Wyoming Heather (12 page)

“And, Shorty,” Whip called after the three, “just as soon as you turn them over to Cookie, ride like hell on over to the Circle C and tell Heather to come quick. Tell her I need her. No. Tell her I really need her.”

Chapter 22

“Of course I’ll come, Shorty. Slow down. What’s happened?” With her heart in her throat, Heather asked, “Is it Whip? Is he hurt?” She held her breath waiting for the answer.

“No, Ma’am. Nothing like that.” The shy cowboy looked everywhere but at her.

Heather stood by the cracked board of the corral, mending tools close at hand. She was wearing her usual work clothes of pants, shirt, boots, and, in this case, leather gloves. The fact that everything looked so right on her slim body was not something she was aware of. It was, however, something Shorty was aware of. The owner of the Circle C was one of the prettiest women Shorty had ever seen.

Hat in his hand, fingers nervously fumbling the brim around and around, he found his boots easier to look at. And when he did manage to raise his eyes and risk a glance at her face, the few freckles dancing across her small nose mesmerized him. And if he made it past the tiny freckles, the long lashes fanning her startlingly green eyes made blood rush to his face and his tongue-tie in a knot.

“He, he just said for me to ride fast as he, uh, begging your pardon, Ma’am, he said to ride fast and tell you to come right now, he needs you.”

“Is someone or an animal injured, in pain, hurt, sick?”

“No, ma’am, nothing like that. Course, them kids looks thin and that smelly one is puny. Downright puny.”

“Did you say
kids
, Shorty?”

“Uh, yes’m, I did.” He glanced up, then back to his boots.

“What kids? Or I should say, whose kids? Shorty, look at me. What and whose kids?”

“Well now, Ma’am, I don’t rightly know whose. I think I know whose now. Although, I’m not for certain. Whip can answer your questions, Ma’am. Could we just go? I know he needs you in a powerful hurry. In fact, he said he really needs you.”

“Shorty, I’m not moving until I get a few answers. Now, Whip sent you to tell me to come right away, but it’s not an emergency. Is that correct?”

“Yes’m.”

“And it has something to do with kids, right? And you don’t know, and therefore I don’t know, whose kids they are, correct?”

“Well, not exactly, Ma’am. I reckon as to how they are Whip’s kids now.” A plea for understanding rose in his voice.

“Whip’s kids?” Her voice was loud, smoked with a slowly building anger.

“Yes’m.”

“Whip’s kids,” she repeated to herself. “Shorty.” She took a breath for patience. “The last thing I knew, Whip was headed for town to get supplies. Did he bring the kids back with him?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Shorty smiled. Now they were getting somewhere. Now maybe they could get riding.

“There are two of them, both boys?”

Shorty nodded.

How old is the oldest boy, Shorty?”

“I-I couldn’t say for sure but I believe six, Ma’am.”

“Six.” Heather felt her stomach fall. Whip had been gone about six years so that would make having a six-year old son entirely possible. But he had withheld this and then, when he couldn’t hide it any longer, he had the nerve to send a ranch hand for her and ask, no demand, she come at once.
Come right away, he really needed her. I’ll bet he needs me
, she thought, gritting her teeth.

“And the other boy, how old is he?”

“Well, just making a guess, I’d say about three. Hard to tell with him, Ma’am, he’s mighty dirty.”

“Dirty? Whip’s other boy is dirty?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Smells terrible, too.” Shorty laughed. “Whip calls him Stinky.”

“Stinky?” Two red spears of heat dashed across Heather’s cheekbones. “He calls his three-year-old boy Stinky?”

“Yes’m.” Shorty risked a puzzled glance at Heather’s face. It was obvious the pretty owner of the Circle C wasn’t seeing any humor in the story.

“It’s the manure, Ma’am. He’s got manure on him and stink, whew, he stinks something fierce. I was holding him arm’s length waiting for Whip to give the go for me to make my Indian owl call so’s they would come to get the boy.” He risked a glance at Heather, then wished with all his might he hadn’t. She looked madder than a wet hen, but maybe with a few more words and a few more minutes, he’d be able to change that.

“See, he, Whip, that is, told me to take Stinky out to the woods and make my owl call so the Indians would come and make short work of him. Stinky. Make short work of Stinky. He was trying to scare him and the older boy cause . . .” His words slowed to a stop. He didn’t need to look at Heather’s face. Her angrily tapping boot told him she just wasn’t understanding. Maybe if told some more of the morning’s happenings.

“It’s like, uh, Whip was gonna feed ‘em, and then let them go to pick up those gold nuggets laying around the river, but the nuggets were all gone. The older boy figured he’d pick him up a few. He said they was as hungry as bears.” Shorty looked up, a shy smile on his face. A smile that turned to dust like the bottom of a dried up riverbed. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and at that moment, he decided his boots needed more studying than ever.

“Shorty,” Heather gritted out the name. “Don’t say another word. Not another.” With jerky movements she peeled off her gloves and slapped at the dust on her pants then turned on her heel. Giving the beet red cowboy a scathing look, she stomped over to the house, slammed the door and disappeared inside only to return in a few minutes, her rifle in her hands. Still not saying anything or even looking at the miserable man, she went into the barn.

“Shorty,” she called a few minutes later from the barn door. “You gonna stand there looking at those dumb boots, or are you going to get on your horse and ride?”

“Ride, Ma’am?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Ride.” She led her saddled horse out until she was alongside Shorty’s. She jammed her rifle into the scabbard and, putting her toe in the stirrup, lithely swung her body into the saddle. “Ride. You do know how to ride, don’t you?”

“Yes’m, I surely do. Ma’am, I’m right sorry I made you so mad. I’m not good with words.” And to prove his point the next ones were mumbled until Heather had to lean forward in the saddle to hear them. “’Specially when talking to a pretty woman like you are. I mean no disrespect, Ma’am, but you are real easy on the eyes. I’d be a fool not to notice that. I can explain again about the boys if you’d like.” Hopefully, he looked up.

“Good grief, no. If you stand there explaining much more of that story, I may have to shoot you to put you out of your misery.” Her voice softened as she grinned at the look on Shorty’s face.

“I’m just funning you, Shorty. Now get on your horse and let’s go see what that lying—”She bit back the word she knew would shock Shorty if it fell from her lips. “Uh, while we go see what Whip wants.” Then she muttered the words that made Shorty’s face turn white.

“Course, I may have to shoot him. A liar’s a liar whether it’s by word or by omission. And the way I see it now, Whip Johnson’s the biggest liar in these part.”

She kicked her horse in the flanks and without waiting to see if Shorty followed, took off in the direction of the Powder River Ranch and the unsuspecting Whip.

Chapter 23

There were two very different emotions playing in the air when Heather rode into the Powder River Ranch yard. She was feeling angry, hurt, and betrayed. Whip felt relieved, relieved, and relieved.

He smiled from ear-to-ear and called out a “Hello.” He walked eagerly forward to meet her as she dismounted from her horse.

“Heather,” he said to her back as she hung the reins over the pommel. “I really want to thank you for coming so quick. Don’t know what the heck to do, darned if I do. I’ve never been in a predicament quite like this one.”

“No, I’ll bet you haven’t,” Heather said frostily, still not looking at the man.

A tiny frown wrinkled between his eyes then was gone in an instant. He’d only imagined her coolness.

“Damn. This has been some morning. Kids screaming, ranch hands running around half-naked, coffee spilt. It’s been a real brouhaha. And stink. I can’t begin to tell you how bad one of them smells. Horse manure rubbed all over him along with who knows what else. Since the crack of dawn it’s been one thing after another. I haven’t even had my breakfast.” Whip delivered all this in one breath.

“Oh, that’s too bad. No breakfast either. How terrible for you.” Heather’s voice was syrupy sweet.

“Yeah. Spilt my first cup of coffee and haven’t had a minute to get another. First cup of coffee is important.” He shook his head, “Darn important.” He was totally oblivious to the scowling and too sweet response of the woman facing him.

Heather pushed away the quick spurt of pity she felt for the bewildered man. Of course he was upset. He evidently didn’t expect his children to be dropped on him this way. Well, she wouldn’t give him any pity. It was his decision or fault that he had two boys with no obvious wife or mother to help in their care.

“Where’s their mother?”

“Darned if I know. One’s mother is dead, died at birth. The other’s . . . who knows?”

Heather’s eyes widened at his apparent lack of knowledge or interest in the woman who had given birth to his sons. She felt her hand curl into a fist as she held herself in.

“I can tell you, Heather, I sure don’t need this. I’d put those two back on the train if I could. I’m trying to get a ranch together and having two boys underfoot sure wasn’t in my plans. Did I tell you one wets all over himself? Well, he does. That’s the stinky one.” He shook his head. “I call him Stinky. Come to think of it, I don’t know their names or even if they have one.”

“You don’t know the boys’ names or even if they have one?” Emerald fire shot from her eyes. “You don’t know their names?” she asked again through gritted teeth.

“Nope. The way the one smells, Stinky’s a good name for him. Maybe after I get some coffee, I’ll ask the older one. He’ll probably know both their names.”

Two things happened: Heather lost control and Whip landed on his butt.

“OW!!” Whip looked up at Heather standing over him, her fists still curled. He rubbed his hand gingerly over his jaw. He blinked his eyes hard and shook his head. “Good Lord, woman. Why’d you do that?”

“Don’t you get up, Mr. Whip Johnson, or so help me I’ll hit you again.”

“Well now, Heather,” he said, reaching for the hat lying in the dust beside him, “I’m not entirely stupid, although I admit I sure didn’t see that coming.” He gingerly put his hat on his head. “Mind telling me just why you suddenly felt the need to break my jaw?”

“It’s not broken. It’s probably as hard as your head.”

“For that I’m grateful. You’ve got a wicked right hook. Your father teach you that move?”

“Don’t try and talk yourself out of this. I don’t want to hear anymore from you. Any man who would abandon two little boys and then act as if missing his breakfast and spilling his coffee—excuse me, his first cup of coffee—is more important than them arriving at his doorstep, scared and dirty. Oh, did I mention that same man doesn’t even know his boys’ names?”

Whip held in check the smile of understanding playing around his lips. “Heather, you are sure pretty when you’re all in a temper. No.” He jerked back. “Now don’t you go hitting me again.” He slowly rose to his feet, never taking his eyes from her, enjoying her sputtering and venomous looks. “If we’re to get anywhere, which we are, you’re going to simmer down, and I’m going to explain. Because, you see that horse trough over there? Well that’s where you’re going if you don’t cool off on your own. Didn’t anyone ever tell you things aren’t always the way they seem?” He took a swipe at the dust on the back of his pants and turned toward the cabin.

Shaking his head, he added, “I thought I needed a cup of coffee before you came riding in. But what I felt then was nothing to what I feel now. Heather, I’m getting me a cup of coffee, and if you’re through steaming and swinging, I’ll bring you one too.” He paused for a moment, then said over his shoulder, “Don’t think of leaving. I’ll come after you. And don’t think of shooting me in the back.” He chuckled. “Even if you’re mad enough to pull the trigger. Sit down on that stump over there. We’ve got some talking to do.”

Dumbfounded, Heather watched him head into the cabin and, surprising herself, she walked over to the stump and sat down.

Before long, he came back out the door, a cup in each hand. He stopped in front of her, the toes of his boots touching hers. Steam rose from the cups as he carefully sat them on the ground and made sure they were out of harm’s way before he spoke.

“Now, there’s something you need to know, Heather. No, there are two things you need to know.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice sarcastic, “and what would they be, Mr. Johnson?” She glanced up and the look in his eyes worried her.

“One. You caught me unawares with that right hook. But, Heather, I wouldn’t advise trying it again.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is. You see, I’m fairly slow to anger, but I can’t promise what the consequences might be should you try that again.”

“Well,” she sputtered. “Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Slow to Anger Johnson, if you dare to lay a hand on me I’ll, I’ll—”

“Yes sir,” he continued, ignoring her, “I might not be able to control myself and well, I’d just have to—”

“You’d just have to what?” she asked in a death voice.

“Why, Heather, I’d just have to do this,” he replied and in one swift motion he pulled her to her feet, wrapped two strong arms around her, and kissed her soundly. He stared into her emerald eyes, wide with surprise, and then down at her sassy mouth and kissed her again, his lips soft and tender on hers.

She took a deep breath, letting him hold her, both of them surprised by his actions. Both surprised by how those two kisses had penetrated their hearts with feelings neither one expected.

“Yuck!”

The one word broke the spell. The world had caught up with them. Hands dropped to their sides as simultaneously they each took a deep breath. They turned toward the small intruder.

He stood there, his mouth curled in unmasked disgust. One hand held a biscuit while the other firmly grasped the hand of a smaller, dirtier child.

Not only did the smaller boy smell, but he was now covered with bits of biscuit stuck in the honey that outlined his lower face and mouth. A small tongue appeared and licked at the top, bottom, and corners of his mouth, searching for any unsuspecting crumb.

“Disgusting,” the older boy repeated, his eyes shifting from one adult to the other.

Whip bent down and, ignoring the intruder, picked up the coffee, handing one to Heather. He avoided looking at her. He who was always so sure of himself and decisive, was now unsure and darned if he wasn’t fumbling. Heck, his hand was even shaking as he wrapped it firmer around the cup. He took a big gulp of the hot liquid, needing it now more than he ever had in his life.

“Disgusting, huh?” he managed to croak, turning toward the boy. “Well now, son, I think that stinky one you’ve got a hold of lends a whole new meaning to the word. Now, you two just stand there real quiet like while I finish talking to Miss Heather here. Then we’ll discuss what is, or isn’t, disgusting, along with a few other things we need to talk about.” He turned back to Heather, never questioning that his orders would be followed. They were.

“Heather, before you start sputtering again, take a sip of your coffee and just listen. These two don’t belong to me. I don’t have any boys.” He grinned. “No girls either. The boys hid in my wagon while it was parked in front of the general store yesterday. They’re off the Orphan Train.” He put his free hand on her shoulder. “Let’s walk over here a ways where we can be upwind of Stinky and I’ll tell you all I know.” He led her over to the shade of a tree, delighting in the pleasure of touching her again. Delighting in the fact that he’d managed to not only steal a kiss from the beautiful mistress of the Circle C, but he’d also managed to rob her of any coherent speech.