A Hopeful Heart (9 page)

She pointed. “In the pantry.”

He started toward the door.

“But I can take care of it. It’s just a little scratch.”

Abel paused, chewing his lower lip. While Miss Tressa’s scratch wasn’t as serious as a snake bite or a broken bone, Abel knew scratches could get infected. Memories of his pa’s lingering death hovered in the back of his mind, and sweat beaded across his forehead. Her being new on the plains, she surely didn’t understand the importance of cleaning that scratch good before slapping a bandage on it. He’d see that things were done right.

“You just sit down at the table there an’ I’ll get the supplies.” He stepped into the pantry and searched the neatly organized shelves. “I’m sure Aunt Hattie’s got everything from tincture of iodine to snake oil.” He spotted a small, hinged wooden box on a top shelf and lifted it down. A glance inside confirmed it contained medical supplies.

Stepping back into the kitchen, he found Tressa sitting on a kitchen chair, holding her elbow aloft. Her bonnet hung down her back by its strings. Tangled brown hair stuck out in every direction around her dirty face and Aunt Hattie’s house cat sat on her lap. The young woman looked as bedraggled as anything he’d ever seen. Despite himself, he laughed. The cat startled and jumped down, slinking under the stove.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare your friend.”

Tressa looked after the animal and sighed. “It’s all right. She would have needed to get down anyway.” She nodded toward the box. “Please put the box on the table over here and I’ll see to my scratch.”

“Naw, I’ll do it.” He thumped the box on the table and pawed through it, removing a brown bottle of iodine, a puff of cotton batting, and a roll of bandages.

“Really, I can take care of it myself, Mr. Samms.” Her cheeks blotched bright pink. “You don’t need to bother.”

Abel propped his hands on his hips. “Now, see here, Miss Tressa. Around these parts, we don’t take injuries lightly. Scratch like that might not seem like much, but if infection sets in, you could get mighty sick in a hurry.” With thoughts of Pa strong in his mind, his tone turned stern. “You just stick that elbow up here an’ let me get it cleaned without any more fuss.”

She sighed. “Should I roll my sleeve out of the way?”

If she were one of his hired hands, he’d just rip the sleeve clean off, but he figured rolling it up was a better solution this time. He nodded and waited for her to work the sleeve upward. She grimaced as she coaxed the wadded fabric past the wound, but she managed to push the sleeve well above her elbow. Her arm was slender and pale, the wrist delicate. He swallowed and focused on unscrewing the cap on the iodine bottle.

Her wide, uniquely colored eyes followed his hands as he sprinkled a goodly amount of the brackish liquid onto the cotton puff. He bent down on one knee beside her and pulled his lips into a sympathetic grin. “This might sting a little.”

She hissed through her teeth when he applied the iodine to the scratch, but she didn’t try to pull away. He gave the entire area a thorough scrub, staining a sizable portion of her arm in the process. When he’d determined the wound had been adequately cleaned, he reached for the roll of bandages. “All right, hold your arm out.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she stuck her arm straight out. Gingerly, he wound the bandage around her elbow, taking care not to bind it too tight. He bit the fabric and ripped it loose from the roll, then tucked the severed end under the band. Slapping his knee, he rose. “Well then, that’s that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Samms. You were very kind.”

Her timid, appreciative smile sent warmth through his belly—an unaccustomed feeling. He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome, Miss Tressa.”

She started to roll her sleeve back down, but the fabric was wadded up tight and wouldn’t budge.

“Here, let me help you.” Abel gently unrolled the bunched sleeve, easing it past the bulky bandage and down to her wrist. A tiny button closure at the cuff proved tricky, and he lifted her hand to get a better view of the buttonhole. They were nearly nose-to-nose, both focused on the button, when a third voice intruded.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?”

9

Tressa gasped. Mr. Samms spun toward the door. Luella stood in the opening with a knowing smirk on her face. Sallie crowded behind her, her mouth forming a perfect O of astonishment. Tressa frantically scrambled to fasten the button at her wrist, but her clumsy fingers refused to complete the task.

“Hmm . . .” Luella tapped her full lips, sending a smug glance over her shoulder to Sallie. “Aunt Hattie’s harped at me about saving my flirting until we’ve learned all we’re supposed to. Looks to me like Tressa here needs the same talk.”

Sallie tipped at the waist, shaking her finger at both Tressa and Mr. Samms. “Shamed ye ought to be, dallyin’ here in the house together all alone.” She clicked her tongue on her teeth.

Mr. Samms balled his hands into fists. “Now you hold on there! We—”

“Don’t deny it.” Luella’s lilting voice matched her high-raised eyebrows. She held out her arms to indicate the kitchen. “No one around . . . Tressa’s button undone . . .” She nodded toward Sallie. “We aren’t fools. We know what you’ve been doing.”

Mr. Samms pointed at Luella. “You’d best listen to me, miss. I—”

“Tressa-darlin’, you gotta get some gumption. Stand up for yourself!”
Mrs. Wyatt’s admonition rang through Tressa’s mind. With her heart pounding, Tressa dove in front of the man. “Mr. Samms and I have done nothing of which to be ashamed. I cut my arm on some wire while removing a box from the back of his wagon.” She thrust out her elbow, displaying the white bandage peeping through the torn sleeve. “He was kind enough to see to my wound, and that is
all
that has transpired. I shall not allow you to malign our characters with lewd and fallacious accusations.”

Both Luella and Sallie stared at Tressa, open-mouthed. Tressa couldn’t remember a time when she’d been more pleased by someone’s reaction. She flashed Mr. Samms a triumphant grin. But to her surprise, he also stood with his jaw hanging slack. As their gazes met, he snapped his mouth shut and took a step away from her.

“Since you’re all right, Miss Tressa, I’ll head on. Keep that scratch clean now, you hear?” Without waiting for a reply, he charged past the two girls. The door banged shut behind him.

Tressa’s elation flickered and died. Fending off the others’ pecks had felt wonderful; silencing the ever-blabbering Luella had given her tremendous pleasure. But apparently her bold behavior hadn’t met with Mr. Samms’ approval. Confused and embarrassed, she felt tears prick behind her eyes.

Suddenly Luella sprang to life, twisting her lips into a horrible scowl. Her eyes became slits of malevolence as she advanced on Tressa. “You little snip! How dare you talk to me like that? Acting so high an’ mighty . . . You won’t be so full of yourself when I tell Aunt Hattie you were here in the house alone with a man!”

“But I told you, we did nothing wrong!”

“So you say. But we know what we saw, right, Sallie? It wouldn’t surprise me if Aunt Hattie sent you packing straightaway!”

Tressa cast a helpless look in Sallie’s direction. “You believe me, don’t you, Sallie? You know Mr. Samms and I weren’t doing anything improper.”

Luella caught Sallie’s arm. “Sallie, you must report what you saw.”

Sallie’s face glowed so red her freckles vanished. “I want to be stayin’ out of this. I’m not one for makin’ trouble.”

Luella huffed, tossing her head. “Well then, I’ll speak to Aunt Hattie alone. I can be very convincing when I want to be. I don’t need Sallie’s help to make her believe that we caught you and Mr. Samms spooning.”

Tressa stomped her foot. “We were not spooning!”

Luella angled her chin high. “Try telling that to Aunt Hattie when I’m done.” She flounced out the back door.

“Sallie.” Tressa rushed forward, wringing her hands. “You must tell Mrs. Wyatt the truth, that Mr. Samms and I were only—”

Sallie backed toward the door. “ ’Tis sorry I am, Tressa, but I can’t be sayin’ what ye want me to. I saw him holdin’ your hand . . . so that’s all I can claim to know.” Fear glittered in her eyes. “I’d like to be helpin’, but I learned long ago gettin’ mixed up in others’ problems is a foolish way to spend my time.” She darted out the door.

Tressa sank down into a chair. Isabella crept from beneath the stove and crawled into Tressa’s lap. Tressa wrapped her arms around the cat, burying her face in the animal’s furry ruff. “Oh, Izzy-B, I only did what Mrs. Wyatt encouraged. I refused to accept their pecking. What will I do if she believes Luella? I have nowhere to go. . . .”

“Git up there, Ed.” Abel gave the reins a stern flick. The big roan obediently pulled the wagon out of Hattie’s lane and onto the road. Abel left the Flying W behind, his heart continuing to pound in confusion.

While kneeling before Miss Tressa, tending to her wound, an odd feeling of kinship had wound its way through his middle. Her complete trust in him, even though his ministrations must have caused her discomfort, gave him an accountability toward her that he couldn’t explain, yet he knew it existed. And to his surprise, he’d found the experience pleasurable.

Then the others had come in, thrown accusations, and Miss Tressa had spouted off with words no common girl would know. She’d sounded like Amanda with her high-class talk, and all the warm feelings of moments before had burst apart as surely as that corn bread had shattered when it hit the floor. He groaned aloud, rotating his head to relieve the tension in his neck. He shouldn’t have let himself get close to that girl. In the future, he’d exercise better judgment.

When he neared his own ranch, he considered pulling in and relieving the wagon of its load of barbed wire. The sooner he and his men set posts and ran wire, the sooner his herd would have a protective barrier. But in the end he decided against it. If it turned out that Gage Hammond was the one sneaking off with his cattle, Brewster would have to put an end to it. And if Brewster ended it, then Abel could return all that barbed wire and get his money back. He turned north on the rutted dirt road on the far side of his ranch and aimed the wagon toward the Double H.

The lane to the Hammonds’ ranch waited ahead. Brewster Hammond had constructed a sign of bent iron shaped into letters that announced the name of the ranch. The sign arched above the lane’s wide opening. Abel glanced at it as his wagon rolled beneath it, and the knotted muscles in his neck cramped again. A man who could afford something like that overhead announcement had no reason to steal cattle from his neighbors. But that didn’t mean his son wouldn’t do it anyway just for fun. Abel’d sure seen the boy pull other stunts nobody else found funny. He wondered why Brewster hadn’t taken a strap to that son of his years ago.

He stopped his wagon at the hitching post that ran the length of the long gingerbread-trimmed porch of the rambling rock house. Even before his feet hit the ground, the front door opened and Brewster stepped out onto the porch. A napkin hung from his open collar, and the man yanked it loose and swiped it across his mouth.

“Abel.” Brewster gave a nod of greeting. “Saw the wagon turn in at the gate. Want to come in an’ have a bite? Got plenty of pan-fried steak and potatoes on the table. Cookie sure knows how to prepare a piece of beef.”

Abel knew of no other rancher besides Brewster Hammond who kept a cook on his payroll. Having skipped breakfast, he found the invitation tempting. But he’d already spent the entire morning away from his ranch—he had no more time to spare.

“Thanks, Brewster, but I better not. I . . .” Suddenly he wasn’t sure how to approach the subject of the missing calves.

Brewster moved to the edge of the porch. He propped his forearm against the nearest turned post, still wadding the napkin in his hand. “What’s on your mind?”

Abel shifted from one foot to the other at the base of the porch stairs and formed his thoughts into a query that wouldn’t be read as an attack. Wouldn’t do him any good to make an enemy out of the most powerful rancher in Ford County. “I wondered . . . your men notice any spare calves show up on your spread?”

Brewster puckered his lips for a moment. “You missin’ some?”

“ ’Fraid so. Four of ’em managed to escape a pen last night.” Although all told he’d lost more than four calves, it seemed best to focus on the most current loss. “They’re just barely weaned, so they might be bawlin’ for their mamas. Make ’em easier to spot, if you’d ask your men to keep an eye out for ’em.”

“I can do that, Abel.” Brewster stepped off the porch, forcing Abel backward a step. He flicked the napkin against his trouser leg. “But you know, with my land all fenced in, it’d be a mite difficult for calves to accidentally wander onto my property. Somebody’d either have to cut my fence to let ’em in or bring ’em through a gate.”

Abel licked his dry lips. “Reckon that’s true . . .”

“You let your other neighbors know about these missin’ calves?”

Although Brewster’s face remained friendly, Abel sensed a shift in his tone. “No, sir.”

“Just me, huh?” The older man rubbed his lips together for a moment, his dark eyes boring into Abel’s. “Four ranches surround yours. Could’ve gone to any of ’em, but you came here first. Must be a reason.” The napkin flicked faster. “Speak plain, boy.”

Abel drew in a breath that expanded his chest and raised his shoulders. He plucked his hat from his head. “Well, to be honest, Brewster, I wondered if Gage might be—”

“Stealin’?” There was no denying the defensive current in Brewster’s voice. “My boy’s got a mischievous streak, I’ll grant you that, but I’ve taught him right from wrong. An’ he’s got no reason to steal, considerin’ his allowance is sufficient to purchase pret’ near everything he wants. Not sure I take kindly to the insinuation.”

“I wasn’t insinuatin’ Gage is a
thief
, Brewster, I was just—”

“I know what you was doin’. Lookin’ for whoever might’ve stole away with your calves. An’ you come here. But you won’t find ’em here, Samms, so you can just take your searchin’ elsewhere.”

Abel should’ve known Brewster would defend Gage. He always had. He scratched his cheek and sighed. “Well, if somethin’ should change, I’d—”

“Tell you what.” Brewster curled his hand over Abel’s shoulder, turning him toward the wagon. “I’ll let my men know some of your calves have turned up missin’ an’ to watch for a Lazy S brand. If those calves’re spotted, we’ll shoo ’em straight back to your land.” He applied gentle pressure, urging Abel to climb into the wagon seat. His focus flicked to the rolls of barbed wire in the bed. “You fixin’ to run some wire, are you?”

Abel nodded.

“Good idea.” He perused the bed’s contents, his lips moving as he silently counted the rolls. “Appears you got plenty . . .” Meeting Abel’s gaze, he said, “I suggest runnin’ four lines per post instead of three. Makes it harder for somebody to cut through, an’ it reduces the possibility of critters creepin’ between the lines.”

“That’s sound advice, Brewster. Thank you.”

Brewster’s expression hardened. “And here’s one more piece of advice: Head on down the road an’ alert your other neighbors about these calves so they can be lookin’, too. I think that’s best.”

Only an idiot would have missed the subtle warning. Abel slid onto the seat and took up the reins. “I’ll do that, Brewster. Thanks for your time.” He smacked the reins onto Ed’s back.

As he rode toward home, he outlined the afternoon’s tasks: Put Vince in sole charge of seeing to the calving; set Ethan and Cole to chopping down saplings that grew along the creek for fence posts; and as for him, he’d nose around the grounds and look for evidence that might help him catch last night’s thief. He figured he also better put some lunch on the table for his men—this was his week to cook.

When he turned in at his gate, he noticed a wagon parked in front of the house. Aunt Hattie’s mare stood within the traces, her head low, apparently dozing. Abel drew his wagon alongside hers, and Ed nosed the visiting mare. She stirred and nickered in reply. Leaving the horses to get acquainted, Abel hopped down and trotted onto the porch.

Wonderful aromas greeted his nose as he stepped into the house. His mouth watering, he hurried directly to the table, where Aunt Hattie had served up steaming bowls of stew to his men. A platter of flaky biscuits sat in the middle of the table. Even while Abel’s stomach turned over in anticipation of the enticing meal, confusion clouded his mind.

“Look here, Abel.” Ethan tipped his chair back on two feet, allowing Aunt Hattie to ladle a hearty portion of stew into his bowl. “Aunt Hattie brung us lunch.” He licked his lips. “Looks mighty good, don’t it?”

Aunt Hattie pointed to the empty chair at the table. “Sit down, Abel, afore this stew gets cold an’ the biscuits dry out. Few things worse’n cold stew an’ dry biscuits.”

Abel moved to his chair on stiff legs and seated himself. She ladled stew into his bowl, the steam rising and filling his nostrils. His belly twisted with desire. “Aunt Hattie, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you bringin’ us lunch, but . . . what’s the occasion?”

She looked at him with one brow arched high. “Well now, Abel, let’s just say I learnt a thing or two durin’ my years o’ marriage to Jed, an’ one o’ the most important is that men can take bad news easier on a full stomach.”