On Her Way Home (30 page)

“Ha,” Jo grunted, dismissing his claim, “you’ve certainly never minded my being embarrassed before.” A hundred different instances from the last few months popped into her mind as evidence. “I’m sure it’s no more uncomfortable than last week when you made that comment about the cow that was in heat.”

Having forgotten about that, Mac now chuckled to himself, remembering how Jo’s face had turned bright red. He had overlooked her presence when he’d made that particular observation.

“See, you can’t even deny it!” she nearly shouted, fuming because she thought he was laughing at her.

“All right then,” he obliged, “I don’t have a problem with it. Like I said, I was just trying to spare you some awkwardness.”

“Well, don’t,” she retorted, “I’m a grown woman.”

“Fine.” Mac agreed, raising his hands in surrender. “If it means that much to you and you are so anxious to watch…”

“It doesn’t…I’m
not
!” Jo spluttered in denial, a pink flush creeping up her neck. “I just don’t like it when men,”—Jo emphasized the word, hinting that by “men” she really meant “Mac”—“assume women are incapable and dismiss them.”

For whatever reason, this debate really irks her
, Mac thought to himself. The truth was that before he met her, her assessment of him would have been fair. In actuality, he still held those opinions where the average woman was concerned, but Jo was not the average woman. She’d impressed him all summer with her tough, never-quit determination. Looking at her seriously, he said, “Incapable would be the last word that I would ever use to describe you, Jo.”

His earnest look expressed the truth of his words to Jo, and she softened slightly at the praise.

It was short lived, however, when Mac, unconvinced that this wouldn’t bother her, eyed her skeptically and alleged with a smile, “You blush faster than any girl I’ve ever met. You won’t last five minutes down there with Leif.”

If he referred to her as “girl” one more time, Jo was going to sock him in the stomach. Stepping closer to Mac, her freckled cheeks glowing indignantly, she warned, “Stop calling me ‘girl.’” Then fluttering her thick eyelashes at him temptingly, she swept past him to the barn. “
And
,” she ordered turning around, “you can just wipe that patronizing smirk right off your handsome face too!” Jo swung back around and strode smartly away.

Mac followed her proud saucy figure to the barn, being careful to keep his head down and his grin hid.

Twenty minutes later, Jo sincerely regretted her decision to accompany this pack of disreputable, cheeky, appalling men to the pasture. Mr. Wagner had only brought ten cows over, so they hadn’t needed the horses to herd them. They had just gathered in a wide arc and walked them into the small fenced pasture at the back of the corral. A gate separated the two enclosures, and immediately the bull, which had been penned up in the corral, took interest in the cows and hovered along the fence, watching their procession with rolling eyes. Mac left the bull in the corral for a bit, letting him “work up a need,” as he had put it, resulting in the first flush of the day to Jo’s cheeks, but certainly not the last. As Mac had predicted, Leif was in his element, uttering low innuendos from his naughty lips and sending her insolent smiles as he did so.

Somehow the comments she didn’t hear were almost worse than the ones she did. The men would say something on the sly to each other, and there would be a low chuckle of laughter up and down the fence line followed by a quick look in her direction to ascertain whether she had heard or not. Then, of course, there was Mac, leaning casually against the railing, watching all of Jo’s discomfort with a discerning smile.

She stared straight at him and straightened her back, determined to not let him win.

From across the corral, he raised his eyebrows at her in challenge and then walked over to the gate and swung it open. The muscled black bull charged domineeringly into the pasture, whipping its tail and weaving its way through the cows. After several minutes, one cow in particular seemed to garner his interest, and he circled around it, sniffing and snorting.

Jo had seen this natural act performed on the farm many times before, but it felt indecent to view it now, amongst all these men and their banter. She tried hard to think of a way to extricate herself from their company without fostering attention, but came up empty-handed. Even if the other men didn’t notice her departure, Mac certainly would. She scanned the field, the mountains, the trees, focusing her eyes in any direction but the pasture in front of her. Jo felt Mac’s gaze on her and turned to find him looking at her boldly, an alarming heat in his eyes. He raised one wicked eyebrow at her, and she was beat. Her insides coiled and hot color rushed into her cheeks.

With all the dignity she could muster, she marched around the corral to Mac, his disarming eyes tracking her. Pointing her finger in his face, she whispered spiritedly, “
You
are
not
a good man.”

Mac’s head flew back and the Adam’s apple in his thick throat bobbed violently with his laughter.

Jo’s insides were still pooling with warmth, and watching the easy laughter spill from this once cold man didn’t lessen her desires. “I will be in the garden,” she conceded.

“Don’t feel like you have to steer clear of the kitchen either,” he teased, rubbing his victory in with a breathtaking smile that turned “sturdy” Jo into a warm, molten puddle in her boots. “Fresh bread and jam wouldn’t taste nearly as good as a cherry pie,” he hinted mischievously.

Gathering her dissolved, affected person back together, Jo slapped a reproachful look on her face and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not the kind of schoolmarm that rewards naughty boys for bad behavior!” A whisper of a smile played at the corner of her pink mouth, negating her claim.

Mac leveled her with another heartrending gaze and said lowly, “Are you going to take me out behind the woodshed?” He winked at her devilishly.

Jo’s mouth flopped open in shock, and she promptly socked him on the arm and spun around to leave. She felt Mac’s triumphant gleam on her all the way across the dusty yard and around the corner until she thankfully disappeared at the back of the house.

***

Jo spent the afternoon harvesting her green beans and, with Sam’s help, filled two large bushels with the crispy vegetables. When Wagners left and Mac finally rode in from the range, he opened the back door and was greeted by the heavenly smell of baking.

Walking into the kitchen, he saw Jo and Sam standing over a steaming pie with a golden crust that was cooling on the counter. Jo had just taken it from the oven, and she still had the dishtowel wrapped around her hand. A blue-checkered apron dotted with flour was tied around her trim waist and her lips were a revealing cherry red. The homey scene warmed his heart. A renegade thought crossed his mind that this would be a welcome sight for the rest of his life. Shoving it aside, he greeted Sam as he lifted him up in his big arms, “Hey there, son.” Leaning over the counter, he examined the pie. “What do we have here?” he asked, dipping his finger in a puddle of bubbled-up pie filling and popping it in his mouth. He smacked his lips deliciously. “Mmmm…it looks like Jo’s made us a treat.”

“Uh-huh, it’s cherry.”

“I see that,” Mac replied, finally meeting Jo’s eyes with a deliberate glance. Swinging Sam onto his back, he said to her, “I thought you didn’t reward naughty boys.”

Jo blushed and crossed to the sink, flipping on the water to wash her hands. “It’s not a reward, it’s a bribe,” she clarified, over her shoulder. “There’s a load of vegetables in the garden I need carried to the porch. This pie belongs to whoever is willing to do it.”

Mac tickled Sam’s chest roughly. “In that case, I think you’ve found your men. What do ya say, Sam? Do you want some pie?” Sam laughed and pushed Mac’s hand away, bobbing his light blonde head enthusiastically.

Draping the plaid towel over the kitchen sink, Jo turned back to Mac. Sam and he presented a charming picture, one blonde head and one black, bending over the pie to take another dip of the gooey juices. Her heart filled in her chest, thinking to herself that she had indeed found her men.

Mac grinned handsomely up at her. “Thanks for the pie.”

Jo untied her apron and slung it over the hook by the door. “I’ll come help you with the vegetables,” she said, as the three of them left the kitchen together.

***

Later that night, Jo sat with Mac on the porch, snapping beans while he enjoyed his second piece of tart pie. The air was cooling off now, and a relaxing breeze had whipped up, rustling the loose hair around Jo’s face. She lifted her face to the breeze, letting it rush across her cheeks while she breathed in its heady mountain scent. She and Mac were wrapped in a peaceful serenity.

Secretly, Jo studied the scene around her. Mac’s chair clicked rhythmically as the weathered wood rocked gently back and forth along the porch boards. He scooped healthy bites of pie into his mouth and gazed out over his ranch, a contented appreciation filling the planes of his face. The only sounds were the singing of crickets, the scrape of Mac’s fork against his plate, and the crisp snap of beans as Jo broke them and tossed them into the bowl. She wondered if Mac noticed the cozy setting around them or if perhaps his thoughts ran where hers did. To the unknowing stranger, their presence here would look like that of a married couple, unwinding after a day on their ranch.

Jo wanted this life, wanted to rock on the porch with Mac for the rest of her life, wanted to bake him pie and enjoy the sight of him appreciating it. She wanted him to tease and flirt with her, wanted his heated eyes trailing her long after she grew old and gray. The warning voice from earlier shouted at her louder than all the homey sounds around her. Mac had given no sign that he longed for the same things she did. In fact, if she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that he avoided any serious moments between them, always cautious and unwilling to commit more to her than a few trifling words and obvious physical desire. Sitting on the porch as the sun went down, Jo realized that it would never be enough for her. She wanted all of him: the friend, the man, the father.

A niggling anxiety squeezed her heart. Jo toyed with the idea of being bold, of just asking him how he felt, but the fear of what he might say stopped her. Below the surface, she sensed the truth. Mac might appear more open to her, friendlier, but inside he still resisted. Instinctively, Jo felt it was connected to his experience with Tom, but didn’t know exactly how. It was like he wouldn’t allow himself to be fully happy.

Her mind alighting on that thought, she cautiously asked him, “Mac?”

“Mmm?” he mumbled around a bite of cherries.

“Are you happy?”

He whipped his head around to her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he swallowed. Cautiously, he asked, “What do you mean?”

Jo expounded, “I mean, is this...”—Jo swept her arm in a wide arc to simulate the ranch—“is it what you want?” Swallowing a lump in her throat, she tossed the question tentatively out into the night air. “Is it
all
you want?” Her large eyes held him, full of hope. 

Mac looked away from her and leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the boards below him. Jo was pushing again, picking and prying at his defenses. To her question, a resounding “NO” had echoed in his mind. He wanted much more than this ranch. He wanted Jo. He wanted siblings for Sam. He wanted this weight off his chest. He wanted things he didn’t deserve to have, and it wouldn’t do Jo any good to know it.

Mac stared hard at her. “I have everything I want,” he lied convincingly.

A tight smile formed at the corners of Jo’s eyes. “I’m glad,” she managed to say. “You deserve to be happy.”

Mac felt like a complete rounder. He saw the twinge of hurt smart in her eyes, was disgusted at himself for causing it, and cross at her for forcing him to. It was beyond his ability to remain indifferent to her, and the more time they spent together the deeper he cared for her. Spilling his guts to her at the river had created a distinct and powerful bond between them...trust. She was the only person he had ever revealed those painful memories to. How she had unraveled his defenses, he didn’t know, but it had to stop for her sake and his.

Mac’s chair rocked noisily as he stood from it and stretched his arms over his head. “I think I’m going to call it a night,” he said, desperately needing space from Jo before he acted on the impulse to pull her into his arms and erase the hurt he’d just caused. “Goodnight,” Mac said resolutely.

The only reply from Jo was a soft forced smile as he passed by her into the kitchen. The screen door banged closed behind him. By all accounts, Mac had won the day, but not without a price. He’d pay for the victory with a long, restless night’s sleep, only ten feet down the hall from Jo, whom he knew loved him.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The next week Mr. Wagner and his sons, along with the rest of the threshing crew, showed up
at the ranch to harvest the last of the wheat. They started work early in the morning and didn’t finish until late into the evening.

During the war, Montana farmers had planted bigger and bigger crops of wheat to meet the war demand, but after it ended, prices dropped dramatically, and farmers could barely give their wheat away. That, and the drought hit farmers and ranchers hard. Mac had returned from the war at just the right time when people were selling their land for a fraction of what it was worth and leaving Montana in droves. Mac’s ranch sat on the northwestern edge of the state where the climate was wetter and the drought hadn’t been as severe, but even so, he had negotiated a great price for his acreage. His profits from the mine, along with his other investments, purchased the ranch and were still keeping it afloat. If his livelihood depended solely on the ranch, he would still be in the red, but Mac was not only a rancher, he was also a businessman. His other interests gave him a boost and some investment cash when other ranchers and farmers had none. Mac always planned years in advance. This attribute, and Leif’s enterprises, were the reasons they had electricity and indoor plumbing on the ranch when most Montanans didn’t. Mac didn’t enjoy the farming side of ranching or growing the crops to support his cattle. That was more to Leif’s liking, but it was also a necessity. The arrangement he’d made with Wagner, wherein he only had to work the threshing crew for two weeks, pleased him.

Mac had ridden out early this morning looking for signs of trespassers and keeping a close eye on his cattle. Several in the herd were grazing higher up on the south ridge line, and it had taken him a good chunk of the morning sniffing them out. Jo wasn’t riding with him this week because Mattie had been looking rundown the last few days, and Jo had approached him asking if she could assist Mattie with the heavy chore of feeding the threshing crew. Mac missed her companionship but was smart enough to admit that putting distance between himself and Jo was probably a good thing.

As he rode into the barn and dismounted from General, Leif sauntered in between the double doors. “Hey, boss,” he said, addressing Mac in his friendly way. “Any sign of trouble today?”

Mac shook his head as he deftly unsaddled General and swung the cumbersome load over the gate to Leif. “Nope. Whoever shot that cow hasn’t been back since.”

“Shoot,” Leif muttered with a sprig of hay between his lips. “You know as well as I do who shot it. Our ole cowboy you gave a beating to.”

Mac clucked his teeth. “He deserved what he got.”

“Yessiree, that he did,” Leif agreed. “Well, maybe they got their revenge, and they won’t be back again?” Leif speculated, cocking his eye toward Mac, interested in his opinion. He knew Mac wouldn’t forgive them for shooting his cow, and if they tried it again, things would get mighty unpleasant.

“Neither of them has a brain,” Mac said derogatorily, “so, I suspect they’ll be back.”

“When you reported the incident to the sheriff, did you tell him you had a couple suspects in mind?” Leif asked, scooping up a pail of oats for Mac’s horse. Mac took the pail from him and set it on the stall floor at General’s hooves.

“I told him I had a minor run-in with a couple of old hands, but didn’t go into too much detail.” Leif backed away from the stall as Mac swung the door open and stepped out. Resting his hands on his hips, Mac confided in Leif, “Leaving the ranch to work the threshing crew next week rubs me wrong. I don’t want Jo or Charlie riding out alone, Kirby either for that matter. If those boys are the ones who did it, I wouldn’t think anything’s beyond ‘em.”

Leif released a fretful breath. He’d been worried about the same thing. “If I was a cowardly mangy dog like them, I’d certainly be more apt to cause trouble while the boss was away.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m figuring too.” Mac’s face twisted with disgust, thinking about the despicable men who shot his cow and might come back to do it again. An uneasy fear sat in the pit of his stomach, and he hated the idea of leaving the ranch unprotected, of leaving his family unprotected, but a deal was a deal. It wouldn’t be the first time in his life that he’d bullied up and done what had to be done.

Seeing the worry tightening Mac’s brow, Leif slapped him on the back, “Aww, don’t worry over it. It’ll be fine, and Kirby will be here. He can handle any trouble.”

Mac nodded his head, but his stony countenance looked unsure.

“Speaking of trouble,” Leif mentioned as they were walking out of the barn side by side, “Ole Black-y has been giving the threshing crew a hard time of it. Wagner said he charged a couple of his workers who cut across the pasture this morning, and Mattie told me that when she and Jo delivered some water out to them, he was acting crabbier than usual.”

“He’s a bad-tempered piece of work all right,” Mac said, shaking his head. “I’ve thought of selling him off about a hundred times, but he breeds good stock.” Leif and Mac reached the edge of the pasture and stopped to observe the bull. He was about a hundred yards out in the pasture, and as soon as he saw them, he raised his sharp horns cagily. Mac bent down and smoothly climbed through the fence, deciding to test the bull’s irritability.

“Be careful,” Leif said, issuing a warning of caution to Mac, as the bull’s nostrils flared and he glared at him.

Ignoring the bull, Mac casually walked the fence line, every step closely scrutinized by the bull. Mac turned to face the bull directly and took one step in its direction. Immediately, the bull swung his head down and arched his back, a sure indication that he felt Mac was a possible threat. Analyzing the bull’s behavior, Mac took another step toward the small herd of cows, and this time the bull pawed at the ground and dug his horns into the dirt and grass. As Mac lifted his foot in the direction of the cows, the bull charged powerfully toward him. Only ten feet from the fence, Mac easily climbed back through the rails, but that didn’t stop the bull from coming. About twenty feet away, he pulled up short, snorting and panting aggressively at Mac.

“That’s not good,” Mac said, shaking his head as irritably as the bull had done. “He usually tends to get grumpy if you’re within twenty, maybe thirty feet, but I was a hundred yards off. I suspect he’s feeling extra territorial with all the people stomping around his cows,” Mac explained.

“What do you want to do?” Leif asked.

“Better pen him up. I don’t want someone getting hurt,” Mac concluded resentfully.

Nodding his head in agreement, Leif asked, “How do you want to go about it? He’s not going to want to leave those cows, and I don’t think he’s going to greet us real friendly.”

Mac was silent for a minute, working out the best way to get the bull penned up. “I think it will be easier to herd all the cows into the corral. The bull will follow them in, and then we can leave him and get them out,” Mac said, setting forth his idea to Leif. “Anyway, the threshing crew will only be here two more days, and then we can pasture him again.”

Once the plan was decided on, Mac rounded up Kirby and Charlie, purposely leaving Jo to her inside tasks; he didn’t want her anywhere near the bull. An hour later they had the bull safely in the corral, where he was roaming around, tetchy and cross from being separated from the cows.

“Charlie, I want you to make sure there’s water in the trough and give him plenty of alfalfa for the next couple days.” Sternly, Mac added a warning, “When you’re in that pen, don’t turn your back on him for a second. You’ll wind up with a horn in your hide if you do. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Charlie answered, nodding his head gravely while he watched the sleek heavily muscled bull pace agitatedly around the corral.

***

In the late afternoon, the threshing crew took a short break to eat supper. Jo and Mattie had spent the entire day tending to their needs, providing three solid meals and water to the crew of ten. This evening the meal consisted of crispy fried chicken, potatoes, gravy, biscuits, fresh greens from the garden, and an assortment of pies. Jo had made two each of apple, cherry, and huckleberry. She herself had never tasted a huckleberry until a week ago when Mattie and Kirby had ridden home from a Sunday outing with a bucket full of the delicious purple berries. Apparently, they were abundant this time of year and could be found all over the mountains if a person went high enough. Mac promised to take Jo picking in a couple of spots where he claimed “the bushes are full of berries as big as pennies.” They had been so busy on the ranch that they hadn’t had time to go yet, but Mac assured her that it was early in the season and the huckleberries would be on the bushes for a while longer.

Not having enough room at the table for the crew, Mattie and Jo laid the food out along the wagon bed where everyone could help themselves and then find a spot in the yard to eat. Jo gathered on the front porch with Mac and the rest of the family, anxious to rest from a day spent hustling back and forth from the fields carrying heavy water pails.

Sam patted the porch boards next to him. “Sit by me, Jo.”

She gladly did, handing Sam her plate while she sunk to the floor and tucked her legs under her. While she devoured Mattie’s sinfully delicious chicken, she listened absently to the talk around her, her mind drifting to home. As she scanned the wheat fields, she wondered if the wheat and oats on their farm at home had been harvested yet. She wondered whom the school board had hired to take over her position as teacher and how her students were fairing. Her mind roamed to her family and whether her mother was getting along all right without Pa.
By now
, Jo thought to herself,
Will and Krissy have been married over a week
. A tiny fleck of sadness surprised her. Before she’d come to Montana, attending the wedding was the last thing on earth she’d wanted to do. It was strange that now she felt a loss at having been absent from the celebration. Reflecting on her alteration of heart, Jo attributed the miraculous transformation to one thing: prayer. She’d left home with a bitter resentment in her heart and a burning hatred for Will and, she admitted to herself, a fair amount of the same for Krissy. Jo had asked God to heal those awful feelings within her, and wondrously, he had.

Jo’s eyes swept over the ranch yard. It was still mostly dirt, although grass had sprung up in patches here and there this summer. She and Leif had planted a couple of apple trees at the front corner of the yard. She imagined the apples in the orchard back home were getting big and red now, and that it wouldn’t be long before frost would come and it would be time for picking. Her grandfather had planted the apple orchard shortly after he purchased the farm, and Jo’s father had added to it every year. It was always one of Jo’s favorite times of the year when the family would gather and spend the crisp fall evenings filling their bushels with the juicy red fruit.

Jo glanced sidelong at Mac. He was talking in hushed tones to Mr. Wagner, about what, Jo couldn’t hear, but it seemed to be serious. As much as she enjoyed the apple harvest, looking at Mac, she admitted to herself that she was hoping to miss it this year. The thought of leaving the ranch caused a welling ache in her chest.

“I want pie,” Sam said to Jo, interrupting her reverie. She smiled down at him, soaking up his warm honey eyes and greasy chicken face. Lovingly, she wrapped an arm around him and hugged him tightly to her. Leaving Sam would be harder than anything else. Just the thought of it caused a sharp lump to catch in her throat. She swallowed it.

“What kind do you want?” Jo asked him brightly, squeezing his shoulders and working hard to brush away her melancholy thoughts.

Gushing hopefully, Sam replied, “All of ‘em!’’

“Well, we better go then before there isn’t any left!” Jo exclaimed, hopping down from the porch and grabbing Sam’s hand so he could jump down too. She dished up both of them a small sliver of each pie and wandered down toward the corral to eat it while they watched the bull. Jo, for one, was relieved to have the big animal penned up. Cutting through the pasture saved her time when she was hauling water to the threshing crew, and it was a relief not to have to look out for the bull and give him a wide berth. Jo pulled a couple of crates over for her and Sam to sit on, and they happily ate their pie, making funny faces at the bull and cracking each other up.

Mac came upon the lighthearted scene and filed it away in his memory with others he’d collected over the summer. Unbeknownst to Jo, he had walked up directly behind the two of them just as she stuck her tongue out at the bull and crossed her eyes. The bull, insulted and confused by her screwed up face, raised his head and snorted at them, causing peels of giggles from both Jo and Sam.

“You’re a grump.” Jo said, heckling the bull from her crate.

“Me?” Mac asked, affecting an offended manner.

Surprised, Jo turned to see him standing directly behind her. Grinning impishly, she teased, “Well, sometimes.”

“Well, sometimes, mean little girls and boys,” Mac said, tapping Sam lightly on the head with his fingers, “bring it out in me.” Sam grinned sheepishly up at his father. “Taunting that bull won’t make him any nicer,” Mac censured, looking pointedly at his son.

“I’m sorry, Pa,” Sam said. “He acts so funny when I make faces at him.”

Mac lifted Sam up and took his place on the crate, repositioning him on his knee.

Pointing his finger at Jo, Sam said, “Jo made faces too.”