Chapter 3
That afternoon, as instructed, Blade guided the Hawkins’ team and wagonload of fence posts onto Widow Butler’s land. Brownie, Running Bear, and Stormy had gone on ahead. Their tracks were easy to follow.
A sheet of high, thin clouds filtered the sunlight, and a pleasant breeze cooled his cheeks. To his right, the prairie sloped toward a broad slough edged with young cattails and rushes. Ducks paddled in the placid blue water, and colorful songbirds flitted between the branches of nearby ash and box elder trees.
It wasn’t hard to imagine a grand rustic lodge on the high ground. With a live-in wait staff, the lodge could be rented by the fortnight to elites of Society. With the proper promotion—‘Shoot a pheasant for your Thanksgiving dinner. Stargaze on your honeymoon.’—every penny of the start-up investment could be recouped easily within thirty-six months.
His mind raced. A man in failing health, like Zed Hawkins, would look favorably upon an offer that affirmed the value of his life’s hard work. He’d also want to settle his affairs in a way that provided for his daughter. Running Bear and Brownie, too.
The wagon bumped over an uneven patch of ground. His load bounced and crashed ominously.
Berating himself for daydreaming, Blade turned to check that the posts were still secure. He’d made a good first impression. He didn’t want to undo it.
And, he had to stop thinking like an investment banker. He was a rancher now. A rancher who would soon have his own spread.
Up ahead, Brownie raised his arms and waved like a train conductor.
Blade pulled alongside. Stormy had ridden Belinda out to work, and his mare blew an ‘all’s-well-but-I’m-sure-glad-to-see-you’ greeting.
He stood, intending to hop off and do some real work.
“Stay put,” Stormy ordered. She clambered onto the wagon and pushed off a post. “Pull forward.”
He sat back down and tapped the reins on Antony and Cleopatra’s broad, brown backs. The team and wagon moved forward.
Running Bear picked up the post, carried it to a hole, and dropped it in. Kneeling with a short-handled shovel in hand, Brownie pushed and packed dirt into the hole until the post stood on its own. He stood and gave a final, few stomps with the heel of his boot. Stormy shoved off another post.
Their teamwork was smooth and efficient, but Blade wanted to learn every step. When he had his ranch, he’d do everything by himself.
~ ~ ~
Stormy raised her hands in frustration as Blade stomped around and around the base of his first set-in post like a crazed flamenco dancer.
Finally, he stepped back. “One down. How many to go?”
“Fifteen. Before sundown,” she said caustically. “If you want supper, you’ll have to work faster.”
He crooked his arm around the post she’d just hauled over and, standing close, took control of its weight. His broad shoulders blocked half of the sky. “Doesn’t that break the all-you-can-eat promise?”
The warmth in his bonbon eyes made her diaphragm flutter. Annoyed, she stepped back until she was able to draw a normal breath. “This affects me, too, buster. Quit wasting time.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He upended the post, slid it into place, and started to pack dirt. A lock of his long hair slipped free of its leather binding and danced on his shoulder. His denims hugged his hips, and his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his back, revealing contours the great Michelangelo might have wanted to sculpt.
After four more posts, he whistled for his mare. “I need a drink.”
Stormy was more than ready, but she’d waited for him to suggest the break. She needed him to believe she could outwork him.
When Belinda trotted up, he unslung two canteens.
Stormy pulled out the stopper on hers, took a long drink, and drenched her neck. Her body temperature cooled as water soaked the shoulders of her work shirt. After one more gulp, she popped the stopper back in with a slap of her palm. “Want to switch jobs?”
Blade didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on her chest.
She looked down. Her wet shirt clung to her breasts, and her nipples stuck out like ripe berries.
Brownie, Running Bear, and Zed never fussed about her body parts or attempted to hide theirs. Had Blade grown up in a prudish family?
She had a wicked idea. Still holding her canteen, she stretched out her arms behind her back and rolled her shoulders.
Blade stood like a man bewitched, his lips parted, his expression blank.
What would he do if she undid her top button and reached for the one below that? She swung her hands forward, raised one toward her collar.
“Don’t forget the fence.” Running Bear’s shout was followed by a whooping laugh.
The canteen slipped from her hand and crashed onto her foot. She whirled around and saw Running Bear on the rise.
“I’m going home to fix supper,” he hollered. “Don’t be late.”
Avoiding Blade’s eyes, she snatched up her canteen and hung it over Belinda’s saddle horn. “You carry. I’ll pack.”
~ ~ ~
Someone shook Blade’s shoulder.
“Mornin’.” Brownie peered down at him like a grizzled miner assessing a glint in an embedded rock. “Cakes are on the stove. Team’s hitched to the wagon.”
Blade saluted with two fingers. It was too early to talk.
He’d slept soundly. The house didn’t creak, his pillow was plump with feathers, and the horse hair mattress was so long, his feet didn’t hang over the end. He stood and tugged on the over-sized quilt until his bed looked maid-made.
Carrying his boots, he descended the staircase. The sun was almost up, and he was hungry.
Running Bear greeted him by raising his cup.
The coffee in the big pot on the cook stove was black and strong, boiled with eggshells to cut the bitterness, just the way Blade liked it. He piled a plate with golden flapjacks and scrambled eggs and carried his breakfast to the eating table.
He was half done when Stormy clomped down the stairs. Neat, tight braids dangled behind her ears, and blue ovals patched the elbows of her checkered men’s shirt. Her shirt tail was tucked snugly in her denims.
She acknowledged him with a nod, dropped her work gloves, hat, and a thick, leather-bound book on the table, and disappeared into the kitchen. After some clanging, she returned carrying a glass of milk and a stack of cakes on a shiny tin plate. She sat and slathered her cakes with butter and jam. Then, she opened her book to a page marked with a small, brown grouse feather and started to eat.
She was such a contrast to his ex-fiancée. Candy refused to get out of bed before noon and insisted upon painting her face before she’d let him kiss her.
Stormy turned a page in her book and laughed. Blade was tempted to ask what she was reading, but decided against it. This family clearly respected private time in the morning, and he liked that.
When he was growing up, mornings were a flurry of hovering servants and barked orders. During the day, his father concentrated on amassing a fortune while his mother scaled the heights of St. Louis Society. He and his brother had battled fiercely for their limited attention.
His father had encouraged the rivalry, claiming it was good training for investment banking. His baby sister, Mary, had watched everything from the safety of her highchair or the protective arms of her nurse. He missed Mary the most.
Blade dowsed his memories with the remains of his coffee. The past was history, and he was on the cusp of his future. He set his dishes in the kitchen sink, picked up his hat, and walked outside. This was the life he wanted—cozy home, big sky, honest work.
Honest. He couldn’t be honest with the Hawkins clan until he discovered their unfulfilled dreams and wove them into a deal that would make everyone happy. He’d done it dozens of times before, but this was the last time he’d have to walk the fine line between charade and truth. Everything was going to work out fine.
He drew a slow, steadying breath and strode toward the corral.
Brownie lumbered out of the barn carrying a tin pail of milk. “You got the list, Blade? You remember where to meet up on the way back?”
Blade climbed onto the buckboard’s seat, reached into his hat, and pulled out the folded list of supplies that Zed had written last night. “I’ll find you.”
“Tie the posts good so they don’t bounce out. Follow the tracks when you’re coming back. Hazards are hard to see in the grass this time of year. You don’t want to break an axle.”
“All right.” Blade picked up the reins. “I was wondering who named the horses.”
“Zed likes names from Shakespeare. Stormy picked Odin and Thor. You heard of the Norse gods?”
“I have.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Brownie’s scraggly whiskers split into a broken-toothed smile. “You’re fittin’ in just fine.” He headed toward the house.
Stormy darted outside. “Where do you think you’re going?” she shouted.
Brownie snagged her arm and held on despite her attempts to shake free. “We worked it all out last night after you went up to bed. Blade needs to fetch his things. He’ll pick up supplies and check the mail.” Brownie raised his voice even louder. “Move along now, Blade. See you when you git back.”