On Her Way Home (23 page)

Jo, sitting on her overturned bucket, lazily unraveled her thick braid, letting the pools of crimped toffee hair spill down her shoulders. Idly she wondered out loud, “It amazes me how the mother knows just what to do. This is her first calf, but instinctively she knows how to care for it.”

Watching Jo, Mac was entranced by her fingers as they threaded through the rich buttery masses of hair, like pulling hot candy. Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, “I suppose, it’s no different for cows than it is people.”

“That’s just what I mean,” Jo challenged. “When I have children—if I ever have children—I imagine I’ll feel completely lost.”

Mac looked doubtfully at her. “I don’t think so. You’ll be a natural, like you are with Sam.” Mac’s thoughtful, unguarded words were like a soft caress to Jo.

“Thank you,” she expressed warmly, turning and gazing at Mac with sincere light-filled eyes. “Sam’s an easy child to love.” Jo looked at Mac speculatively. “Do you want more children?”

He stared at her for a moment, his gaze dropping to her soft pink lips and back up to her indigo eyes. A peculiar, daring glint heated them. “Are you offering?” His full lips turned up naughtily at the corners in a cajoling smile.

Jo flustered. His words were teasing, but his countenance glowed intensely, adding more solemnity to his shocking jest than he was letting on. Regaining her composure, Jo leveled Mac with a bold stare, arching her eyebrows audaciously, “Are you proposing?”

Unprepared for her cheeky rebuttal, Mac was taken aback. Like his own words, though flighty and sarcastic on the surface, they were laced with an undercurrent of sincere query. If he didn’t care for Jo, he could have passed her challenge off with a flippant joke, but Mac did care. When harvest was over and the cows were taken to market, Jo would be leaving. A life with her wasn’t a thought that had ever crossed his mind. Other things? Yes. But a life…marriage? No. She was lovely and good, not the type of girl one would find kicking up her heels and more at Whistling Jacks’ by the logging camp. Mac admired her standards, but she would require more of him than he would or could ever offer.

Deciding it would be best to stop this growing infatuation right now, his face turned severe, and he said shortly, “Thanks for your help with the calf. I can take it from here.”

Instead of turning to go, Jo brazenly smiled at him. Now that she understood him better, he was much easier to read. A few weeks ago, his curt dismissal would have hurt her feelings and kept her awake at night wondering what had caused it, but tonight she knew the cause: she had unnerved him, and it felt good to be the ruffler, rather than the ruffled, for a change.

“Good night, Mac,” she said sweetly, obliging his request by turning to go. Just before exiting the barn, Jo turned back to him and called coyly over her shoulder with sparkly eyes, “I'll want seven or eight…children…at least. I hope you can
accommodate
.”

Mac’s eyebrows shot up to the barn roof as Jo hustled out of the barn, biting her lip so Mac wouldn’t hear her laughter. She ran across the moonlit yard, up the stairs, and back into her tousled sheets, her heart brimming with happiness.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The day moved along rapidly like the fast click of a train down the rail lines. This afternoon, Mac was taking the whole family to the town’s celebration marking thirty years since its establishment. There was to be a community picnic with games, contests, and delicious food, followed by music and a dance later in the evening.

Jo had rushed through all her chores this morning, except the chore of bottle-feeding two calves that were in the back pen. She thoroughly enjoyed that chore, sharing it with Sam. Every morning for the last week, they had laughed and played with the two greedy calves while they shoved, slurped, and slobbered over the bottles of milk. Not even the excitement of a trip to town and an afternoon free of work could entice Jo to speed up the pleasurable morning in Sam’s company. Every day she fell more in love with him and his mussed downy hair and humorous antics. This morning, giggling and screaming, he had run around the stall, trying to avoid being licked to death by the anxious calves, and the whole scene was delightful to Jo, especially when he tripped in the hay and the calves lapped him up like buttermilk. Kirby walked in on the scene, and hamming up his acting, Sam crawled across the hay, his eyes shiny and playful. “Hep me, Kirby, hep me, the calves are getting me,” he cried, while making croaking sounds and rolling his eyes back in his head for effect. Jo was impressed and amused by his acting skills, and the chore had taken longer than usual, as Sam perfected his performance.

After lunch she had the responsibility of fixing up the pigpen and finding the two wily pigs that had escaped during the night. Finding them was the easy task, whereas getting them back to the pen proved chaotic torture. They had been wallowing in a mud hole created by a year round spring at the edge of the field and hadn’t been eager to leave it. The stupid animals would snort and squeal, running on their stubby legs in all directions through the muck until they got tired. Then they would plop on their pink backsides waiting until Jo caught up with them. When she did, they would squeal and snort, and start the whole ridiculous chase all over again. After pursuing them for an hour, Jo was hot, puffing, and furious. Adopting a better strategy, she filled a pail with oats and bribed them back to the pen, one handful at a time. Shutting the pen gate, she glared at her fat nemeses, picturing them as delicious bites of bacon and ham.

After the pigs were wrangled, Jo rode out to locate a big black bull, the one she’d had a near miss with on the cattle drive. Next week, they were going to bring him and another bull closer to the house “for a little sport,” as Mac had put it, and “for breeding,” as Kirby had clarified, to her extreme embarrassment.

Jo arrived back at the house, dirty, disheveled, and anxious for the trip to town. She slipped her filthy clothes off and took a long cleansing soak in the bathtub, washing away her ranch hand persona in orange blossom water. The bottle of bath scent, a gift from her mother, was one of the few frivolities she had stashed away in her suitcase before boarding the train west. She had always been partial to the taste and smell of citrus, and the sight of a bright round orange hanging in the toe of her stocking at Christmas had always delighted her as much as any of her other presents. Jo washed her hair twice before climbing out of the tub and padding down the hall to her room to dress for the trip to town.

Refreshed and bright, she dabbed
her skin dry and vigorously rubbed her hair with a towel, hoping that it would dry in time for her to use the curling tongs she’d set to heat before her bath. Mac’s comment that she was the prettiest woman he had ever laid eyes on impelled her to live up to his praise, so in spite of the informality of a picnic, Jo chose her prettiest dress. It was an A-line garment, the soft shade of sun-bathed sand. The chiffon bodice was overlaid with tiny flower embroidery in the same blushed color and was cinched at the waist with a satin sash. The tulle skirt floated in soft frothy waves down to her knees where it met creamy, nude tights that skimmed down her legs to her small feet, and then disappeared into her burgundy T-strap heels with gold clasps. While Jo waited for her hair to dry, she answered letters from home and updated her journal. An hour later her hair was as dry as time would allow, so she picked up the tongs and wrapped long slips of hair around the end. The tongs weren’t nearly warm enough, so instead of tight curls, which were the popular style, Jo ended up with soft, wavy locks spilling down her back. She pulled the wispy curls on the right side of her face behind her ear and pinned them in place with a dainty barrette, leaving the hair on the left side of her face to drape gently over her shoulder. Carefully pulling the dress over her head, Jo let the light chiffon fabric glide smoothly down her slip and into place.

Inspecting herself in the mirror, she felt deliciously feminine, although undoubtedly overdressed
. In for a pinch, in for a penny
, mused Jo, as she applied a shiny gloss to her lips, tinged with a deep red shade. She opened the small wood jewelry box on her bureau and took out a set of pearl, daisy-shaped earbobs with a matching necklace. As she was fastening the necklace, a light knock sounded on her door. She opened it to find Sam, dressed in a clean pair of pants with his regularly unruly hair slicked back smartly.

“My, Sam, you look handsome,” Jo exclaimed, lifting the boy into her arms and rubbing her nose along his soft cheek.

He cupped her face in his squishy hands and studied her. Poking her lips with his finger, he said, “Your lips are red. Did you have candy? ”

Jo laughed and shook her head. “No, it’s called gloss, Sam, but I do have a piece of candy, if you’d like one.” She set him down and crossed to her night table, pulling a bag of hard candy from the drawer. Jo bent down and held out the brown bag for him to look inside. “You can have a strawberry candy stick or a lemon drop.” Sam chose the striped pink and white stick from the sack, and Jo plunked a sweet lemon drop into her own mouth. As she tucked the bag back into the drawer, she heard heavy footsteps in the hall.

“Sam?” Mac called from the hallway, “Are you up here?”

“He’s in here,” Jo answered, sliding the top drawer of her night table closed. Mac came to a sudden halt upon entering the room as Jo spun around, her eyes wide and glowing. Awestruck by her soft loveliness, he hovered near the door and drank her up.

Breathlessly, she asked, while spinning in a slow circle, “Is it too much?”

“Yes,” Mac managed to say, watching as the folds of her skirt floated around her.

“I can change,” she suggested, sheepishly turning to the closet. Jo was feeling slightly embarrassed now to have taken such time and care in dressing for the outing.

“No,” Mac’s strong voice commanded from the doorway. Jo swung back around at his tone and found him skimming her appreciatively. “Don’t change,” he said again, his voice thick and firm.

Jo blushed, pleased with his reaction and the admiring gleam in his eyes. Sweeping in front of him, she grabbed her purse off the bureau, revealing, as she did so, a smattering of tiny, barely detectable freckles dancing along the low scoop at the back of her dress. She felt Mac’s gaze from the doorway roaming over the exposed skin, and crossed to the rocking chair, snatching up a light, navy cardigan and quickly donning it.

“I’m ready,” she announced, taking Sam’s hand in hers and exiting the room, with Mac’s eyes never straying from her.

***

The ride to town was much more comfortable this time as she shared the seat with only Mac and Sam. Charlie and Leif had ridden horses into town earlier this afternoon, and Mattie and Kirby were chugging along behind the truck in their own black car. Jo was balancing a strawberry rhubarb pie on her lap and trying her best with each bump and bounce to keep it from spilling onto her dress. The strawberry stick she’d given to Sam proved to be a mistake because by the time they rolled to a stop on Main Street, he was a sticky mess. Jo wiped his hands and face as best she could, smiling apologetically at Mac over his slicked hair. “I suppose, a candy stick wasn’t the best idea,” she said ruefully, while dabbing at his face with a dry handkerchief from her purse.

“Don’t you know that trying to keep a boy clean is a hopeless pursuit?” Mac teased, squishing Sam up against him playfully. “Never mind about that,” he said, waving off Jo’s useless fussing. Opening his door, he stepped out and motioned for her to slide across the seat and join him.

They spent an enjoyable afternoon eating delicious food brought from all over the county. Charlie and Leif found them in time to enjoy large slices of Jo’s pie, and afterwards they competed in a slew of games. Charlie and Sam’s attempt at the three-legged race was hysterical as Sam tried to match his short steps with Charlie’s long-legged strides. After tripping a handful of times, Charlie finally just left Sam seated on his backside and sprinted across the field and over the finish line, dragging Sam in tow, like a cowboy hanging from his stirrups. Now sticky, grass-stained, sporting a pie stain on his shirt, and dribbling ice cream down his hands, Sam sat next to Jo, watching a baseball game. Mac, Leif, and Charlie were all playing in it, and of course on opposite teams. The rivalry between the two brothers was comical, and every time one of them would get up to bat, the other would chant and taunt from the field, “Easy out, easy out.” Leif even shouted once from his position on first base, “Move in, my brother swings the bat like a schoolgirl.” Jo found the gibe incredibly offensive and decided that if she hadn’t been wearing her dress, she would have liked to swing the bat at Leif’s head.

After the game, the men sunk down on the grass beside Jo, Mattie, Kirby, and Sam and kept up their funny banter. “I think you need spectacles,” Leif razzed Mac, lying back on the grass with his arms over his head. “That last pitch was a ball, if I ever saw one.”

“Nope, it was a perfect strike. I’d think you’d be able to recognize a ball, after all the one’s you pitched today.”

Leif snorted, “Nearly every pitch I throw is a strike, and you know it. Straight down the middle.”

“It looked like a strike to me too,” Jo piped up, agreeing with Mac to Leif’s annoyance.

Sitting up from the grass, Leif asked sarcastically, “And just what do you know about baseball?”

“More than you apparently…since you can’t tell a ball from a strike,” she mocked. Mac laughed loudly at her comment, and Leif humphed at her, annoyed.

A mischievous grin lighting his eyes, Leif suggested slyly, “How about a wager than, Miss Know it All?”

Enjoying herself immensely, she met his challenging eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

Leif smiled charmingly at her as he tossed the ball up in the air and caught it. “Let’s play. If I strike you out, I win an apology for that sassy comment,”—he winked at her—“
and
I get to dance with you first tonight.” Jo was about to agree to the terms when Leif upped the wager. “AND…I get to drive you home, alone,” he added craftily, shifting his eyes to Mac.

Mac dismissed Leif’s bet casually. “I don’t want pulled into this scam. It’s my truck. I’ll drive it home.”

“What?” Leif asked shocked. “Don’t you have any confidence in Jo?”

Interrupting him, Jo sallied, “Well, what do I get if I hit it?”

Leif considered for a minute, searching for something that would appeal to Jo. “I’ll take over your morning chores for a week.”

“Two weeks,” Jo countered.

“One week, two weeks, three weeks, I suppose it doesn’t really matter because you’ll never hit the ball,” Leif taunted.

“All right then, “Jo said, rising to her feet and smoothing her dress down, “three weeks it is.”

Mac stopped her. “Hold on there a minute, Jo,” he hissed, grabbing her elbow, “I don’t want to ride his horse home tonight. Have you ever even played baseball before?”

Jo pulled her arm away to daintily readjust the clip in her hair. “How hard can it be? You just swing the stick.”

Leif guffawed as he strode confidently out onto the field, heckling her, “Come on, slugger, show me what you got.”

Mac’s wide hands rested on his hips, and he sighed heavily, kicking at the dirt. He had thoroughly enjoyed spending the day in Jo’s company, and as much as he disliked the thought of riding the horse home, what he was really dreading was turning Jo over to Leif.
This is hopeless
, he thought to himself, watching Jo take careful steps toward the dirt field in her sleek red heels and feminine dress. Just before she reached the makeshift plate, she turned back to Mac and winked slyly at him. His brow scrunched up, trying to decipher her meaning.

Holding his breath, he watched her walk around the plate and ask Leif innocently, “Is this where I stand?”

Leif nodded his head. “Yes. All right, ready?” he asked, starting his wind up. “Wait,” he stopped himself, “Jo…you need to hold the bat up.”

Jo lifted the bat, resting it on her front shoulder and standing straight up.

“No,” Leif called from the pitcher’s mound, “move the bat to the other shoulder.”

Jo shrugged sheepishly and moved the bat to her other shoulder. Mac rubbed his palm across his forehead and down his jaw while shaking his head, feeling trapped and hopeless.

“All right, I’m ready,” she called, after adjusting her hair. Jo looked so cute in her heels and dress, standing there holding the bat, that Leif thought about taking pity on her and throwing an easy lob over the plate, but after losing the baseball game to Mac, his competitive nature wanted to beat him at something. Confident in his victory, he shot Mac a smug grin and then extended his arm behind him and threw a fast pitch straight down the middle with all his force behind it.