Sydney wiped away her tears. She’d bowed before the queen, and it hadn’t made much difference in her life—but this moment when she knelt before God would change everything. He’d be her Lord and Father and King. Awe and gratitude filled her.
Tim leaned a little closer, and the lamp shone on the pages of the book of Matthew.
“My Father who is in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give me this day my daily bread. And forgive me my debts, as I forgive my debtors. And lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil; For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.”
She turned to Tim, her heart strangely warm and light.
His eyes glowed like buffed pewter. “Welcome to the family of God, Sydney.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“Rex!” Todd Pinter tilted his head toward the door.
Hume nodded and finished explaining, “The shipments are as regular as clockwork. I’m sure you’d find it a satisfactory investment. Think about it, Rutherford. There’s no hurry. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” He schooled himself to saunter away as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The truth was, he’d worked hard to manipulate matters so Todd Pinter would invite Blade Rutherford to this event. If Rutherford invested, others would rush to follow.
So what was so important that Todd was pulling him away?
Todd stood outside the doorway. “There’s a . . . person who says it’s an urgent matter. He’s on the portico.”
Hume’s shoes beat out an impatient rhythm as he crossed the well-polished marble floor and out into the night air. The minute he spied Tyler, his pace escalated.
“I found her.”
“Where?”
“Texas. The
“Texas. The Ashton servant wrote. She was cleaning Serena Hathwell’s room and found a shipping form for a large steamer trunk. Lady Hathwell’s aunt arranged for it to be sent via New Orleans to an address in Texas. I’ve taken the liberty of buying seats on the train. It leaves at quarter to eleven.”
Snatching his pocket watch from his vest pocket, Hume said, “Give me . . . ten minutes. I have to sew up a deal here.”
“The train stops in that town only twice a week. We’ll have to get off ten miles before.”
“I’ll rent or buy mounts when we get there.” He calculated the time remaining and knew he was cutting it too close. The documents he’d secreted in the false-bottomed desk drawer were essential for when he confronted Sydney. Either he gave up his deal with Blade Rutherford or . . .
“There’s a false bottom to the upper right desk drawer in my study. It’s imperative I have the contents with me. Take this.” He handed Tyler his watch. “Show it to the butler, and he’ll allow you in.”
Tyler slid off into the dark.
Hume rubbed his hands together and strode back inside. It was about time. He’d have Rutherford in his pocket and Lady Hathwell on his arm in no time at all.
Chapter Twenty-six
The acrid smells of sweat, singed hair, and leather filled the area. Tim pressed the branding iron to the calf, waited a quick count, then removed it. Boaz and Juan turned loose of the bawling calf and let it run back to its mama. Merle and Gulp already had the next one ready.
Ropes sang through the air and dogs yipped and nipped at the heels of recalcitrant Herefords. The dogs were smart enough to stay clear from the longhorns.
Pancake and two other men had their hands full, dehorning some of the yearling steers. At a year, those that took after the longhorn genes had already reached half of their horn length. The railroad didn’t take kindly to fitting steers with six-foot horn spans into the cars. Fuller and Tim considered the issue and determined they’d leave any longhorned cows alone—they’d protect their calves from coyotes. Since bulls wouldn’t go to the meat market, their horns were left alone, too. But if the steers were dehorned at a year, any regrowth before going to market wouldn’t cause shipping problems.
Looking cool as a spring breeze, Sydney carried a big aluminum washtub over to the fence. She set it down, lifted a glass from it, and smiled at him.
Tim let out a loud whistle. The men finished whatever they were doing and followed him over to the fence.
“Here you go!” Sydney balanced a smaller pail on the fence post.
Tim stripped off his gloves and grabbed one of the wet dish towels. Soaked in cold well water, it cut through the brutal heat, bringing relief and pleasure. “Ahhhh,” he moaned.
The men eagerly followed suit. They all pushed off their hats, squeezed the water onto their heads, then swabbed their gritty faces, necks, and hands. Glass after glass of lemonade came across the fence, only to be drained and returned. Velma arrived with two more pitchers that the men emptied in a matter of minutes.
Velma looked at him. “About an hour till lunch?”
Tim glanced around. “Yeah. That’s good.”
The men went back to work. As Tim dragged on his gloves and Velma walked off, he looked at Sydney. “Thanks. That was a real treat.”
“That,” she pointed her chin toward the cattle, “is hot, hard work.”
“You’d know.” The moment color washed her cheeks, Tim reached over to touch her, but drew back before making contact. His gloves were filthy. “Don’t take that the wrong way, Sydney. Women know their men work hard, and plenty pitch in as best they can. You—you actually understand the demands, and look what you did—came up with a way to help.”
A saucy smile lit her face. “Teamwork, Boss.”
A cloud of dust appeared on the horizon. “Sydney, I know there’s a barn raising and square dance next week, and you’ve been working with the Richardson girls.”
“They’re coming along quite nicely, Tim. Truly, I think all they need is a little direction and tutoring.”
The dust cloud came closer, and he fought to keep his voice level. “You’re not having the Richardson girls over today, are you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “They have dropped by uninvited, but we’ve covered that faux pas, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem anymore. Why are you asking?” She turned and followed his gaze. “That can’t be the Richardsons. They always use a buckboard. Who’d use a buggy?”
“Doc does, but he knows better than to come here. Velma almost clobbered him with her rolling pin years ago.” That left only two possibilities: Either Widow O’Toole was coming back, and Merle vowed that very morning if she stepped foot on Forsaken, he’d quit; or one of the men had decided to impress Sydney by renting a rig and taking her for a ride. Tim wouldn’t stand for that.
The buggy rounded the turn, and he spotted one of the Bradle boys. Tim’s temper flared hotter than the branding iron. He leapt over the fence and ripped off his gloves.
“What is it?”
“Trouble.”
“Who is it?” Sydney shaded her eyes and stood on tiptoe.
Tim started to shove her behind his back, then reconsidered. “Go on in the house.”
“To get Velma? Do you think someone’s sick or hurt?”
No, but I’m sorely tempted to knock some sense into that kid. No one’s courting her. Not even after Fuller gets back. No one but me. She’s mine.
“Tim?”
Just as quickly as he made that decision, Tim belted out a laugh. Wasn’t it just like God to time things this way? Tim grabbed Sydney’s hand. “C’mon.”
She picked up her skirts and ran alongside him. “What is it?”
“Fuller.”
Sydney stopped dead in her tracks. “My uncle?”
“Yeah.” He tugged on her arm, but she didn’t budge. “Sydney . . .”
She pulled away and started fussing with her skirts.
“Stop being a girl and get over here.”
Eyes huge, she whispered in a voice that crackled with emotion, “I am a girl. That’s the problem. He doesn’t like girls and didn’t want a niece.”
“He knows you’re a girl. No
w c’mon.”
She stopped wringing her hands only long enough to make a shooing motion. “You go on ahead. He’ll be glad to see you.”
“He’ll be glad to see you, too.”
“I’m not ready to meet him yet. I need time to prepare myself.”
“Sugar, you look fine.” Cervantes. She quoted him about how being prepared was half the victory. Well, she’s already won the war and doesn’t know it. “I promise: You’re not going anywhere. I’ll see to it that you stay on Forsaken.” She looked less than convinced, so he wrapped an arm about her and propelled her along. “Fuller!”
“Tim!”
He reached the buggy, stuck his right hand up, and carefully closed his fingers around his partner’s gnarled hand. “Glad to have you home.”
Fuller shook hands as best he was able. “Glad to be home.”
“Let’s get you down from there. I’ve got someone here for you to meet.” Tim carefully grasped Fuller’s arm. “She’s nervous, so let’s not keep her waiting.”
Once Tim got Fuller out of the buggy and set him on his feet, he said, “Sydney, this is your uncle, Fuller Johnson. Fuller, your niece, Sydney Hathwell.”
Sydney made a curtsy. “It’s lovely to make your acquaintance. Mama spoke lovingly of you.”
Fuller let out a rusty chuckle. “Oh, you’re every bit as pretty as your mama.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Call me Uncle.”
“And you must call me Sydney.”
“’Course I will. What else would I call you?”
Sydney shot Tim a glance.
Tim chortled. “I’ve been known to call her ‘Fancy Pants.”’
“Pay that scoundrel no mind.” Embarrassment colored her cheeks and tone. Sydney bowed her head. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t right. Timothy isn’t a scoundrel. He’s a good man. I’ve been the troublemaker. I won’t hold it against you for being angry about my ruse.”
“‘Urgent necessity prompts many to do things.”’
Sydney startled. “Cervantes! You quoted Cervantes! Mama loved Cervantes so.”
Fuller chuckled. “I remember. She used that quote on more than one occasion to explain a rash act.”
Color rushed to Sydney’s cheeks. “My actions—”
“Hold it right there.” Fuller swayed his hand from side to side, as if to wipe away any of her words. “Child, we’ll make a deal. I won’t be angry about it if you’ll forgive me for making you feel unwanted just for being a girl.”
Sydney took her uncle’s hand in her own—gently, yet without any fuss. “You’re too kind. I shouldn’t have stood here dithering. Travel is wearisome. I’m sure you’d relish resting in the shade. Are you hungry? You can sit in the kitchen and tell me all about yourself. Velma and I are making sandwiches for everyone, and you shall have the first.”
Tim reached out to take Fuller’s valise from the parson’s son. “Thanks for driving him home.”
“It’s no trouble for me to carry this in, Tim.” The kid hopped down.
Tim didn’t like how that Bradle boy gawked at Sydney. He opened his mouth to shoo off the pest.
“Yeah, go on ahead and tote that on inside.” Fuller patted Sydney. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
Tim’s mouth snapped shut.
Sydney excused herself. Her skirts whispered as she turned and went up the steps. Bradle marched alongside her—far too close, too.
Fuller knocked his knobby hand on Tim’s arm. “I’d have to be blind not to know the look on your face. Wondered if I’d ever see the day that you’d let a woman into your heart.”
Tim grinned and shrugged. “She didn’t play fair.”
“Neither did I.” Fuller let out a raspy chuckle. “Over the years, the correspondence between my sister and me dwindled away. I assumed she’d had kids I didn’t know. When you sent that telegram, I realized my mistake. For me—I’d gladly have come home that day. I reckoned if she was anything like her mama, she’d give you fits and you’d bolt before you saw what a prize she is.”
Tim folded his arms across his chest. “You old goat!”
“Velma wrote that you’d told Sydney she couldn’t accept gentleman callers until I came home. I gave you a head start. You can thank me later.” Fuller hobbled away a few steps and turned back. “Don’t you have anything more to say?”
It took one large stride to close the distance between them. “Until last night, Sydney wasn’t a believer. I couldn’t be unequally yoked.”
Fuller grabbed Tim’s sleeve. “Until last night?”
“Yeah, Fuller. She found salvation.”
“Glory be!”
“Hey, Creighton!” Gulp hollered.
“Coming!” Tim gave his partner a mock scowl. “Velma wrote to you? Don’t think I won’t blister your ears later.”
“Ha!” Fuller waggled his brows. “You won’t. You have to ask my permission to marry Sydney.”
Sydney couldn’t wait for her uncle to come into the kitchen. She met him in the entryway. “Uncle Fuller, I would have recognized you right away. You have my mama’s eyes.”
He patted her cheek. “You’re the spittin’ image of Crystal.”
“I carried your satchel to the top of the stairs.” Leo Bradle descended the stairs.
Manners demanded she invite the parson’s eldest son to stay for lunch, but Sydney didn’t want to.
Uncle Fuller winked at her. “Bradle, lots of work goin’ on outside. Ask Tim if he can use your help.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah, I’ll do that!”
As she and Fuller walked toward the kitchen, he murmured, “He’s a nice boy.”
“Yes, he is.” You just got here, and you’re trying to match me up?
“Yep, a real nice boy. Fine family, too.”
Pasting on a smile she was far from feeling, Sydney said, “Had I any brothers, I imagine they’d be like him and the other Bradle boys.”
Velma shouted from the kitchen, “Sydney, drag that old rascal in here. I’ve got a sandwich ready for him.”
“Who’re you calling old?” Fuller stopped and stared at the dining table. “Velma? What’s your special tablecloth doing out?”
Velma stood in the doorway. “Now that I have Sydney to help me, I’m going to civilize you.”
“It’ll take a lot more than Irish linen to do that.” He chuckled and shuffled to the kitchen.
Sydney stood across the kitchen table and made sandwiches as he ate. Velma chattered about everything that he’d missed while gone. Fuller latched on to any man mentioned and pointed out his strengths. “Jakob Stauffer’s a good man.
Dependable. Sad, him being a widower. I’ll bet he’s mighty grateful to you for saving his daughter.”
“It was teamwork. I just happened to be at the end of the rope.”
Orville Clark, the owner of the mercantile, was pronounced “a man who’d be a steady provider,” Jim Whitsley’s “family’s been here forever—he’s well-respected,” and even Jake Eddles got painted with a generous, “another widower who’s trying to do well for his kids, and all three are boys.”
Sydney slapped the last sandwich onto a tray and bit her tongue so she wouldn’t say something she’d regret. Just because Uncle Fuller had Mama’s eyes didn’t mean he had her loving heart. He’d been honest from the start—he didn’t want a girl underfoot. And he’d just crowed about Jake Eddles having sons. Sydney felt certain if a snake oil salesman came knocking on the door, Uncle Fuller would gladly push her into the stranger’s arms just to get her off Forsaken.
Velma lifted the lid on a pot on the stove. “I’ll stir those.” Sydney grabbed a spoon and swirled the baked beans.
“Might want to add a pinch of salt.” Velma picked up a crate that held plates, silverware, and mugs. “Now that they’re almost done, it won’t toughen them. A hint of salt brings out the sweet of the molasses.”
As Velma left, Fuller mused, “So a high-society English gal’s learned her way around a kitchen?”
<
br /> “Velma’s been a wonderful teacher.” Sydney couldn’t help herself. “So have the Richardson girls.”
He choked and took a gulp of coffee. “You brought them here?”
“You may as well hear it from me. Since I’ve been here, we’ve had two sewing bees for the ladies of the town, and the Richardson girls have come calling at least twice a week. Tim allowed it, but now that you’re back I understand things are bound to change.”
He pursed his lips and nodded. “Plenty’s about to change around here.”
“Okay, Sydney,” Velma called. “Let’s get the food out there.”
After the hands had been served, Uncle Fuller stayed at the kitchen table and talked as Velma and Sydney washed the lunch plates and made supper. He wanted to know everything that had happened in his absence—only since Tim would fill him in on the matters pertaining to the ranch, he asked about everything else. Everybody else—who was male and unmarried.
Pan after pan of cornbread went into and came out of the oven. Sydney helped Velma strip the stems and seeds from several pods of chili. Then, as Velma simmered, mashed, and strained those chilies, Sydney chopped up onions and garlic to add to the pot of meat on the stove. She’d never seen a pot half as vast as the one that covered multiple burners.
Fuller extolled Checkered Past’s Henry, who could eat a whole plate of the hottest chili peppers God ever made. Then he went on to talk about Milton Baumgartner. According to Fuller, the blacksmith’s strength would never leave a woman worrying about protection. Sydney started to measure in the cumin, oregano, paprika, and chili powder.
Uncle Fuller continued to talk faster than a gypsy horse trader. Apparently Ephraim Somebody-or-other could dowse for water with a branch from any of Jakob Stauffer’s fine peach trees. “It’s gotten hot while I was gone, Velma. How many wells did Ephraim start? Two? Five?”
Sydney paused for a second. All that talk made her almost lose count of how many spoons of chili powder she’d added.
Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) Page 29
