Squire's Quest (24 page)

She's not a sometime woman. She's for always.

He wasn't sure yet if he was ready for always.

* * * *

Callie was just dishing up the porridge when Murphy knocked. She'd never known a
man to eat porridge before, but Merlin swore it was better than eggs for sticking with him until
dinnertime. He ate it right out of the kettle, with salt and butter.

She wasn't complaining. Porridge was easy, and they had more than enough cream to
make it rich, plenty of sugar to sweeten it, which was the only way she'd eat it.

Murphy took one look at the bowl she set before Merlin and said, "What the dickens is
that?"

"Oatmeal. Want some?"

"Hell no. Uh...beg your pardon, Callie. But that ain't a man's tucker."

"Only thing they served on the last cattle drive I was on. We got beans and beef for
dinner and supper, but porridge--different kinds--for breakfast. The cook wouldn't fix anything
else. I learned to like it." Merlin held out his bowl for more.

"I'll take coffee, if you have some."

"I made it 'specially for you. Merlin says you'll both be out, getting ready for the storm.
You need to warm your bellies first." Setting two cups on the table, she filled both.

"It's going to be a hell-raiser," Murphy said after he'd taken a large swallow. "So far it's
just wind, but the snow's out there." He shuddered. "Lots of it."

He sipped silently while Merlin finished his porridge and drank a cup of coffee. As they
both stood, Murphy said, "I reckon we'll have to pull the loaded wagons into the barn when Jeb
gets here. There'll be no unloading them until the wind dies."

"Whoever set those corrals on the upwind side of the barn ought to be staked out there in
a blizzard. I'm going to line all the empty wagons up along the fence. It'll give the mules some
shelter."

"Good idea. Getting' ready is half the battle."

They left together, still planning how to best deal with the coming snow.

She'd grown up in Iowa. She knew what blizzards were like. But back there trees had
broken the wind. What would it be like here, with not a tree of any size for miles, save along the
river?

It wouldn't hurt to bring in extra water, and to fill the wood bin. She pulled on her old
coat and went to work.

The woodpile was about forty paces from the cabin, beyond the outhouse. If it got as
cold has it had week before last, she'd not want to have to go outdoors to fetch wood.

Five trips later, she had filled the wood bin built against the east wall of the cabin as full
as she could get it. Whoever had cut the small door through the wall must have known what kind
of weather to prepare for. Just opening the cabin door when the wind was blowing could cool the
place down enough to use up another log or two.

There was only one spare bucket, but a crock, three Mason jars and a kettle served to
hold nearly twice that much water again. Surely three bucketfuls would last them through the
worst of even a bad blizzard.

When she could think of nothing else to do, she decided the incoming teamsters
probably would enjoy some fresh bread. She was setting the sponge to work when Merlin stuck
his head inside. "Cal, can you come help me?"

She grabbed her coat and the scarf she'd stuck into the sleeve. "What can I do?" she said
as she stepped outside.

The wind snatched the words from her mouth. Tiny, sharp particles of ice were borne on
it. They cut into her skin like knives and pulled the ends of the scarf from her hands.

She wrapped the tails tighter and tucked them in before she took the rope end Merlin
was holding out to her.

"What? I didn't hear you."

"I said tie this to that ring beside the door. I want to make sure it's long enough."

She'd noticed the iron ring set in the log wall at waist level, but hadn't given it much
thought. It certainly was convenient to have something to tie a rope to, besides the latch, but she
wasn't sure what the rope was for.

She soon learned. Merlin strung it from the cabin door ring to a lone post standing about
halfway between, where he wrapped it twice around. From there he went to the small door in the
corner of the barn, where there was another ring. He ran a second line to the outhouse, where he
had her hold the end while he drove an iron stake into the ground with a sledge hammer. Once
he'd made sure the stake was well-seated, he wrapped the rope end three times around it and tied
it off in a complicated knot that left only a short stub dangling. He went back to check both ropes
when he was done, pulling each one taut to make sure they wouldn't easily come loose.

"What are they for?" she said, when he was testing the one to the outhouse.

"I've never seen a blizzard here," he said, "but I saw one in Kansas. The drifts were so
high a man couldn't see over them. They changed the whole aspect of the land, and you could get
lost five paces from your cabin door."

She looked at the almost flat, featureless land extending for a half mile in every
direction. "But there's nothing here for it to drift against, besides the buildings and the corral
fences."

"It doesn't need anything. It whirls around the corners of buildings, catches on
fenceposts. Don't ask me why, but don't expect me to take chances either." He gave one last good
pull on the rope. "Hope that stake holds. The ground's like iron."

"Will the mules be all right?" They were standing in a loose cluster in the small south
corral, close to the barn wall. There wouldn't be room for another sixty or so inside, when the
expected wagon train arrived. Not even if they crowded together.

"It's not likely to get as cold, not as long as it's snowing, anyhow. That's why I pulled all
the wagons a ways out from the east fence. To break the wind. Once the snow starts drifting, it
should pile up between them and the fence, work like a wall."

They walked together back to the cabin. When he put his arm around her, she leaned
against him, enjoying his warmth, his strength. Hesitantly, she slipped her arm under his and
around his waist.

At the door, he released her. "I'll get some wood in, then we'll be set."

"I already did. The bin's full and there's extra inside." Ducking under the rope, she
worked the latch and pushed the door open.

"You didn't have to."

"I'll get as much good out of it as you. Besides, you were busy and I wanted you in
before dark." Once her coat and scarf were hung on the peg beside the door, she went to the
counter next to the fireplace and took down two cups. "Sit down. I've water hot. Tea won't take
long"

She set it to brewing stronger than usual. "Is Murphy coming back? I can make more
coffee."

"He might. Make plenty. Jeb's due in anytime. He and his men will welcome it."

One of the shutters rattled as a blast of wind struck. "Hope he gets here soon. It's no
night to be on the road."

Merlin had drunk only part of his tea when a halloo sounded. He drained the cup, pulled
on his canvas coat and tied his hat on with a wool scarf that covered his ears. "I'll be back in a
couple of hours."

"Do you want me to bring the coffee to the barn?"

"It's too cold. I'll send Jeb over for it. He'll be grateful for a chance to warm up." He was
out the door on the last word.

Making a man who'd been on the road in this weather walk all the way over to fetch
coffee was just plain stupid. After making sure there was plenty of oil in the spare lantern, Callie
set it on the table and dressed herself for the cold. The boots, britches, and wool shirts Merlin
had bought her were just the ticket. She might not be willing to wear them to town, but she'd
choose looking like a hoyden any day over freezing to death.

The coffeepot was filling the cabin with coffee-scented steam by the time she'd put on
the several layers of clothing. She strung all five cups from the shelf onto a piece of string before
she wrapped two layers of the dusty burlap she'd found in the loft around the pot, and used a
raggedy scrap of linen to hold it together. Carrying the coffee pot by its bail with one hand and
with the lantern and strung cups over the other forearm, she opened the door.

It all but exploded inward, pushed by the fierce wind. Callie gasped as the breath was
snatched from her mouth. The wind eddied fiercely in the open doorway, fighting her for the
door, causing the fire to flare then gutter. She used her weight to pull it closed, and made sure the
latch was secure before grasping the rope and trudging toward the barn, leaning into the
wind.

The snow was no longer the near-invisible ice pellets that had stung her face earlier.
These flakes were big enough to see, even in the dark. Although they looked fluffy, they still had
enough ice in them to hurt as they flew nearly horizontal in the gusting wind.

When Cal appeared, she was greeted by the teamsters with great enthusiasm, Merlin
almost yelled at her. She'd no business coming out in this weather, especially not among these
rough men.

Almost as if she'd heard his thought, his sister Katie appeared in his memory.
And
just what is it you can do that I can't, Merlin Silas Lachlan? I may not be as big as you, but I'm
as strong and way more stubborn.

He'd grant Katie the stubborn. He'd have to grant Cal the size. She was no more than a
couple of inches shorter than him, and slim but not skinny. Could she shoot like Katie? He
doubted it. Her father didn't strike him as the sort to teach his daughter to protect herself.

He was here. He could protect her, if need be.

Everyone got at least a sip of coffee. As soon as the pot was empty, Cal took it back to
the cabin, with a promise to bring more as soon as it brewed. The men, warmed from within by
even so little coffee, went to work with a will. By the time she'd returned, they had all the loaded
wagons lined up along the middle of the barn, the empty ones added to the makeshift drift fence
outside, and most of the mules brushed, fed and watered.

She set the coffeepot down and turned to go.

"Hey, little lady, don't leave us alone," one of the teamsters called. "We don't get to see
pretty faces all that frequent."

"I've got warm bread for you," she said. "There are four loaves, so you'll have to divide
it small. Can one of you help me carry it over?"

"I will," Merlin said, before any of the teamsters could volunteer. The flare of
possessiveness heating his gut surprised him.

Words would have been blown away had they been foolish enough to speak on the way
to the cabin. As soon as they were inside, Cal said, "Where will they all sleep? I can't imagine
any of them going to town in this."

"In the warehouse. There's a mostly empty room over there with a stove that'll keep
them from freezing. Murphy said last winter they spent half their nights there."

She finished wrapping a second loaf in a clean flour sack. "Would he like me to cook for
them? I wouldn't mind."

"I would. You're not here to take care of a bunch of rough teamsters."

"Don't be silly, I like to cook." All the loaves wrapped, she put them into another flour
sack. "It's not as if I've anything better I want to do."

Maybe not, but I have.

He bit the words back just in time. If he had a brain in his head, he'd sleep in the
warehouse tonight, along with all the other horny bastards.

He reckoned it was close to midnight when he finally said goodnight to Jeb and Murphy.
"I'll take care of feeding in the morning," Merlin told them. "No sense in you fighting your way
across."

"Likely the water troughs will be froze again," Jeb said. "Sure you don't want
help?"

"I've got an ax. If they stay frozen more than a day, I'll melt snow at the forge and bring
the stock in two at a time."

"The boys will help. Give 'em a day to rest up, and we'll be here the next morning."

Nodding his agreement, Merlin waved them off, and closed and barred the big doors
behind them. Until the storm was over, they'd use the small ones, or open the side of the
blacksmith shed. He sure didn't want to, though. Once open, they'd never get that wall shut again,
not as long as the wind kept up.

"Whatever idiot built this setup ought to be staked out in the wind until he figures out
where it blows from," he muttered as he slipped out the side door. The forge was on the upwind
side of the barn, just like the main corral. Already drifts were building. He kept one hand lightly
on the rope, even though he could see the cabin window as a pale yellow glow in the blowing
snow.

Cal was sitting at the table, reading. "I thought you'd never get here," she said, when he
entered on a burst of wind.

"I was startin' to wonder myself." He shed his coat and hat, shaking snow from them.
"Everything takes longer when you fingers are too cold to work right." He hung his gear beside
hers next to the door and fetched the broom from the corner.

She pushed herself to her feet. "You don't have to do that. Let me--"

"I brought it in. I'll take care of it." He scooped the melting snow up with the coal scuttle
that never got used, since they burned wood. When he flung it to the back of the fireplace, it
sizzled and popped in the flames. "Any tea left?"

"I'll get--"

"Consarn it, Cal, Sit down. I can get my own tea. You're not my mother." After a
moment's thought, he added, "Or my maid."

Her face had gone still and she wouldn't look at him. Shoulders hunched, she plucked at
the corners of the book, ruffling the pages.

For a moment he was puzzled, before he realized what her reaction meant. He forgot
about the hot tea he'd wanted and about taking off his boots. Kneeling beside her, he closed his
fingers around the hand that was clenched in her lap. "Cal, it's fine of you to want to take care of
me, but it's not needed. Having tea ready is one thing. Pouring it, when I'm closer to the fire than
you are, is another." A thought struck him and he frowned. "Why are you still up?"