High Desert Haven (The Shepherd's Heart) (11 page)

“Of course.” Jason scuffed an arc in the snow with the toe of his boot.

“Well, I’ve blundered into this rather badly, haven’t I?” He raised his eyes to hers.

Nicki smiled.

“Is the job taken?”

She shook her head. Then, folding her hands in the awkward silence that followed, she said, “Why don’t we go inside out of the cold so I can ask you a few questions?”

Jason stepped back. “That would be fine. Is there someplace I can put my horse?” He glanced at the barn as though hoping she would not ask him to put the poor animal anywhere near such a death trap.

Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “The barn roof collapsed earlier this year under the weight of the snow. My husband didn’t get around to fixing it before...”

“I understand, ma’am. If you give me a couple of minutes, I’ll rig something up.” He glanced at the sky. “It looks like there might be a snowstorm blowing in, and I would hate to leave him out in it.”

“That would be fine. I’ll be in the soddy over there. Have you had lunch?”

“No, ma’am, not yet.”

“I’ll have some waiting then. Come on over when you are done.”

“Thanks.”

Whap!
A bullet struck the side of the bunkhouse not a yard from Nicki’s head as she took a step toward the house. The report of the rifle came only after she heard the distinct sound of the bullet shattering wood. Another shot quickly followed.

Jason squelched the curse that leapt to his lips as he dove for cover behind the slot-sided bunkhouse. He hoped a bullet didn’t happen to hit one of the large gaps and make its way clean to the other side.

The woman had only been a couple of steps away from him, and he turned toward her. “Any idea who would be shoot—what!” This time an oath did slip out before he could stop it.

She still stood brazenly in the yard. Hands on her hips, she glared passionately at the hill from which the hail of bullets emanated.

Lord, forgive me. And please protect her! What should I do?
Fear for her life made his mouth dry as a desert stone. For one frozen second, his alarm paralyzed him.

His only chance was to dive on her and tackle her down behind the partially frozen water trough.

As he lunged out from the relative safety of the bunkhouse, a verse from the ninety-first psalm washed over him.
“You shall not be afraid of the terror by night, nor of the arrow that flies by day, nor of the pestilence that walks in darkness, nor of the destruction that lays waste at noonday.”
Still, he couldn't help but voice a question toward the sky. “Lord, You brought me across the state to work for a crazy woman?”

He hit her torso with a long clean dive, and they landed with a thud on the snow-covered ground behind the trough.

“Are you crazy?” he yelled at her.

She opened her mouth to reply, but his tackle had apparently knocked the wind out of her, and she could only gulp for air.

“Here.” He turned her on her side, placing his body on the outside, but scooting as close to her as he could so he couldn’t be seen over the top of the trough. For all her seeming bravery, he could feel her body trembling. The bullets stopped a moment later, and thick, ringing silence descended.

His heart rate beginning to return to a more normal pace, a low chuckle escaped his chest. “Last I was told, it’s probably best to duck for cover when someone opens fire on you. But then maybe no one ever told you that?”

She tried to laugh with him, but it came out more like a whimper.

He remained silent for a time, allowing her to gather her composure. Then he asked, “Any idea who might be shooting at us?”

“They are trying to frighten me off this land.” She told him about the morning’s incident with the burlap, child-sized dummy.

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“I don’t know. My neighbor warned me that, since my husband’s death two weeks ago, he’s heard some talk of men who would like my land.”

“And you were standing out there staring them down because...?”

“I will not let them frighten me,
Señor
.”

He laid a hand on her still-trembling arm. “But you are frightened.”

She sat up quickly before he could stop her, her head and shoulders clearly visible above the rim of the trough. He reached quickly to pull her back down but stopped when there was no shot.

“They do not need to know that,
Señor
.” She stood, brushing snow off her clothes. “I will go see about lunch now.”

As Nicki made her way toward the house she rubbed her upper arms and stared up at the hill. Who would be shooting at her? Why not just approach her and offer to buy her out? Her thoughts turned to Sawyer, and she shivered with the knowledge of what her pride could have cost him.
Thank You, Lord, for watching over me
.

Opening the door to the soddy, she slipped inside and wrapped her hands around the warmth of the coffee cup that a shaking Tilly passed her. “I was so worried. What was that all about?”

“Someone wants to scare me off this land.”

“God have mercy!”

“I think maybe He already has.” Nicki cocked an eyebrow at her over the rim of the cup and tipped her head in the direction of the man outside.

“Are you talking about that man who dove on you?”

Nicki nodded.

“What were you doing anyway, Nicki Trent? I’ll shoot you myself if you ever do something like that again! You had me scared witless! If that man hadn’t tackled you down, you would have—you could have—Oh! Are you crazy?”

Nicki sipped the dark brew, meeting Tilly’s furious gaze with what she hoped was calm assurance.

Tilly sank into a chair, clasping quaking hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell at you like that. Just don’t do that again, okay?”

Nicki remained silent, intently studying the ebony liquid in her cup.

Stooping, Tilly rubbed a fresh circle on the frosted window, and asked, “Who is he?”

Nicki was unsure how to respond, so held her silence.

“He’s awfully good looking!” The gleam in Tilly's eyes indicated she was attempting to lighten the mood.

Nicki smirked and sipped from her cup, following suit. “Not quite as good looking as Conner, though?”

Tilly waved a hand. “Well, that goes without saying.” She grinned.

Nicki smiled at her fondly, knowing that her young baby-sitter had developed a crush on her handsome cowhand since he’d been picking her up in the mornings and driving her home at night. And having seen the way Conner stole looks at Tilly when he thought no one was looking, the feeling was certainly mutual.

“So? Who is he?” Tilly got back to the subject at hand, gesturing out the window.

“He has come to apply for the foreman job.”

Tilly peered out the little circle again. “Wait until I tell Janice. He’s just her type. She always goes for those blond-haired, blue-eyed men.” She spoke of her best friend, the daughter of Ryan and Peggy Sanders, owners of Farewell Bend’s mercantile. Then Tilly giggled. “If he stopped in town, I bet she talked him into a corner. She always talks too much when she gets nervous.” She glanced at the man out the window one more time. “He does have blue eyes, doesn’t he?” Tilly’s nervousness over the gunfire was making her own tongue run from the middle.

“Sí.”
Nicki took another sip of coffee, trying to push the thought of those alluring blue eyes from her mind.
“Pero, no es oro todo lo que reluce.”

Tilly turned toward her with a puckered brow. “What?”

“All is not gold that glitters. You don’t have any idea what he is like. Just because he is fine-looking doesn’t mean that he is kind and loving. Nor that he loves our Savior, no?” Nicki spoke the words to Tilly but inwardly realized she was preaching herself a sermon.

Tilly wrinkled her nose. “I suppose you’re right.” But she quickly returned to high spirits. Her face brightened and she said animatedly, “It will give Janice and me something to talk about, though. It’s not often that strangers come through town, much less ones as good-looking as him. And the very day he arrives, you are shot at and he saves you!”

Nicki smirked at Tilly’s adolescent romanticism. “Better than me being shot at and him not saving me, yes?”

Tilly chuckled.

Stepping over to the rag rug where Sawyer played with his pile of blocks, Nicki squatted down, ruffling his hair. For a time she closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his little head beneath her hand, thanking God she was still here to enjoy it. When she opened her eyes he was staring up at her. “How is Mama’s big boy this morning?”

The eighteen-month-old grinned at her, banging two blocks together.“Mama! Watch dis.” He stacked the two blocks on top of each other, adding a third, his tongue held between his teeth in concentration, then joyfully knocked over the tower.

“Wow!” Nicki said enthusiastically. “Can you do it again?”

“No.”

Nicki shook her head at his independent spirit. If she hadn’t asked for a repeat performance, he probably would have contented himself with doing the same thing over and over all morning. But since it had been her suggestion to do it again, it no longer seemed like fun.

A knock sounded on the door.

Tilly moved to open it as Nicki seated herself at the table, trying to compose her thoughts.
What questions do I need to ask? I don’t know the first thing about running a ranch, so how do I know what to ask him? He might not even want the job after what he’s seen
.

Jason was taller than John had been. For where there had been plenty of room for John’s head, even in this low-ceilinged building, Jason’s hair almost touched. He curled the brim of his hat into one hand, tapping it against his leg. Tilly traded him the hat for a cup of coffee, and he thanked her warmly. A blush skittered across her cheeks, but he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was fixed on the little boy playing on the braided rug, a sudden tenderness in his eyes.

Nicki watched as his sorrow-filled glance flickered from Sawyer, to the floor, into his coffee, and then back to the baby, finally settling on her face. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Trent.”

Nicki could barely speak around the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. “Thank you.”

Jason looked back to Sawyer. “I lost my father when I was just a little older than he is, my mother a few years later.”

“I’m sorry.”

A sad light was still in his eyes as he pulled out a chair and seated himself. “It worked out. I don’t know if I would ever have come to serve the Lord if I hadn’t been raised by my grandmother.”

Nicki heard Tilly give a little gasp from where she stood by the stove.
So the glitter might have a little gold in it
. “Well, I’ll be the first to admit that it eases my mind knowing you are a fellow Christian, but tell me what you know about ranching,
Señor
.” She hurried on. “That is, if you are still interested in this job?”

“I’m still interested if you’ll have me, ma’am.”

She nodded. “Fine. Why don’t you tell me what qualifies you,
Señor
?”

“First, ma’am, please just call me Jason. You’re making me feel old calling me
‘Señor’
all the time.” His eyes twinkled.

Nicki sipped her coffee as Tilly placed thick sandwiches before them and carried a little plate to Sawyer. They said grace, and then Nicki responded to his comment. “That’s fine, Jason.” She almost added that he could call her Nicki, but she needed to keep an element of formality in their relationship if the attraction she felt for him was anything near mutual.

Taking a bite of her sandwich, Nicki tried to quash the guilt she felt at being attracted to this man so soon after the death of her husband. True, she had not loved John, but she missed him now that he was gone, and it felt disloyal to be having these unfamiliar feelings.

Her next question came out more caustically than she intended. “So, do you have any experience in ranching, Jason?”

He swallowed his bite of bread and steak and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve just come home from bossing a herd from down near Salem, Oregon, to Dodge City. I’d only been home for a couple of days when I saw the ad for this job.”

Nicki softened her tone. “Where is home?”

“Shilo, Oregon. Over in the Willamette Valley. Are you originally from around here?”

“No. I was born and raised in California.”

“How did you come to be living here, Mrs. Trent?”

Nicki debated between telling him to mind his own business and wondering how much of the truth she should tell him. She settled on, “My husband bought this place after we were married.”

“Well, from what I saw of the place, it could be a fine spread. It just needs a little work is all. There is plenty of water and good access to it so the cattle should do well in the spring and summer. I can see why someone would want the place. How many cattle do you run?”

Nicki was chagrined. “I don’t know, Señ—” She caught herself. “Jason.”

“That’s all right.” He waved a hand. “There will be plenty of time for counting in the spring. How many acres do you own?”

“Five thousand.”

“How many hands work here?”

“Two.”

He blinked. His sandwich halted halfway to his mouth. Setting it back down on his plate, he wiped his mouth with his fingers and asked, “Two?”

She nodded. “A neighbor, one of my husband’s good friends, has lent me a couple of men to help us make it through the winter, but I only have two hands of my own.”

“Has the ranch always run on only two hands?”

“No. In the summer months we usually have up to fifteen, but it gets cold during the winters here and none of the others were willing to—” She felt the blush of regret on her cheeks. Then she threw back her shoulders and raised her chin, meeting his steady gaze. After all, it was not her fault John had let this ranch run into the ground. “None of the others were willing to live in the bunkhouse through the winter.”

Jason took up his coffee and sat back. Crossing the ankle of one leg over the knee of the other, he sipped the hot liquid glancing into its depths for a moment before he said, “Well, if you give me the job, I will want to make some specific changes, especially to these central buildings. The workings of a ranch run from the main buildings outward, and if you don’t have a functioning barn, corral, or bunkhouse, you don’t have a ranch.”