Dreaming on Daisies (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

April 21, 1881

Steven stripped off his gloves and peered at his palms. If it were winter, he’d soak them in a snow bank to soothe the blisters. He’d better not let Leah or Mr. Pape see him standing idle, or he’d have more to worry about than sore hands. After five evenings of work on this ranch, his muscles shouted with every movement.

What had he been thinking when he volunteered to work here in exchange for lodging? Sure, he’d hoped to help Leah, but this was nothing like the farm where he’d been raised. He wasn’t afraid of hard work. He’d done more than his share while growing up, but he’d never experienced anything quite like the work on the Pape ranch. He had always thought of himself as practical—thinking through a decision before he made it, and never doing anything on the spur of the moment. Had he really deliberated before coming here?

He’d thought so, but now he knew. It was those sparkling green eyes, that bewitching red hair, and the untiring spirit of Leah Carlson that had drawn him. The woman had captivated him and wouldn’t let go.

Leah rounded the corner of the barn and bent to step through the corral bars. “Don’t worry. There are only a few more posts to replace.”

He tugged his gloves back on and grabbed the shovel. “I wasn’t worried.”

“No aches or pains or blisters, then?” She gave a slight smirk before rolling a post toward the newly dug hole with her boot.

He still wasn’t used to seeing her in trousers, a man’s shirt, and lace-up boots, but he had to admit she looked downright sweet, and she wouldn’t be able to do much work in the full skirts women wore nowadays. “I’m not complaining. Let’s get this done, all right?”

He hated himself for being testy, but Mr. Hunt had required he stay late the last couple of days and Charles Pape, or Charlie as he insisted on being called, had made it clear this holding pen must be finished before branding began this weekend.

Besides, the job would help him keep his mind off how adorable Leah looked in her men’s trousers and boots—that is, if he could keep his eyes on the post holes he needed to dig instead of her.

“Certainly. No need to be irritated.” She waited until he hoisted the post into the hole, then grabbed another shovel and used the end of the handle to tamp the dirt around the base. “Actually, I want to talk to you.”

Steven stared at Leah but couldn’t see any indication of her thoughts on her passive countenance. That look didn’t bode well, and his muscles tightened in anticipation. Had her father complained and told her to send him packing? “I apologize. I’m listening.”

She finished beating the soil in tight, then flipped the shovel around, sticking the blade into the ground. “I don’t think you’re cut out for ranch work. Your hands are soft, it’s obvious your muscles are aching from the way you walk and move, and you don’t seem particularly happy to be here. I haven’t talked to Pa about it, but I think we need to call it quits at the end of the day. I can’t imagine you’ll want to get your hands dirty branding calves or deal with ornery cows bellowing for their babies.”

A shock passed through Steven, and he jerked upright. “If you think I’m a quitter, you’re wrong. I’ll stick to our agreement, no matter what you throw at me.”

“But you hate every minute of it,” she fired back. “Why force yourself to do something when you’re not cut out for it?”

He rested his hands on the shovel handle. At least she wasn’t insisting he leave, but she didn’t seem any too happy, either. His mind scrambled over the possibilities. Returning to live in town didn’t entice him at all. Something deep in his chest wrenched at the thought of leaving the ranch—and Leah.

In the days since he’d arrived, he’d awakened each morning excited at the prospect of seeing her at breakfast and again after work. “Have I been any help at all, or am I only in the way?”

“You’re a greenhorn when it comes to ranch work, but you’re not lazy, I’ll give you that.” A saucy smile peeked out. “Not that I assumed you would be, of course. From my experience, which I’ll admit has been scant, a lot of city men would prefer to sit at a desk than dig post holes.” She sobered. “I know you said you lived on a farm years ago, but that’s not helping you now. I meant it when I said you didn’t have to stay on. There’s no shame in admitting you aren’t good at everything.”

“I never said I hated ranching or that I wasn’t cut out for it. Working at a bank doesn’t make me unable to tackle other chores.” He stuck the spade in the ground and flipped up a shovelful of dirt. “Like I said, I have no intention of quitting. That is, unless you propose to throw me off the property.”

The smile she tossed him was like meat thrown to a half-starved dog. He snatched it to his heart and prayed she’d realize his worth and not ask him to leave.

Leah didn’t know whether to groan or laugh, although she did regret the teasing tone she’d used. Thankfully Steven hadn’t seemed to notice, as she’d hate to have him assume she was flirting. What in the world kept the man here, anyway?

She’d been honest when she said he wasn’t lazy—far from it. He flew at every job Pa or she gave him with a willingness that engendered a newfound respect on her part. But while she enjoyed his company more than she’d admit, she still couldn’t help believing he didn’t belong here. She was constantly torn where the man was concerned. Hearing his jaunty whistle as he went about his work lifted her spirits, and when Steven smiled at her—oh my—she wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet.

She grabbed another post and rolled it toward the fresh hole. As if she’d ever tell him to leave … but she would like to look him in the eyes without being addle-brained. She hadn’t gotten nearly enough work done since the man had shown up.

Somehow Leah had to regain control of her life. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to toss you out, but Pa might try, if he gets wind you’re a banker. How’s he been treating you the past couple of days?”

“Not bad, although he’s barely spoken a word. I don’t understand it. He does business at the bank, so why is my occupation a problem?”

Leah nibbled on her lip before replying. “I suppose because he’s not happy I asked about a loan, although we could still use one. I’m sure he’d think I brought you here to talk him into something he doesn’t care to do.”

Steven placed the last shovelful of dirt close to the hole. “I see. I would have thought he’d want to improve the ranch.”

“He believes we’re doing fine.” She hesitated, not sure how much to trust this man. Then again, he’d already seen Pa in bad shape. “It’s no secret Pa likes his liquor, even though Millie, Buddy, and I have asked him to quit. He thinks he’s in control.”

She exhaled in disgust. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be disrespectful.”

When he continued to quietly work, Leah tossed him a smile. “So you really weren’t drinking with him the day you brought him home?” In her heart she knew the truth. She’d never have allowed him on the place if he hadn’t proved to be a man of his word. But the fear inside drove her to ask. She needed to hear him say the words … needed to know his stand when it came to liquor.

“No, ma’am, I was not. I don’t touch the stuff. Never have and never will.”

Leah heaved a sigh, and her shoulders relaxed. “I guess I knew that.”

He propped the shovel against the side of the barn and dusted off his hands. “I think we’re about done here, aren’t we?”

Leah stared at him, trying to probe his depths. Was he asking if they were done with the job—or the subject? Had he been too quick to deny her question, then changed the subject, or was he irritated she’d doubted him?

It had been unfair to ask. She knew very well he was telling the truth, and she’d had no business prying. “We’ve done more than I planned, and I appreciate all of your help. I’ve kept you long enough.”

She grabbed the shovel and headed for the barn, but her feet dragged. It took all of her willpower not to look over her shoulder to see what he was doing. She wanted to race back and assure him she didn’t mean what she said—had truly never thought the worst of him, even when he’d brought Pa home. She’d hate it if she’d upset him to the point where he decided to leave. This entire conversation had rattled her more than she cared to admit.

What if she started to fall for this man who’d been nothing but kind to her, and he failed her as Pa had done? And Tom. Her little brother had run away and left her alone as soon as he was old enough to care for himself.

Leah wanted to believe in Steven—to trust he would stick with the job, and that he’d be a true friend … maybe even more, if God willed it. But terror filled her at the prospect of trusting any man. It would be easier if he decided to leave the ranch now, than for her to take the chance of being betrayed yet again.

Steven shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked on his heels as Leah stomped around the corner of the barn. Maybe he’d been too abrupt in his reply, but her question had caught him off guard. She’d asked if he’d been drinking with her pa. Sure she’d smiled when she asked, but why had she invited him to live here if she still didn’t trust him?

He’d come here praying he could help Leah—and not simply by digging post holes and fixing fences. He wanted to get to know this woman, to find out what drove her, what caused the sadness he’d seen flash across her expressive face more than once, and maybe even find a way to erase it. His heart twisted. Did she really look at him in the same light as her father? Had Charlie’s actions soured her to such a degree that she would turn away from an offer of friendship from a man?

He headed across the barnyard, a deep sickness gnawing at his insides. He’d worked so hard to care for his mother and help find his sister, only to be shunted aside once they were reunited. Was it really worthwhile pouring time and energy into Leah’s ranch—and life—in the hope of making a difference? And was he doing so because he wanted to feed a need of his own, hungry and raw, or because he cared about this young woman with the sad eyes and stormy expression?

Steven drew his gloves off again and peered at the raw blisters that had ruptured after digging the holes. Not that he’d been a lot of help either physically or emotionally since he’d arrived, but at least he’d taken some of the heavier chores off her hands.

Too many years away from the farm and soft living hadn’t done him any favors. He hated discovering that about himself. He had always seen himself as the man of the family, someone who could get things done with ease. Now he discovered he could barely keep up with a woman.

He gave a rueful grin as he remembered Leah’s sparkling eyes. A strong woman with a mind of her own, but one worth getting to know, if only she’d allow it.

Branding would start this weekend. While growing up he’d mostly followed a plow, helped cut and bring in the hay, and tended the animals. They’d had a milk cow that birthed a heifer each year, but they’d never needed to brand a calf.

No matter—he’d take whatever Leah and Charlie threw at him and not complain. He headed toward the bunkhouse, hands still stuffed in his pockets.

But it galled him that she’d compare him in any light to her father and his liquor. And in all fairness, other than the day he’d brought Charlie home, Steven hadn’t seen the man under the influence. Was it possible Leah had become overly critical toward her father?

Not that Steven sanctioned the use of alcohol. He’d seen many a man who was mean and surly when he imbibed. But he’d hate to think Leah was unfairly misjudging her father based on one or two times he might have fallen from grace.

From now on he’d keep his own counsel, do his job, and stay out of everyone’s way. He didn’t want to raise Charlie’s ire or cause trouble for Leah, but neither did he care to be an object of worry to a woman who apparently didn’t completely trust him.

A dog whimpered, and he whirled around. The rangy brown mutt that Buddy called Rusty crept out of a stand of brush. “What’s the matter, fella? You lonely?” He ran his fingers over the floppy ears and soft fur. “Hey, you can keep me company for a while.” Moving toward the bunkhouse, he whistled, but the dog didn’t budge. “Come on, Rusty. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The dog’s ears pricked at his name, but he backed away, whining and trotting toward the brush. He turned and gave a short bark.