Love Finds You in Sundance, Wyoming (14 page)

Travis sat frozen, unsure whether to speak or allow Angel to sleep. She needed her rest, but he hated the impression he’d once again planted in her mind. “Angel?” She lay silent, unmoving, but he couldn’t let this go. “I’d like to talk to you for another minute.” He waited, his gut tense and his mouth dry.

She didn’t turn her head. “I need to sleep.”

“I know.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “I apologize for how that sounded. I keep putting my foot in my mouth, and I’m sorry. Take as long as you need to, before you go back to work.” Travis sat up and squared his shoulders. “In fact, I insist that you listen to the doctor and don’t overdo. You mustn’t have a setback.”

He sighed. “And not because of your job. I care about you. As a person, not just as an employee.” He felt like he was stumbling over his words.

She didn’t appear convinced. She kept her gaze averted, and her teeth worried her lower lip.

“Angel? Would you look at me? Please?”

Her lovely face swiveled his direction, but no smile softened her features. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll be fine and back to work soon.”

He blew his breath out hard between his lips. “I meant what I said.” He struggled to push out the words. “When I hired you, I had serious doubts about you doing the job, but I’ve changed my mind.” The air around them grew still. He was intent on continuing his explanation, when a gentle knock sounded at the door.

“Travis?” The door opened a few inches, and Libby peeked around the edge. “I thought I heard voices. Is Angel awake?”

Travis leaned back hard against the chair, not knowing whether to feel irritated or relieved. Had Angel even heard the last thing he’d said? Her gaze was trained on Libby, and he pushed to his feet, frustrated at the interruption. “Yes, and she’s all yours, Libby. I’ll get to my chores and see you at breakfast.”

Travis chanced a quick look at Angel before leaving the room, but she’d already closed her eyes. So much for trying to explain. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to the door. There was work to do, and plenty of it—and no time to stand around regretting what hadn’t been said.

Travis tossed back his blanket and swung his feet to the floor, grimacing as his bare skin made contact with the cold wood. Early June mornings in Wyoming still had a bite. He passed his knuckles over his eyes. What he’d give for a couple more hours of sleep. He’d spelled Libby again last night, but she’d come in the wee hours and insisted he rest for a while. He didn’t know whether he was thankful or disappointed that Angel had slept the entire time he’d sat beside her.

During the day yesterday there’d been no opportunity to talk about the misunderstanding of the night before. He’d make a point of speaking to her today. Doc Simmons had seemed satisfied with her progress when he’d stopped by yesterday, insisting she was on the mend.

A yawn slipped out. He stifled it and grabbed his jeans. Slipping into his cotton shirt and splashing water on his face, he forced himself to take his time and not rush out the door. No sense in accosting Angel this early in the morning.

Travis rolled his shoulders, hoping to ease the tension. Why in the world was he tense over talking to one of his employees? He snatched at the towel hanging on a hook next to the bureau. After all, he was the boss and Angel—well, Angel was…

His thoughts stalled. He shoved his hat onto his head and bolted for the door.

At the top of the stairs he slowed his pace, keenly aware of the hush lying over the house. James would still be rolled in his blankets and Angel undoubtedly slept. Clomping down the stairs with his hard-heeled boots beating a tattoo might wake his family, so he eased down the staircase, gripping the oak handrail.

A soft metal thump in the kitchen made him pick up the pace. Libby stood, frowning at the stove.

“Libby? I didn’t expect to see you in here yet. Is Angel sleeping?”

Libby swung away from the stove and brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “Yes. And I don’t understand this cookstove. The cantankerous thing won’t light, and I want a pot of coffee.”

Travis opened the cast-iron door of the stove. He peered inside and chuckled. “You can’t start a fire with just a log and paper, Lib. You’ve got to use kindling.” He withdrew the chunk of split wood, set it on the hearth, and reached into the bin next to the stove for a handful of kindling. The small box of matches lay within easy reach on a shelf, and he struck one against the side of the oven. A few moments later he dusted off his hands and shut the door. “The draft needs to be open. If it doesn’t get air, the wood won’t burn.”

“Thank you. I think I can get it next time, but I like it better when Smokey beats me to the kitchen.” She slid the coffeepot to the front of the stove and removed two mugs from the shelf. “Why didn’t you stay in bed longer?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess.”

“Want to talk about it? I used to be a pretty good listener when we were kids.” She opened a bin built into the outside wall and removed a few plump russet potatoes, placing them in the washbasin. “I can peel potatoes and talk, if you want to keep me company.”

Travis leaned his shoulder against the wall. “First, how’s Angel? Any change?”

“She woke up once, a few minutes after you left the room. Said she wants to talk to you today and seemed more like her old self. I assured her you’d make time, and she slipped back into a peaceful sleep.” Libby lifted a jug of water and poured it over the potatoes. She picked up a rag and scrubbed each one in turn, placing them to the side when finished. When that task was complete, she pulled open a drawer and withdrew a sharp knife. “I know Smokey likes to cook these with the skins on, but that feels so uncivilized to me. I told him when he’s cooking, that’s fine, but when I beat him to the kitchen, I’m peeling them.” She tossed him a cocky grin and lifted the knife, pointing it at him. “Now talk.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Travis hefted the bubbling coffeepot and poured the steaming liquid into his mug. “Want yours now or later?” He raised the second cup.

“Later is fine. I’ll finish these, then come sit with you.” She wagged a potato at him. “Don’t try stalling, little brother. I could tell yesterday that something was bothering you. Is it the ranch?”

Travis sank into a nearby chair and took a sip of the strong brew. Libby made true cowboy coffee, none of the weak belly wash you’d find back East. “The ranch is fine. I guess it’s more than one thing. Part of it is Father, part of it Angel.”

“Father?” She turned toward him and raised her brows. “What does he have to do with Angel?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I just meant they’ve both been on my mind the past couple of days. When’s the last time you heard from him, Lib?”

Her hands stilled. “I’m not sure. I guess just after George died. I sent a telegram from San Francisco letting him know about George’s death, and he responded fairly quickly.”

“You told him you were coming here, I assume?”

“Yes. He asked if I wanted to come home. I thanked him but explained I planned to visit you for a while.” She dropped her gaze.

“You didn’t tell him you were moving here?”

She shrugged. “I guess I didn’t say much about it, either way.”

“Why not? You think he’d care that you’re with me?”

Libby raised her chin. “I’m not sure, Trav. He’s—prickly—where you’re concerned.”

“I know. He’s angry with me again. In his last letter he almost demanded I give up ranching and return to take up law. Said I needed to ‘grow up and quit playing at being a cowboy’ and come back East where I belong.”

Libby winced. “I’m sorry. He’s been difficult since Mother died.”

“Is that one of the reasons you didn’t want to go home when George died?”

“Yes.” She put the last potato in a pan of clean water and wiped her hands. “I can’t take her place.” She wrapped a cloth around the handle of the coffeepot and tipped it over her mug, filling it close to the brim. “I’m sorry Father won’t accept what you’ve chosen to do with your life.”

Travis stood and pulled out a chair, waiting till she sat before returning to his own. “I’m trying to make peace with it.” He was quiet for a minute, then asked, “Do you think Angel knows the Lord?”

She turned a startled face toward him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve never heard her talk about God, and she’s never asked to attend church with us.”

Libby raised her brows. “I’ve never thought about it. She’s only been here two weeks, and she’s been busy. Plus, this injury hasn’t helped.”

Travis took another slow sip of his coffee. “Angel is such a loner. The times we’ve talked, I’ve tried to broach the subject but hit a wall. Maybe we need to ask her to go with us this Sunday. It’s still four days away, and she should be well enough by then, don’t you think?”

“From what the doctor said yesterday, I’d agree. Angel hasn’t shown a sign of fever for two days, and her strength is returning. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’ll be fighting to get out of that room soon.”

“Good. So will you ask her?”

Libby sat back and narrowed her eyes. “No. It was your idea. You should ask her.”

Travis rubbed his neck with the palm of his hand. “I don’t think she likes me, Lib.”

“What in the world makes you say that?”

“Just a hunch.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute. You said Angel was on your mind, and now I understand why—and it’s not simply due to her not attending church. So talk. What’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing. Everything.” He thunked his coffee cup back onto the table. “I don’t know. I make a hash of things whenever I talk to her. She believes the only thing I care about is the ranch.”

“Is it?” Libby crossed her arms over her chest.

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“You must have given her a reason to think that or it wouldn’t worry you. Besides, I’ve noticed you tend to get rather—shall we say—
focused,
when it comes to your work.” She took a sip of her drink. “So what did you say to make Angel think you don’t care about her?”

“I’ve spoken without thinking more than once. Nothing specific about her, but she’s gotten the impression I want her to get well quickly so she can tend to her job.”

Libby pursed her lips. “So, what will you do to make things right?”

“I was hoping you could help me with that. Maybe—talk to her for me?”

“That is not my place, Travis, and you know it. I’ve certainly never thought of you as a coward, not even where women are concerned.”

Travis groaned. “Angel isn’t just any woman.”

“No.” Libby met his eyes. “She isn’t, at that. Do I detect a hint of interest in our new employee, little brother?”

Travis jerked upright, slopping coffee from his cup. “I don’t care to be misunderstood, that’s all.”

“I see.” Libby gave a secretive smile and tipped her head to the side. “Then I guess you’d best march in there after breakfast and get the issue settled.” She held up a hand when he started to protest. “She’s not going to shoot you. In fact, I’m quite certain her gun is out of reach in her present condition.”

“Thanks. That sets my mind at ease.” Travis turned his head at the sound of footsteps crossing the pantry and heading toward the kitchen. “Smokey’s here. I’ll consider your suggestion.”

Angel woke from a deep sleep—the kind that passes without dream, thought, or memory, leaving one refreshed and ready to tackle the day. How many days had she spent in this bed? Her bones ached and muscles screamed in protest at the forced inactivity. She gingerly sat up and pushed back the covers. Shame rolled over her as she thought of the wasted hours she’d been laid up in this room—and Libby waiting on her like a common housemaid when Angel was the hired hand.

Could she wash up and pull on her pants, boots, and a shirt without help? Yes. The intense throbbing had eased in her arm. She raised it a few inches and straightened it, locking her elbow. The swelling had gone down, as well. Her fingers worked fine, and pain had never stopped her before. Good thing she didn’t wear fancy dresses like Libby with dozens of tiny buttons. She’d have a hard enough time managing the few on the front of her shirt.

The rumble of men’s voices faded on the other side of her door as she tugged on her boots and stood. A glance out the window confirmed her guess—the cowboys were sauntering off the front porch and heading toward the barn. Breakfast was over. Her stomach growled, and she clapped her good hand over her middle. Hopefully Smokey had saved her a plate.

Angel cracked open the door and listened. Dishes and pans rattled in the kitchen. She’d wanted to talk to Travis, but right now she’d as soon avoid him. Eating a hearty meal after days of picking at food sounded like just the thing—but she didn’t care to be distracted by his handsome face.

She winced. That wasn’t the first time she’d thought of Travis in that light, and she needed to stop. It wasn’t fitting. It was no secret he hoped to find another tracker. But a vision of the man lifting her shoulders off the pillow to give her a drink haunted her thoughts. She could still smell his masculine scent—wood smoke mixed with some kind of cologne. He must have shaved before coming to her room and stopped to stoke the fire in the potbellied stove. She’d wanted to close her eyes and breathe in the fragrance, but she’d steeled herself against it. It was hard enough maintaining an aloof attitude with him hovering so close.

Angel walked down the hall and entered the kitchen, pausing to make sure no one but Smokey was there. A cheerful whistle broke from the man’s lips as he scraped a dish into a pan on the sideboard. “Smokey?”

“Huh?” The heavyset man moved fast for his size and whirled around, nearly dropping the plate. “Angel. You liked to scare me out of seven-years’ growth.” He patted his bulging belly and laughed. “Not that I need to do any more growin’, mind you.” He peered at her under lowered brows. “What you doin’ out of bed? Ain’t you supposed to stay put till the doc says you can get up?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Nope. Doc said yesterday that I was mending real well. Besides, my body aches from lying abed so long. And I’m hungry. I can’t have people waiting on me any longer, so I aim to fend for myself.”

Smokey hurried across the kitchen and pulled out a chair at the small table near the stove. “You sit yourself down this minute. Someone ought to knock me upside the head with a good stout branch for not bringin’ you a plate a’whilst ago. Libby’s gonna scold me when she finds out yer not in bed.”