Adam kicked at the dirt and turned to go, hands shoved into his pockets. He appeared to remember something and turned back. "Father told me there was another attempted robbery of another ore wagon, but no one got hurt this time. Guess the miners have bought themselves some hired guns." When Jonathan didn't respond to the news, Adam shuffled back to the house.
Although Jonathan took in the news without comment, he'd heard it well enough. He propped the pitchfork against the barn wall then walked to the paddock. Resting his arms on the top rail, he gazed out on the distant hills, layers in hazy shades of blue stretching as far as the eye could see. Although the sky was clear, his mind's eye envisioned the storm descending on this peaceful river valley. He felt it as surely as he felt the sun's warmth on his back. Drawing a hand across his face, he felt suddenly very old. What made him think it would be any different here?
The violence would escalate now. Innocents would be caught in the crossfire. New markers would be made for the town cemetery. Good men would try to stop what was coming, and die. But this wasn't his war. This wasn't his responsibility to stop them. No star on his chest called him to duty.
But the girl with the chestnut hair could become one of the innocents to be caught in the crossfire sure to come. If the dream had come as an omen, was it his warning? Was she his responsibility to protect? One more question stirred. Might he be given a second chance to redeem himself?
If he became involved, it had to be about protecting Kat Meriwether and nothing more. There was no room in his life for such a woman, she so full of possibilities and he with so few. She had her youth and a promising future. He had grown weary of the ugliness in the world, losing hope that one man could do much to restrain it. The evil he'd seen had eclipsed his youth, leaving him feeling old and used up.
Adam had his foot on the wagon's running board when he heard his father call out. "Didn't think you were interested in coming with us."
The boy turned to see Jonathan striding across the yard leading Jessie. Adam had never seen him like this, dressed in dark pants and shirt, clothes that fit like he'd been grown in them. His hair showed wet where it stuck out from beneath his hat, as if he'd just washed it. Even his boots looked as though he'd taken the time to do more than just brush the dust off. They actually had a shine. But the difference that drew the boy's attention first and last was the gun now strapped to the man's hip. Hanging low and strapped down, it would be an easy reach for his right hand. It looked as natural there as dust on a hat.
Adam's mouth hung open, gaping at the suddenly transformed cowpuncher. Jonathan walked up to him and poked his chin with his finger. "Better close that before the flies make a home." Jonathan pushed Adam up into the wagon then grabbed the saddle horn, mounting Jessie in one seemingly effortless movement.
Seeing their surprised faces, he thought to give an explanation for his change of mind, so he volunteered, "Well, I guess I need to see for myself if the fine citizens of Snowberry appreciate your good cookin' as much as Adam and I do. If there's any justice left in Idaho, you should be coming home with a blue ribbon."
Timothy snorted. "Glad you changed your mind." He slapped the reins against the mules' rumps, calling out, "Gee'up!"
Chapter 16
Veiled and Unveiled
Behind the church, rough sawn planks stretched out on sawhorses in long rows under the shade provided by ancient cedar trees. The women of Snowberry had brought out their everyday linens to cover the coarse wood lumber, while the children had gathered wildflowers, sticking them into jars of water placed randomly down their lengths. Dappled shade made lacelike patterns over all, creating an overall effect that Kat found delightful. In her opinion, no elegant crystal dining experience in all of Boston compared to the beauty of this charming provincial setting.
For days the Ladies Missionary Aide Society had busied themselves preparing their best casseroles and bakery items to tempt Snowberry's residents. Sagging under the weight of all those dishes, the serving table groaned, scarcely able to accommodate them all. On a separate table, plates full of cookies and tins of golden crusted pies competed with two-layer cakes and temptingly fragrant cinnamon rolls.
Kat finished placing ribbons on the winning entries of baked goods. Although it would precipitate an extensive and very specific rewriting of the rules for entries in next year's confections' contest, she was secretly delighted that Mr. Hindricks' apple strudel had won top honor. Besides, it would give the ladies of Snowberry twelve months to improve on his recipe for next year. When she had placed the ribbon on his greatly contested strudel, she found it nearly impossible to suppress an impish smile.
Appraising each delectable dish with care, Nathaniel Meriwether strolled down the length of the table offering baked goods for sale. Infamous for his sweet tooth, the ladies of Snowberry's Missionary Aide Society watched him with keen interest. No small degree of pride would flood the heart of she whose confection he selected. Besides, he was still a very attractive man, and many a widow had set her sights on him over the years. Perhaps one might not only win the ribbon but the greater prize of the doctor himself. Such motivation had spurred many inspirational confections.
"Papa!" Kat saw him from across the grass covered lawn, hailing him with her voice and waving hand. She had to weave her way around the cheering children waiting in line for the next sack race. The volume of their cheers indicated the closeness of the match currently in progress. Josie's brother, Jeremy, tugged her sleeve as she walked through the line of children. "Dr. Meriwether, won't you please be my partner?"
Kat pulled up looking down into the boy's glum expression. "Can't you find a partner, Jeremy?"
"Nah. Billy says it's kid's stuff. He didn't think so last year and we won three races!"
Kat glanced down at her long skirt regretting her choice in attire. Had she chosen to wear her split skirt, perhaps she could have joined him and maintained a degree of propriety in the eyes of the ladies of Snowberry. But as she was currently dressed, she might cause a scandal of historic proportions if she indulged her whim of joining him. Still, she was sorely tempted.
Her eyes cast about the growing crowd of picnickers and onlookers for someone who might help her young friend. A man in a tan Stetson with a wide brim shielding his face stood out from the crowd. In the next moment she recognized him as Jonathan Winthrop, and next to him stood his young friend, Adam. Grabbing Jeremy by the hand, she deftly wove a path through the children to the two.
"Good day! Jonathan. Adam." She was a bit breathless when she spoke, the irritating result of wearing a corset. Accursed thing, she thought as she straightened her posture to allow air back into her diaphragm.
Jonathan tipped his hat. "Ma'am."
Adam's face split open in a grin at the sight of her. "Hello, Dr. Meriwether."
"I'm so glad you're here. This is my friend, Jeremy, and he is in dire need of a partner for the three-legged race. He's quite a runner I hear. I was wondering if it isn't too much to ask if you would be his partner?"
Adam hadn't taken his eyes off Kat. True those eyes had slipped a bit from her face to take in her shapely figure, but he was fully attending to her. As she awaited his reply, he continued to gaze at her with his mouth slightly ajar.
Jonathan nudged Adam with his elbow. "Adam! The lady asked you a question. You going to answer?"
Adam glanced up at Jonathan. "Huh?"
"She asked if you would run in a race with Jeremy," Jonathan explained.
Adam turned back to Kat and then looked at the boy standing to her side. "Oh! Run a race! Sure." The truth be told, he'd have performed cartwheels across the yard if she'd asked it of him.
"Well then. . .Jeremy, go take your new partner and give those other kids a run for their money!" Kat tousled Jeremy's hair and shooed them both away with a wave of her hand.
When the two boys had run off to join the line waiting their turn to race, Jonathan said, "That was kind of you, Dr. Meriwether. Adam doesn't know many boys his age."
>
Her hand shielding her face from the midday sun, Kat turned back to face him. "Oh, well, I'm sure it wasn't a purely selfless motive on my part." She took hold of the side of her dress and pulled it wide, laughing lightly. "He asked me to race with him. I'm sure I would've created a scandal had I raced across the field with my petticoat showing."
Jonathan nodded solemnly. "Yes, ma'am, I surely suppose that it would."
Oh my, when did I become so bold as to speak of petticoats with someone I barely know? But he was so easy to talk with. Changing the subject, she asked, "Did Mr. Hindricks come to the picnic as well? I've been meaning to pay him a visit. How's his. . .injury?"
"Oh, he's mending. Stands a lot more these days." He gave her a knowing look.
She laughed lightly, realizing that it might not be the most professional reaction. "Yes, I would suppose he would." An awkward pause followed, leaving Kat to wonder what her hands were doing as they seemed to independently flutter about her hair, testing pins and toying with stray strands. Good Lord! She felt like a school girl in his presence.
"Looks like the boys are up next." Jonathan pointed to the front of the line of boys and girls crowding to the starting line. With a sudden swelling of children's voices, the runners set off for a ribbon strung between two trees at the end of the field. Jonathan leaned close to her ear to be heard above the noise of the screaming children. "Looks like they got this one."
She experienced a sudden tingling down her back as his warm breath touched her neck, a pleasant sensation not unlike having a feather brush against her skin. Giving him a faint smile, she found her throat strangely constricted. A light remark would have been appropriate, but words oddly failed her.
"My brother and I used to beat the britches off anyone when we were youngsters. Gatherings like these weren't too common in our part of Texas. But when we did have a chance to run, no one could stop us." Jonathan's eyes were on the cheering crowd, his voice having taken on the quality of a warm memory.
"Was he older or younger than you?" Kat felt relief to have found her mind engaging her voice again.
"Older."
Kat heard the shift in tone to one no longer filled with the warmth of fond memories.
As if assessing her for something, Jonathan turned his head, looking down at her for a moment. He said, "He was killed in the war."
"Oh." Kat heard the weight of the simple statement. "I'm so sorry." She felt somewhat disquieted by the intensity of his gaze. Was he expecting her to say more? At last he spoke, his slow Texas drawl measuring his words, "Most of us are. . .sorry that is, about the war. Lot of good men died."
"Yes." She saw in his serious face more than the words would reveal. Those dark, brooding eyes had seen too much suffering. She'd seen the look in doctors who'd served on both sides of the war. In her years training in the hospital, she'd watched patients die and experience unbearable pain, but her personal experience was limited. This man had known such suffering.
Cheering voices drew their attention back to the race as Jeremy and Adam streaked across the finish line in the second race.
"Seems they're a winning pair," he said.
Kat clapped her hands and waved to Jeremy whose face was alight with victory.
"That boy doesn't seem to let his lack of height hold him back, does he?" Jonathan smiled at her and for a moment his eyes seemed bluer than gray as though the true color, as with his true nature, were unveiled for just one candid moment.
"He seems to take after his mother." She laughed. "She and I used to...how did you put it? We used to beat the britches off everyone."
Jonathan threw her a skeptical look. "You? With those short legs of yours?"
"I'll have you know, we won all the sack races and the three-legged races for three years in a row! Josie and I were unbeatable!" She folded her arms across her waist. "It's not nearly as much about the legs as it is about the heart!"
He met her eyes with one eyebrow lifted a degree higher than the other before the corners of his mouth tugged upward into a smile. "Well now, I suspect that might be true. That would mean that you've got one very big heart."
As much as she'd initially disliked the idea of the picnic, she'd couldn't think of anything she'd rather do than sit all afternoon with this gentle giant of a man, talking with him about anything and nothing. It was a funny thought that fired messages from one lobe of her brain to the other. He made her feel incredibly at ease in his presence at the same time as making her feel dreadfully uncomfortable. She brought her hand quickly to her ear, giving it a good pinch.
A waving hand from across the yard caught her eye. Kat motioned to her father to join them. "Papa! Come meet one of our newest Snowberry residents."
Nathaniel Meriwether extended his hand first and Jonathan took it firmly in his. In that moment of meeting, Kat could see the steady assessment, each man of the other. She knew her father to be a man of keen observation and she rather thought that Jonathan Winthrop might be such a man himself, both in a long moment taking a mental measurement of the other.
"Mr. Winthrop and his friend Mr. Hindricks are working cattle on the Schmidt's Valley homestead. Remember, when I asked you about who had moved in?"
"Oh, yes! That's a beautiful place. My daughter and I used to take rides up there, fishing the south end of the river that runs through it. Have you discovered that sweet little fishing hole yet?"
"Not yet. We've been pretty busy just making the place livable. Haven't had much opportunity to take time off. This is the first day we've really taken any time away except to pick up necessary things at the mercantile."
"That's not surprising." Nathaniel cast a longing look back at the tables of food. "I hope you came with an appetite, Mr. Winthrop. We've got some of the best cooks in all Idaho Territory right here. Since it's all for a good cause, would you let me buy you some of their best? I will advise you on what will make you think you've entered a gastronomical paradise. More importantly, I can steer you clear of those that might have you spending a very long night in the privy." He leaned forward and whispered, "That would be Mrs. Kimball's pork pie. She insists that marinating the meat for two days on her kitchen counter is the secret. It most undoubtedly is the secret that's made many a resident pay me a visit the day after the picnic, complaining of intense abdominal pain."
Jonathan's serious face broke for a moment, just short of allowing a smile to soften his expression.
"Father, that sounds like an excellent idea. Why don't you and Mr. Winthrop be the first in line? I've got some things to do at the judge's table." It was a lie, but her proximity to Jonathan Winthrop was making it difficult to think of anything other than...well...things. These were the things that she'd resolved would distract her from her short-range goal as well as her long-range ones, and Mr. Winthrop was definitely becoming a hazard.
Turning abruptly, she lifted the hem of her skirt and walked swiftly away, leaving them standing somewhat perplexed at her sudden departure. Could she have managed to run in her close-fitting petticoat, she might have beaten the youngsters racing across the field to the finish line.
Nathaniel and Jonathan strolled to the serving line, selecting a wide assortment of dishes to share. It was obvious that Jonathan had a weakness for fried chicken, since he selected three different dishes. Nathaniel had an inclination toward anything beef, the more gravy the better. Both agreed to wait on the desserts.
Between bites, Nathaniel provided Jonathan with an historical survey of the long valley that stretched north to the Snake River. He told of the Bannock and Paiutes Indians' influence on development, the recent growth of ranching that was developing to supply the mining camps. In the brief history of Idaho Territory, there had been many skirmishes between Indians, shepherds and cattlemen, miners and ranchers. In short, everyone fought everyone. The recent war was not the only scar upon the land. Nathaniel observed that violence seemed to spread outward from the eastern shores, fueled by greed.
"Your accent tells me you've sp
ent a good deal of time in Texas. That's a territory that has certainly known its share of bloody conflict," Nathaniel said matter-of-factly, an open invitation for Jonathan to contribute a bit of his own history.
Jonathan just nodded. "Yes, sir, it has indeed." He didn't elaborate.
There was a stirring of voices behind Nathaniel, prompting both men to look in the direction of the commotion. Nathaniel turned back to his meal, his face suddenly losing its good-natured expression. Jonathan noted the change.
"Doc! Haven't seen you in church lately, not since that girl of yours come home." Gilford Hall threw a heavy hand on Nathaniel's shoulder. Nathaniel closed his eyes, taking a heavy breath.
"That's true." It was flat, thin.
Another man stood a few paces back from Hall, his expression making no attempt to adapt to the festive occasion. Jonathan studied him with professional interest, the width of his shoulders that spoke of strength, the constant movement of his eyes left and right as he scanned the crowd. There was a tension in his body that suggested a loaded spring. The manner in which he wore his gun, not too low, but within easy reach, with the hammer filed, bespoke his true profession.
At last, the man brought his eyes to rest on Jonathan. In a moment they had changed to steel, assessing the threat of him. The man's brow furrowed for just a moment, the spring tightening.
Gilford Hall threw his leg over the bench, sitting close to Nathaniel. He reached to Nathaniel's plate and picked up a piece of ham. After stuffing it in his mouth, he licked his fingers, grinning. "Oh my! That must be Mrs. Townsend's smoked ham." He turned his head sharply to take in Jonathan across the table.
"Don't think we've met. Name's Gilford Hall."
"Jonathan. Jonathan Winthrop."
"Oh, you're Hindricks' hired hand." There was something dismissive in the way he stressed the word hired.
Jonathan picked up another leg of chicken, tearing off a piece with his teeth.
"Somebody told me you were from Texas. That right?" Hall reached across the table toward Jonathan's plate. Jonathan stabbed his fork into the leg of chicken that Hall had started for. The fork came down hard, within a hair's breadth of the man's hand.
Kat's Law Page 11
