Joe's Wife (8 page)

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

"Everything's good. Don't know when I've eaten so well."

"Well, don't stop."

He picked up his fork and endured her watching him finish the meal. "Coffee?"

He nodded, and she brought the pot from the stove and filled the delicate china cup. Tye's finger didn't fit in the handle, so he picked it up by holding the brim between his thumb and forefinger and drank the delicious black brew. "Thank you."

He studied her as she sipped her coffee, her small fingers holding the handle just so. Her warm tawny coloring reminded him of nature, of a beautiful mountain lion or an autumn hillside streaked with ore. Her eyes were bright and gemlike, lit from within like a smoldering fire.

He thought of how he'd lowered her from the wagon twice that day, and how his hands had spanned her tiny waist. That harmless touch had been enough to inspire his lusty nature into more dishonorable thoughts. His fingers had recognized the bone shelf, and he wondered how she tied that corset herself, and if she wore it only beneath her Sunday clothing and had cast if off for the day dress she wore now.

What else did she wear beneath those modest dresses? Her skirts didn't rustle like she wore stiff crinoline, but they were full and swayed as she walked, so layers of petticoats were evident. Were they dyed? Red or black? He'd glimpsed a white one that day at the boardinghouse. White seemed to suit Meg.

Those thoughts reminded him she was Joe's wife. Joe Telford had married her, had known what sort of underclothing she preferred, and had initiated her to a man's touch. Those images disturbed him, so he blocked them from his mind.

She turned those wide, tawny eyes on him now. "Tye?"

She was the only person besides his mother and one or two schoolmasters who'd ever called him Tye. It made him sit up a little straighter and cast the errant thoughts aside. "Ma'am?"

"Last year the Eaton boys and I cut two hay fields, but it got wet and rotted before we could get it into the barns. We spent this spring raking it so the new would grow. I had to buy feed over the winter, and it's gone now."

"The fields look good," he said. "We should get two or three cuttings this summer."

"I just want you to know where things stand. I told you right off I couldn't keep going alone. I need your help in figuring out what to do."

"It'll probably be a spell before the first cut," he said. "But we really only need to feed the teams. The cattle are on their own until roundup, anyway. And we can move the rest of the horses from this pasture to another farther south as soon as I can get a new fence up. There's plenty of land here, plenty of grass and water. You got them through the winter, and they'll make it now."

"We need seed for the garden, and the banknote comes due every three months. That's just a few weeks away."

He considered her words and the pending situation. "Do you have any horses you can sell?"

"We could sell one of Joe's horses, maybe one of the Welsh. He was going to breed them. That would be the last resort, though. I'd rather sell the furniture first."

"Maybe we can make some money studding them," he suggested. He wouldn't allow her to sell her furniture.

"Maybe," she replied. "If we found someone interested."

"Let me take care of that," he said.

Meg nodded her agreement and let her glance fall across his hair and face, grateful for someone to share the burden at last, someone who wanted to keep the ranch as badly as she did. Someone who wasn't trying to get her to sell the place off and move to the city.

He was an anomaly, this blue-eyed man with the intent expressions. He was all bottled up and inside himself, and her only glimpses of his feelings were in the shadowy nuances of his expressive eyes when his barriers were down.

Everything he did, he did purposefully and with calm control: eating, walking, speaking.

Meg refilled his coffee cup and the unfamiliar scent of tobacco flitted against her nostrils as she leaned over him. She glanced down at the spare planes of his tanned face. "Do you like dried-apple pie?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I'll make one for tonight."

His expression didn't reveal pleasure in her offer, but rather an almost pained look of resignation.

Behind her, Gus clanged a skillet on top of the hot stove to dry.

"I can't drink any more coffee," Tye said. "Thank you for the meal."

He stood, catching his balance on the leg he didn't favor, and grabbed his hat from a peg. Major stood outside the door and sniffed at Tye's pant legs as he exited.

A strange man, to be sure. A very strange man. But a man she trusted to help her.

A few days later, Meg hung the laundry Gus had helped her wring. The clank of hammer against iron echoed across the space between the house and the barn, a few choice words following a prolonged silence. She didn't like swearing, and the men never did it in her presence, but often the wind carried the colorful phrases to her from the corral.

Meg was grateful for Gus's help with kitchen and household chores, for she found them tedious, and once she worked her way through them, she preferred outdoor tasks.

The hammering sound came again, and she followed it to where Tye had a mare tied to a post, her hoof bracketed between his knees. He bent over the task of pounding a shoe into place.

He clipped the nails and filed them as methodically and with as much concentration as he did everything, not noticing her presence even after he'd clipped the last nail, filed it smooth and straightened, catching his balance. He loosed the mare and swatted her rump to watch her gallop sure-footedly across the enclosure. Apparently satisfied with his job, he went after the horse, his limp more pronounced than Meg had ever seen it.

He spotted her then but looked away quickly and opened the far gate to release the mare into the pasture.

"The Eaton boys haven't been in since day before yesterday," Meg said when he neared. "They usually at least come at
noon
. I thought I'd better ride out and check on the herds, take the boys a sandwich. They probably just went home for dinner, but I'd like the ride."

"I'll ride with you," he said.

"I'll change." She hurried toward the house.

She removed her petticoats and pulled a pair of Joe's knickerbockers on beneath her skirt. Returning to the corral, she found two horses saddled.

The red dun bearing her saddle didn't shy as she approached. He accepted her weight and stood placidly.

"You took the buck out of him," she said to Tye, who led a sturdy gray mare with his saddle.

"Yes, ma'am." He raised his good left leg to the stirrup and swung the other up over the back of the horse with a grimace.

Neither Gus nor Purdy was up to gentling the horses for her, and she was unaccustomed to the courtesy. Since there were no gentle horses left—she'd sold the tamest ones for profit—she'd had to handle them on her own each time she wanted to ride. Sometimes she feared she'd knock a hole in her chest with her chin before they settled down enough to command.

Tye opened the gate from where he sat and closed it behind them. Meg kicked her horse into a gallop.

They rode along the stream that meandered through the southeast section of the Circle T, wild rosebushes lining its banks. Tye climbed down from the mare and dipped water in his palm to drink. Before mounting again, he plucked a rose from one of the bushes, snapped off the thorns and handed it to her.

Their gloves brushed as she accepted the delicate pink flower. "Thank you."

Their eyes met only briefly before he adjusted his hat and turned away. Without a word, he climbed into his saddle, and her red followed his lead. Not knowing what to think, Meg studied his broad back. She lifted the flower to her nose, inhaled its delicate fragrance, then carefully placed it in her skirt pocket.

They came across a small herd grazing in the afternoon sun. Tye looked them over, pointing out a familiar brand. "Double Oarlock. Mitch Heden's brand."

"That one's Bar Sixteen," she said. "Belongs to the
Wheaton
outfit."

"Worked for him one summer," Tye replied.

The next herd they located was larger, with at least thirty calves. Aldo spotted them and rode over.

Meg handed him the bag of sandwiches. "Have you eaten?"

"Nah, we was just fixin' to move these cows into the valley," he said. "Hunt is chasin' a fractious calf."

"We'll lend you a hand," Tye said. They separated and started the herd eastward.

Meg rode the outskirts of the herd, watching carefully for separated calves. On the opposite side, a cow broke loose from the others and charged toward Tye.

He took off his hat and swung it at the bellowing mother with a whoop of his own. Her calf loped behind her, lowing pathetically.

Tye's horse stood its ground, and Meg's heart felt as though it dropped into her stomach. Finally Tye's wild machinations turned the animal back to the herd.

They reached the valley without mishap. Meg rode up an embankment and joined Tye and the Eaton brothers on the bluff that overlooked the cattle.

At her approach, Tye ground the lit end of a cigarette stub between his thumb and forefinger and slid it into his shirt pocket.

The boys ate their sandwiches. "That cow might be a mother, but she sure ain't no lady," Hunt said with a laugh, hitting his hat against his thigh.

"No love-light in that cow's eyes," Tye agreed, a grin edging one side of his mouth up. He blew smoke from the same corner and met Meg's eyes.

"Let's bring that small herd we saw earlier down here, too," she suggested.

They turned back the way they'd come, the Eatons accompanying them. The afternoon grew late by the time they had joined the smaller herd with the one in the lush valley.

"Hunt's stayin' with the herd tonight," Aldo said. "I'm gonna sleep in my own bed."

Meg waved a goodbye and she and Tye headed back.

Cooking smells drifted from the kitchen when they reached the yard. Knowing his nature, she fully expected Tye to dismount ahead of her and help her from the saddle. She didn't need the assistance, or prefer it, but she expected him to make the effort. Instead, he rode a little behind her, slowing.

Meg rode up to a stump Joe had left outside the corral for that very purpose and dismounted. Tye remained seated but reached to take the reins from her. "I'll take care of the horses," he said.

She stretched her legs and headed for the house.

It hit her then, the reason he'd stayed in his saddle.

She stopped before she reached the porch and turned back.

He sat in the dust inside the barn doors, a cigarette dangling from his thinly drawn lips, his leg extended. Smoke curled past the starburst of lines at the corner of his squinted eye.

"Why didn't you say something?" she said, hurrying toward him.

He started to put out the cigarette, but she interrupted. "Don't waste it on my account."

He took a drag instead, held the smoke in his lungs and released it through gritted teeth. She crouched beside him, her skirt hem trailing the dirt floor, and started to reach for his leg.

His hand lashed out, grabbing her wrist.

"Can I do something?" she asked.

"No."

"I'll unsaddle the horses, then."

"Suit yourself."

At his uncharacteristically surly reply, she wrenched her wrist free and stood, taking the mare's reins and leading her to a beam, where she tied her.

She unbuckled the saddle and, knowing she couldn't raise it as high as a stall, left it against the wall, where one of the men could put it away later. She found a gunnysack and wiped the horse down, then turned him into the pasture.

Returning, she found Tye on his feet, the saddle removed from the other horse and both saddles hung over the racks.

"You don't have to do everything, you know."

"Yes, I do," he replied.