A Hopeful Heart (15 page)

Abel rubbed the underside of his nose with his finger. Although he still wasn’t keen on having a woman in his house—especially one from the East—he could see the benefit for him and his ranch. Besides, he’d only encounter her at mealtimes. “Well, I guess it’s all right as long as you’ll bring her over each day. I haven’t got time to cart somebody back an’ forth.”

“No need for either of us to do any cartin’. She’ll bring herself.”

Aunt Hattie’s grin broadened. “This week I’m teachin’ the pupils to ride an’ assignin’ ’em the care of a horse. Ought to be ready to start sendin’ ’em out for trainin’ next Monday. That suit you?”

Monday. That gave him almost a week to prepare himself and his men. He scowled. He’d need to set some firm ground rules for Cole and Ethan or having this woman around might prove more trouble than she was worth.

He jerked his head to look into Aunt Hattie’s face. “If things don’t work out, you’ll change the arrangement without pesterin’ me?”

She sighed. “Abel, you are the most contrary man I ever met. . . .” She shook her head. “Let’s compromise, hmm? You promise to give one o’ my pupils a week o’ trainin’. One week. Then I’ll move ’er somewhere else. That sound fair?”

Abel popped off his glove and stuck out his hand. “Fair enough.”

They shook.

“Good.” Giving the reins a yank, she turned her horse from the fence line. “You won’t be sorry, Abel!”

He waved and then faced the waiting fence post. Aunt Hattie’s parting comment hung in the air. He gave the post a bump with his boot and mumbled, “That waits to be seen. . . .”

15

“Of all the things we’ve learned since coming to Kansas, I think I like horse-riding the best.” Tressa flashed a smile at Sallie as they trotted side-by-side down the road toward the Lazy S ranch.

Sallie grinned. “An’ ye surprised me, for sure, with the way ye’ve taken to a horse’s back. I would’ve thought of ye bein’ too prim an’ proper to straddle a horse.”

Heat built in Tressa’s cheeks. Surely her aunt would be appalled to witness her sitting astride the tall speckled beast with her skirts hitched up above her ankles and draped across the horse’s rump. Tressa admitted to some momentary misgivings when Mrs. Wyatt had scoffed at her query about a sidesaddle. “You aren’t gonna be trottin’ through some namby-pamby park; you’ll be ridin’ over pasture land and rain-washed roads. If you don’t have your feet firm in a stirrup, you’re liable to be unseated, an’ it’s a far piece to the ground. No, ma’am, you’ll be ridin’ astride.”

Tressa bounced her heels lightly against her horse’s ribs, and the horse tossed his head, making his black mane ripple. He broke into a gentle trot. Tressa laughed with pleasure. What freedom she experienced, riding beneath a pale sky with the sun peeping over the edge of the horizon and the dew-scented breeze tossing the ties of her bonnet over her shoulders.

She longed to coax the horse into a run, but Mrs. Wyatt’s warning about the dangers that could befall an animal should it step into a gopher hole or stumble in a rut in the road kept her from giving in to her desire. Besides, a run would shorten the ride. The longer the time on the back of the horse, the less time in Abel Samms’ kitchen.

“I’m glad we’ll be working at the Lazy S together, Sallie.” Tressa didn’t know why Mrs. Wyatt had decided to allow the girls to work in pairs rather than individually, but she felt much more secure knowing Sallie would be with her.

“ ’Tis pleased I am, too.” Sallie giggled. “But did ye see the look on Luella’s face when Aunt Hattie said she’d be stayin’ to do duties at the Flyin’ W?” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Poor Luella . . . as if Aunt Hattie would’ve sent her to the Double H. The Hammonds already have a cook on staff. They’ve no need for one of us settin’ foot in their kitchen.”

Tressa sent Sallie a sidelong glance, a question burning her tongue. Did Sallie know about Luella’s secret meetings with Gage Hammond? Obviously Sallie recognized Luella’s infatuation with the man, but if she was unaware of Luella’s nighttime dalliances, broaching the subject would make Tressa a talebearer, so she held her tongue.

“Do ye remember how many men we’ll be feedin’ at the Lazy S?” Sallie urged her horse to trot up alongside Tressa’s mount.

“Four.” Tressa licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. Mrs. Wyatt had sent Paralee and Mabelle to the Shultz ranch. Tressa had considered asking to trade with one of them so she could avoid further contact with Abel Samms. Never had she experienced such odd feelings toward a man—drawn to him while simultaneously apprehensive of him. Of course, her only relationship with a man of her age had been her short-lived courtship with Tremaine Woodward.

Her heart twisted in remembrance. She had genuinely liked Tremaine. He was handsome, funny, smart, and very polite. After several weeks of carefully supervised get-togethers, she had begun to long for moments alone with him and had even imagined what it would be like to become Mrs. Tremaine Woodward. But then he asked permission to become betrothed to her and her uncle informed him that, as an orphan, Tressa would be a dowryless bride. Tremaine had wished her well and begun courting Emma Lowery. Even now, almost a year later, the memory stung. Was she, as a person, worth so little?

“Only four, after feedin’ six hired hands an’ as many women at Aunt Hattie’s will be like playtime.” Sallie grinned again. “We’ll be havin’ a holiday, Tressa.”

Tressa wasn’t sure being in close proximity to Abel Samms would be a holiday for her, but she didn’t argue. They would work the Lazy S for one week. Surely she could set aside her strange feelings concerning the man for one week.

“There it is!” Sallie pointed to the gate leading to the Lazy S. She glanced at the rising sun. “An’ they’re prob’ly eager for breakfast so they can be startin’ their day. We best get inside quickly an’ set food on the table.”

They left the horses, still saddled, inside the barn, intending to return and remove their saddles as soon as breakfast had been served. Sallie tapped lightly on the front door. It swung open so quickly Tressa felt certain someone had been watching their approach from a window. The thought gave her a little chill.

Abel Samms stood in the doorway. His thick brown hair lay across his forehead in damp waves, his clean-shaven cheeks shiny from a recent wash. Attired in a simple cotton shirt, tan trousers, and scuffed square-toed boots, he had a rugged appearance that made Tressa’s stomach flutter in an unfamiliar yet not unpleasant way.

He gave them a hesitant nod in greeting and gestured for them to step over the threshold. Then, wordlessly, he led the way through a fairly large sitting room that contained a velvet-upholstered parlor set, as well as a dining table and matching chairs. The furnishings seemed out of place in the otherwise rustic dwelling.

On Abel’s heels, Tressa and Sallie entered a lean-to that apparently served as the kitchen. Compared to Mrs. Wyatt’s spacious kitchen, this space felt like a closet. Tressa hoped her dismay didn’t show on her face. A dry sink and punched-tin cupboard stood along one wall, and the stove crouched on the opposite wall with a scant three feet of distance between them. A small square table—the only available workspace—filled a corner. Unpainted warped wood shelves lined the walls at shoulder height and held pots, pans, dishes, and woven baskets with various kitchen implements poking out of them. Taking in the cramped space, Tressa wondered how she and Sallie would manage to avoid stepping on each other.

“Chicken coop’s out back.” Mr. Samms crossed to a windowless door in the corner next to the jelly cupboard and propped it open with a smooth gray rock. The morning breeze washed through the opening, instantly cheering the dismal little room. “Cellar’s just around the corner. You’ll find meat, cheese, an’ vegetables down there. Cole milked the cow this mornin’, so there’s fresh milk an’ cream, too. Make use of whatever you want from the cellar an’ the cupboard.” He pulled a folded piece of yellow paper and a pencil stub from his shirt pocket and placed them on the edge of the dry sink. “But write down what you use so I can be sure an’ replace everything when I go to town Saturday.”

Tressa huddled in the doorway, trying to make herself as small as possible, but Sallie crossed to the cupboard and swung both doors open. She flashed a smile over her shoulder. “I see the makin’s for flapjacks. Would it be pleasin’ ye to have a stack of flapjacks an’ fried eggs for breakfast this mornin’, Mr. Samms?”

“Whatever you decide is fine.” The man inched his way toward the open door. “When breakfast is ready, ring the bell.” He pointed to a tarnished brass bell hanging just outside the door. “We won’t bother you until you call for us.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Samms.”

At Sallie’s agreement, he turned on his boot heel and disappeared around the corner.

Sallie put her hands on her hips and shook her head after him. “Never saw such an’ unsmilin’ man.” She whirled, winking at Tressa. “But nothin’ brings a smile like a good meal. So let’s get to cookin’, shall we, Tressa?”

When the first batch of flapjacks was ready, Tressa rang the little bell and then allowed Sallie to serve the men while she remained at the stove, flipping additional flapjacks and dropping eggs into the sizzling grease. Sweat beaded across her upper lip and tickled between her shoulder blades. Even with the door open, the tiny room became unbearable with the fire roaring in the belly of the stove. Relief flooded her when Sallie finally carried in the dirty dishes and the slam of the front door signaled the men’s departure from the house.

Sallie dumped the dishes onto the dry sink. “Since you did the cookin’, I’ll do the cleanin’ up. Why don’t you go out an’ see to our horses? The poor beasts’ll be ready to be free of their saddles, for sure.”

Tressa eagerly shot out the back door. She stood for a moment, blinking as bright sunlight attacked her eyes. The breeze, although warm, felt heavenly after being cooped up in the stifling little room. Somewhat refreshed, she headed for the barn. As she neared the wide opening of the rock barn, a horse and rider emerged. She recognized the rider as the man who had come to Mrs. Wyatt’s ranch to let them know a cow was ready to birth. When he spotted her, he brought his horse to a stop and grinned down at her.

“You goin’ to take care of your horses?”

She nodded.

“I did it for ya. Put the saddles over the stall wall an’ gave the horses some hay an’ water, too. After they eat, you can put ’em in the corral over there.” He pointed with his hat and then settled it over his straw-colored hair. “When you an’ Miss Sallie’re ready to head on back to Aunt Hattie’s, you just let me an’ Cole know. We’ll saddle ’em for ya. A lady shouldn’t hafta fling a saddle over a horse’s back.”

His friendly grin was impossible to resist. She offered a hesitant smile in return. “Thank you.” She wished she could remember his name.

“Welcome, Miss Tressa. Have a good mornin’ now.” He clicked his tongue, and the horse galloped off around the barn.

Grateful at being relieved of the cumbersome chore of caring for the horses, Tressa returned to the kitchen. She and Sallie spent a pleasant hour together, churning butter, mixing bread dough, and peeling and chopping vegetables for a hearty stew. “We should take stock of Mr. Samms’ cupboards an’ make a plan for the week’s meals,” Sallie suggested while kneading the huge lump of dough on the tiny work table. Flour streaked her cheek, hiding some of her freckles. “Aunt Hattie’ll surely have some suggestions, too, if she knows what stores’re available to us.”

Tressa nodded, stirring the bubbling pot on the stove. Although she’d become quite adept at cooking, her list of memorized recipes was scant at best. The men would quickly tire of stew, biscuits, and chicken and dumplings. She glanced at the paper and pencil Mr. Samms had left behind. “We’ll need to bring paper with us tomorrow, then. There isn’t enough room on that single piece to record everything.”

Sallie lifted her shoulder and pushed her hair from her face.

“Don’t ye think Mr. Samms must be havin’ more paper around here somewhere?”

“Of course. You can ask him at dinnertime.”

Sallie divided the ball of dough into three equal portions with deft twists of her wrists. She patted one portion into a smooth oblong ball, her grin saucy. “An’ why won’t ye be askin’ him?”

Tressa reached for the little bag of salt and tossed several pinches into the pot. “You suggested recording the available items, so I suppose you can make arrangements for it.” Her voice took on an unintentionally tart tone.

Sallie laughed. “Uh-huh, an’ that’s just what I was suspectin’. You’re sweet on Abel Samms.”

Tressa whirled to face Sallie. “Don’t say such things!”

“But why? There’s no harm in bein’ sweet on a man. That’s why we’re here, ain’t it? To find a man an’ build a family with ’im?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then why’re ye gettin’ so flustered? He’s a single man, an’ he’s got this fine house to offer ye. I can see no reason why you’d want to turn him away.”

“But . . . but . . . ” Tressa gathered her racing thoughts. “He hasn’t offered anything more than the opportunity to practice our skills in his kitchen. The man isn’t interested in me. He . . . he avoids me as if I had some sort of foul odor.” Strange how it pained her to utter those words aloud. Did she really care what Abel Samms thought? His warm brown eyes appeared in her memory—eyes as dark and tender as Papa’s—and she swallowed a lump of sadness that formed in her throat.

“To my way of thinkin’,” Sallie said, plopping the last ball of dough into its waiting pan, “when a man works so hard to avoid a woman, what he’s doing is avoidin’ his own feelin’s.” She placed the pans in a row on top of the stove’s warming hobs. “I’d wager he’s sweet on ye an’ tryin’ hard to keep it a secret.”

Tressa bit down on the end of her tongue, stilling any further protest. Arguing would only add fuel to Sallie’s fire, and anything she said might be repeated to the other girls. She stirred the stew with a vengeance and refused to even look in Sallie’s direction.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, and then a finger tapped Tressa’s shoulder. “Are ye goin’ to stay mad at me all day? ’Cause it’ll make for a dreary time.”

With a sigh, Tressa turned from the stove and met Sallie’s contrite gaze. “I’m not angry, Sallie, I’m just . . .” But once again, she fell silent.

She couldn’t begin to explain how she felt about Abel Samms. Plus, she couldn’t truthfully deny Sallie’s assumption. A tiny piece of her was, as Sallie had put it, sweet on the man.

Sallie’s face brightened with a quick smile. “If you’re not angry, then I’ll do a little searchin’ for some paper an’ get started writin’ down what supplies are available to us.”

Tressa grabbed Sallie’s arm as the girl headed for the door that led to the main room of the house. “Searching? You mean snooping!”

Her eyes sparkling with mischief, Sallie nodded. “For sure, snoopin’! But it’s hardly out of line. We’ll be cleanin’ his house, too, so we must be knowin’ what’s here.” She tugged loose from Tressa’s grip and charged around the corner.

Tressa scuttled after her, wringing her hands. “Sallie, I think we should wait and receive Mr. Samms’ instructions on what he wants us to do. He might not appreciate—”

“Oh, bosh.” Sallie waved Tressa’s concerns away. “Any man who lives alone’ll appreciate havin’ his house cleaned. Now . . .” She tapped her lips, looking back and forth between two doors that stood at the far end of the main room. “Which of those rooms do ye suppose will have paper?”

Without waiting for Tressa’s reply, she skipped to the one on the right and swung it wide. Tressa got a peek of two single-sized beds draped with bright quilts and a tall four-drawer chest before Sallie snapped the door closed again.