He grinned at her showing his deep smile lines. He had probably smiled often before the war. He didn’t seem to be much of a smiler now.
“Well I would call it more of a push than a shove. I don’t know many women who would be so excited by a food closet. But considering how low your supplies are, I can understand. You and Orla are welcome to help yourself to whatever you want. I eat here or there.” He ducked his head. “I don’t know how to cook, so I eat beans out of a can. I do know how to roast meat, but only over an open fire.”
“Well that is more than my father ever knew about cooking.” Her eyes misted for a moment thinking of her father. She missed both of her parents so very much.
“Now, how is this supposed to work? Say Orla is in the barn, but I need to do something in there. What should I do?”
“Gently tell her she has to leave and just tell her it’s the rule. She’ll understand. It’s been a bit of a trial always watching over my sister, but I love her so very much. She finds delight in the smallest things, and she always shares them with me. I just wish—oh, never mind.”
“No, what were you going to say?” he prodded in a gentle tone. “You can talk to me. I don’t have anyone to tell your secrets to.”
She hesitated for a moment. Why not? “I wish that someday she would marry and have children of her own, but that will never happen. And I have found that most men won’t marry me if she’s part of the bargain.”
Brogan tilted his head for a moment and frowned. “Men have said that to you? I don’t see why it would be a hardship. Are you a mail-order bride? Is that why you were going West?”
It was her turn to smile. She had suggested being a mail-order bride, but her parents had been too upset about the idea. “No, there’s no one waiting for me.”
The door opened. “I’m always waiting for you, and I always will be,” Orla said before she crossed the room and gave Ciara a hug.
After a moment, Orla let go and gazed at Ciara with great excitement in her eyes. “Come to the barn, Ciara! You must. There are baby horses with their mamas, and they have two cows. Imagine two cows! I saw a rooster, chickens, three pigs, and I even saw a goat with two little goats. Do you think the bigger goat is the mama goat?”
Ciara noticed Brogan’s lips twitching. She was used to it, though, and it didn’t make her laugh anymore. She just enjoyed Orla’s excitement. “Two cows, you say? I think you’ll have to show me after we cook supper. I have a few things I want to show you too. Come look. The water pump is inside.” Both women went to the sink, and Orla laughed.
Ciara glanced at him over her shoulder.
He nodded and tipped his hat to her before he turned and went outside.
Chapter Three
Brogan sat on the front porch and admired the night sky. Supper had been excellent, and now he sat listening to Ciara telling Orla all the reasons they had to sleep in the wagon. He finally understood how challenging it could be for Ciara.
Ciara had seemed to like the house, and he was glad. It surprised him their presence didn’t annoy him. The house had been empty when he came, so he’d made most of the furniture himself. He’d always been good with wood. In essence, it was a brand-new home. He had looked for something that would’ve belonged to his mother but there had been nothing left inside the house. When Teagan’s wife Gemma had lived here someone came and stole everything out of it.
A fresh start was good, though. It would’ve been better if the ranch wasn’t next to his brothers’ ranch. It didn’t much matter he didn’t fit in with them anyway. He’d always felt like an outsider and he knew that the woman who raised him loathed him. His father seemed to be wary of paying attention to him and it was because of that woman.
He’d been so angry when he first came here so disgusted with the lies and the betrayal. He hadn’t cared if there was furniture in the house or not. In fact, he slept on the floor in front of the fireplace for about a month. Then he decided he didn’t need the Kavanaghs. He had his own life to lead, and he couldn’t wallow in despair. He’d set to getting horses and making furniture.
This was the first time he’d felt pride in his accomplishments, though. It was a strange feeling that warmed his whole body, and he was positive he’d never felt it before.
More words filtered over to him. He chuckled; Orla was now telling Ciara that she was not tired at all. She also informed Ciara that she wasn’t in charge of her. And that sleeping was a personal preference. He couldn’t help his chuckle from getting louder.
He stood and went back into the house turning off lamps all except the kitchen one by the back door. He’d leave this one in case they needed him. He glanced outside. Ciara was sitting on the ground with her knees pulled up to her chest and tears rolling down her face. He wavered. He wasn’t going to get involved, but could he be of help if he let her talk about it?
No. Leaving her alone would be for the best. He glanced at her one more time, noted the shudders rippling through her body as she sobbed, and without thought he went outside, sat next to her and took her into his arms. She pulled away and stared up at him in shock, but he just drew her closer and stroked her back. It was surprisingly comfortable having a woman in his arms. But would any woman do?
He didn’t know how to give or receive affection. He’d witnessed it plenty times but was never the recipient. His anger started to bubble inside, and he squashed it down. This wasn’t about him; it was about a young woman with a disabled sister who had nowhere to go. Maybe he could build them their own house on the land? No, that wouldn’t work. He’d have to ask Gemma’s permission for something like that, and he was not about to ask for anything. She was his half-sister and owned the property, property that he should’ve had a share in. Both sides had shafted him.
Her sobs subsided, but he kept his arms around her. She smelled of vanilla, which surprised him. Holding her was a comfortable, warm feeling, one he’d never imagined. Were her sobs real or was she trying to make a fool of him? He shook his head, disgusted that he even had to think that way.
“Do you think you will be all right now?” He hoped she said yes. He needed to get out of there.
“Yes, yes I think so. Thank you. It’s been a long time since I had a good cry. Don’t worry, though, I don’t cry every day.” She gave him a sad smile as she stood. “Good night.”
* * *
“Ouch!” Ciara shook her hand and then put her finger in her mouth. It was the second time she’d burned it while making coffee. She loved the stove, but there was a slight learning curve to getting it started and hot enough. She’d get it down though. She needed to.
That morning, Orla had shown her the sun’s beautiful rays coming through the clouds. It had moved Ciara to tears. She didn’t care what happened she would never be separated from her sister. She’d cried about it all night but she loved Orla. And taking care of her meant she needed a job. And that job meant she would need to master the use of the stove.
“Something smells good. I don’t think I’ve ever had breakfast in this house before. Though I do enjoy a hot cup of coffee.” Brogan bypassed all the pretty dinnerware, grabbed the one tin cup in the house and poured himself some coffee. “It’s a treat to be greeted by two such beautiful women in the morning.”
Orla laughed, and Ciara frowned.
“Did you hear what he said, Orla? That’s what I mean by a sweet-talking man. They call you beautiful, and that’s when you know you need to keep your guard up.”
Brogan looked bewildered. “In all my years no one has ever mistaken me for a sweet-talking man.” He took a sip of coffee and seemed startled to notice that Orla was staring at him. “Err… But your sister is right. It’s good to be on the lookout for sweet talk.” He turned to Ciara and gave her a boyish grin.
Did he even realize how sweet his grin was? He had said he thought of himself as a tough loner, but she wasn’t so sure that’s what he was. He seemed very sensitive to her. And… he’d probably be mad if he knew what she was thinking.
>
Brogan put his coffee cup down on the table, went to the hook by the front door and grabbed his hat. “I’ll be in as soon as I milk the cows. It might take me a little longer since there are two.”
“I’ll wait awhile before I start cooking.” She listened for the sound of the door opening and closing. When there was only silence, she turned to see what was going on, and Orla was standing next to him, whispering in his ear.
“What in tarnation is going on?” Ciara snapped. “Orla, come sit at the table and let Brogan get on with his work. He’s a very busy man, and he doesn’t have time for such foolishness.”
Orla hung her head and dragged her feet to the table. Orla could be quite dramatic when she wanted to be.
Brogan glanced from Orla to her and then back to Orla again.
“Like I said, I’ll wait awhile before I cook.” She turned back to the sink, and this time she heard the door open and close.
“I don’t see why you’re mad,” Orla blurted. “I saw you and Brogan hugging last night. So, he must be a good man. You should allow me to go along with him. I know how to milk a cow. I could be a great help.” She put her elbows on the table and held her cheeks in her hands with her lips forming the perfect pout.
“Orla, this is such a new situation, and I’m not sure what we should do or not do. I’m sorry I chastised you. I’m hoping this ranch will be a safe place for a few days. We’ll need our rest if we’re going to make it back to St. Louis before winter comes.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and then went to Orla, putting her arm around her shoulders giving her a sideways hug. “If something ever happened to you, I’d be beside myself.”
Orla nodded. “You’d be by yourself that’s for sure. Can I milk the cow tomorrow?”
Ciara chuckled lightly. “You sure can be stubborn when you want something.”
Orla must’ve taken it as a compliment because she smiled widely. “Do you think if I told him he’s beautiful I can milk the cow?”
Ciara laughed again. “Now you’re just teasing me.”
“Yes I am. I’m eighteen, yet you treat me like I’m five. I heard you say I was fourteen in my head but even a fourteen-year-old could milk a cow. I thought we were supposed to help around here?”
What was Ciara supposed to say? Being overprotective came naturally to her now. Oh, how she missed her parents. They always were able to say the right things to Orla. Perhaps they didn’t worry as much but Orla was all she had left.
After she finished her coffee, she got breakfast going. She cooked the bacon and scrambled up some eggs hoping she had made enough. Once she knew where everything was, she’d make bread and biscuits. It wasn’t long after she’d finished before Brogan came in carrying a pail of milk.
Orla jumped up from her seat and scurried over to him. “Can I go with you next time please, please? I want to help, but how can I help unless I drag Ciara everywhere with me? It would take more than one day to do a day’s work if I had to do that. I already know how to milk cows so maybe you could go do something else in the morning.”
“I’ll be mending my fences today,” said Brogan, shaking his head.
“Then that’s what I want to do today! I want to fix fences.” Orla smiled at Brogan.
“Orla, we’ve been through this already today.”
Brogan gave Ciara an amused smile. “I think you both should come and fix the fence. The next time I believe you will think twice before you pull someone’s fence down.”
Ciara took a deep breath hoping it would be a calming breath, but it wasn’t. He was a very hard man to read. His smile seemed to be one of teasing, but his words certainly weren’t. What kind of game was he trying to play? She’d go, but she was bringing her pistol with her. Men weren’t to be trusted.
Ciara and Orla washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen before they went outside. They walked to the barn just in time to see Brogan leading out three saddled horses. She was glad to see the other two horses were smaller than the one he rode.
“You’ll have to ride astride,” he said in an apologetic voice. He let go of the horses’ reins and all three went straight to Orla.
Ciara watched as Brogan stared at Orla. He seemed fascinated by her, and that wouldn’t do.
“I think we should get going.” Ciara grabbed the reins to one of the smaller horses.
“I wouldn’t take that one,” Orla said as she shook her head. “He said he would throw you. Now, the other one likes you.”
There was no way she would get caught up in Orla’s world of talking horses. She mounted the horse that supposedly said he would throw her and smiled in triumph at Orla.
Orla scrunched her face and shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll get down to help you up when you’re lying on the ground.” Orla mounted the bay.
“See that, Prince?” Brogan asked his horse. “What do you think of all that?” Prince just gave him a hard stare. Brogan bolted onto his horse and rode.
Orla turned her horse to follow Brogan, and Ciara was not surprised that her horse seemed very calm and very easy-going. So much for Orla’s ideas that he would throw her. After a bit, Ciara’s thoughts drifted to the broken fence. What was she going to do to get Brogan to believe her? It made little sense. Why would they break the fence and not take any of the horses? They could have just as easily parked their wagon right on the other side of this fence. Maybe living alone made a person suspicious.
They rode for quite a while before they got to the broken fence. She swung down and watched Orla do the same. Before Brogan could say a word, the horses began to swarm Orla. Those horses were certainly taken with her. Ciara turned to Brogan and studied him while he once again stared at Orla.
“What do we do first?” Ciara asked.
“We need to dig a hole for the fence post. I also need to count the horses to be sure they’re all inside before I enclose the pasture.” He dug around in his saddlebag, pulled out a pair of gloves, and tossed them to her. “I wouldn’t want your hands to get all callused and bloodied.”
Ciara already had calluses, but she wasn’t about to do anything that would make her hands bloody. “Perhaps I can just hold the fence post in place while you fix the fence?”
He gave her a slight nod. “Maybe you could count the horses for me while I dig this hole? I need an accurate count.” He grabbed some of his tools and walked toward the space where the fence should be.
Chapter Four
Counting horses should be easy enough. She’d start with the ones closest to Orla. At first, she had a good head count, but then the horses moved. To her, most horses looked alike. She could figure out the breeds or what they were bred for, but all brown horses looked identical to her. She counted five times and decided it was close enough. She wandered over to where Brogan was putting the wooden fence post into the hole he’d just dug.
He glanced up at her but didn’t say a word. He looked sweaty, and maybe he was tired too.
“I’ve counted your horses, and you have thirty-nine.”
“No, I don’t. Go count them again.” He turned his back toward her.
She jerked herself upright. He must be the rudest man in all of Texas. He had been so nice yesterday and last night, but today he was a different person. He was a prime example of a man who could not be trusted. She took a deep breath and strode over to the horses and began counting once again.
Each time she counted she got a different number. This sure was not the job for her. She went back to Brogan. “You have forty-two horses.” She turned and started to walk away.
“Wait, a minute. That’s not the right number either. Are you sure you’re actually counting the horses and not making up numbers?”
Ciara turned toward him and crossed her arms in front of her. Why couldn’t he just give her a hint at what number he was hoping for? “How far am I off? I have counted and counted, but the horses keep moving.”
Brogan took off his hat and started laughing. “Of course, the horses are moving. You didn’t think they�
�d stand still so you could count them, did you?”
She wanted to stomp away, but that would be too childish. She wanted to hit him, but that wouldn’t be very Christian, and neither would be calling him a few choice words. She gave him her best glare, but it didn’t seem to faze him. She turned on the ball of her foot and marched off. He certainly was a fussy one, having to have the exact number. Too bad she didn’t have paint with her so she could paint numbers on each horse.
“What is it you’re trying to do?” Orla asked.
“I’ve counted and counted these horses so many times, but no matter what number I give to Brogan he says it’s wrong. He even laughed at me. So, I’m counting them once again.”
Orla wrinkled her nose. “There are exactly thirty-three horses. Why don’t you ask Brogan if that’s the right answer?”
“But how do you know?”
“Because I can count.”
She turned and stalked to Brogan and gave him an artificial smile. “There are exactly thirty-three horses.” She stared at him smugly, waiting for his answer.
“Orla told you, didn’t she?” He roared. “You got the right number.”
Ciara stepped forward and poked his chest with each word she spoke. “You are a bully, and you’re not nice.”
Brogan took a step back. He still laughed. “I don’t think bullies are supposed to be nice.”
She’d had all she could take. She had tried being nice and yet he just laughed at her. She deflated. Imagine, he got his amusement every time she failed. He had probably realized all along that Orla knew how many horses there were. But Ciara had tried and tried to count those horses to no avail and he stole her moment of triumph. She didn’t need this it was time to go. Her eyes misted.
Brogan: Cowboy Pride: The Kavanagh Brothers Book Three Page 2
