Forget Me Not (26 page)

“There.” She set the scissors down and gazed at J.D. “I'm not going to faint. You can let me go.”

But he didn't. He stared up at her face. “I didn't think you had it in you to go through with it. You proved me wrong.”

A little nervous, Josephine gave a shaky laugh. “Well, I hope you don't get hurt again so I have to prove it to you a second time. I'd much rather sew the hole in your pants instead.” Then she blushed, realizing what she'd just said.

Awkwardly backing out of his embrace, she put her hand on the endgate and nearly toppled the whiskey bottle. “Well . . . I hope your head doesn't hurt too much.”

“I've had worse. I'll survive.”

She threw herself into cleaning up the sewing things. J.D.'s hand came down over hers and stilled her fingers. Her eyes moved to his.

“Thanks.”

She had to clear her throat in order to speak. “Maybe you better not thank me until you take a look at it.”

“I'm sure it's fine.”

“You said plain stitching. I believe I went too fancy.”

“It'll do.”

The nicker of a horse with the remuda, the low
night songs of the two boys on the nighthawk, and the lowing of the cattle surrounded them. Josephine felt oddly at peace. She could have easily snuggled into J.D.'s arms and rested her cheek against his chest. The thought felt so comforting . . . so right.

J.D. hesitated, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing as she was. But then he said, “You should get some sleep.”

In spite of the trying day, she wasn't tired. “Yes . . . I suppose.”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

He left, and Josephine finished what little dishes had been left to wash. Then there was nothing left to do but climb into the wagon bed.

Once inside, she took off her boots, easing her sore feet out of the insteps. The scratchy woolen covers clawed at her as she tried to get comfortable beneath them. She groped in the dark for the alarm clock and made sure it was set. Then her hand fell by her side and she stared at the bowed ceiling and waited for sleep to claim her.

Her thoughts drifted to fragments, and she reluctantly admitted that she had wanted to impress J.D. since the moment she first met him. With her cooking, with her cleaning, and tonight with her doctoring. She was finding out that she wasn't as useless as Hugh had proclaimed. There was a lot she could do.

And probably more here than in San Francisco.

•  •  •

Josephine was awakened by J.D.'s voice, very close to her ear. At first, she thought she'd dreamed him up. How could he be in the wagon? She hadn't felt anyone climb in. But the breath tickling her temple brought her around, though not to full coherency. She blindly reached for the alarm clock to shut it off, thinking that the noisy bells were what had woken her. But her hand didn't make contact with the cold brass. She
touched solid warmth. A man's chest encased in a heavy fabric shirt.

Sitting upright, she opened her eyes wide but couldn't see clearly.

“What's going on?” she mumbled through the disheveled tendrils hanging past her brows.

“You have to get up.”

Disbelief feathered her words. “It's three-thirty already?”

“No. Midnight.”

Josephine groaned.

“I need your help.”

The odor of campfire and tobacco pressed in on her. “Did you hurt yourself again?”

“No. Are you dressed?”

That got her full attention, and Josephine opened her eyes wide. “Yes.”

“Come with me.” His deep voice wrapped around her, the close confines of the wagon making the situation worse. She could hardly move without bumping into him.

“Where?” she asked, holding her breath with wonder. Where did he want to take her?

“Get up, and I'll show you.”

In spite of herself, Josephine was curious. She struggled to sit up, her head brushing his. She froze. She couldn't exactly see him, but she felt him. And he wasn't even touching her. The hairs on the nape of her neck prickled, deliciously.

He moved away before she could put order to the spiraling sensations that were burning her nerve endings.

“I need to put my boots on.”

“I'll wait outside.”

She joined him in a matter of minutes, her eyes adjusting to the lantern light in the clearing just ahead. Tied to one of the branches of a sorry bush was a calf.

J.D. walked toward the mottled brown-white cow, and Josephine followed behind.

“We tried grafting her,” J.D. said as he adjusted the rope around its neck and knelt down, “but none of the heifers would take her. Her mother was killed in the stampede. She's a doggie—an orphan.”

The orphan calf made a low sobbing noise, its black nose wet and reflecting the kerosene light. Despite it being a smelly cow, Josephine felt sorry for the poor thing.

“I'm going to need you to bottle-feed her.”

Josephine took in a sharp breath. “What?”

“Bottle-feed her.” J.D.'s brown hair fell over his collar as he gazed at her with all seriousness in his eyes. “Luis used to if we ever lost a heifer. You've got canned milk in the wagon, and there's a box with bottles and nipples.”

“But . . .” Josephine couldn't think of a good excuse. She'd longed to be a mother to Hugh's children, but they hadn't been blessed with any. She hadn't been able to . . . well, that's what Hugh had told her. It was her fault they had been childless. How she'd longed to hold a baby in her arms and nurture it. She felt she had all the right motherly instincts—but they were for a child. A real baby who smelled like heaven. Not a calf with big brown eyes and a slobbery tongue.

The calf lifted its nose and sniffed Josephine's scent. Then it cried. Such a pitiful sob. Josephine cringed.

She stood motionless. Then, after a few seconds, she fit her hand into her trouser pocket and fished out the butterscotch she'd tucked away. Popping the candy into her mouth, she looked at J.D. “Do I have to sing to her while I give her the bottle?”

14

J
.D. was on his way back from the slow rise of Haymaker Mountain where Reliance River spilled through the gaps in the granite. What he'd found had put him at ease. The river was full and crystal-clear. It was good water, and there was plenty of it.

By late morning, they'd left the brush country behind, where everything that grew had thorns on it except for the willows. Bull pines had begun to take over, and red-winged blackbirds chattered and chirped in the cottonwoods. Goldenrod scattered the ground, pushing up between the dead pine needles, while lichens covered the trunks of trees.

As J.D. rode an overgrown path down to where the herd and chuck were winding their way up the more widely traveled road, the squeak of his saddle was his only company. An alder branch brushed the side of his head as he leaned away from it in the saddle. He was reminded of his cut and grew agitated. He'd washed his face this morning, looked in the mirror, and stilled when he saw Josephine's handiwork. He had three embroidery-type flowers across the side of his forehead. Swearing silently, he'd done the best he could to cover them with his beat-up hat.

The crown rode so low, he could barely see. He
hadn't confronted her about what she'd done, having the feeling she thought she'd done exactly what she should have. As long as nobody had to see him stitched up like a lady's pillow, he could live with the stitches—and hope like hell the black threads wouldn't leave a five-petaled scar.

As J.D. left the thickets of alders, the white and yellow pines spread out far enough for him to get a clear view of the herd as they progressed up the hillside. He caught sight of the chuck wagon with the calf trotting behind, tied by a rope.

J.D. disliked asking for favors. Within twenty-four hours, he'd gone to Josephine twice. And now he was about to embark on the third time. Only this one required a physical effort he wasn't sure she could manage.

•  •  •

“I don't understand why I have to give the calf a bottle. Why can't you milk one of the other cows?” Josephine asked, her hands resting on her knees.

Boots shifted in the seat, taking a puff on his cigar. “Beef cows don't cotton to being milked.”

“Then why don't you keep a dairy cow?”

“Dairy cows lead to a milking job twice a day. Who's going to do that? Besides, what would a cowboy want with milk? He don't put it in his coffee because he doesn't need his breath to smell like a calf s. Better he smells like whiskey and tobacco.”

Josephine wasn't placated. “I just wish there was another way.”

“Use the canned cow like I told you.”

Yes, he'd told her. A half-dozen times to make sure she'd gotten it right. To the milk she was to add some molasses to make it sweet, some soda, and some salt to prevent dehydration.

This morning, before she'd even had the coffee on, the calf had been crying something awful, and she'd
given it the first bottle. The midnight feeding had been fixed by J.D. for her to give the calf. So not having known any better, she'd fed it plain canned milk this morning. The animal hadn't really liked it. It had cried for a while and nosed the bottle out of the way but eventually slurped its tongue over the nipple and dribbled milk down its chin while fussily drinking the whole thing.

Josephine's only knowledge of a cow was that she dished it up in a stew. How did J.D. McCall expect her to tend an animal she knew nothing about?

As if her thoughts of the man had conjured him, J.D. broke through the brush and headed directly for the wagon. He sat tall in the saddle and at ease with the stride of his horse. The sun-streaked ends of brown hair spilled beyond the collar of his duster coat, and his hat tipped low over his eyes. She couldn't see his forehead and wasn't sure how his injury was faring.

He reined in and spoke to her above the jangling rattle of the harnesses. “Can you ride a horse?”

She raised her brows and pulled her spine straighter. “With a sidesaddle.”

“Think you could ride astride?”

“I could try.”

“That'll do.”

“Do for what?” she asked, dread inching its way up her spine. She didn't like the sideways manner of his approach. Asking her a question before giving her a hint of his intentions.

“I'll be back.” Then he rode off, leaving her to ponder what she was getting into.

Josephine turned to Boots. “What was all that about?”

Boots cracked a half-smile. “My guess is he's putting y'all on the line before we get to the water so them cows don't run for it again.”

Her palms moistened at the thought as she gazed
toward the string of cattle. Their horns seemed sharper, their bodies more barrel-like. She was no match for persuading them to do anything.

J.D. returned a quarter of an hour later with a tall, sandy-colored horse. The animal was heavy in the flanks and had a long black tail that swished like a whip. It tossed its dark mane, and leg muscles surged to get going.

Dread worked through Josephine, and she fought the rapid rise in her pulse.

The horse had been saddled with a western saddle and fit with a bridle rather than the rope halter the cowboys and J.D. favored. Wooden stirrups fell on both sides of its belly. Yes . . . this was definitely no sidesaddle.

“Her name is Peaches,” J.D. said. “She's gentle.”

Josephine didn't think she looked gentle.

Boots called for the mules to stop, and he set the brake. “Get on out if y'all're going.”

Josephine hesitated, unsure she wanted to go.

“Come on,” J.D. called. “We've got to get you up front where I can tell you what to do.”

Reluctantly, Josephine disembarked from the chuck. With her feet planted on the ground, Peaches was even taller than she'd first thought. Boots cracked his whip over the mules and took off, leaving Josephine in a cloud of dust.