A Man of the Land (Masterson Family Series Book 2)

by Devine,Carol

  "The dressing needs to be checked every few hours. Will you do the honors?"

  Such a direct request was difficult to deny. Again came that niggling suspicion. But she needed to be satisfied he was quite all right, that his wound was on its way to healing. Then, Sarah told herself, she could ask to work here with a clear conscience.

  She stepped forward, positioning herself in front of him. Even though he lowered his head, she had to raise herself on tiptoe to see properly and laid her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. An instant awareness shot through her palm.

  Persevering, she was proud of the way she casually brushed his forelock aside and peeked beneath the bandage. The four inch scar was clean and straight, without signs of heat or redness. A purplish bruise, hardly noticeable because of his deep tan, underscored the scar.

  "The people who treated me at the hospital were amazed there were no signs of infection. That green stuff you put on worked like a charm."

  He had smile lines around his mouth. Yesterday, several days worth of whiskers hid such features, handsome features that made it difficult for her to look away or draw back for that matter. "Yarrow has antiseptic as well as blood-clotting qualities."

  "You'll have to show me what it looks like in plant form. Might come in handy someday."

  "Does it hurt?" she asked on impulse, looking at the bandage, responding to the empathetic fluttering of her stomach.

  "Not anymore."

  Alerted by his suggestive tone, she checked his expression and sure enough he was grinning like a cat who'd gotten into the cream. "I see you have gotten over your anger and recovered your sense of humor," she said primly, smoothing the bandage back into place.

  "I did lose it there for awhile, didn't I?"

  Surprised he would admit it, she nodded and stepped away. Her awareness of him, however, stayed with her. She washed her hands again but the cold water didn't help. "What do you do, Zach, when you are not selling the family ranch?"

  "Wow, a personal question. I must be making progress. I'm a jack of all trades, master of none. Right now, me and my partner have a guide business taking people through the Amazon jungle."

  "In South America?"

  "Brazil, to be exact. You ever been there?"

  "Oh, no." She'd never been outside the Community up until a few months ago.

  "You'd like it. Lots of plants."

  "What kind of people do you take through the jungle?"

  "Scientists, mostly, out of a little village called Rio Negro. We specialize in going to places inaccessible to tourists, where there's tons of environmental research going on in what is still the largest rain forest in the world. We're one of the few outfits with connections with both government and the natives, so we can get people pretty much wherever they want to go with minimum impact on the jungle."

  "On horseback?"

  "Mostly by boat," he said, and went to offer his hand to Butcher to sniff. The dog growled.

  "He's not ready yet. Give him time."

  "I know," Zach said, moving back to provide the dog some room. "Bullheaded."

  "You have any dogs of your own?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Your way with animals."

  "You're not back to that cowboy thing again, are you? And we were having such a pleasant conversation."

  He went to refill his mug, then held up the coffeepot in silent question. "No, thank you," she said, smiling a little. "I prefer tea, myself."

  He shrugged, returned the pot and lounged against the counter, studying her. "If you hadn't figured it out yet, I'm not much good at apologizing."

  "I can see that." She waited.

  "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

  A grin played around his mouth. Yet in his eyes she saw a guarded expression that made her recall the boarded up and off-limits nature of the house. Rather than answer the question, she went to the pack she'd left by the door and pulled out the first thing she'd bought after she left the Community, a dog's dish. "Butcher's bowl," she said, giving it to him.

  "Thanks," he said, and added, "In more ways than one. I consider this an honor. You're willing to trust me. We'll see if he will."

  A curious warmth ran through her veins, the warmth of an acknowledgement both heartfelt and freely bestowed. Suddenly it no longer mattered that he wasn't the most eloquent or humble of men. "You're very welcome."

  She watched while he crumpled the dog treats into the bowl and set it on the floor. "Here, boy."

  Butcher ignored the command. Sarah didn't interfere, wanting to know how Zach would handle the situation. He knelt on the floor and waited patiently, allowing the dog to set the pace. When Butcher at last ambled over, Zach didn't try to pet him but held the bowl so the dog could get every crumb. It was a gesture of faith, one that was rewarded when Butcher finished and sniffed at Zach's fingers. He scratched the dog's chin and Butcher tentatively wagged his tail. Working his way behind the dog's ears, Zach petted the animal with long strokes. His hands were large, brown and, she remembered, very strong. "Coburn tells me you're looking for a job," he said at last.

  "Yes," she said and tore her gaze away from his hands to his face. She took a deep breath. "I wish to pay off my debt to you."

  That got his attention. "Your debt?"

  "I want to buy your house."

  "I don't have a house."

  "The main house, over yonder, on the other side of the trees."

  Zach left off making nice with the dog and stood, making his expression neutral. "No one's lived in that place for years. Besides, it's part of the ranch. I can't sell one without the other."

  "Then I'd like to purchase the entire ranch."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Your ranch. I'd like to purchase it."

  "With what? Your good looks?"

  "With the ten thousand dollars you offered me yesterday."

  There was a prolonged silence as he stared at her. "I don't know where you went to school, lady, but the arithmetic doesn't add up. The house alone is worth fifty times that."

  "That's why I need a job."

  "Oh, yeah. Your logic is faultless."

  "Are you turning down my offer?"

  "Believe it or not."

  "Then I have an alternate suggestion. Allow me to live in the house and help you get it ready to sell."

  "In return for what? A million dollars?"

  She looked at him straight on, dead serious. "The price of repairs. As you said, no one has lived there for years. It's pretty run down."

  The barest gleam of humor lit his eyes. "Did Coburn put you up to this?"

  "No. However, when I mentioned it to him, he said you might show some resistance to a request to allow me to stay there. He said you boarded it up yourself after your father died and no one has been in it since."

  Zach glanced at the door, frowning. "What else did he tell you?"

  "Nothing more," she said carefully. "He is, above all else, a loyal man."

  "Yes, he is." Zach eyed her speculatively, unable to understand why she was so intent on living in the house. "What's the upside for you? You could just pull in your marker. I'm the one who owes you, remember?"

  "All you owe me is a chemise and a pair of shoes."

  Reminded, Zach glanced down. Her feet peeked out from beneath her long skirt, ten toes of bare accusation. Yet accusations were the last thing she'd given him this morning. His gaze traveled up the length of brown skirt and took in the faded clay color of her calico blouse. The entire effect was monochromatic, steeped in sepia tones, like that of an old tintype photograph. And it wasn't just the clothes that harkened back to an earlier time, a different era. Her scrubbed skin, bound hair and direct manner were equally old-fashioned, commanding a respect he wasn't quite ready to deliver. Not when it was so foreign to his experience.

  "Why do I get the feeling you're totally out of your depth here?" he asked.

  "Oh, but I'm not," she said, giving him the full effect of her most dazzling smi
le. "You are."

  Chapter Six

  Sarah could tell her answer didn't sit well with him. He frowned at her and she experienced the sensation of standing on very thin ice.

  "Feeling a little feisty, are we?" he asked.

  "Feisty is one word for it." Foolhardy was another. She hadn't forgotten his physical strength dwarfed hers or his mercurial moods. But she fancied she knew what lay behind them. It had something to do with the house. "So, have you had time enough to consider the matter? Will you hire me?"

  Zach studied her, trying to gauge precisely what was most important to her, the house or the job. When it came to Sarah, he could use the leverage. "In exchange for cooking two meals a day for me and the hands and keeping the common areas of the bunkhouse clean, I'll give you room, board and five hundred dollars a week. The ten thousand dollars can be a bonus if you stay long enough to see the sale all the way through."

  "And the house?"

  "I'll think about it."

  "I may not have much of a head for business, but I do know it will be difficult to sell in its present condition."

  "If someone wants the land badly enough, they won't care. It's a very old house, built at the turn of the century. The new owners may want to build something brand new. Years ago, I thought about razing it myself. I still may do it."

  She looked horrified. "Whatever for?"

  "It belonged to my father. He and I didn't get along."

  "What about your mother?"

  "She left when I was eight. Divorce."

  His expression didn't change. Something inside Sarah did. A broken family explained a lot. "The house is extremely well built. It's stood the test of time. You even said it's worth many thousands of dollars apart from the land it sits on."

  "Possibly. There's no guarantee."

  "Surely you'll get a higher price for the ranch if all the buildings are in good condition, will you not?"

  "I told you. I'll think about it."

  "Is that not why you've engaged the hands to stay on for another month? To make everything look nice again?"

  "Enough, Sarah. I meant what I said. I'll think about it. Now, we've got some other business to take care of. Come on." He grabbed the key to the pickup from a set of hooks next to the door.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Shopping, remember? A new chemise and pair of shoes coming right up."

  Chapter Seven

  Zach's plan was to take her to the nearest discount department store, pay her enough money to cover the cost of the underwear and the sneakers, then give her an advance on her salary so she could get everything else she so obviously needed. Shopping was a chore for him and he wanted to get it over with in the shortest amount of time possible. But as he drove, he reconsidered his destination. He didn't want her to settle for the cheapest of the cheap, and there was no law that said he had to replace her stuff with whatever was closest at hand. In fact, it would be smart to circumvent her attempts at wheeling and dealing with a good dose of generosity.

  So he drove the extra miles to go to a big, fancy mall and herded her into Amsterdam's, the most expensive store in town.

  Their first stop was the credit department. He had to take her hand to lead her there because, from the moment they walked through the elegant heavy glass entrance doors, she was distracted.

  "I know you can't wait to get on with your shopping, but I need to set you up with a card you can use on your own," he said, ushering her to the customer service area.

  He opened an account under his name and put her down as a co-signer. When he handed her the pen and she wrote her signature, her hand shook, and he recalled her stumbling over Smith when she'd first told him her name. "Don't worry," he said. "As long as I pay the bills, it's all legal."

  She nodded but he could tell by the way she rubbed her temples, she was still worried.

  "You'll feel better once you buy yourself some new clothes." He pressed the temporary card into her hand and walked her back to the main aisle in the woman's department. "I'll meet you at the entrance where we came in," he said, consulting his watch. "Say, in two hours. Will that give you enough time?"

  "You're leaving me here?"

  Zach realized it was the first time she'd said a word since they'd left the ranch. "I've got a few things I need to buy, too," he said. "We'll get out of here a lot faster if we split up."

  "But what if something should go wrong?" She stared at the card in her hand as though it were a foreign object.

  "What could go wrong? The card has a credit limit so I know you can't go too crazy." She looked at him and he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. What in the world was her problem?

  "I'd hoped we would remain together," she said.

  "We'll be together later. By the time the two hours are up, it'll be time to eat. We'll go out for lunch," he offered, figuring that would appease her.

  She caught his arm. "Zach, please. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

  She gestured in dismay at the nearest display, which happened to be two mannequins posed in skimpy silk robes. Zach couldn't help but wonder what she would look like wearing one of them. "Look," he said. "They have a huge selection. If you check it out, I'm sure you'll be able to find something you like. Now, I've got to go."

  "But I've never done this."

  "Never done what?"

  "Bought things like this."

  "Come on, Sarah. It's just like buying things anywhere else," he said, showing his impatience. Good grief, the woman acted like she'd never been in a store before. "You see something you like and take it to the cash register. Show the salesperson this card and he or she will take it from there, believe me."

  "That's all?"

  "That's all."

  He left her standing in front of the robe display and cut through the dress department. Clingy women always gave him the creeps and Sarah's helplessness made him feel even more irritated than usual. Up to now, she hadn't seemed like the type.

  He glanced over his shoulder, hoping she'd found solace in an armload of clothes. She stood unmoving where he had left her, smack-dab in the middle of the aisle, her fingers pleating the folds of her old-fashioned skirt. He ducked behind a set of mannequins. Through the crook of a stiffly bent arm, he watched another shopper, laden with packages and towing two children pass Sarah by, forcing her to step aside or be trampled.

  The jar into reality broke her reverie. She visibly swallowed and her hand splayed across the bodice of her blouse. Squaring her shoulders, she looked all around. The ceiling seemed to hold particular fascination.

  Zach followed her gaze upward. Sprinkler heads, recessed lighting and the occasional built-in speaker blasting instrumental music. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  She reached out to touch the silk robe hanging on the display. Her hand barely grazed a sleeve before she sprang back as though bitten. Retreating, she collided with a rack of dresses across the aisle. Some fell, the hangers clattering on the marble floor. She quickly knelt and scooped them up, checking to see if anyone was looking. Fortunately it was a weekday morning and there were few shoppers.

  She juggled the hangers, trying to get them back on the rack. Sympathy tightened his gut. For whatever reason, this was all new to her. The bright lights, the variety of colors and textures, the sheer volume of merchandise was overwhelming her.

  He retraced his steps, unsure of what he might say, especially after his earlier brush-off. He tapped her shoulder and she turned around, wearing the same expression he remembered yesterday. Wary. A woman alone.

  "Come on," he said. "I'll get you started."

  Her hand felt small and clammy within his. He tucked it within the shelter of his arm and felt her relax a little. He led her to the back of the lingerie section. Two salesladies were talking behind the cash register. He picked the older one, a straight-laced, gray-haired matronly type, hoping her age would help Sarah feel more comfortable and cut down on the time this little rescue mission might take. "Excuse me, ma'am," he sai
d. "I have a young lady here who needs your help."

  "Yes, sir."

  "This is Sarah. Sarah, this is Ms…"

  "Mrs. Schwartz."

  "Mrs. Schwartz," he continued, approving of her formal demeanor. "You should know that Sarah has recently returned from a trip overseas. Now that she's back in the States, she needs some new lingerie."

  "Well, you've certainly come to the right place, my dear. Your size?"

  Zach saw Sarah's blank reaction and said, "I think you'll need to measure her yourself, Mrs. Schwartz. It's been awhile."

  "Of course. Come with me dear."

  "Zach?" Sarah asked.

  "It's okay," he said, squeezing her hand. "Mrs. Schwartz will take you into the fitting room to find out how… uh, big you are. I'll wait right here."

  They returned a few minutes later. The saleslady looked please while Sarah looked scandalized. "Thirty-two C and a perfect size six," Mrs. Schwartz announced.

  Zach frowned, annoyed that she found it necessary to broadcast Sarah's measurements for anyone to hear. Luckily there were no other customers in the department. "She'll need everything," he said curtly. "From top to bottom."

  The two salesladies bustled around, gathering different styles of bras, panties, slips and camisoles.

  Sarah leaned close to him and spoke in a low tone. "Zach, it is not acceptable for a man to buy a woman of short acquaintance these kinds of clothes."

  "Sarah, you lost your chemise and shoes and ripped up your skirt because of me. I'm simply replacing them.

  "You will be buying much more than I lost."

  "You're going to be working for me. It's important that everyone who is employed at the ranch wear good quality clothes that will last."

  "But I can never repay you for all these things, even if I worked for you a very long time."

  He pulled her away from the curious stares of the salesladies. "Sarah, I will only say this once. You need to wear regular clothes, especially underneath. Do you know everything you have is so worn, it's practically transparent? For my own sanity, allow me to get these things for you."