The Cowboy Who Came Calling

by Linda Broday

  “It’s quite all right, ma’am. My fault.”

  “If you insist.” The woman’s tightly drawn lips voiced clear disapproval. “Though I object to overfamiliarity toward strangers.” She halved her biscuit and buttered both sides slowly. “I’ve tried to teach my girls proper decorum.”

  No doubt. Still, no mother would have her oldest daughter carrying such a load. Couldn’t she see the years it tacked on to Glory’s life? Not that he didn’t admire the golden-haired beauty for accepting the responsibility. Her spunk amazed him. Going after Mad Dog Perkins took a sight more than courage.

  “And a wonderful job you’ve done, ma’am.”

  The woman glowed under his compliment. From where he sat, the fragile woman was incapable of managing their daily affairs. She should thank her lucky stars for her three strong daughters.

  Patience rested her arm on the table and shot him a grin. “Have you ever killed anyone, Mr. Luke? I mean when you were tryin’ to capture them, that is.”

  He’d never considered wool breaking a man out in a sweat like this. Silence would’ve been a blessing.

  The smattering of freckles that marched across the smaller girl’s nose and cheeks reminded him of his nephew, George. But the endless questions exactly matched Luke’s sister, Victoria.

  “A time or two, Punkin.” Luke didn’t know why the word slipped out. Except it fit. He cast a sidelong glance for her mother’s disapproval. None came, so he reckoned she’d not toss him out on his ear just yet. Maybe she allowed for all the blood on him.

  “Where are you from, Mr. McClain? Do you have any family?”

  This time, the quiet, angelic Hope entered the conversation. He wondered what thoughts went through Glory’s mind. She’d not said four or five words thus far.

  “My folks hail from Tranquillity, down on the Colorado. You might’ve heard tell of it?” He lobbed the inquiry toward Glory. Yet, he shouldn’t have bothered. She focused solely on the meager bit of food on her plate, oblivious of the conversation. He wondered if she mulled over her afternoon’s failures. Or what she’d overheard.

  He cursed himself for the slight fib he’d told Patience about being a lawman.

  “I’ve heard it mentioned,” Mrs. Day said, wiping her mouth daintily again. A faraway stare appeared in her eyes. “My Jack is in Austin. He’s on a business trip, you know.”

  Luke caught Glory’s quick, darting glance that showed she feared what her mother would say. He wanted to tell her he already knew about her father’s imprisonment. Despite apologizing for getting in the way and spoiling her plans, he wished he could do something, anything, to make it up.

  “Do you think they worry about you, McClain? If it’s been a while without word…what with your dangerous profession and all.” Glory’s studied gaze bored a hole into his soul. He wondered what she saw there to cause her eyebrows to knit.

  “Profession? Just what would that be, Miss Glory? I’m no lawman.”

  “I know what I heard.” Glory met his gaze. “You’re still denying it?”

  “Yes.” Double damn! If only he’d held his tongue.

  “Would you like to tell us what you are and why you would chase a wanted criminal? Are you a bounty hunter then?”

  “I’m just a plain. ordinary man who wanted Perkins for the same reason you did.”

  “Fair enough.” She lowered her stare at last. “Then I suppose your family, should you truly have one, misses you.”

  “Reckon they do for a fact. It’s been way too long since I laid eyes on them.” He had heard about the Spanish Inquisition but had never been subjected to one. Before now.

  “Not that it matters. I only asked in case there was anyone we might need to notify—should you meet with an untimely end.” Glory’s quiet tone tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. “A wife or children perhaps?”

  He’d had no inkling what pond the girl had dropped her hook in. Now it dawned. The fishing expedition brought a twinge of joy. Though why, he couldn’t quite say. His heart didn’t have room for two women, and Jessie currently occupied it.

  “Just a father, brother, and sister is the sum of it.” And Jessie and a little girl named Marley Rose. But Glory didn’t have to know about them.

  She stopped the beginning of a smile. But not before he saw the flash of relief. The wrinkle in her forehead smoothed.

  Glory turned her attention to the others. “Mama, would you like another spoonful of squash? It’s your favorite. Hope made it especially for you.”

  “I don’t think so, dear.” For the first time that night, he saw a sparkle in the matron’s eyes. “I’m saving room for some of that hot molasses gingerbread.”

  All of a sudden, a solution hit him. He’d track Perkins to the end of the earth if necessary. And after he beat the information he needed out of his mangy hide, he’d hand the reward over to Glory. That’d go a long way to making amends. He only prayed it didn’t take too long. Punkin spilling the beans about their father’s health made haste crucial.

  A teasing smile graced Hope’s face as she rose. “How did you know I made gingerbread, Mama? I wanted to surprise you.”

  “My darling girl, no fooling your mother. The smell is unmistakable. I can eat my weight of that cake.”

  So could he, Luke decided. He hurried to finish his second helping of everything, even the collards he wasn’t fond of, so he could partake with the rest. He’d just finished shoveling in the last bite when Hope delivered the warm cake to the table.

  The remainder of the meal passed without further sweating. Then, each girl carried her plate to the wash bucket. Patience eagerly added his to her stack. The worship in her eyes made him fidget.

  “I’d be obliged if you’d join my daughters and me in the parlor.”

  Mother Day’s request appeared to put the invitation more in the ordering category. Should he have such an inclination, which he didn’t, he couldn’t refuse. Being a guest and all.

  Spending too much time alone made a man crave stimulation. He grinned. This promised to go above and beyond that.

  Despite the throbbing pain that persisted in his leg, he moved as fast as he could to help Mrs. Day out of her chair. Quite a feat considering he dared not release his grip on the pants, for they’d surely fall around his ankles.

  “Please,” Patience begged with puppy dog eyes.

  “Shush, dear, it may be too much for him. Losing blood weakens a man. We don’t want him overdoing it.”

  He tried to read Glory’s mind, whether she voted yea or nay. And though her brief glance made the homespuns itch twice as bad, her thoughts on the matter remained shrouded in mystery. Mischievous fancies he couldn’t deny took root.

  “Glory reads to us from Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women when Mama has one of her headaches.” Patience grinned. “It’s the best time of the whole day. Do you like that book?”

  The oldest Day sister looked ready to throttle Patience.

  “Punkin, I’ve never been one for reading. Occasion for it don’t come often.” He looped an arm around the girl’s shoulders and turned to the lady of the house. “Thank you, ma’am. Wouldn’t mind staying up for a spell. Haven’t had the company of so many charming ladies at once that I can remember.”

  Patience took his hand and led him to the biggest chair in the parlor. “This is my papa’s. I don’t think he’d mind you keeping it warm.”

  “It’ll be our secret.” Ah, he could finally turn loose of the pants as he settled into the haven. His wounded leg burned with the heat of a smithy’s forge. Some choice cuss words crossed his mind while he endeavored to find a comfortable spot.

  Then he watched what he suspected formed a nightly ritual. Mother Day took the seat opposite him while Glory lifted a book from the mantel over the hearth. Patience dropped cross-legged to the floor at her mother’s knee and Hope slipped into a high-backed ro
cker.

  “Mama, I’m too tired. Would you mind reading tonight?” At her mother’s nod, Glory put the open book into her hands before she took the other vacant chair.

  “Let’s see, where were we? Do you remember, Patience?”

  “Jo had just sold her hair to get money for Marmee to travel to see their sick papa.”

  “Oh yes.” Mother Day began to read with lyrical refinement.

  Luke closed his lids for a moment to soak up the sounds and images that sprang to life from the pages of the book. Strange that the story bore such similarity to the current household.

  When he opened his eyes, Glory had lifted an article of clothing to her lap and begun to sew. His trousers! She was repairing the ruined pants in front of the whole clan.

  Heat spread and not from the woolens. But soon a pleasant tranquility replaced his discomfort. The intimate sight brought a glow inside. One that rivaled the brightness of a lighthouse on the darkest, most stormy night. He rested his head against the high back. A king couldn’t have found better lodging.

  She caught him staring. For a split second, he spied honest desire in her features. Then it left. Must have been simply a mirage in the flickering light of the oil lamp.

  She had let him know in no uncertain terms what he could do with such speculation.

  Still…when did he back down from a challenge?

  Five

  Glory woke the next morning to a chorus of brays, moos, and rooster crowing. It took a full moment to remember why she slept in the barn loft. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. A book fell off her stomach to the hay.

  Her journal was the one luxury she allowed herself. Jotting her innermost thoughts on paper gave her a sense of companionship, of having help in her struggles.

  She barely recalled having written in it before she dozed off.

  Curious about her last entry, she opened the page. Hell’s bells! She’d written Mrs. Luke McClain several times in flowing penmanship. Something for lovesick schoolgirls, not old maids.

  She slammed the book shut before the crowing rooster above her head saw it and blabbed her foolish scribbling to the world. Her face burned and it wasn’t from the newly risen sun. If anyone—most of all Luke—were to see what she’d written, she’d die. She’d just dig a hole and bury herself.

  She slid the book beneath the hay, hiding it from prying eyes.

  “Cock-a-doodle-doo right back, you silly.”

  The bird flapped his wings and flew down to roost on the pitchfork handle near Bessie. He opened his beak and set up an awful racket as if telling the milk cow what he’d seen.

  “Shush, you big mouth. I’ve a good mind to pluck and boil you for supper.”

  She pulled on the britches and tucked in her shirt, releasing a sigh. Only four more days until she could wear her dress.

  On Sundays, she could be a lady.

  But this was Wednesday, and though the day had just dawned, she already ran two hours behind.

  While she tugged on the mule-eared boots, a heaviness landed square in the middle of her chest. Money—or rather the lack of it. Mr. Fieldings could surely take their land. Then she also had other considerations—her father’s dilemma. If she poured all her efforts into getting money for her mother to be with him, they’d lose their home. Besides, in her present state, her mother couldn’t withstand the rigors of travel. Glory knew she had to choose between the two.

  Jo March sold her hair so her mother could go to her father’s side. An excellent idea, except no one in Santa Anna, not even in the whole county, had a use for shorn hair. Nope, she’d have to think harder.

  Her sisters stumbled half-asleep through the barn door.

  “Good morning.” Hope yawned, lifting the milk bucket from a nail.

  Glory climbed down the ladder to the barn floor. “What’s the matter, Squirt? Jabber too much yesterday?”

  “Don’ know what’s good about it. When I get big, I’m not gonna raise any chickens.” Patience snatched the egg-gathering basket. “An’ I’m gonna sleep till noon.”

  “Don’t worry. When you get grown, you’ll have to do the same chores, like it or not. That’s life.” Hope put the bucket beneath Bessie and plopped onto the milking stool.

  Glory suddenly decided she’d grown rather fond of eating. And keeping a roof over their heads took equal priority. Somehow, someway, she’d come up with two dollars by Saturday. Her mind eased with the choice made.

  Papa, forgive me.

  “I’m gonna have me a husband. One of those rich ones.” The little imp flounced over to the row of nests. “And I ain’t gonna live on no stinking farm either. I’ll be a city woman with pretty clothes. I’m gonna go to Paris like Amy March!”

  That darn book had filled her with this nonsense.

  “You’d best get those fancy ideas out of your head, Squirt. Sometimes you can’t help what you’re stuck with.” Glory scooped up some oats. She merely prayed for a break occasionally.

  Luke’s horse nudged her hand, almost knocking the bucket to the floor when she reached over the stall. Lucky for him, she had a firm grip or he’d be rooting on the ground with the chickens for his breakfast. The pushy horse appeared to have taken lessons from his master.

  Their short feed supply called for scrimping. She’d considered putting the animals out to pasture. Except the sea of dead grass changed her mind. And her soft heart wouldn’t allow it. They hadn’t caused their circumstances.

  Earsplitting squawks drew her attention back to the row of hen nests. A brown leghorn took offense to being lifted off her nest and flew into Squirt’s face. Glory smiled when the girl skittered back in alarm.

  Her smile vanished, however, when Patience dropped the egg she’d just plucked from the nest.

  It spattered on the dirt floor with a squishy plop. Kind of soft—the sound a breaking heart makes.

  “Patience! Please be more careful. We need every one of those.” Mentally, she subtracted the egg from the dozen or so she’d hoped to sell Aunt Dorothy.

  “Don’t know what difference one old egg makes.”

  “You will when you want me to bake another cake,” Hope said.

  That settled the girl down and she continued her chores. Glory marveled at Hope’s ability to calm ruffled feathers. She lacked sorely in that area and came within a hairbreadth of telling them both exactly what the loss of one egg could mean.

  “At least I’m not gonna be some old maid like you, Glory.” The girl’s one last parting shot stung. It hurt because she spoke the truth.

  “Mornin’, ladies.”

  The deep male voice startled Glory and she jerked, almost dropping the precious bucket of oats for Caesar.

  Luke stood a yard or so inside the barn. Not close enough to account for this strange sense of suffocating.

  He had a large presence about him. One she’d first noticed in the emporium yesterday.

  She’d often heard Mama speak of how Jack filled every nook and cranny when he entered a room. Though she didn’t think it applied to girth or height, she’d never known what Ruth meant before now.

  Damn that accursed grin!

  How could her heart beat so fast and stay lodged inside?

  The man rested his weight on the gnarled walking stick they kept inside the kitchen door, her grandfather’s from days gone by. The heavy way Luke leaned spoke of the deep pain he endured. A pure miracle he’d managed to walk from the house.

  “Good morning, Mr. Luke.” The pendulum of Patience’s sour mood immediately swung the opposite direction.

  A taunting gleam in the man’s gaze disturbed her.

  Glory wondered how long he’d been standing there…and what he’d overheard. She’d like to stuff a sock in Squirt’s mouth. Preferably one with a week’s worth of wearing.

  “Figured I’d lend a hand with the chores. I’m used to
rising at the crack of dawn. These ol’ bones couldn’t take a minute more of that bed. No sirree.”

  “Me too. I like to get up early.” Patience skipped gaily down the length of the barn as if she did so each morning. She deserved the glaring darts Glory threw her way. And more.

  Hope rolled her eyes and chortled softly without missing a stroke in her milking rhythm.

  The humor escaped Glory. Then of course, the little chatterbox’s statement didn’t embarrass anyone else. Asking Luke to marry Glory and calling her an old maid—what would come out of the Patience’s mouth next? She shuddered to think, remembering her journal.

  “Did you sleep at all, Miss Glory? I surely didn’t feel right taking your bed.”

  “Nothing wrong with sleeping on hay.” She grabbed the pitchfork and lifted a mound of the stuff. Anything to keep her eyes from straying to the mended denims that clung as sleek as cat’s fur. “I do it every now and then to remind me where I came from, and where but for the pure grace of God I’d be.”

  Also where she—all of them—might be again should foreclosure occur.

  Cleaning stalls was dirty and hot, but she wasn’t about to hint that it bothered her. She could pull her share.

  “Just the same, tonight we’re switching.” Luke hobbled along after her, holding on to the stick. “Anything a cripple can help you with? There must be something I can do.”

  Nothing except get himself back to the house and out of sight. How was she supposed to do her work with him shoving his devilish grin and his lean form in her face at every turn?

  “Sorry I’ve added extra work for you on top of everything else you have to do.”

  Luke McClain made too many sinful thoughts swim through her head. She wondered if she was the only one who had trouble breathing. Recalling her own name seemed difficult enough when he was around. The morning had sure turned hot. Not a breath of air to be had.

  “Staying busy keeps me from thinking about Perkins. And about how dearly I’d love to give you a piece of my mind.” She swung to confront him. “We needed that five hundred dollars.”