Dorothy Garlock (10 page)

“And that’s the reason you don’t like me?”

The boy didn’t answer.

“Well then, there’s no reason why we can’t be friends. I’d rather be afflicted with horns and a tail than to be . . . Burr’s woman. I wouldn’t have your precious Burr if he were served up to me on a silver platter.” She laughed lightly.

Still the boy said nothing.

“You believe me, don’t you?”

“Bucko!”

The boy jerked around at the sound of the sharp voice. Then he turned back to Johanna.

“Burr say to me, say I sorry.”

Johanna looked steadily at him. “But you’re not sorry, are you?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t think you should have to say so.”

The boy glanced at the man and back to Johanna. He moved away from the wall and went toward the man, who was waiting at the end of the porch. He lurched as he walked, and Johanna noticed that his foot was bent outward at the ankle. The man was watching her over the boy’s head, waiting to see her reaction to the boy’s deformity. She didn’t allow her expression to change until the man turned his back and, taking the boy’s hand, went toward the bunkhouse. Only then did she let surface the digust she felt for Burr Macklin. He had expected her to show revulsion. Because he lacked compassion, he didn’t believe such an emotion might be found in others.

“Just like his father!” she hissed under her breath.

Then Ben came out from the kitchen. “You’ve met Bucko. Both of them are quite a dose to take in one day, eh, lass?”

“Are there any more hostile members in this family, Ben?” she asked wearily.

“Don’t you think three are enough?” His eyes twinkled.

“I’m not worried about the child—he’s young enough to be won over. It’s the father and the grandfather that worry me.”

“Burr’s protective of the boy and keeps him out of Mack’s way as much as possible.”

Not wanting to get on the subject of Burr again, Johanna asked, “About the evening meal, Ben. Will I be expected to prepare it?”

“No, lass, you’ve done enough for today. We can eat over at the bunkhouse.”

*  *  *

Johanna slept badly that night. She was exhausted both physically and mentally. After the bewildering meeting with old Mack, climaxed by the meeting with Burr Macklin, her mind was plagued by an even greater turmoil than that which she’d experienced at Fort Davis. When sleep finally claimed her, nightmares came to torment and confuse her.

Once in that deep blackness she awakened to a strange, unnerving feeling that brought her to full awareness. A poignant loneliness possessed her for the first time in her life. Careful not to wake Jacy, she got out of bed and went to the window. She was filled with uneasiness, and thoughts raced around in her head. Had the scene with Burr Macklin really happened? Did old Mack really think she would marry that overbearing, arrogant man? Thank God the idea didn’t appeal to Burr. And the little boy whose eyes were so like Burr’s . . . how many more children in the valley had blue eyes? She could ask Red to take her and Jacy back to town, but she was afraid another trip would be harmful to her sister. So she would stay, because of Jacy’s condition, until the next supply wagon went into town. That thought held, and she resigned herself to it. In the meantime, she wouldn’t allow these loathsome men to intimidate her. Maybe it would be best for Jacy to be with Red and his wife, but, oh, she would miss her! Ben had promised to help keep her and old Mack apart, so maybe she would wait and see how things worked out.

Johanna paced the room restlessly, then lay back down on the bed, closing her eyes wearily. She dozed and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

When dawn brushed the sky with the first faint streaks of light, Johanna got up and went down to the kitchen. She found Ben bent over a tub of dishes.

“Sit down, lass.” He picked up two of the freshly washed cups. “Let’s have some coffee.”

Johanna sat at the trestle table, and Ben set the coffee in front of her, then slowly eased himself onto the bench opposite her. The grimace of pain that crossed his face caused her to say, “Ben, you shouldn’t have been bending over that tub.”

“It’s been a long time, lass, since I’ve been chided by a woman. Sounds kind of nice.” His eyes twinkled, and he reached into his pocket for his pipe. “Burr ordered this tobacco all the way from South Carolina. I was surprised when it came on the train, and I’m like a small boy with a bag of stick candy.”

“My father was the same with his favorite tobacco.”

“You haven’t always lived in Texas, have you, lass? I don’t recognize your accent.”

“I should have a Texas drawl, Ben. I lived there from the time I was five years old. My father and I came from St. Louis. He was a teacher and pronounced his words very distinctly, and I probably acquired the habit from him.” She sipped her coffee, her face thoughtful. “Are there any more surprises waiting for me, Ben? This is a very strange family.” She gave a nervous little laugh.

Ben puffed on his pipe for a moment, saying nothing, his expressive features sobering. When he answered her his voice was without warmth.

“It isn’t a family, Johanna. There’s Mack, and then there’s Burr, Bucko, and Luis.”

“And you, Ben? Where do you fit in?” Johanna felt a lump in her throat when she saw the pain in his eyes.

“Ah, lass, there’s me. It’s natural that you would wonder why I stay on with this tyrant. There’s not an ounce of friendship between us, no respect, and no liking.”

“It’s obvious you’re an educated man, Ben,” she said, thinking of the waste of his life.

Once again Ben paused before he spoke, his lips curved over the pipestem, his eyes alight with admiration for her.

“Educated in every way except in how to take care of myself in this savage and unpredictable land. When I was a lad I left my home in Massachusetts. I had become involved in some unpleasantness, and my family felt that I had disgraced them. I arrived in El Paso as green as grass and completely unequipped for the life in that lawless, brawling town. To make a long story short, Mack saved me from being stomped to death by a bunch of drunken cowhands. It was a purely selfish act on his part; he needed me to guard his back. Nevertheless, I was grateful and came back to New Mexico with him. I’ve been here ever since, except for a few trips I’ve made outside.”

“But . . . why do you stay?”

Ben stirred uncomfortably and knocked the ashes from his pipe. “Well, I stayed at first because I had no other place to go. Then Mack went out with a mule train and came back with a young girl.” His face closed and he looked away. “Mack had only contempt for her.” He paused. “She was never strong enough to leave the house after Burr was born.” A wistful note crept into his voice. “Anna died when he was four years old and I stayed on.” Then he added softly, almost under his breath, “I promised her I would.”

For a moment Johanna was quiet, then she put her hand on his. “You stayed because of Burr?”

“Yes, I stayed because of Burr.”

Johanna refilled the coffee cups. She felt a sadness, and it reflected in her eyes.

Interpreting the look, Ben said cheerfully, “You’re not to feel sorry for me, lass. I had more in a few short years than most men have in a lifetime. And I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Anna’s son grow up to be a fine man.” His eyes flashed with amusement when she lifted her brows in question. “Despite what you think now, Burr has many admirable qualities.”

Johanna decided it would be wiser not to argue the point.

“Why do he and his father hate each other so?”

“They always have,” Ben said matter-of-factly. “As a little fellow, Burr was scared to death of Mack—not that he came near him very often. There was a time when Burr was about fourteen that Mack took sort of an interest in him. He took him out to El Paso, and, I found out later, to a sporting house. At fourteen he was a man, and one day he found Mack laying a horsewhip on Luis and he fought him like a tiger. Course, Mack almost beat him to death. Ever since that day there’s been open antagonism between them.”

So many things crowded into Johanna’s head that she found it hard not to keep asking questions.

“Why did Burr stay?”

“He left after a while,” Ben said slowly. “He was gone for a few years, fought in the war, and saw a lot of the world. He came back a few years ago and found Mack with a crushed foot turned putrid with rotting flesh. He and Luis took off the foot and saved Mack’s life. Not that they ever got any thanks for it—just the opposite. Mack’s cursed them every day since then. But Burr says he’s set on staying. He says he’s never seen a place to compare with this valley. Luis feels that way, too. Nothing Mack can do will run them off. They’ve worked hard and made a lot of improvements these past few years.”

“What will Burr do, Ben, if Mr. Macklin doesn’t leave the land to him?”

“He’ll fight for it,” Ben said simply.

The statement gave Johanna food for thought as she worked beside Ben, finishing washing the tub of dishes. Perhaps Burr did have a reason to feel bitter, but her opinion of him remained the same. Fine man indeed! Fathering children just as his father had before him. And the boy, Bucko, would undoubtedly do the same.

“Ben, does Mr. Macklin spend most of his time in his room? Shall I make breakfast for him?”

“Mack gets up at dawn and sits on the porch and watches the men get saddled up for the day’s work. Codger brings him coffee and, later, breakfast if he wants it. I don’t know what the arrangements will be now that we have a housekeeper.” He smiled mischievously.

Johanna smiled back. She was becoming quite fond of this slight, gentle man. He had lasting qualities, as had her papa, a calm confidence, sense of humor, and compassion.

It was midmorning. Jacy had come down, eaten breakfast, and helped with some of the lighter cleaning before Johanna suggested she go out and look around. Ben offered to accompany her, and she went readily enough. Johanna suspected that Jacy sensed she was unwelcome and was glad to leave the house, if only for a little while.

Alone in the kitchen, Johanna found the work satisfying. She placed the freshly washed dishes on the trestle table and filled a large wooden bowl with hot water from the kettle on the cookstove. After rubbing a chunk of hard lye soap between her hands to build up suds, she scrubbed the shelves, then replaced the dishes. The cupboard at the end of the room held a few supplies; she scoured that and replaced those foodstuffs that were still edible. The tin of flour was full of weevils, so she dumped it and washed the tin, leaving the lid off so that the can would become thoroughly dry. She scoured the trestle table and the benches before she poured the soapy water into a tub to use on the floor. She felt she was making progress and hummed softly under her breath, almost forgetting the brooding, hate-filled household. The call, when it came, couldn’t have startled her more.

“Girl!”

Johanna straightened her tired back and waited for her thumping heart to settle into its regular pattern. The old man called again, his roar filling the house. Johanna took her time drying her hands and smoothing back her hair. After pausing in the hall to make sure her features were composed, she calmly walked out the door and confronted the old man sitting in his cowhide chair.

He looked even more disagreeable than he had the day before. His gray hair was long, hanging almost to his shoulders. His mustache drooped on either side of his wide mouth. The rest of his face was covered with a stubble of gray beard. He had once been a powerful man. His shoulders were broad, his torso long, but age and inactivity had thickened his waist, and his soiled shirt barely came together over his protruding stomach. However, his eyes, beneath bushy gray brows, were sharp and penetrating, and his lips were set defensively.

“Did you call?” Johanna asked cheerfully. “By the way, my name is Johanna.”

The old man was still. Only his eyes were alive, and they examined her from head to toe as if searching for a way to dig into her to make her squirm.

When he didn’t say anything, Johanna continued, “You should have a small bell, Mr. Macklin. Then there would be no need for you to shout when you wanted to speak to me.” She smiled at him, determined not to let him think he frightened her.

“Hush your foolish prattle and sit down,” he snapped.

“Thank you, I’ll be glad to sit and rest awhile.” She turned one of the chairs so that she would be facing him and sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles. While she waited for him to speak she fanned her face with the tail of her apron.

He slumped in his chair and stuck out his booted foot in a deliberate, childish way, she thought, but she refused to look at it and continued to look him straight in the eye. Finally he turned his eyes away and looked out over the valley.

“Do you like this place, girl?” he asked begrudgingly, as if it pained him to inquire.

“I’ve been here only two days, Mr. Macklin. That’s hardly time enough to decide whether I like it or not,” Johanna said innocently.

He glared at her. “You’ve been here long enough to know if you like the valley and the house,” he said impatiently.

“It’s a lovely valley.” She smiled pleasantly.

“Speak up,” he ordered sharply. “Do you like it or don’t you?”

Johanna turned her eyes from him and looked out toward the ranch buildings before she answered.

“Yes, I like the valley very much. It’s a beautiful place. I don’t like the house; I’m sure no woman designed it. But I’ll make do while I’m here, which won’t be for long.” She looked him straight in the eye, determined not to back down, to meet him on an equal basis whether he liked it or not. She needed to stay in the valley awhile, but not at the expense of her pride or peace of mind.

Anger tightened the muscles in old Mack’s face, and instinctively Johanna knew he was holding back his rage at her criticism of the house.

“What’s wrong with it? It’ll last. It’s every bit as strong as when I built it thirty years ago. There ain’t a better house this side of the mountains.”

Johanna smiled sweetly. Somehow she knew her smiles irritated him.

“Oh, yes, it’s built to last, I’ll grant you that. But it’s an unhandy house. I will say, though, it has potential. Water could be piped up into the house from the spring, and a washhouse built for washing and bathing. The place certainly needs a good cleaning and rugs on the floors and curtains at the windows and a few more lamps. A few flower beds in the yard would add a pleasant much. And, oh yes, one more thing . . . an outhouse. This ranch could certainly use an outhouse.”