Carolyn Davidson (9 page)

“Does she know you’re married?”

He slapped the reins again, and the team obligingly stepped up their pace. “I told her I’d bought up your mortgage when I wrote to let her know where we were. I expect she knows we got married.”

Johanna faced forward, folding her hands, rubbing her fingers together with a slow movement inside her woolen mittens. “I don’t think you told her, did you?”

His scowl was threatening. “I wrote before we made up our minds. Right after we got here.”

“When you took over the mortgage, we were already committed to it, Tate.”

“Well, I told her I was going to pay off your debt and you were going to mind the boys and we’d share the farm. She should have known from that that we were gonna get married.”

Gruff
and
belligerent
were the only two words Johanna could think of to describe his attitude. Though she supposed she could add
embarrassed
to the list.

“Well, shoot! She thought it was a stupid idea, lookin’ for a woman to watch the boys, when she’d been handy for so long. How was I supposed to tell her I didn’t want to stay in Fall River, what with all the bad memories there? I’d have ended up scourin’ the bushes for a mother for my boys and having all the eligible women in the county thrown at my head. I wanted to do it my own way.

“But most of all, I wanted to get a fresh start” His expression was dark, but the blustering attitude had disappeared, leaving only a man seeking approval.

“Do you think I was too old to be starting over, Johanna?
That’s what Bessie said when I left. She told me I was being childish, running away from the facts.”

“I don’t think we’re ever too old to make a new beginning, Tate. I’ve made a couple of them myself.” Her fingers untangled slowly as she turned once more to face him. One hand lifted to present itself to him, palm upward, as if she were seeking his goodwill.

Without hesitation, he grasped it, lowering it to rest against the hard muscles of his thigh, his own covering it, easing her fingers to curl within his palm. “You can read the letter if you want to, Jo.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need to. You’ve told me what it says.” She drew in a breath of the cold air, noted the few snowflakes that swirled beneath the feet of the team and looked skyward. “We’re in for a little snow, aren’t we? Do you think it will amount to anything?”

“Just like that, Johanna?”

She regarded him steadily. “Just like that, Tate. Only make sure you send her my regards when you answer the letter. Tell her that you and your wife send their sincere sympathy in the loss of her husband.”

His mouth twisted in a reluctant grin, and his hand squeezed hers. “I’ll do that. I’ll do that very thing.”

Tuesday-morning breakfast was usually a time of doldrums after the excitement of Sunday and Monday, with their trips to town. But today was different. This morning she’d had no sense of foot-dragging reluctance to rise and make breakfast.

This morning, she planned to set about choosing from the new catalog, and the choices offered therein were beyond her wildest expectations.

“Do you know I’ve never had a Sears and Roebuck catalog before, Tate?”

“They’ve been sending them to just about every farmhouse
in the country, Jo. I’d think you’d have been ordering from one all along.”

She shook her head. “My pa wasn’t one for buying things we didn’t need. He said there was no sense in buying just to be buying.”

Tate’s brow rose quizzically. “He sure had you on a tight string, didn’t he?”

“I guess.” She rose from her seat at the kitchen table. “Are you ready for more coffee?”

“I’m about empty,” he said, pushing his cup closer to the edge of the table.

“There’s something in the catalog I want to show you, Tate,” Johanna said, pouring his cup full.

“Were you waitin’ to get me softened up first, Mrs. Montgomery? First pancakes with maple syrup, then a second cup of coffee, and now that I’m full and reasonably content, you’ll slap me with buying you a- Doggone it, woman, give me back my coffee!” He’d leaned back in his chair to begin the teasing diatribe, then sat bolt upright as she snatched the cup of hot coffee from before him.

Rosy cheeks gave Johanna a strangely youthful look this morning, he decided, his grin in full view. There was no way around it. The woman had bloomed during the past months. The somber female he’d married had, right before his very eyes, become a shiny-eyed girl.

That he was responsible for the metamorphosis, that his teasing, tender attention had brought about the transformation was a fact he was willing to admit only to himself. That he’d thoroughly enjoyed the task of bringing a bloom to her cheeks and a smile to her lips was a bonus he was more than pleased to delight in.

His bride had almost reached the place toward which he’d been subtly steering her for over two months.

His bedroom. But probably not for a while yet, he admitted to himself. Hell, she hadn’t even gotten past the door, except for changing his sheets once a week. And then,
he’d be willing to bet, she only scooted in and snatched up the wrinkled specimens to exchange them for the clean ones in her arms and was back out the door, lickety-split. Probably closed her eyes while she was in there—as much as she could, anyway, and still do what she’d come for.

Johanna. He sighed, watching as she brought the new catalog to the table. Prickly and stubborn, she was far from the woman he’d married in Ohio over ten years ago. Back when he thought he knew what he wanted in a wife.
Thought.
That was the definitive word. Now he knew.

“I thought it would be a good idea to send for this,” she told him, pointing to a hand-drawn picture of the latest in wringers. A Seroco ball bearing wringer, with tub clamp. For only two dollars and twenty-four cents. The picture was detailed, showing a hand-cranked pair of rollers between which a woman could insert wet clothing and, by dint of turning a handle, squeeze the excess water into a tub below.

“Makes sense to me,” he said readily.

She glanced at him quickly. “You don’t mind spending the money? I mean, it’s not a necessity or anything. My hands are strong, and I’ve never had any problem wringing out things up to now. I just thought…”

“Johanna. I said it makes sense.” As if that were the last word to be said on the subject, he slapped the book. “There’s no point in you working any harder than you have to. Matter of fact, why don’t you get a washing machine?”

His eyes searched the page as he muttered beneath his breath. “If you need something for the house, all you have to do is say so.” His finger stabbed the middle of the next page. “Now look, here’s a Fulton #1, there’s an Acme combination, and they have a Sears model. Pick out one of them and put in the order. Whatever you need, we’ll get. If I can buy two horses, you can certainly have a washing machine, and a wringer to go with it.”

“My pa always—”

His big hand moved quickly, covering her mouth. “I’m
not your pa. I’ve come to believe that he and I wouldn’t have gotten along well. If you want a wringer or a washer, or both, we’ll order them for you. It’s as simple as that.”

Her lips moved against the rough, callused palm. “Thank you.” Above the edge of his hand, her eyes were darkened, blue pools of confusion.

“Do that again.” His voice was scratchy, raw and harsh, and her eyes widened at the sound.

“Do what?” she asked, her mouth tingling from the brushing of her lips against his hard flesh.

“That. Kissing my hand when you talk.”

She blinked at him. “I wasn’t. I mean, I didn’t mean to be kissing…” She drew back and eyed him warily. “Are you teasing me, Tate?”

He shook his head. “You gave me goose bumps, Johanna. Haven’t had those in years. Except for the night I saw your pretty ankles for the first time.”

“You saw my—When did you see my ankles?” In an automatic gesture, her gaze flew to the hem of her skirt.

“When you climbed the stairs to go to bed.” His grin came into being, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he leaned back in his chair, aware of her giveaway glance. “Sometimes, when you pull your skirt up a bit, I’ve gotten a pretty good glimpse of your calf where it rounds out and—”

“Stop that right now! What a way to talk!” She grabbed the catalog with both hands and with a quick movement, brought it down smartly on the top of his head.

“Ow! Dang it, woman, you just raised a lump on my skull!” His protest was issued amid a burst of laughter, which only served to aggravate her more.

“You just
thought
you were getting apple dumplings for dinner, Mr. Montgomery. I don’t believe I’m going to have time to make them after all!” Flouncing around the table, she stowed the catalog beneath the kitchen cupboard and returned to the table.

Struggling to hide his laughter, he coughed, almost choking in the effort. “Aw, Jo. You don’t want to be nasty about this, do you? Think about Timmy and Pete. They heard you promise the dumplings before they went out to feed the chickens. Would you break your promise to a child?” Backing to the door, he snatched his hat from the hook, plopping it atop his head before he reached for his coat from beneath it.

Her hands full of plates and silverware, Johanna peered up at him. “Sometime I’ll really let you have it, Tate Montgomery. Not just a little bash in the head with a book. One of these days…”

His fingers halted in their task of buttoning his coat, and he froze in place. “I’m waiting for that day to come, honey. One of these days, you’ll trust me enough to let loose and give me what I want. And we both know what I’m talking about, don’t we?”

The color drained from her face as she heard his words, his meaning unmistakable. “We made a bargain, Tate. If you can’t hold to your word for longer than two months, you’re not the man I thought you were.”

He nodded. “I’ll hold to my word, Jo. I’ve never gone back on a deal yet.” He turned to the door. “Make out the order, and we’ll mail it in town this morning. Anything else you want, add it on to the list. If we’re payin’ shipping charges, might as well make it worthwhile.”

“I
thought all the steers were gone. Mr. Cooney said he’d rounded up all of them in September.” Johanna stood just inside the barn, a frown wrinkling her brow as she watched Tate pitch hay from the loft for the horses.

“Watch out, Jo,” he called to her, dropping the pitchfork to the floor below, his aim sending the implement flat against the pile he’d accumulated in the middle of the aisle. He followed it down, his feet hitting every other rung on the ladder as he came. Swinging to face her, he slid his gaze idly over her closely wrapped form and smiled, his unspoken approval warming her from within.

“It’s a good thing I scoured around back there in the woods,” he told her. “Mr. Cooney was either in a hurry, or he didn’t go far enough. I’ve found another fifteen head, and a couple of cows and calves with them.”

Johanna’s brow furrowed. “What will you do with them? It’s almost Christmas, Tate. Isn’t it too late to ship them off?” she asked, wrapping her arms around her waist, hugging the warmth of her coat against her dress.

Tate watched her, intrigued by the strength of this woman he’d married. She’d struggled single-handedly to run this place, and almost worn herself into the ground doing it. Even now, with a man at hand to tend to things,
she willingly shared the worries and problems accompanying the job. His eyes settled on her troubled expression, and for a moment he was struck by the urge to smooth away the worry lines. She deserved more than life had dealt her in the past.

“Tate?” Impatience laced the single word. “Can we still sell them off, or do we need to wait till the spring?”

“I can’t leave them in the swamp, Jo. They need to put on some weight or they won’t bring much at all.” For a moment he watched her, saw the frown draw down her brows as she fretted.

“Don’t worry, Johanna,” he told her, knowing even as he spoke the words that they were futile. “I’ll take care of it. I’m more concerned with those cows and calves out there. I’ll need to bring them up to the near pasture, once I get the steers settled. I don’t like the idea of those young ones being so far from the barn when bad weather comes. And I need to do something about a couple of them, anyway. One of them is a heifer, but the other two…Well, they missed out on…They should have been…”

“I understand,” Johanna put in hastily. “Mr. Cooney always helped my father with that job.” And she’d always stayed far aloof from the proceedings, unaware of what was transpiring, unwilling to learn the secrets of that annual event, when the young bulls became steers by virtue of a nasty-looking instrument.

“I may have to call him in to give me a hand.” Carrying the hay-laden pitchfork, Tate stepped to the nearest stall. From within, one of the new mares nickered, welcoming him.

“How are they settling in?” Johanna asked, walking behind him as he gathered up hay.

“They’re doing all right. I think the chestnut is about ready for the stallion. He thinks so, too,” he said, his mouth twisting into a wry grin. “He’s been rousting around out there all day, blowin’ and snortin’ to beat the band.”

“What about the bay?” Johanna had overcome her reticence about discussing the business of breeding with her father, but with Tate the subject presented a batch of problems. This breeding right up close to the house made her most uncomfortable. Cows tended to the matter themselves, it seemed. The bull had managed to take care of things without anyone’s help, somewhere out in the far pasture. No one ever knew for sure which cows would drop a calf come spring, but you could pretty well count on the good old reliables to come up with a swollen belly every year.

“I bred the bay yesterday,” Tate said, studiously avoiding her gaze. “I wasn’t sure how much you wanted to know about it, Johanna. She took him pretty well. It should be a good breeding.”

She turned away, looking out the barn door. “Will you be taking the stallion back when you’ve finished with him?”

“Yeah, I made arrangements for his new owner to meet me at the livery stable next week, Monday.”

“Will you need help? I can drive the team to town, if you want to ride the stallion.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “Might be a good idea. I’d thought to tie him to the back of the surrey. But I think riding him will be better.”

She nodded, anxious to see an end to the stallion’s stay. There was about him a danger, a risk, she felt vulnerable to, and having him gone would not make her the least bit unhappy.

Suddenly, across the yard, she caught sight of Timmy approaching, carrying two kittens in his arms. “He’s chosen those two to keep,” she said quietly, relieved to change the subject. “You don’t mind, do you, Tate?”

His long arm draped across her shoulder as he moved to her side. “Not as long as he keeps them outdoors. He’s hoping you’ll let them in the house, you know.”

Johanna’s heart beat a little faster as she accepted his
nonchalant gesture. The warmth of that arm, the pressure of his fingers through the shoulder of her coat and the outdoor scent of his clothing all nudged her into an awareness of the pleasure of his presence beside her. She bit at her lower lip and lowered her head, looking from his scuffed barn boots to her own old black shoes. Like dusty companions, they stood side by side. Her mouth twisted at the absurdity of that thought.

“We make a good pair, Jo,” he said, jarring her with his words. It was as if he’d caught hold of her meanderings and voiced them aloud. He tugged her against his side. “You’re a good wife. You’ve been good to the boys.”

“Pete…” She inhaled deeply, and his fingers tightened, sliding down to clasp her arm.

“He’ll be all right. He’s just feeling his way right now, testing you. I think he’s coming along, though.”

“Keep him away from here, will you, Tate? When you breed the mare, I mean.”

His laugh was a rumble in his chest. “I’ll have a long talk with him on my hands if he shows up. ’Course, maybe it’s time. He’s heading for eight, and farm boys grow up early.”

“So do farm girls,” she snapped. “But some things they’re better off not knowin’ right off the bat.”

She’d gone rigid in his grasp, and he tugged at her, rocking her off balance. “Come on, Jo. I was just raggin’ at you. I’ll keep him busy somewhere else.” He looked down at her, his eyes twinkling. “You wouldn’t want to give me a hand with the job, would you?”

“Tate!” Properly scandalized by his proposal, she broke from his grip, stalking toward the house as his laughter rang out. And from deep within, her curiosity raged into being, consuming her with its tentacles of need as she considered the idea of standing by as the two magnificent animals mated. Her mind’s eye caught a glimpse of the tall, muscular
stallion, rearing, mane tossing, hooves cutting the air as the mare waited his attentions.

She stepped up her pace, her stride lengthening as she neared the house. Flushed and breathing harder than the slight exertion warranted, she reached the back porch. Without a backward glance, she went in, hitching her shoes off in the washroom. And then peeked from the edge of the door frame to catch a last glimpse of the tall figure watching from the barn door.

“Pa went out to check on the cattle he brought in from the far pasture,” Pete said darkly. “He said to tell you he wouldn’t be too far away when supper’s ready.” The boy’s lip was pooched forward as he spoke, and his toe was rubbing hard at a hole he’d managed to make in the dirt. “He rode one of his old mares, but he wouldn’t let me go along.”

Johanna resisted the urge to reach for the dark, silky locks covering the boy’s head. So badly she wanted to run her fingers through his hair, caress him with a mother’s touch, that the impulse was almost overwhelming at times. Only the knowledge that he would not welcome it kept her from the deed.

“I’m sure your father had his reasons,” she said quietly, thinking of how Tate looked astride one of his mares. He rode the docile animals he’d brought from Ohio bareback, like a plowboy. Her father had had a small horse he used for running down the loose cattle, usually calling in a couple of neighbors to give him a hand rounding them up.

“Maybe next time your pa will take you along, Pete. I think he’s only going to be gone a short while today.”

“I’m gonna be able to ride pretty soon,” the boy said confidently. “I just need a little practice.”

Johanna eyed him from where she stood, wrist-deep in bread dough. Her hands turned the mass in a practiced movement, pummeled it into shape and turned it again.
“He’ll see to it you get on a horse before long,” she told him. “Your pa keeps his word.”

The small shoulders slumped. “Not till spring, he won’t.”

“Don’t you have chores to do this afternoon, Pete? Where’s Timmy? I thought your pa said to shuck some corn for the pigs today.”

The glare he turned in her direction was dark, but his shoulders straightened as he recognized the authority in her quiet voice. “Timmy’s out in the loft, watchin’ those dumb cats.”

“Well, go find him and do what your pa said. It’s warm by the side of the corncrib, out of the wind.”

The pile of corn was slowly being depleted, as Tate, Johanna and the boys took their turns at shucking the ears from the dry stalks. It was a tiresome task, done at odd moments, but necessary before the snow came to cover the last of the stalks, which made the job even worse.

Johanna relented, swayed by the stubborn tilt of Pete’s dark head, the pouting movement of his mouth. “I’ll come give you a hand, once I’ve got this bread set to rise again. I’ll just get supper started first.”

His shrug was no-answer at all, she decided, watching him do up the buttons on his coat as he started across the yard. And then she set to work on the dough, dividing it into loaves and placing them in the greased tins. They fit neatly above the stove, and she gave them one last approving glance before covering them with a clean dish towel.

The meat was nicely browned within minutes, and she sliced an onion over it and added bay leaves before covering it with water and putting on the lid to simmer.

The sight of Pete’s unhappiness had nudged her into offering her help. Almost ruing the gesture, she slid into her coat and wound a warm scarf over her head. She donned her gloves then, knowing the damage cornstalks could do to her hands.

From the back porch, she scanned the yard. Not a sign of the boys, but then all week Timmy had been spending his afternoons kitten-watching. Pete would have a hard time interesting him in chores. Even more reason for her to give him a hand. She set off for the far side of the corncrib, where the afternoon sun had long since melted the scant covering of snow that had fallen last night.

The cornstalks waited patiently, the sun shone brilliantly, but Pete was nowhere to be seen. “Pete? Where are you?” Lifting her hand to shade her eyes, she scanned the barn and beyond. There seemed to be no sign of life in that direction. Perhaps he’d gone around back.

The stallion. Her heart quickened as she thought of the beautiful chestnut stud occupying the corral, considered the temptation the animal offered to a young boy. Surely he wouldn’t risk his father’s displeasure.

But he had. As she rounded the corner of the barn, the small figure came into view, and Johanna caught her breath. Pete was high on the corral fence, straddling the topmost rail, leaning toward the huge stallion with one hand full of hay, tempting the animal closer.

The horse was prancing, showing off for his audience, his ears forward, his nostrils flaring. With a nipping gesture, he reached for the hay Pete offered, and the boy jerked back in surprise as the velvet muzzle touched his hand. He caught his balance quickly and dropped the hay, watching as the big horse bent his head to snatch up the scant handful.

“Here, boy.” It was a tremulous command, Pete reaching into his pocket as he held fast with the other hand to the rail. From the depths of his coat pocket, he drew forth an apple, leaning again toward the stud to offer it on the palm of his hand. “Looky what I got for you,” he coaxed, his knees tightening visibly as he stretched forth his arm toward the animal.

“I think you need to get down, Pete.” Johanna’s words
were quiet, and she watched, poised to move, only too aware of the danger the boy was in. The horse might very well take the treat with a gentle touch. Or those big teeth could just as easily nip at the small hand, drawing blood, frightening the child into falling. And it was common knowledge that a stallion could be mean, especially when he was riled up from having a mare just the other side of a barn wall.

“Pa won’t care if I feed the horse an apple,” Pete said stubbornly, maintaining his hold on the fruit. “I’m not gonna try to ride him or anything.”

A vision of the boy leaping onto the back of the tall horse assailed Johanna’s mind, and she closed her eyes, blinking it into oblivion.

It had been in his mind. As surely as she was alive and breathing, Pete had been considering the thought of riding the stallion in the corral.

Her voice strengthened by her concern for his well-being, she barked out an order. “You get down right this minute, Pete Montgomery. I don’t want to hear another word, do you hear me?”

To the child’s credit, he knew when he’d been outmaneuvered. Dropping the apple to the ground, he slid from the corral fence, his face a thundercloud of anger. He watched sullenly as the stallion snatched up the apple, chewing it between his strong teeth. A thread of juice hung in a glittering string from his muzzle as the big animal watched his audience. Then, with a snorting whinny, he tossed his head and galloped around the enclosure, tail high, hooves beating a quick cadence against the hard ground.

“Corn, Pete. Come on, I’ll give you a hand.”

“I don’t need any help. I’ll do it myself.” He stalked away.

There was no need to further irritate the child, Johanna knew. That she’d halted his shenanigans with the stud was
bad enough. She wouldn’t make him spend the afternoon with her.

When she was back inside, the house held little charm, once she’d put the bread in the oven. The pot roast was simmering nicely, the kitchen redolent with its scent of onion and bay leaf. The sun pouring through the window was a temptation, and Johanna gave in to its beckoning.