As they drew closer, she could see two men on horseback in the shade. “Who are they?”
“I'm not sure.” He reached down and slid the rifle within easy reach.
“Are they waiting for us?”
“We'll know soon enough.”
Nichole remained quiet and watched the two men. They had seen the wagon and turned their mounts to face the road.
Jason leaned close to Nichole and whispered, “The older man with the scarf around his hat is Blackie Jones. Jimmy Leigh hired him this spring to help with the roundup. Jim is the foreman at The Highlands.”
“And the young man?”
“I don't know. Wranglers move from job to job. We have several men that are regulars, but most of the crew is new each season.” The carriage reached the shade of the tree and Jason drew rein.
Both men wore dusty blue trousers and light-colored shirts, and both wore felt hats. That was where their similarities ended.
Blackie Jones looked tough and wiry, his skin weathered by years in the sun. One side of his face bulged as he chewed a large wad of tobacco. His eyes shifted from Jason to Nichole with a perpetual squint to his eyes.
The other rider was little more than a boy, with light red hair and freckles. He appeared upset, almost to the point of tears, and kept his head down.
“Afternoon, Miss Harris. Mr. Harris.” Jones rested one arm on the saddle horn. “Jim was wonderin' if you'd be back today. Your wife's been up at the big house for a couple of days now.”
“Amy's here?” Jason asked in surprise.
“Yes, sir. She and Tom arrived just after you left the other day. I thought you knew.”
“No, but I always welcome good news.” He paused, studying the two men. “Is there a problem I could help you with, gentlemen?”
Jones spat a long string of tobacco, and grinned with brown stained teeth at Jason, “Hell no, ain't no problem, 'cept this greenhorn is askin' for time off. Says his wife and babe need his help.” Jones snickered.
Jason looked at the young man. “What's your name, son?”
“Timothy Caine, sir,” he replied and touched his hat.
Jason nodded and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the reins held loosely in his left hand. His attention turned to Jones.
“What did you tell Timothy?” Jason's voice was pleasant, but Nichole could sense his uneasiness.
“I told him what I'd tell anyone with a half-cocked story like that. No time off 'cept for a damned good reason—'specially now, with the roundup goin' on.”
Timothy straightened, and Jason's cool gaze swung back to the boy. He seemed to be considering something as he regarded the young man. “Is your family at the bunkhouse, Timothy?”
The young man's face flushed pink. “No, sir.”
“No? We have a family bunkhouse. It's small, but separate from the men's bunk.”
Timothy seemed reluctant to answer, which left Blackie the opportunity to speak instead. The taunt in his voice was unmistakable. “Timmy-boy has hisself a little nigger bride, and a little mulatto babe. I don't imagine they'd feel comfortable around decent folk.” Jones spat again and giggled.
Timothy turned his head away. His face flushed red.
Speechless, Nichole looked to Jason to remedy the situation.
He sat silent and bit his lip while considering the two horsemen.
Unable to hold back her shock and outrage any longer, she lifted her chin and found her voice. “Mr. Jones, you will apologize to Mr. Caine this instant for your rude and disgusting remarks.”
“Apologize? For what? Everythin' I said was God’s own truth. Why, this no-count rebel married a—”
“Enough!” Her sharp shout cut him off, then her voice dropped. “Shut your filthy mouth.” She seethed while Jones chuckled at her. “Apologize. Now. Then report to me this evening. You need to understand a few things if you are to remain employed.”
Thin, colorless lips drew back as a sneer spread across Jones’s face. “I sure am sorry you feel that way, Miss Harris, but I take my orders from Jimmy Leigh.”
Nichole drew in a shaky breath. “This ranch is called The Harris-Highlands for a reason. You should give that some consideration, Mr. Jones. I'll inform Mr. Leigh about our meeting and ensure he attends.”
Jones stared at her, chewed a moment, then spat.
Nichole spoke slow, enunciating each word, “Do you understand me, Mr. Jones?”
“Yeah,” Jones said and chuckled.
“Yes, what, Mr. Jones?”
“Why, yes, ma'am.” His eyes narrowed, and his gaze shifted from her to Jason and back.
“I'll expect you at the house this evening.” She looked at Jason. “What would be a good time?”
Jason stared at her, concern evident in his eyes. “Come by the house at seven, Jones.”
Nichole turned to Timothy. “You can move your wife and child to the bunkhouse, Mr. Caine.”
“We tried that, ma'am,” Timothy explained, his face still red. “But Lawna was afraid to stay there alone during the day.” He flicked a wary eye toward Jones.
“I see.” Nichole saw the glance and watched Jones’s grin widen. “Where are your wife and child now?”
“Lawna and the babe are in a lean-to just across the rise, over there.” Timothy motioned east with a wave of his arm.
What can I do?
A sick babe and his mother alone on the prairie motivated her. “Mr. Caine, go find Jimmy Leigh. Tell him you are to have the use of a wagon and as much time as you need to move your family to the ranch house. If he has any questions, tell him to see me. Also, tell Mr. Leigh that I would like to see him when I speak with Mr. Jones this evening at seven.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Timothy said, relief evident in his voice. He tipped his hat and turned his horse.
“One more thing,” Nichole called, and he paused to look back at her. “When you get to the ranch house with your family, please ask for me. I would like to meet them.”
“Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am.” He turned and hurried down the road, a dust trail hanging in his wake.
Nichole watched Timothy ride away, then looked back at Jones.
He spat a long stream of brown juice and watched it hit the road in front of the wagon, then looked back at her and grinned.
Nichole lifted one delicate eyebrow and held his gaze. “Was there something more you wished to say, Mr. Jones?”
“It'll wait.” He glared at her from his hunched position in the saddle.
“Good. Then I'll see you this evening.”
Jason shook the reins, and the buggy moved down the other side of the ridge through the dust left by Timothy. They rode for almost a quarter-mile in silence.
When Jason spoke, his voice was tight and strained. “Nicki, I know you're not yourself right now, but I never want to hear you discipline a man like that again. It's not your place. What were you thinking?”
“What was I thinking? What were you thinking? Why didn't you say something?”
“How could I? You never shut up.”
“And what do you mean by it's not my place? If that Jones asshole is my employee, I have every right and every intention—”
“Would you be quiet for one minute—”
“I will not be quiet. You sat there and did nothing. How could you let him humiliate that boy like that? It was horrible.”
“That’s fair,” Jason conceded. “I understand your reasons. Nevertheless, it was Timothy's choice to marry the girl. He's from the South, Nicki, no wonder he came west. To top it off, you invite them to move in with us. When they get to the house, you'll have to make other arrangements. They can't move into the ranch house. It would upset the staff. I won't have it.”
Nichole turned in the seat and glared at Jason. “It would upset the staff, and you won't have it? Is that what I just heard you say?” She turned her head and glared over the empty grassland. “Jason, I'm not leaving a baby in the middle of the fucking prairie. They stay with us until we find the
m a safe place to live.”
Jason stared at her open-mouthed for a moment, then shook his head. “I can't believe I heard you say fucking. Since when does a lady speak like that?” His voice softened, “Nicki, you've made a big mistake. I see it's useless to argue with you, but I warn you, there will be trouble.”
“Trouble,” she scoffed. “It can't be that bad.” She turned back to the road, unsettled by his sudden change of tone. His warning nagged at the back of her mind.
A part of her realized she'd stepped out of line and acted out of character, even though she still raged inside at Jones. Her thoughts wound around in circles. She replayed their argument, desperate for words to make Jason understand, or help her untangle her own mixed emotions.
She should have encouraged Jason to act—he wasn’t a monster. She could tell he didn't like Jones any more than she did. Then why? Why had she spoken her mind as though she had the right?
Because she had every right, another part of her whispered. Her head began to ache, and she looked over at Jason to find him studying her.
He shook his head and eyed her as though she were a stranger. “You sure have changed Nicki. I can hardly believe it's you.”
Chapter 15
Nichole Harris
Not far ahead of their wagon, a trail of smoke twisted into the summer sky. It rose from behind a white house and drifted east with the breeze. The homestead vanished as the road dipped toward a dry stream bed.
It’s too warm for a fire. I wonder what’s burning?
Nichole cast an uneasy look at Jason but refused to break their strained silence. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and gritted her teeth against the nervous flutter in her stomach caused by the conflicting rationale that raged inside her mind.
The bumpy road inclined again and turned west as they reached the ranch. Jason directed the team off the main thoroughfare and up the short dirt drive into the side yard. He slowed the wagon to a stop beside the house.
Stone chimneys rose on both sides of the clapboard building but held no trace of the smoke she’d seen. A large railed porch wrapped the home, and dormer windows near the roof told of a third story or attic.
The ranch road ran between the side yard and a large split rail corral. It continued around the empty pen to a large barn that stood angled toward the road. The barn’s double doors had been pinned open, in both front and back, giving her a glimpse of the prairie beyond. To the left of the open structure was a familiar low-roofed building. A bunkhouse.
“What are you going to say to Jones?” Jason asked as he secured the reins, set the brake, and relaxed against the backrest.
“Standard stuff, I suppose.” She shrugged. “That I expect people who work for me to be decent human beings. That bullying, and name-calling won't be tolerated.”
“I should be the one to talk to Jones and Jimmy Leigh.”
“No. I need to do it.” Her gaze lifted to meet Jason’s. “My feelings about this are clear, and I still know right from wrong. Besides, I want to appear as normal as possible.”
“Nicki, there’s nothing about you that's normal right now.” Jason reset his hat to capture several errant curls. “You've never behaved like this before.”
That means nothing to me. I don't understand how you expect me to act.” Her voice rose with emotion. “No.” She raised her finger to still his reply. “Don't answer, because it doesn't matter.” She snapped her parasol shut and turned to climb down from the buckboard.
“Well, Christ!” Jason hopped to the ground and sidestepped the horses to reach and steady Nichole’s decent from the high seat.
“I don't need your help.” She swiped at his outstretched hands with the parasol.
“Stop that.” He dodged the umbrella and reached toward her again. “I don't want you to fall.”
She glared into his face as she settled her anger, then placed the parasol on the bench with precise deliberation. Finally, she took his hand.
“Not like that. Put your hands on my shoulders, and I'll lift you down.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Nichole braced both hands on Jason's shoulders, and he lifted her by the waist, standing her on the ground.
A shout from the yard caught their attention.
Jason leaned down to whisper in her ear, “The men on the left are Lloyd Baker, and his son Tom. They care for the livestock. Everything that isn't cattle that is. The tall man is our foreman, Jimmy Leigh.”
Jason stepped on the hub by the wheel and reached for the items on the seat, while Nichole studied the men coming from the barn. Both Lloyd and Tom had light-brown hair and were easy to identify as father and son. They were of medium height and walked with the same gait to their step.
Jimmy Leigh was a giant compared to the men beside him. The foreman had dark hair and eyes beneath a black cowboy hat. His shoulders were muscular and broad. He frowned as reached them, his gaze focused on her.
Jason handed Nichole her empty purse, the parasol, and Merril’s hat before he greeted the men. “The buckboard belongs to The Shilo, along with the rigged geldings. Our animal is on the lead in back. Check him again for injury. He took quite a tumble when the carriage flipped.”
Lloyd and Tom tipped their hats to Nichole, then took charge of the wagon and animals. Tom climbed onto the buckboard and waited as his father untied the lead from the back of the buckboard. Lloyd slapped the back of the wagon, and Tom shook the reins, directing the team toward the barn. Lloyd nodded again to Nichole and led the haltered horse across the yard.
“Lloyd, as soon as you take care of the horses, you and Tom come back to the house. I have some news for everyone,” Jason called to Lloyd who gestured he understood with a wave.
Jimmy Leigh tugged the leather gloves from his fingers one at a time. His gaze remained on Nichole even though he addressed Jason, “Amy received the letter you sent last night. We sent the post from Phil's woman on into town.” He flashed an annoyed glance at Jason. “Remind her we don't run a mail service.” When he addressed Nichole, his voice was low and soft, almost a rumble, although he didn't whisper, “The note said you were injured. If you are, I don't see it.”
“I hit my head,” she replied, and would have shown him the stitches, but her hands were full.
Jimmy Leigh narrowed his eyes at her. “I was approached by one of the new wranglers not an hour ago. He said I was to rig up a wagon so he could bring his family to the ranch house. He was very clear that it was on your authority.”
Nichole squared her shoulders and raised her chin to meet the foreman’s fixed stare. “It was. There was an incident on our way here with Timothy Caine and Blackie Jones. I would like to meet with you and Jones this evening. I hope that doesn't upset you.”
A slight smile twitched the foreman’s lips, then vanished. “Not much upsets or surprises me anymore. I just want to be clear on the details, is all.”
“Come inside, Jim.” Jason took hold of Nichole's elbow and directed her up the porch step and to the door.
The entrance opened directly to the living area, open and inviting. To her right, there was an old-fashioned seating area. The sofa and chairs gathered around a center table where red roses floated in a shallow white bowl. Three paces in front of her was a staircase. The wooden steps and rails, polished to a glossy finish, flared as they reached the floor. The rail curled outward in each direction, welcoming a hand from either side of the room.
Left of the stairway stood a long dining table covered with a white tablecloth and a live floral centerpiece. The scent of roses and lilacs filled the air with fragrance. The table was centered before a stone fireplace and mantel that held several photographs and small paintings. There was a closed door on the wall beyond the table and an open doorway opposite the fireplace
Jason laid his rifle on the table beside the door and took the parasol and hats from Nichole's arms. He hung them on the wall pegs, then turned to speak with Jim and froze—his attention focused on the stairs.
Nichole saw h
is hesitation and followed the direction of his gaze.
A woman descended the stairs. Her black boots peeked out from beneath a russet-colored gown and cream-colored petticoats with each step. The satin gown gathered at the long waist and contoured close to the body at the bodice. Long sleeves covered her arms to the wrist, showing only her delicate hands, which floated along the rail on each side. One more step and her face came into view. Her hair was pinned to her head in a loose bun and was just a shade richer than her gown. She had expressive dark eyes with long lashes. Her soft smile and gaze were for Jason alone.
Jason stepped forward and held out his hand, and the woman's face broke into a brilliant smile, her eyes glistened with tears. She rested her hand in his as she descended from the last stair. Jason touched his lips to her hand and then drew her close to kiss her forehead. He bent to whisper a welcome in her ear.
Nichole caught her breath as she seethed with jealousy. The strength of the sentiment made no sense to her. She glanced up at Jimmy Leigh and was surprised to find desire flare in the foreman's eyes.
Jimmy Leigh's gaze flicked to her, and his stoic demeanor returned. He removed his black wide-brimmed hat, hung it on a peg, and then tucked his hands into his back pockets as he walked to the table.
Nichole followed him to give Jason and his wife a moment of privacy and to understand her jealous-laden reaction to Amy. Once the force of her initial impression subsided, she recognized it as a child's emotion—she was afraid to lose Jason. She ran a hand over her brow and pressed against the sharp pain.
“You didn't recognize me.” The soft-spoken words were a statement, not a question.
She looked into Jimmy Leigh's perceptive eyes. “No. I suffer a few side effects from the head injury.”
“Yet, you recognized Amy.” His gaze flashed to the couple whispering by the stairs then back to Nichole.
“Not really. I don't remember her, only the emotion I felt toward her. Apparently, I can recall strong emotion.”
“Well, she is a lady who provokes strong emotion.”
Passage (Soul of the Witch Book 1) Page 12
