“It appears you don’t have a choice.”
Will barreled into the room, his energy a palpable thing. “Ma?”
“Yes, honey.”
“Why are you hiding under the sheet?”
This was ridiculous. As much as she hated her son to see the results of the attack, she certainly couldn’t avoid him until her face healed. She slowly lowered the sheet, watching as his eyes grew wide.
“What happened to your face?”
Rachel glanced at Rusty, hoping he would answer. Never good at lying, she was afraid her son would see right through her deception.
Rusty sat at the edge of the bed and drew Will closer. “Remember last night I had you and Amelia stay home and get ready for bed so I could escort your mama back?”
Will nodded, casting an anxious glance at Rachel’s face.
“When I found your ma, she had stopped the horses to rearrange her wagon, tripped on her dress getting out, and banged her face against the wagon wheel.”
“Oh.” He climbed up on the bed and studied her face. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes, a little bit.”
He continued to stare at her in wonder. “Maybe the next time you should wear pants.”
“I don’t have any pants. Ladies wear dresses.”
“Maybe Mr. McIntyre can lend you some pants the next time.” He turned to Rusty. “Right, Mr. McIntyre?”
Rusty’s lips twitched, apparently holding in a grin. “That is actually a good idea, son. We’ll have to see about getting your ma fixed up with pants for her next trip into town.”
“Where is everybody?” Amelia called from the front door.
“In here, Amelia,” Rusty said.
She hesitated as she entered the room, seeming unsure of herself as she took in Rusty, Will, and Rachel all sitting on the bed.
Rachel put out her hand. “Come join us.”
The girl shook her head and stayed where she was. “I just wanted to see if you were feeling better. That bruise looks painful.”
“Yeah, my ma fell getting out of the wagon and banged her face on the wagon wheel.” Will offered the information with a solemn nod of his head.
“All right, everyone. Will, your ma needs to rest for a couple of days. Amelia, can you find Mac and tell him he’ll need to take over the cooking until Mrs. Stevens is better?”
She drew herself up and looked him right in the eye. “I can take over the cooking.”
Rusty rubbed his index finger and thumb over his jaw. “I think you might be able to do it sometime soon, but for now we’ll have Mac take over and you help him.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.” She bristled. “You might think you’re my father, but I don’t.”
“Whether you chose to acknowledge me as your father is not important to this conversation. I am the foreman of this ranch, and those decisions fall to me. You will help Mac with the cooking, but he will be in charge. Is that clear?”
Amelia crossed her arms under her breasts and glared at Rusty. Rachel reached out and touched him on the arm. “Let me talk to her.”
He stood. “Fine. Will, you come with me. We need to get Mac started on breakfast, or the men won’t get a lick of work done this morning.”
As he passed Amelia at the door, his expression softened, and he started to touch her on the shoulder, but the girl turned from him and walked over to the bed. He sighed and left the room, his little shadow two steps behind him.
Will waved. “Bye, Ma.”
***
How the hell was he supposed to be a father to a girl almost grown, and who wanted no part of him? Perhaps having her stay with Rachel had not been such a good idea, after all. He felt no closer to the girl now than he had when she arrived. But in the meantime, Rachel’s son followed him around like a puppy dog. Maybe they should switch kids.
Nah, Rachel would never give up her son.
After giving instructions to Mac about the change in cooking duties for a few days, he and Will grabbed some apples, a chunk of cheese, and a couple of day-old biscuits. That would have to do them this morning. He was already behind schedule for the day. Determined to get all the fencing inspected and any needed repairs finished before fall, Rusty pushed the men. But the one he was the hardest on was himself.
With miles of barbed wire to check, all the men spent a good part of their day riding the fences. Not as exciting as the old days of cattle ranching. With the animals enclosed and no longer roaming the plains, the cowboy’s job had changed from twenty or thirty years before.
Big Bob had a first-rate ranch, and Rusty was anxious to add to his savings so he could one day have a spread of his own. As time went on, he’d need lots of hands to run his ranch, and someone to pass it all down to when he died.
His thoughts drifted to Rachel. Now, there was an idea. Not only a fine looking woman, but a good cook, used to dealing with cowboys, and a son just chomping at the bit to work a ranch. If he could just get past his belief that all women were unfaithful, he might take a second—or third—look at Mrs. Stevens.
Not that she had ever given him a reason to believe she would welcome him as a suitor. In fact, she’d said almost nothing about her marriage or husband. Had he been cruel? Did she have a distrust, or dislike of men? There was certainly no doubt of the attraction between them. Her blushes told him she was aware of him as a man.
While pondering these thoughts, he and Will rode for hours, past windmills used to drive pumps that could draw water from underground, and miles and miles of fencing. The food they brought sustained them for their noon meal, along with some wild berries and a good sized catfish he’d caught and cooked over a fire.
By five o’clock, they were headed back to the cookhouse, the ringing of the dinner bell a welcoming sound to their growling bellies.
***
“I brought you some supper.” Rusty entered his bedroom and came to an abrupt halt to find it empty. Where had Rachel gone? Not that he expected her to take up permanent residence with him, but he thought . . . Hell, he wasn’t sure what he thought.
He backtracked and crossed over the pebbled pathway to her house. Amelia opened the door at his knock, looking mighty worn out. “Oh, hello.”
“Hello to you, too. How did the cooking go today?”
Amelia rotated her neck and stifled a yawn. “Fine.” She closed the door behind him, and said, “Ah, sorry about this morning.” She stared down at her shoe and continued in a soft voice, “I think you were right. I’m pretty sure I would have made a mess of things if Mac hadn’t been in charge.”
Rusty felt as if he’d won a high stakes round of poker. Not only was she talking to him, she was actually telling him he’d been right. “I’m glad it all worked out. Mac told me you were a big help today, and he couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Really?” Her eyes grew wide and for the first time he saw a genuine smile on her pretty face. He studied her for a minute, looking for some resemblance to what he saw in the mirror every day. She was obviously Beatrice’s daughter, but his? Not so sure. “Is Mrs. Stevens in her bedroom?”
“No. She’s in the kitchen with Will.”
Rusty headed down the hallway to the kitchen, Amelia trailing behind him. One look at Rachel and his gut twisted again. Her eye looked terrible, and she sat stiffly in the chair, obviously in pain. All the anger he thought was behind him re-surfaced. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
She jerked at his tone. “Well, good evening to you, too.”
“Sorry.” He placed the supper dish on the table and gently took her chin in his hand, moving her head one way, then the other. “You need a couple of days in bed. I can see the way you’re sitting here that you’re in a lot of pain.”
“I need to get back to work. I can’t lie around in bed all day.”
“I just talked to Mac and he said everything went fine today. In fact,” he turned toward Amelia, “Mac complimented Amelia on what a great job she did.”
“I’m not at all sur
prised. Your daughter has shown quite a bit of skill in the kitchen.”
The girl blushed; whether from the compliment, or Rachel’s reference to ‘his daughter,’ wasn’t clear.
“Will, you seem to be having a hard time keeping your eyes open. Go on upstairs and go to bed.”
“Ah, Ma. I’m not a baby.” A loud yawn followed, belying his statement.
Rachel grinned and ruffled Will’s hair. “To bed, young man.”
“All right.” Now that he had no choice, he dragged himself out of the chair, ducked when Rachel tried to kiss him, and left the room.
“I’m going for a walk before bed,” Amelia said, backing toward the doorway.
Rachel nodded in the direction of the plate Rusty brought. “Is that for me?”
“Sure is. Mac and Amelia made chicken and dumplings. It was pretty good, too.” He drew out a chair and straddled it.
“Better than mine?”
Was she flirting with him? He still hadn’t recovered from waking up with his arms wrapped around her warm, soft body, nestled against his. His hand had ached with the desire to cup her full breast and mold its softness. Her rounded bottom had sat on top of his erection. If Will hadn’t burst into the room, they might have done something that he would be feeling regret for right now. Or maybe not.
“No one’s chicken and dumplings is better than yours.” He reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the sheriff?”
She shook her head. “Nothing will come of it, except to upset Will. Just let it go.”
Rusty stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Every time I think of their filthy hands on you, I want to track them down and finish what I started.”
“No.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I want to forget it ever happened. Please? Let’s just forget . . .” Her voice faded, her eyes filling with tears.
He knelt at her feet and took her hands in his. “You are the most remarkable woman I have ever known.”
“No, not at all. I’m just a woman who wants to put this behind her, and raise my son.” She swiped at the moisture on her cheeks and gave him a smile. “Now I would like to eat my supper.”
He climbed to his feet and kissed her forehead. “While you’re eating, I’ll run over to my place and get more of the pain powder. It will also help you to sleep better.”
What he would like to do to help her sleep would get him a slap in the face if he suggested it. Even with the bruised eye and split lip, she still caused his blood to boil and gather in the wrong spot.
Chapter Seven
Rusty stepped out his front door with the packet of pain powder in his hand. Full darkness had arrived, with a bright new moon casting the area in an eerie glow. His attention was drawn to giggling behind his house. Then the sound of a male voice. More giggling, more male voice.
Shoving the packet into his pants, he rounded the corner of the house. Not more than ten feet away stood his daughter in the arms of a cowboy. The man was just bending his head to her lips when Rusty strode up to the couple and yanked the cowboy back by his shirt collar, and tossed him on the ground. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He stood over the surprised young man, his hands fisted at his side. “Answer me, boy. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The cowboy glanced back and forth between Amelia and Rusty. “Ah, we were just . . .”
“Just what?” Rusty moved closer, causing the cowboy to skitter backward like a crab.
“No!” Amelia grabbed Rusty’s arm and pulled. “Stop. Don’t hit him.” Her eyes were round, her face pale in the moonlight. She chewed her lower lip and her breaths came in shot spurts.
Rusty rounded on her. “You, young lady go into the house right now, while I deal with this.” He turned his attention to the young man still sitting on the ground. “Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you on the ranch.”
“No, sir. I don’t work here. My name is Thomas Richardson. I’m from Kansas. I’m visiting my Aunt Mabel and Uncle Bob.”
Damnation, the boy was Richardson’s nephew. As much as he’d like to pound the kid into the dirt, it wouldn’t do to beat up the boss’s relatives. “Stand up, boy.” He reached out to take the kid’s hand. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen, sir.”
He turned to Amelia. “Go into the house. I will deal with you in a minute.”
Amelia glowered at him, but hurried to Rachel’s house, slamming the door. Rusty turned back to Thomas. “Are you aware that my daughter is only fourteen years old?”
Thomas blanched and shook his head. “No, sir. She told me she was sixteen.”
“Did she, now? Well, she’s only fourteen, and I suggest you find other ways to occupy your time while you’re visiting.”
The boy wiped his brow. “Yes, sir.”
“Go on, get out of here.”
Thomas hurried away. A grin started forming on Rusty’s face, then quickly faded. She told the boy she was sixteen?
With a deep breath, Rusty headed to Rachel’s house. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.
***
Amelia barreled through the front door and raced down the hall to her bedroom, slamming the door. Just preparing for bed, Rachel jumped at the sound, wincing at the pain in her shoulder. After changing into her nightgown, she left her bedroom, and reached for Amelia’s bedroom doorknob just as Rusty gave a brief knock, then entered the house.
He stood, legs spread apart, his hands on his hips. “Where is she?”
“Amelia?”
“Yep. Tell her to come on out here.”
His expression reminded her of how he looked right after he’d beaten the men who attacked her. Rachel moved away from the girl’s door and flipping her long braid over her shoulder, walked up to him. “What happened?”
He pointed to Amelia’s door. “I need to talk to that girl right now.”
She crossed her arms and shook her head. “No. Not until you tell me what happened.”
Rusty took his hat off and flung it on the sofa, running his fingers through his hair. “I caught her outside, behind the house, in the dark, with a boy.”
“And?”
“What do you mean ‘and?’”
“What were they doing? Talking, kissing, laughing, playing jump rope, what?”
He leaned in toward her. “Now Rachel, you might be a sweet, God-fearing woman, but you know right well they weren’t playing jump rope.”
She grasped his arm and dragged him to the kitchen and pointed to a chair. “Sit down.” Once they were both settled, she said, “Tell me what happened. Exactly.”
When he finished telling her the whole tale, she studied him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The look on his face after she laughed was more amusing than his righteous indignation at the young couple sneaking a kiss behind the house.
“What the hell is so funny?”
“Rusty, even I, as a ‘sweet, God-fearing woman,’ have probably snuck a kiss with a young man when I was a girl.”
“She’s fourteen years old!”
“Yes. Fourteen. In some cultures she would already be married with a babe or two. It’s what young people do. They want to understand the new feelings they have, the changes in their bodies.”
He put his hand up. “Don’t start talking about changes in bodies. I’m not prepared to hear any more about that.” He jumped to his feet and paced. “I’m responsible for that girl. If she gets herself in a family way, I’ll have to take a shotgun to some boy.” He turned and pointed his finger at Rachel’s face. “And I won’t be too happy if it’s my boss’s nephew, you can bet on that.”
“Rusty, for heaven’s sake, calm down.” Rachel stood and walked to the stove. “How about a cup of tea?”
“Tea? Don’t you have any whiskey?”
“No. I don’t have whiskey. Why would I? I’m making myself a cup of tea, and that’s all I have to offer.” She teased him with a smile as sh
e filled a pot with water. “I have some apple pie.”
“You talked me into it.”
Rachel cut two slices of pie, and added tea to the blue and white teapot she received as a wedding gift.
She placed it carefully in the center of the table. “This teapot is special to me. My sister, Ellie, saved money from her part-time job to buy this for me as a wedding gift.”
“Tell me about your husband.”
Startled for a minute, she paused to consider his question. Most days it was hard to even remember she’d been married. If it wasn’t for Will, she would probably forget about it completely.
“Billy was a nice man.” She stopped, amazed that she could think of nothing else to say. How awful that she couldn’t say more about the man she’d wed and shared a child with. It had been so long ago.
Perhaps sensing her confusion, Rusty placed his warm hand on her cold one. “How long were you married?”
“Only two years. He died of pneumonia when Will was a baby.”
“Will told me his ‘real’ name is Zander.”
Rachel smiled, remembering that discussion. “Yes. Zander was the name of Billy’s favorite uncle. He insisted on naming our son that. It was quite an argument. I demanded William as his middle name, and never called him anything but Will. Billy called him Zander.”
“Did you love him?”
***
Why the hell did he ask that foolish question? What did it matter to him if Rachel loved her husband who died when Will was a baby? What bothered him the most was that it did matter. The fact that Rachel hesitated told him enough.
Her cheeks grew red as she studied the spoon next to her saucer. “I’m not sure.” She looked up, giving him a wistful smile. “I was more in love with the idea of love, I believe. My Aunt Tori and Uncle Jesse took over our care when my parents died. They wanted all of us to go to college. Uncle Jesse is a lawyer and Tori was a schoolteacher. My brother, Michael, went to Pharmacy school, and when it came my turn to go to college, I refused.
“We argued for weeks over that, but Billy and I were courting, and all I could see was marriage, a home and a family. Tori tried to convince me I could do both, but with stars in my eyes, all I wanted was marriage.”
A Chance to Love Again Page 6
