None of his actions today had been rude. But something sparked between them, building the tension as the day progressed. Not something she could quite put a finger on. Maybe…awareness? After the first hour or so, his companionship hadn’t felt awkward. Yet she’d been painfully conscious of every movement he made. Every glance her way. The few times their eyes had met…
She’d jerked away from each look. But that wasn’t her style at all. She usually met confrontation head on, with a measured scrutiny. Until she had a good grasp on what she was up against, and a good idea of how she’d handle it.
And then there was the matter of church tomorrow. Monty made it clear she’d be expected to attend, along with the rest of the cowhands. She had nothing against going to the service. She’d rarely missed a Sunday at home in the little chapel on the ranch, especially when Mama was alive.
But could she really chance meeting that many people? Monty had said they attended the larger of the two churches in town. Not many people forgot the presence of a female cowhand. So many people who might remember her, if a stranger showed up asking about a new woman in town.
A sigh leaked out. She’d hoped her chosen occupation could help her hide. Leonard surely wouldn’t suspect she’d take up cowpunching on a stranger’s ranch. But this career might be a double-edged sword.
But in for a penny, in for a pound. She’d committed to it, so she’d have to make the best of things. Stay on her toes. And away from people.
So what about church? Maybe if she appealed to Anna, the woman could speak with Monty on her behalf. Anna seemed to understand Grace’s fears that first day, even without knowing the details.
But no. She wouldn’t go around Monty again. The man was her boss, after all. She’d have to follow his orders whether she liked it or not. And who knew, maybe he’d be lenient. But how to explain her reasons without actually giving them away?
As if summoned by her thoughts, the front door on the main house opened, and the profile of a man’s broad shoulders darkened the light spilling onto the porch. She’d been watching those same shoulders most of the day, admiring the way his well-defined muscles played under his shirt. Now only a dark outline in the doorway, the breadth of him scorched the moisture from her mouth.
Grace swallowed. Her heart had picked up its pace, but she had no reason to be nervous around him. And here was the perfect time to discuss tomorrow morning’s church service.
She gave Georgina a final pat, then stepped away from the corral fence to meet Monty on the path to the bunkhouse.
He caught her movement without any obvious surprise. Had he known she was there? Or did nothing ruffle this man? Everything about him exuded sturdiness. Just like Rusty had. Must go with the job of foreman. Yet, this man had an extra strength, more than anyone else she’d known.
He stopped about five steps in front of her, the moon to his back so she couldn’t see more than shadows on his face. But that meant he could see her clearly.
Silence reigned as she searched for the right words.
“Nice night.” His voice was quiet, and the words not at all what she’d expected.
“Yes.” Grace’s hands came up to rub her arms. “A bit cooler than California.”
A low chuckle rumbled from him. “This is a warm spell for us. But I hope it will last.”
A warm spell. Of course. She swallowed. “Monty, I have a question. A favor, really.”
His only response was a slight nod. Although maybe the movement was only him settling in to hear her request.
“You mentioned church tomorrow. I wondered if I could have permission to stay here instead? I prefer to read Scripture on my own.” Well, that wasn’t completely a lie. She would prefer to stay at the ranch and read Scripture over being seen by all those people. Grace didn’t dare breathe as she watched him for an answer.
Monty’s head tipped a bit. “The Scripture says not to forsake the assembling of the saints.”
“I know. It’s just…” She fumbled for something that might make sense, but no better words found her tongue. “I would prefer to stay here tomorrow, if I might have your permission.” She fought to keep from dropping her chin, like a child awaiting punishment for sneaking candy.
Monty was silent for several interminable moments. Grace’s heartbeat pulsed loud in her ears. Could he hear it?
“If it’s that important, I suppose you can do your own studies tomorrow. I’d prefer you attend with the rest of us in the future, though.”
Grace exhaled, strength leaking from her bones with the spent air. “Thank you.” She’d been given at least one week’s reprieve. But would that really help?
He watched her for another moment, and the skin along Grace’s arms prickled. What was he searching for? It was as if his dark eyes pierced through her skin to her very thoughts.
She forced her chin up. “I suppose I should head inside now. Thanks again.”
He nodded, and she stepped forward, taking a wide berth around him.
“G’night.”
The word drifted to her after she’d already passed him, sending a rush of bumps skittering over her shoulders. What was it about this man that brought on her body’s strange responses?
As Grace let herself into the main house, the high pitch of a little girl’s voice drifted from the parlor, along with the low rumble of a man’s tones. She stopped in the doorway. Did she dare ask another special request?
“Grace.” Anna sounded pleased to see her, as she snuggled the baby in a rocker by the fire. Her husband and older daughter nestled in the overstuffed chair beside her. “Won’t you come sit with us?”
Grace tried to summon a thankful smile. “No, thank you. I’ll just head on up for the night. Although...” She paused to gather the right words. “I wonder if it would bother you if I played the violin for a few minutes before retiring?”
“Oh, really?” Anna’s face lit. “I had no idea you played an instrument. Yes, please. We’d love it.” Pure delight rang through the words.
Grace nodded. “Thank you. I’ll keep my door closed so the noise doesn’t bother you.” Although, to play the way she craved, the sound would ring through the entire house. But that couldn’t happen tonight. She was only a hired hand, and the last thing she wanted to do was disturb the family. How different from her life six months ago.
As she latched the door of her private quarters, Grace’s gaze fell on the leather violin case she’d tucked in the corner. Her most treasured gift from Mama. The one thing they’d had in common. When there was nothing else they could agree on, the two of them could lay bow to string and find harmony. Breathtaking, heart-stirring harmony.
Her fingers fumbled as she untied the leather clasps. When she raised the cover, her eyes roamed the polished wood inside. Perfect. She’d had the case tied so carefully in her bedroll, the long ride to Texas hadn’t seemed to phase it.
After plucking the strings to find the perfect tuning, she lifted the violin to her shoulder and tucked it under her chin. Fitting her fingers around the bow, she closed her eyes, and allowed the music to soak in.
With the rich melody of Mendelsson’s Violin Concerto filling her veins, Grace’s mind cleared. If she could just hide out until Leonard stopped looking for her, maybe she could finally live a normal life in this place. Her new home.
~ ~ ~
MONTY LAY ON his bed in the corner of the bunkhouse, soaking in the dissonant strains of music drifting through the walls. Was that Grace? It had to be. Such rich sounds had never flowed from the main house before.
Where had she ever learned to play an instrument that way? It was unlike anything he’d heard. Touching a place deep inside him.
That woman was such a mystery. Her speech sounded polished, not like any cow hand he’d ever met. Yet she didn’t seemed compelled to prattle on like most females. She’d seemed to have decent knowledge about the animals, and a light came into her eyes when she spoke of the ranch she’d left in California. Her father’s, apparently. T
ough lot that both her parents had passed on. He certainly knew how that felt.
So what was she doing half a continent away, working as a hired hand? It made no sense. Why hadn’t she married and stayed to run her own ranch? Or were there other siblings who’d inherited the property, so she struck out on her own? So many questions.
Now more than before, he wanted to learn her secrets. Wanted to know the many facets of Grace Harper. Intriguing.
Chapter Four
MONTY EASED PONCHO forward to loosen the rope around the calf as Donato took control of the feisty heifer. The animal let out another pitiful bleat as the man tied its feet and slipped the lariat off her neck. If the little thing thought being caught was bad, she’d not enjoy what was coming next. It had to be done though, and the pain from branding would soon fade, leaving the security that she’d stay in the lush pastures of the Double Rocking B.
As he gathered the loops of his rope, Monty scanned each of the stations. After Donato and Nathan branded each animal, Jesse stepped forward to notch the calf’s ear with the Double Rocking B’s special marking. Just in case the brand was ever disfigured. Then the young bulls moved on to the next station to be castrated. It looked like Carlos, Luis, and—his gaze froze at the smaller figure hunched over the back end of a prostrate male calf.
Grace? The glint of a metal blade shimmered in the sun, and Monty nudged his horse closer as his throat tightened. Surely they hadn’t forced Grace to rotate into the worst of the stations. Last time he’d seen her, she’d had a branding iron in her hand, which was bad enough. How could these roughnecks make a woman take on such a bloody, distasteful job?
When he was a few strides away, Monty slid from the saddle and dropped a rein to the ground as Poncho’s cue to stand quietly. He’d best not speak until Grace pulled the knife away from the pathetic animal on the ground. Castration was a rough task, but it had to be done with the male calves who’d end up going to market.
But it didn’t have to be done by Grace.
After several long minutes, she straightened and scooted back. “He’s done.” As the men eased the calf’s legs down, Antonio stepped in with a bucket of medicine.
Monty focused his gaze on Grace. She squared her shoulders and arched her back in a stretch, still holding her bloody hands in front of her. The outline of her lean form cleared the air from his lungs like a slam to his gut. What was he doing letting a woman—and quite a beautiful one, at that—roll around out here with the cattle? Yet, she sure seemed to be at home with the animals. And seemed to know what she was doing, besides.
He cleared his throat, and Grace eased her head toward him, raising her gaze to meet his. “Yes, sir?”
With those blue eyes studying him, any words he’d planned to speak fled his tongue. “I need you to...” He cleared his throat again. “…switch places with Santiago, roping the calves.”
She arched her brows. “But I just rotated to this job.” She shot a glance at her helpers, busy wrestling another young bull into place. “And I don’t seem to mind it as much as the others.”
No surprise that it bothered the men, but they earned good wages to do the work.
“I can do it, Monty.”
He met her earnest gaze.
A shout rang out across the pasture. Monty whipped toward the sound in time to see a horse rear and its rider topple to the ground. He ran toward the scene, every muscle tensed. All the men and their horses were seasoned workers. Not likely a horse would rear unless there was danger. Whatever hid in that clump of bushes couldn’t be good.
As Monty neared, the green shirt proclaimed the man on the ground to be Santiago. He pushed up to a sitting position and reached toward his leg.
Monty slowed to a walk so he could better find the danger. Nothing that he could see. “Are you hurt?”
“Snake.” Santiago’s voice came out in a low growl, and Monty followed his gaze to a grey mound that he’d first dismissed as a rock. “I don’t have my pistol.” Strain laced Santiago’s words.
Reaching into his boot, Monty pulled the small Smith & Wesson Model One from the holder he’d rigged there. He cocked the handgun and stepped close enough to ensure his aim. A gun belt was too clumsy when he had to be in and out of the saddle all day, but it was a blessed relief he still carried this smaller pistol.
Monty barely registered the others coming up behind him, but he kept his focus on the reptile coiled less than two feet away from Santiago’s boot. Would it strike again? He’d heard of snakes biting more than once if provoked.
The eerie shaking sound of a rattle crept through the air. He didn’t have much time. Monty sighted the small pistol, but before his finger could find the trigger, a blast exploded near his right ear.
The snake burst into fifty fragments. Monty whirled, but barely saw the brown blur as someone flew past him to kneel by Santiago’s side.
Grace.
She was already pulling Santiago’s boot off the leg he clutched. Then her knife was out and she sliced the bottom of his trousers.
Monty forced himself into motion. In two steps he was kneeling beside her. Santiago’s lower leg had already started to swell, and the twin fang marks on his calf loomed a blackish-red. Monty jerked the bandanna from his own neck, and tied it just below the knee. They had to stop the blood from carrying any more venom to the rest of his body.
“Don’t cut the wound.” Grace’s terse comment jerked Monty’s attention to her face. “I’m going to make a poultice to draw out the poison.”
She knelt by Santiago’s head and stroked a soothing hand over his hair, murmuring a few words Monty couldn’t decipher. And then she was off, leaving Monty with his dying cousin and a semi-circle of sober-faced men watching him.
Santiago’s breathing was already labored, and Monty turned his gaze back to the swollen leg. He’d only done this one other time, and the man had died anyway. Grace said not to cut the wound, something he’d been told to do last time so he could get access to more poison. But she seemed to know what she was about.
Leaning close to the leg, he pressed his mouth to one of the fang marks and sucked, careful to keep his tongue back to block the opening of his throat. The last thing he needed was to swallow the poison himself. With a little liquid in his mouth, he turned his head to the side and spat, then went back to the fang marks. Over and over, he worked to remove the venom.
Was it doing any good? Santiago struggled for breath, groaning, and whiter than any Mexican should look.
Finally Grace reappeared at his side, and the rush of relief that flushed through him took the strength from his muscles. She pressed a damp cloth to Santiago’s head, then turned her focus to the leg. After a few seconds of scrutiny, she nodded. “Do you think you got any venom out?”
“Not sure. I didn’t cut the wound.” Had he ingested some of the poison after all and it was making him light-headed?
“The leg’s not as black as I would have expected by now.” She worked while she spoke, pouring an oozing mixture on the leg and pressing a bandage to it.
“What’s that?”
“Supplies from the chuck wagon. Eggs, salt, and gunpowder. I hope it’ll draw the poison out.”
“Do you want whiskey?”
“No.” Grace spat the word. “Some people think it helps, but I’ve only seen it make things worse. We’ll let this soak in and his body will fight the poison on its own.” She glanced at Santiago’s face. “We shouldn’t move him for a while. Bring blankets and cool water to make him comfortable here. And send someone for the doctor.”
Monty turned to Donato, who must have heard Grace’s words. He nodded and gripped Nathan’s elbow, then the two of them slipped back out of the crowd.
Mama Sarita, their cook, pushed through the men in Donato’s wake, and knelt at Santiago’s head. She spoke soothing words to the man in Mexican, and stroked a wet cloth over his face. The older woman had been a godsend on the ranch since arriving last year. Born American, she’d married a Mexican man and
lived in that country until it was hard to distinguish her from the natives. But when her husband and son died, she’d come back to Texas and taken up cooking for the ranch.
“Can you tie my bandana around this cloth to hold it in place?” Grace’s words broke through Monty’s stupor.
He took in the scene. Both Grace’s hands were occupied with holding the bandage over Santiago’s wound so the oozing medicine stayed where it was needed most. His own bandana was still tied tight, just below Santiago’s knee. No other extra cloth presented itself.
Monty glanced at Grace’s neck and the blue scarf tied there. With Santiago’s life possibly hanging in the balance, he shouldn’t think twice about reaching for something so near Grace’s body. Shouldn’t even be thinking about it at all.
“Do it, Monty.” Grace had that steel edge to her voice again.
He dropped back on his haunches so he could reach behind her and fumbled with the knot in the fabric. Twice, his fingers brushed the soft skin of her neck, and both times she flinched.
At last, the knot slipped loose, and he pulled the cloth away. He forced his shoulders to relax as he moved back to Grace’s side. But as he shifted the bandanna several times around the poultice in Grace’s hands, the same clumsiness filled his fingers again. He’d never claimed to be a surgeon, but usually he was pretty good with detailed work. Not this unsteady collection of thumbs that had taken over his fingers.
The inside of his wrist brushed Grace’s arm where she’d rolled up her sleeves, and his heart thumped harder in his chest.
Focus, man.
Locking his jaw, he quickly finished the knot, then leaned back and away from Grace.
The Rancher Takes a Cowgirl Page 3
