bell, causing it to jangle loudly throughout the grand parlor.
Ed walked out from behind the walnut paneling and gave her a cheery smile. “I see you’re back, Miss McBride.”
“I am indeed, and I have my things right outside. I’d like my room to face the street if possible.” She pulled the ledger to her and picked up the pen, ready to sign in.
Ed cleared his throat and coughed slightly. “I’m sorry, there are no vacancies at the moment, I’m afraid.”
She slanted an eyebrow upward. “You must be kidding.” She set the pen down, feeling foolish. She really didn’t want to go back to the boardinghouse and the watchful eyes of Miss Margaret and her daughters. She was hoping for more privacy.
A Love of Her Own Page 7
