by Linda Ford
“Good fort needs a good fence.” Linc sounded as if it was the most important thing he could discuss.
“You seen any forts?” Robbie asked.
“Only in museums. I’m grateful we don’t need them to protect us anymore.” He glanced about. “Is there a place I can wash up?”
Sally indicated the sink in the back room that served as pantry and laundry room.
Robbie followed Linc and washed his hands without being told. If only the boy could be so cooperative all the time. She poured coffee into the cup she’d set out for Linc and waited for the pair to return.
Robbie scampered to his chair and downed his glass of milk in loud gulps. “Can I have more?”
“Whoa. Slow down,” Linc said. “You wouldn’t want to drown yourself, now would you?”
Robbie giggled and planted himself more squarely in his chair, apparently intending to wait patiently.
“And who is this pretty young gal?” Linc indicated Carol.
His words jarred Sally into action. “This is Carol Finley.” She told the girl who Linc was, saying he visited his grandmother across the alley, leaving out all the vicious rumors.
“Pleased to meet you.” Linc reached for Carol’s hand and bent over slightly as he shook it.
Carol flushed a dull red, pulled her hand to her lap and ducked her head.
Guess he had the same disconcerting effect on both young and grown girls. The thought comforted Sally, but she experienced a twinge of sympathy for Carol’s confusion.
Linc shifted his attention to the table, nodded toward the cup of steaming coffee. “For me?”
Sally jerked herself out of her thoughts. “Yes. And please, sit down and help yourself to cookies.”
He sat and tasted his coffee. “Yum. Hard to beat fresh coffee.”
Sally refilled Robbie’s glass and passed the plate.
Carol lifted her face as she took a cookie. Her eyes darted toward Linc and she ducked away again.
Smitten, Sally thought. And as embarrassed about her reaction, as I am about mine.
“Did you bake these?” Linc lifted a ginger cookie to indicate what he meant.
“Yes.” Sally prayed her cheeks wouldn’t darken in echo of Carol’s reaction. She was, after all, a grown, self-controlled woman. “My father’s favorite cookie.”
“They’re good.” He sighed. “Not at all like the hard tack and beans a cowboy gets used to eating.”
Robbie nearly squirmed right off his chair. “You a real cowboy?”
Linc held out his arm. “Feel.”
Robbie pressed his hand to Linc’s forearm.
“I feel real to you?”
Robbie giggled.
Carol watched the pair. “He didn’t mean real in that way. He meant do you live out on the hills, camping with cows and herding them?”
Sally almost dropped her cookie. It was the most she’d heard Carol speak at one time since she’d started caring for them a month ago. She tore her attention from Carol back to Linc, as curious over his answer as either of the children.
Linc leaned back, a faraway look in his eyes. “I spent many nights sleeping on the ground with a herd of cows bawling in my ear. Lots of fun but hard work, too. And like I said, often the food wasn’t that great.”
He might not appreciate the food, but there was no mistaking how much he liked his sort of life. A shudder crossed Sally’s shoulders. She could imagine nothing appealing about such an unsettled existence.
“You cook your own food?” Robbie asked, his eyes and mouth as round as the top of his glass.
“Depends on whether I was alone or with a crew. If I was alone, I didn’t have much choice. Either cook or starve to death. But when we had a roundup the ranch provided a cook wagon. That was great.” He sighed and patted his stomach. “Some of those old cooks worked magic with flour and water and fresh beef.”
Carol had slid forward on her chair, mesmerized by the way Linc talked. “Did you sing to the cows?” She lowered her gaze a brief moment. “I heard that cowboys sing to calm them. Our teacher taught us ‘The Old Chisholm Trail.’ She said the cowboys like to sing that song.”
“Come a ti-yi-yi-yippy-yippy-ah.” Linc half sang, half spoke the words.
Carol’s eyes glistened. “That’s it.”
Linc chuckled. “We had one old cowboy by the name of Skinner. He always brought along his fiddle and played it after supper, just as the moon cast a glow on the trees, making them look like pale white soldiers. I tell you, there’s nothing more mournful than a fiddle playing “Oh Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie.” He shivered but his face belied his words. He looked as if it was the best part of life.
Sally didn’t take her eyes off his glowing face. Without looking, she knew both children were equally as mesmerized. She blinked and forced her attention to other things. Her responsibilities. “Children, finish up. Do your chores and then you can play until suppertime.”
They downed their cookies and milk and raced away—Robbie to take away the pail of coal ashes Sally had scraped out of the stove earlier in the day. He often made a big deal of the chore, when all he had to do was carry the pail to the ash heap at the far corner of the yard and bring the empty pail back. This time he didn’t utter one word of complaint. Carol’s chore was to sweep the front step and sidewalk. She grabbed the broom and hurried outside.
Linc drained his coffee and pushed back from the table. “I thank you.” He grabbed his hat off the back of the chair and headed for the door where he paused. “You coming out again?”
Why did her heart pick up pace at his innocent question? She half convinced herself he spoke out of politeness, not out of any real desire for her to join him. With the portion of her brain that remained sensible, she brought out the right words. “I can’t. I have to make supper and…” At a loss to think what else she needed to do, she let her words trail off.
“Of course.” He pushed his hat to his head and stepped outside. “Thanks again.” He strode away, his long legs quickly creating distance.
She stared after him as he returned to the crab apple trees and gathered the branches he’d removed. His arms full, he headed for the garbage barrel by the ash pile and broke the branches to stuff them into the barrel. What did she hear? She lifted the window sash and listened.
“Oh, do you remember sweet Betsy from Pike?”
He was singing.
She listened in fascination. He didn’t have a particularly fine singing voice. In fact, it was gravelly, as if he sang past a mouthful of marbles, and he missed a few of the notes. But what he lacked in talent, he more than made up for in enjoyment. The notes fairly danced through the air and frolicked into her heart, where they skipped and whirled until they were well embedded.
The front door slammed. Carol skidded into the kitchen and stored the broom. She headed for the back door. “He’s singing.” She left again so fast, Sally didn’t even have time to close the window and pretend she hadn’t been listening as eagerly as young Carol.
Carol trotted to the garden to stand by Robbie. Shoulder to shoulder they watched and listened to Linc, who continued to break branches, oblivious to his adoring audience.
Sally studied the two children. Both were under his spell. She slammed the window shut. They were children, prone to hero worship. She, on the other hand, was a grown woman who knew better than to chase after…after what? She didn’t even know what she thought she’d been chasing. Certainly not stability or sensibility. She turned and studied the kitchen. Very modern, with an electric refrigerator Abe had shipped all the way from Toronto. A gas range stood in the corner to be used in hot weather. He’d shown her how to light the pilot and how to set the controls on the oven, but Sally had never used a gas stove and wondered if she would ever be comfortable doing so. She preferred to use the coal cookstove.
Abe was very proud of the modern fixtures, especially the stove. “It’s a Canadian invention,” he said with enough pride that Sally thought he would like to take cre
dit for the innovation.
She shifted her gaze, itemizing the benefits of the house. Two stories. Four bedrooms and an indoor bathroom upstairs. All the bedrooms had generous closets.
Downstairs, besides the kitchen and back room, there was a formal dining room, complete with a china cabinet holding a fancy twelve-place dishware collection. Sally thought the plain white dishes with gold trim rather unnoteworthy. Her choice of pattern would have been something with a little color in the form of a flower. There were so many lovely rose patterns.
“I like to entertain here,” Abe had said, indicating the formal dining room and the array of dishes. “Dinner parties for my business associates.” He eyed the dark wood paneled room with windows covered by heavy forest-green drapes shutting out most of the light. Obviously it was his favorite room in the house.
Sally had nodded, her smile wooden. She could cook a meal for twelve with no problem. But a dinner party? Business associates? It sounded stiff and dull.
She gave herself a little shake. Of course she could do a dinner party. No need to be nervous because she didn’t know Abe’s business associates and had never given a formal dinner. How hard could it be? Cooking was cooking.
And if she didn’t get to her meal preparations this minute, she would be hard-pressed to have supper ready when Abe came through the door.
She hurried to the back room and found potatoes. As she peeled them, she enjoyed a view of the backyard. Robbie played in his fort. Carol sat cross-legged nearby, scratching in the dirt. She paused often to glance up, a dreamy look on her face. Sally didn’t need to follow the direction of her gaze to know the reason. Linc had returned to pruning the crab apple trees. From what she could see, he removed a great number of branches. The trees looked downright sparse. I hope he knows what he’s doing. Abe would be very upset if Linc killed the trees.
Linc stepped back and surveyed the damage, then hoisted the ladder to his shoulder and went to the little shed. After stowing the ladder, he headed for the house. His gaze flicked to the window and he smiled.
Sally developed a sudden interest in the task of peeling potatoes and hoped he didn’t think she’d been staring.
He knocked.
She dried her hands on a towel, smoothed her apron and walked slowly to the door just to prove she had other things holding her attention. “Yes?”
“I’m headed home to check on my pa. Tell Abe I’m done with the trees and will start working on the barn tomorrow, unless he prefers I do something else.”
“I’ll let him know.” Abe no doubt would have specific ideas of what he wanted done and in what order.
“I’m off then.” He took a step toward the back gate.
“I hope your pa is okay. Say hello to your grandmother for me.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll do that.” His mouth pulled to one side. He seemed to consider saying something more, then nodded without voicing his thought. “See you tomorrow.” And he swung away, passing the garden. He echoed a goodbye to the children before he vaulted over the fence, not bothering with the gate.
Sally stared after him until he disappeared from view behind the board fence. Even then she continued to stare. What was it about this man that pulled at her so hard? Like a promise. Of what? The man was a cowboy. By his own confession, he slept on the cold, hard ground, often with nothing but cows for company. It should have turned him into a recluse or at least a man with poor social skills. Linc might not fit into everyone’s idea of a refined gentleman, yet there was something about him. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she also couldn’t deny its existence, even though she wanted to.
“Is he coming back tomorrow?”
Sally’s gaze lingered one more heartbeat, her mind indulged in one more puzzled thought, then she turned to Carol who stood before her, her face a mixture of hope and fear. “Your father has hired him to do yard work. I should think he’ll have enough to keep him busy for a week or two. Perhaps even a month.” She utterly failed to keep a note of joy out of her words.
“Good.” Carol marched past her, into the house and up the stairs. The words of a song trailed after her. “Oh, do you remember sweet Betsy from Pike?”
An echo sounded from the garden in a low, monotone singsongy voice.
Sally stared. Robbie was singing? Come to think of it, he’d been pleasantly occupied all day building his fort. She watched, her eyes narrowed in concentration. In her experience, Robbie being content was foreign. The few times it happened had led to a major explosion. Maybe he’d wait until she left to shift into defiance. Except…how would Abe deal with it? He had little patience with Robbie acting out. “Losing his mother will not be tolerated as an excuse,” Abe insisted. Yes, she understood Robbie must find a better way to express his displeasure but—
Lord, these children are hurt and frightened by their loss. Help me help them. Help them find joy in life and be able to believe they can again be safe.
She thought of how she’d found the feeling of safety after her father died, through helping her mother and sisters keep things organized and in control, doing what she thought her father would approve of. How could she help these children find the same sense of safety?
“Robbie, come wash up for supper.”
He jerked as if she’d struck him, and his chin jutted out. “Leave me alone.”
“Your father will soon be here, and he expects you washed and ready to sit down.”
Robbie gave her his fiercest glower.
“Robbie, I think your mother would want you to do your best to please your father.”
His scowl deepened. “She won’t know what I do.”
“Maybe not. But you will. You know what would please her. You can honor her by doing it.”
He turned his back to her and continued moving a pile of dirt. It seemed he did his best to make sure most of it fell on him.
“Robbie, please come to the house.” She kept her tone firm and soft.
“You ain’t my mother.”
“I know that.” She didn’t expect she could replace their mother if she married Abe—when she married Abe, she corrected. “No one can replace your mother.” She let the words sink in.
“I betcha Linc didn’t wash his hands when he camped out with cows.”
“I have no idea if he did or didn’t, but I noticed how well he cleaned up before coffee.” She’d noticed far too well, taking in how his face shone from the scrubbing and how his hair, bleached almost blond on the ends but darker where it had been hidden from the sun, had been plastered back in an attempt to tame the curls. How they slowly returned to their own wayward tangle.
She’d had to refrain from checking her hair to see if her curls were doing likewise. “He cleaned up really well.” Her words had a difficult time squeezing past the tightness in her throat.
Robbie studied her reply for a moment, then bolted to his feet to race across the yard. He didn’t slow down as he passed her, nor did he glance toward her. His whole attitude clearly said he would wash up because a man like Linc, a man he admired, had done so. He would not do it to please Sally. No siree.
She sighed and followed him inside. Would she and Robbie ever have anything but an uneasy truce? She didn’t have time to think about that at the moment with dessert to finish, potatoes to mash and the meat to check. She took dishes from the top shelf—the best everyday dishes—found a red checkered tablecloth and set the table as nicely as she could. Too bad she didn’t have flowers to put in a vase in the middle of the table.
This meal would be flawless. Abe would see that she could run his home as well as any woman.
Robbie came from the back room, water dripping from his ears. He’d combed his hair back.
“You look very spiffy.”
He jerked to a halt and gave her a look fit to fry her skin. “I do not.”
Instantly she realized she’d offended him. Actually, it was pretty hard to miss. She knew exactly what she’d done wrong. She’d made him sou
nd like a sissy. “You’re right. You look like a frontier man. Maybe even a cowboy. Ready to get out and ride.”
He held her gaze a moment then tipped his chin in barely there acknowledgment before he crossed to the table with a faintly familiar swagger.
She didn’t have to think hard to know where she’d seen it before. Robbie had done his best to imitate Linc’s rolling gait.
No, she definitely wasn’t the only one in this house to be affected by his presence. She stiffened her spine and held her chin high. Only she wasn’t a child. She was an adult who knew exactly what she wanted. A stable life, a nice home. No way she’d ever consider camping out on the prairie to be something romantic.
The strains of “Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie,” echoed through her head. She meant every word of the song.
Chapter Five
Linc crossed toward his grandmother’s house, singing that silly song he couldn’t get out of his head. Several times he’d discovered he sang it aloud and stopped instantly. He ought to have more consideration for his surroundings. It wasn’t like he was with a bunch of cows or even some cynical, fun-making cowboys who would josh him good-naturedly, or otherwise, depending on their personal objectives in life.
Once he heard Robbie singing along in a voice lacking both strength and musical ability. Not that Linc thought he had the latter. Lots of people had felt free to point that out to him. He countered with the same words every time. “Mostly I sing because I’m happy. Sorry if it has the opposite effect on you.” Mostly he continued to sing, unless it seemed likely to start a fight.
But when he heard Robbie, he figured now was not the time to have second thoughts about raising his voice in song. Seems the boy had little enough to be happy about in this life. Sure he had lots of good things—a warm home, a father with a steady job and the hope of gaining Sally for a stepmother. Momentarily the thought made the song die on his lips. He sure hoped that Robbie, Carol and their father would appreciate Sally the way she deserved. But that thought aside, Robbie didn’t realize how good he had it because right now likely all he considered was what he’d lost. His mother. Linc knew how sorrow could make all other thought impossible.
