A Hopeful Heart (7 page)

7

Abel watched the young woman’s face blaze red. She yanked her hand free of his so fast she nearly threw him off balance. Scuttling sideways, she ran smack into Aunt Hattie, and then took two backward steps that bounced her against the stall rails. There she stood, staring at him in silence with wide, pale blue eyes before she whirled around and presented her back.

He resisted releasing a snort of amusement. Considering
she
had latched on to
him
, she didn’t need to act all put upon. He’d entered the barn intending to tap Aunt Hattie’s shoulder and draw her out to the yard for a private conversation. But before he could follow through on his plan, that girl had grabbed hold of his hand and wouldn’t let loose. So he’d stayed.

Now he swiped his palm down his trouser leg to remove their joined moisture and faced Hattie, who offered a knowing smirk. Did she think that hand-holding had been
his
idea? He cleared his throat.

“Aunt Hattie, couldja step out here with me for a minute?” He didn’t wait for a response but turned and clumped outside, trusting her to follow. The excited chatter of Aunt Hattie’s pupils and Vince’s drawling responses to their questions carried through the barn door’s opening, so he stepped well out into the yard.

He squinted into Aunt Hattie’s grinning face. “What’re you –smilin’ at?”

“You.”

“Why?”

She touched his arm. “That was a kind thing you did, Abel, holding Miss Tressa’s hand.”

He started to explain that he hadn’t meant to hold her hand, but the girl’s name echoed through his mind, stilling his tongue. Tressa. An unusual name—as unusual as her eyes. He’d never seen such pale eyes—the color of wild sweet William, his ma’s favorite blossom. He’d picked dozens of sweet William bouquets as a little boy. But it’d been a while since he’d picked one for her grave. He needed to do that before the early spring wildflowers all died away.

Aunt Hattie continued. “New experiences can be frightenin’, so I know you gave her a real gift by holdin’ on tight.”

That girl’d taken his hand—he hadn’t given it—and he shouldn’t take credit. But there was something more important to discuss. “Aunt Hattie, I gotta ask you a question, an’ I’m trustin’ you to keep it quiet.”

Her heavy eyebrows knitted together. “You can trust me.”

Abel flicked a glance toward the barn. The murmur of voices told him the pupils and Vince were still occupied. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You heard about any ranchers around here losin’ lots of cattle the last couple of years?”

Hattie smoothed her hand down her bonnet strings. “Well now, Abel, every rancher loses a few head ever’ winter, an’ I reckon I’ve lost a calf or two to coyotes.”

“No, not that kind of loss.”

“Then what?”

“Rustlers.”

Aunt Hattie’s jaw dropped. “Rustlers? In Barnett?”

“Shh!” Abel caught her elbow and propelled her to her wagon. He propped his arm on the side and dipped his face close to hers. “Started after Pa died. I lost a good ten percent of my herd last year an’ even more’n that the year before. I know we had a hard winter in ’85. That took its toll on lots of ranchers, but in the past two years I haven’t found carcasses to account for comin’ up so short. There’d be somethin’. Even a pack of coyotes can’t drag off every bone from a steer.”

“Oh, my . . .” Aunt Hattie’s tone reflected dismay. She shook her head. “I never heard o’ such a thing ’cept in Texas. Don’t like to even think of it.” Her frown deepened. “You talk to the sheriff?”

Abel blew out a snide breath. “Naw. Lazy ol’ coot. He’d want proof of somethin’ before he’d sling himself on a horse an’ look into things. An’ I don’t got proof. All I got is my instincts.”

“Well, instincts is sometimes wrong, Abel.”

She sounded hopeful, and Abel couldn’t blame her. He didn’t like to think someone was deliberately stealing his animals. Especially considering it seemed his ranch was the only one bothered. Why would somebody target his ranch? He didn’t know of anyone with a grudge against him.

He sighed. “Aunt Hattie, I don’t think I’m wrong.”

“So what’re you gonna do?”

“Put up some of that barbed wire fence. Keep my herd closer in. Make it harder for the thief.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “ ’Course, makes it harder on me an’ my hands, too, ’cause we’ll be hauling in hay rather’n lettin’ the cows graze. But what else can I do?”

Aunt Hattie clasped his wrist. “You can pray that the thief ’ll get an attack o’ conscience, repent, an’ stop his wicked ways.”

Abel bit down on his tongue to hold back words of protest. Oh, he went to church regular just like his ma had taught him, and he prayed over his meals—especially when Cole did the cooking. But the last times he’d prayed—
really
prayed—God hadn’t paid him any mind. Pa still died of that infection. Amanda still returned to the East. Abel didn’t see much sense in giving God another opportunity to let him down.

Aunt Hattie nibbled her lower lip. “Could you use an extra hand to keep an eye out? I could spare one o’ my men since the pupils’re doin’ a lot o’ the chores around my ranch.”

Abel considered her suggestion, but in the end he shook his head.

“Naw. I appreciate the offer, but the fewer people who know about this, the better. I don’t want the thief gettin’ wind that I’m on to him.

I’m hopin’ he’ll get lazy . . . be easier for me to catch him.”

“I hope you’re right.”

A flurry of movement in the barn’s opening caught his attention. The girls spilled into the yard with Vince in the middle of their throng. They headed toward the wagon, still jabbering and laughing. Except for the one called Tressa. She trailed behind, her unsmiling lips pressed shut.

Abel caught Aunt Hattie’s arm. “Remember—it’s our secret.”

“ ’Course it is. Ours an’ God’s.”

As Abel ambled away, he muttered, “Let’s just keep it between you an’ me.”

Facing a corner of the bedroom, Tressa slipped her nightgown over her head, buttoned it, then turned away from the corner. Sallie stood in front of the bureau in her chemise, pawing through the bottom drawer. Tressa spun to face the corner again, her cheeks hot. The drawer banged shut and still she waited, giving Sallie adequate time to slip into her nightclothes. Finally she directed a cautious glance over her shoulder to find her roommate, attired in her simple cotton gown, grinning at her.

“You’re a strange one, Tressa. Never met anybody so shy about herself.” Sallie laughed lightly, shaking her head. Her spiraling red curls bounced on her shoulders. “Luella asked me to move into her room now that she’s all alone, but I told her no. Now I’m thinkin’ maybe you’d be happier without someone else in your room?”

Tressa’s heart gave a little leap. If Sallie had refused to move in with Luella, perhaps she was still interested in pursuing her fledgling friendship with Tressa. Clasping her gown closed at the neck, she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. “You told Luella no?”

Sallie flumped into her bed, making the springs squeak. “You heard Aunt Hattie the day we moved in. No room changin’.” She offered a pensive look. “But if you’d be happier without me underfoot, I’ll ask about makin’ the change.”

Tressa hung her head. “No. No, that’s fine, Sallie.” She swallowed. “Unless . . . Would you rather room with Luella?”

Sallie shrugged and pulled the covers to her chin. “Oh now, Luella’s a laughy sort. A mite daft sometimes, too, but even that makes me laugh. But . . .” She yawned, wriggling farther down into the mattress. “I’ll be stayin’ here instead. Movin’ is too much fuss an’ feathers.”

Tressa blew out the lamp that sat on the little table beside the bed, plunging them into darkness, and then slid between the sheets. Lying perfectly still, she listened to Sallie’s steady breathing give way to soft snoring. She willed herself to succumb to sleep, too. But her mind resisted. Tossing the covers aside, she rose and crossed to the window. Perhaps some stargazing would cheer her and help her sleep.

But a hazy band stretched across the sky, hiding the stars. Frowning, Tressa dropped the curtain into place. Did the clouds cover the entire sky, or only this view? Determined to get a glimpse of the flickering lights that gave her heart a lift, she snatched her tattered robe from the corner of the bed and tiptoed out the door.

She crept down the stairs, cringing as her foot hit the creaky fourth riser. Pausing, she listened intently. Had anyone been disturbed? No sounds carried from any of the bedrooms, convincing her the others slept on. She hurried down the remaining stairs and crossed to the front door. To her surprise, the door stood open, allowing in the night air. Did Mrs. Wyatt leave the house completely open during the night? Her heart pattered at the thought. Then she assured herself she was no longer in the city—locked doors probably weren’t necessary here in the country.

The heavily scented night breeze stirred the tails of her robe as she stepped out onto the porch. She padded to the railing, the pine boards cool and smooth against the soles of her bare feet, and rested her fingertips on the top rail. Leaning her hips against the sturdy railing, she turned her gaze to the sky, her eyes eager to feast upon a host of sparkling stars. But disappointment sagged her shoulders. Clouds shrouded this view, as well.

Sighing, she turned to go back into the house, but a flicker of light from the far end of the porch caught her attention. The flicker became an undulating glow accompanied by a thin ribbon of aromatic smoke. She froze, a chill attacking her frame. And then a chuckle rumbled.

“Well, Tressa, don’t stand there with your mouth hangin’ open. Come on over here an’ join me an’ Izzy-B since you’re up.”

She wilted with relief when Mrs. Wyatt’s familiar voice reached her ears. Her eyes adjusted enough to make her way to the edge of the porch, where Mrs. Wyatt sat in one of two rickety straight-back chairs. Tressa sank into the second chair, smiling when Isabella stretched out her paw and meowed in greeting.

She wrinkled her nose, however, at the object Mrs. Wyatt held in her hand. A pipe, out of which a thin band of smoke continued to rise, flavoring the air.

Mrs. Wyatt’s low-toned chuckle came again. “You don’t hide much with those big eyes o’ yours, girlie.” She bounced the pipe in Tressa’s direction. “You find this thing objectionable?”

Honestly, the cherry-scented smoke wasn’t unpleasant. Tressa shook her head. “No, ma’am. I’m just . . .” Never had Tressa imagined a woman smoking a pipe. She found the practice unseemly at best. Fearful of insulting her hostess, she fell silent.

But Mrs. Wyatt completed the thought. “Shocked that a lady would smoke?”

Heat flooded her face, but Tressa offered a quick nod.

“It’s a nasty habit, I’m sure.” Mrs. Wyatt took a draw on the pipe, creating a soft glow in the bowl, and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. She examined the pipe and a soft smile curved her lips. “My husband, Jed, smoked of an evening. Sometimes when I get to missin’ him too much, I come out here an’ light up his pipe. The smell of his favorite tobacco takes a bit of my loneliness away.”

Compassion filled Tressa’s chest. “I understand.”

“An’ you, Tressa? You sneakin’ out here to find a salve for your loneliness?”

The woman’s astuteness took Tressa by surprise. “I . . . I . . .”

Another chuckled sounded. “Aw, Tressa-darlin’, I can tell you ain’t exactly comfortable here on the ranch. Oh, you try hard. Got more stick-to-it-iveness than you let yourself admit, I wager. But I know you aren’t here ’cause it was your choice.” A short pause gave Tressa the opportunity to rise and escape to her bedroom, but she remained rooted to the chair. Mrs. Wyatt continued softly. “Are you like Evelyn, sent here by a daddy who means to teach you a lesson?”

Tressa curled her hands around the seat of the chair and jerked to face the older woman. “No! My papa would never have sent me away! He loved me!”

“Ah.” Mrs. Wyatt nodded wisely, tucking the slim stem into the corner of her mouth. “
Loved
. Not
loves
. That means he’s gone?” Gentle puffs of smoke rose from the pipe’s bowl.

Tressa aimed her gaze across the dark landscape, blinking rapidly to control the attack of tears. “Yes, ma’am.”

“An’ you got no other people?”

Tressa couldn’t find an honest answer to that question. Yes, she had people, but they didn’t want her. She sat in silence.

“Well, Tressa, that puts you in a fix, don’t it? ’Specially since you don’t exactly feel wanted here, either.”

Turning her head slightly, Tressa met Mrs. Wyatt’s sympathetic gaze.

“Don’t take the others’ tauntin’ to heart, Tressa. Y’see, people sometimes behave like a flock o’ chickens, peckin’ on the one they see as the weakest.”

Tressa nodded. She had witnessed the hens’ ill-treatment of one poor bird in the coop. Her heart stirred with pity each time she glimpsed that bedraggled, skinny hen huddling in the corner of the coop by itself while the others scratched in the dirt together.

“Don’t let ’em make you feel bad. It’s clear you haven’t had the same experiences as the others, an’ that puts you at a disadvantage. You’ll learn eventually if you keep tryin’ hard as you have been. But, Tressa-darlin’, you gotta get some gumption. Stand up for yourself!”