Fiona: Book Two: The Cattleman's Daughter

by Danni Roan

  Nona entered the kitchen to see Fiona standing by the stove, spatula in hand, gazing out the large kitchen window. The girl looked pale, her usual bright spirit dim in the gray light of dawn.

  “Fiona?” The matronly woman called as she bustled to her granddaughter’s side. “You feeling alright dear?” she asked placing a hand on the girl’s forehead.

  “I’m fine.” Fiona said offering her grandmother a soft smile.

  “You feel warm.” The older woman scowled.

  “Because I’ve been standing over a hot stove, Nona,” Fiona replied, her smile brighter this time and a hint of the usual sparkle in her eyes.

  “Well you let me know if you start feeling poorly. This weather always brings colds and things.”

  Fiona flipped the pancakes in the skillet then leaned over and kissed her grandmother’s plump cheek, before rolling the sausages over in their own pan. Nona eyed her skeptically but finished tying her apron and started to set the table.

  The sound of a boy’s laughter alerted Fiona to the eminent arrival of Hank and Eric. She smiled despite the tightening in her chest. That boy had wound himself firmly around her heart and no matter what pain she might feel concerning his father he always brought her joy. At least if Hank married Meg, she’d be able to continue to look after the little waif.

  Hank Ballard stomped the snow off of his big boots, then stepped into the warm kitchen where delightful smells assailed him. He breathed deeply of the aroma of sausage and pancakes. He was getting down right spoiled with the cooking around here.

  Hanging his hat on a peg, he stripped his coat and turned to see who was making breakfast this morning. He froze when he saw Fiona flipping another flapjack, but smiled. She gazed up at him. Her eyes were serious, no welcoming smile danced on her rose petal lips.

  “Mornin’,” he greeted her; his voice soft, subdued.

  “Good morning,” she replied, her words flat.

  “Mornin’ Fona.” Eric’s cheerful voice lifted toward her as he tugged on her skirt.

  For him she offered a smile. An ugly worm wriggled inside of Hank. Could he actually be jealous of his own small son? Mentally he kicked himself for being a fool.

  “What’s for breakfast?” Eric continued, completely innocent of the turmoil the young woman felt as she glanced up at his hulking father. With an effort she returned her eyes to the little man still grasping her skirt.

  “We’re having pancakes and sausage. Does that sound good?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He offered a bright smile. “I’m hungry too.”

  Hank turned toward the table, a frown on his face. Why hadn’t Fiona offered him a smile this morning? Had he done something wrong?

  “Eric, come away and let Miss Fiona finish the cooking.” His voice was rougher than he’d intended. The boy started, then releasing Fiona’s skirt walked toward the table where his father was.

  “Sorry pa.” the tyke offered, obviously unsure of what he’d done. Hank scooped his son up and placed him on his lap.

  “It’s alright son,” he said in way of apology. “Miss Fiona is just busy that’s all and I don’t want you to be under-foot.” He squeezed the boy close to him, ashamed of his earlier behavior.

  As the minutes ticked by, the kitchen began to fill with people. The twins arrived and began helping Fiona, then Joshua, and in twos and threes the older hands arrived from the bunk house, stomping snow off of their boots as they crossed the back porch. Katie and Will were the last to arrive.

  Katie was still straightening her blouse as Will, his hair looking like it hadn’t yet seen a comb, desperately tried to tuck his shirt tail into his jeans. No one at the table could miss their rumpled appearance as they finally joined the family for breakfast.

  Hank shot a withering glare at the other man as he settled next to his wife, causing Will to start with surprise.

  No sooner had grace been said than the usual cacophony of conversation picked up. Fiona had seated herself next to Eric at his request, but purposely kept from looking at or speaking to Hank.

  “Pa an’ me is gonna build a snow man.” Eric spoke animatedly to the young woman who gave him her undivided attention.

  “You are?” she questioned, placing a pancake on his plate with a smile.

  “Yep. Pa said so.”

  Joshua picking up on the conversation, turned to the boy. “Well maybe Meg will be kind enough to go out and help you. Won’t that be fun?” Three sets of eyes turned to Meg, who blinked back at them looking surprised.

  “Oh, I don’t think I can Pa” she began looking around her for an excuse. “I’m…I’m not feeling all that well this morning.” Nona’s head whipped around at the pronouncement. Meg jumped in her seat under the sharp gaze of her grandmother.

  “Uhm, just a stuffy nose,” she squeaked, knowing that if her grandmother thought she was ill she’d be marched straight to bed. “I think I’d better stay inside where it’s warm.” She raced on, trying to get all of the words out. “I’m sure Fiona would love to help though. Wouldn’t you Fiona?”

  Fiona sat frozen in place, unsure what to say. She couldn’t believe Meg would turn down an opportunity to spend time with Hank and Eric, especially after what she had overheard only this morning. Her long silence had all eyes on her.

  “Please, Fona.” The plaintive voice at her side tugged at her heart and she smiled at the boy.

  “I’d love to.” She finally offered. Joshua studied his third child then scratching his head, looked to his second daughter on the other side of the table, feeling bewildered.

  After breakfast everyone rose and joined Joshua in the parlor, where he read a passage from the Bible and prayed. A reverent hush filled the house and a feeling of sweet peace seemed to radiate among each member of the Broken J.

  It was the first time Hank could remember the whole place silent for more than the few moments when grace was offered. In his heart a prayer formed and lifted, unspoken to heaven.

  Meg sneezed delicately then excused herself with a significant look at Hank who turned to his son.

  “Ready to go and make that snow man?” He asked the boy as the others began dispersing to various chores. Eric beamed and raced to take Fiona’s hand, dragging her toward the door and his coat.

  Hank couldn’t help but smile. The boy had never been as lively as he was here on the ranch. He turned to follow the two but was stopped by the voice of his employer.

  “Hank, you ever been hunting?” the white haired man asked, rising from his chair.

  “No sir,” Hank replied. “I’m afraid I’ve never had the opportunity, being how I mostly lived in the big city my whole life.”

  “Well never too late to learn I reckon,” Joshua said. “I say you and Will and I go out on Monday and see what we can find. That should make Bianca happy.”.

  From the corner Isadoro chuckled. “She does love Thanksgiving.”

  “That sounds fine sir, but you might be disappointed. I’ve never even fired a rifle before.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. After lunch today we’ll go and get some practice.” With that Joshua patted the younger man on the shoulder then walked out into the hall where he retrieved his coat from a peg by the door.

  When Hank descended the stairs at the front of the house he saw Fiona and Eric already pushing a small ball of snow along the ground. There were at least six inches of snow on the ground and everything was blanketed in white.

  He smiled as he watched his son, hands covered in socks to keep them warm, pushing the ball along with the young woman who laughed as the boy chattered.

  The cold of the day had put a rosy blush to her cheeks and nose and the heavy coat she’d buttoned over her sensible sun-yellow dress did nothing to disguise her figure.

  In fact, the coat seemed to accentuate her curves as it squeezed in around her small waist and flared around softly rounded hips. He dragged his mind and his eyes away from the direction they’d been traveling and hopped down into the snow.

&nbs
p; “Look Pa,” Eric called excitedly as his father joined them in the snow.

  “That looks just fine.” The big man smiled at his son’s excitement.

  Bending, he scooped up a handful of snow and packing it gently, tossed it at his son, hitting him square in the back with a solid splat.

  “Hey!” the boy protested, stopping what he was doing and picking up his own handful of snow. He tossed it but it didn’t come close to hitting Hank, but a second one whizzed through the air just moments later and landed with a thump against his broad chest. Hank blinked, stunned as he watched Fiona packing yet another missile in preparations for an attack.

  He scooped up more snow and soon the white projectiles were zooming back and forth across the yard among peals of laughter.

  Fiona was adept at dodging his snow balls, but was equally skilled in hitting him with her own, until suddenly he misjudged and one made contact with her face.

  Shocked, he strode toward her. “I’m so sorry ma’am,” he called stepping up to examine the damage. Raising a beefy hand he wiped away the remains of the snow that lingered on her cheek with a callused thumb.

  Fiona didn’t stop laughing as she gazed up at him, eyes shining, as the sweet sound of her mirth filled the yard, but as his thumb stroked across her soft cheek, she fell silent, and when he did it again, a soft gasp escaped her lips.

  Hank stood over her, looking into her upturned face, falling into the depths of her stormy eyes. His thumb stroked her cheek again and she closed her eyes as his face descended toward hers. He licked dry lips in anticipation of knowing the taste of hers.

  “Pa, this is too big, I can’t roll it no more.” Eric’s call for help was like an icy splash to both parties and as one they stepped back from each other.

  “Alright,” Hank said as he settled on his knees and started pushing the growing ball of snow into place.

  “Now let’s make another one that’s smaller to put on top of this one,” Hank suggested, carefully avoiding Fiona’s eyes.

  “I’ll make the head.” She finally stated and moved to the side into a fresh patch of snow. Soon the small snow man stood in front of the porch but he looked unfinished.

  “I’ll run in and get a carrot for his nose,” Fiona said. “You two go get some rocks for his eyes.”

  Fiona had just come back out onto the porch, a wilted carrot in her hand when she saw Eric running across the snow covered yard, slip and fall.

  Hands out stretched to catch himself, he skidded across the exposed dirt and gravel of the hard packed road and landed almost face down. A soft whimper was the first sound she heard and in a moment she was at his side, lifting him up, and smoothing soft white blonde hair from his eyes.

  Large, shimmering tears stood in his bright blue gaze. Gently, speaking softly, she pulled the old socks off of his hands and noticed the abrasion on his palm.

  “Oh, darlin’,” she whispered, kissing the little pink hand, then pulling him into a big hug. “It’ll be just fine. We’ll put something on it in the house and it will be all better.”

  At just that moment Hank came back around the house carrying two sticks in his big hands. He stopped short when he saw Fiona kneeling in the snow, completely oblivious to the damp snow soaking into her dress, holding his son. His heart flipped over in his chest as he dashed to where they were.

  “What happened?” he asked, concern evident in his deep voice.

  “Eric fell.” Fiona turned to look at him. “It’s not bad though, he just skinned his hand a little.”

  “I’m alright Pa.” The little boy spoke, his tears now forgotten. “Can we finish our snow man first then go inside?” His voice was plaintive.

  “Of course we can., Hank said with a smile, then offered his hand to Fiona, helping her stand. She reached down and took Eric’s uninjured hand in hers as Hank tucked her small hand into the crook of his elbow and together they walked over to the faceless snowman.

  Using his good hand Eric pulled several small stones out of his coat pocket and began placing them as eyes and mouth on the bundle of snow. His father, finally remembering the sticks, picked them up and added them as arms while Fiona place the bright carrot where a nose should be. They all smiled at each other, then Fiona reached down and took Eric’s hand again before heading into the house.

  Hank watched the young woman proceed him into the house, leading his son with gentle words. The boy adored her and he could understand why. Eric had never known his mother and Hank couldn’t think of anyone who would make a better one for his son. But would a beautiful woman like that want a big oaf like him as part of the package?

  He found her attractive but what did she see when she looked at him? He needed to know. He needed a chance to get to know her better and understand who she really was. Perhaps he’d talk to Meg and see what she could tell him. Yes that’s what he would do, he decided as he walked into the kitchen.

  Fiona had lifted Eric up onto the tall work table and was looking at his hand. The boy had no more tears in his eyes but he looked at the woman a question etched across his face.

  “Will it hurt?” the boy asked, his blue eyes looking into hers.

  “What?” the girl asked.

  “Will it hurt when you put something on my hand?” His little voice was timid. Fiona smiled down at him.

  “It won’t hurt a bit. It’s just some salve that Nona makes up with honey and garlic. It doesn’t smell very good but it doesn’t hurt.” The boy smiled.

  Soon the boy’s hand was cleaned, soothed and wrapped in a soft white cloth to keep it clean and Fiona was lifting him down to the floor again.

  As the boy ran off to play in the parlor Hank had an almost overwhelming urge to kiss Fiona right there in the kitchen, with Chen Lou and Nona in the background. Somehow he managed to suppress the need but it burned like a fire in him.

  Chapter 8

  The next morning found Hank astride one of Billy’s chunky wagon horses following Will and Joshua across a crisp winter landscape. The day before the two men had taken him out past the barn to practice using the rifle now in his scabbard secured along the right flank of his mount. They’d left in the early hours of the morning, in hopes of surprising some wild turkey near a copse of trees along the valley. So far Will and Josh had each taken one bird.

  “It’ll never do,” Joshua James groused as he rode along with the two younger men. “Bi, Bianca I mean, will never tolerate less than four turkeys for Thanksgiving.” He glanced at Hank, a wicked gleam in his eye.

  Hank blushed to the roots of his dark blonde hair at the jibe. Having missed the turkey he’d taken aim at he knew he could expect a good bit of ribbing on the matter. He understood that it was all in good fun though and that as the newest member of the Broken J he could expect nothing less.

  “Well maybe if we get her a venison to go with these two she’ll forgive us and not stop cookin’.” Joshua turned his horse toward the far hills.

  By noon they’d seen nothing but sign that deer had actually passed that way and had all but given up. They turned their horses toward home and kicked them into a quick jog hoping to find some lunch at the end of the ride.

  They were only a couple of miles away from the ranch when they spotted the other riders. Four people sat atop shaggy mounts along the trail to the ranch, leading two heavily laden pack animals. Joshua squinted his eyes to get a better look at the strangers, then a huge smile broke over his face as he kicked his big buckskin into a dead run.

  “Joshua James you old coot!” the red haired man seated on the back of a big chestnut paint called. Beside him rode a small stout woman with long black braids down each shoulder.

  On second glance Hank could see that she was an Indian woman. Behind these two figures rode a tall lean boy with bright hazel eyes and raven hair that hung loose down his back, and a girl of about eleven sat calmly on her pony, eyeing each of the men.

  “Brion. Now ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Joshua enthused. “Hank, let me introduce you to
my brother-in-law Brion Blakely and his wife Wynona, behind them that’s Sean and Annabelle.” He indicated each member with an pointing index finger, “Brion’s my first wife’s brother”

  Hank greeted each of them, somehow not surprised that there were still more members of the Broken J that he hadn’t met so far.

  “We’re on our way to the Thanksgiving feast,” Brion announced loudly, his Irish brogue heavy as he winked at the other men.

  “I figured you’d be neeedin’ a hand with the festivities,” gesturing widely with a freckled hand.

  “By the looks of those sorry turkeys on your saddles I’d say I came just in time too.” He pointed to the pack horses behind him. Both were laden with several turkeys and the carcass of a freshly killed buck.

  Joshua’s eyes widened, and Brion began to laugh. “Come on then,” Josh finally said, “let’s get this bounty to where it belongs before Bianca skins us for supper.”

  If Hank thought the noise of the Broken J was over whelming before, after the arrival of the Blakely clan it increased fivefold.