Forget Me Not (38 page)

Although she discussed her parents with love and admiration, she didn't tell him that her father had committed suicide. Even though Boots knew, she doubted he'd tell J.D. He never asked, but she sensed he was waiting for her to tell him about the other man she'd been with. There was no point in bringing up Hugh's name. She had left him behind.

They were able to keep up a faster pace without the cattle to slow them down, and J.D. had told her they'd be at the ranch by late this afternoon.

She swayed to the lumber of the wagon as it rattled across the rutted road. J.D. held the reins and leaned back to prop a foot up.

She formed a question that had been on her mind. “What does ‘J.D.' stand for?”

He gave a half-laugh. “I wondered when you'd get around to asking. Most people do sooner or later.” A smile curved his mouth. “Jefferson Davis. Boots was an admirer of the soon-to-be-elected congressman. My mother wanted to name me Gilbert.”

It was Josephine's turn to laugh. “I'm glad Boots got his way.”

“He always does. I wonder what the old cuss is up to.”

“What is there to do at the ranch once we get back?” Josephine asked, thinking of Boots herself. “You don't have the cows anymore.”

“I've got a lot of cows,” he replied. “We didn't move them all out. There were some too old or weak to be moved, and I've got some calves that were born days before we left. I'll need to brand them.”

“What about Freckles?”

J.D. gave a sideways glance. “Who's Freckles?”

“My calf.” It was amazing how easily the words slipped free. Josephine would have never thought she'd be inquiring about a slobbering animal's welfare.

“You named it, huh?” J.D. said with a soft chuckle.

“Of course I did.” Josephine folded her arms beneath her breasts. “I couldn't keep calling it ‘it,' or Adelaide like Boots started doing.”

“Adelaide? That's my grandmother's name.”

“I'm aware of that. Boots doesn't like her.”

“Boots doesn't like anyone.”

“I think he likes you.” Josephine gazed at the panorama of sage as it rolled by. “You two never give each other a chance to become friends.”

J.D. frowned. “We've got too many differences to become friends.”

“Being family is a start that you can't ignore.” She plucked a piece of lint off the fabric at her knee. “I've seen how Boots is. I truly believe he thinks he's not needed. That you don't trust him.”

“I don't.”

“Why not?”

“Because he's old and foolish. He doesn't think.” J.D.'s eyes narrowed on the double row of ruts. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Why not? We've talked about a lot of things these past days. Mostly how important the cattle company is to you. But you never talk about Boots. I talk about my parents. You never talk about yours.”

“There's nothing to say. Eugenia lives in Boston with her mother, and Boots lives out here with me.”

“Don't you miss your mother?”

J.D. grew pensive. “I do.”

She wondered how he felt about his parents' separation . . . how he would feel about divorce. Divorce was not widely common. Its social pressures
and prejudices inflicted injury on all those it concerned. It was a source of revelation, about manners and attitudes, and not everyone accepted that divorce was the best way for both parties. Had J.D. ever considered his parents' divorce, or was he one of those who preferred to keep marital bonds tied, even though that meant stretching them out for miles as the individuals went on with their lives without each other? She wouldn't ask him. She was afraid of his answer.

“Would you ever go to Boston to visit her?” Josephine ventured.

This time, his answer was immediate. “No. I don't like big cities.”

For some reason, Josephine's hopes fell. What had she been thinking? J.D. McCall didn't care for “citified ways.” His mother had been a city woman, and she'd gone back to the place she knew best. It could be this way for Josephine as well, though where she was running was certainly not back to the scene of the hideous offense. She was going to another place, another city that in many ways would be like the one she'd left.

In San Francisco, she'd have conveniences and luxuries that the open West did not provide. Her employment opportunities would be broader, and the hiring of a woman with her character would be more acceptable. She'd been thinking about what she'd do once she got there . . . perhaps see if a publishing company could use her reading services, or perhaps finally get hired as a hostess in a restaurant. She would be in a more familiar setting. In a city with an affluent population. And with people of her own breeding and background. But did she really want to surround herself with such shallowness again?

No city position truly excited her. Not after she'd seen the excitement of the West through her own eyes instead of Pearl's.

All this time, she'd wanted to run from a place where the citizens were oppressive and tunneled inside their rules and decorums—perhaps to a place that ran on the very same principle. Did she truly want to be guarded by rigid society once more? It was all she knew . . . until she'd come to Sienna.

Sienna had not been what she'd dreamed of as a safe haven, but when she reflected on it now, she could do so with a slight smile of fondness. Mr. Klauffman had been more than kind, and even Effie Grass had been accommodating. Also, Sheriff Tuttle had offered her money to see her through. In New York, people like these would be swallowed by those who took advantage.

Josephine didn't want to think she was growing accustomed to the bones that lay bleaching in the sun or the bawling of cows and the nickers of horses. She didn't want to think that she was becoming attached to the notion of cooking for a large group of men, but she sort of was, now that her errors were less frequent.

And what of J.D. McCall himself? She was . . . fond of him. More than fond. But she feared losing her heart so soon. Hers had been battered. Severely. She couldn't risk being hurt again. Not yet. Not when the wounds she'd had inflicted on her were still just as raw as they'd been the day Hugh had accused her of being an adulteress. And when he'd publicly humiliated her. For that, she couldn't head blindly into another relationship. No matter that she saw J.D. as vastly different from Hugh, she just could not allow herself to fall in love with J.D.

They rode the rest of the way in meditative silence. The sun was settling in the western sky when they ambled down the drive to the ranch. Toby and some of the other dogs raced to greet them. She and J.D. were the last to return home. Rio, along with the cowboys, had moved ahead of them just after dinner. In the end, it had been just J.D. and Josephine with
nothing but a faint line of dust ahead of them to guide them back.

J.D. steered the chuck around to the front of the house and engaged the brake. Boots sat in one of the rawhide chairs on the porch, a tabby cat in his lap. His knobby fingers were buried in the fur as he stroked the cat behind its ears and on its back.

“Y'all raised a hell of a lot of dust coming in here,” he commented, making no move to shoo the cat from the cradle of his legs.

J.D. didn't respond, but Josephine gave Boots a soft smile.

The corners of his mouth twitched but never went up enough to be considered a full-fledged smile back at her.

One-Eyed Hazel came out from the barn. “Boss. Good to have you back,” he said, then his voice went down an octave. “Sorry to hear about Orley, boss. He was a fine hand. Me and Boots, we went into Sienna yesterday and saw to Orley's momma and poppa before they took Orley home.”

“You rode into Sienna?” J.D. asked, a slight lift of incredulity in his tone. “That's thirty miles roundtrip. You went in just to see if Orley's folks were all right?”

“It was Boots's idea. Actually, he insisted.”

J.D. shot his gaze to Boots. He shoved the cat off his lap and stood on bent knees. “Get the hell off me, you gawddamned cat.” He made a big to-do about brushing the cat hair off his trousers, then he glared at J.D. “I wanted to buy some cigars. I was all out, so I made Hazel take me. I forgot Orley's kin was coming in.”

Josephine could clearly see that Boots was embellishing. He'd gone into Sienna to make sure Orley was properly taken care of and that his parents were not unduly distraught. How could Boots be such a mean old thing one minute and so sweet her heart ached the next?

J.D. removed his hat, forked his fingers through his hair, then said, “I'm obliged you were there, Boots. Hazel.”

“Sure, boss.”

“I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Woodard very much appreciated your being there,” Josephine added. “It was very thoughtful. Of the both of you.”

Boots was having a rough time with the consideration being put his way. He shuffled toward the porch rail, grabbed hold, and snorted. “Well, I figured y'all would be coming in about now. No need to put up a sweat in the kitchen. I've got the stove covered. It's good eatin's tonight.” With a crooked-toothed grin, he proclaimed, “Creamed corn on toast. Y'all's favorite.”

•  •  •

Boots came into the kitchen as Josephine finished the dishes. He took up his spot on the stool and stared at her. She was getting better at ignoring him when he tried to eyeball her to death. She went about her duties, paying him no mind.

After a while, he stated, “You skewered a snake to save J.D.”

She glanced at him, surprised that he'd bring that up. To her, it seemed like it had happened a long time ago. “I had a lucky shot.”

“That's not how the boys tell it.” Boots scratched his jaw. “They say that only somebody who knew what they were doing could have hit that snake.”

“I've had archery training.”

“I reckon you have.” He grew thoughtful a moment, then said, “Y'all joked with the boys at the supper table.”

“Did I?”

“Jidge made a comment about the biscuits being plumb good when you refilled his coffee. Y'all said it was because you didn't flavor them washers with leather no more.”

“Hmm.” Josephine had learned that
washers
was
the term used for biscuits when they were tough as an old boot. The comment had come naturally to her; she hadn't thought it over until Boots brought it up. But she
had
been joshing with Jidge Dooly.

Pausing with the soapy washrag in her hand, Josephine straightened. She never had been very adept at light banter. At parties, she allowed those around her to carry the conversation, not wanting to say something inappropriate to one of Hugh's guests.

“I never would have pegged you,” Boots was saying, drawing Josephine from her thoughts.

“Pegged me for what?”

Boots gazed at her, the stubble on his chin glistening white in the early lamplight of the room. His gray hair fell over his ears, and his watery blue eyes appeared tired. He stood and went toward the dining room door. “Pegged you to be one of us.” Then he pushed the door open and let himself out, leaving Josephine to ponder his words.

She remained motionless for a time, trying to come to terms with what he'd said. She tried her best to fend off the feelings of sentimentality and a sense of belonging. She couldn't stay here . . . she didn't want to stay here. Or at least that's what she tried to convince herself.

A while later, J.D. came in through the back door with Hazel. They carried a plain metal bathtub and set it in the middle of the kitchen floor.

J.D. raked his hair from off his brow. “I figured you may be wanting to use this.”

Josephine felt as if she'd been sent to heaven. A bath. A real one. “Yes, I would,” she replied.

Hazel, who had removed his hat in her company and was twisting the brim in his grasp, scooted backward toward the open door. “I'll pump some water.”

“Thank you, Hazel.”

“Ma'am.”

Then he disappeared, and Josephine hunted down
the big soup pot so that she could heat the water. The coals in the stove were still hot from Boots's use for the creamed corn—which had sent a grumble around the table. Just to be on the safe side that the fire would be hot enough, she added another piece of wood.

“You do that like you know what you're doing,” J.D. commented as she swung the door on the stove closed with a folded towel.

“I believe I am finding my way around.”

Leaning up against the counter, he smiled. “You didn't know squat about a kitchen until I hired you, did you?”

“As a matter of fact, I knew quite a bit. Only not the actual mechanics of cooking that went on in the kitchen. But I was skilled in how to check the organization of the larder and the menus.”

“At your parents' house?”

Josephine stilled. He had her there. She could fess up with the truth, or she could hedge. Her eyes met his. He was giving her every opportunity to be truthful. But she couldn't. Not yet . . . not to him, not to anyone.

“Yes, in my parents' house.”

Hazel returned with two buckets of water. After pouring one into the tub, he poured the second into the pot on the stove. After repeating this ritual a half-dozen times, the tub was full enough for her to use.

J.D. and Hazel departed, and Josephine pulled the shade down on the door and slid the curtains closed on the windows. She went into her room, got the toiletry articles she needed, and went back into the kitchen.

With the fire burning softly in the stove, there wasn't a chill in the room as she disrobed. She tested the water with her fingertips. Wonderful. Josephine pulled the pins from her hair and stepped inside the inviting water.

Once in the tub, she scooted down as far as she could so that her entire body was enveloped by the
bone-melting warmth. She closed her eyes and stayed that way for a long time before soaping her body and washing her hair. She had saved some clean water for rinsing, then stood and dried off with a towel. She dressed in the cotton nightgown that had been in the valise, then collected her brush to sit next to the stove.