He eyed her with a single shake of his head. “I remember you being stubborn, but not this stubborn.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She brushed wisps of hair from her forehead.
“Oh, really? It seems like you’d rather go to your grave than to stay here another minute.”
“Don’t be silly.” She nervously fingered the quilt. “You know…I barely even remember making it back to the house.”
He didn’t know if he’d ever forget the heartbreaking way she’d nearly fallen asleep on the quarter-mile ride to the main ranch house. In spite of her obvious exhaustion, she’d insisted she was just fine. “You were pretty tired, I can tell you that.”
Closing her eyes, she gave the smallest sigh. “Please tell me I didn’t complain.”
His mouth flinched in a restrained grin. “Not so that I heard.”
“Good.” She nodded once, apparently satisfied with his answer. “I vaguely remember Sass helping me with a bath.”
“Can’t say that I was privy to that part of the evening,” he measured out, dropping his gaze to where he clutched his hands tight. “But yes, she did.”
Lydia gave a defeated sigh. “For that, I am grateful.”
Standing, he crossed to the window where the haunting sight of rundown buildings met his gaze. “I’m responsible for all of this. And believe me, I feel terrible about the whole thing. I’m going to make sure you’re taken care of until you’re feeling like yourself again. Are we clear?” He turned to face her.
“You are no more responsible than I am.” Wincing, she sat up a little straighter. “I shouldn’t have reached for that handkerchief. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Well, you sure had me believing you were pulling out a gun out. And with the thefts that have gone on recently…”
Swinging her focus out the window, her brow furrowed in concern. “Where’s my gelding?”
“I stabled, fed and brushed him down.” Leaning a shoulder against the wide pine trim, Jeb glanced toward the run-down barn that had once been a stamp of pride on this ranch—at least when Lydia’s father was foreman. It still got to Jeb, thinking about some of the fine stock he’d had to sell off just to make ends meet. “It was good to see that big boy again.”
“I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn’t imagine you selling such a fine horse,” she said, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“I sold him a few months back.” And doing so had been like ripping out a chunk of his heart. “I’ll go in town and return him for you today.”
“Jeb…no. No,” she stated, a little more firmly. “I can manage just fine. I’ve got a job to start, you know.” When she folded back the quilt, she glanced down at the pristine white nightdress Sass had wrangled for her. Lydia slammed her eyes shut as though she’d just been caught wearing nothing more than her undergarments. “Where are my clothes?”
Jeb nodded toward the hallway. “You’ll probably want to talk to Sass about that.”
“That’s evasive. And not very nice, Jeb Gentry.”
“Hungry?” he said, amused by her feistiness.
“Not really.” When the faintest blush colored her fair cheeks, he felt strangely satisfied. “I mean…no, thank you.”
He knew she’d be hurting this morning after the way he’d taken her down in the mud. But for some reason he wasn’t a bit surprised that she was being feisty.
“Now, where’s my dress?”
“I burned it, dear,” Sass proclaimed, entering the room with a brand new dress draped over her arm, her quick stride belying her five-foot frame, as well as the fact that she’d not had one minute of rest all night long.
When Lydia’s tired gaze widened in shock, Sass quickly added, “I did save the coat, though. And I tell you what…it cleaned up just fine. But that dress of yours was a different story.” Sass adjusted Lydia’s quilt. Because of dwindling finances there’d been several times when Jeb had seriously considered dismissing Sass from her position, just like he had the two ranch hands. But when it came right down to it, he couldn’t do that to the woman. She’d been on the ranch longer than Jeb was old.
Lydia fingered the ruffle-edged sleeve of her nightdress.
“I tried to scrub it clean.” Sass’s petite round face pinched in remorse. “But I’m afraid that had I done it justice the dress would’ve fallen apart. Don’t worry though, dear.” She smoothed back whispery strands of hair from Lydia’s face. “I sent Jeb in town last night for some fabric from the mercantile.”
Sass held up the dress she’d made, sliding Jeb a pleased-with-herself kind of smile.
“You made that?” Lydia leaned forward to touch the fabric. “Last night?”
“I sure did. And let me tell you…it was a sheer joy to sew on such nice fabric, too. I delighted in every single stitch.”
“It’s beautiful,” Lydia whispered. When her crystal blue gaze misted over, Jeb could’ve wrapped his arms around her and given her a hug right then and there.
But that would be a big mistake. One he’d regret.
And one his heart would forever mourn.
“It sure is.” The dress wasn’t fancy by city standards, with a lot of flounce and flourish, but he was convinced it would be perfect on Lydia. “You did a fine job, Sass.”
“You did yourself proud, too, picking out such lovely fabric,” Sass said, nervously brushing at her skirt.
The look of shy appreciation in Lydia’s expression made his heart stutter a beat or two.
He really had to get a handle on his emotions and keep a rein on his heart, because he was finding himself drawn to her far too easily. He had more work than one man could do and a mountain of debt that hung like some dark omen over his life. The fact was…his heart couldn’t run free when it was chained to the sordid legacy left by his father.
But the breath of hope her presence had added to this place in just sixteen hours…that he couldn’t overlook.
“Tell Lydia how you dragged the mercantile owner out of bed just to open the store for you,” Sass prompted, laying the dress in Lydia’s lap.
Lydia smoothed her hand featherlight over the garment. “In the middle of the night?”
Jeb cleared his throat. “It wasn’t that late. He didn’t mind all that much.”
Mr. Lippman had been none too pleased with having to traipse back over to the store at a quarter past nine last night, but compared to what his mood would’ve been had it been two o’clock in the morning in the dead of winter, he’d been agreeable. Jeb had made quick work of his quest because the minute he’d spotted the fabric, as rich and blue as the spring sky this morning, he’d known it would be perfect for Lydia. The costly fabric was worth every penny he had left in his pocket.
The stunning hue reminded him of that beautiful dress she’d worn, the last time he’d seen her five years ago. The day his life had taken a sharp turn down a long and dreary path. The day he’d begun to find out just what Jeb Gentry was made of.
Chapter Three
Fingering the six buttons trailing up the front of her dress, Lydia blinked back an errant and unwanted tear as she made her way to the henhouse to collect eggs. The cornflower blue dress was just lovely. There was nothing overly fancy about the garment, no expensive lace or delicate ruching, which was just fine by Lydia. The dress fit her to perfection.
She’d struggled to hold her desperate shock in check when she’d learned, just minutes ago, that her tattered dress had been burned. Even though it’d hung on her like an old washcloth draped over a clothesline, it was all she had. She’d have fished it out of the ashes if she’d thought it’d do any good, but deep down she knew Sass was right.
Ducking into the rickety henhouse door, Lydia turned and watched as six fat and happy hens mean
dered in behind her. “Hello, ladies,” she said, giving the plump hens a smile as she gathered two eggs from a nest. “Don’t mind me. I’m just here for your eggs.”
When one of them fluffed her feathers as though showing off an extravagant ball gown, Lydia’s thoughts wandered to the elaborate dress selection she’d worn and left in Chicago.
Aunt Tillie had promised that if Lydia moved back to the west, all of the dresses and fancy things would stay in Chicago, where they belonged. Her aunt had probably expected Lydia to stop in her tracks at that, but Lydia wasn’t motivated by fancy gowns, social gatherings and instruction on how to best use her womanly wiles. And she could care less about how to steal a man’s heart right out from underneath him—she’d decided that the day she’d left Gentry land.
When she reached toward a nest in the far corner, she was startled to find a gray cat sprawled over the straw.
“You are the most peculiar looking chicken I’ve ever seen,” she said, chuckling as she stroked the feline’s very pregnant belly. “Aww…you’re getting ready to have your babies, aren’t you?”
Gently reaching under the purring cat, she slid two eggs from the nest and added them to the basket on her left arm.
“Do the hens know you’re planning on using this nest?” she asked, glancing back at where the birds looked at her as if it was perfectly normal for a cat to be draped over a chicken nest.
Sweet as could be, the mama cat squeezed her eyes tight, only to open them and then peer up at Lydia. “Sweet girl…you take it easy and rest, do you hear?” she said, giving the cat a parting scratch under the chin.
Lydia ducked out of the small building, wishing she’d get the chance to see the new kittens. But she’d be starting her job in less than a week. And she had to get back into town, seeing as how Jeb’s very presence did the worst things to her resolve.
She’d thought that seeing Jeb again would taste like a sour draught on her tongue. So why, after being here for no more than a day, did she feel herself thirsting just to be near the man?
While she started back to the house, the disturbing image of Jeb’s faraway and solemn look drifted into her mind. What had transpired over the past five years? The strange distance, deep and fixed in his expression, had haunted her from the moment she’d caught sight of him. Even the few grins she’d seen tipping the corner of his mouth never quite reached his brown eyes as she’d remembered. And Lydia had spent enough nights and days dreaming about him to know the difference.
Her thoughts shifted to the bruising beneath Jeb’s eye, his nose that had obviously been broken and the rough and jagged scar on his face. She’d caught him absently fingering the angry scar, tracing its shape as though replaying some secluded dark memory.
Had he gotten into some kind of trouble? If so, could she help him without making herself vulnerable? Above all else, she had to jealously guard her heart from Jeb.
And from her own foolishness.
When she rounded the side of the barn, she came to an abrupt stop, troubled by what she saw. The structure’s south side was missing several boards and the loft door hung from one hinge like an old trapper with one sagging tooth. The ranch was nowhere near the glory it had once been. Even the Double G Ranch sign hanging at the property entrance looked exhausted and all dog-eared.
Didn’t Jeb and his father realize the condition of the place?
Then she remembered what Jeb had said yesterday…that we’ve all seen our better days…and her harsh thoughts were brought up short.
Just then Jeb emerged from the other side of the barn, a saddlebag draped over his arm, his expression solemn as his long legs ate up the distance to the house.
“You’re certainly focused,” she called.
“There you…” his words died on his lips as he pivoted and spotted her. He came to a sudden stop at the porch steps, his gaze making a slow and steady sweep from her toes to her head, as though something was horribly wrong.
“Are you all right?” She slowed as she neared him, self-conscious all of the sudden. “Jeb?”
His intense gaze settled on hers. His jaw muscles tensed.
“Jeb?” Grasping a handful of her skirt, she willed her emotions to stay firmly grounded as she eyed her father’s old saddlebag draped over his arm. “Is—is that for me?”
Blinking hard, he shoved his focus to the bag. On a slow sigh, he stepped toward her. “I was just bringing this in for you.”
Unfurling her hand, she willed her pulse to stop pounding all the way up to her ears. The way he’d looked at her just then had sent a quiver of odd and yet warm awareness down her spine.
Eager to shake off the last few spine-tingling seconds, she moved her focus to the bag, the distant memory of her father carrying it to the house after a long hard day’s work, wafting through her mind.
“It’s hard to believe that has been in the root cellar all these years.” She longed to bury her face in the leather if only to catch the lingering scent of her daddy. “Who’s living in the foreman’s house now, anyway?”
Edging toward the steps, he gently laid out the bag. “The place has been vacant since you left.”
She searched his shadowed gaze and sat down on the steps. “So, who’s foreman, now?”
“You’re looking at him—I run the place now.” Hunkering down to sit across from her, Jeb clasped his hands, work worn and rough and scarred, between his knees. “My father never hired anyone to take Hank’s place—your father would’ve been impossible to replace.”
“He did love his job.” Fingering the saddlebag’s soft leather, she remembered how she used to tuck little surprises for her daddy in the satchel—drawings, little posies of flowers, a handful of fresh baked cookies wrapped in cheesecloth…”You know, he prayed often for this ranch. And your family.”
“God knows we needed it.”
Hugging her arms to her chest, she studied his solemn expression. “I can recall times when my father would sit beside the fire and stare into the flames—I always knew he was praying then.” She never felt more secure than when he’d pray.
“He was a man of faith—you could see that in the way he treated others.”
Lydia nodded her hearty agreement. Her father had trusted God. And had taught Lydia to do the same.
Guilt’s swift and insolent wind suddenly whipped through her soul. She’d shied from God in the last few years, and felt as if she was letting her father down because of that. But so much had happened, starting with her father’s untimely death. Somehow, she had to find a kind of peace for her soul.
“Hank taught me a lot about ranching—he taught me a lot about life, too, for that matter,” Jeb said, his voice low and tight, and his heartfelt words nearly triggering a small trickle of tears.
“He always did spend a lot of time with you, didn’t he?” Swallowing hard, she dragged in a deep breath.
“Like I said…it was impossible to replace him.” His jaw muscles tensed. “I’m sure you must miss him.”
“I do.” Tugging the satchel into her lap, she found some comfort in holding this remnant of her father. “It’s really wonderful that you’re foreman now, Jeb. Your father must think a lot of you.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he retorted, slicing in a breath. “But being six feet under, he doesn’t have much to say about it.”
His words hit her like a bucket of icy, mountain stream water. “Are you saying that he died?” Her stomach clenched tight as he gave a single nod. “When?”
He set his jaw. “A year ago.”
“Oh, Jeb… . I am so sorry.” Ignoring all sense of self-protection, she reached out and touched his forearm, thick and roped with tense muscles. “I had no idea.”
The distant pain in his gaze gripped her soul. “It’s all right.”
&nb
sp; “How terrible for you.” She gave his arm a brief and tender squeeze, wanting for him to know she cared.
Maybe she could reside in Copper Creek and enjoy a friendship with Jeb without detesting the ground he walked on. Or fearing that she might worship the ground he walked on, as she once had.
Jeb dragged his fingers through his dark, slightly waved hair. “It’s been hard, but not in the way you might think.”
“What happened?” she asked, still stunned and even ashamed that, just a few minutes ago, she’d been blaming Jeb’s father for the ranch’s declining condition.
“I better let you go through Hank’s things, Lydia.” He shoved himself up to standing and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water or tea?”
“No. I’m fine.” She fingered the worn leather straps, oddly missing Jeb’s presence already, even when he was standing right in front of her. “Don’t feel like you have to go, though, Jeb. Please, join me,” she offered, feeling strangely desperate, and yet scared to death to keep this connection with him.
Was there some kind of bond with him that had never been broken? In spite of the years of convincing herself that she felt nothing for him?
Her thoughts drifted to the box of love letters she’d written to him, and she felt instant unease. Once she had those remnants of her heart in her possession again, then she could breathe a little easier.
Tensing his jaw, his gaze shifted to the range as though he longed to pry himself from this moment. “Sorry, but I’ve got too much to do. I can’t afford to get sidetracked right now.”
Lydia’s heart slammed against her chest. He may as well have kicked her in the ribs for the piercing pain those words caused. Didn’t he remember what had happened five years ago?
Well, she could recall the scene with perfect and excruciating clarity. It had been a week after her daddy had passed away from his injuries suffered in a tragic wagon accident…the day she’d turned sixteen. Intent on claiming Jeb’s full attention, she’d bee-lined for the corral where Jeb had been breaking a new stallion.
Brides of the West: Josie's Wedding DressLast Minute BrideHer Ideal Husband Page 19
