Ain't No Angel

by Henderson, Peggy L

  Deny everything. There’s no proof that you were there.

  How would she explain what the man had seen to Tyler if he pressed her for information? She hated sneaking around, but she couldn’t tell Tyler what she was doing. He’d think she’d lost her marbles, and she couldn’t very well tell him about time travel. Horses weren’t treated for injuries in the nineteenth century. A lame horse was shot, not rehabilitated with physical therapy. Rap wasn’t lame enough to deserve a bullet to the head, but how long would Tyler keep the stallion around if his injury prevented him from siring any more foals?

  Laney cast a quick glance toward the bunkhouse, then darted to the porch and raced up the stairs. She unlaced and pulled off her squishy boots, water dripping from them, and sat them in the sun to dry. With a final glance over her shoulder and a sigh of relief that she hadn’t encountered anyone, she opened the door and entered the house.

  Her socks left wet imprints on the wooden floor as she rushed through the living room and down the hall. She couldn’t wait to get out of her soaked clothes. The door to Tyler’s bedroom opened at that moment, and Laney slammed into a woman who stepped out into the narrow hallway. She suppressed a startled scream, and pushed against the person to keep her balance.

  “Goodness gracious,” a loud voice shrieked.

  Laney’s heart pounded in her chest, but a whoosh of air left her lungs in relief that it wasn’t Tyler whom she had bumped into. She would have had a hard time explaining her wet clothes to him.

  “Who are you?” She blurted the first thing that came to mind. Standing less than a foot from a large woman with a disapproving scowl on her face, Laney slowly backed away. The woman had to be in her late fifties or early sixties, judging by the wrinkled face and the gray hair that was pulled back in a tight bun. This had to be the widow Tyler had told her about, the one who came once a month to clean. Of all days for her to show up, why today?

  “I could ask you the same thing, young lady,” the woman replied heatedly, one hand on her hip, her other arm piled high with articles of clothing that Laney recognized as Tyler’s shirts. The older woman’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward, her gaze slowly moving up and down Laney’s figure.

  “But I suppose I know who you are,” she finally said, her eyes lingering on Laney’s pants, disapproval written all over her face. She shook her head. “I’m going to have to have a talk with that boy,” she said sternly. “Land sakes. Letting a woman, let alone his wife, run around in britches. What is this world coming to?”

  Laney blinked, and scrunched her eyebrows together. She shivered, partly from being cold in her wet clothes, and also because of this woman’s condemning attitude.

  The woman leaned back, and continued to peruse her. “What happened to you, child? Did you fall into the creek?”

  “Something like that.” Laney mumbled, and avoided her stare. “I’d really like to change out of these clothes if you don’t mind.” She motioned with her head down the hall toward her room.

  Instead of moving aside to let Laney pass, the woman stepped back to give her access to Tyler’s room. Laney rubbed her hands up and down her cold arms.

  “My room is down the hall, uh . . . ma’am.”

  “Lordy, where are my manners?” The woman’s eyes shot to the ceiling. “The name’s Myra Hansen.” She reached her large hand out, and Laney slowly shook it. The woman’s firm grip tightened. The warmth from her hand seeped into Laney’s cold fingers.

  “Good Lord, your hand’s about as cold as a frozen pond. Let’s get you outta them wet clothes before you catch your death.” She released her grip on Laney’s hand and shoved her into Tyler’s room.

  “No, wait, I . . .” Laney stammered, and quickly turned on her heels. She inhaled a deep breath, the smell of leather and Tyler’s distinct masculine scent sweeping through her. She’d only been in this room once, the night when she snatched up one of his shirts. A sudden warmth doused her from head to toe. The memory of Tyler’s arms wrapped around her, and his heated kiss that first night sent an ache of longing through her. She gnashed her teeth. Why couldn’t she just forget about that stupid kiss? Every time she thought of him, or when she was around him, she wished he’d pull her against his chest and kiss her like that again.

  Mrs. Hansen dropped the pile of laundry on the ground with a loud thud, and Laney’s head snapped up. Her face flushed. She forced her attention back to the widow in front of her. What a time to be thinking about Tyler.

  The older woman waved her hands in the air, indicating for Laney not to waste any time and get undressed. “Where are your regular clothes? I didn’t see any dresses while I was in here a minute ago. If you stay in them wet things any longer, Tyler’ll be riding for the doctor by nightfall.” She strode toward the wardrobe, and threw the doors open.

  “My clothes are down the hall in my room,” Laney answered loudly. Mrs. Hansen turned on her heels to stare at her with wide eyes.

  “Your room? The only other bedroom down the hall belonged to Jonas and Elizabeth.” Her eyes narrowed again. “You are the young woman Tyler married, aren’t you?” she asked, uncertainty in her eyes.

  Laney nodded. “My name’s Laney.”

  The woman’s piercing stare quickly widened. “No one has set foot in that room since . . . Why in the world are you staying in that room?” She shook her head.

  “Nevermind.” She waved her hand in front of her face, then shooed Laney back out the way she came. “Let’s get you into some proper clothes. They told me in town that you were dressed like a real lady when you arrived on the stage. What in the world has gotten into Tyler to dress you like one of his wranglers?”

  Laney’s lips twitched as she hurried down the hall to her bedroom. Should she tell this woman that it hadn’t been Tyler’s idea that she dressed in pants? She pushed her door open, and waited for Mrs. Hansen. The older woman hesitated.

  “You hurry up and get changed, child. I’ll be in the kitchen. I have to check the water in the kettle. It oughta be boiling about now. I’ve got to get the washing started.”

  Laney swallowed. Wash? As in laundry? She had a bunch of things that could use a good cleaning, but she hadn’t figured out a way to do it yet. Obviously there wasn’t a coin laundry around the next bend in the road in this time. Maybe she could learn something from this woman. She smiled, and quickly nodded. Mrs. Hansen turned and waddled down the hall. She bent and, with a groan, scooped up the pile of clothes she’d dropped a moment ago, then hurried out of sight.

  Laney peeled the wet pants down her hips and legs, and dried off with a towel that hung over the chair. She quickly changed into one of the few clean dresses she had left, and ran a brush through her damp hair. Inhaling deeply, she left her room. Mrs. Hansen stuck her head out the front door at that moment and called loudly.

  “Eddie Simonson, you lazy fool, get yourself up here this instant and help this old woman carry the water out to the wash basin.”

  Laney grinned. For an old woman, she sounded like a drill sergeant. Seconds later, Eddie stormed into the house, huffing and puffing.

  “Yes’m,” he said between breaths of air, and yanked his hat off his head, dropping the wooden bucket he held in his hand with a loud clank.

  “I done told you a half hour ago I needed that water outside. Where have you been hiding out? Don’t think you’re gonna get out of work if you’re hiding.”

  “No, ma’am,” Eddie stammered, and moved into the kitchen.

  The widow’s glare followed the wrangler into the kitchen, then her head turned. Her eyes met Laney’s. Laney held her breath. Was the old woman going to yell at her next? In the same instant, the stern look softened and a wide smile spread across the wrinkled face. With her hands fisted at her wide hips, she nodded as her eyes traveled up and down Laney’s body for the second time today.

  “Well ain’t you just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Tyler must have been tickled pink when he first saw you. Too bad I couldn’t be there to see his fa
ce.” Her tone had softened considerably, and she held out her arms and rushed toward her. Laney’s eyes shot up in surprise when the large woman’s arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace. Mrs. Hansen drew back, and held her at arm’s length.

  “It’s about time that boy found himself a wife. I wanted to cuff that foreman of his between the ears after I heard what he did, and I didn’t believe for a second that Tyler would marry a woman because of a bet. I understand now why he went through with it.” Her smile widened.

  Laney couldn’t help but return the woman’s smile. For as gruff and unfriendly as she’d seemed a few moments ago, there was something about the old lady that tugged at her heartstrings. She couldn’t remember the last time a woman had pulled her into a motherly embrace.

  “Widow Hansen?” Eddie stammered at the front door. “Is there anything else you need, ma’am? I filled the basin outside. Do you need me to heat more water?”

  “No, Eddie. You can go. You can come back later and dump the water for me.”

  Eddie nodded and shot an apologetic glance in Laney’s direction before he rushed out the door.

  Widow Hansen chuckled, then looped her arm through Laney’s. “Gotta keep those boys in line.” She sighed deeply. “Come along, child. You can help me with the wash. I expect this’ll be my last visit.”

  Laney glanced at up at the old woman. “Why do you say that?” Widow Hansen was the perfect person to teach her some of the things she needed to know. She might even teach her how to cook.

  The woman opened the front door, then stopped. “This is your house now. Tyler won’t need me to come around anymore to do his washing and cleaning. The place hasn’t ever looked this clean before. You’ve done a good job.”

  “But, what if I need help?” Laney stammered. She hesitated, then looked the woman squarely in the eyes. “Mrs. Hansen, I—”

  The widow held up her hand. “Call my Myra,” she interrupted. “Most folks just call me Widow Hansen. Seems as if people forgot my given name since my George passed on.” She smiled sadly, and her firm voice faltered.

  “Myra,” Laney said softly. “I like that name.”

  The widow smiled brightly. “Well aren’t you an angel. I like your name, too. I’ve never heard it before.”

  “It’s not very common,” Laney mumbled.

  Myra patted her hand. “What is it you wanted to tell me, Laney?”

  Laney raked her teeth over her bottom lip. “Tyler wants me to cook,” she answered slowly. “And I’m sure he expects me to do the laundry, too.” She shot a quick glance up at the woman’s waiting face. “I don’t know how to do any of those things.” Her heart pounded in her chest as her confession spilled from her lips. The silence was deafening.

  “Well,” Myra said, a quick smile concealing the momentary surprise in her eyes. “We’ll just have to fix that, now, won’t we.”

  Laney sensed the woman’s unease. Was it so abnormal that a woman didn’t know how to cook?

  “Go fetch that pile of shirts I left in the kitchen,” Myra said firmly. Her bright smile was back. “Once we get your husband’s clothes cleaned, I’ll show you how to fix him a supper he’s not likely to forget anytime soon.”

  Laney all but ran to do the woman’s bidding. She inhaled Tyler’s special scent when she grabbed the armful of shirts off the kitchen table, and rushed back to where Myra stood waiting for her by the front door. Together, they marched down the porch and around the side of the house. Steam rose from a large metal basin on a wooden stand.

  Myra picked up a washboard and a cake of soap. She proceeded to show Laney how to scrub the clothes against the board to clean them. It looked like backbreaking work, but Laney absorbed every word the woman told her.

  “You must come from a well to-do family. Did you have servants back east?” Myra asked conversationally as she worked. Laney dipped a shirt into the bucket of rinse water, and wrung out the excess moisture. She secured the shirt to the clothesline with a couple of wooden pins.

  “I’ve just never had to do these things before,” she answered evasively. She busied herself with another shirt to avoid the woman’s perusing stare.

  “That was a mighty brave thing for you to do, come all the way out west on your own.”

  Laney shrugged. “I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into,” she answered truthfully. “I guess I just wanted a new start.” How was she going to keep her answers evasive if Myra decided to question her about her past? She’d already stretched the truth as far as she could during her conversations with Tyler. She hated sneaking around and lying to these people.

  Myra handed the last shirt to Laney. She dipped it into the rinse water, then hung it alongside the others.

  “Tyler is a good man. Whatever you think you need a new start from, he’ll do well by you. Just remember to do well by him.” The woman gripped Laney’s shoulder, and smiled sadly. “It’s good that he finally found himself a wife. Plum shame how that boy just immerses himself in his work and doesn’t socialize. He deserves some happiness after what happened to his pa.”

  Laney met the woman’s gaze. Tyler had told her that his father was dead, but she never found out anything else.

  “What happened?” she asked, and swallowed.

  Myra frowned. “After Elizabeth . . . Tyler’s ma, up and left one day, Jonas was heartbroken. He loved that woman more than life itself.” She shook her head. “Can’t understand it myself, but there you have it. He gave that woman everything to make a fresh start, but in the end, old Lizzy just decided she wanted to go back to her old life, I guess. Left her husband and son and never looked back.” She paused, a hard look in her eyes. “Jonas never did try and find her. He always thought she’d come back on her own. Years passed, and he became a bitter man.” She paused, and stared Laney in the eye. “He finally hung himself a few years ago.”

  Laney’s eyes widened. Understanding hit her like a kick to the chest. Tyler had been so suspicious of her since the first day. Did he think she was like his mother? That was the reason he didn’t want to get close to her. He didn’t want to start a relationship for fear she might leave one day?

  You are like her, Laney. You’re going to leave, too.

  Her mouth suddenly went dry. What was she supposed to do? Was that what the reverend meant when he said she could help Tyler? Help him overcome his fear of committing to a woman? She was the wrong person to do that. She wasn’t staying here in this time. The reverend knew that. If she succeeded in the task the reverend had given her, and Tyler started liking her, it would only make his commitment issues worse in the end. She would only hurt him when she left. Unless . . .

  The reverend never intended to send me back home! He wants me to stay here.

  Laney’s hands flew to her stomach. Nausea hit her, and she wheeled around, facing away from Myra.

  “Are you all right, Laney?” Myra rushed to her side.

  “I’m . . . I’m fine,” Laney stammered. She had to go see the reverend. She couldn’t stay in this time. It was impossible. She didn’t belong here.

  “Well, then.” Myra clapped her hands together. “Lets get on up to the house and see what you’re gonna fix for supper tonight.”

  Laney’s stomach lurched even more at the thought of food. Quietly, she followed Myra back to the house. The widow ordered Eddie to fetch potatoes and a large chunk of beef from the smokehouse, and for the next couple of hours, she showed Laney how to heat the stove and prepare a roast. The meat sent a delicious smell through the house, when horses whinnied outside. The wheels of a buckboard creaked.

  “I believe that’s George Junior, here to fetch me home.” Myra peered out the window. She turned toward Laney, and must have read the question in her eyes. “My son. He took over the livery and smithy back in town after my George died.”

  “But the food isn’t done yet,” Laney protested. “Can’t you both stay for dinner . . . I mean, supper?”

  Myra gathered her shawl that she’d draped around
the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “It’s a long ride back to town, Laney. And I’m sure Tyler will want to spend a quiet evening with you.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  Men’s voices drifted in from outside, and Myra headed for the front door. Laney followed close on her heels.

  “Well, speak of the devil.” The old woman shot a wide grin over her shoulder, and stepped out onto the porch. “Tyler, it’s good to see you.”

  “Widow Hansen.”

  Tyler’s strong voice reached Laney’s ear. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her earlier dilemma from this morning had all been forgotten this afternoon while she mulled over the things she’d learned about Tyler from the widow. Everything made sense to her now. His aloof manner, wanting to take things slow, the fact that he kept his distance.

  Laney stepped out onto the porch. She knotted her hands tightly in front of her. She glanced up, and her eyes met Tyler’s. His gaze locked with hers, and his lips curved in a warm smile that took her breath away. She mentally shook her head. Her pulse hammered in her ears.

  “You got yourself one fine and pretty wife, Tyler Monroe,” Widow Hansen called loudly, while accepting her son’s help down the steps. She walked up to Tyler and stuck her finger into his face. “You treat that gal right, you hear me?”

  Tyler glanced up at Laney, and his smile widened.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and removed his hat. His eyes hadn’t left her.

  Myra nodded in satisfaction, and turned to follow her son to their buggy. Before she allowed him to help her up into the rig, she abruptly turned and strode up to him again, one hand on her hip, and glared up at Tyler’s face. He finally stopped looking at Laney and gave his full attention to the widow.

  “Get that wife of yours into town and buy her some decent clothes. You’re not that hard up that you can’t afford to dress her properly.”