Forget Me Not (40 page)

Boots maintained the camps for J.D. Hazel would hitch up the buckboard for him, and Boots came out to make sure the places were usable. He'd also ride down the endless miles of fencing to mark off the places it needed to be repaired.

Yesterday, J.D. had taken her to the top of Tepee Range so that she could have a good look. He'd pointed out the direction of the one-hundred-sixty-acre parcel he intended buying. She'd asked him about the bluffs and the pond, the size of the spread
and the number of cattle he had, then she'd asked about the road that led to Sienna.

That had put a damper on J.D.'s easy mood. Her wanting to know about Sienna was something he'd hoped she would have gotten out of her mind. Obviously, she was still set on leaving, in spite of the nights they shared together.

After their first night back when they'd gone to the loft to see the kittens, they'd met there each subsequent night. J.D. looked forward to those hours he could spend with Josephine in his arms, but he didn't like sneaking around. He didn't want to have to worry about Boots discovering them, or any of the boys. He wanted her in the house with him. In his room. And in his bed.

As his wife.

He'd made up his mind this morning as the dawn had streaked across the sky. While there were still several hours of darkness left, he'd saddled up Tequila and ridden to the Tepee Range to sit and think. He'd left Josephine somewhere around eleven. He'd walked her back to the house and seen her to her room. They'd said their good nights and gone their separate ways.

J.D. was tired of pretending. He'd fallen in love with her. He couldn't be sure when exactly, but he had.

He hadn't been close to many women in his life. The war had come and turned things upside down for him and his family. Balls and barbecues had ceased, just when J.D. was growing old enough to appreciate them. Then he'd gone off to fight, only to return to bitterness and a house that no longer reminded him of home. His trek out West had been one of hard labors. No time for romance or dalliance with a woman beyond what could be paid for in a night's time.

Once he'd reached the Wyoming Territory, he began work for Dillard, and once again, any extra hours
were spent on much-needed sleep or short rendezvous in town. He'd been going on this way for too long ever to find one woman and spend enough time with her to get to know her.

Although J.D. sensed there were a lot of underlying layers to Josephine, he knew she was a warm and giving woman. Able to learn what she didn't know and unafraid of the rigors of ranch life. She'd more than proven herself on the drive.

He enjoyed her company. Her smile. Her laugh. He loved to listen to her play the fiddle, and she'd saved his life at the Wampum.

A combination of many things made him love her: beauty, strength, and resolve. But what he loved most about her was her willingness to try. She could do what Eugenia hadn't been willing to do: try and make it out here.

J.D. wasn't sure how he could convince her to stay. But he'd shown her all there was to him, all that he'd accomplished on the ranch. He could do no more than to come right out and ask her to stay as his partner.

And he intended to do just that after the branding party tonight.

•  •  •

Josephine found out quickly that branding wasn't a pleasant thing to watch.

“Fire's hot!” Rio called from the corral.

J.D. nodded and waved his arm to Gus astride his horse in the branding pen.

Birdie began to herd the calves, one at a time, toward the area where the branding was done.

Rio stayed at the fire, while Print and Jidge used their lariats. They roped a calf, one on the forelegs and the other on the hind. The calf was held securely as J.D. took up the handle of the iron and moved in a rocking motion.

Rio handled the earmarking and dehorning, while
J.D. set the iron down to doctor any of the cows' ailments, then castrate the bull calves.

Josephine couldn't stop the tiny scream as he made the cut, then tossed a bloody lump in a bucket of water.

“Big deal,” Boots scoffed. “A little cut, and that's that.”

She had her hand to her throat, her pulse thrumming beneath her fingertips. “I wasn't expecting him to do that.” She swallowed. “I mean . . . doesn't that hurt?”

“What do y'all want me to do? Go out there and tell J.D. I want to be next so that I can tell you for sure?”

“Of course not!” she shot back. Boots was the most infuriating man sometimes. “I was just wondering if there isn't a better way to do that. You know, like giving the poor thing some medicine first . . . or something.”

“Nope. Just cut 'em and throw 'em. Then fry 'em.”

“W-what?”

Boots gave her a toothy grin. “J.D.'s going to cook them up for supper. We're having . . .” He paused, his face screwed up with concentration, then worry. “I can't remember. It's one of them foreign words. What are they called?” He scratched behind his ear. “It'll come to me if I think hard enough.”

Josephine waited. And waited. She didn't want to prod and get him excited. He'd been doing better at home, much less forgetful. She'd still caught him boiling a pot of water dry on the stove, and there were the little mistakes like leaving the back door open and walking off, or going outside without his boots on and gazing bewildered at his stockinged feet. But in his own surroundings, he generally moved with more confidence. She didn't think he was ailing from any disease. He was just feeling the effects of old age and a natural absentmindedness.

“Cajonies!”
he declared at last.

“Cajonies?”

“Y'all can be a real bonehead at times.” Boots fit one foot on the bottom rung of the fence. “
Cajonies
are testicles.”

Josephine didn't feel any better having had the word spelled out to her. “I'm not eating any . . .
cajonies
,” she said, tripping over the pronunciation. “I'd rather have creamed corn on toast.” Quickly, she realized her error and tried to make a fast recovery. “That is to say, I prefer your style of cooking to J.D.'s if that's all that's on his menu for this evening.”

“I'm not cooking tonight, so you're out of luck.”

“Then I'll have a plain can of corn.”

“Suit yourself.”

Josephine folded her arms beneath her breasts and watched J.D. and the others work with the calves. His chaps were dusty from the dirt in the pen as he bent down numerous times to tend the cows suspended between the taut ropes of Jidge and Print.

The back of J.D.'s shirt strained as he knelt over a calf, which despite being roped kicked up a cloud of dust. He didn't make a cut on this one, merely slathered a paste of some sort on its tongue and then nodded for Rio to let it go.

The thought dawned on Josephine that Freckles would have to be put through such an ordeal. Hazel had taken over the feeding of the bottle to Freckles, but Josephine went and visited the calf in its corral by the shed. Freckles was gaining weight and growing into a nice-looking cow. If a cow could be called nice-looking.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the next calf to be branded was her own freckle-faced calf. Josephine stood taller, her arms over the railing. She hated the thought of Freckles being hurt with that iron that burned the hide right off with an M and a small c.

“Why do they have to do this?” Josephine questioned as Freckles struggled in the ropes.

“To declare ownership and to prevent theft,” Boots said between puffs of his cigar. “A problem that has always plagued cattlemen.”

“But I own that calf. J.D. gave her to me. I don't want a brand on her.”

Josephine paused, her words coming back to haunt her. The way she was talking, it was like she was planning on staying. Like she meant to be around to watch Freckles grow up. It was becoming increasingly hard not to lose her heart over a calf . . . or a man . . .

With a frown, Josephine watched as Freckles was doctored and branded.

“Y'all should know about brands,” Boots offered. “A brand needs three things. Got to look good and sound good, be easy to run, and planned so it won't fit under any other brand around. An X is always good, so's a bar or a diamond, with any good-sounding letter.”

Nodding, Josephine didn't really hear. She was struck by a wave of melancholy. She would miss this place. More than she ever thought possible.

Dust was stirred by an unfamiliar rider coming down the lane. Once at the yard, he dismounted and tethered his horse on the hitching post. Josephine watched as Hazel went over to meet him, and then he came back and got J.D. The two men disappeared into the house.

“Who was that, Hazel?” Boots hollered.

“Matt Sellars. Said Mr. Klauffman sent him.”

Josephine had had enough of the branding, so she decided to read in her room instead. She assumed J.D. had business, and rather than enter the house from the front, she went around to the back. At the steps, she plucked up the hem of her calico skirt. She'd tried the garment on that morning and had been delighted it fit along with the plain cotton shirtwaist.

After breakfast, J.D. had cornered her in the larder,
stolen a kiss, and told her she looked sweet in the new clothes. She'd kissed him right back with a smile, missing him the minute he left to go to the corral.

As she entered the kitchen, voices from the living room drifted to her. She paused, not wanting to listen in, but several words had made her still: “I've done a fair amount of ranch cooking.”

She inched toward the door to the dining room and eased it open a fraction.

“Klauffman said you pay a decent wage and that this is a good outfit to work for,” came a man's voice.

“I appreciate Zev sending you out my way.”

“Well, sir, I could surely use the job. I fix a mighty fine stew.”

Heartsick, Josephine could listen no longer. She let the door fall into place and went into her room. Sitting on the bed, she felt empty inside. But what was transpiring between J.D. and another cook should have come as no surprise to her.

J.D. had been honest from the start. He'd told her the job was temporary. Only lately she'd . . . Oh, never mind. It was just as well that this had happened. It was the eye-opening she needed. She'd been beginning to think . . .

Pulling in a short breath, she stood and collected the boots she'd discarded this morning in favor of her old lace-ups. Inside the left boot was the money she'd earned to date.

Fifteen dollars. Taking it out, she put it in her handbag, then left the house.

She found Hazel repairing a hinge on the barn door.

“Hazel, I need you to drive me into Sienna. Right away.”

He looked up, his expression questioning. “Ma'am?”

“I'm all out of flour, and I need to bake biscuits.”

“But last time J.D. was at the mere, he bought enough to see us through to the end of the month.”

She clutched her pocketbook to her waist. “It went bad. Weevils got into it.”

Setting his hammer down, Hazel straightened one of his suspender straps. “Does the boss know about this?”

“Yes,” she lied coolly. “He gave me permission to go, and he said to hurry back because of the branding party tonight. So we better not dally.”

“All right.” But his tone didn't really indicate he was assured that what they were doing had truly been cleared by the boss.

Once the team was hitched and Hazel led them out of the barn, Josephine climbed up and took a seat. As Hazel clicked his tongue to the mules and they moved into motion, Boots yelled across the expanse, “Where are y'all going?”

Josephine didn't reply. She merely waved and left him to wonder.

On the ride to Sienna, Josephine mulled over the past weeks with a clarity she hadn't been equipped with until now. All along she'd been cautious of falling in love too quickly, but she had practically done just that. Whether she had known a man ten months or a matter of weeks, Josephine had been a fool to lose her heart twice.

Sienna came into view long miles later, and Josephine told Hazel to go to the train depot instead of the mercantile.

“Ma'am?”

“It's best you don't know anything, Hazel. Just take me to the station.”

The ramshackle little building was as she remembered it. She opened the door and spoke to Mr. Vernier.

“I'd like to buy a ticket to San Francisco. I believe the fare is eight dollars.”

He squinted at her through his spectacles. “Yes, ma'am, it still is.”

Opening her purse, she counted the correct amount and handed it to him.

“The train doesn't leave until Thursday,” he said while making out her ticket. “That's five days away.”

“Yes, I'm aware of that. I just wanted to make sure I had a ticket for it.”

He handed her the receipt, then removed his glasses. “Your baggage never showed up.”

“I assumed not. But it doesn't really matter now. I can't fit into those clothes anymore.” Then she safely stored the ticket inside her handbag. “Good day, Mr. Vernier. I'll see you on Thursday.”

•  •  •

“Why did Hazel drive you to Sienna?” J.D. asked upon their return. He stood waiting in the yard as Hazel pulled up the wagon and applied the brakes. Wearing his work clothes, he was splattered with blood, paste, and grit.

Josephine disembarked without any assistance. She'd made Hazel promise not to tell J.D. where she'd gone, and she'd asked him please to confirm her story that she had gone into Sienna to buy some candies—which she had done at the last minute.

“I was out of butterscotches.”

She glanced at Hazel, who wasn't a good liar, and she hoped J.D. wouldn't notice that the man couldn't meet anyone's gaze.

“So you drove fifteen miles just to get some?”

“I know how much the boys like them, so of course.” Hazel wasn't the only one who couldn't look people in the eye. She herself could barely pass her gaze over J.D. “Did your company leave?”