Ain't No Angel (14 page)

Laney missed Tyler during the day more than she’d ever missed anyone, and it was worse at night. Most nights she tossed and turned for hours, thinking about him asleep in the room down the hall. The memory of his kiss that first night was burned forever in her mind. She didn’t dare make the first move, however. During the day, she kept her hair tied back and her dresses buttoned up to her neck. He seemed pleased at her proper behavior, and that’s all that mattered. She sure as hell didn’t want to make him mad like she’d done on that first night. It certainly appeared as if she was successful in the first part of her task – keeping Tyler satisfied.

Although he seemed completely content with their relationship, some of the looks she’d seen him cast her way said otherwise. Once or twice, she’d caught him staring at her with a hunger in his eyes that left her breathless and wondering why he didn’t make a move on her.

Laney fanned herself with her hand in front of her face. What was happening to her? These feelings for Tyler became stronger every day, and scared the hell out of her.

“Time to focus on part two of your assignment, Laney.” She spoke out loud and sat up straighter in the saddle. “You weren’t brought here to fall for Tyler.” She swallowed. She voiced what she’d known for a week already. As much as she’d tried to fight her feelings, it was no use. She was falling in love with Tyler Monroe, but she could never tell him. 

Laney sucked in a deep breath. She had to focus on her other assignment, and get any crazy ideas about Tyler and love out of her mind. She nudged the filly with her heels, and headed slowly down the incline toward the herd of horses.

It hadn’t been too difficult to leave the ranch and ride out to the south pasture on the days when Tyler was gone. The wranglers who stayed behind to work on chores around the place were too pre-occupied or too shy in her presence to notice her activities or ask about them. Eddie was the only other wrangler besides Gabe who talked to her, and she simply told them she was going for a ride.

Eddie was easy and fun to talk to, and he’d already taught her how to make some biscuits from scratch, but she hadn’t tried making them on her own yet. She’d asked him to give her some cooking lessons, although his culinary skills seemed to be limited to stew and beans. He’d even agreed not to tell Tyler about it. With a wide grin, he’d assured her it would be their little secret.

Eddie had shown her how to light the stove in the kitchen at the house, and kept her well supplied with firewood. Not that she needed it. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to try her hand at cooking anything on her own, and she was grateful every day that Tyler hadn’t pressed the issue.

Laney patted the filly’s neck as they approached the herd. Rap had already spotted them, and whinnied loudly. Many of the mares raised their heads. The stallion trotted across the field toward them, his head and tail held high. Laney’s eyes followed his movements. A slow smile spread across her lips and she gazed further into the vastness of the land. She filled her lungs with clean air. If only she could enjoy the kind of freedom these horses had. The mares grazed contently while their foals slept in the grass. Some of the yearlings bucked and kicked at each other in play.

Rap whinnied again, and Laney’s attention returned to him. At first glance, the horse looked completely sound, but she’d watched him enough now to detect a slight drag in his right hind leg. She’d observed him move for several hours four days ago, trying to pinpoint any signs of lameness. He’d allowed her to approach him and put a halter on, and stood motionless when she started feeling along his back and hind legs.

“Tyler did a terrific job with you,” she’d murmured, impressed at the stallion’s manners. She’d worked with some elite horses before that were a nightmare to handle. Rap seemed to enjoy the attention.

“If only I could figure out what’s wrong with you.”

A slight swish of his tail, and a step to the side when she palpated down his rump and along his right stifle were the only clues the stallion gave that he might be sore in that area. It could explain his reluctance to breed if he experienced pain when he bore full weight on his hindquarters. A slight increase in heat in the area by his knee convinced her that she’d found the source of his problem. It was all she had to go by. An overextended or stretched tendon was her best guess.

Laney sighed. She was no expert. She had no formal training. How did the reverend expect her to cure this horse’s problems without telling her exactly what was wrong with him?

“Dammit. I feel so inadequate,” she huffed. She didn’t have the luxury of following a veterinarian’s prescribed order of treatment. All she could do was listen to what her gut instinct told her to do.  She strained her memory for any similar cases she’d encountered while living with the Sheldons. Racehorses were treated for strained muscles and tendons all the time. The subtle injury made sense to her. Running around this uneven terrain, perhaps the stallion had slipped and fallen at some point.  Maybe he’d injured himself during that horse race a few months ago. Unfortunately, she had nothing to back up her theory, and there wasn’t any kind of massage therapy she could think of that would alleviate this particular problem.

“What you need is some stall rest, but I don’t know how I’m going to convince Tyler of that.”

After wracking her brain for days, an idea had finally occurred to her about another form of physical therapy she could try on the stallion, and Laney was eager to implement her treatment today.

She stopped Mariah some fifty yards away from the herd and dismounted. After hobbling the filly’s front legs together rather than tie her to one of the sage shrubs that grew in abundance in this area, she pulled the extra bridle she’d brought with her from the saddle horn, and headed out on foot to meet the stallion. She dug a dried biscuit from her pocket and held it out to the eager horse, then slipped the bridle over his head.

“Good boy.” She patted his neck, and led him toward the fast-flowing stream that skirted the meadow. It looked deep enough in some spots where the horse would have to swim. Hopefully Rap would go along with her plan. He’d been rather cooperative up to this point, but convincing a horse to swim might not be so easy.

“It’s not a water treadmill, but it’ll have to do,” Laney murmured to the stallion.

At the banks of the wide stream, she gathered up the reins, and vaulted onto the horse’s broad back. He pranced and stepped to the side, and his muscles tensed slightly. Obviously, he wasn’t used to being ridden all that much. Laney wrapped her legs around his girth, and nudged him forward into the water. There was no way she could get him into the deep part without sitting on his back. After a few hesitant steps, the stallion entered the water, and Laney allowed him to pick his way through the current. Several mares whinnied behind them, and Rap stopped. He returned their worried calls, and Laney waited. If he decided to return to his herd rather than listen to the person on his back, she wasn’t convinced she could stop him. Stallions did what they pleased, especially with mares around. If she wanted to remain in control of this horse, she had to ask, not make demands.

To her relief, the stallion obediently listened to her leg cues to move forward, and she patted his neck in encouragement.

Toward the center of the stream, the bottom dropped sharply, and Laney gasped as the cold water saturated her clothing. She ignored the frigid temperature and urged the horse forward until he was submersed up to his neck. His powerful muscles bunched beneath him as he treaded water. Laney stayed off his back as best as she could. She grabbed hold of his mane and shortened the reins, but floated above him to avoid his hooves. If she slipped to the side, there was a good chance that she’d get kicked. If she could keep him swimming for ten or fifteen minutes, it might be just the kind of exercise that would benefit his injury.

Laney shivered in the cold water, and gritted her teeth. Unfortunately, she forgot to bring a change of clothes. Even though the day was warm, the ride back to the ranch would be miserable. Talking encouragement to the stallion, she managed to keep him swimming in the current for what she estimated to be at least ten minutes before he fought his hold on her too much and managed to reach shallow water.

“There has to be a lake around here somewhere, where this might be easier,” Laney mumbled. She’d have to ask Tyler or Eddie about that. If she could keep Rap swimming every day, she was convinced it would help him.

Water streamed in sheets off of both her and the horse when the stallion reached the banks of the stream, and Laney barely had the chance to grab a handful of mane before Rap shook his body like a dog. Laney slid from his back, and patted his neck, then removed his bridle.

“I’ll try and be back tomorrow, and we’ll have to do this again,” she called after the horse, which trotted off toward his mares. He tossed his head into the air as if telling her that he didn’t think this was a good idea at all.

Laney smiled, and wrapped her arms around her middle. Her teeth chattered, and she hurried toward Mariah. The mare’s head popped up from grazing, and her ears flicked in the direction of the rise overlooking the valley. Laney glanced up at what had caught the horse’s attention. A lone rider sat on a horse, watching. Laney gasped. She squinted, but the man looked like a dark silhouette against the sun’s bright rays.

“Dammit,” she whispered. Who was he, and how long had he been watching her? It couldn’t be Tyler. He wouldn’t simply stay at the top of the rise. Laney’s heart pounded in her chest, and her shivering increased. Whoever it was, he would surely tell Tyler what he’d seen. How was she going to explain herself out of this?

The rider suddenly veered his horse in the opposite direction, and galloped out of sight.

Chapter 14

Laney pulled the saddle from Mariah’s back and removed her bridle, then gave the mare a pat on the neck.

“Pretend like nothing happened, okay?” she whispered to the horse, and glanced around. Not a soul in sight near the barns. She turned the filly loose in one of the outlying paddocks, which was partly concealed by a grove of cottonwoods. Hunched over, with the heavy saddle slung over her shoulder, she moved as fast as she could toward the house. Her wet denims still clung uncomfortably to her skin, but at least the cotton shirt had dried out somewhat during the ride back to the ranch.

Laney hung the saddle and bridle on the fence, then ducked quickly between two of the rails and straightened. So far so good. There wasn’t anyone in the yard. It couldn’t be more than a little past noon. The wranglers who were on the property at this time of day would either be in the barns or in the bunkhouse taking a break at this time. If she was lucky, she might be able to sneak back into the house without detection. The guys were used to seeing her ride off alone, and no one had ever questioned her before, but she didn’t want to have to explain her wet clothes. She’d have to wait to find out if the man who had seen her down by the south pasture would tell Tyler about it.

Deny everything. There’s no proof that you were there.

How would she explain what the man had seen to Tyler if he pressed her for information? She hated sneaking around, but she couldn’t tell Tyler what she was doing. He’d think she’d lost her marbles, and she couldn’t very well tell him about time travel. Horses weren’t treated for injuries in the nineteenth century. A lame horse was shot, not rehabilitated with physical therapy. Rap wasn’t lame enough to deserve a bullet to the head, but how long would Tyler keep the stallion around if his injury prevented him from siring any more foals?

Laney cast a quick glance toward the bunkhouse, then darted to the porch and raced up the stairs. She unlaced and pulled off her squishy boots, water dripping from them, and sat them in the sun to dry. With a final glance over her shoulder and a sigh of relief that she hadn’t encountered anyone, she opened the door and entered the house.

Her socks left wet imprints on the wooden floor as she rushed through the living room and down the hall.  She couldn’t wait to get out of her soaked clothes. The door to Tyler’s bedroom opened at that moment, and Laney slammed into a woman who stepped out into the narrow hallway. She suppressed a startled scream, and pushed against the person to keep her balance.

“Goodness gracious,” a loud voice shrieked.

Laney’s heart pounded in her chest, but a whoosh of air left her lungs in relief that it wasn’t Tyler whom she had bumped into. She would have had a hard time explaining her wet clothes to him.

 “Who are you?” She blurted the first thing that came to mind. Standing less than a foot from a large woman with a disapproving scowl on her face, Laney slowly backed away. The woman had to be in her late fifties or early sixties, judging by the wrinkled face and the gray hair that was pulled back in a tight bun. This had to be the widow Tyler had told her about, the one who came once a month to clean. Of all days for her to show up, why today?

“I could ask you the same thing, young lady,” the woman replied heatedly, one hand on her hip, her other arm piled high with articles of clothing that Laney recognized as Tyler’s shirts. The older woman’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward, her gaze slowly moving up and down Laney’s figure.

“But I suppose I know who you are,” she finally said, her eyes lingering on Laney’s pants, disapproval written all over her face. She shook her head. “I’m going to have to have a talk with that boy,” she said sternly. “Land sakes. Letting a woman, let alone his wife, run around in britches. What is this world coming to?”

Laney blinked, and scrunched her eyebrows together. She shivered, partly from being cold in her wet clothes, and also because of this woman’s condemning attitude.

The woman leaned back, and continued to peruse her. “What happened to you, child? Did you fall into the creek?”

“Something like that.” Laney mumbled, and avoided her stare. “I’d really like to change out of these clothes if you don’t mind.” She motioned with her head down the hall toward her room.

Instead of moving aside to let Laney pass, the woman stepped back to give her access to Tyler’s room. Laney rubbed her hands up and down her cold arms.

“My room is down the hall, uh . . . ma’am.”

“Lordy, where are my manners?” The woman’s eyes shot to the ceiling. “The name’s Myra Hansen.” She reached her large hand out, and Laney slowly shook it. The woman’s firm grip tightened. The warmth from her hand seeped into Laney’s cold fingers.

“Good Lord, your hand’s about as cold as a frozen pond. Let’s get you outta them wet clothes before you catch your death.” She released her grip on Laney’s hand and shoved her into Tyler’s room.

“No, wait, I . . .” Laney stammered, and quickly turned on her heels. She inhaled a deep breath, the smell of leather and Tyler’s distinct masculine scent sweeping through her. She’d only been in this room once, the night when she snatched up one of his shirts. A sudden warmth doused her from head to toe. The memory of Tyler’s arms wrapped around her, and his heated kiss that first night sent an ache of longing through her. She gnashed her teeth. Why couldn’t she just forget about that stupid kiss? Every time she thought of him, or when she was around him, she wished he’d pull her against his chest and kiss her like that again.

Mrs. Hansen dropped the pile of laundry on the ground with a loud thud, and Laney’s head snapped up. Her face flushed. She forced her attention back to the widow in front of her. What a time to be thinking about Tyler.

 The older woman waved her hands in the air, indicating for Laney not to waste any time and get undressed. “Where are your regular clothes? I didn’t see any dresses while I was in here a minute ago. If you stay in them wet things any longer, Tyler’ll be riding for the doctor by nightfall.” She strode toward the wardrobe, and threw the doors open.

“My clothes are down the hall in my room,” Laney answered loudly. Mrs. Hansen turned on her heels to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Your room? The only other bedroom down the hall belonged to Jonas and Elizabeth.” Her eyes narrowed again. “You are the young woman Tyler married, aren’t you?” she asked, uncertainty in her eyes.

Laney nodded. “My name’s Laney.”

The woman’s piercing stare quickly widened. “No one has set foot in that room since . . . Why in the world are you staying in that room?” She shook her head.

“Nevermind.” She waved her hand in front of her face, then shooed Laney back out the way she came. “Let’s get you into some proper clothes. They told me in town that you were dressed like a real lady when you arrived on the stage. What in the world has gotten into Tyler to dress you like one of his wranglers?”

Laney’s lips twitched as she hurried down the hall to her bedroom. Should she tell this woman that it hadn’t been Tyler’s idea that she dressed in pants? She pushed her door open, and waited for Mrs. Hansen. The older woman hesitated.

“You hurry up and get changed, child. I’ll be in the kitchen. I have to check the water in the kettle. It oughta be boiling about now. I’ve got to get the washing started.”

Laney swallowed. Wash? As in laundry? She had a bunch of things that could use a good cleaning, but she hadn’t figured out a way to do it yet. Obviously there wasn’t a coin laundry around the next bend in the road in this time. Maybe she could learn something from this woman. She smiled, and quickly nodded. Mrs. Hansen turned and waddled down the hall. She bent and, with a groan, scooped up the pile of clothes she’d dropped a moment ago, then hurried out of sight.

Laney peeled the wet pants down her hips and legs, and dried off with a towel that hung over the chair. She quickly changed into one of the few clean dresses she had left, and ran a brush through her damp hair. Inhaling deeply, she left her room. Mrs. Hansen stuck her head out the front door at that moment and called loudly.

“Eddie Simonson, you lazy fool, get yourself up here this instant and help this old woman carry the water out to the wash basin.”

Laney grinned. For an old woman, she sounded like a drill sergeant. Seconds later, Eddie stormed into the house, huffing and puffing.

“Yes’m,” he said between breaths of air, and yanked his hat off his head, dropping the wooden bucket he held in his hand with a loud clank.

“I done told you a half hour ago I needed that water outside. Where have you been hiding out? Don’t think you’re gonna get out of work if you’re hiding.”

“No, ma’am,” Eddie stammered, and moved into the kitchen.

The widow’s glare followed the wrangler into the kitchen, then her head turned. Her eyes met Laney’s. Laney held her breath. Was the old woman going to yell at her next? In the same instant, the stern look softened and a wide smile spread across the wrinkled face. With her hands fisted at her wide hips, she nodded as her eyes traveled up and down Laney’s body for the second time today.

“Well ain’t you just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Tyler must have been tickled pink when he first saw you. Too bad I couldn’t be there to see his face.” Her tone had softened considerably, and she held out her arms and rushed toward her. Laney’s eyes shot up in surprise when the large woman’s arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace. Mrs. Hansen drew back, and held her at arm’s length.

“It’s about time that boy found himself a wife. I wanted to cuff that foreman of his between the ears after I heard what he did, and I didn’t believe for a second that Tyler would marry a woman because of a bet. I understand now why he went through with it.” Her smile widened.

Laney couldn’t help but return the woman’s smile. For as gruff and unfriendly as she’d seemed a few moments ago, there was something about the old lady that tugged at her heartstrings. She couldn’t remember the last time a woman had pulled her into a motherly embrace.

“Widow Hansen?” Eddie stammered at the front door. “Is there anything else you need, ma’am? I filled the basin outside. Do you need me to heat more water?”

“No, Eddie. You can go. You can come back later and dump the water for me.”

Eddie nodded and shot an apologetic glance in Laney’s direction before he rushed out the door.

Widow Hansen chuckled, then looped her arm through Laney’s. “Gotta keep those boys in line.” She sighed deeply. “Come along, child. You can help me with the wash. I expect this’ll be my last visit.”

Laney glanced at up at the old woman. “Why do you say that?” Widow Hansen was the perfect person to teach her some of the things she needed to know. She might even teach her how to cook.

The woman opened the front door, then stopped. “This is your house now. Tyler won’t need me to come around anymore to do his washing and cleaning. The place hasn’t ever looked this clean before. You’ve done a good job.”

“But, what if I need help?” Laney stammered. She hesitated, then looked the woman squarely in the eyes. “Mrs. Hansen, I—”

The widow held up her hand. “Call my Myra,” she interrupted. “Most folks just call me Widow Hansen. Seems as if people forgot my given name since my George passed on.” She smiled sadly, and her firm voice faltered.

“Myra,” Laney said softly. “I like that name.”

The widow smiled brightly. “Well aren’t you an angel. I like your name, too. I’ve never heard it before.”

“It’s not very common,” Laney mumbled.

Myra patted her hand. “What is it you wanted to tell me, Laney?”

Laney raked her teeth over her bottom lip. “Tyler wants me to cook,” she answered slowly. “And I’m sure he expects me to do the laundry, too.” She shot a quick glance up at the woman’s waiting face. “I don’t know how to do any of those things.” Her heart pounded in her chest as her confession spilled from her lips. The silence was deafening.

“Well,” Myra said, a quick smile concealing the momentary surprise in her eyes. “We’ll just have to fix that, now, won’t we.”