Cowboy Heart (Historical Western Romance) (Longren Family series #3, Kitty and Lukes story) (9 page)

             
Following Sarah on the ride back, I saw the tension in her shoulders, the way she held on to the saddle horn and the reins with white knuckles as if she could will the horses faster or the trip shorter.  It only took half an hour to get back.               

             
Luke disappeared into one of the tack buildings the minute we rode into the yard.  I'd have gone after him, but my father taught me never to leave a horse unattended after a ride and by the time I'd brushed her down, Luke had long since vanished.

             
In the kitchen, chopping carrots and stripping corn for supper, I cut myself three times working as fast as I could so I'd have time to get upstairs and change or at least tidy up before the cowboys—and Robert—came in for dinner.

             
I had time enough to change, even, and bind the one cut that didn't stop bleeding in time, but when I got downstairs, Robert wasn't at supper and Luke once again bolted his food down and vanished before I could ask what was going on with him.  I liked having a friend.  We hadn't known each other long, but I already missed talking with him.

             
William also ate and stood before most of the other hands had finished.  "I'm heading into Redding," he said, laying a hand on Sarah's shoulder.

             
She looked up, surprised.  "I made a peach pie."

             
He waffled briefly, then looked resolute.  "I have to meet with David Lord.  Save me a piece?" and then, scowling at the assembled hands, "Save me a piece."

             
Scattered laughter before they went back to their conversations, which seemed to be about horses and bridges and cattle and pastures and a girl one of them wanted to marry, who the others seemed to think a very bad choice.

             
After we cleaned up from supper, Sarah resisted all attempts to lure her into a walk or storytelling or even playing the piano, which neither of us did well but sometimes enjoyed.  She claimed she had a headache and went upstairs to wait for William to finish whatever meeting he'd had with David Lord.

             
I went looking for Luke in the long light of the August evening and found him sitting outside the bunkhouse with Tiny and Mike.  The three sat with their backs against the house, facing out where the sunset transformed the sky to gold.  It wasn't the most proper place for a young lady but it was outside and early yet and he didn't leave when I got there, though neither did Mike.

             
Mike played harmonica in the golden twilight, making more melody than I'd usually heard from that instrument.  Luke stitched a torn shirt, neatly but impatiently.  I waved at the few other items he had at his feet.

             
"Need a hand?"

             
He considered, then handed me another denim shirt and his kit, where I fished out needle and thread and was grateful for something to do with my hands.

             
"William off with Mr. Lord?" Mike asked after a spell.

             
"Far as I know," I said.  William seemed like the answer to Sarah's dreams, but what if hers wasn't the only dream he was fulfilling?  That made me pause in the stitching until Luke tried to take the shirt back.

             
"I'm working on it," I said, though the light was beginning to fade and soon I'd need to get up and go in.  "You've been busy a lot lately," I added, just in case he wanted to explain what I'd done to offend him.

             
"Ranches are busy places," he said laconically.  "Break in the fence west pasture."

             
"No herd in the west pasture," I countered.  I'd overheard William complaining about it.  A fire had broken out in the west pasture just after he left on the trail and some of it was unusable, the grazing grasses burnt. 

             
"Doesn't mean the fence oughtn’t to be fixed," he said.  The lowering sun left his face half in shadow.  He was handsome, with clean lines and eyes that should be smiling and weren't.  From nowhere, Robert's image came to mind, making me smile involuntarily and take a breath.  I went back to concentrating on my sewing.

             
"Just missed talking to you," I said, as lightly as I could. 

             
On the chair between ours, Mike played softly on the harmonica.  If the conversation bothered him, he didn't let on and he didn't go away.

             
"Like I said," Luke said, "ranch is a busy place.  Thank you for sewing that shirt.  I'll finish it in the morning."  He stood, holding his hand out for the shirt, and I hesitated, then handed it to him, half tempted to stab him with the needle as I did so.  Had Mike not been there, I might have asked him directly.  I'd had enough of losing my friends of late, enough of being lonely, and, all too soon, October would come round and unless I chose to stay with Sarah and my mother approved and, for all I knew, Mr. Overton would have to give his blessing, I'd soon be going back to Gold Hill, where I'd lose Sarah until whenever I could next visit and continue not having Johnny's friendship.

             
The world seemed altogether too big, too empty, and, despite it being August, too cold.

              I went back into the ranch house quietly, hoping not to run into Sarah or William.  I wasn't sure what I'd say to anyone.  Sarah had left a lantern burning on the kitchen bench and a note that William was back and they had retired for the evening. The last of the dishes drained on the bench, where William had gotten his portion of peach pie.  That made me smile.  What I'd thought earlier, that couldn't be true.  I didn't think I could be wrong about the way William looked at Sarah and the love I thought I saw in his eyes.

             
But I'd been wrong about many things, it seemed.  Luke wouldn't tell me what was bothering him and I was half tempted to stick to him the next day, plaguing him until he talked to me.

             
Upstairs in the guest room at the end of the hall, I took all my dresses from the armoire and folded them carefully with the sheets of tissue my mother had packed them with, putting each into the trunk without looking.  I left my traveling skirt and jacket on top of the trunk and began gathering my belongings, all of them, into one spot on the small desk that stood beneath the window with the lace curtains that looked down on the yard, where once I'd looked down on the meeting between William and his ranch hands.  I'd tell Sarah I needed to go home and, when I arrived home, I'd tell Mother I needed to find a husband or something to do with my life.  I could let Mr. Overton help with the former, except that I wasn't ready to do that.  I'd pick up and start over, this time without involving my sister or by taking a journey by train without telling anyone I was going or the people I was heading to that I was coming.

             
When everything was assembled, I took another look around the room.  I hadn't gone visiting much in my life but every time I did, I went away again being short of one or two possessions I hadn't meant to leave behind.  One time around the room and I found my fancy boots, the ones I'd worn out with Robert.

             
What was I supposed to tell Robert?  That I couldn't take a chance?  That I'd lost the spark my father said I had?  Or nothing, if he never reappeared.  Sarah had warned me about him, that he was free with his affections.  William wondered if he was still seeing some girl in Redding.

             
Maybe what I was supposed to tell him was that I had lost track of Kitty. 

             
I picked up the boots and carried them to the trunk, lifting out the dresses again so I could place the boots at the bottom.

             
There was already something in the bottom of the trunk.  My mother had sent my traveling trunk but, as I didn't travel often, I stored things in it.  Something I'd stored was still in the bottom of the trunk.  I put the boots down and reached in, coming up with one of the secrets my father and I had always kept from my mother: Riding trousers. 

             
For a minute, I simply stood, holding them and staring in wonder.  Maybe they hadn't been a secret from my mother, because she must have seen them when she took out the other items to pack my trunk.  I was sure of that.  The trunk was for traveling, the few times that I found myself doing so, and I'd never taken a chance on losing the riding trousers nor had occasion to wear them since I'd been very much younger and my father had been—alive.

             
I held them up now.  They'd been large when he got them; I'd always had to use one of his belts to keep them up.  Now I'd grown, they might not fit.  Not that I could ever part with them.

             
I bit my lip, considering, then crossed the room and locked the door, just in case anyone was still up, put the key on the nightstand, and went back to the riding trousers.

             
They still fit.

             
Which made no difference.  Except that now the trunk was unpacked again and I lacked the energy to pack again that night.  Instead, I laid the reminder of who I had been back in the trunk by themselves, my boots nearby, one of the tailored shirts I wore with the traveling skirt, and, yawning, finally tired enough to sleep, as the grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight, I got ready for bed. 

             
I could always pack in the morning.

              I didn't pack the next morning.  Instead, by the time I was up and helping Sarah with breakfast, I'd discovered some core of determination that made me feel the way I had as a child when events conspired against me.  Rather than throwing a tantrum or giving up, misfortunes and mistakes used to make me more mulish than ever.

             
Robert was at breakfast but lost in conversation with William, the court case against Joshua Getties and the damming of the creek and the disappearance of more than one head of cattle keeping them occupied.  The other hands alternately listened and split up chores amongst themselves. 

             
My heart beat faster with Robert there, the day seemed brighter, the food tasted better and I wanted even less of it.  Luke came in late, a few minutes after we'd all started, slid into a seat at the far end of the table, and began spreading preserves on a biscuit.  I had just put the last plate of bacon on the table, so when I took a seat, it was next to him.

             
He flinched, somewhat, moving away from me minutely in his chair, which just irritated me more.  I've never been a clingy girl or one who pats, but I put a hand lightly on his forearm as he reached for the butter and said, "How are you this morning, Mr. Michaels?"

             
Tiny blinked at us, then said something to Sarah about getting eggs from his mother.  Everyone else just went on with what they were doing, saying or eating and Luke had the choice of obviously ignoring me or answering, however brusquely.

             
He chose the second.  "Fine this morning, Miss Collins.  Yourself?"

             
Five words?  Six?  I thought about gushing, filling him in on how very healthy I felt, how lovely the August morning was, how I thought it would be a beautiful day even with the heat and drought and didn't he think that August was about the nicest month of the year?

             
I chose instead to ask him if he had slept well, which earned me a
Kitty, that's inappropriate
glance from Sarah, who shouldn't even have been able to overhear me.  I asked him what he thought the temperature was going to do and whether or not he'd gotten the west pasture fence fixed.

             
His answers, one and two words each, couldn't have become shorter and he stared at his meal with great concentration.  There was no point torturing him further.  If I didn't intend to ask him straight out in front of everyone at the table
So, Luke Michaels, have you decided you'll never speak to me again?  And if so, why?  What on earth could I have done to you?
and I didn't intend to stab him with my fork, though it was becoming more tempting with every one word answer to my conversational sallies, then I needed to let him be.

             
I stopped asking him questions and, for his part, Luke didn't even seem relieved.  He simply concentrated on his food, ate steadily and disappeared as soon as he was finished.  Tiny and one of the two Juans left at the same time.

             
William and Robert discussed lawsuits and water rights.

             
Sarah stared at the last biscuit left behind, lonely on a plate.

              The week fell into a pattern of sullen heat and increasingly tense breakfast conversations.  Sarah was distracted and distant when the ranch hands were around and alternated throughout the day between seeking my company and going off by herself.  Luke bolted every meal and left the table as if pursued by furies the minute he swallowed the last mouthful.  I spent my time doing all the same things I'd been doing—weeding, dusting, helping, caring for the calves, washing endless dishes and fixing endless meals.  I became accustomed to Luke leaving any room I entered if he was free to, and Robert missing half the meals with no one knowing where he was.  William met repeatedly with David Lord, who sometimes stayed for meals and invariably asked me how I was getting on and how long I was staying and had, apparently, no recollection of ever having done so the next time he encountered me.