Texas Lonesome (15 page)

T
oday was not only payday, but shower day for anyone who felt so inclined. Noah stood at the end of a line, waiting for his turn at the outdoor facility. He’d been told that bathing wasn’t a requirement of a hand receiving his pay, but was highly encouraged. Made sense since most men he knew went straight into town as soon as they had money in their pockets, and blew their whole month’s earnings on whiskey, women, and poker.

A warm breeze fluttered his hair across his forehead. He’d left his hat and shirt inside his small sleeping quarters, thinking the less he had to carry back, the better. With a towel under his arm, he’d followed Larry Linstrom, a relatively amicable cowhand, out the fifty feet behind the bunkhouse.

Two walled-in stalls, open at the top and bottom, stood under a large cistern. The tank was filled from a pipe leading from a rivulet on the top of the knoll. The siding was tall enough to cover a man’s body and head, but his legs were visible from the knees down. A sturdy platform, constructed of wooden slats, kept the person showering above the dirt and mud. Beyond the stalls, the land sharply cut away.

Noah smelled strong, even to himself. He couldn’t last another day in his present condition, since the jailers in San Antonio hadn’t cared if their guests went their entire life without bathing. The memory made him suck in a lungful of clean air.

The white cotton towel hanging over the door of the first stall disappeared inside. A few moments later, the door opened and a middle-aged cowpoke came out, his towel wrapped around his sinewy middle and his wet hair finger combed back.

The next fella in line advanced. A couple of minutes after he closed the door, his clothes, wrapped into a ball, came flying out as if he’d given them a healthy pitch, and over the embankment they went.

Curious, Noah strode over to the drop-off to see a container twenty feet below heaped with dirty laundry.
Ah, someone must come along and do the wash.
That’s not so bad.
I should have worn my shirt.
He was amazed that everyone’s toss had hit the mark.
Years of practice
. He took mental note of the target.

Finally inside, Noah stripped down and let the cool water flow over his head. He’d given his pants and unmentionables a hefty toss, wondering how they kept the clothes straight once they were laundered. Oh well, wasn’t his problem. He had extras in his saddlebag.

He closed his eyes. The water felt good.

A moment hadn’t passed before his sister popped into his head. How was she? Guilt for the mess he’d created weighed his shoulders. Was he the only one at home who noticed her unhappiness? She might profess she loved ranching and her life, but he wholeheartedly doubted it. And now she was navigating strange waters among enemies, with no one to help.

Or maybe there was someone. McCutcheon. The man’s interest in her was impossible to hide.

He lifted the small clump of soap from a shelf nailed in the corner, and rubbed the slimy mass over his chest, lathering up good.

I need to quit worrying. She’s smart. A Calhoun. She can take care of herself.
I didn’t ask her to come trailing me like a mama cat following her kit.

Another stab of guilt.

Didn’t I?
She always follows.
I’d be pretty damn stupid to think this time would be different.

What if she decided to go home? She wouldn’t cross the badlands alone, would she?

Dang it
. His body jerked. She might.

Agitated, he lathered his hair, his face, every appendage, and then stuck his face up in the stream, his eyes tightly closed.

A chuckle reached his ears from somewhere. He didn’t give that a thought until he reached for the towel slung over the top of the door and discovered the rub gone.

With the good report from Manolito and another from Brick Paulson, Dustin let go the breath he’d been holding and relaxed his shoulder against the stones of the bunkhouse fireplace. He’d expected the worst. Noah running off, getting into a fight and hurting someone, or worse. This was certainly a welcome surprise.

The men who weren’t out on watch at the moment were lounging around the bunkhouse main room or playing cards at the table. One fella sat in a chair with a small writing desk on his lap, pen and paper in hand. The serene, wholesome atmosphere actually made him proud. The McCutcheons provided in every way possible for the men who rode for their brand.

According to Switchback, the bunkhouse cook, Noah was at the showers and should be back anytime.

“Coffee, boss?” the cook asked, stirring a large pot of beans. A foot-high stack of tortillas sat on the side of the stove with a basket filled with corn on the cob.

“No, thanks. I’m waiting for Calhoun.”

Right then the door banged open with a crack. Outlined in the evening light was Noah Calhoun, buck naked except for his boots. If the expression in his eyes was any indication of his mood, he was furious.

Laughter erupted.

Dustin glanced around the room. Wasn’t difficult to see every man there had been waiting for the show.

A round of unruly glee reverberated around the bunkhouse and into Noah’s head like a hive full of bees.

Dustin McCutcheon stood in the middle of the room. His eyes wide, he barked out a surprised chortle.

Unashamed, Noah stomped across the wooden planks, overtop the braided rug that divided the room, and into his sleeping quarters. Once inside, he slammed the door so hard, his hat fell from the small antler stub on the wall.

He counted to ten.

The laughter in the other room continued.

A McCutcheon had gotten the best of a Calhoun—
again
! He recognized Dustin’s voice as he growled out an order for the men to shut up, but the laughter continued for almost another minute. After that, silence was restored to the room.

Someone rapped on his door
.
“Noah, I didn’t know—”

“Bite it, McCutcheon! I wouldn’t expect any different from hands at the Rim Rock.”

Heated grumbles sounded through the door as Noah pulled on his extra pair of pants. He’d give them a taste of their own medicine as soon as he was decently covered. He threw a shirt angrily over his shoulders and pulled the garment into place.

“Nothin’s sacred to you, is it?” he yelled. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth so tightly, he heard them squeak.

“Just a little good-natured hazing. No harm done,” Dustin said through the door. The laughter in the man’s voice was impossible to hide.

Again, a buzzing filled Noah’s head. He yanked open the door and shoved Dustin back before the devil knew what hit him, throwing a punch into his face. Dustin was taller and outweighed him by a good twenty pounds, but still he stumbled back and caught the heel of his boot on a chair. He fell halfway to the floor before righting himself.

Several men jumped to their feet and dashed forward. Noah took a blow to his own face, but planted several punches he knew couldn’t have felt good. In seconds, Dustin was back, pulling off his men as they jabbed a few punches of their own.

Horrendous clanging filled the small space.

Whirling, Noah saw Switchback with the dinner triangle held high, rounding it with lightning speed with the metal spoon in his hand. The sound painfully ripped through Noah’s head.

The distraction gave Dustin an opportunity to get his men under control, shoving them back toward the other side of the room. He stood between them, hands on hips and gaze intense. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“No fighting in the bunkhouse!”

Unspent energy still coursed through Noah. His stare connected with Brick Paulson, the man he was sure was behind the childish stunt that had left him naked as a jaybird.

Outnumbered by a good ten or twelve, he had to be sensible. He couldn’t take them all on. McCutcheon was the only one that mattered. All the others could go straight to the devil.

E
arly Saturday morning, Lily quietly made her way down the stairs, not wanting to awaken John. She avoided the fifth step, which squeaked loudly with anyone’s weight, and continued into the kitchen.

John had stayed up late last night at his office, poring over books that didn’t look like his normal medical journals. When she’d asked what he was doing, she’d watched him smile and shove them under the
Farmer’s Almanac
, the periodical that Doc Bixby subscribed to.

Each time she moved close so she could tell him about the assistant she’d hired, she’d see a smile and receive his kiss—his best method for stopping her questions. She eventually gave up, returned to the shop, and pulled out her novel.

This morning, though, as soon as she’d served his first cup of coffee, she’d share her news.

Nervous, Lily swallowed down her uncertainty. Would he care that she’d made such a major decision without consulting him first? Surely he’d be happy, wouldn’t he?

Without the promise of Sidney’s help, she couldn’t take on the gown Mrs. Harbinger commissioned yesterday. And now, if Sidney turned out to be helpful at all, Miss Schad’s dress was sure to be completed on time, if not early, as would Mrs. Tuttle’s. The workload was a worry that had plagued Lily for the past two weeks. She was punctual and promoted herself as such.

Sidney. She was a lovely young woman. Pleasant and smart. Older than herself by a few years, she suspected. By the time Lily had made a pot of tea at four and brought out a plate of shortbread cookies, she noticed the young woman looked practically starved. She had tried to hide the fact, but her hand shook with intensity when she reached for a cookie.

Lily scooped coffee beans into the grinder and began turning the handle, knowing John wouldn’t sleep long after she’d left the bed. She pumped water into the heavy coffeepot, but as she turned, she accidently caught her funny bone on the pump handle and let out a screech, clenching her eyes closed as pain rippled up and down her arm.

“Lily? Lily! Are you all right?” John bounded bare-chested down the stairs, his expression tight. His rumpled hair fell over his forehead and into his eyes. “You cried out, darlin’. What happened?”

The pain was still too great for her to utter a sound. She clenched her fist open and closed a few times, and then dashed away a rogue tear from her eye.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” she pushed out through her tight throat. “I know how tired you were when you finally came to bed last night.”

“I don’t care about that! Are you hurt?”

“Just something silly. I hit my elbow when I turned.”

His brows tented. “Caught your funny bone?”

She nodded.

He took her arm and rubbed her elbow in a soft circular motion. He increased the pressure until he was rubbing quite brusquely. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My clumsiness is the cause, nothing else. Next time, I’ll look before I move.”

“If this place weren’t so darned small, there wouldn’t be a problem. As it is, this kitchen with the table and chairs can hardly hold the two of us.”

As if to prove his point, he took a small step and the table nudged into his back. Her back was to the door that led to the alley. The kitchen was so tight, they’d be in trouble if anyone else entered.

“See what I mean?” he said. “It’s amazing we’ve lived here this long.”

The discouragement in his voice tugged at Lily. She hadn’t meant to bring the smallness of their living arrangements to his attention again, or the fact she’d like to move in the first place. They’d only been married such a short time. She shouldn’t bother him with things that weren’t a necessity. He hadn’t mentioned her sister since they’d talked, and she didn’t really know where he stood on the matter.

She pulled out a chair. “Now that you’re up, sleepyhead, have a seat while I put the coffee on to boil. After we’ve eaten, I have something exciting I want to share.”

At least, I hope Sidney is as exciting to you as she is to me.
A plus was that Sidney didn’t want a permanent position. Hopefully. Giselle would be here in a few months to take her place.

He rubbed his bare arms. “Oh?”

“Uh-huh, but have your coffee first. And something hot in your belly. Do you mind waiting?”

John chuckled, leaned down, and kissed her lips. “Am I that much of a bear that I need my coffee before you’ll share your news? I’m becoming a little worried.”

Heat prickled her cheeks as she shook her head.

He started up the stairs. “I’ll grab a shirt in case someone stops by.”

John couldn’t imagine what Lily was being so mysterious about. Whatever the announcement was, it wouldn’t top his news he’d have in a few days. He still needed to do final figuring and contact a handful of his acquaintances back east. They would take a few days to track down by telegram, and then get replies.

The whole idea was all still up in the air, but at least John had hope. Hope of providing a better life for Lily. Hard work didn’t scare him, and actually, he welcomed the prospect. He’d grown up on the mountain, ranching from before the sun topped the mountains and until the orb sank low in the west. A great deal of the equation depended on Bixby, and whether or not he’d give his blessings to proceed. He’d have that answer later today.

John slipped his shirt over his shoulders. Turning, he caught his reflection in the mirror. He stepped closer to examine the line left by the knife attack.
Hardly noticeable.
This could earn a lot of money if he played his cards right.

“John, your eggs are on the table,” Lily called.

“On my way.” He exited the bedroom and practically skipped down the stairs, taking his spot at the table. “There, that didn’t take me long.”

She poured his coffee. “When you’re finished eating, I wondered if you’d like to go with me to the cemetery to tend to Tante Harriett’s grave. I’ve been in the shop so much this last week, I find myself longing to be outside. Take a walk.”

“Sounds like a perfect Saturday morning.” He glanced down at his breakfast, thankful he’d married a woman who was not only beautiful, but knew how to cook. “I’ll make short order of this so we can get going.”

Cutting his eggs with the side of his fork, John lifted a section into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. As promised, he was finished in less than three minutes.

“Now, what’s the big surprise?” He patted his stomach. “Catch me now when I’m fed and feeling fine.”

Lily eased into the chair across from him. The way she nervously chewed on her bottom lip and avoided his gaze made him think this was a bigger deal than he’d previously thought.

“Lily?”

“You know I’ve been pretty busy in the shop.”

“You’re being a bit modest about your success, aren’t you? You’ve been working steadily since the day you opened, and now things are picking up even more.”

Smiling, she nodded. “That’s true.”

He wiped his mouth and set his napkin next to his plate. “Tell me, Lily. You’re making me edgy. What’s troubling you?”

Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’ve taken on an assistant to help in the shop.”

Surprised, he sat back.

“It’s only temporary,” she rushed on to say. “I would have talked this important decision over with you first, but the woman dropped into my lap when I needed the help. Mrs. Harbinger, almost giddy with joy, insisted that I hire her then and there so I could accept her next consignment.”

Another gown. Lily is providing more than me.
Much more.
He pushed away a prickle of envy.

“Of course you needed to hire her when you had the chance. That was a good decision.”

She blinked twice. “You’re not angry?”

He picked up his cup, not wanting her to see his uncharitable feelings. “Angry? How can I be angry with your success? Every woman wants a gown designed by Lily McCutcheon. You’re doing fantastic.”

I wish I could say the same. I want to provide for you—so you won’t have to work so much if you so choose.

Relief moved across Lily’s face. “Thank goodness, my love,” she said softly. “I was fearful somehow you’d think me aggressive or something, and that I’d planned the entire thing. My new assistant is very nice, and staying in the hotel for the time being. I think she really needs this job.”

“I trust your judgment. She has experience then, making clothes?”

“Not much, but she can do the things I instruct, if I keep a close watch on her progress. The same way my aunt taught me.”

“And did she tell you why she’s in Rio Wells? What brought her here?”

“No, we never had a chance with Mrs. Harbinger standing there and listening to every word we said. But I liked her instantly, and she looked honest, and . . . and, I trust that.”

All his good feelings, the hope, the excitement had left John in a whoosh. Lily would take care of their money problem singlehandedly, and enjoy doing it. A few more dresses a month, and she was there already.

“Fine then. I’m excited to meet her. She’ll be here Monday morning?”

“Yes, bright and early.”

John leaned in and kissed her cheek, marveling on its softness. “Then how can I argue with that?”