Just when had it become her chair? Distinctive and apart from his? With Betsy’s hat in hand, he charged outside to prevent a disaster—and split wide open at a woman’s high-pitched scream.
~
Mae Ann jumped back from the shovel handle, pushing off so hard that she stumbled and fell on her backside. She screamed again and scooted backward on all fours until she bumped into booted feet and two strong hands that lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. Mortified, she wrestled out of Cade’s grasp and away from the temptation to throw her arms around his neck and weep in relief.
Her chest heaved beneath her hand, and she leaned over to catch her breath, all the while keeping her eyes pinned on the severed snake head at the opposite end of the garden.
Cade chuckled.
Chuckled? How dare he? If she had her wind, she’d give him what-for.
He picked a hat up off the ground and handed it to her with humor lacing his words. “This is for you. And remind me never to make you mad when you’re holding a shovel.”
He looked at her with something akin to admiration, and her anger leaked away.
“You scared the living daylights out of me, woman, with that Apache shriek of yours.” He was laughing at her, so much so that his perfect white teeth showed.
She drew herself up and dusted her backside. “Well, you don’t have to mock me.”
He shook his head. “I’m not mocking you, I’m relieved. I thought you were being scalped.”
The idea made her itch, and she pushed at the hair that had escaped her ribbon. She must look a sight—an image that tugged on her lips. She let go a small laugh and tension eased from her shoulders and arms.
Cade grabbed the shovel, chopped the rattles off, and tossed the body over the fence into the brush. Mae Ann clapped a hand over her mouth. Self-preservation had emboldened her to react defensively to the snake’s chilling rattle, without hesitation or qualms. But in the absence of fear, her stomach rebelled.
He scooped up the head and carried it to the edge of the garden, where he dug a hole and dropped it in as if he expected it to grow.
“You’re planting a snake in the garden?”
His lips twitched in that irritating way. She really must stop watching his mouth.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Cade Parker, I am not a d—”
“I know. You’re not a dolt.” His eyes glinted as he tamped the soil. Then he handed her the shovel and gentled his voice. “We bury the head so the dog doesn’t get snakebit. There’s still venom in the jaws and if an animal—or you—nicked a fang, it could prove deadly.” He sobered suddenly and concern crinkled his brow as if he cared about her safety.
She took the shovel and averted her gaze. “I see.”
“Next time—”
Her eyes flew to his face. “Next time?”
“There’s always a next time. So you want to keep an eye out. If there’s one rattler, there’s likely another nearby.”
She felt the blood leave her face.
His features softened. “With the weeds and brush cleared away, they’ll be less likely to come in here, but you always want to be prepared.” Stepping back, he angled a look at her feet. “Hitch your skirt up.”
Her breath jammed in her chest. “I beg your pardon?”
He jerked his chin up as if giving her skirt a tug. “Let me see the tops of your shoes.”
She waited a beat and then did as he asked, inching the hem just above her ankles.
“That’s what I thought. Those aren’t tall enough.”
Forgetting her modesty, she hiked her skirt and leaned over to judge the worth of the footwear she’d paid so dearly for. He chuckled again and turned away with a final command. “Wear the hat.”
Her face burning, Mae Ann dropped her dress hem over her boots, painfully aware that she’d lifted it too high, revealing her stockings. Cade returned to the barn, his head wagging. If she had a tomato or an apple or just about anything besides a shovel, she’d throw it at him.
Instead, she shoved on the hat.
Judging by the heat of the sun on her back some time later, she stopped at midday and assessed her progress. Precious little, for the way she felt. Tomorrow she’d surely pay, for already her limbs ached and her hands bore blisters. She leaned her tools against a corner post and went inside to fix dinner.
Refreshed by the hand pump’s cold water, she dabbed some against her sweaty neck, retied her hair ribbon and donned her apron. Three place settings topped the table before she remembered that Deacon had taken a hearty meal with him when he left that morning.
That meant she and Cade would be eating alone. Together. Alone together.
She let out a huff. What a sissy she’d become. She returned one place setting to the cupboard and pulled the coffeepot over the front burner. The small roast, potatoes, and onions she’d started that morning simmered nicely, and when she lifted the lid to check their progress, the rich aroma filled the kitchen and her soul. Good food. Strong walls. The makings of a home.
“Could it be, Lord?”
“Could what be?”
Startled by Cade’s voice, she dropped the heavy lid and it clattered against the kettle. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He frowned and walked past her to the sink, where he washed without being asked. Why did he frown when she least expected it? Did she trouble him? Annoy him?
“Dinner smells good. Deacon won’t know what he missed.” Cade came up behind her. “Coffee hot?”
She sidestepped and skirted the table. “Not quite. I just set it on. I got so involved in the garden, I let time get away from me.”
“Speaking of the garden, I have a few things for you.” He left the kitchen, and she followed him around the end of the wall to see where he was going. When he stopped at one of the chairs by the hearth, he looked over his shoulder with one brow cocked. Mind-reading must be one of her expected chores. She joined him.
He handed her a pair of tall leather boots, then picked up several other items and sat in the opposite chair, motioning for her to be seated. “Try those on.”
“Now?” She clutched them to her and stood stock-still.
He sighed heavily and leaned back. “If you wouldn’t mind. I’d like to see if they fit you, though I can leave the room while you put them on.”
“No. That won’t be necessary.” Heavens, she had never been so prudish. What had come over her? Besides, he was her husband. Why could she not remember that?
She took her seat and, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor, untied her now dusty shoes and set them aside. At least she didn’t have holes in her stockings. Drawing a deep breath through her nose, she took the right boot and slid her foot into it. She wiggled her toes and grudgingly admitted it was truly comfortable, much more so than the unforgiving new shoes she’d brought from St. Louis.
She pulled on the mate, flounced her skirt over the tops of both, and stood.
Cade nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Walk across the room and see how they feel.”
She did so, surprised that they didn’t pinch her in all the wrong places. Were they from his boyhood? Or had they belonged to his mother or sister? “They’re perfect.”
“Good.” He lifted a white shirt from the mound of clothing on his lap and held it to the side. “What do you think?”
She thought it small for him, so he must intend it for her. She examined the seams. “It’s nicely made. Whose is it?”
A shadow licked his face as he held up a blue chambray. “These were my sister’s. Not exactly women’s high fashion, but she wore them riding. The boots too. I thought these might fit you as well.”
She accepted the shirts. Not a lady’s attire, but sensible for ranch life. When he held out a split skirt and leather belt, the picture clarified. “You don’t think she’ll mind?”
“Betsy left it all behind.” Another frown knit his brow, and Mae Ann felt the oddest urge to relieve his discomfort.
“This
is very generous. Does a horse come with them?”
Her words had the effect she’d intended, and he addressed her with a spark of humor. “You’re a smart one, Mae Ann Rem—” He swallowed the remaining syllables, not taking his eyes from her. “Parker.”
Her heart winced at his mistake. She hugged the garments to her. “I’ll run these upstairs and then we’ll eat.”
She felt his eyes on her and did not breathe until she reached the safety of her room. Laying the clothes on the bed to put away later, she smoothed each item, as if smoothing the wrinkles from her soul. It was the not knowing that bothered her so. Not knowing what Cade really thought. At times—like this—he treated her with consideration and kindness. Then his mood abruptly changed. He was not a drinking man, so liquor was not to blame as she knew was so often the reason women had sought shelter at the boardinghouse.
Would he be like this forever—hot and cold, bitter and sweet?
… and give thee peace.
This time the words hit her from a different side. If she were given peace, then it was hers to accept or reject.
She’d signed up for this odd arrangement. In fact, it had been her idea. There was no room for fanciful thoughts of love or approval, simply survival—a role she’d learned from her mother before she took ill.
Standing before the dressing table mirror, she pulled the ribbon from her hair, brushed out the knots, and retied it. She would accept God’s gift of peace, and do her best to wear it with gratitude. Along with the boots and clothes that had once belonged to Betsy Parker.
CHAPTER 10
The next morning, Mae Ann stepped into the split skirt and buttoned the white shirt, curious about the woman who had worn them yet chosen to leave them behind. If what Willa said was true, Betsy had run off with a man without the blessing of marriage, no doubt bringing shame to Cade in the wake of their parents’ funeral. That alone would account for his frowning countenance yesterday.
She pulled the belt tighter and tucked the end under, refusing to judge Betsy. She did not have all the details. Perhaps heartbreak had made the girl flee. Mae Ann certainly understood the pain of losing one’s mother, and the memory sent her hand to her throat only to stall at the cameo’s absence.
The woman now facing her in the dressing table mirror looked like something from the cover of a dime novel—quite unlike her former self. She flattened the open shirt collar, pressing it against her collarbones, no brooch to close the gap. How long before she relinquished her habit of reaching for the touchstone of her mother’s love?
After cleaning the breakfast dishes and planning what to prepare for dinner, she pulled the work gloves from her skirt pocket, donned the hat she’d left on a hook by the front door, and headed for the garden.
The gate stood straighter, obviously repaired since the day before. As she lifted a wire loop from the gatepost, she surveyed the buildings that flanked the wide yard on three sides. No one was about. Busy with their own chores, no doubt. Neither Cade nor Deacon had mentioned the gate at breakfast, though Deacon did lift a bushy eyebrow when Cade told of her snake-killing episode. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the old cowboy was impressed.
With a steady, unhurried eye, Mae Ann surveyed every inch of the patch, looking closer at any discoloration that could be another serpent. Humph. Serpent in the garden. How droll. A prophetic sign or simply ranch life in the West?
She chose to believe the latter and began clearing the last corner where brush had piled thick against the fence. The hat, gloves, and comfortable boots made the work much easier, and gratitude came just as easy until her rake snagged on a dried cane cluster. She knelt to pull away the debris.
Her heart lifted at sight of a small green stem fighting up through the thorny clutter. She worked the soil around the determined shoot and pressed it into a bowl shape. Inspired by her discovery and relishing the fresh air and sunshine, she did not sense Cade’s approach until she stood to stretch her limbs.
He was watching her, the hard planes of his face softening. “You’ve made progress.”
She filled her lungs, eager to share. “I found a rosebush.”
He came inside the fence and squatted by the dried cane, running a finger along the brave little branch. “It’s still alive.” Wonder filled his words.
Kneeling beside him, she leaned closer to the bright new growth. “Do you know its color?” It didn’t matter, but perhaps she could draw him out and learn more about who had planted the rose and when.
“Yellow.” He thumbed his hat up. “My father told stories of how his mother brought it from Texas when she and Granddad homesteaded this place.”
Mae Ann admired the struggling stem of family history, fighting for life right here, generations after its arrival. “Your mother must have cared for it too.”
A shadow dashed across his face and as quickly disappeared. “Faithfully. She and Betsy trimmed it back every fall and nursed it to life each spring. I thought it must have died.”
She stood and brushed dirt from her knees. “The pieplant is doing well, but it will be a while before I have enough for baking or canning.”
Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she looked up to see Deacon leading two horses across the yard toward the hitching rail. She tugged at her gloves, wishing Cade didn’t have to leave so soon to go and do whatever the two of them did all day with the cattle.
He walked out the gate. “How ’bout a change of scenery?”
She stared at him.
He chuckled and tipped his head toward the horses. “Take a break and come for a ride with me.”
Her breath snagged in her throat. “But I …”
“Don’t ride?” Laughter pulled at the corners of his eyes. “I know. Come on.” He held the gate open and waited for her.
Well, she’d brought it on herself when she asked about a horse last night. She should have kept her mouth shut, though somehow she suspected he would have gotten around to getting her up on one at some point. Her ability to ride had been his only question when confronted with her business proposition.
Several excuses for why she should not be engaged in such a venture presented themselves, but they failed to reach her lips, and she stopped abruptly at the rail. The darker horse she recognized as Cade’s mount from the day they met in town. The other, a bit shorter, glistened near red in the morning light, its soft brown eyes watching her calmly. She pressed her hands against her hips and took a deep breath, uncertain as to which was the bigger challenge—rattlesnakes or horses.
Cade approached the smaller of the two and took the reins, gathering them in his left hand atop the saddle—a heavy-looking thing quite unlike any livery she’d seen in St. Louis. Then he held out his right hand and motioned for her to come around the rail. “Ginger here is a good ol’ girl. You’ve nothing to worry about with her.”
But she might have plenty to worry about with me. Mae Ann moved in next to Cade, who laid his free hand against the hollow of her waist.
He patted the tall knoblike object where he’d draped the reins. “Grab the horn here.”
She complied.
“Now put your left foot in the stirrup and pull yourself up. While you’re doing that, swing your other leg over the back and put your right foot in the other stirrup.”
And dance a jig while I’m at it. Mae Ann gritted her teeth. She didn’t need to hike her split skirt, for it was already short enough, just below her boot tops. Now she knew why.
As soon as she pushed herself off the ground, Cade released the horn and grabbed her around the waist, easing her into the saddle. Every nerve in her body tensed, and the horse danced backward.
“Don’t pull on the reins.” He covered her hands with one of his and stilled them against the horn. “That makes her think you want to back up.”
“I don’t.” Mae Ann’s voice was sadly lacking in bravery and at least one octave higher than normal.
Cade chuckled and stroked the horse’s neck. He squeezed Mae
Ann’s hands until she met his eyes.
“Ginger’s reading you. She picks up on your fear or confidence or whatever you’re feeling.”
Mae Ann swallowed and shifted in the saddle.
His voice softened and he squeezed her hands again. “Don’t be afraid. I wouldn’t put you on a dangerous animal. Ginger will be good to you if you’re good to her. Relax. Let her do the work.”
The tenderness in his voice nearly undid her, but he’d think her a fool if she let on. She leaned forward to pat Ginger’s neck. “I understand.”
The horse stepped sideways, away from Cade. “Relax your legs. You’re squeezing her.”
How did he know that? Embarrassed by his mention of her limbs but willing to believe him, she forced her muscles to loosen. How was she to stay on?
Cade gathered his horse’s reins and led it a few steps away before mounting in one graceful move. He turned and rode up next to her, his stirrup brushing against hers. Tempted to tighten her grip even more, she gritted her teeth instead.
“Hold the reins in your left hand and do what I do.”
He held the leather strips loosely.
Mae Ann looked down at her fist and turned it halfway over, relaxing her grip. Feeling returned to her fingers.
“Good. If it makes you more comfortable to hold on to the horn, use your right hand to do it.”
She had that part down cold.
“Now don’t do so until I say, but when you want to go forward, click your tongue and press your boot heels into her. Not hard. Easy, like this.” He made a clicking sound and his spurs touched his horse’s side, and it stepped forward. “Pull on the reins when you want to stop.”
She wanted to go neither forward nor back, but to get off.
He turned his horse to face her and crossed his arms on the saddle horn. “Now you try it.”
She drew in a deep breath and tapped her boot heels against Ginger. The horse turned an ear in her direction but didn’t move. Mae Ann glanced at Cade, who looked as though he was trying not to laugh.
He’d just better not, or he’d have a heavy dose of salt in his corn bread tonight. She pushed her heels again. Nothing.
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