Lazy Days (23 page)

Abigail scanned the rolling countryside and
angled her parasol to protect her complexion against the blazing sun. The wagon
hit a rut and her shoulder bumped the cowboy's. Never, in her wildest
imaginings, had she envisioned such a tall, handsome, and virile man. Surely,
he had to be disappointed by her appearance. She realized he was talking and
turned to give him her full attention, feeling the impact of his beautiful eyes
all the way to her toes.

"My place is about four miles south of
town. I raise Longhorns and grow as much of my own food as I can. I have some
chickens and a milk cow and I trade with local ranchers for salt pork and other
goods. I know you're a city gal, but have you ever had ranch experience?"

"Um, no." Abigail thought she heard
him sigh.

"I hope I explained well enough in my
letters how difficult this life can be."

"Yes, you did, perfectly."

"So tell me again why you would choose this
life when you seem to have had an easier one in Philadelphia?"

His question caught her off guard. With her
customary frankness, she said, "Honestly, Mr. Samson, I was sick of my
life in the city and saw endless years of monotony ahead of me."

He didn't respond to her answer, but instead,
said, "I think we should be on a first name basis, don't you?"

"Yes, you're right."

"Okay, back to your reason for coming here.
Believe me; this life can become quite monotonous, too."

"Are you bored to tears, Mr. Samson? I
mean, Brant."

"No, Abby, I don't have time to be
bored."

"Precisely." His nickname for her
sounded good coming from his deep-timbered voice.

"Do you mind if I call you Abby?" He
turned to look at her. "Abigail seems so…formal."

"I've never been called Abby, always
Abigail, but its fine with me if that's what you prefer."

"Your parents never gave you a
nickname?"

"No, I was an only child born to older
parents who were academically inclined and very proper."
And without
the slightest idea of how to play with a child or have fun.
She wanted to
change the subject. "So, tell me about your children."

Brant made a clicking noise and shifted the
reins in his gloved hands. The horses followed his command and moved to the
center of the dusty road. "As I tried to describe in my letters, my eldest
son, Luke, is a bookworm. It's how he copes with his mother's death. He can be
quite sullen and temperamental and downright rude at times."

Abigail heard his frustration and nodded her
sympathy. He gave her a little smile and when her shoulder bumped his again,
she quickly scooted over.

He gave her a questioning look and continued,
"Jenny is ten and shouldering far too much responsibility for a child. She
cares for her baby brother while Luke and I work the ranch. She never complains
and has a gentle disposition like her mother."

Fascinated by his hands, Abigail watched them
maneuver the horse's reins again.

"Now, Ty, he's my baby and just starting to
talk pretty good. He keeps the family laughing." He adjusted the brim of
his hat. "God knows, we need a good laugh now and again."

They traveled on in silence. Abigail had so many
emotions coursing through her she wasn't able to focus on any one of them:
anxiety, excitement, intimidation, and female awareness of the handsome man
beside her, an emotion she wasn't familiar with. The thought of becoming a
man's wife in the biblical sense wasn't something she'd wanted to dwell on.
She'd relegated the ramifications of that to the back of her mind, believing
she could endure the outcome as it played out. However, she hadn't expected
such a robust man on the receiving end of her letters.

Brant turned off the road and onto a narrow
drive. "Around that bend of trees is home."

Abigail's heart hammered.

When the horses clomped around the turn, her
breath caught. His home appeared crude, small, and…homey. It was like a drawing
in the books she'd purchased about frontier lands. The wide front porch with
railings had a couple of rockers on it. Standing behind the railing, four pairs
of eyes watched their approach. Abigail couldn't help but smile. The children
she'd only imagined now stood before her and beside them sat a large mixed
breed, brown dog with wiry fur. Luke squinted, Jenny smiled, Ty lifted a finger
and pointed, and the dog barked.

* * *

Brant glanced from his children to Abby as he
reined his horses to a halt in front of the porch. He did a double take. Abby's
smile had transformed her face from plain to lovely. Certain his eyes were
playing tricks on him, he blinked, but her smile revealed beautiful white
teeth, and when she bit her bottom lip, he quickly looked away.
Damn!

He jumped off the buckboard and came around to
lift her down. Shyly meeting his gaze she looked past him to his children.
Holding her elbow, he guided her to the porch.

"Luke, Jenny, Ty, I want you to meet Miz
Abigail Mary Vaughn."

"Welcome and howdy, ma'am," said
Jenny.

"I'm so happy to meet you, Jenny. You're
beautiful and just as sweet as I imagined."

Jenny grinned. "Thank you, Miz
Vaughn."

The dog darted to Brant and he squatted and
rubbed behind his ears. He looked up at Abby. "And this is Wally. He
wandered into our place a few years back and never left."

Abby reached to pet the dog. "It's nice to
meet you, too, Wally."

Ty interrupted them. "Mama?" He
stretched his hands toward Abby, and Brant watched her shocked expression
quickly become replaced by joy. She looked at him and asked, "May I hold
him?"

Brant felt a lump choke his throat and sudden
resentment strike his heart like a cobra that it wasn't Molly holding their
baby. He nodded and Jenny stepped off the porch and handed Ty to Abby. Ty,
always trusting, hugged her neck. Abby hesitated a moment and then laid her
cheek against his blond curls.

Brant looked at Luke. "Please welcome Miz
Vaughn to our home, son."

Luke gave his father a mutant look but Brant
didn't waiver in his stare. Finally, the boy said in a resentful tone,
"Welcome, Miz Vaughn."

"Thank you, Luke. I appreciate that this is
difficult for you," she replied softly.

Ty stretched his arms toward Brant,
"Papa."

Abby shifted the baby and handed him over. Her
eyes, the color of freshly brewed coffee, met Brant's gaze when he lifted Ty
from her arms. For a second he couldn't think what to say. "Uh, why don't
we go inside where it's not so hot? Jenny can pour tea for everyone." He
handed Ty back to his daughter. "Luke, help me unload Miz Vaughn's trunk
and then take the buckboard to the barn and unhitch Sugar and Smoky."

With a defiant look, Luke grabbed one end of the
trunk.

Abigail stepped onto the wide porch and entered
the cabin when Brant motioned her forward. Jenny followed and then Brant and
Luke carried her trunk inside. Pausing near a long table, she waited for her
eyes to adjust to the dim light and then scanned the modest interior.

"Please sit down, Miz Vaughn," said
Jenny.

"Since your father is calling me Abby, I'd
be pleased if you would, too."

"Okay…Miz Abby," Jenny said shyly. She
set Ty on the floor and watched him run to climb on a wooden rocking horse near
the hearth, and then she walked to open-faced shelving above wooden countertops
and grabbed some mismatched glasses, setting them on the table. While she
poured tea from a battered metal pitcher, Abigail surveyed the cabin in more
detail. Her gut instinct told her that the faded curtains hanging above a deep
sink with a hand pump had been lovingly sewn by Jenny's mother. She twisted her
hands in her lap, feeling pain for this family who had lost someone so precious
to them. How could she even begin to replace their loss? Inadequacy loomed like
a rain cloud threatening to drench her in misgivings.

Brant and Luke returned from delivering her
trunk into another room and Luke slammed out the front door. Brant stared sadly
after him before turning and patting his daughter on her head of honey colored
hair. "Jenny baked up cookies for your arrival." He reached for a
plate on the table and held it out to Abigail. To show her appreciation, she
smiled and selected the largest odd shaped mound.

"Thank you, Jenny. That was very
considerate." She nibbled on a corner. It was so hard she had to use an
eye tooth to break off a piece. "Hmm, very tasty," she tried to sound
convincing.

Jenny's face lit with an ear-to-ear grin.

Brant grabbed two cookies and walked to the
door, tossing one to Wally, and finishing his own in two bites.

Abigail sipped her tea and did her best to chew
the stone hard cookie. Ty ran to the table and pointed at the plate. His father
grinned and handed him a treat. Abigail wondered how the baby would chew it and
relaxed when he just sucked on it.

She glanced toward the doorway her trunk had
disappeared into. Peering from beneath her lashes, she felt her face flame when
she saw Brant watching her. She thought she saw a tiny quirk at the corner of
his mouth.

"We put your trunk in our extra room. Jenny
and Ty sleep in the room next to yours and Luke sleeps in the loft. My room is
on the opposite side of the cabin."

Abigail crunched another bite of her cookie,
nodded, and studied a spot on the threadbare tablecloth. Glancing sheepishly
up, she asked, "May I go to my room now. I'd like to freshen up."

Brant looked embarrassed. "I don't know
where my mind's been. I'm really sorry. I should have let you do that first
thing. Jenny, pump some water in a pitcher for Miz Abby and bring it to her
room with a cloth. Come on, Abby, let's get you settled in." Ty ran back
to the table and Brant scooped him up.

Relieved that she didn't have to finish the
cookie, she tucked it in her pocket to give to Wally later and followed Brant
across the cabin. He held the bedroom door open and when Ty reached his arms
toward her, he said, "Not now, son; Miz Abby can hold you later."

Abigail entered the room looking forward to a
few minutes solitude to process her emotions. Jenny followed and set a pitcher
of water in a basin on a small table centered under the only window.

Brant said, "You rest as long as you need
to." After he closed the door, she could hear the muffled timbre of his
voice speaking to his children.

For a second, she couldn't move, the alteration
in her lifestyle having stunned her. The glamour of traveling west and changing
her whole life had no doubt blinded her to the reality of living there.
Glancing around the room, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was tiny
and rustic. Other than the small table, the furniture consisted of a narrow
lumpy bed bumped up against the far corner and an old four-drawer chest with a
matching vanity and stool. A kerosene lamp topped the chest. On the timbered
wall above the bed, two pictures of pretty dresses ripped from a catalogue had
been tacked up for ornamentation.

Walking to the vanity, Abigail gazed at her
reflection in the wavy mirror and then fingered the lovely petals of
wildflowers in a mason jar. Suddenly, that simple thoughtfulness, made the
crudeness of the room insignificant.

Inhaling a shaky breath, she removed her
traveling jacket and straw hat and poured water into the bowl. Squeezing out
the threadbare cloth, she wiped her face and neck before stretching out on the
bed and lifting her forearm over her eyes, fighting the need to sleep.
Eventually, she lost the battle and drifted into dreams of a rebellious
teenager, a sweet girl, a needy baby, and a rancher with eyes bluer than a summer
sky.

A tapping sound confused Abigail. "What?
Yes? Come in," she groggily croaked. The door to her room cracked open and
Brant peeked around it.

"Uh, ma'am, Jenny has supper on the table.
We figured you was plum tuckered out, but you still need to eat."

Awareness flooded her and she jumped to a
sitting position in the middle of the bed. The sun had almost set and cast the
room in shadow.

"Goodness, I guess I fell asleep." She
reached to pat her hair and almost groaned aloud. It had escaped her bun and hung
in natural waves down her shoulders and past her breasts. "I'll be right
out."

"Yes, ma'am." Brant closed the door.

* * *

On the opposite side of the door, Brant laid his
forehead against it. Good golly, the low light was playing tricks with his
eyes. When Abby had jumped up and a mane of glorious mahogany hair covered her,
she'd looked like an exotic creature of myths, and his body had reacted. Since
Molly's death, he had only enjoyed the carnal side of his nature a couple of
times, and that was when he'd traveled to the city on business. His loneliness
had driven him to the saloon for whiskey and companionship. The gal had been
older and they'd talked for a long time before doing the deed. On his next
trip, he'd looked her up again and done a repeat of before. After that, he'd
made up his mind to find a wife. Now, seeing Abby without her ramrod stiffness,
he'd had a crazy inclination to ride out and find the preacher just so he could
enjoy the body of a woman. Inhaling slowly, he lifted his head and turned when
Ty let out a wail.

"He's tired, Pa. You want me to feed him
and put him to bed?" asked Jenny.

"Ah, sure, that sounds like a good
idea."

"You okay, Pa?"

"Yep. I'm fine." He glanced up at the
loft. "Luke! It's supper time!"

Brant heard shuffling, but his son didn't
answer.

"Answer me, Luke!"

"I'm comin', Pa."

Brant lifted Ty into the highchair he'd built
with his own hands and Jenny set a small bowl of stew in front of him.
"It's hot son. Let your sister help you."

Ty nodded. "Otay, Papa."

Jenny sat beside Ty and blew on a spoonful of
stew before lifting it to the baby's mouth.

Brant heard Abby's door open and looked up. She
had combed her hair back into its severe bun and become the epitome of an old
maid again.

Luke climbed down the loft ladder and plopped on
one of the benches that ran the length of the table.

"Luke, bless the food," he said
softly.

Luke gave his father a grim look, but obeyed,
saying a simple prayer of thanksgiving.

Brant looked at Abby. "Pass me your bowl,
Abby, and I'll fill it with stew. Jenny, put a cornbread on her plate."

The meal progressed in stilted conversation and
Ty got increasingly cranky. Finally, Brant said, "He's ready for bed,
Jenny."

"Okay, Pa, I'll take him and then come back
and clean the dishes."

Abby interjected, "Please, let me help.
What would you like me to do?"

Jenny looked from her Pa to Abby. "You want
to help me put Ty to bed and tell him a story?"

"Yes, very much so, and then I'll help
clean the dishes."

Brant nodded his approval. "Luke and I are
going to check the animals and finish a few chores. Come on, son."

Luke opened his mouth to say something, but
seemed to think better of it when he got a stern look from his father.

* * *

Abigail followed Jenny as she carried Ty to the
bedroom they shared. Upon entering, her heart jumped into her throat. The
little girl had done her best to decorate a room as small as Abigail's own, and
just as in her room, pages from a catalogue had been torn out and tacked on the
wall beside the bed. Mostly, they were pictures of dolls or pretty dresses. An
old trunk sat at the foot of the same type of narrow bed and she knew
instinctively that the quilt covering the bed had been lovingly sewn by Jenny's
mother. Jenny pulled the quilt back and laid Ty down, kissing his cheek.
"You want Miz Abby to tell you a story?"

He nodded sleepily. "Yeth."

Jenny stepped back. "You go ahead and sit
beside him, Miz Abby. I'm gonna wet a cloth to wipe his face."

Positioning herself next to the baby, Abigail
reached and caressed his silky hair. She'd often made up stories for her
students and a particularly favorite one was about a prince rescuing a maiden
from the Land of Mysterious Places.

She waited for Jenny to return before reciting
the fairytale. Ty twisted away from his sister when she tried to wash his face
and hands, and Abigail reached for the cloth, pretending it was the prince's
royal cape. Jenny sat at the foot of the bed and listened enraptured by the
story. Even though Ty fell immediately to sleep, Abigail continued the tale.
About a third of the way through, she smiled, "That's enough for tonight.
We want to save some for tomorrow and the next night."

"I love that story! I just know the prince
is going to fall in love with the girl and make her his princess!"

Abigail smiled, "You'll find out soon
enough. Now, let's go clean those dishes."

Jenny looked toward her door. "Hi, Pa. Miz
Abby tells great stories."

"Yes, I heard."

Color tinged Abigail's cheeks. How long had he
been standing there?

Long into the night, Abigail lay in her lumpy bed
and thought about each family member—Ty, so young and helpless, needing the
care of a mother; Jenny, shouldering responsibilities that belonged to a
mother; Luke, heartbroken and bitter over the loss of his mother; and Brant,
selflessly thinking of the needs of his children, but longing for his first
wife. Abigail turned her head into her pillow and silently wept.