He mentally shook his head. He knew what simple lust felt like, and there was more to it than that. Perhaps it was the glimpses of vulnerability in her eyes that softened his feelings toward her. Or maybe it was her obvious love and patience with her daughter. Or it could be her damnable pride that both irritated him and made him respect her grit.
Why didn’t matter. The temptation remained. He couldn’t ignore it, but he couldn’t act upon it either. He glanced at Collie and was glad the boy was here to distract him.
They stopped at a corner where the corn met the wheat. The cornstalks were as tall as Rye, and his speculation earlier that they were thick with ears of corn was proven correct.
Rye reached for an ear and tugged down the husk, pushing aside the silky tassels. The kernels were pale yellow and full on the cob. Dulcie leaned over his arm to take a look, her breath warming his skin.
“The corn’s almost ready,” she said.
Rye nodded and released the cob, stepping away from her. “Another week and it’ll be time to pick it.”
He leaned down and fingered the plump heads of wheat, finding them dry and ready for harvest.
“I’m doing my share, too,” Dulcie said firmly. “I used to pick corn and bundle the wheat stalks when I was a child.”
“It’s going to take a lot of sweat.”
“I have sweat. It’s money I need.”
Rye chuckled. “And you should get it if we can get this all harvested.” He sobered. “We’ll have to start cutting and bundling the wheat, then while the shocks are drying, we’ll pick the corn.”
Dulcie’s expression was grim but determined. “We’ll get it done.”
“Right now, let’s go back and get what we need to start working,” Rye said. “It’s going to be the first in a string of long days.”
FOURTEEN
DULCIE straightened and stifled a groan when her backbone popped in three separate places. She glanced at Rye, impressed anew by his strength and endurance. During the long day, he’d swung the scythe in wide sweeping arcs, dropping the grain into the cradle and laying it in a windrow, which she swept into piles. Behind her, Collie twisted the stalks into bundles. The boy looked as miserable under the hot sun as she felt.
Madeline was the only one who wasn’t toiling. She sat under the closest tree with her doll, but her play seemed lackluster. It was more than likely she was a bit under the weather. Dulcie wouldn’t have brought her, but the girl was too young to be left alone.
Rye stopped and leaned on the handle of the scythe. The back of his shirt was drenched with sweat and he removed his hat to wipe the moisture at his brow and the base of his neck.
“It’s near sunset,” Dulcie said, raising her voice to be heard. “We’ve done enough for one day.”
Collie scrambled to his feet, his face red despite the floppy brimmed hat she’d found for him to wear. The anticipation in his expression told Dulcie he was ready to call it a day.
“You go ahead. I want to finish this row before I quit.” Rye continued swishing the scythe back and forth, the grain falling more evenly than when he’d started that morning.
Dulcie indulged in admiring the play of muscles across his back and arms as he worked. He wasn’t a large man, though he was taller than her husband had been. However, where Jerry had been thin, Rye was lean and muscled. She easily recalled the sight of his flat belly from when he’d gone to the well with his shirt undone. At the time she’d been hard-pressed to look away, to deny her longing.
Collie sighed and dropped back to his knees to continue twisting the straw into bundles. Behind him at ten-foot intervals were shocks of five or six bundles, the wheat heads facing upward to dry. They’d all worked hard, but fifty acres was a large amount for one man to cut by hand.
Yet, without Rye’s help, she wouldn’t have even this acre cut. His arrival had been a blessing when Dulcie had been ready to give up on blessings. Though he only received room and board as his pay, Rye never ended a workday early. Even now, when she knew he had to be exhausted, hot, and aching, he continued to work.
She promised herself that once the wheat and corn were sold, she’d give Rye a portion of the money. He’d more than earned it.
Sighing, Dulcie headed toward Madeline with her rake in hand. As she passed Collie, she touched his shoulder. “Come on to the house and you can help me with supper.”
Collie’s gaze shifted to Rye and his shoulders straightened, losing their slump. “I’ll stay with Rye.”
Dulcie smiled gently, expecting his answer. “Make sure you both don’t work too much longer. The wheat will still be here come morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dulcie gathered Madeline and they trudged back to the cabin. Dulcie ached in places she didn’t know could ache and knew it would be worse tomorrow. She was grateful her headache had finally disappeared around midday, leaving her with only the stress of the labor and the heat of the sun.
Why had she given in to the whiskey last night? Because she hadn’t been able to turn off the memories had seemed a good reason then, but not now.
Arriving at the cabin, Madeline immediately went to the bedroom and lay down. Concerned, Dulcie perched on the edge of the bed and rested a palm on her daughter’s brow. She felt warm, but being outside all day would account for that.
“Are you sick, honey?” she asked Madeline.
Madeline pushed her mother’s hand away from her forehead and mumbled, “Tired.” She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, hugging her doll close to her chest.
Dulcie stared down at her, trying to determine if her daughter was sick or, as she said, simply tired. Madeline had stayed up past her bedtime last night, playing with Collie. That could account for her weariness today.
If sleep was all Madeline needed, she would be better tomorrow. If she wasn’t, then Dulcie would decide what to do. She hoped she wouldn’t have to make that decision.
BY sheer force of will, Rye managed to swing the scythe one more time. The last of the wheat in the row fell. His arms dropped, unable to hold the tool up a second longer.
He hung his head, unsure if he’d be able to raise it again. He couldn’t remember a time he’d felt as utterly worn out as he did at this moment. His arms and shoulders ached, as did his legs and sides. The thought of walking back to the cabin brought a jab of apprehension—he didn’t think he could move even an inch.
“Rye, you all right?”
Collie’s question produced a surge of strength, and Rye managed to lift his head and shift his stance to meet the kid’s worried face. “I’m all right, Collie,” he answered. “Just tired.”
Collie nodded and removed the hat. His sweat-dampened hair lay flat against his scalp. “Me, too.” He turned and pointed at the many shocks of bundled wheat behind them. “But I got lots done, didn’t I, Rye?”
Despite his exhaustion, Rye smiled. “You done real good, Collie. Real good.”
The boy seemed to puff up with pride. Collie had a right to be proud of what he’d done. Rye had told him more than once he didn’t have to work all day, but the youngster insisted that if Rye was working, he’d work, too.
Collie’s stomach growled. “I could eat a horse.”
Rye feigned a scowl. “I don’t think Smoke would like that too well.”
Collie giggled, the childish sound clutching at something inside Rye. This was the first time he’d heard the boy laugh with genuine amusement.
His throat oddly tight, Rye put his free arm around the boy’s shoulders. “What do you say we take a dunk in the pond before heading back to the house?”
Collie grinned his answer.
Despite his overwhelming fatigue, Rye managed to walk to the pond and strip to his drawers before jumping into the pond. The cool water refreshed him, and he and Collie splashed each other, laughing and washing at the same time. Rye was glad he’d suggested the pond, even if he’d merely intended to please Collie. His soreness remained but didn’t seem as overwhelming, and h
e was no longer as exhausted.
Dusk was fading to twilight when they climbed out of the pond and headed back to the farm, carrying their clothes and wearing only their hats and drawers. By the time they got to the barn, they’d dried in the warm air.
Leaving their smelly clothes on the corral pole, they donned clean clothing.
As they neared the porch, Dulcie opened the door wide. “I was wondering when you two would wander in.”
“We went swimmin’,” Collie said. “Me and Rye stunk something awful so we figured we’d best wash up.”
Dulcie glanced at Rye, and he nodded in confirmation. “A skunk smelled downright sweet compared to us. Hope we didn’t keep you waiting,” he said.
She shook her head, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “No. I was just, uh, wondering when you were going to come in from the field.”
“I finished that row, and Collie, he finished bundling all the grain you’d raked.” He gazed down at the boy proudly. “You got yourself a good hired hand with him, Dulcie.”
“I think I have the two best hired men in Texas,” she said. “Come in. I know you have to be hungry.”
Startled by her praise, Rye followed her and Collie inside. He didn’t see Dulcie’s daughter seated at the table. “Where’s Madeline?”
“Sleeping.” A tinge of trepidation touched her expression. “When we got back, she lay down and fell right to sleep. Hasn’t stirred since.”
“Is she under the weather?”
“I’m not sure. If she’s still so tired tomorrow, I’ll keep her in the house all day.” She gnawed at her lower lip. “I won’t be able to help in the fields then.”
“Don’t worry about that. Madeline’s more important.”
She blinked a few times, as if blinking back tears, and her smile was shaky. “Yes, she is.”
Recognizing her embarrassed gratitude, he made a show of sniffing. “Something smells tasty.”
“Fried chicken,” Collie guessed.
“You butchered one of your hens?” Rye asked, surprised.
“It was an older one that wasn’t laying anymore. Figured it’d make a good meal after all the work done today,” Dulcie explained.
Besides fried chicken, there was gravy, potatoes, boiled peas, carrots and beans with butter melted over them, fried okra, baked apples with honey, and bread topped with butter. Dulcie brought three glasses to the table and set one by each of their places. “I figured you all might prefer some buttermilk for a change.”
Touched by her thoughtfulness even though he knew she was tired, too, Rye dug into the banquet. They’d all worked up an appetite toiling in the field and nobody spoke as they ate.
Rye used the last piece of his bread to sop up the gravy and melted butter from his plate. He popped it in his mouth and pushed his empty plate aside. “Thanks, Dulcie. It tasted mighty good.” He elbowed Collie lightly.
“Uh, thanks, Miz McDaniel. I ain’t ate this much good food ever,” the boy said, his face flushed.
Dulcie smiled. “It’s nice to cook for men who appreciate it.” Her expression faltered and she shrugged. “My husband never did.”
“He was a fool, Dulcie,” Rye said, and he meant it.
She stared down at the tabletop. “I was a fool for marrying him. I just wanted to get away from Locust so bad I was willing to accept the first man’s offer.”
Rye wasn’t certain how to respond.
“Not that I regret it. I’d marry him again even knowing what I know now just so I’d have Madeline.”
“She’s a lucky girl.”
“Yeah. She’s got her ma,” Collie said softly.
Dulcie reached out and laid her hand on the boy’s. “I want you to know you’re always welcome here, Collie. Even after Rye moves on, you just come by any time you want.”
Collie’s eyes widened and his alarmed gaze sought Rye. “You’re leavin’?”
“Not for a while,” Rye assured. “I promised Mrs. McDaniel I’d help get her crops in.”
Although Collie seemed to accept that, his troubled expression told Rye he was still upset.
“We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow,” Rye said. “We’d best get some sleep.” He pushed back his chair and stood.
Collie reluctantly did the same.
“Goodnight,” Rye said to Dulcie.
Collie mumbled something that sounded the same and led the way out of the cabin. As Rye started out the door, Dulcie grabbed his arm. He stopped, and she released him.
“I’m not very good at telling folks thanks, and I know I don’t say things very well. Most of the time I probably sound mad and maybe selfish, but I want you to know that I really appreciate all you’ve done, Rye. You work harder than anyone I’ve ever known, and you’re not even getting paid for it.” Her words were rifled out, as if she were afraid she wouldn’t be able to get them out fast enough.
Rye held up a hand. If she knew the real reason he was here, she wouldn’t be so free with her praise. “I agreed to work for room and board, and you’ve held to your end of the bargain. The least I can do is hold to mine.” He cupped her chin and brushed his thumb across her soft cheek. “Never apologize to me or anyone else for who you are, Dulcie McDaniel.”
Her eyes glimmered with moisture as she nodded jerkily.
Unable to curb his feelings for her, Rye leaned forward and brushed his lips across her silky cheek. “Goodnight, Dulcie.”
He spun away and hurried out before he lost the battle to take her in his arms and kiss her like she deserved to be kissed. The way he wanted to kiss her.
DESPITE the liniment he’d rubbed on his arms and shoulders before dropping off to sleep, Rye could barely move the next morning. He raised his arms, the limbs feeling ten times heavier than usual. And when he finally managed to stand, he tottered like an old man.
It took him twice as long—and some quietly uttered curses—to dress. By the time he tugged on his boots, his muscles were loosening up. At the well, he washed up and shaved. He was surprised Dulcie wasn’t up yet and hoped it wasn’t because she’d drunk herself to sleep.
When he returned to the barn, he decided to let Collie sleep until breakfast was ready. The poor kid had fallen asleep the minute he hit his bedroll.
Rye carried pails of water to the livestock, and his muscles lost most of the tightness that remained. With still no sign of Dulcie, he milked the cow and carried the pail to the porch. He pressed an ear against the door and heard the sound of coughing and Dulcie’s low voice, although he couldn’t understand what she was saying. A frisson of foreboding slid down his backbone.
He knocked on the door. “Dulcie, you awake?”
He waited impatiently and raised his hand to pound louder this time, but the sound of footsteps stilled him. The door swung open and Dulcie stood in the opening, dressed in her usual over-large shirt and breeches. However, her fiery hair was unbound and spilled around her shoulders and over her breasts like a cascading waterfall. But the panicked look in her eyes stole his attention.
“Is it Madeline?” Rye asked. The girl’s well-being was the only thing that would unnerve Dulcie so completely.
Strands of hair fell across her face as she nodded and swept them back. “Yes. She’s burning up, and she started coughing a little after midnight.” She twisted her hands together. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Is there a doctor in town?”
“Dr. Wickberg.”
“I’ll run into town and get him. Will you be all right until we get back?”
Her green eyes appeared huge and haunted and her freckles stood out starkly on her pale face. “Yes. Please hurry.”
Rye clutched her arms, forced her to meet his gaze. “Everything will be fine. Just stay calm and keep Madeline comfortable.”
Madeline coughed from the bedroom and Dulcie half turned toward the sound. Rye shook her, bringing her attention back to him. “Did you hear what I said, Dulcie?”
She nodded jerkily. “Yes.”
“Remember, stay calm, or Madeline’s going to pick up on your fear and you don’t want that, do you?”
Dulcie visibly drew herself together and her expression became resolute. “No. I’ll make sure she stays quiet.”
“Good girl. I’ll send Collie up.”
“No, don’t.” She grasped his hands, and her fingers were ice cold. “If Madeline has some catching sickness, I don’t want him to get it.”
The fact that Dulcie would be in danger, too, didn’t even occur to her, and it wouldn’t make any difference if it did.
“I’ll tell him to stay away from the house.” Rye pulled away from her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He ran across the yard to the barn and leaned over the sleeping boy. “Wake up, Collie.”
The boy blinked blearily. “What?”
“Madeline is sick and I have to go into town for the doctor.”
Collie rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Sick?”
“Yes. Don’t go near the house, but maybe you can gather the eggs and feed the chickens.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Rye saddled Smoke and heeled her into a gallop. It took less than ten minutes to get to Locust, and it was another few minutes for Rye to track down the doctor’s place. He reined in Smoke in front of the house and jumped out of the saddle before she came to a stop. He took the three steps in one leap, nearly bumping his head on the hanging sign that read “Dr. Nathan Wickberg,” and pounded on the door, panting like he’d run the entire distance into town.
Nobody answered and he used his palm to slap the door.
“Hold on, hold on,” came a grumble from inside the house.
Rye clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. Finally, a middle-aged man with muttonchop whiskers swept open the door.
“Mrs. McDaniel’s daughter’s sick,” Rye said. “She’s got a high fever and a bad cough.”
Dr. Wickberg hitched his suspenders onto his shoulders. “Frank’s granddaughter.”
A Reason to Believe Page 17
