A Reason to Believe Page 3

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and shrugged. “Not by much. I can finish that up if you’d like.”

  She scrambled to her feet and wiped her hands on her thighs, grateful for the excuse to regain her composure. “I’d appreciate it,” she said with stiff courtesy. “I’ll get breakfast on.”

  Forrester stepped back, and she ducked through two of the corral rails. Straightening, she slipped in the mud, and Forrester caught her arm, steadying her. She jerked out of his grip, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  “You all right, ma’am?” he asked.

  She heard only concern in his voice but nodded curtly. “Fine. Thanks. I’ll get breakfast started.”

  She forced herself to walk back to the cabin, although she could feel the hired man’s curious gaze on her. Once inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, breathing deeply to counter her irrational fear.

  Why had she reacted so strongly? He’d merely saved her from falling flat on her face. It wasn’t like he was making improper advances. She snorted. The way she looked, most could hardly tell she was a woman, much less be attracted to her.

  “Ma, gotta pee,” Madeline announced, cupping her hands against herself and bouncing up and down in the middle of the room.

  Dulcie shook off her lingering agitation and retrieved the chamber pot from beneath the bed in her parents’ room. Usually she took Madeline out to the privy, but Forrester’s presence and her disturbing reaction made her wary. “Use this, honey.”

  The young girl quickly took care of business, and Dulcie slid the pot back under the bed, making a mental reminder to take care of it later.

  “Do you need help getting dressed?” Dulcie asked.

  Madeline shook her head. “I’m big girl. Can do it myself.” She scampered up the ladder.

  Smiling, Dulcie set to work putting on coffee and making breakfast. As she stirred the porridge a knock sounded at the door and her heart leapt into her chest once more.

  Forrester called out from the porch, “The milk bucket’s by the door, Mrs. McDaniel. I’ll be unsaddling my horse and setting a place in the barn for my gear. Then I’ll let the mule and cow out to pasture.”

  As his boot heels thudded away on the porch, Dulcie peeked through the wood slats covering the kitchen window. His broad shoulders and long-legged, rolling gait drew her admiring attention, but she squelched her response. He was a man just like any other. And hadn’t Dulcie learned more than she ever wanted about men?

  She retrieved the milk bucket from the porch, careful not to spill any.

  “Pretty horsey man?” Madeline asked.

  Dulcie turned to see her daughter wearing her dress backward with the buttons misaligned. She shook her head in amusement. “Yes, that was him. He’ll be working here for a little while.”

  Madeline’s eyes sparkled. “With his horsey?”

  Dulcie smiled even as her heart clenched. “His horsey will be staying with Flossie and Jack.” She knelt in front of her daughter and unbuttoned the dress. “You have to promise me you won’t try to pet his horsey before asking me.”

  The girl’s lower lip pouted. “But I’m big girl.”

  “The horsey’s bigger and she might hurt you.” Dulcie removed Madeline’s dress then had her slip it on with the buttons to the back. “Turn around.”

  Madeline did so and Dulcie rebuttoned the dress. Once she was done, she turned Madeline around to face her. “Will you promise me you won’t pet the horsey or talk to the man unless you ask me first?”

  Madeline stared at her, her chin jutting out stubbornly. “Why?”

  Dulcie put on her stern face. “Because I said so.”

  After a moment Madeline nodded. However, Dulcie had no illusions about her independent daughter. Madeline would sneak away at the first opportunity to pet Forrester’s horse. Dulcie would just have to watch her closely for the first few days. Fortunately, she doubted Madeline would be as bold with Forrester as she’d be with his horse.

  Dulcie ladled the porridge into three bowls to cool and fried up a half dozen eggs. After getting Madeline settled at the table with porridge, eggs, and bread, she placed Forrester’s breakfast on a baking tin and carried it out to the porch.

  “I’ll take that, ma’am,” he said, striding the last few yards to the porch.

  Dulcie gave him the tray and stepped back, sliding her hands into her back trouser pockets. “Just knock on the door if you’d like more.”

  “This’ll be fine, Mrs. McDaniel.” He smiled, revealing amazingly white, even teeth. “Thanks.”

  Warmed by his friendly smile and simple but sincere gratitude, Dulcie fled back into the cabin.

  RYE shrugged at the widow’s hasty retreat and set the tray at the top of the porch steps. He lowered himself to sit beside it and took a sip of the hot coffee. Strong enough to starch a man’s drawers, just the way he liked it. The food was plain but good, and the added treat of honey on the two slices of bread filled him comfortably.

  With both hands wrapped around the cup, he savored the rest of the coffee and considered his new employer. He couldn’t blame her for being as skittish as a wild mustang. With having her father accused of murder and lynched not long after her husband died, it was surprising she’d hired him. But then, there was no denying her place needed more work than a grown man could hope to accomplish in a month of Sundays, much less a woman alone.

  Rye wasn’t surprised the place was in ruins. He knew firsthand how alcohol and honest labor didn’t mix. But it was a damned shame this was what Mrs. McDaniel and her daughter had come home to find. Maybe her life hadn’t been easy with Jerry, but at least the army had ensured they had a steady paycheck and a place to live.

  The door opened behind him. “More coffee?”

  Remaining seated, he turned and lifted his cup. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She poured from the blackened pot but didn’t leave when she was done. Instead of getting a stiff neck from looking up at her, Rye turned away and surveyed the yard.

  “I know it isn’t much,” she said defensively. “But it’s all we got.”

  Rye restrained a smile. She might not have much, but she had more than her share of pride. “You’ve got a good crop standing in the field. When that comes in, you’ll be able to do more around here.”

  “A lot of sweat went into it.” Bitterness along with pride threaded through her tone. “With Pa dead, I can’t harvest it myself.” She paused. “You plannin’ on sticking around long enough to bring it in?”

  Although her words were blunt, matter-of-fact, Rye detected a hint of desperation. He stood and shifted so he could look her in the eye. “I’ll stay through harvest.”

  Relief softened her features but her nod was terse. “There’s enough around here to keep you busy until then.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hooked his thumb in his pocket and took a drink of coffee. “What do you want me to start with?”

  “The pasture fence needs mending. There’s stringing wire in the barn.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He finished his coffee and set the empty cup on the tray. “I’ll get started right away.”

  He found the wire half buried under some old hay in a corner of the barn. After some searching, he found a hammer and nails, as well as a shovel to fix loose posts. Without a wagon or wheelbarrow, he had to make two trips to get the supplies out to the pasture.

  The clouds were beginning to dissipate and the moisture-laden air warmed as Rye followed the fence line. In numerous places, there was a single strand of wire barely held by a rusty nail. The fence needed new posts, too, but that would take too much time.

  Rye stretched the wire taut and wrapped it around the new nail sticking out of the post. As he held the wire tight with one gloved hand, he used his other to hammer the nail into the wood until it was flush with the post.

  He paused to wipe a rolling drop of sweat from his cheek, and from across the field, he spotted Mrs. McDaniel and her daughter coming around the cabin. Pr
essing his wide-brimmed hat back off his forehead, he watched the breeches-clad woman carry a basket over to a sagging line strung between two trees. The young girl drew pictures on the ground with a stick while Mrs. McDaniel hung the clean clothes on the line.

  Rye imagined his wife Mary and their child in Mrs. McDaniel and her daughter’s place. Agony tore at his chest, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. The festering grief was always nearby, ready to ambush him when he weakened. He rubbed a hand across his moist eyes, scrubbing away the un-fallen tears and the aching memories.

  With renewed determination, he took hold of the wire and stretched it to the next post. He pushed himself ruthlessly the rest of the morning, concentrating only on his task.

  By noon the sky was clear of clouds and Rye had given up on wiping away his sweat. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d had nothing to eat since breakfast. His sudden thirst convinced him to walk back to get some water and dig out some dried meat from his saddlebags. Surely Mrs. McDaniel wouldn’t begrudge him a break.

  Stacking his tools and equipment in a neat pile, he trudged across the pasture, past the cross-looking mule and sloe-eyed cow. The desultory breeze barely rippled the laundry on the line and did little to cool Rye. As he approached the well, Mrs. McDaniel stepped out onto the porch. In her hand was a cloth-wrapped package.

  “Here’s your lunch,” she called out. “I’ll leave it on the porch.”

  Rye nodded, and she disappeared back into her ramshackle home. He stopped by the well and drew up a bucket of water. Using the dipper, he drank his fill of the cold, fresh water. He crossed the yard to the porch and sat down to unwrap what Mrs. McDaniel had left him. In the cloth were two thick slices of bread with a mixture of beans and meat between them.

  He removed his hat as he ate, letting his scalp cool in the porch’s welcome shade.

  “I wanna go out.” Madeline’s childish voice drifted out from the cabin.

  “You haven’t finished eating yet.” Her mother’s tone was more patient than Rye would’ve reckoned, given the woman’s brusqueness.

  “Not hungry. Wanna play.”

  “You can play after you eat that last piece of bread.”

  Rye could envision Mrs. McDaniel trying to bribe the girl and smiled. Jerry had rarely talked about his wife or daughter, and when he had it took the form of complaining. Rye had never understood why a man who’d had everything he wished for would prefer spending his time in stinking saloons with cheap whores.

  “No!”

  The high-pitched shout followed by a crash brought Rye to his feet. As he started to the door, it was flung open and a miniature dervish flew out. Rye snatched up the girl and swung her around before setting her back on her feet.

  “Let her go,” Mrs. McDaniel shouted.

  The desperate panic in her voice shocked Rye and he released Madeline. Mrs. McDaniel scooped up her daughter and clutched her close. The girl wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. However, whether her tears were from her mother’s agitation or because she was frightened of Rye, he didn’t know.

  “Don’t you ever touch my daughter again,” the woman ordered through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll shoot you.”

  Shocked by her deadly threat, Rye raised his hands. “I meant no harm, Mrs. McDaniel. I figured you didn’t want her running off.”

  “She’s my daughter and I’ll take care of her. You are only to do what I tell you. Is that understood?”

  Rye’s temper rose and he took a step toward her. Her gaze flicked away from him for a second but she held her ground even as she patted Madeline’s back soothingly.

  “All I did was catch her for you, ma’am. If you’re going to think the worst of me, then maybe I’d best move on now.” As soon as the words were out, Rye knew he wasn’t going to leave. His debt was far from being paid. But how could he work for a woman who believed he could actually harm a little girl?

  Her cheeks reddened but her spine remained ramrod stiff. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Mr. Forrester, but Madeline’s all I got. If something happened to her, I’d never forgive myself.” Her mouth thinned to a flat line. “Or the person who hurt her.”

  Rye’s anger leached away. She was only behaving like a mother. Although he could remember little about his own mother, he sometimes dreamed of a soft voice and gentle touch. “I understand, ma’am. But I want you to know I’d never hurt your little girl.”

  She remained wary, but if she’d accepted him at his word, his respect for her would’ve lessened. It was a good idea to maintain a healthy suspicion of strangers, but her reaction had gone beyond suspicion. It was as if something had happened in the past to make her unreasonably distrustful.

  Mrs. McDaniel gave him a curt nod. “I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Forrester. And I expect you to stay away from Madeline.” Then, speaking in a low soothing tone to her daughter, she turned and went into the cabin, slamming the door behind them.

  Rye sank back down onto the step, shivering at the woman’s chilly tone. Maybe Jerry had had good reason to find solace in the welcoming embrace of a prostitute.

  THREE

  DULCIE straightened from her stooped position in the garden and suppressed a groan. Her gaze immediately went to Madeline, who continued to play with her raggedy doll beneath the shade of a sprawling oak tree. Content that her daughter was behaving, Dulcie placed her palms against her lower back and bent backward to stretch out the painful kinks in her spine. She straightened little by little, sighing in relief as the aches diminished.

  By her reckoning, she’d been weeding and picking vegetables for nearly two hours. Neat piles of carrots, beans, onions, and corn awaited her. The only thing left was to dig up a hill of potatoes to have with the vegetables and salt pork tonight.

  She grimaced. They’d had nothing but salt pork for weeks. Imagining the taste of fresh meat made her mouth water. If there wasn’t so much to do around the place, she’d have asked Forrester if he’d be willing to go hunting. Wild game wouldn’t be as tasty as beef, but venison or rabbit would be a welcome change.

  With a mental shrug, she called out, “Madeline, let’s get some water.”

  The girl scrambled to her feet, keeping her doll clutched to her chest, and took Dulcie’s hand with her free one.

  “What have you and Aggie been doing?” Dulcie asked.

  Madeline held up her doll and seemed to listen for a few moments. “Aggie says it’s secret.”

  Dulcie feigned disappointment. “You can’t even tell me?”

  Madeline drew the doll against her chest again and shook her head vehemently. “No. A secret.”

  Dulcie wondered if she should be worried about her daughter’s active imagination. Since the girl didn’t have anyone to play with, Madeline had created her own playmate. Had Dulcie done the same? It was too long ago to remember.

  They arrived at the well, and Madeline pulled out of her grasp. “Want to do it.”

  Smiling, Dulcie allowed her to toss the bucket down the well. A moment later there was a dull splash. She handed the rope to Madeline, who set Aggie off to the side. The girl tugged at the rope and Dulcie surreptitiously helped her, letting Madeline believe she was pulling the full pail up by herself.

  “You are getting to be a big girl,” Dulcie praised. She handed the dipper to Madeline, who drank in noisy gulps. Some of the water ran down her chin and dripped onto her dress.

  The girl giggled as she gave the dipper to her mother. “All wet.”

  “The sun will dry you in no time,” Dulcie said with a smile.

  She took a drink and felt the cold water flow all the way down her throat into her belly. The hot afternoon sun had sapped much of the moisture from her body.

  Noticing movement inside the barn, she focused her attention in that direction. Forrester strode out, his arms filled with newly cut corral poles. He spotted her and Madeline, set down the poles, and strolled over to join them. She recognized the familiar rolling gait of a man wh
o spent much of his time on a horse. Having been in the cavalry, her husband had possessed the same.

  Ever since Forrester’s first day, over a week ago, she’d made a point of keeping her distance. They talked only when Dulcie gave him his meals on the porch, and they discussed the tasks for the day. He remained courteous, and she had to admit he was a conscientious worker. He’d accomplished more in eight days than her father had in a year.

  He removed his hat as he approached the well. Sweat flattened his wavy hair and his hat left a band across his forehead. Tugging off the handkerchief from around his neck, he mopped his brow and face. “Afternoon, Mrs. McDaniel, Miss Madeline.”

  “Mr. Forrester,” Dulcie said, her own voice cool and detached. She remained between him and her daughter.

  “Drink?” Madeline asked him.

  He glanced down at Dulcie, his expression questioning. At his deference, she lost some of her tension, but her wariness didn’t disappear completely. She nodded and stepped aside, but kept close enough to safeguard Madeline.

  He hunkered down a few feet from the girl. “That would taste mighty good, Miss Madeline.”

  She giggled and filled the dipper. As she passed it to him, water sloshed onto the ground, but fortunately some remained in the ladle.

  Forrester tipped back his head, and Dulcie’s rapt gaze followed the up and down glide of his Adam’s apple in his sun-darkened skin. A sweat droplet slid down his neck, leaving a slick trail in its wake. It rolled toward the vee of his open collar, settling in the hollow at the base of his throat, beckoning her. She ignored the reckless desire racing through her veins, even as she cursed her body’s unwanted response.

  “Thank you, Miss Madeline. That hit the spot,” he said.

  The smile he aimed at her daughter nearly buckled Dulcie’s knees.

  “You’re welcome, Mister For’ster,” Madeline said shyly.

  Even her daughter wasn’t immune to his charm, which made him even more dangerous. Instinctively, Dulcie shifted so she again stood between them.

  Forrester straightened and raked a hand through his thick brown hair. His shirt stuck to his muscular shoulders and back, drawing her admiring gaze. “Hot one today.”