by Ginny Aiken
Emma shuddered at the thought. Dog hair garments didn’t quite appeal. “I don’t think we should ever think to put it to the test. And I don’t think it’s wise if we chat away half the night, either. Colley and I are done with our baths, but the tub needs to go back outside. We would appreciate your help with emptying it.”
The men hurried to the cabin with her and removed the tub. Emma again tried to thank Colley for the use of her bedroom, and once again the older woman shrugged it off.
“Part of bein’ a ranch manager is managin’ things ’round the place. I can solve this with lettin’ you use my room. That’s all it is.”
But Emma knew otherwise. She’d seen the expression on Colley’s face when she went to retire at night. The room was her refuge, and now it would be Emma’s. With Pippa held secure in one arm, she closed the door behind them and shut out the glow of the big lantern in the cabin’s main room.
She slept as soon as the pillow cushioned her head.
No man in his right mind ever wanted an injury. Peter was no different, especially since he considered himself to be quite sensible and right-minded. Still, he hadn’t thought through all the things he wouldn’t be able to do while stuck in the bunk.
“Help me to the table,” he’d asked at breakfast.
“You can eat off yer lap in bed,” Colley had answered. “That leg ain’t moving long’s I’m doctorin’ you.”
He’d looked to the other men for support, but neither Wade nor Ned had wanted to buck Colley’s decision. Peter couldn’t blame them. With him indoors, the ranch manager was responsible for the work at the camp. If either argued on his behalf, who knew what kind of chore Colley would assign the argumentative worker. She was a force to be reckoned with.
Then, there was the matter of Robby’s lessons. While he had been willing to teach his son, it wasn’t an activity he particularly enjoyed. He would much rather spend his days outdoors, working with the flock, mending tools, repairing buildings. And, since it had been something Adele had loved to do, it brought to mind too many memories. But from the moment Colley had finished hog-tying him, his son had stuck to him like a burr to a man’s sock. He loved the boy too much to hurt him by pushing him away.
“Pleeeeze!” Robby asked. “We did sums already, an’ I read Scripture, too. ’Sides, you promised, Papa. Please read to me about King Arthur and his knights.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emma fight a smile. He never wanted to encourage Robby, but he also didn’t want to crush his spirit. He feared if he made it too great a choice between the ranch and the book, the boy might choose a life of study far from the legacy Peter had worked so long to achieve.
So he read. In that overdone, old, old language.
At the same time, Emma, much to his surprise, worked with needle and thread to adjust Adele’s old dresses to her shorter, more delicate frame. He never would have expected that from the silly, useless girl he’d found in the cave.
He had to admit she’d surprised him with the meal she’d made. He’d never thought she would take up his challenge, much less succeed. And that morning, according to Colley, the grits, bacon, and eggs had all been made by their guest. The biscuits Emma served, while not quite as fluffy as Colley’s, had been edible, especially since she’d tucked butter in the opened middles, then drenched them with honey she’d found in the shed.
Wade had gone on and on about how good the meal had been.
Ned had stared at Emma, his calf-eyed look rubbing Peter the wrong way. True, the two young men were close to her age, and were likely ready to find a girl to settle down with, but they struck him as wrong for her.
Wade had nothing to offer a wife, seeing as he was Peter’s employee. And Ned…? Why, Ned still had to face the sheriff for the rustling he’d done. Surely Emma wouldn’t fall for the excessive and obvious devotion both men showered upon her.
Way he saw it, she needed a stronger, more level-headed, more mature man. Someone more like him, not that he could ever see her in that way. Aside from the differences in their natures, she belonged in a city, while this was his world. And no matter how much she learned, Emma didn’t belong here.
Much less with either his ranch hand or his prisoner, and Peter felt certain she knew it, too. And yet, she was kind and friendly to both. Peter had seen no sign of interest on her part, but at the same time, he’d never seen her act rude or push either away.
No one could miss Ned’s determination to try to help her, nor could anyone ignore how the young outlaw merely made more work for her in the end. It was humorous, but at times, like when he’d dumped a bucket of water on Peter’s boots, irritating as well.
He could chuckle at the memory, now the moment was well in the past. On the other hand, he still had a great deal of work that needed doing, and he was laid up.
“Ned,” he’d said after breakfast, “I need you to help Colley today. You’re strong and young, and she can use you to hold the sheep while she shears.”
The shearing would keep the outlaw out of the house, since there was so much to be done still.
“And Wade, you can go back to work fixing the winter damage on the barn roof. Be careful out there. If you need help, fetch Colley and Ned. I want no one else hurt. It’s bad enough with me like this.”
In that fashion, Peter established a new routine, one he didn’t much care for, since he was still bound to the bunk. He did, however, appreciate watching Emma as she went about the various chores Colley assigned her. Time crawled by, and observing his guest’s activities became his only pastime.
She handled the laundering Colley assigned her quite well, even though the flour sacks his ranch manager took so much pride in didn’t end up quite as white as when the older woman did the wash. At the end of laundry day, Emma looked much the worse for wear. She didn’t argue when Ned offered to take Pippa for her last evening constitutional. With the dog back inside, she stumbled off to Colley’s room scant minutes after she’d set the last washed bowl on the shelf.
Then, while she yelped a time or two as she worked on her sewing project, in less than a handful of days Peter noticed how much better those old dresses of Adele’s fit her. He didn’t dare compliment her on her handiwork, afraid she might realize how much time he’d spent studying her every move.
When he caught himself anticipating Emma’s next chore, he knew he had to do something about his preoccupation or he’d lose his mind. She was too attractive, too determined, and too hard-working for him not to notice. And to like. But that kind of response had no place in his situation. It didn’t fit within his plans.
This new Emma he was coming to know felt dangerous indeed. This Emma had a number of qualities he couldn’t help but admire.
It would suit him much better if she irritated him again, if he could find a challenge she couldn’t meet.
A week after he’d been forced to take up life as an invalid, Peter lay in the by-now-hated bunk and mulled over his predicament. It never would have struck him that he’d wind up liking his guest a touch more than he should. He needed to get back to work, to get away from Emma’s humming, to evade the enticing scents of her mostly successful cooking, to escape the lulling pull of her voice as she read to Robby. Colley couldn’t baby him on account of the leg a moment longer. The splint would have to do to keep the break in the bone from leaving him lame.
As he was in the process of thinking out the argument he planned to use to persuade his ranch manager, the blamed woman herself came back indoors.
“Don’t reckon you figgered out yet what yer gonna do with all that fleece I sheared, now we got those holes in the barn roof. Damage is worse than we thought and repair work’s goin’ much slower with just Wade.” She slapped her dusty hat against her leg. “You cain’t be heading into Bountiful with that leg like that, and I cain’t be leaving Wade all alone with them sheep. What’s in yer head right about now?”
“Don’t reckon I’ve thought much about it,” he said. “We’ll just have to keep
it clean and dry as possible until we go down to market in the fall. We’ll sell it then.”
Colley cast a glance toward the corner where Adele’s belongings had sat, unused, since her death. Peter feared he knew what she was thinking, and, for the first time in a long while, deep pain didn’t come with dread at the mere thought. This time, he acknowledged his great sadness and sense of loss, but didn’t experience the wrenching grief that had stolen his breath away for such a long time. He also identified a wistful wish for the love that only lived in memories these days.
He sighed. “What’s running through that head of yours, then?”
“I reckon ya know.”
“You’re thinking I should spend my time in your jail here spinning some of the wool into yarn, aren’t you?”
She let out a bark of laughter. “See no jail ’round these parts. Just a fella resting up like he should.” Shaking her head, she dragged a chair near the bed. “Funny how a body doesn’t have to say a word when things make sense. I know yer not a lady, and I know it was Adele who did the spinning, but ya did tell me yer mama had ya learn how to do it, too. And you know it makes fer easier storing when ya got yerself yarn than when ya got yerself fleece.”
“Fast-talking me isn’t going to do it, and you know it. I hate spinning yarn. It’s a pity you don’t like it any better than I do—”
“I’d like to learn,” Emma said. Peter had forgotten she was in the cabin, busy with supper preparation. She went on. “I’ve been curious about that spinning wheel. I think it’s a lovely piece. If one of you would teach me, I’m sure I could learn.”
Colley looked from Emma to him and back to her again. “Well, then, there ya go.” She stood, clapped the hat back on the roll of hair on top of her head, and crossed to the door. “I’ll be back for supper.”
“That’s it?” he asked. “You won’t offer to help Emma?”
Colley cackled. “Don’t reckon I see nothing wrong with yer two hands, Pete. It’s yer leg ya broke, right? Ya can teach her to spin, since ya were saying how ya hated feeling useless fer so long. Go ahead, an’ make yerself useful now.”
Echoes of the slammed door seemed to go on and on in Peter’s head. Not only did he not enjoy the tedious exercise of spinning wool into yarn, but the large wheel in the corner also brought its share of hard memories. Adele had loved to spin and had spent hours in the quiet, rhythmic venture. She’d said it filled her with a sense of peace and accomplishment that satisfied in particular at the end of a long, busy day.
Now, Colley wanted him to pull out the lovely, graceful wheel, one that in his heart and mind only spoke of his late wife, and place it in the hands of the woman already wearing Adele’s clothes. He hadn’t had the heart to burn it up for firewood after Adele’s death, but now he wondered if he shouldn’t have. Had he done so, he wouldn’t be faced with having to teach Emma to use his dead wife’s wheel.
How? How could God ask this of him?
“Well,” Emma said as she dried her hands on a flour sack towel, giving him no further time with his question. “Supper’s minding itself, and I’m ready to learn. Where’s the wool?”
Peter frowned. His uninvited guest was not a woman to be put off when she set her mind to something, as he was coming to learn. “Last I checked, the only carded wool is in a sack, more than likely in the barn. Colley’s the one for you to ask.”
Emma gave him a quick nod. “I’ll be right back then. I’ll help you sit up if you need me as soon as I return with the wool.”
It was only too clear she wasn’t about to let him use his injury as a way to escape his apparent fate. Between her and Colley… he had to wonder who was in charge of his sheep operation anymore.
By the time he’d propped himself up into a full sitting position, Emma had stepped back into the cabin, a full, clean flour sack stuffed with wool in her arms. “Colley says this is all she took time to card. You should start by teaching me to spin since she told me this is ready, and then, once we’re done with it, you can show me how to card—whatever that might be.”
“Carding the wool is what you need to do to prepare the fleece you sheared for spinning it into yarn. We’ll see how you do with spinning before we think about getting wool ready to card, never mind carding it.”
Her warm smile appealed to him more than it should, especially since it came about from his agreeing to do something he didn’t want to do. His irritation with his easy susceptibility grew.
Gesturing toward the wheel, he said, “Let’s get to it, then. Bring it over and pull up a chair.”
Emma did as asked, expressing surprise that it wasn’t as heavy as she’d expected. Then, once seated, she sent him a mischievous grin. “It sounds to me as though you’re ready to take some kind of punishment Colley has handed out. I promise I won’t make this as bad as that.”
The twinkle in her gaze made him realize how churlish he sounded. “I’m sorry. I have never cared for spinning. It was something my mother liked while I grew up, and Adele—my late wife—learned from her. I prefer the animals and the land. That’s why I came out West.”
She leaned back in the chair and studied him. Her scrutiny made him the slightest bit uncomfortable, as her green eyes seemed to reach deep inside him, to see his likes and dislikes, his dreams and wishes, his failures and flaws. He didn’t much like that loss of his usual protective walls.
“I saw you with that ewe the other night. I don’t doubt it was your love of animals that drove your wish. But I don’t think it was the only thing that brought you here. I think you felt the need to test yourself, to prove to yourself you had it in you to do whatever you set your mind to.”
He shrugged. She’d hit the target full on.
“I’m not much different,” she said. “At least, I’m learning that about myself. I decided I did want to learn to cook, and I’m making progress—I haven’t poisoned any of you yet, right?”
He only dignified the comment with a snort.
She giggled then went on. “I also decided to use my skills with a needle and alter these dresses myself. I think I did a fair job of it, and with practice, I could outfit myself in time. Now, I’ve decided to learn to spin.”
He couldn’t argue with a thing she’d said. A grudging sense of admiration struck him. Again.
As she sat and waited for him, he pulled a puff of wool from the sack. Her eyes gleamed and she continued to smile, her anticipation almost something he could touch. He remembered Adele’s wistful wish for more women who would learn to spin, now that many bought their yarn ready-spun from the mercantile. She’d always hoped for others to keep the ancient art alive. It struck him as odd that a woman who’d grown up in Emma’s situation might be one to catch the interest. At least, she’d be interested for the moment.
“Like Colley said,” he started, holding out the wool, “this is already carded. Carding’s what you do to untangle and clean the shorn wool. When you first shear the animal, the fleece still has bits of dirt and seeds in it. You don’t want that in the mix when you spin.”
“We are going to card wool later, right?”
He sighed. “From your insistence, I’m thinking I have a good deal of carding in my future.”
“Just enough to teach me. I’ll take it over once I’ve learned.”
He just shook his head. “Fine. I’ll show you how to sort and wash the wool, then the carders and how to use them later. As I said, Colley took care to prepare all this.”
“Good. I want to learn it all.”
“Then let’s get started.” He held out the rounded tuft of wool again. “This is called a sliver or, more correctly, a rolag. That’s because after she carded it, Colley rolled it up on itself to get it off the card.”
Peter spread the end of the rolag in a fan shape across his palm. He picked up the short end of yarn left on the spinning wheel’s bobbin and continued with his lesson. “This is called a leader. It’s a short piece you always want to leave attached to the spindle after you remove the
last quantity you spun. You use it to start your next batch.”
He bent in closer to the wheel, but then realized it had also brought him closer to her. The nearness made him intensely aware of her, something he didn’t want. She already took up too much room in his thoughts.
But it couldn’t be helped. He didn’t know how to teach her to spin, other than for both of them to stay near the wheel. He’d known what was what straight from the start. This had not been one of Colley’s better ideas. He should have flat-out refused. Now, it was too late, and Emma was much too close.
He cleared his throat. “To start to spin, you have to join the carded wool and the leader. To do this, I’ll twist them both a bit to the left.” He demonstrated, and nearly groaned when she leaned closer still.
Spinning. You’re spinning wool. Think how much you hate it.
He continued. “Once I’ve twisted them together, I hold the spot where I joined them between my left thumb and forefinger. With my right hand, I give the wheel a clockwise turn and start to treadle.”
And there, he ran into yet another hurdle. For his good leg to reach the treadle, he had to sit up, closer still to Emma. This time, though, his shoulder grazed hers. The light touch took in her warmth, and it occurred to Peter he hadn’t been this close to another person, aside from his son, since the day he’d hugged Adele good-bye and helped her onto the train back East.
A yawning hole opened up inside him, and he realized how much he missed that human closeness, the simple squeeze of a hand, soft fingers against his cheek, a tug on his hair. The sudden need for that kind of tender, intimate companionship stunned him, stole his breath, and left him reeling from the gut-deep realization of his loneliness. He sensed the years spread out before him in the same way…
Why? Why did it have to be the most impossible person he knew who would lead him to that point? And why now?
Spin, spin the wool…
Without another word, he set his foot on the wooden platform and set the wheel to turning with a simple up and down pressure. Emma stared at his hand, clearly fascinated by the way he turned a cloud of fibers into smooth, sturdy yarn. He could sense her interest growing, and he remembered Adele’s excitement when his mother had taught her to spin so many years before.
