by Deborah Hale
“Would you like to go visit your uncle John and watch him gentle a horsey?” she asked Barton.
“Unka-unk!” The baby squealed, rocking up and down in her arms doing a good imitation of a rider’s motion on horseback. “Or-sey!”
Jane laughed and rubbed noses with him. “That’s right—horsey! You’ll soon be chattering up a storm, won’t you, my little cowboy?”
Instantly, her smile melted. By the time Barton was talking well, she wouldn’t be here to enjoy his conversation. Mrs. Muldoon would be capably in charge, no doubt. A sensible woman who could be counted upon not to faint on the sofa or spill creamed peas all over the Kincaids’ guests.
Jane’s skin crawled as she remembered the way Mr. Hill had reached under the tablecloth and laid a hand on her knee. Why couldn’t she have passed him the dish, then casually slid her chair out of reach?
With a sigh, she set Barton on his feet and held tightly to his hand so he could toddle the last few steps to the corral, where John spent most of his time. As they walked, Jane fell into her melancholy musings again.
She’d worked her heart out to win herself a permanent place at the Kincaid ranch, and she was proud of all the new skills she’d mastered in the past several weeks. Though she sensed that Ruth liked her, the Kincaids hadn’t offered to keep her on. Only the other night, Caleb had let slip a reference to Mrs. Muldoon’s expected arrival in another couple of weeks.
So much for making herself indispensable.
The sturdy, cosy ranch house had come to feel like home to Jane in a way Mrs. Endicott’s grand, cold mansion never had. But would anyone here remember her name when she’d been gone a week?
“What’s wrong, Jane? You look like you’ve just lost your last friend.”
She glanced up to see John leaning over the corral fence, wearing a look of earnest concern.
I’m about to lose my only friends. The words crowded on the tip of her tongue, begging to be spoken, but Jane refused to utter them. How was she ever going to survive here in the West if she didn’t toughen up a little?
“Why does everyone always think there’s something wrong with me?” John Whitefeather was perhaps the only person with whom she felt safe to express annoyance. “First Dr. Gray taking my pulse and prescribing bromides. Then the minister wondering if I had some sort of burden on my conscience.”
“I’m sorry if I misread your look just now, but I don’t reckon I did.” John held out his arms for Barton, and Jane lifted the little fellow up to him. “Folks tell you a lot about how they’re feeling by the way they move and how they hold themselves. Horses are like that, too.”
He nodded toward a horse in the corral behind him, an equine patchwork of white, black and brown. “See how that little paint has her tail down tight between her legs? That means she’s nervous. If she tilts her chin way up, it’ll be a sign she’s bothered about something, like maybe I’m walking toward her too fast.”
“What if she keeps her head down?” For a moment, Jane forgot her own troubles, fascinated by John’s profound understanding of the animals he worked with.
One corner of John’s straight, solemn mouth arched upward. “If she does that, it tells me she’s not paying attention. What I watch for is the minute a horse will lick her lips. It usually means she’s willing to try what I’m asking of her.”
“And what might that be?” The words tickled in Jane’s throat.
“Just to get close to her and touch her for a start. Then to let me slide a light rope of rawhide around her neck. After a spell, to tolerate a hackamore bridle and the weight of a saddle on her back. Finally to let me ride her, and to follow my signals. Once she trusts me enough to let me handle her, the rest usually comes pretty easy.”
“And if she shies away when you try to touch her?” Jane got the feeling they were talking about something other than horses.
The corner of his mouth curved higher. “Oh, I’ve got my ways of winning a balky horse over. Can’t give away all my secrets, though, can I, Barton?”
Jane remembered the warm cinnamon roll in her pocket. “Could we bribe them out of you?” She pulled out the napkin and peeled its corners back to reveal the contents.
“Well now!” A full, true smile flashed across John’s face, coming and going as swiftly as a bolt of lightning. Just as bright, just as electrifying. “I reckon you know a thing or two about getting a man to do whatever you ask him, Jane Harris.”
Jane’s gaze dropped. “I wish that was true.”
She hadn’t been able to gentle Emery Endicott. If anything, he’d gotten more fractious and violent as time went on. All the cinnamon rolls in the world wouldn’t have sweetened him when he was in a temper.
“It’s true for me—that’s what matters.”
He spoke the words so softly they might have been sighed on the Big Sky breeze, and when Jane looked up his lips were no longer moving. If they ever had been.
A long, quivering sigh escaped John’s lips as he watched Jane return to the ranch house, a child of his blood toddling along beside her. Slowly he licked the last traces of cinnamon and sugar from his lips. He had a suspicion Jane’s rosebud mouth would taste even sweeter.
Would he get a chance to find out before he was finished the task Ruth had set for him?
John found himself looking forward to Brock and Abby’s housewarming in a way he’d never anticipated any social gathering. Though he’d reluctantly donned the mantle of a Cheyenne leader, John had never felt a true sense of belonging to any group. He could join one pack or another for a time, observe their rituals, run with their hunt. But at the end of the day, his spirit was that of the lone wolf.
Solitary and self-sufficient, he came as close to finding balance and peace as he ever expected to in this life. When he was in the company of whites, his Cheyenne blood sang most potently in his veins. His English took on a different rhythm, like drops of water falling on pebbles. In the faces around him, he saw the men who had killed his parents and the Indian agents who had taken him from his band and thrust him into the alien world of residential school.
Yet at Sweetgrass he was always conscious of his lighter-colored skin and his peculiar blue eyes. His voice sometimes stuttered over the words of his father tongue, and he sensed a subtle distrust from the other young warriors. Only in the Kincaid household, with mixed blood of its own, did he truly feel a part of the circle.
Even there, he was not fully one of them. The rogue stag intruding on a comfortable family group.
Somehow, Jane’s coming had eased that.
John felt a warm, moist nudge on his shoulder. Glancing back, he discovered the pinto filly standing behind him.
He reached up and scratched her behind the ears. “What do you think, Cactus Heart? Am I going to be able to gentle that skittish little filly like Ruth wants, or is she going to buck my old heart bloody?”
Chapter Eight
The team’s hindquarters swayed and their hooves kicked up dust on the road into town.
Jane’s stomach lurched in time to the rhythmic jingle of the harness. If only the party didn’t loom before her with its prospect of loud noise and strange faces, she might have enjoyed this ride.
“What do you say, Zeke?” John glanced down at the boy who sat between them on the front seat of the buggy. “You ready to ride shotgun on all this good cooking in case we run into vittle rustlers?”
Zeke grinned. “I reckon so. It sure smells good, don’t it?”
“Don’t you go taking any notion to hijack this shipment, now. Ruth sent Miss Harris along to keep us honest.” John winked at his young friend.
Jane had never imagined those piercing blue eyes could sparkle with fun. They did now, coaxing a smile out of her when she didn’t think she had one to give.
As the team jogged along, and John and Zeke discussed the merits of various varieties of pie, Jane found herself gazing at the Montana countryside that surrounded her. During that ride out from Whitehorn on the day she’d arrived in M
ontana, she had been so worried about falling off the horse’s back that she’d squeezed her eyes shut tight for most of the trip.
Today, she drank in the majestic landscape. Off to the east, miles of green, open range rolled on as far as the eye could see. Though the vast scale of it intimidated her, Jane drew some comfort from the wide buffer between Whitehorn and Boston. Surely Emery wouldn’t venture so far to come after her.
Westward, the Crazy Mountains lunged toward heaven, with dark forest sprawled at their feet. Soaring above it all, a sun-gilded canopy of blue was strewn with gossamer clouds. No wonder they called this place Big Sky Country.
It would take a far stronger woman than her not to be awed by its power. On the Montana frontier, nature reigned unchallenged. And if he chose to flex his muscles… Jane shuddered at the thought.
“Don’t tell me you’re cold,” said John.
Jane wished he wasn’t quite so alert to her movements and expressions, even if he had misinterpreted the cause.
“I have a fleece robe you can put around your shoulders, but I didn’t figure you’d need it until the drive home. It still gets a mite nippy on a clear night.”
“I’m fine,” Jane lied. “But speaking of coming home, do you plan on staying very late? I know Ruth said it’s the custom out here to bring the little ones along. Surely she won’t want Zeke and Barton to stay up very late past their bedtimes. Perhaps we could bring the boys home in a few hours so Ruth and Caleb can stay and enjoy themselves.”
“Uncle Brock promised I could sleep over with Jonathon tonight.” Zeke’s tone suggested that he didn’t like being classed as a “little one.” “We’re going to stay up as late as we want on account of I’m leaving next week to spend the summer with my grandpa in Texas.”
John’s hands tightened on the reins. Both his posture and his expression stiffened. Though she didn’t have his talent for reading people, Jane knew he was worried what effect a summer with his maternal relatives might have on the boy.
Young Zeke didn’t appear to notice his friend’s lack of enthusiasm. “Say, do you reckon Cousin James will be at the party tonight?”
“All the Kincaids should be there, son,” John replied. “Your uncle Will and aunt Lizzie, your cousin Jesse and his family. Makes sense James and Kate will be there, too.”
Zeke scratched his head. “Since school just got out for the summer, do you reckon it’d be all right for me to call my teacher Cousin Kate?”
“I doubt she’d mind, if you say it real respectful. What do you think, Jane?”
“Well…” She was not used to having her opinion solicited. Strange how it heartened her. “It probably wouldn’t hurt to address your teacher more informally at a family gathering. You could always leave it up to her. Say ‘Mrs. Kincaid’ the first time you speak to her. She may invite you to call her ‘Cousin Kate’ after that.”
Zeke thought it over, then nodded vigorously. “That sounds real sensible.”
“Any questions you have about good manners, you just ask Miss Harris, here,” John advised Zeke. “Back where she comes from, folks set a lot more store by proper etiquette.”
Jane wasn’t sure if he meant that as a compliment or not. Certainly the people she’d known back East worked hard to maintain appearances. That was why Emery had insisted they keep their engagement secret until after his aunt’s death. Because Mrs. Endicott had her heart set on her only nephew “marrying well.” If the Kincaids were any indication, folks in the West lived more on their own terms, with less regard for putting on airs or impressing their neighbors.
“We just finished studying all about Boston in school on account of the Fourth of July’s coming. Mrs. Kincaid read us stories about the Boston Tea Party and Paul Revere. It sounds like a swell place. Are you hankering to go back there, Miss Harris?”
“No, I’m not.” Jane’s voice rang in her ears with positive conviction. “I like Montana far better than Boston, and I mean to stay here.”
Over the top of Zeke’s head, John’s eyes met hers. Jane wasn’t sure whether they held a flicker of respect or a specter of doubt.
If she meant to stay, she’d need to find another job. “Do you suppose anyone at the party tonight might be looking for a housekeeper or someone to look after children?”
John turned the team off the main road and up a wooded lane. “When Brock got married, Caleb gave him a parcel of the Kincaid spread closest to town, so Abby could still keep an eye on her store. She might need another clerk to spell off Sam Roland.”
He seemed to sense Jane’s renewed apprehension about the party. “Like I told Zeke, this will be mostly a family gathering. The Kincaids are nice folks. Just relax and have a good time.”
How easy he made it sound.
“If you still want to go back to the ranch in a few hours time, I’ll take you.”
Jane’s conscience smarted. She couldn’t drag John away from an evening with his friends, just because she felt uncomfortable.
She gulped a deep breath and raised her chin. “If Ruth doesn’t need me to take the boys home, I’ll stay as long as you want to.”
Their eyes met again and John flashed her a smile so fleeting, Jane wondered if she’d only imagined it. Still, she felt rewarded for her tiny display of mettle. What greater challenges would she dare for more of John’s smiles?
They pulled up in front of a house that looked much like Ruth and Caleb’s, only smaller in scale. The pungent aroma of sawdust hung in the air. Out in the yard, a man who looked like a younger version of Caleb was improvising tables for the party by nailing big slabs of deal lumber atop pairs of sawhorses.
When he saw their wagon, he doffed his wide-brimmed hat and waved it at them. “John Whitefeather—just the man I wanted to see. Can I get you to give me a hand here, so we’ll have someplace to sit and eat tonight?”
John reined the team to a halt in front of the house. “Be glad to, Brock. I’ll be with you directly.”
As he climbed down from the driver’s seat, Zeke scrambled after him. In an instant John appeared on Jane’s side of the wagon, his arms held up to her. He smiled—really smiled, and this time it did not vanish from his face as rapidly as it had come.
If he meant to encourage her, it worked. For one golden moment her fears fled, her shoulders straightened and she felt an answering smile warm her own features. John clasped her firmly, and Jane launched herself off the wagon, savoring the sweet moment before her feet touched the ground. And the even sweeter moment John Whitefeather searched the depths of her eyes, his hands lingering around her waist.
A boy ran out onto the porch. Though younger than Zeke, the youngster looked startlingly like his friend. “Ma, we got company!”
Abby Kincaid followed close on the boy’s heels. Wisps of rich auburn hair straggled around her pink, freckled face. “Already? I must run and change my clothes so I’ll be fit to receive guests.”
She caught sight of the covered baskets and hampers loaded in the back of John’s wagon. “Is all this for us? Why, Brock and Jonathon and I will be eating well for a week after this party’s over. I hope you folks brought your appetites.”
Brock Kincaid wandered over, fanning his face with his hat. “If they haven’t, we’ll just work them hard to make them hungry. Good to see you, John.”
He began to fan his wife’s face, and the two of them exchanged a special fond look that made Jane ache with envy.
“Brock, Abby, have you met Jane Harris?” John asked. “She’s helping Ruth out for a spell.”
Abby clasped Jane’s hand warmly. “I’m glad you could come tonight. Ruth’s told me what a godsend you’ve been to her. I wonder if I could impose on you to help me out? While the men are knocking a couple more tables together, perhaps I could get you and the boys to bring the food into the house. I have to throw on a clean dress and pin my hair up before the rest of our company arrives. Right now I look like something that was sent for and couldn’t come.”
The tightly knotted fle
sh of Jane’s neck began to relax. Having a job to do made her feel much less awkward about being there. With the help of Zeke and Abby’s son, Jonathon, she managed to tote all the food from their wagon into the kitchen of the new house. Then John and Brock needed her to hunt up the gingham yard goods Abby had basted into tablecloths.
Whenever she started to worry about the evening ahead, Jane would glance at John and catch his eye for a look of encouragement. Once or twice she caught him watching her.
By the time the lady of the house descended the stairs in a fresh dress and apron, Ruth and Caleb had arrived with Barton. Recognizing a good way to keep out of sight, Jane whisked the baby and the two older boys off to the back porch to keep them entertained. Now if the adults would just leave her be, she might have a tolerably good time at Brock and Abby Kincaid’s housewarming, after all.
John lit and hung one final lantern, then scanned the throng of guests who had arrived while he’d been busy helping Brock.
Where had Jane got to?
The Kincaid men lounged at one end of the verandah, along with a few other ranchers and a couple of men from town. John recognized Harry Talbert, the barber, among them, and the Dillards, who owned Whitehorn Mercantile. The women had begun setting the deal tables with various crocks, pans and platters, which gave off tempting aromas. John watched their procession from the house for several minutes before concluding beyond doubt that Jane was not among them.
Neither were the children, and that was unusual.
Ruth had dragged him along to a couple of these family festivities since she’d married into the Kincaids. They were usually knee-deep in youngsters. Jesse and Haley’s crowd. The Baxter brood. Zeke and Jonathon, now little Barton. Unless John missed his guess, the schoolmarm and the banker’s pretty little doll of a wife would soon be adding to the flock of young Kincaids.
Welcoming an excuse to stay out of the thick of the party, John sauntered through the high grass to the rear of Brock and Abby’s new house. Sure enough, he found Jane and the missing children.
