No Buttons Or Beaux

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “I—” Horrified, she stammered, “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment, Matt.”

  “I know.” He grinned. “Life’s taught me women don’t seek praise on their appearance unless they’re dead certain every last bow and flounce is perfect.”

  She looked down at her smudged apron and the dust-covered hem of her rose calico dress, then forced a laugh. “Not a single bow.” Oh, no! I hope he doesn’t think I meant beau!

  “Some men admire gals who prance around like live fashion plates. Me? I’d ruther see a woman whose smile warms a man to the toe of his boots and whose rumpled apron bespeaks a willingness to pitch in alongside her loved ones.” He pivoted and poured the slop into the trough. “Sooo-eeeEEE! Sooo-eeeEEE! Pig, pig, pig, pig!”

  The hogs squealed and trampled through the muck. Matt chuckled. “I didn’t need to call them, did I?”

  “No, but you might win a hog-calling contest. Your pitch is great.” Kate giggled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Promise you won’t tell?”

  He lifted one foot and rested his boot on the first slat of the pen. “I like to know what I’m giving my word about. If it’s illegal or unethical, I couldn’t agree.”

  “I was thinking. . .” She laughed again. “My brothers looked just like that, pushing into the kitchen for supper tonight!”

  Amusement lit his eyes and lifted the corners of his mouth. “Can’t say as I blame them. Had I known chow was that tasty, I might have jostled my way to the head of the line.”

  ❧

  Giggles spilled out of Kate. They weren’t the practiced twitters of young ladies who played coy. Hers were so honest and refreshing, Matt was thoroughly enchanted. He didn’t want to walk her back to the house yet, so he decided to string the conversation along on a topic she could speak about with ease. “So you do leatherwork.” Something flashed in Kate’s eyes, but Matt didn’t know how to read it. “Never seen such handsome belts. You do quality work.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Nice diversionary tactic, that glance.” Matt reached over and gently tugged on her sleeve. “But you don’t have to hide your hands behind your back.”

  She let out a small sound of despair.

  Curling his fingers around the cuff of her sleeve, he drew her hands out in the open. “It’s just stain, isn’t it?”

  Kate nodded. “Yes.” Her chin went up a notch. “I’m more splotched than not.”

  “I disagree.” He flashed her a smile. “I’d say you’re more not than splotched. Besides, what does that matter?”

  “It’s ugly. Not very ladylike, either.”

  That same fleeting look crossed her face, and Matt realized she’d just revealed her vulnerability. “I disagree. The stain on your hands is only skin-deep. The devotion you show to your family by doing that fine work is soul-deep. To my way of thinking, nothing’s more beautiful than a woman who loves with all her heart.”

  Her eyes widened, and a flush of pleasure tinted her cheeks. Funny, how something so inconsequential mattered so much to women. But Matt was glad the truth he’d spoken made her feel good. He looked down at the empty pail. “I’ll rinse this and set it out on the back porch.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “No reason why I shouldn’t. No job is beneath a man’s dignity—that’s what my granddad always said.”

  “He sounds like a wise man.”

  “He never had more than two years’ schooling, but Granddad was blessed with wisdom that came from the Lord.”

  “Kate?” They turned in tandem toward Paxton’s voice. “When you make the bootlaces for Peter, make an extra length.”

  “How long?”

  Not why, but how long? Matt noted how she just took it as a matter of course that the requested item was needed and didn’t demand a reason.

  “Not all that long. Maybe eight inches.” Paxton scuffed the toe of his boots in the dirt as a guilty flush colored his cheeks. “I broke the loop on the fishing basket.”

  “You went fishing without me?”

  Matt couldn’t be sure whether Kate was outraged or teasing. She wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met.

  Heaving a sigh, Paxton kicked the dirt. “Didn’t go for long. It was a waste of time. Nothing was biting, unless you count mosquitoes.”

  “I have a scrap of leather that’ll yield a thong long enough to do the repair. Here. Go rinse out the swill bucket and bring me the fishing basket.”

  “Salter—”

  “Offered to fix the gate on the pigpen,” Kate cut in. “I’ll show him where the tools are since I’m heading toward my workbench.”

  Paxton accepted the smelly bucket. “Watch out for Frenzy. She’s the runty-looking sow. Her name warns you of her temperament.”

  “Obliged for the warning.”

  Paxton stared at Kate and smirked. “Ever notice how the little ones are always the scrappiest?”

  “Nothing wrong with having plenty of spark and spirit. Miss Kate, do I need to fetch a lantern from the kitchen for you so you’ll have light to work by?”

  She shook her head. “There’s one on either end of my workbench. You can have one if you think it’ll take long to fix the latch.”

  “Doubt that’ll be necessary.” He walked alongside her toward the far side of the barn. Kate’s gait matched her personality—her zest for life showed not only in her bright eyes and friendly smile, but in her high-stepping prance that made her sway and bob as though she heard a lively march and couldn’t resist matching the rhythm.

  Sliding the barn door wide open, Matt asked, “Ever do custom pieces for neighbors and friends?”

  She headed toward a cluttered table that had a pair of well-ordered shelves above it. “Sure. I’ve often made gifts for them.”

  He drew near and took the matches from her. She could have easily lit the lantern herself, but Matt didn’t like a woman doing things for herself when he could do them—especially Kate. From the moment he’d arrived, she’d been in motion, always doing things for others. It wouldn’t hurt for someone to show her the same kindness.

  The match sizzled, then Matt held it to the wick as Kate held up the hurricane glass. The wick caught, and Kate settled the glass sleeve in place. Matt reached up and barely grazed her left cheekbone.

  “It’s not stain. Really, it isn’t.”

  “I’m partial to freckles.” He stepped back. What was it about Kate that had him acting this way? He’d never dallied with a gal’s affection, and he wasn’t about to—but this was different. Kate was different. But I can’t be completely honest with her. I’m on assignment, and I have a job to do. If the rest of the family is as forthright and upright as everyone I’ve already met, I’m going to need to move on to continue my search.

  I don’t want to move on.

  But I do. It would tear Kate apart to learn someone she loves is involved in bootlegging.

  “Probably all you need are a nail or two and the hammer.” She waved toward the nearby tool bench. “Just be careful. Pax wasn’t kidding when he said Frenzy riles easily.”

  The latch on the pen turned out to be quite sturdy once Matt moved it up an inch. Someone else had reinforced it previously, so the nail holes were too large to anchor the latch in the same location. As he placed the hammer back into the spot he’d taken it from on the tool bench, Matt let out a low whistle.

  Kate’s hands stopped. “What?”

  “You’ve already almost finished that lace?” He gazed at the long leather thong hanging from her fingers.

  She hitched her left shoulder diffidently. “This is the second one. They don’t take all that long. I cut a circle, then just keep cutting spiral-style into it.”

  “That knife has to be sharp. I’d massacre the leather and my hands.”

  “I’ve cut myself on occasion.” She started working again and tacked on, “More often in the kitchen than by working leather.”

  “Beats me why you
talk like that. Every last meal I’ve eaten here has tasted mighty fine, and you’ve been the cook.”

  Kate shrugged. “I can turn out a passable meal. Once you taste April’s fare, you’ll understand.”

  “Not that good food isn’t high up in my estimation, but a meal is gone in a short while. The saddles and belts you make last for years.”

  “Ah, but the latch on the fishing basket didn’t.” She set down the bootlace, bent over a scrap of leather, and carefully scribed a circle on it.

  He didn’t want to leave. Talking with Kate counted as a pure pleasure. Then, too, he hoped to glean some information from her. Matt leaned against her workbench. “I’ve seen the stuff you’ve made here on Chance Ranch. Tell me about what you’ve made for neighbors.”

  “Mrs. Dorsey had me make her husband a saddle to replace the one he lost in their barn fire. My family voted to give them all of the spare halters, leads, and the like that we had on hand.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned voting.”

  “It’s a family rule: Anyone in the family who’s twenty-one is given the right to vote on issues.”

  “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but you’re not of voting age—at least, that’s what I gathered when Caleb, Tanner, and April were speaking the other night.”

  “I’m not.” She tilted her head to the side and continued to cut the leather thong.

  “So everyone older than you voted to give away the work you’d done.”

  “Never thought of it that way. Chances share. It would be miserly of us to keep halters and such that we don’t even use when a neighbor is in need.”

  “I agree. So tell me about your other neighbors.”

  “You’ve already met Peter and Johnna. They’re from the MacPherson spread. Tomorrow, we’ll have a family picnic after church. You—”

  “Sis?” Tanner moseyed into the workshop and shoved his hands into his pockets. “What’re you doing?”

  “Making bootlaces for Peter. Why?”

  “Just wondered.” Tanner pulled his hands back out of his pockets and pulled a knife from his belt sheath. “Reckoned I ought to make more clothespins. I don’t think we have nearly enough.”

  “Probably not.” She turned her attention back to Matt. “Anyway, you’re welcome to go to church with us tomorrow; then we have the picnic afterward.”

  “I already asked him.”

  “Appreciate the invitation. It’ll be good to worship.” Though he felt strongly about the necessity of Christian fellowship, Matt wished Tanner would saunter off. At the present, spending time with Kate—only Kate—sounded far more appealing.

  “MacPhersons are coming here for the picnic,” Kate said as she finished the piece she’d started.

  “We swap.” Tanner examined the small block of wood he’d picked up, then dragged a stool over closer to the lantern. “Once or twice a month we have a family get-together.”

  “Judging from how Peter and April act, I’d say the family ties are going to grow stronger.”

  Kate flashed him a smile. “Isn’t it wonderful? I’m so happy for her.”

  “I’m not.” Tanner smirked as he hiked up his pantleg and slid onto the stool. “Well, I am, but I don’t think we ought to let her marry and move away until she teaches you more of her special recipes.”

  “Kate’ll move away when she marries, too.”

  Tanner let out a snort. “No danger of that.”

  Ten

  Kate blushed so deeply, her freckles completely disappeared.

  Matt lounged against her worktable. “You might be right. A man could get lost in her pretty blue eyes and decide to marry her and stay right here on Chance Ranch.”

  Tanner’s head flew up, but the surprised look on his face immediately changed. “Ouch!”

  Kate slipped off her stool and fished a hanky from her apron pocket. “Here.”

  Matt marveled that Kate ignored her brother’s ridicule and tended his cut. Most people would have gloated and said it served him right.

  “No use in getting that bloodstained.” Tanner plucked a bandana from his pocket.

  “Oh, no.” Kate yanked the bandana away and shoved it onto her worktable. “That has to be dirtier than Methuselah’s tent.”

  “Methuselah’s tent?” Matt echoed, thoroughly entertained by her choice of words.

  Kate held her hanky against Tanner’s finger. “If that amuses you, you’re going to have fun tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, he will.”

  “Why?”

  “The MacPherson brothers hail from Hawk’s Fall, Kentucky. They got so lonely, so they went to a neighboring place in Kentucky called Salt Lake Holler for brides. Tempy’s sister Lovejoy came as the brides’ chaperone. Our uncle Daniel snagged her for himself. All of that being said, they brought a rich heritage and delightfully colorful speech with them.”

  Many of those Appalachian men are adept at brewing moonshine. It’s part of their culture, and the land there isn’t rich enough to support a family. More than a few of those people earn their living by operating a still.

  Kate slowly peeled away the handkerchief, then pressed it back around her brother’s finger. “You need to go wash this with lye soap.”

  “No need to fuss over it.” Tanner scowled at her.

  Kate pretended not to hear him. “After you do, sprinkle some styptic powder over it.”

  “Hey, what’s going on in here?” Tobias came in, carrying the fishing basket. He set it on Kate’s worktable. “Pax said this needs fixing.”

  “Tanner’s going to go take care of his finger. He cut it. I’m going to fix the basket.”

  “It’s nothing.” Tanner curled his hand around the reddening hanky. “Just a little slice.”

  Tobias’s brows knit. “How’d you—”

  “Whittling.”

  “Go take care of that.” Tobias bumped his brother off the stool, then took the perch for himself and picked up the same block of wood. “I’ll take care of this.”

  This? Matt hooked one boot heel on the workbench’s crossbar. The clothespins are just an excuse to stick around out here so Kate isn’t alone with me. It’s no wonder no one’s courted and married her—she has half an army of brothers and cousins to be sure a man can’t get close to her.

  Unwilling to be put off, Matt grabbed another block of wood. “What kind of clothespins are we making?”

  Tobias chuckled softly. He stood and reached for a large tin bucket on Kate’s upper shelf. As he set it down, dozens upon dozens of homemade clothespins rattled inside. Flipping one to Matt, Tobias said, “This kind.”

  Matt ran his thumb along the wooden piece. “I didn’t know anyone still whittled these. You can buy factory-made ones for a song.”

  “Aunt Lovejoy believes if you can’t make something for yourself, you don’t need it.” Tobias shaved off a corner of the wood.

  That explained why. Still, Matt didn’t understand why they were making more. “Not to dismiss the virtue of work, but it looks to me like you’ve already made plenty.”

  “Gifts should always be from the heart.” As soon as the words slipped out of her mouth, Kate bit her lip and cast a questioning look at her older brother.

  Intrigued by the small mystery, Matt prodded, “So the clothespins are gifts?”

  “You’ve let the cat out of the bag,” Tobias muttered.

  “I’m sorry.” She bowed her head.

  “It’s not a big deal. No use getting upset over it.” Tobias looked at Matt. “On his ninth birthday, every Chance is given a knife. He’s taught to whittle—mostly little animals and toys. Same with the MacPhersons.”

  “So you exchange gifts?”

  Tobias shook his head. “Not those things.”

  Matt knew when someone was trying to deflect questions by redirecting the conversation. He’d learned to string them along as though he was fooled, then when they let down their guard, he’d go right back and discover what they were trying to hide. “Then where do the
toys go?”

  Some of the tension in Kate’s shoulders and in Tobias’s jaw eased. Kate said, “They go to children who wouldn’t otherwise have toys.”

  He took up a knife and started on one of the rectangular wooden blocks. “There’s a wonderful orphanage in San Francisco. If you don’t have anyone or any place specific in mind, I’m sure they’d appreciate having toys for the little ones.”

  Kate concentrated as she repaired the fishing basket. “We could keep that in mind, couldn’t we, Tobias?”

  “Reckon we could—but there have to be at least a couple of orphanages in such a big city.”

  “The one I have in mind is unique. It’s an enormous old mansion. Most of the younger children are adopted quite quickly, and the older ones receive educations or training in keeping with their talents so they can be self-reliant when they leave.”

  Squinting at the wood in his hands, Tobias said, “Our mother grew up in an orphanage.”

  “She must be a special woman to have married into this family and reared you as she has.”

  “Mama is very special.” Kate straightened up and patted the fishing basket. “There. Good as new.”

  Knowing he had to press for answers or lose this opportunity, Matt’s gaze went from Kate to her brother and back. “The two of you are dodging my question as to what happens to the clothespins.”

  Kate’s shoulders drooped. “You know how in the Bible it exhorts us to give without the other hand knowing? It’s one of those situations.”

  “I can respect that.”

  “Good.” Tobias’s curt tone made it clear he thought the discussion was over.

  “I’ve seen some that were all painted and decorated to serve as Christmas ornaments.” Matt held his up toward the light and pretended to squint along the side to see if it was smooth. Though Kate didn’t make a sound, he sensed her sudden inhalation. So that’s why they’re sensitive. “I reckon there aren’t all that many things you can do with clothespins.” He went back to whittling. “If you’re worried I’m opposed to Christmas trees, I’m not. I figure Christ is like an evergreen—His beauty refreshes us and gives us life. Then, too, it never depends on the seasons of life—His love endures even through the coldest, darkest times.”