Promises Kept (11 page)

The pastor stepped forward and led them in prayer. When he finished, Colt settled his Stetson on his head, silently indicating there was nothing else to be said. Everyone started to move away until they saw Victoria step forward and gently place the flowers on top of Mr. Barlow’s coffin.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Barlow,” she whispered, swiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She couldn’t put into words the sorrow she felt. Seeing all of his friends gathered around his coffin, and hearing the words he wrote, spoke of his fine qualities. She wished she could have met him. There might not have been love between them had they decided to wed, but she didn’t question he was a man who would have treated the boys well. She could no longer stop the tears from flowing. Dropping her face in her hands, she sobbed.

Silence ensued all around. Colt couldn’t bear seeing Victoria cry like her heart was breaking. With a nod of his head, the ranchers walked away and he pulled Victoria to his chest, enfolding her in his strong arms. Over the top of her head, he looked to his men, silently indicating they could finish their work and lower the coffin into the ground. After Victoria’s sobbing subsided, he gently took hold of her elbow to lead her to the buckboard, with Bartholomew at his side. After assisting her to the seat, he turned to Bartholomew and placed his arm around his thin shoulders, conveying without words he understood and shared the old man’s loss.

“I found a letter addressed to me in Chet’s Bible, but I just haven’t been able to read it yet,” Bartholomew confided.

“All in good time,” Colt replied. “It’ll take some time to get your thoughts settled. Some of my men will be helping out around here so you keep them busy.” Colt didn’t think he should be alone on the farm right now. He knew how it felt to have nothing but your thoughts for company.

“I appreciate that, Colt, there’s a lot of work to be done around here. I’ll have plenty for them to do.”

“I don’t want you alone if Wallace pays another visit. When the men head back to the ranch, you come with them.” He knew Bartholomew couldn’t handle Wallace and his men by himself. “I’ll expect you for dinner.”

Colt walked back to the gravesite to tell his men to stay with Bartholomew, and if Wallace showed up, he wanted someone to come for him. He wasn’t about to let anyone cause Bartholomew trouble, and the only one heartless enough to try would be Wallace.

Tate was waiting in the kitchen when Colt and Victoria returned to the ranch. He hadn’t met Victoria at the funeral, but the men were all abuzz about the beautiful woman staying at the ranch for a few days.

It lightened Colt’s mood considerably watching the teenager blush and stammer as if he’d swallowed his tongue, once he introduced him to Victoria. He’d never seen the boy so tongue-tied; he usually talked nonstop for hours on end. He could sympathize with Tate because he’d suffered the same affliction when he’d first laid eyes on Victoria in St. Louis.

Tate had worked for Colt for two years, having come to the ranch half-starved and desperate to find work to feed his mother and four siblings. They’d made their way into town in a broken-down wagon and next to nothing in the way of supplies. There was no father in sight; he’d left the family to fend for themselves long ago. Upon learning they were living in their wagon, Colt set them up in a house on his ranch. Tate’s mother was not one to accept charity, so Colt gave her a job of doing the wash on the ranch, a task that was too difficult for Helen to continue.

Even though Colt was going through a rough time dealing with his own problems on the ranch, he’d taken Tate in and spent his time teaching him ranch work. He saw to it that Tate’s clothes and his other necessities were charged to Colt’s account at the mercantile so the boy could use his earnings for his family’s needs. Tate proved to be a hard worker with a willingness to learn any new task, and Colt never regretted taking him on. In some ways the boy was mature beyond his years, most likely from shouldering man-sized responsibilities.

Tate filled an empty place in Colt’s heart, and he’d made it his mission to see to it the boy became a decent, hardworking man. He insisted Tate go to church with him on Sundays in an effort to set an example like his father had done for him and his brothers. He remembered what it was like to go to church with his family, and he wanted Tate to have that experience in his life. At first, Tate resisted because his family had never attended church, but after a few weeks he was waiting for him in the buckboard on Sunday mornings.

“Where’s Helen?” Colt asked him, seeing that nothing was cooking on the stove. The boy was still staring slack-jawed at Victoria, forcing Colt to nudge him for a response.

“What?” Tate asked, his eyes never leaving Victoria’s face. Finally, Colt’s words took hold in his brain, and his face flushed bright red. “Tom took her home when I got back from Mr. Barlow’s. He said she was feeling poorly.”

Tom Morris worked for Colt’s dad for many years, but when an accident forced him to retire from cowboying, they were given a home on McBride land with lifetime tenancy. Helen insisted that she wasn’t ready to retire, so she still did the cooking and cleaning. Despite her advanced years, she told Colt she wanted to work as long as the Good Lord allowed.

“I’ll check on her while I’m out,” Colt said. “I was planning to stop by for a visit with Tom.”

“I’ll be happy to prepare dinner,” Victoria offered. It was an opportunity for her to feel useful, and to thank Colt for his kindness to her. It might even keep her mind off her problems for a while.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Colt asked, grateful for her offer.

“Not at all, I will enjoy it,” she assured him. “Would you like to take something for Tom and Helen?”

“I’m headed out now, but that would be nice. Just fix something up and give it to Tate. He can take it out to them when it’s ready.”

Before he left, Colt instructed Tate to help Victoria with whatever she needed. After hanging his jacket on the hook by the door, he turned to leave. Pausing, he looked back at Victoria. “You don’t have to go to a lot of trouble. I’ll eat almost anything. Whatever you whip up is fine by me. Tate and two of my men will be here for dinner, and I expect Bartholomew will show up sometime.” He grabbed his hat and smiled at her. “Thank you.”

Victoria watched from the window as Colt walked to his horse. He didn’t just walk, she thought, he swaggered, like a man who was comfortable in his own skin. He had that loose-hipped gait of a cowboy, and while it didn’t appear he moved in a hurry, his long legs covered a lot of ground in a few steps. Taking the reins from one of his men, he jumped on his horse in one fluid motion, easily taking control of the large, scary-looking beast. She watched him ride away, moving as one with his horse, not sure which one was the more formidable.

Tate cleared his throat, and Victoria, having forgotten that he was still in the room with her, turned quickly from the window. She retrieved an apron from the hook next to the one where Colt’s jacket hung, and tied it around her waist.

“Is there anything you need before I leave, ma’am?” Tate asked, grinning at her.

Embarrassed that he’d caught her staring at Colt, she felt herself turning pink. “I think I can find everything I need. You can come back in an hour, and I will have something ready for you to take to Mr. and Mrs. Morris.”

Tate tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am.” He walked out the door whistling.

Chapter Eleven

“If that food is anywhere near as good as it smells, this is going to outdo Mrs. Morris’s grub,” T. J. Hardin, Colt’s foreman, said.

Colt nodded his agreement as he hung his shirt on a peg on the back porch. He grabbed a bar of soap and dunked his head in the water before he started scrubbing. He didn’t normally go to so much trouble before dinner, but he didn’t normally have a beautiful woman at his table.

Victoria glanced out the window when she heard voices. She nearly dropped the platter she was holding when she saw Colt stripping out of his shirt. His clothing didn’t disguise his well-muscled form, but with his torso bare he was a sight to behold. His sculpted body reminded her more of a carved marble statue than a warm-blooded man. She told herself to move away from the window, she honestly did, but her feet felt like they had taken root to the floor. When he turned around she couldn’t help but admire his wide chest and arms, rippling with well-honed muscle.

Colt snagged a cloth off a peg and glanced at the window. When he saw two big blue eyes staring at him, his mouth tilted up in a grin. He’d just caught the prim and proper Miss Victoria Eastman ogling his body.

Victoria was mortified. Not only did he catch her staring at him, he had the audacity to grin at her to let her know he’d caught her. She whirled around and headed for the dining room. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen men without their shirts before, but they certainly hadn’t looked anything like Colt McBride.

Colt chuckled more to himself than aloud. After he was relatively dry he shook the dust from his shirt and shoved his arms through the sleeves. T. J. followed his lead, making an effort to improve his appearance. Rex Womack, Colt’s horse wrangler, joined them on the back porch, looking spit-shined. Colt looked him up and down and arched a brow.

“I cleaned up in the bunkhouse,” Rex explained with a sheepish look on his face.

Colt figured there wasn’t a man on the ranch who hadn’t already heard that a fine-looking woman was staying there.

Tate opened the door for the men. “You better get to the table or I might eat all this by myself. I smelled her cooking all the way out to Mrs. Morris’s, and my stomach’s been growling ever since.”

The men filed in and headed to the dining room. Suddenly, Colt came to a halt in the doorway, causing T. J. to slam into his back. Victoria was leaning over to place a large platter of fried chicken in the middle of the table, and seeing her perform that simple chore caught him unawares. Victoria was a lovely sight in her white dress, moving around the table making sure everything was just right. She looked very much at home, as if she was right where she belonged. A memory of his mother flashed in his mind. He’d seen her do the same thing a thousand times when he was a young man. Inexplicably, that moment stirred something deep inside him.

Victoria’s face was flushed, and he wondered if she was still blushing from seeing him without a shirt, or if it was from standing over the hot stove. Whatever the reason, she looked more at ease than she had in the past two days.

She turned and saw him in the doorway and gave him a tentative smile. At least, he wanted to think it was meant for him.

“Just in time,” she said.

T. J. nudged Colt from behind, forcing him to move into the room. Colt shook his head as if that would chase away his unwanted thoughts, and strolled to the table.

“Something sure smells good,” T. J. said to Victoria, breaking the tension.

Victoria glanced nervously at the two men accompanying Colt, and judging by the way she was wringing her hands, Colt thought she might bolt at any moment. Before she could think about running, he pulled a chair away from the table and held it for her. Once she sat, T. J. quickly took the seat next to her, and to Colt’s chagrin, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. After taking his usual chair at the head of the table, he made the introductions. Like the night before, Colt lowered his head and the men followed suit. As soon as Colt said
amen
, the men reached for the food.

“Colt, you didn’t tell us she was such a looker,” T. J. teased, giving Victoria a wide grin.

“Thank you, Mr. Hardin,” she replied softly.

“T. J., ma’am. That’s what everyone calls me.” He winked at her. “I reckon you can call me anything, as long as you call me for supper.”

Victoria couldn’t help but smile at him. He was a tall, handsome man, with a grin that was sure to be used on a regular basis. Rex was the polar opposite to T. J., having a quiet, reserved nature. He actually blushed when Colt introduced him. She guessed both men to be a few years older than Colt, yet it was easy to see they held their boss in high esteem.

“Tate says you are a fine cook.” T. J. picked up the huge bowl of mashed potatoes and proceeded to slap a huge pile on his plate.

“That she is,” Tate said. “I almost stopped and had myself a picnic on the food she sent Mrs. Morris.”

Colt accepted the platter of chicken from T. J., helping himself to four pieces.

Victoria was stunned by the mountain of food on the plates in front of the men. She was happy with her decision to cook enough food to feed ten people.

“How is Mrs. Morris feeling? I didn’t get a chance to stop by,” Colt asked Tate.

“She looked real pale. I told her Miss Victoria said for her not to worry, she would handle the cooking and cleaning as long as she was here,” Tate answered.

Colt’s gaze slid to Victoria. “You’re a guest. You don’t have to cook and clean for us.”

“I enjoy cooking,” she responded. “You’ve been kind enough to let me stay in your home; it’s the least I can do.”

“Well, I’ve never tasted anything so good,” T. J. said, and shoved more potatoes in his mouth. “I hope you’ll stay a long time.”

The men ate their fill, and when Victoria brought the dessert to the table, they thought they had died and gone to heaven. The apple pie she placed beside Colt’s plate was piled a foot high. “What did you make for them?” Colt asked, picking up the pie and placing it in front of him.

Victoria thought she should have realized that a man his size could probably eat a whole pie. It wasn’t until Colt winked at her, and the other men laughed, that she realized he was teasing.

By the time dinner ended, Victoria had relaxed and was beginning to enjoy conversing with the men. Listening to them joke with Tate, she thought about what the boys were missing by not having men in their lives. Before they left for the bunkhouse they all grabbed dishes and carried them to the kitchen. When Victoria started pumping water into the sink, Colt nudged her aside and took over the chore. “You want to wash or dry?”