Place to Belong, a (3 page)

A
nother day of putting off getting those timbers up to the mine.
Granted, it was Sunday tomorrow, but surely God would understand that Ransom needed to work when the weather permitted. After all, this was South Dakota in December. Snow, deep snow, was imminent. Woolly caterpillars and animals' dense coats predicted a bad winter, and the signs never lied. At least not that he knew of. But so far, the killing winter had held off, allowing them to cut and mill the pine trees. He needed to remember to be thankful for that.

But Ransom wisely kept his thoughts to himself as he continued with the evening chores—milking, since Gretchen was spending the night with Jenna. Lucas had left before twilight to get set up for the evening elk run. Sometimes they came down the hill, and sometimes he needed to go looking for them. Since there had been no rifle shots, Ransom figured tonight would be the latter. Still, Lucas would most likely get his elk. As a hunter, he was superb. Tonight he had taken Micah and Chief with him. Maybe they would come back with two.

He finished the milking, tossed more hay in Rosy's manger,
and checked on the hogs. Since they had plenty of milk again, he poured soured skimmed milk from the cream can beside the hog gate into the trough and added cracked oats. Didn't he see a grinder over to Dan Arnett's house that would let them turn that steam engine into a grinding machine too? Probably was all rusted up, but they could remedy that.

He whistled his way to the house, stopping by the springhouse to strain the milk and set it in pans for the cream to rise. One thing he'd love to buy was one of those new cream separators, but it didn't make sense for the one or two cows they had. As best as he could remember, Rosy was due to calve in February. He needed to check the calendar.

Taking a jug of cold milk with him, he tramped on up to the house. For a change he didn't have to go throw wood on the smoker. Since the light was still on in the bunkhouse, he rapped on the door to remind Arnett it was time for supper.

“Come in, come in.” Did his voice sound even more gravelly than usual?

Ransom stepped into the bunkhouse, now meticulously clean with a stack of books on the table and a rocking chair in front of the stove. From a utilitarian bunkhouse, this place had been rendered quite homey. Arnett sat with his wool-stockinged feet up on the fender, book in his lap.

“Surely can't be suppertime already,” the old man said with a chuckle. “But then I get to readin' and the time just drifts on by.”

“Mor will be ringing the bell any minute now. Hey, I was thinking. You got an old grain grinder out by your machine shed?”

Arnett slit his eyes, gazing into some distant place. “Why, by jerky, I think you're right. Hey, that might to be another cash machine for you. Let folks know you can grind grain and they'll be bringing their cattle feed over. You know, we might keep that old steam sister going after all.” He slapped his thigh, making the book bounce and slide to the floor with a
thunk
.

He stood and stretched before limping over to his boots and jacket by the door. “We'd best get that Monday afore the snow buries it again. We'll take it all apart, get the rust off it, and put it back together. Be good as new.” He shrugged into his sheepskin jacket and clapped Ransom on the shoulder. “Good for you, boy. You got a memory like an old bear trap. Why, think I got one of them too, up on the barn wall.”

Ransom closed the door behind them, and they headed on up to the house just as Cassie came out to ring the iron triangle, the song of which echoed across the valley. As they stepped up on the back porch, two rifle shots answered the supper bell.

Ransom heaved a sigh. “Guess I better get the wagon out there. Tell Mor to go ahead.”

“You need another pair of hands?”

“No, thanks. There are three of them already.” He turned and headed back for the barn. Good thing he'd not let the team loose like he'd thought to do. One of the horses nickered when he opened the door. Stepping into the quiet warmth of the barn, he lit the lantern hanging on the hook by the door and, using the dim light, lifted the harnesses off the wall and hauled them over to the stalls where the team waited, ears pricked as if they'd heard the shot too and knew that meant a trip out of the barn.

“Guess you two don't like staying in here after all, eh?” He slung the harnesses in place, buckling and snapping everything together, and then backed the horses out one at a time. As he led them outside, one on each side of him, Ransom stopped at the wagon tongue set on a chunk of log, and they backed into place so he could snap on to the whippletrees and the wagon tongue. They stamped their feet and blew steam into the air. The temperature had dropped noticeably since sunset.

After checking to make sure nothing was rubbing or loose, Ransom climbed up onto the wagon seat, gathered the long lines, and flicked his wrists to send the
go
message to his team.
They trotted smartly out of the yard and through the gate to the long pasture. He'd have several more gates to open and close before reaching the hunters. If they had come down a different way, Lucas would let him know. A quick bark behind him and he stopped the team to let Benny ride up on top with him. It was a shame he didn't let Arnett come along; company was always nice. And he knew the old man liked to be useful.

“Sorry, I just didn't think. So used to doing it all myself.”

The dog whined beside him and wriggled all over when Ransom thumped him on the ribs and rubbed his ears.

Instead of two elk, they had an elk and a deer.

“Micah's first deer,” Lucas bragged. “Those shooting lessons are paying off, for sure.”

Ransom nodded. “Looks good and heavy. How'd you see those little prongs in the dim light?”

“Lucas said shoot when it breaks through the brush, and I did.”

“Right through heart,” Chief added. “Like he's been shooting for years. He run the rabbit snares now too.”

“Thanks to all of you, I have good teachers,” Micah said.

Ransom stopped his eyebrows from rising in surprise. Micah didn't usually say a whole lot. In fact, Micah had been talking more lately, up at the sawmill, asking questions. This was a good thing. He was certainly one fine worker. You only had to show him something once. Just the other day Micah offered a suggestion that was a better way to do something. He might have been just an animal handler at that Wild West Show, but there was far more to be discovered in that young man.

Arnett had commented on Micah too. Maybe between the three of them, they could get a lot more done on the ranch this winter and into the spring than Ransom had ever dreamed. And with Arnett's experience and machinery, maybe they'd even bring in some cash money.

After hanging and gutting the two carcasses, Ransom invited them all to eat at the house, but Micah and Chief said Runs Like a Deer would be expecting them. They took the heart, liver, and tongue from the deer and rode up the hill.

“I was thinking you'd not found any, late as it was,” Ransom told his brother as Lucas pulled the tall doors together and dropped the hasp in the lock.

“Micah got his deer way up on the hill at the aspen grove, and I thought sure the rifle shot would spook the elk herd, but they must have been way up back. We slung that buck up across behind Micah and headed on down. We settled in under the trees, and they finally made their way down. Good thing we had a bit of moon so I could see enough to shoot. Almost shot a cow and then this young buck stepped in front of her. That was close.” One did not shoot the cows if they wanted the herd to continue. “You'd think by now they'd not come down that same trail all the time.”

They scraped their boots and, once in the kitchen, set the bucket with the innards up on the counter. They hung their coats on the tree. A kerosene lamp on the table spread enough light to welcome them, so Lucas paused to turn it up.

“Your plates are in the warming oven,” Mavis called from the big room. “Let me finish this and I'll be right there.”

“I'll take care of it,” Cassie said over her shoulder as she wandered into the kitchen. “How'd it go?”

“Micah shot his first deer.” Lucas turned from washing his hands at the sink.

“Good, then maybe I won't have to go hunting anymore.” She opened the flue, then set the stove lids back to the side and added a couple of chunks to the coals already flaring from the draft. “Coffee will be hot in a jiffy.” Fetching the loaf of bread from the bread box, she sliced off several thick hunks and set those on a plate on the table. Mor and Cassie had left the hunters'
place settings on the table after they ate and cleaned up, so all was ready for the men. As soon as they sat down, she set their plates in front of them. “Would you like beet pickles?”

“Always,” Lucas replied with that special smile he reserved for her.

Ransom kept an eye on his brother without seeming to make the effort. Perhaps what he'd thought was infatuation really wasn't. Had he misjudged his brother's feelings for Cassie? Based on Lucas's quick declarations of undying love in the past which, unsurprisingly, died after all, this was something new. As Ransom thought about it, the only woman Lucas had ever continued a relationship with was Betsy Hudson. What to do about that mess plagued them all. So when Lucas arrived back at the ranch a couple of months ago and said he'd found the woman of his dreams but he'd not met her yet, what was a brother supposed to think? Common sense had never been one of Lucas's strong suits.

When he'd learned that
the woman of my dreams
was a trick rider and shooter in Wild West shows and held a paper that said she owned half of their ranch, well, Ransom had never claimed to be anything but a common ordinary rancher—with a slow-fused temper.

Snatches of the conversation between the two tickled his consciousness, but he had learned he was better off if he tuned them out. He could go easier on the judgmental side that way. No need for him and Lucas to get into another so-called discussion, which was really a polite name for brotherly fighting.

Ransom finished his meal, cut himself a large slab of the leftover gingerbread, buried it in applesauce, and with a refill on the coffee, took cup and plate to his desk in a corner of the big room. He settled into his cushioned chair with a sigh. Of all his many favorite places on the ranch, this was tops. Unless he included being stretched out on the leather-cushioned couch a
few steps away. His father sure did know how to make comfortable and substantial furniture.

Ransom pulled out the drawings he'd made of a possible furniture line, based on some of the things his father had made and others he'd thought of himself. He studied the schematics. He planned on using the lumber long dried out in the barn for a couple of end tables, incorporating cottonwood branches for the legs, like his father had. That was a distinctive touch. All the pieces proclaimed western ranch design. Where would they find a market?

Mavis stopped beside his desk. “Dreaming?”

“I am. Think I'll start with these.” He pointed at the pair of tables. “I can work on them here in the evenings.”

“True, once you get all the pieces cut.” She glanced around the room with a smile. “Ah, the stories these walls could tell.”

“What are you working on?”

“I'll never tell. Christmas is coming, and you know better than to ask questions.”

He made a face. “Right, sorry.” Christmas and, as always, there was no money to buy gifts and he'd not started making anything. At the moment, he didn't even have any ideas of what to make. He needed some time with his mother without all the others around. Lucas and Cassie laughed their way into the room, and Lucas settled into working on the buttons he made from antlers and bones to send to his buyer in Chicago. Cassie picked up the knitting needles Mavis had given her, along with the yarn, and resumed her painful progress. She seemed to be ripping out more stitches than she was putting in.

Good thing she was a better shooter than a knitter. The thought made him smile. One had to give her credit for sheer determination and stick-to-itiveness.