Libbie: Bride of Arizona (American Mail-Order Bride 48) (9 page)

Her heart-shaped face with its creamy skin was placid, eyes remaining closed and lips still puckering. And wet.

Then he saw her sway forward. A small move that sorely tempted him to satisfy more of his urges. Instead, he spoke, knowing with a certainty the sound would break the spell. “Time to move inside.”

Libbie slowly opened her eyes and blinked long and slow, her brow wrinkled in a frown. “What?”

Her befuddled expression made him chuckle. “Let’s go to the house.” Clamping his hands on her hips, he urged her to a stand and then scooted to get his feet under him.

“Agreed.” Libbie brushed the straw off of her clothes then stepped to the corner of the stall to lean a hand on the wall while she angled her feet into her boots.

Dell admired the way her split riding skirt nipped in at the waist and flared only a bit from her hips—fitting almost like a pair of denims. He moved to hold open the door and waited while she shrugged into a boyish jacket lined with sheepskin. Taking another look at her shape, he realized in the right clothes and from the back side, she could be mistaken for a teen boy. But once she turned and flashed those blue eyes and gamine smile his way, no doubt remained she was all woman.

Without speaking, they crossed the length of the barn, straw crunching under their boots with every step. He blew out the lantern and hung it back in its place. He let her precede him out the door so he could secure it. Then he turned and almost bowled over Libbie. He stopped himself by grabbing for her shoulders.

She stood with her head cocked so she gazed upward at the night sky. “So many stars. Living in Boston these past weeks made me almost forget to look up and appreciate the sights after the sun went down.”

These past weeks?
Why did he have the impression she’d lived in Australia only as a child? But, as he listened to more of her speech, he realized her lilting accent wasn’t an Australian one. The conflict in his thoughts confused him. Now that the driving need to find her had been satisfied, he was consumed with weariness. He moved to her side and clasped her hand. “I want to hear your stories, Libbie, I do. But I need sleep.” Craved it, actually.

Nodding, Libbie stepped forward. “Of course, you do. I can stargaze any time.”

They took a few steps without speaking. On the chilly air came the hoot of a scavenging owl and the shriek of its prey.

Libbie’s grip tightened on his fingers, but he rubbed a reassuring thumb over the back of her hand. “Nothing to worry about.”

The deep silence of the pre-dawn hour surrounded the couple, almost cushioning them in their own private world as they approached the porch steps.

“I’m glad you’re back, Dell. I was lonely.”

The words were spoken so softly he almost missed them as he plodded toward the house, his thoughts focused only on his bed. But her vulnerable tone grabbed him in the throat. Swallowing past the lump, he released her hand and slipped an arm over her shoulders. “I’m sorry for that. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.”

Hunger pushed Libbie out of bed the next day. She could no longer ignore how her stomach cramped and rumbled. After a quick washing using cold water from the bedside pitcher and bowl set, she donned her riding outfit and then paused with her hand on the bedroom door knob. When she and Dell entered the house last night, they’d fallen silent, as if the four walls of enclosed space had stolen the ease of their reunion in the barn. Almost by tacit agreement, they’d moved in different directions as soon as they climbed the stairs and reached the landing.

Glancing back at the room, she searched for where she’d set down her
mbira
. Today she intended to go outside and work with her birds, reacquainting them to the sounds of the metal thumb piano. As she scanned the area, she spotted the messy sheets, the rumpled quilt, and her clothes hanging over the sides of the portmanteau. The realization of her new station in life hit, and she sagged backwards against the door.

No one would enter the room and tidy up like when she’d exited her Boston room and gone out running errands or attending her classes. Here in Arizona, no assistance like Mary or Sally had provided would be forthcoming.
Libbie Anke Stirling
was responsible for straightening the bed and putting away her clothes. No food would be downstairs, already cooked and placed in serving dishes, waiting for her to make a selection. As a new wife,
she
was expected to prepare the meals,
and
clean the house,
and
wash the laundry,
and
sew new clothes. Weariness over what lay ahead tugged on her body.

Where will I find the time?
She had to help Jomo build a sturdier shelter, become familiar with the two youngest birds, and then exercise them all. With a sigh, she crossed to the open portmanteau, scooped up her underclothes, and stuffed them into the top bureau drawer. Then she shook out her three day dresses, hooked them on the row of clothes pegs, and did the same with her two skirts and her other riding outfit. Probably she should ask about an iron to spruce up her shirtwaists but not now. A long strip of blue-patterned seshweshwe cloth that could be converted into her South African village dress was draped over the top of a dress. Displayed before her were clothes from all three of the countries where she’d lived—but still, she was uncertain of which one to call home. With this marriage, she hoped to create a place that would truly be
her
home.

Would she ever visit the compound in South Africa again? Although her research was specific to the small villages of friendly generous people and their native instruments, what value did those musical studies have if she was living in America? Probably she be better off by forgetting about her previous life and making a different and new one. But that task would be so hard, because she’d also be ignoring the memories of her beloved parents. When tears threatened, she whirled and dashed down the stairs. Stopping in the kitchen only long enough to grab an apple, she raced toward the corral and the pounding of a hammer on nails.

Jomo had already broken down the crates from the disassembled sides they’d roped together and used the previous night for a temporary corral.

As she walked closer, she bit into the juicy apple, savoring a bit of tartness. Judging by the night air she’d already experienced, the temperatures were not as warm as she imagined this southern region would have. A solid wall stable would be needed before winter set in. Which meant more lumber than the crates provided. After a quick look at the sun, she approached the bird handler. “Good afternoon, Jomo. How are they adjusting?”

“Settlin’ in, miss. De keep together more than to home. But dey all right.” He swept a hand toward the small stack of boards that inched higher as he spoke. “We need more, maybe four times dese boards.”

Over the years, she’d learned to trust Jomo’s knowledge about the ostriches so she just nodded. “Were you all right in the bunkhouse? Did the others mind your arrival?” She’d wanted to be the one to introduce him to the cow hands that Sergio told her worked on the ranch. Even if she herself hadn’t been formally presented as the wife of the Bar S’s owner.

But Jomo waved her off, telling her he’d worked with all types of men and knew how to handle himself.

“Is there another hammer? Or do you need me to hold the boards?” Libbie looked around, anxious to get the project started, as she nibbled the last part of her apple. “What can I do?”

“Libbie, what in hell is this mess in my corral?”

She jumped at the stern note in Dell’s voice and looked over her shoulder.

Dell waved a hand toward the third person in the yard. “And who is this man?”

Her pulse raced at the sight of her roguish husband. Maybe he was used to getting more sleep than he had the night before. Eyes squinted against the bright sun, he stood at the edge of the corral, hands on hips and booted feet braced at shoulder width apart. His hair was still tousled from sleep and beard stubble gave a darker shadow to his jaw.

Jomo straightened to his full height and stepped to her side. “Dis man be your new husband? And he bellows like an elephant?”

The scowl crimping his face kept her from providing an immediate answer. Seeing his reaction made her realize she should have sent a second telegram. She probably should have explained the details of her birthday present and the presence of the man who’d crossed an ocean to help her establish a feather-producing business. “Shh. Let me talk.” Fighting back a smile at Jomo’s comparison, Libbie stepped over a stack of lumber and walked toward Dell. “Did you sleep well?” She thought back to how her parents greeted each other in the morning and remembered how her father had always given her mother a kiss on the cheek. When she stood right in front of him, she angled her head, offering her cheek, and waited.

“Are you going to answer me?”

This question was more of a growl. Embarrassed to have assumed all married couples had similar rituals, she straightened and then swept a hand behind her. “Yesterday, I’d hoped to give you the information at our first meeting. Then later, I couldn’t find the right time to share the news of my birds.”

“Birds?” He quirked an eyebrow then jerked his chin. “I see hay bales where they shouldn’t be and a stranger beside my corral.”

She stretched forward, grabbed his hand, and tugged him into motion. “Let me show you. Yes, the stranger is Jomo Bioko. My parents…” She struggled to keep talking. “They put him in charge of escorting the shipment of what’s needed for me to start my own business. That was my birth─”

“Business?” Shaking his head, he stopped walking. “You? The Bar S is a business. We don’t need another.” He jabbed a finger at his own chest. “I’m the one responsible for providing for my wife.”

“My family believes that everyone has a responsibility to support the family coffers. I’ve been waiting to see what I could contribute to add to my father’s mining ventures and my brothers’ cattle raising.” She urged him to walk again, and they rounded the corner of the barn. Way above the top rail of the crate wall swayed the long necks and tiny heads of her precious babies. Pride filled her chest, and, with a flourish, she waved an arm. “Here is my herd of ostriches.”

Dell stopped, and he stared. His mouth opened and closed several times before he finally snapped it shut. “Those are the ugliest critters I’ve ever seen. What makes those scrawny things a business?” Then he rounded on her and glared, arms crossed over his broad chest. “How could you keep something like this a secret? What’s involved in their upkeep? Where’s the money coming from to feed them?”

They weren’t exactly a secret, but she hadn’t told him before her arrival. The disapproval in his expression unnerved her. Until the past few months, her life had been idyllic. Her parents had indulged their youngest child, allowing her to run wild with three older brothers or spend time with the villagers researching native music. Rarely had she been held accountable for any misdeeds.

Shouldn’t a successful rancher know the basic business facts about initial capital outlay before expecting a profit? The words he’d written in his ad echoed in her mind─rancher…owns acres and acres…has employees…great prospects. If her parents had ever discussed money issues, they’d done it away from her hearing. Enough money had always been available for the next herd of cattle or the prize stallion or a new mine that displayed metallic color.

“I-I’m not sure which question to answer first.” She twisted her fingers together and took a deep breath. Where was the man with the glint in his eyes who had awakened her in the barn? “In my home country, ostriches are valued for their eggs, their flesh, and their skin.”

Dell walked closer, tilting his head as he watched them move in their gangly way around the enclosure, scratching at the dirt. “I didn’t know Australia had ostriches.”

Glad his tone had returned to normal, she chanced a grin. “No, they’re not from that country.” Maybe if he learned more about her background, this situation would be resolved. She moved to one of the hay bales she and Jomo had used for the birds’ enclosure and sat. “I’ve lived some years in Western Australia but have been raised primarily in South Africa.”

“Wow, that far away. So that’s your accent?”

“I guess.” She shrugged. “The accent changes, depending on where I’m living.”

Dell reached over and clasped her hand. “I apologize for my behavior. But you have to admit their presence here is quite a surprise.” He ran his fingertips over the ridges of her knuckles. “I have my hands full with managing my horses and the cattle herd.”

His cattle. The animals that were important to him—an interest they shared. This common bond might be the thing that saved the situation. “I’ve seen ostriches used to herd oxen. Maybe I could train mine to help with your cattle.”

“Mix birds and beef? How does that work?” His eyebrows winged high.

“I’ve been riding Koning as long as I can remember.” She pointed toward the pen. “He’s the tallest one and has black feathers.”

“You saddle up that bird and ride it?”

“No saddle. I hold on with my legs and use a head strap and reins.”

For a moment, he just stared. Then he tipped back his head and roared with laughter. “That’s a good joke, Libbie.”

Hating that he didn’t believe hers, she slumped. Was he the type of person who had to see or touch something before he knew it to be true? Waiting him out, she brushed dirt from her skirt then focused her gaze on the white puffy clouds hanging in the clear blue sky.

His chuckles subsided, and Dell turned to her, then sobered. “Oh, you aren’t joking?”

“No, I wasn’t.” She’d made the suggestion as a logical solution.

“The Bar S is a cattle ranch, and the priority has to be the cattle.” He rested both hands on his muscled thighs and glanced at the pen. “To avoid a stampede, keep the birds away from my herd. They might spook, and I need them to hold their weight.”

Tilting her head up, she remained quiet, watching the clouds stretch and break apart.

After a long silence, Dell looked toward her. “Your plan is to raise the birds and sell the eggs? Bet they produce a humdinger of an egg.”

“That’s true, and I’m sure I can make arrangements to sell them in town at one of the mercantiles.” She pulled up a leg and rested her cheek on her knee, facing him. Her hope was he’d see the wonderful possibilities of her plans. Her job was to convince him the business was feasible. “But I wish to pursue a different type of business. A more lucrative one. My father k-knows a merchandiser in New York, Henrick Dekker, who will buy the feathers for the fashion trade.”

“Feathers? What value can they have?” He stood and paced away several steps. “Libbie, I have work I need to take care of.”

His stiff walk and terse voice indicated his disbelief. She bit back her disappointment at his lack of support. “You won’t have to do anything related to my ostriches. That’s why Jomo was sent along. He’s been handling them for many years and has been teaching me.”

She thought back to the previous night and how cold the air had become. With winter coming, the temperatures would drop even farther. Over time, her birds could adapt to the climate but not to the threat of new predators. After overhearing men on the train discussing how coyotes and wolves posed a threat to their herds, she knew extra precautions had to be taken. “My priority is to create a warm place for them to sleep. And the crates didn’t supply enough boards for a solid-walled structure. Do you have a supply here on the ranch we can use?”

Dell pulled a hand over his face. “Might be scraps in the cast-off pile behind the barn. Besides that, the ranch’s budget has no room for extras.” He shrugged then jammed both hands on his hips. “But you must have known that fact.”

Dealing with a budget was a limitation that had never been imposed and definitely one she hadn’t anticipated with a man who owned hundreds of acres. “Maybe I did.” A vague memory of the word “frippery” from his ad surfaced. Under the pall of the recent tragedies, she had read his parameters but hadn’t absorbed the finer details. No matter, she would find a way because her birds meant everything to her.

****

After a last look at the restructured corral, Dell had to walk away before he said something he would end up regretting. Only a day married, and already he was curbing his tongue to avoid causing offense─a trait he never imagined himself using. He stomped up the porch steps and walked into the kitchen to find a cup of coffee. After grabbing a mug from the shelf over the counter, he crossed the floor and stopped in front of the stove. No rich scent filled the air, but he figured the brew might have been made a while ago. Libbie had looked fresh-eyed, like she’d been awake for hours—a fact that tested his control. He wanted to scoop her close and plant kisses on that sweet mouth. A finger touched to the spackled enamel pot indicated it was stone cold.