On Her Way Home (8 page)

Mac’s cool eyes betrayed nothing of the surprise he felt. He was begrudgingly impressed by Leif and his commitment to these two impostors. He and Leif battled often enough, but Mac had never seen him this protective. Mac didn’t believe for a second that Jo had previous experience as a ranch hand, and as for enjoying hard work, he would just see about that. If trench warfare had taught him anything, it was to make your opponent so miserable where he’s at that eventually he will leave on his own. That was Mac’s plan.

Chapter Eleven

It was the hottest day of the year so far. The heat sucked all the energy from Jo’s weary arms as she pulled and raked last year’s cornstalks from the fields into long rows, where they waited to be burned. Ahead of Jo were Charlie and Leif, their strong arms cutting down two stalks to her one with every swing. Watching them move quickly along the row of corn inspired Jo to work faster; it was painful though. She had large blisters forming inside her gloves, and every swing of her rake burned her hands and shoulders; even her legs were on fire from the strenuous labor. Every time she pulled a cornstalk out, it would tangle in her tines, and she would have to stop for a brief second to pry it out and then toss it onto the pile, with its heavy clump of dirt weighing her arms down.

Three days of this tedious, blistering chore and Jo was near tears. She wanted to cry because she had never met a task that had broken her, and this felt like it would. She wanted to cry because her hands stung. She wanted to cry because the sweat pooled in her shirt, under her breasts, and drove her mad. She wanted to cry because she couldn’t stand the thought of that cold, calculating man with his haughty smirk being right, and by all accounts he was. This was obviously not work for a woman. The first day she had done her best to keep up with the men, but no matter how fast she went, every time she looked up, they had widened the distance between them, chopping stalk after stalk with what appeared to be no fatigue. Jo couldn’t stomach the idea that Mac had measured her and found her lacking. She wanted to prove him wrong and make Leif proud. Leif had defended her, and it was causing Jo serious frustration that she was letting him down. She chopped pugnaciously at the cornstalk in front of her pretending it was Mac, but just like him, it stubbornly held its ground. Throwing her rake down in frustration, she wrapped both hands near the base and pulled up with all her strength. It wouldn’t budge. She screamed inwardly, hating this job. She wiggled it to the left and right, back and forth, until it finally gave way and came tearing out of the ground. The force caused Jo to trip backward, and she fell hard on her butt, with the cornstalk whipping across her face and spraying dirt all over her clothes.

A shadow moved across Jo as she threw the hated stalk into the pile. Blowing hair out of her face and looking up from the ground, she saw Mac towering over her, a hint of pleasure in his eyes upon catching her in this miserable state.

“It’s easier to pull them out if you are standing up, rather than sitting on your backside,” he said coldly. He was dressed in thick canvas work pants that pressed against his legs, and the sleeves of his blue cotton shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing thickly defined forearms. Oh how Jo wished she had those arms to pull these stupid cornstalks out. She wanted to be flippant to him, even had a nasty reply to his comment on the tip of her tongue, but she bit her lip, choosing instead to take a brief respite in the shade he was providing for her with his tall hulking figure. He could say whatever he liked to her as long as he stood there and blocked the beating sun.

Casually pointing to Charlie, Mac said, “You’re falling behind. Charlie’s pulling three stalks to your one.”

Jo rolled over to her knees and slapped the dirt from her gloves, relishing a few more stolen moments of shade. Looking up pertly, she said, “That last one I pulled was particularly nasty.” She looked at his boots and then, trailing her eyes up the long length of him, smiled sweetly into his face. “The taller plants seem to be the most stubborn.”

Mac wasn’t fooled by her bright smile, catching the tiny barb at the end of her sentence
. She thinks I’m stubborn, huh? Well, that suits me fine
, he thought icily.
The more she dislikes me, the sooner she’ll leave.
He had been watching Jo struggle with the dry plants for three days now, and although he hated to admit it, he was pretty sure any other woman would have quit by now. It was frustrating to him that she hadn’t.

Yesterday, he had left the door to his office open in the evening, fully expecting her to come dragging in with bags in tow. He had waited patiently behind his desk for her resignation, but she never came. Finally, around ten o’ clock he decided to go to bed. In the upstairs hallway, he saw that the door to her room was wide ope
n. Walking down the hall, he’d cautiously peeked into the room and found Jo sprawled across the bed still in her work clothes, fast asleep.

Resolute in hi
s plan to get rid of her, he’d woken her up extra early this morning, rapping loudly on her door at four-thirty when the moon was still heavy in the sky. When she came into the hall, he’d informed her that she needed to get the cow milked and the morning chores done early so they could get in the field before the sun. Standing there in her clothes from the previous day, with dirt still smudged across her cheek, he’d expected her to revolt, but she just nodded sleepily, threw on her shoes, and headed to the barn. Determined to win by any cost, he then told Mattie to hold breakfast so they could get straight to pulling corn. Figuring that if he couldn’t work her out, he would starve her out. It was a little trick he’d learned from the Germans during the war.

One foggy night near the end of the war, Mac and his eight men went “over the top” into “No Man’s Land” on orders to raid a German machine gun bunker. Their ambush proved successful. Heaving the dead bodies out of the pit to make room for themselves, they checked the machine guns and set up the nightly watch schedule. Mac was second rotation. Dropping his head against the back of the dirt wall, he fell asleep with his red muddy finger resting against the trigger of his Springfield rifle. In the morning Mac had expected the American troops to start their advancement, but midday passed and still no forward momentum had been attempted by allies. Mac patiently waited in the hole, peeling clumps of rusty red dirt from his hands while his men picked at the reserve rations they had carried in their field kits. Between the eight of them, they had four pounds of corned beef, four chocolate bars, and eight hard biscuits wrapped in cello, along with a small amount of sugar and coffee.

Late into the afternoon, fighting started again, with Germans shooting behind them and allied forces shooting in front of them. No advancement had been made, and Mac’s squad was on the German side of No Man’s Land under heavy fire from both forces. The muddy pit they were living in supplied the only available water source. Holding their filthy sock in hand, they would fill it with the polluted runoff and squeeze the murky drops into their mouths. After six days, Mac and his three remaining men were burning with fever, fear, and dysentery. That night Mac’s head cleared from the fever enough to notice the German aeroplanes flying overhead looking for the best spot to drop their bombs. Mac pulled himself into a ball, staving off severe hunger pains and trying to remain undetected. In the morning, only two men were living, Mac and a young private. The other two soldiers had succumbed to sickness during the night. Mac and the young private were the only two who made it out of the machine gun nest later that day when AEF soldiers finally began their forward assault. Mac had made up his mind that if the assault didn’t come that day, he would take his chances in No Man’s Land, preferring a sharp bullet over starving to death in the rotting machine gun nest. From that experience, he knew that hunger would always cause the enemy to retreat. Always.

That was Mac’s plan of attack for Jo, but when the crew didn’t come in for lunch, Mattie took matters into her own hands. Carrying a basket out into the field, she marched toward Mac. Staring him down as she shoved the basket into his hands, she said, “Either that girl eats right now or I’ll never bake another thing for you in my life.”

Mac glared back at her wondering where she’d been when the Germans were starving him out. Grouchily taking the basket from her, he peeked inside. Hearty ham sandwiches with thick chunks of cheese were wrapped loosely in wax paper. A large mason jar with iced water and big oatmeal raisin cookies also filled the basket. Mac’s mouth watered. Leif had already sabotaged his efforts this morning with his ceaseless jawing about the thick sizzling bacon and dripping maple syrup he’d missed at breakfast. Mac looked at Mattie again, her hands on her hips and her chin jutting out, prepared for battle. He had no heart to fight with her. Beaten, he waved Leif, Charlie, and Jo over for lunch.

Charlie dove into his late lunch like he hadn’t eaten in a year, scarfing the sandwich and noisily licking the crumbs off his fingers. Jo didn’t meet Mac’s eyes as she quietly took the sandwich he handed to her and sat apart from the group. She ate slowly, stopping often to take long pulls of water from the jar. When she was done, she returned the jar to the basket and set off to where she had left her rake in the field. Leif, Kirby, and Charlie watched her go then turned disgruntled eyes on Mac. Unflinching, Mac said, “Lunch is over. Back to work.”

After the late lunch break, Mac hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Jo. The heat of the day was staggering, and as strong as he was, his muscles were weary of the painstaking work. Jo couldn’t keep this up much longer. He expected her to give up at any minute, but she doggedly kept at it, chopping stalk after stalk. The last stalk she had pulled out sent her reeling onto her backside. He’d figured a few cutting words delivered by him, and like most women, she would cry and quit. He hadn’t expected her sly comment about his stubbornness.

After completing his last row, he walked in her direction. Her frustration was almost visible to him, like a heat wave simmering off her back.

Mac looked at Jo’s sweat-drenched shirt and decided a different tactic might work better. “I could smell you from across the field,” he said, “not a very flattering smell on a woman.” Her shoulders stiffened at the cut, so Mac continued, “Not that anyone could tell you’re a woman from the way you’re dressed.” He swept her with a derisive look, hoping that did the trick. From his experience the one thing women couldn’t withstand was an insult to their vanity.

Jo was deflated. This man was no different than others. She’d managed to rake rows and rows of corn from the stiff field, and she’d still somehow failed because she couldn’t look good doing it. She was aware of how ugly she looked at the moment, grime under her nails, matted hair, and sweat dripping from her face. Rising off the ground in one fluid movement, she faced him. Summoning all the sensual appeal she could find in herself, she lifted challenging eyes to his. “I was womanly enough the other day when you ogled me at the swimming hole,” she charged.

The flimsy peach undergarment hugging her skin flashed across Mac’s mind. Sensing where his thoughts raced, Jo knew she’d won and couldn’t keep the glint of victory out of her eyes. She may be stinky, sweaty, and dirty, but she was a woman, and the heated light stealing into Mac’s eyes proved it.

Mac was reeling from her reply. He had expected outrage from her, and a comment or two about how unfair he was being after she’d worked in the heat all day. He certainly hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on him and remind him of the pleasing curves he’d seen. Mac hated to lose, and it was just like a woman to use her body as ammunition. Refusing to be embarrassed by the turn his thoughts had taken, he took a step closer to her, purposely unnerving her.

Jo could feel the heat radiating from his body as he stepped into her circle and trained dark eyes on her face. The courage she had momentarily found fought its way out of her chest and scampered across the brown field as she stared up into Mac’s cool eyes. Silence hung around them, waiting to see who would break the tension first, who would lose. His presence in her space intimidated Jo, and taking a step back, she looked down and causally dusted her gloves on the side of her pants. Not for the first time in her life, she cursed this stupid cowardice she displayed in the presence of men. Irritated with herself for bringing the swimming subject up, she slid around Mac and picked up her rake. Jo felt his eyes on her sweat-soaked back as she began raking at the obstinate stalks again. He held his position for another minute, letting his win settle over Jo. She felt like a bullied dog, having been taught a lesson by her master. Focusing on raking, she prayed he would leave. He didn’t.

Instead, he said fervidly, “Why don’t you just quit? You don’t need this job.”

His question sank into Jo. She had asked herself the same thing just moments earlier. She could go back to the house, slip into a nice bath, dress in her comfortable clothes, go to town, and take the train back home. Why was she doing this to herself? Nothing but pride kept her here. Pride…and an irksome longing she couldn’t define. Jo was born with an underdog spirit, always choosing and fighting the losing battles.

Once when she was a little girl, Travis had dared her to eat a hornworm they’d picked off a cabbage plant. He told her that Johnny, Caleb, and he had already eaten one and that if she wanted to be in their club, she would have to eat one too. Jo desperately wanted to be included in their gang and dropped the fat wriggling worm into her mouth, gagging and fighting to choke it down. After she’d eaten it, she raised happy eyes to Travis, “I did it. I did it.”

Travis laughed and laughed. Mussing her hair, he said, “There’s no club. We never ate any worms.” Jo had felt betrayed, but it didn’t stop her from jumping off the haystack, or walking across the river on a downed log, or any other number of things Travis, Caleb, and Johnny goaded her into doing. Pa always said her fighting spirit was a strength, but more often than not, Jo found it to be a weakness.

She paused in her raking to look at Mac, then shrugged her shoulders and said, resigned, “I can’t quit. Never could.”