A Hopeful Heart (19 page)

“But to get to sit an’ eat with one of them gals—’specially Miss Tressa . . .” Ethan whistled through his teeth. “I’d give two month’s pay for that honor.”

Abel bit down on the end of his tongue. No sense in stomping Ethan’s hope, but the man had as much chance as a wax cat in a burning barn to win the bid for Miss Tressa’s—or any of the gals’— baskets. The area ranchers would snatch them up before cowhands put one finger in the air. Besides that, Aunt Hattie had made it clear only ranchers would be allowed to court the girls. A cowboy’s wage wouldn’t support a wife, and Aunt Hattie was set on those girls being well provided for.

They drove the remainder of the distance in silence, Vince dozing on the seat. When they reached the ranch, Vince snuffled and climbed out of the wagon as if his joints had stove up during the ride. Abel had intended to ask Vince to take the wagon to the barn and release the horses, but given the man’s stiff gait, he gave the responsibility to Ethan instead.

“Cole, you head on in an’ set lunch on the table,” Abel directed, swiping a trickle of sweat from his forehead. “Cold beef an’ cheese’re in the cellar, an’ bread’s in the breadbox. Open a tin of beans, an’ that oughtta be good enough. Lay it all out, an’ we’ll be in shortly to eat.”

Cole slapped his leg with his hat. “Boss, am I gonna have kitchen duty this week?”

Abel propped his fist on his hip. “One of us has to take it, Cole. Food don’t find its own way to the table.”

“Why can’t we have Aunt Hattie send the gals back again this week? Sure was nice, not havin’ to cook our dinners.”

Ethan trotted to Cole’s side, providing a united front. “Sure was. An’ it let us all work the cattle, like we’re paid to do. I say bring ’em back.”

Abel opened his mouth to voice his opinion, but Vince stepped forward, his jaw jutting and his eyes sparking with anger.

“You two’re like little kids throwin’ a tantrum.” He yanked his hat from his head, leaving his sparse, wiry hair standing on end. “Since when do you question Abel when he gives an order? Ethan, I’m ashamed of ya. An’ Cole, we been sharin’ cookin’ duties for more years than you’ve been on this ranch—ever since Abel’s ma took ill an’ died. We’ve all managed just fine without a lady in the house. So stop actin’ like a mollycoddled baby an’ put lunch on the table, like Abel told ya to do. I’m hungry.” When the pair didn’t move, he waved his hat at the young cowboys. “I said
git
!”

Cole spun and took off for the house at a trot. At the same time, Ethan swung into the wagon’s seat and gave the horses’ backs a quick flick with the traces. Vince glared at the wagon as it rolled by, then turned a satisfied grin in Abel’s direction.

“There now. That’s how you get things done.” He plopped his hat back on his head. “Have Ethan bring a sandwich to the bunkhouse for me. I’m gettin’ out o’ these church duds an’ layin’ down for a while. Sunday’s a day of rest.” He ambled toward the bunkhouse without waiting for a reply from Abel.

Abel watched him go, scratching his head. The man’s age was bringing out a cranky side. But at least Cole and Ethan had followed his orders. He reckoned he could handle Vince’s crustiness as long as it had good results. He started toward the house, but changed course and walked to the branding pen instead.

Resting his elbows on the highest rail, he stared into the empty pen and considered Ethan’s comment. The men had been hired as cowboys, not housekeepers. It didn’t make much sense to pay them a cowpoke’s wage to cook and clean. But there was no other way to make sure the household chores were completed . . . unless they had someone living on the ranch and seeing to those duties.

Another bead of sweat broke loose and rolled down Abel’s temple. He turned his face toward the wind to dry the moisture. His gaze swept the pasture beyond the pen, the sight of his grazing cattle reminding him that he hadn’t lost one head during the week the girls had taken over the house. Working all the men on the range was his best means of preventing more rustling.

Much as he hated to admit it, it made sense to have someone besides his ranch hands in the kitchen. But he didn’t have the funds to pay a housekeeper. Which meant
somebody
needed to take a wife. None of his hired men were eligible, given Aunt Hattie’s rules. That only left him.

“Sure wish Pa was here for me to talk to. . . .”

“Wal, I ain’t your pa, but—”

Abel spun around.

Vince stood a few feet away. He shuffled forward, glancing left and right, as if embarrassed to intrude. “Saw ya standin’ out here, lookin’ lost. Figured on checkin’ on you.”

Although Vince wasn’t his father, he was an older man Abel knew and trusted. Surely the older cowboy could offer sound advice. “Maybe you can help me sort somethin’ out. . . .”

Vince slung his arms over the top rail and fixed Abel with a steady look. “I’m listenin’.”

“Well, I’m wonderin’ if Cole an’ Ethan are right—” Abel rubbed his nose, suddenly feeling shy—“an’ somebody should take a wife.”

Vince’s brows shot upward. “Only person eligible, accordin’ to Hattie, is you.” His lips twitched. “You interested?”

Abel swallowed. “Might be.”

Vince chuckled. “Well now, Abel, takin’ a wife . . . that’s a big responsibility. An’ a new wife’ll be wantin’ lots of time. You got it to give?”

Abel stood silently, pondering Vince’s question.

The older man gazed across the ground, his voice pensive. “Seems to me you got plenty to handle around here, ’specially with them rustlers targetin’ your spread. You really want my advice?”

Abel nodded.

“I’m thinkin’ it’d be better to get the rustlin’ situation under control before you say ‘I do.’ ” He clapped Abel’s shoulder. “Hattie’s plannin’ on bringin’ in another class of pupils after this one’s moved on. There’ll be other girls—other chances. You don’t need to be latchin’ on to one right now.”

“Reckon you’re right, but . . .” Abel dug his toe into the dirt. “Next class won’t have Miss Tressa in it.”

“Ah.” Vince nodded wisely. “She is a purty one. She’s turned Ethan’s head, too.” He sighed. “Sure would hate for a female to come between the two of you. You boys’ve been almost like brothers since you was young’uns.”

The clang of the dinner bell intruded. Abel pushed off from the fence. “You’re right, Vince. Foolish of me to be takin’ a wife when things are so uncertain.”

Vince flung his arm around Abel’s shoulders and aimed him toward the house. “You’re young yet, Abel. Don’t be rushin’ into somethin’ you might later regret.” He yawned and scratched his chin. “I’ll be waitin’ for that sandwich—tell Ethan to hurry, would’ja?” He turned and ambled to the bunkhouse.

Abel’s feet slowed as he pondered Vince’s final piece of advice. Which would he regret more—taking Miss Tressa as his wife or letting her go?

19

“They’re comin’, Aunt Hattie, they’re comin’!”

At Mabelle’s shrill shout, Tressa looked up from placing her basket on the makeshift table created by laying boards across two sawhorses. A roiling cloud of dust offered proof that wagons and buggies were on their way to the Flying W. And many would carry eligible men eager to take a wife. Tressa’s stomach fluttered. Which man might God have chosen for her?

Each night of the past week, before drifting off to sleep, she had spent time reading in the Bible Aunt Hattie had given her. The older woman had made a list of Scriptures for Tressa to study, and she absorbed the promises she encountered on the pages. She’d also developed the habit of slipping to her knees in prayer, talking to God and seeking His plans. She relished the peace that enveloped her during times of prayer, and she’d begun winging brief prayers skyward during the day—requests for strength or patience, appreciation for the beauty of nature, or simply praise for His presence. Those prayers, from simple to in-depth, drew her closer to her Father. Tressa clung to Him with both hands.

Sallie stepped off the porch and crossed to Tressa’s side as she adjusted the ribbon on her basket. Each basket bore a colored ribbon, signifying its preparer. Tressa had chosen yellow, the color of sunshine. Sallie’s basket sported a bold red ribbon. Sallie fingered the wide band of bright satin and released a sigh.

Tressa put her arm around Sallie’s shoulders. “Don’t be sad, Sallie. If you’re meant to be with Cole, God will make it possible for you.”

Sallie cast a quick, hopeful glance at Tressa before lowering her gaze to the baskets again. “Don’t know why God would be troublin’ Himself over the likes of me. But if ye have a mind to appeal to Him on my behalf, I’d be grateful. My heart does pine for Cole. He’s a
kind
man, Tressa. . . .”

Tressa gave Sallie’s shoulder a squeeze, sending up a silent prayer of blessing for her friend. Aunt Hattie burst out of the house, waving her hands to the girls. “C’mon over here an’ be ready to greet our guests!”

Tressa gave Sallie’s arm a little tug, and they joined the others at the base of the porch steps. Tressa smiled as Aunt Hattie fussed with the rows of ruffles that ran from her chin down the front of her dress, disappearing beneath the waistband of her best apron. It appeared the older woman’s excitement exceeded even Luella’s. Last night, before retiring to bed, Aunt Hattie had confided to Tressa how important it was to her that the school be a success. Her desire to see each of the girls as happily joined in marriage as she had been with her beloved Jed endeared her even more deeply to Tressa. Surely there was no more caring heart in all of Kansas than the one beating in Hattie Wyatt’s chest.

Wagons turned in at the gate, and Aunt Hattie waved both hands over her head. “Park around the barn, folks, an’ then come on over!”

The girls giggled, exchanging smiles or tucking wind-tossed strands of hair beneath the brims of their best bonnets. Tressa smoothed the skirt of her church dress, the only one she owned that bore a touch of lace as an embellishment. Her straw hat perched on her head, secured against the wind by two pearl-headed pins that pulled her hair. But she refused to remove them—that hat would stay put today!

Townspeople hopped from their vehicles and strode across the dusty ground toward the house. All wore their Sunday attire, women’s straw hats replacing everyday poke bonnets and men’s black ribbon ties contrasting sharply with crisp white shirt collars. Tressa couldn’t help but remember her first glimpse of the single men the first day in Barnett. Gone were the dusty trousers, plaid shirts, and whiskered chins. With their clean-shaven faces and pressed suits, the men might have been bankers or lawyers coming to a society gathering. Only their dusty boots and well-worn hats marked them as cowboys and ranchers.

Brewster Hammond, his son Gage, and their cook arrived at the porch first, and Brewster reached past the girls to take hold of Aunt Hattie’s hand. “Harriet, you’ve set a fine spread.” His gaze swept across the neatly set tables and flapping checkered tablecloths before returning to her. A smile transformed his normally sober face. “This party’ll rival my pit roast, I reckon.” He gave Aunt Hattie’s knuckles a quick peck with his lips and then released her hand.

Aunt Hattie flapped her bleached muslin apron at her face. “Well now, Brewster, not that we’re in any competition, of course, but that’s a mighty nice thing to say. Hope you an’ Gage’ll enjoy your time here.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high, and her wrinkled cheeks held more color than Tressa had ever seen displayed.

As if suddenly realizing a good-sized crowd, including at least three dozen eager single men, stood in a half circle around her porch, Aunt Hattie clapped her hands to her cheeks and gulped twice. “Oh! Looks like everybody’s here, so let’s get things started! Lunch first, folks, includin’ our basket auction, an’ then dancin’. That sound good?”

A rousing cheer rose.

“If you’re wantin’ to bid on a basket, come on over here. Ever’body else, grab yourself a plate an’ dig into the food at the tables!”

Aunt Hattie waved the girls off the porch, herding them with her widespread arms the way Tressa had seen a hen shoo her chicks. The crowd scattered across the yard, their combined voices creating a happy cacophony. Aunt Hattie directed the girls to the far side of the table and then turned to the single men, who formed a crooked double line facing the baskets.

“Now, we’re not tellin’ you who put together these baskets, but I’ll tell you the contents, an’ then the biddin’ will commence. Once the baskets’re all bought, you’ll know which lady will share your lunch. Sound good?”

The men cheered, some of them socking the air with their fists or nudging each other. Tressa stood close to Sallie, her heart pounding, as Aunt Hattie pointed to the first basket—Paralee’s. Aunt Hattie called out the specialties Paralee had prepared, and bidding began. The girls held hands, shaking their heads in wonder at the amounts offered for the privilege of a home-cooked meal and the company of one of the girls.

The winner of Paralee’s basket, a balding middle-aged man with bowed legs, received the congratulations of his peers, and the bidding shifted to Sallie’s basket. Tressa sensed Sallie’s nervousness as amounts were called. Sallie had confided she’d deliberately prepared all of the foods Cole had particularly enjoyed when they’d worked at the Lazy S in the hopes he would recognize the menu. To Tressa’s delight, Cole entered the bidding, but her elation fell when he was trounced by a tall man in a perspiration-splotched three-piece suit. After the winner was proclaimed, Cole scuffed off to the corral fence, his shoulders slumped. Sallie looked longingly after him. Tressa slipped her arm around Sallie’s waist in silent sympathy.

Aunt Hattie gestured toward the next basket on the table. “This here basket has a pot roast, sliced thin, a good stout cheese aged right in our own cellar, homemade bread, fresh-churned butter, sour pickles, hard-boiled eggs, an’ apple dumplin’s for dessert—good picnic makin’s for sure! What’m I bid?”

Tressa held her breath as men clamored for her basket. At the back of crowd, Abel Samms peered over the shoulders of the other men. She’d seen his brows rise when Aunt Hattie mentioned apple dumplings. Did he remember the apple dumplings she’d baked in his kitchen? She watched, hoping his hand might rise in a bid for her basket, but instead Gage Hammond pushed to the front of the crowd and thrust his hand in the air.

“I’ll give ya ten dollars for that basket!” He flashed a grin at the men behind him.

Grumbles broke across the crowd, and Luella released a gasp. Tressa glanced at Luella’s furious face. The resentment in the girl’s eyes made Tressa spin away, and as she turned she spotted Abel clumping across the ground toward Cole.

Aunt Hattie harrumphed. “Gage Hammond, this’s s’posed to be a friendly bid. We left off at a dollar, four bits. Why don’tcha go to a dollar, six bits?”

“ ’Cause I haven’t had good apple dumplin’s in a coon’s age, an’ I’m willin’ to pay ten dollars for ’em, that’s why. I figure biddin’ high’ll speed things along.” He dug in his pocket and withdrew a paper bill, which he held between his first two fingers. “Ten dollars . . . anybody wanna top that?” He looked over his shoulders both left and right. The other men dug their toes in the dirt, heads low, and muttered.

Gage threw a triumphant grin at Aunt Hattie and strode forward. “Guess that means I’m the winner.” He pressed the bill into Aunt Hattie’s hand and then ambled to the edge of the crowd, where he stood with crossed arms and a smirk on his face.

Aunt Hattie cleared her throat and moved on to the next basket.

Tressa’s mouth felt dry. Lunch with Gage Hammond? The man made her skin crawl! And if she ate with Gage, Luella would certainly seek revenge.

Bidding on the final two baskets went far too quickly, and Aunt Hattie gestured for the girls to come stand behind their baskets. She called, “Those o’ you who didn’t win a basket, don’t worry—there’s food a-plenty on those tables. Help yourself, an’ when lunch is done, we’ll get that fiddle playin’ so’s you all can dance an’ get to know each other a mite. Enjoy your lunch now!”

Gage held back until the other men led their lunch partners away from the table. Then he strode forward and offered Tressa a wink. “Well now, Miss Tressa, it’ll be pure delight to sample your fine cookin’.” He hooked the basket handle with one elbow and held the other out to her. “C’mon, let’s find us a shady spot.”

Tressa felt Luella’s glare boring into her back as Gage guided her across the ground toward the barn. A nervous titter escaped her dry lips. “We aren’t going to eat in the barn, are we?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Can you think of a better place to have some privacy?”

“But . . . it isn’t
clean
, Mr. Hammond.”

“Call me Gage. An’ it’s no dirtier than sittin’ out here in the wind, gettin’ dust in our food.” He sped his footsteps. “Besides, it’s cooler in there. Ruther be where it’s cool than out in the sun.”

He led her through the barn door. She blinked several times, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. “Over here,” Gage prodded, nodding toward an empty stall. “We can toss one of the horse blankets on the ground an’ have a nice private picnic.”

Although uncertainty weighed heavily in Tressa’s breast, she skittered forward and removed a thickly woven blanket from a high shelf. Her mind raced. The stall Gage had chosen was in the corner, just to the right of the barn doors. If she sat in the stall’s opening, she would have a short path to the door should she need to depart quickly. She spread the blanket over the dirt floor of the stall, her chest constricting at the need to plan an escape route, yet she couldn’t deny a feeling of discomfort from being in Gage’s presence.

Gage plunked the basket in the middle of the blanket and caught her arm, guiding her to the far side of the colorful square of wool. With a gallant bow, he seated her, then sank down beside her. He tossed his hat aside and stretched his legs out, leaning on one elbow. “Now, isn’t this cozy?”

Tressa managed a weak smile in response to his grin. “Let’s eat, shall we?” The sooner they finished their lunch, the sooner they could rejoin the others.

She removed two speckled tin plates from the basket and graciously placed a sample of the different foods on his plate. Gage remained in his lounging position while he ate, saying little, but fixing her with such an attentive gaze she found it difficult to swallow.

When his plate was nearly empty he suddenly sat up. “Take off that hat, would’ja?”

“W-what?”

“Take off your hat. Seems silly to wear it in here.” He lifted his hands to indicate their setting. “No sun in your eyes. Go ahead an’ take it off.”

“Oh, but—”

“I’ll help you.”

Before she could stop him, he plucked the pins from her hat and lifted it from her head. One tendril caught in the weave of the straw, and it fell alongside her cheek. She quickly tucked it behind her ear.

His smile grew. “That’s better. More relaxed.” He hunkered over his plate and finished the remainder of his food without another word.

Eager to have the lunch finished so she could leave his presence, Tressa forced herself to consume the last of her cheese and meat. Her plate empty, she heaved a sigh of relief. “Would you like your dessert now?” She reached for the bowl that held the apple dumplings.

Gage caught her wrists. “I want somethin’ sweet all right.” He rose to his feet, pulling her with him. “But the apple dumplin’s can wait.”

“M-Mr. Hammond, I—”

“Now, didn’t I tell you to call me Gage? Mr. Hammond’s my pa. Call me Gage, Tressa.”

Her heart pounded so hard it took the wind from her lungs.

His fingers tightened on her upper arms. “Call me Gage, Tressa.”

She tried to form the word, but her dry lips refused to cooperate. Instead, little gasps slipped out.

He chuckled softly. “Well, that’s all right. No talkin’s fine, long as we’re doin’ somethin’ else. So how ’bout a kiss, huh?” He lowered his face, but Tressa twisted her head to the side. His lips landed on her cheek.

“Aw, c’mon now, don’t be shy.” Gage backed her against the stall rail. He caught the loose strand of her hair and coiled it around his finger, giving it a slight pull. “Everybody knows I’m the best catch in town, seein’ as how my pa’s the richest rancher in Ford County. An’ here I’ve taken a fancy to you. You oughtta be thankin’ me, not playin’ cat an’ mouse.”

Tressa’s pulse pounded in her temples. Although Gage was smiling and keeping his voice low and friendly, fear created a bitter taste in her mouth. She wanted to flee, but how? He was blocking her with his widespread stance and his grip on her hair.

“So . . .” Gage’s grin turned leering. “It’s time to thank me for givin’ such a high price for your basket. All I want is a little kiss. Luella tells me you been practicin’ on Abel Samms, so you oughtta know how.” He laughed again, but the sound held little gaiety. “I usually don’t take another man’s hand-me-overs, but I’ll make an exception since you’re so purty.” He tipped his head toward her again.