Wyoming Wildfire (7 page)

His ruminations came to an abrupt halt when he saw the two coffee pots on the stove; his pulses beat a little faster. Was she really a selfish, brittle-tempered harridan set on having her way in everything, or was it possible that somewhere under that shrill armor plate was a warm, loving woman capable of making him forget the loneliness of a rancher’s life?

Burch’s attention was gradually drawn to the quiet repose of Sibyl’s face. This was how she was meant to be, he thought, not the snapping, snarling alley cat of the last two days. He would discover some way to get past her defenses, for he had decided in that moment she must be his.

He took a deep breath and announced his presence with a cheerful, “Morning.”

Sibyl nearly threw a plate of sausages into the air. “You startled me,” she said crossly, and men remembered her resolution to be pleasant to him no matter what the provocation. Both of them broke into hesitant smiles.

“I’m not so foolish as to intentionally scare anyone willing to fix me this kind of breakfast. Jesse is going to wish he’d stayed.”

“Doesn’t he usually sleep in the bunkhouse?”

“Yes, but this summer we’ve had all we can do to find enough grass for the herds. He only came in to meet you.” Burch scrutinized Sibyl’s face but could find no indication of more than superficial interest in Jesse’s whereabouts. He sat down to the table unaware of his embryonic jealousy.

“Go ahead, or everything will get cold.”

Burch made rapid inroads into the pile of pancakes and sausages. “Where’s your aunt?” he asked, washing down a mouthful with strong, hot coffee.

“I let her sleep,” she said, rigorously repressing her own ripening jealousy. “There’s a lot to do today, and she never spares herself.”

“You don’t either.”

“I’m younger, and besides I never get tired.”

He regarded her remark skeptically but let it pass. “What are you going to do today?” he asked, beginning on the ham.

“I’d like to begin with the parlor, but there’s not a single chair or table to put in it.”

“There might be something around here. A few things arrived after Aunt Ada died, but Uncle never bothered to unpack them.”

“Where would they be?” she asked eagerly.

“I don’t know. Look in the attic or the barns. We stored a lot of stuff in the sheds while the house was being built. In any case, there’s not much, not like what you’re used to.”

“Daddy wasn’t rich. He hated to spend money on clothes or the house, so we were actually poor in that way.”

“What did your father do?” he asked, finding he enjoyed talking to her like this.

“He taught college, but that was only because he had to. His real interest was in developing new breeds of plants and animals that would help make Virginia farmers prosperous again.”

“That was an ambitious task to take on alone.”

“Daddy never considered that. He and Mama were born on plantations that never recovered after the war. He felt the cause lay in the lack of scientific agricultural methods and plain wasteful habits as much as depending on one crop.”

“You seem to know a lot about his work.”

She smiled. “It was all I heard from the time I was old enough to sit at the table. I don’t think we ever had a conversation that wasn’t dominated by Daddy’s experiments.”

“Was he successful?”

“Very much so, but that was probably his greatest misfortune, because even after years of work, the farmers showed no interest in his results. One man accepted a bushel of a new strain of oats Daddy developed, but when Daddy visited the man later to see how the crop turned out, he told Daddy he had fed it to the horses.”

“Your poor father.”

“That did lower his enthusiasm for a while, but Daddy never really liked people very much so, after that, he worked just to please himself and was much happier.”

Burch laughed. “Did you help with his work?”

“Not the experiments.” She got up to pour him another cup of coffee. “Daddy spent all his time teaching and thinking up his next project, so someone had to run the farm for him. That fell to me after mother died.”

Burch began to feel uneasy. “Did you actually work the farm?”

“I didn’t calve the cows if that’s what you mean. We had six laborers, but I made out the orders and supervised all the work.”

“Did you learn to ride?” Burch asked, turning the conversation to what he hoped was a safer topic.

“Everyone rides in Virginia, but the farm wasn’t nearly as large as this and I drove a buggy.”

“We don’t use buggies out here. If you can’t ride, you’ll be confined to your own company for weeks, maybe months on end.”

“Aren’t there
any
women around here?”

“Only one I know of who lives closer than two days by wagon.”

“And if I ride?”

“You can go all the way to Laramie in two days. Why don’t I saddle two horses and we can take a ride later this morning?”

“I have too much work to do” she said, taking his empty plate.

He had the feeling work was not the reason for her refusal. “That can wait. Can you be ready by nine-thirty?”

“I can’t ride in these clothes.”

“No, you’d never sit a cow pony in all those skirts,” he said momentarily stumped.

“Well have to wait until I can order something from Cheyenne.”

“No, we won’t. Aunt Ada had trunks full of clothes. She was not nearly so well filled out as you” he said, glancing significantly at her womanly figure, “but you ought to find something to wear.” Sibyl was not adverse to admiration, but his gaze almost attacked her.

“I wouldn’t feel right wearing her clothes.”

“Don’t be foolish. You and your aunt need some proper domes for Wyoming. Aunt Ada lost a lot of weight during her last years and she had clothes of all sizes. Uncle couldn’t buy enough for her when he found out how sick she was, but she never wore most of them, just one or two to make him happy. Then she’d go back to her old gowns.”

“Why can’t we wear gowns if she did?”

“Because Aunt Ada never left the house. Uncle Wesley was her whole life. If he had died first, she would have died the next day. Do you want to be cooped up here for several months until I can take you to Cheyenne in the wagon?”

“Several months?” she echoed incredulously.

“I won’t be free until after the fall roundup and the steers are sent to market.”

“But that won’t be until October or November sometime.”

He patted his stomach. “If you keep feeding me like this, I’m going to be too lazy to finish before Christmas.”

Sibyl looked at the lean, hard muscle of his arms and doubted he would ever be too weak to do whatever he liked.

“Remember, nine-thirty” he said, brushing her cheek with his fingers.

When she realized he had actually touched her without permission, she was so surprised she couldn’t think of anything to say until he was gone. Only the empty room heard her pungent observations on men in general and a tall, impudent cousin in particular.

Once she got over feeling guilty, Sibyl enjoyed going through Ada Cameron’s clothes. There was a lot that was the wrong size or would need some adjustment, but there were some lovely dresses and several items that were unlike anything she’d ever seen before.

“Do you mean to wear this?” her aunt asked, holding up a leather skirt short enough to show half her calf.

“Not if you want it,” Sibyl teased.

“I don’t think I
could?

“Neither do I, but I plan to wear these boots. I don’t have any shoes that can survive the winter or the kind of mud I’m persuaded must fill the yard every time it rains.”

“But there’s grass in the yard.”

“Not around the barns and sheds.” She pulled on a skirt that was only six inches off the ground. “This ought to do nicely.”

“It’s too short,” protested Augusta.

“Not with the boots. I can’t go dragging my petticoats through dust. Besides, there’s no one here to stare at me except Ned and Balaam.”

“What about the other men, the ones we haven’t seen?”

“I won’t wear it when they’re around.”

“Your father would never approve.”

“He probably wouldn’t look up from his books long enough to notice what I had on.”

“Your mother would say it’s quite improper,” persevered Augusta, remembering her sister’s very strict notions. “And I promised her I’d be responsible for you.”

“I’m the only one responsible for me. You’re here because I love you and couldn’t think of going anywhere without you.”

“Folks will say I’m older and should know better.”

“According to Burch there aren’t any folks about here to say anything. He informs me that I have to learn to ride if I wish to see anyone other than himself.”

“What about the people we stayed with?”

“I don’t think he counts people unless they live in Cheyenne or have a ranch as large as the Elkhorn. Now stop worrying about me. I’ve got to learn what goes on on this ranch, and I can’t do it if I’m confined to the house or a wagon. I have to see things for myself instead of waiting to be told what somebody else thinks I ought to know.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home and forget all about this ranch? Your cousin will pay you generously. You could live comfortably for the rest of your life.”

“I could have taken his money a month ago, but I can’t leave now without admitting defeat. I didn’t like running Daddy’s farm at first, but eventually I learned to enjoy it. I have a feeling I’m going to learn to enjoy living out here too. I don’t know why; it’s certainly nothing like what I expected, but I refuse to run away. Now I’ve got to hurry. Burch is probably waiting for me already.” She picked up some soft leather gloves and a hat she had already set aside. “How do I look?”

“I dare not say” lamented her beset aunt. “I don’t think I could bear to have the words pass my lips.”

Sibyl giggled and kissed her aunt. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

Chapter 6

Only a slight feeling of self-consciousness betrayed Sibyl’s uneasiness as she came downstairs. She had spent quite some time in choosing her clothes for this first ride, and she was unsure of Burch’s reaction.

He was waiting in the ranch room when she came down, and Sibyl could tell as soon as his eyes rested on her that she had chosen well. His body tensed and any intention he had of treating her with cool detachment evaporated. His blood was up and hot.

“Am I dressed correctly?” she asked in a demure voice neither Kendrick nor Moreton would have recognized. “I’ve never been riding in Wyoming before, and it looked like your aunt hadn’t worn any of these clothes.” Sibyl was wearing a suede jacket over a red blouse, and both were cut low, revealing the whiteness of her skin. The jacket buttoned tightly over her bosom and at her waist, accenting the thrust of her young breasts.

“Aunt Ada never filled out those clothes like that,” Burch said, giving voice to his thoughts rather than answering her questions. Sibyl was pleased with his admiration, but she was not yet able to admit that she would dress to please any man, even one as disturbingly handsome as her infuriating cousin. It took an effort to keep the sharpness out of her voice.

“I was dressing for utility, not for looks,” she said somewhat untruthfully.

“It’s a pleasure to see them so favorably combined,” he replied with one of those magic smiles that transformed his face and destroyed Sibyl’s composure. A barbed reproof rose to her lips as he boldly spun her around, drinking in every detail of her appearance, but his touch sent such shivers of excitement through her body that she felt hot and tonguetied. “One look at you riding through the sagebrush and the boys won’t be able to concentrate on anything less than a stampede.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” said Sibyl, trying to laugh, “but that’s a terrible exaggeration.”

“Any kind of woman can cause a ruckus out here,” he said bluntly. “The pretty ones stay in Denver and St. Louis, while the others get married and turn ugly. That only leaves the
soiled doves,
and there’s not a fancy house girl in all of Wyoming who can hold a candle to you.”

Sibyl’s jaw dropped; she hardly knew whether to thank him for his flattery or slap him for his impertinence.

“This place’ll soon be full of mangy rascals just dropping by to sit a spell. If they ever get a line on your cooking and how handy you are about the house, I’ll have to set some bear traps at the gate.”

Sibyl’s ripple of laughter sounded spontaneously. “That would be more of a hazard to me than anyone else. I couldn’t cause much of a ruckus with a mangled leg.”

“You’d set a man in a fever with a wooden leg,” Burch said, his eyes devouring her hungrily.

Sibyl was unused to this kind of straightforward appreciation and began to feel ill at ease under Burch’s heated scrutiny. Nothing about Kendrick had ever led her to suspect that the nearness of a handsome and vital man could cause such fireworks or unruly emotions. Part of her wanted to respond to the feeling of excitement his presence and touch stirred in her, but things were moving too fast and she was afraid of losing control.