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“Yes, it is. Set foot on my land again and I’ll shoot you for trespassing. If you believe I’m bluffing, Hazel will be taking your remains home in a box.”
She set out towards her cabin and left themstanding there. Hearing the buggy pull away a few moments later, she kept walking.
The work had left her sweaty and smelly, so she lit the outside boiler for hot water for a bath. Knowing the process would take close to an hour, she went into the kitchen, washed her hands, and made a sandwich. Placing it on a small plate, she took it out to the back porch along with a tumbler of water. Clouds were moving in and the sun was fading. Rain was definitely on the way. As she ate, she thought back on Jarvis, and wondered if Porter James knew the man wanted to put him out of business. With the help of Odell, Ben, and many others in Paradise, Mr. James built his mill before she and Colt were born. Yes, the stone structure was old and inefficient when compared to newer ones built in the larger cities, but it served their community well and Mr. James knew more about wood than anyone else around. Did Jarvis possess the same extensive knowledge? Did he own a mill wherever he was from? Would he try and build elsewhere along the river now that she’d turned him down? She had no answers, but she was certain that if Matt Ketchum was tied to the plans, Jarvis would have his hands full. In addition to being a foul-mouthed drunk, Matt was selfish, spoiled, andlazy. When she worked for his father, Mitch, there was no job the then-sixteen-year-old Matt didn’t pass off to someone else. If he wanted to sleep in, he was allowed. If he showed up drunk, that was overlooked. Many of the hired hands grumbled about his irresponsible, self-centered ways, especially when they were forced to take on the work he didn’t want to do, like mucking out stables or chopping wood needed to repair the fences, but no one dared approach his father to complain. Why his behavior was tolerated, she didn’t know. Since it wasn’t the hands’ place to ask, they did his chores and cursed both father and son among themselves. After Mitch Ketchum’s death, because Matt’s whereabouts were unknown, the five thousand acres of Ketchum land went into foreclosure, contrary to his lies to Jarvis. At the bank auction, Odell and Spring purchased a few parcels that gave her and her horses access to the Paradise River. Her grandfather, the land’s original owner, bought back a portion that held pine, creeks, and the foothills known for good hunting. Randolph Nelson purchased the remainder to access the grass-filled valley and rest of the river frontage for his cattle. Had Jarvis accused Nelson of stealing the land, too, or was the claim leveled at her alone? Either way, she didn’t see Nelson relinquishing anyof his vast acreage to accommodate a sawmill and the river access the enterprise would need. With any luck, Jarvis would accept defeat, leave Paradise, and go back to wherever he’d come from, but with Matt Ketchum involved and stirring the pot, that was probably just wishful thinking.
An hour later Spring stepped out of the bath and wrapped her wet body in a drying sheet. Fashioning a towel around her dripping hair, she padded to the kitchen in a pair of old moccasins to put on a pot of coffee so it would be ready when she dried off. Seeing McCray standing by the sofa stopped her cold.
Eyes wide, he stared at her in the thin, nearly transparent sheet and began coughing. Turning his back, he croaked, “Lord, Spring. Are you trying to kill me?”
Her smile peeped through. “How long have you been here?”
“A second or so.” Peeking over his shoulder at her, his gaze slowly brushed her from the towel on her head to the moccasins on her feet, before he faced away again. He cleared his throat. “I knocked and got no answer, so I went to the barns. Didn’t find you there, so I tried the back door. It was open. I’ve just walked in. I didn’t know you were bathing.”
He turned back to her and the intensity reflected in his eyes warmed her blood so thoroughly, she thought steam might rise from the sheet. He added, “I would’ve waited outside on the porch, but it’s raining.”
She saw the downpour through the window and his wet slicker hanging from a peg on the fireplace. “It’s okay, put on some coffee. I’ll be right back.”
He gave her a nod, and she left him alone.
In the kitchen, Garrett hoped preparing the coffee would take his mind off what he’d just seen because he was hard as a length of oak. Granted, last night they’d made love and he’d seen her beautifully nude. However, having her appear with the thin sheet wrapped around her so sinuously in the middle of the afternoon was so unexpected, he was still trying to catch his breath. Tempted by the lure of her veiled nipples and the bare curves of her neck and shoulders he’d wanted to walk over and gently unwrap her as if she were his own personal boon. Even now, his hands longed to slowly circle the sheet over the swells of her hips and thighs before exploring the warm dampness hidden between. Realizing he was only making himself harder, he fought to focus on the coffee-making instead, but it was futile. He wanted her as much as he had last night.
Once the coffee was ready, he poured himself a cup and set the pot on the table. He’d just taken a seat and a sip of his coffee when she returned wearing her usual man’s shirt and a pair of soft buckskin trousers. He was both relieved and disappointed. As if having read his mind, she said, “I can put the sheet on again, if you want.”
He choked on the swallow. Picking up a napkin, he wiped his mouth and shot her an amused, quelling look. “You’re really trying to put me in my grave, aren’t you?”
Her sassy smile made him want to pull her onto his lap and kiss her until sunrise. “Be warned. The next time you’re in that sheet, it won’t be on you for long.”
Having poured herself a cup, she sipped and replied, “I’m holding you to that.”
He enjoyed this playful side of her and wished to be gifted with it more often.
She asked, “So how did you and my brother get along today?”
“We did well.” He told her about meeting Lucky the dog, and Ed Prescott, but refused to bring up the visit to Boyer’s hog farm. He’d taken a bath as soon as he reached the boardinghouse to rid his nose and skin of the putrid stench he swore still clung to him and his clothing.
Spring said, “Ed’s grandparents were very kind to me and Colt after our mother passed on.”
For a few moments she stared silently out at what he guessed was the past, and he was again reminded how much he didn’t know about her. “What were you like as a child?” he asked softly.
“Quiet and well-mannered, like all little girls were supposed to be.”
“Really?”
“Surprised?”
“A bit. I assumed you were rambunctious and rebellious.”
“No. I learned to embroider and read. I knew how to set a proper table, play hymns on our old piano. I was the perfect, properly raised young woman—who loved horses.” She quieted again, as if thinking back, then confessed almost wistfully, “That’s the only part of that girl that remains.”
“Your love of horses.” He wondered if she missed being that girl, and if the cost of having to leave her behind still weighed heavily.
She nodded. “Once Ben and Odell taught me to ride, I fell in love. My mother tried to limit how often I rode because proper young girls shouldn’t smell like horses, she often said. We argued about it a lot, but she finally just gave up, and I rode as often as I could.”
“Why horses?”
“Because unlike some people, they’re loyal, and if you treat them well and provide for them properly, they love you unconditionally and they don’t judge. They also have distinct personalities. Some are serious like Cheyenne, some are jokesters. I’ve run into a few that were downright mean. I enjoy figuring out just who a horse is.”
He’d thought back to Prescott’s grieving mare. He’d received quite an equine education today. “You’re a very fascinating woman, Spring Lee.”
