CHAPTER 7
“I’m going to marry her.” Oscar pulled himself away from the window, where he’d been standing for the last twenty minutes, his focus on the garden, and wandered over to the table in the middle of the room.
Jake knew what he’d been staring at. Miss Evie Miller. And he knew that because he’d been watching her, too—when Oscar’s big head wasn’t in the way. From his bunk, if he positioned himself exactly right, he had a clear view of the garden. She’d come outside to clip roses and arrange them in a crystal vase, then took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs on the patio, her gaze on the last glow of light as the sun set in the horizon. She seemed wistful, dreamy. He couldn’t see her expression from here, but he could certainly see the way she sat. From years of watching people across a poker table, he could tell a lot about them. And her posture definitely told him she was deep in thought.
What was she thinking about? The kiss they shared in the kitchen doorway? He had been just as surprised as she had apparently been, but the taste of her, the feel of her soft lips pressed to his, the warmth of her body seeping into him lingered.
He glanced down at the sketch pad he’d found among the collection of dime novels and classic literature on the bookshelf and the picture he was drawing of Evie clipping the roses. This was the latest sketch and he flipped through the pages before it, not completely pleased with the images.
He paused on one of her hanging laundry on the clothesline to dry. Her movements that afternoon were so graceful that he’d had to try to capture them. He flipped through a few more pages before stopping on the one he’d drawn of her playing with the children. Her laughter had alerted him to the scene, and he couldn’t resist recreating it on paper. He closed the sketch pad, his favorite still the one he’d done of her brushing Spitfire the night of the thunderstorm. It probably had nothing to do with the quality of his work and more to do with the memory.
He slipped the sketch book under his pillow and glanced at the table in the bunkhouse. Oscar had finally taken his seat, joining his bunkmates who were gathered around for their after-supper coffee and a piece of Hilde’s lemon cake before hitting the sack. Morning came quickly on a ranch.
“I don’t think so, Oscar. Miss Evie ain’t innerested in getting’ hitched. Heard her say so m’self. ‘Sides, you’re too young.” That came from Marcus Bryant, whom everyone called Mayhem.
Oscar puffed out his chest. “Am not.”
“What makes you think she’d marry a cocky sumbitch like you? Miss Evie’s a lady.” That came from Slick. No one knew his real name. And no one seemed to care. He was a good ranch hand and had a fine sense of humor and that’s all that mattered.
Face turning red, Oscar boasted, “I got a letter. That’s what.”
Jake sat up, his interest fully captured. Oscar must have responded to her niece’s advertisement. He wondered how many other men got letters.
He told himself it didn’t matter how many men showed up. Then the old familiar feeling of being “not good enough”for a respectable woman such as Evie Miller surged through him, especially considering his past life and how she felt about gamblers in general.
Still, what would she say when she learned of his past? More than likely she would ask him to leave.
The thought depressed him more than he cared to admit. In all honesty, he liked it on the ranch—the slow rhythm of the days and the camaraderie of these men—with the exception of Oscar, whose arrogance annoyed him—so different than those he’d known in his other life. And then, there was the opportunity to gaze upon Evie…and the prospect of kissing her again. That, more than anything, made him want to stay and wonder what could be.
Besides, he had nothing to go back to San Francisco for. His home was gone, burned all the way to the ground, nothing left but ashes and memories. The life he’d known was gone, too, which wasn’t exactly a bad thing. And Erik King was probably still looking for him—the man never gave up—but the odds of him looking here were minimal.
“A letter?” Cesar stuck his pipe in his mouth and spoke around the stem to the other men gathered around the table. “Oh, I heard ‘bout that. Miss Lucy placed an advertisement in a couple o’ newspapers, lookin’ for a husband for Miss Evie. I heard she ain’t real happy ‘bout that.” He struck a match against the table and brought the flame to the bowl. In moments, the fragrant aroma of tobacco wafted toward the ceiling. “So why ain’t ya out there courtin’ her? From what I seen, you just stand at the window and stare at her.”
“I’m waiting for the right time.”
“Uh huh.” Cesar grunted. “Yer chicken, that’s why.”
One of the other men began making clucking noises, very low, but still quite audible. Someone else hummed the Wedding March. Jake thought it was Mayhem, but he couldn’t be sure.Still, it made him smile. Oscar was in for a good old-fashioned razzing by his fellow bunkmates. He couldn’t think of anyone who deserved it more.
“Am not!” The man bounded up from his seat so quickly, the chair toppled over. His hands were drawn into fists and his eyes narrowed. It wasn’t the first time Oscar had shown his temper and it wouldn’t be the last. The man had a problem in that regard, in addition to his usual attitude of superiority. Jake knew it was only a matter of time before a fight broke out.
“Ain’t no fightin’ in the bunkhouse.” That reminder came from Emilio, who sat back in his chair and raised a coffee cup to his lips. After he took a sip, he stared at Oscar. “If you wanna fight, ya gotta go outside. Them’s the rules. ‘Sides, we’re just teasin’. You ain’t the first man to fall in love with Miss Evie.” He grabbed an empty cup and poured coffee, then slid the cup across the table toward Oscar with a nod. “At one time or ‘nother, we all fell in love with her. Hell, I did. Hard.” The calmness of his tone and his understanding words seemed to be enough to still Oscar’s temper. The man’s fists uncurled. He picked up his chair and sat then stared at Emilio.
“You? You fell in love with her?”
“Yes, sir.” Emilio smiled, but his eyes took on a faraway quality. “Fell in love with her the very first time I saw her. Love her still, but not in that romantic kinda way.”
“Why not?”
The man shrugged and took another sip of his coffee. “She never looked at methatway an’ you know how I mean.”
Though the comment wasn’t directed at him, Jake knew exactly the look Emilio meant. He’d seen it before, most recently when Felicity smiled at Charley. There was love in that look.
“She was too busy trying to raise Miss Regina’s kids and running Montaña del Trueno.” Emilio paused then let out a sigh. “An’ then there was Marshal Tom.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask about Marshal Tom, but Slick saved him from speaking.
“Marshal Tom?”
