West Winds of Wyoming (13 page)

Seth was seated comfortably on the porch when Nell rode into the yard. He was hatless and his feet were propped on the rail and crossed at the ankles. Dog slept by his side.

He stood and came down the steps to meet her. “Where’s Charlie?”

Her gaze cut to the barn.
He didn’t come home.
“Don’t know. Maybe he decided Logan Meadows wasn’t for him and rode out.”

Seth’s brow lowered. “What’re you babbling about? Did you have angry words or something?”

She swung her leg over the saddle and stepped to the ground, disappointment over Charlie hurting more than it should. He was a drifter. Rode in one day, would ride out the next. He’d never promised to stay for any length of time—although he’d sounded like he was planning to settle. Funny, she’d pegged him as one of the long hires, and actually he was the shortest. “No. Are his things still in the house? Or his horse gone? He rode the black today.”

“Don’t know. I got home a short while ago and didn’t notice. Been here just long enough to turn my horse out to pasture and plop down in a chair. Nell, you must know more. Didn’t you leave town together?”

“Nope. It was strange. He was getting along fine, meeting everyone in town, until he won the raffle. When he went forward to collect, something happened. Like blowing out the lamp.”
Yeah, like being so close to Brenna rendered him brainless.

Dog came down the steps and sniffed at Nell’s boots.

“Did someone say something to him? Insult him?”

How the heck was she supposed to know what Charlie Rose was thinking? Agitated, she slapped the reins across her palm. “I said I don’t know what transpired, and I don’t. After he won the quilt he—”

“Quilt?”

“The raffle prize. He won the quilt and went forward to collect his winnin’s, made a strange sound out of his mouth that was supposed to be
thank you
, then turned and stalked off. Mounted up without saying a thing to me and was gone. Everyone just watched him go. I had thought”—
no, hoped
—“he was coming back here.”

Seth pushed his hand through his hair, then stared out into the distance, as if he could see through space and time.
Too bad.
Seth had also taken to Charlie. And he’d been a huge help. And would have been an even bigger one when they started breaking the new string.

Oh, well. Easy come, easy go.

“What aren’t you saying, Nell? I’ve raised you since you were a little rascal in piggy-tails. I know that expression. Tell me what’s upset you.”

“That’s
pigtails
,” she corrected, and shook her head. She started for the barn, reins in hand and Coyote following behind. Chickens scattered when she walked straight through their flock. “I’ve told you all that I know. One minute he was enjoying himself, the next—I don’t know.”

Seth took up step with her. “Did it have something to do with the quilt? I can’t imagine an object as benign as a bed covering setting him off, not with his good-naturedness.”

Inside the barn, Charlie’s chestnut mare poked her head out of her stall and greeted them with a low rumbling nicker. Across the way, Drag Anchor pinned his ears, still angry at being kept inside.

“Georgia’s still here. Maybe he’ll come back for her.” A splash of relief cooled her heart.

“Maybe the quilt reminded him of his wife.”

Nell spun around. “Wife?”

“Yeah, didn’t he tell you? He lost his wife to a wagon accident some time ago.”

Nell blinked several times. She thought about his strange reaction to Maddie, wondering if he’d also lost a child. He certainly was old enough to have had a family of his own. “No. He never mentioned that to me at all.”

Seth scratched his shoulder. “I guess it ain’t something you go around talking about. He’s pretty tight-lipped about his past.”

Why hadn’t Charlie mentioned he’d lost a spouse, like her? With Seth eyeing her shrewdly she felt like a bug on a pin. “Chances are he just needs more time to get over her death. When you lose a person you love, time can stand still.”

She removed Coyote’s bridle and slipped his rope halter on, knotting the catch. She ran her hand down between Coyote’s eyes, thinking. Perhaps she misjudged Charlie’s reaction to Brenna. Maybe the way he clammed up had something to do with his deceased wife. Whatever the reason, her brother stood there expectantly. “I don’t know, Seth. Maybe Charlie was hoping to live high on the hog and, now that he’s been out here a few days, is making his break before he gets stuck. I guess you just never know a feller until you take him on a picnic.” She joked to lighten the mood, all the while her heart shuddering at the possibility.

Seth went over and stroked Charlie’s horse on the neck, as if Georgia’s being here meant their hired hand would be coming back. That wasn’t a sure bet. Men stole horses all the time.

“You stop talking stupid,” he said. “You do that when you’re scared of something. The crux of the matter is, Charlie means something to you. I’ve known that since the day he arrived.”

She stilled, the back cinch undone and the front cinch strap in her hands. She tossed her brother a flustered smile, noticing the tired lines around his eyes. “Is that so?”

“Yes. It’s so.”

Finished, she hoisted the heavy saddle from Coyote’s back. “Oh, I’m just all aflutter when Charlie is around and you can read me like a book?” She stomped to the tack room.

“As much as you hate the thought, yeah.”

She returned with a soft-bristled brush. “That’s plain silly.” She stroked the tool over the horse’s side and muscular hip. “Charlie doesn’t mean any more to me than any of the other hands we’ve employed over the years. I can’t believe you think that. Are you teasing to get me back for letting the house go?”

Seth barked out a laugh. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

Turning, she aimed the brush at his head and let the bristles fly. He ducked, and the grooming instrument sailed into Georgia’s stall and clattered against the back wall, spooking the mare and causing several chickens to fly down from the loft and run out the open door. Georgia snorted and whirled her hip into the gate.

Nell broke into remorseful laughter. “I’m sorry, girl. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was trying to silence my big-talking brother. He thinks he knows everything.” She hurried over and opened the mare’s stall door. “I have no more designs on Charlie than you do on some mystery woman,” she called loudly from inside. She picked up the brush from the corner. “Charlie Rose is too much of a ladies’ man for my liking. He thinks a lot of himself with his bluer-than-blue eyes and charming smile. I’m sure in his day he’s enchanted more women than we have horses.”

Nell gave the mare a quick hug and kissed her neck. “Sorry again, Georgia.” With a lighthearted chuckle, she stepped through the gate.

And came face-to-face with Charlie.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

B
renna took in the scene of the abandoned school grounds, happy and satisfied with her accomplishments. Thom and Albert had just finished loading the last of the boards and barrels and sawhorses that made up the tables, along with the extra chairs, into the buckboard, and they’d taken them away to the livery to be stored in the loft.

Exhausted, she longed to sit on the grass for a few brief moments of solitude, but there were still chores awaiting her at home. She’d go retrieve her belongings from inside the school and be on her way.

Brenna crossed the yard, noting the path that curved between the doctor’s office and Lettie’s Bakery to Main Street. A mouthwatering aroma floated in the air. Lettie must be frying her confections for the church’s standing Sunday order. On the doorstep of the schoolhouse, she reached for the doorknob at the same time the door opened.

Mr. Hutton barreled out full steam ahead, head down and mumbling to himself.

They collided with a
woomph
.

Brenna took an uncontrolled step back, teetered and plopped to the ground on her backside with a cry.

He rushed forward and hoisted her up by the arm. “Mrs. Lane, I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

Several moments passed before she could get any words past her lips. Her bottom felt like a five-foot-wide board had just rendered her a punishment, reminding her of the whuppings her pa used to give her after he’d been drinking. Stars darted around in front of her eyes and she thought she heard the twittering of birds.

“Please, Mrs. Lane,
say
something. I can’t believe this has happened again. I should have been more careful, watched where I was going.”

“I—
ouch
—” She lifted her foot off the ground quickly as a sharp pain shot up her leg. “And I should do the same.”

“Here, sit back on the ground until the pain stops.” His expression was panicked as he lowered her carefully down. “What hurts? Your leg? Your foot?”

Brenna leaned forward and fingered her sturdy brown boot. “Actually, I think it’s my ankle.”

Totally disregarding the damage the grass might do to his lovely corduroy pants, Mr. Hutton sank to his knees and started unlacing her boot. His fingers moved with astounding speed.

“
Please
, Mr. Hutton, you’ll ruin your pants. Stand up. I can do that.” Leaning forward she tried to push his hands away.
These boots are so old. What must he think?

“Never you mind,” he replied. “I’m almost done.” He slipped off her boot to expose her black sock, then pulled that off next.

He tipped his head as he contemplated her ankle. “Do you think it’s broken?” He carefully probed around the area. “Can you wiggle your toes?”

“That’s a myth,” she said, then sucked in a deep breath when he found the tender area.

“Pardon me?”

“That one can’t wiggle their toes if their ankle is broken. It’s not true.”

“Ah.” He accepted the correction with grace, then glanced at her face—where their gaze met and held for the third time in one day—before continuing his exploration of her lower leg and foot.

“Ohhh . . .”

“Hurt?”

“No, it didn’t—I just thought I’d—”

“Hush.”

His hands on her ankle sent a ripple of longing straight to her heart.
A different kind of pain, Mr. Hutton.
She wanted to pull her foot back before she made a bigger fool of herself, but couldn’t make herself do it.

“Stay put.” He set her foot carefully on the grass. “I’m going for Dr. Thorn.”

Flustered, she grasped for his shirtsleeve before he could stand. “That’s totally unnecessary. It’s just a simple twist. The pain is almost gone.”
And I’m enjoying your attention much more than I should.

“I’m commanding you to say here, Mrs. Lane. It’s for your own good. If you try to walk on a broken ankle you could make the injury much worse.” He stood and gazed down at her. “Humor me, please. I’ve seen a damaged, unattended ankle. I assure you, it’s not pretty.”

“It’s Saturday, Mr. Hutton. Dr. Thorn isn’t in his office.”

“He might be since he was just here a little while ago. And if he isn’t, I’ll go to his house.” He glanced down the slope toward Main Street, then over at the bridge. “Where does he live? I’m sure he’ll come if I ask.”

She couldn’t stop a soft laugh from slipping through her lips. He appeared so earnest, and she felt so young. It seemed as if the sun had just come out and spring flowers were blooming everywhere. She worked to keep her breathing slow and her eyes trained anywhere but at his face—and lips. “I assure you I’m fine.”

Feeling a bit exposed with him towering over her, Brenna slipped on her sock and then her boot, quickly working the laces. “If you’ll just give me a hand up, I’ll be on my way home.”

She extended her arm, holding her palm open.

His eyebrow arched. “This is going against my better judgment, Mrs. Lane.” He took her hand and easily drew her to her feet.

Another flash of longing sparked in her heart when his warm palm took hers. He was so close. She wobbled slightly before she set her injured foot on the grass to catch her balance. Her universe shrank until it consisted of Mr. Hutton’s hand dwarfing hers. She snapped her gaze to his, but he didn’t let go when she attempted to pull away.

“Wait until your color comes back. It won’t do any good to get you upright if you tumble back to the grass and perhaps twist your other ankle, or even injure something else.” He searched around on the ground. “Where are your things? We’re you carrying anything?”

“Inside.” She felt small and cared for beside him. She’d been a widow for so long, doing for her children, that having him fuss over her felt strange. “I was just on my way in to collect them when—”

“I came blundering out.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“Then we’re even. Can you stand on your own if I go get them for you?”

“I’m sure I can. They’re on your desk.”

Mr. Hutton backed away slowly as if he expected her to topple over any second. He looked so serious; she felt like giggling but knew that would hurt his feelings. When he seemed sure she was stable, he went back inside, only to return a moment later with her clipboard and shawl.

He held her things back when she reached for them.