Straight to My Heart

by Davalynn Spencer

  He knew. That meant Buck did too. Oh, Lord, help her. Heat leaped from the stove to her face, she was certain. If only she were not so fair skinned, she could ward off the annoying blush. Maybe if she didn’t wear her bonnet today, let the sun burn her face on the way to town, she’d have an excuse for her constantly flaming cheeks.

  “You could do worse, Livvy.”

  She stole a peek at her grandfather, who was watching her with a keen eye, as if measuring her reaction to his words. “He reminds me of myself when I was young and wanting my own spread. He’s a good man—with the upbringing he’s had, better than I was. You would do well to give him a chance.”

  Livvy flipped three eggs and broke the yoke in every one. There was no discussing such things with her grandfather even though she knew he loved her dearly. The ruined eggs went onto a plate for herself, and she broke three more into the skillet. She must get them right or she’d not have enough to feed the men.

  Dare she tell Pop that his foreman had already turned her heart as well as her head?

  Buck blustered through the backdoor, his perpetual grin beating him into the room. “Bess is all hitched and ready to go, Miss Livvy. The buckboard is out back here ready whenever you are.”

  Whit followed, apparently not nearly as pleased with Buck’s news. He tossed his hat on a chair back and took a seat with as surly an attitude as Livvy had yet seen.

  Biting the inside of her mouth, she squelched a laugh. He looked the same way he had as a boy when his mother made him sit out of a game. Well, she’d cut him more slack this morning, not laugh in his face. She wanted him to treat her with grown-up grace, so the least she could do was return the favor.

  As Livvy expected, the men hate heartily and quietly, apparently enjoying the fruit of her labors. Deeply satisfied, she almost regretted leaving them to their own devises. Almost. A day and night with two bright, intelligent women outshone even the lilacs that bloomed round the ranch house.

  Besides, they’d all be here when she returned—the lilacs.

  And Whit.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  If Buck didn’t swallow that stupid grin, Whit would feed it to him fist first and tamp it down with a stamp iron.

  Fine thoughts for a preacher’s son.

  He swigged the hot coffee, hoping to burn away the fact that Livvy was riding into town alone and was as happy about it as a sparrow at a wormhole.

  Baker was in a chipper mood as well, which made it all worse somehow. Soaping tack was not the work Whit needed today. He needed bronc busting, maverick chasing, hard riding—something to wear him out and down to nothing.

  He needed to drive Livvy to town himself.

  And he’d have better luck skinning a live skunk than getting that idea past Baker. Whit ground his teeth and swallowed a growl.

  She ate quicker than a coyote, swept everyone’s plate away and into the sink, and left Buck with his mouth full and a fork in his hand. When she came back and snatched the fork, Baker laughed outright and shoved away from the table.

  Livvy faced them all with her hands on her hips ready to shame each and every one of them. “Who will be gathering eggs tomorrow morning?”

  Whit jerked a thumb at Buck, who couldn’t speak for himself. “He will.”

  Baker hooted again.

  “Buck, use this basket.” She pushed it to the end of the counter. “And let that old red hen alone. She’s setting, and we need some hatchlings this summer. Besides, she’ll peck a hole in your hand if you try to rob her.”

  By the glint in her eye, Whit knew Livvy was toying with the boy, but Buck didn’t. He nearly choked on the half of a biscuit in his mouth and quickly downed the last of his coffee.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Livvy peeled soap into the dish pan and informed everyone and no one in particular that deer had gotten into the garden again last night. “If you all want any more greens—or rhubarb pie, for that matter—you’ll be needing to fix the fence.”

  “Deer don’t eat rhubarb.” Whit’s ma had told him that years ago. Said the leaves made them sick.

  “Tell that to the deer.” Livvy cast a blue light over her shoulder, and he nearly squinted in the brilliance.

  He grabbed his hat and stormed out the door before he shamed himself by begging her not to go.

  Infuriating woman.

  Bess dozed in the traces, and Whit checked her riggings just to have something to do. He’d already greased the axils and made sure the wheels were sound. Livvy didn’t need to break down between the ranch and town. She didn’t need to ride off alone at all. Somehow, he had to get Baker to listen to reason.

  And then the woman herself flew out the back door with her bonnet and satchel and a look in her eye that warned him not to get in her way. Like a green-broke colt.

  “I’ll be back by noon tomorrow.” Livvy set her satchel in the back, hiked her skirt with one hand, and held out the other hand to Whit.

  He took it and grasped her elbow as she climbed the wheel. She settled onto the seat, spread her skirt about her feet, and gathered the reins.

  “Be careful.” He swallowed the kiss he wanted to give her. “Don’t let her run with you.”

  Livvy rewarded him with a true smile. She leaned over and laid her hand against his cheek. Quickly he covered it with his own, curling his fingers around it.

  “I will be fine, Whitaker Hutton. You take care of my grandfather while I’m gone.”

  He turned his head and kissed her palm, heard the catch in her breath, and reluctantly released her hand. The bonnet hid her face, but when she flicked the reins she glanced his way, washing him in a blue gaze that set his insides afire.

  “Giddyap, Bess.”

  Like a lost pup, he stood in the yard and watched her drive away. Lord, keep her safe.

  The back door shut, and Whit turned as Baker lumbered over, hat in hand. He slapped it on his head, stopped a few paces off, and leveled a hard eye on Whit. “You thinkin’ about puttin’ your brand on her?”

  Surprised by the bold question, Whit hesitated to tell the man he was in love with his granddaughter. But he was. That was the truth of the matter, and he might as well face the old bull head on.

  He straightened his shoulders, stood square on both feet. “Yes, sir, I am.”

  Baker’s silver mustache twitched at one end and he jerked his head in a sideways nod. “‘Bout time.” Then he hobbled off toward the barn.

  If Whit’s horse had talked to him, he could not have been more surprised. Those words constituted a blessing.

  Joy split his insides and he could feel his face cracking in a Buck-grin. He wanted to whoop. He wanted to jump on Oro and catch up to Livvy and ask her to marry him and kiss her good and long right there on the wagon seat.

  A sudden, sober thought punctured his dream, and he screwed his hat down and headed for the barn. A woman wanted her father’s blessing as well. Whit couldn’t take the time to ride to Denver and ask Reverend Hartman for his daughter’s hand. Besides, what did he have to show for himself—a foreman’s salary, a good horse, and a saddle. Not much for a young bride who deserved a whole lot more.

  Suddenly the morning light glared harsh and unforgiving.

  How would he ever get Olivia Hartman to be his bride?

  ~

  Livvy’s left hand burned as surely as those calves’ hides. She turned it over, surprised to see no seared brand smoking in her white palm. Whit Hutton had kissed her hand. Her hand! Not like an English gentleman dips his head to a lady’s gloved fingers. But … intimately.

  Shivers ran up her back, and she slapped Bess into a trot. If she had to take an easy walk the entire ten miles to town, she’d jump out of her skin.

  What she wouldn’t give for a moment with Mama Ruth. Her grandmother would know what it felt like to be swept away by a cowboy’s charms.

  A bouncing laugh escaped her throat as Bess clopped merrily along the ranch road. Her grade-school teacher would qualify “cowboy’s charms” as an oxy
moron. But Livvy knew better. The two words fit together like bacon and beans, and they came in the shape of one Whitaker Hutton.

  The kiss wasn’t his first tender overture. What of that day in the columbines? Or the huddled moments beneath the slicker in the hail storm. Even his roughly insistent offer of the gloves and canteen showed his protective nature. Somehow those small tokens had swept away every barb he’d ever thrown at her. She clucked her tongue and flicked the reins.

  What might it feel like to really kiss him? Pushing her bonnet back, she let the sun do the kissing.

  The sky spread strikingly blue above Fremont Peak and the lesser hills guarding the gorge where men fought over the right-of-way. She sobered at the thought of Tad and Jody getting mixed up in the so-called war. Whit would never do such a thing.

  Doubt wiggled beneath her breastbone and she pressed a hand against it, forbidding it to spread. Whit was too level-headed, too smart to be caught in a foolish fight over a railway.

  As she neared the bend that turned sharply along the river and into town, cottonwood trees waved a shimmering welcome. The Arkansas rushed along at their feet, shouting to be heard above Bess’s hoof beats. Children played outside the hotel across the river, and couples strolled hand-in-hand across the foot bridge that dangled mere inches above the swollen river.

  She drove by the massive stone wall of the territorial prison and passed carriages and lone horseback riders headed to the hot springs. Mules pulled by with freighters’ heavy wagons bound for the mining camps. What would happen to those supply wagons and the men who drove them once the railroad won passage through the mountains to Leadville?

  The number of people increased as she drove farther into town, but this time she sat proudly in her fine bonnet and Sunday shoes. Hers might not be the latest, most fashionable dress, and she had no parasol, but contentment spread through her clear to her fingertips and she sat a little straighter. What she did have was a pair of denim britches and the ability to hold her own with a branding iron. She doubted that any fine women she saw on the boardwalks could say as much.

  At the church, she turned Bess into the lane and the mare quickened her pace for the secondary home and hay crib ahead. Livvy pulled into the yard behind the parsonage, where Whit’s mother knelt weeding the columbines that edged the porch.

  Annie stood and pressed her hands against her lower back, then shook out her skirt and greeted Livvy with a bright smile.

  “Welcome!” She extended a hand as Livvy climbed down and then enfolded her in a gracious hug. “It’s so good to see you again, and so soon.”

  Annie’s brow knit together, and she stepped quickly aside to peek in the wagon. “Oh,” she breathed. “I was afraid you had another wounded young man with you. This train war has gotten completely out of hand.”

  Livvy’s shoulders relaxed at Annie’s welcome. “No wounded men, only my satchel in case…” She hesitated and glanced at her shoes not knowing exactly how to phrase her request without begging or sounding presumptuous.

  “Oh, by all means, you must stay the night.” The woman’s coppery eyes twinkled with comprehension, and the arm she linked through Livvy’s confirmed her sincerity. “I can’t tell you how much Marti and I will enjoy a good woman-to-woman visit.”

  “Thank you so much. I need a few supplies from the mercantile, and I’d hoped I wouldn’t be an imposition.”

  “You must always think of us as an open home. Come in, come in.”

  Arm in arm they headed for the shady back porch, where Annie halted suddenly on the lowest step. “Did you come alone?”

  Livvy hated to disappoint the woman, aware that Annie would love to see her only son. “Yes, I’m sorry. Whit is busy at the ranch.”

  Annie snorted—a most shocking reaction that Livvy surprisingly adored in this lovely woman.

  “He is a man now and can’t be chasing off to visit his mother.”

  Livvy’s palm tingled with Whit’s send-off. “I believe he wanted to come, but Pop won out. I think giving me a day to do as I please was his way of thanking me for my help with the branding.”

  Annie opened the door to the kitchen, a question rising. “You helped with the branding. You mean you cooked?”

  Livvy untied her bonnet strings, laid the light cotton cover on the table, and settled into a chair. “Yes, I cooked, but I did that at the house. On the roundup I branded. I ran the iron, as they say.”

  Annie’s head wagged as she pumped water into a tea kettle and set it on the stove. “My, but you do have pluck, young lady. It sounds like those men are working you to the bone.”

  “I loved it. Really. It was so exciting to ride again and help gather the cattle.” She squelched the memory of her near wreck on Ranger.

  “Surely you didn’t do all that in a skirt?” The way Annie said it made Livvy want to snort herself.

  “I wore my grandmother’s denims.”

  Annie joined her at the table while the water heated. “That sounds absolutely wonderful. I am nearly jealous of your adventure.”

  The front door opened and someone entered through the parlor with a cheery “I’m home.” Ruddy cheeked and exuding unbridled energy, Martha Hutton rushed into the kitchen with a stack of papers and books. She dropped them on the table and fell into a chair.

  “Oh—Livvy. Did my beastly brother chase you off?”

  “Marti!” Annie reddened at her spirited daughter’s outburst.

  “Oh, Mama, you know I’m only joking.”

  “Ladies do not joke, Martha Mae.”

  Livvy stifled a laugh and gave Marti a teasing frown. “You know, we will have to discuss that. Sometimes I could absolutely whack him with a carpet beater.”

  Marti leaned back in her chair and laughed remarkably like her brother.

  Shaking her head, Annie rose to attend to the water and bring cups to the table.

  After a lively visit, Annie went to the hen house with a young fryer in her sights. Livvy made herself useful by scrubbing and peeling potatoes for a salad, only too happy to be busy. Marti set half a dozen eggs in a small pot on the stove.

  “You’re going to think I’m terrible, but I hope Mother doesn’t call me out to help her ring that chicken’s neck. I can’t stand to do that.” The girl shuddered and her fiery red curls shook in agreement.

  How would she ever survive on a ranch? Livvy glanced at the books on the table. “Are those papers last year’s school studies?”

  Marti brightened. “Oh, no.” Swiping her hands down her white apron, she dried them front and back from the egg water that had splashed them. “These are library books and the papers are notes I took at Mr. Winton’s museum this morning.” She sat down at the table and spread out the papers.

  “Really, it’s just a curio shop next door to the saloon, but some people have recently been referring to Winton’s collection as a museum. Two years ago he had an absolutely marvelous display there of fossils uncovered at the Finch ranch dig.”

  Livvy frowned. “A dig?”

  “Yes, a paleontological dig.” Marti’s voice assumed a dignified tone as she enunciated the foreign-sounding word. “Our school superintendent has been excavating near Garden Park for quite some time and has uncovered the most amazing dinosaur bones.”

  Livvy’s newspaper hat lining came to mind.

  “Two years ago they hauled off five wagon loads of fossils all believed to have come from the same animal. Can you imagine anything so large?”

  Marti’s face fairly glowed as she shuffled through her notes.

  “Where did the wagons go?”

  The girl paused in her rearranging and looked at Livvy in scholarly surprise. “Why, to the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia, of course.”

  Of course.

  A most unladylike huff followed. “Papa wants me to go to school to be a teacher, but I want to be a paleontologist. It sounds ever so much more exciting.”

  “Well, at least those animals would have no blood or feathers to contend w
ith.”

  Marti burst out in that hearty Hutton laughter. “Oh, Livvy, you are so right!”

  The back door opened and Annie stuck her head inside. “I need your help with the feathers, Marti. Bring a bowl we can drop them in for washing later.”

  If Marti had been a balloon, she could not have deflated any quicker or more completely. Casting a remorseful eye at Livvy, she rose and took a bowl from the sideboard with all the excitement of a funeral procession. “Coming, Mother.”

  Livvy adjusted the damper and set the potatoes on to cook. Martha’s parents wanted her to be a school teacher. Livvy’s wanted her to be a nurse. Did the Huttons want Whit to be a preacher like his father, or a storekeeper like his grandfather?

  She let out a heavy sigh. No one asked them what they wanted to do with their lives.

  With the eggs and potatoes cooking, Livvy dried her hands on a towel and poured herself more tea. At the table she added a heaping spoon of sugar from the double-handled bowl. Tarnished by daily use, the old silver relic boasted a dull patina rather than a shiny polished exterior. A well-used dinosaur.

  Livvy assuaged her guilt at not volunteering to pluck feathers by setting the table for four and hunting down a jar of pickled cucumbers for the potato salad.

  When Marti returned from her most dreaded chore, she washed her hands and arms at the sink and splashed water on her face.

  “Would you like to go with me to the mercantile for supplies? We could even stop by the curio shop and you could show me Mr. Winton’s bones.”

  The girl perked up immediately and yanked off her apron. “They’re not Mr. Winton’s bones. He’s not even dead yet.”

  Livvy laughed. “Oh, where did you get your delightful sense of humor?” She set her half-finished tea on the counter and picked up her bonnet.

  Marti ran upstairs and back down before Livvy made it out to the porch.

  “I’m running errands with Livvy, Mama. Any messages for Grandma and Grandpa?”

  Livvy watched Annie’s face for disapproval of her daughter’s quick escape but instead found the usual sparkle in her eyes. “Tell them I love them and to come for supper tomorrow.”