The Cowboy Comes Home

She thought of how she’d found the feeling of safety after her father died, through helping her mother and sisters keep things organized and in control, doing what she thought her father would approve of. How could she help these children find the same sense of safety?

“Robbie, come wash up for supper.”

He jerked as if she’d struck him, and his chin jutted out. “Leave me alone.”

“Your father will soon be here, and he expects you washed and ready to sit down.”

Robbie gave her his fiercest glower.

“Robbie, I think your mother would want you to do your best to please your father.”

His scowl deepened. “She won’t know what I do.”

“Maybe not. But you will. You know what would please her. You can honor her by doing it.”

He turned his back to her and continued moving a pile of dirt. It seemed he did his best to make sure most of it fell on him.

“Robbie, please come to the house.” She kept her tone firm and soft.

“You ain’t my mother.”

“I know that.” She didn’t expect she could replace their mother if she married Abe—when she married Abe, she corrected. “No one can replace your mother.” She let the words sink in.

“I betcha Linc didn’t wash his hands when he camped out with cows.”

“I have no idea if he did or didn’t, but I noticed how well he cleaned up before coffee.” She’d noticed far too well, taking in how his face shone from the scrubbing and how his hair, bleached almost blond on the ends but darker where it had been hidden from the sun, had been plastered back in an attempt to tame the curls. How they slowly returned to their own wayward tangle.

She’d had to refrain from checking her hair to see if her curls were doing likewise. “He cleaned up really well.” Her words had a difficult time squeezing past the tightness in her throat.

Robbie studied her reply for a moment, then bolted to his feet to race across the yard. He didn’t slow down as he passed her, nor did he glance toward her. His whole attitude clearly said he would wash up because a man like Linc, a man he admired, had done so. He would not do it to please Sally. No siree.

She sighed and followed him inside. Would she and Robbie ever have anything but an uneasy truce? She didn’t have time to think about that at the moment with dessert to finish, potatoes to mash and the meat to check. She took dishes from the top shelf—the best everyday dishes—found a red checkered tablecloth and set the table as nicely as she could. Too bad she didn’t have flowers to put in a vase in the middle of the table.

This meal would be flawless. Abe would see that she could run his home as well as any woman.

Robbie came from the back room, water dripping from his ears. He’d combed his hair back.

“You look very spiffy.”

He jerked to a halt and gave her a look fit to fry her skin. “I do not.”

Instantly she realized she’d offended him. Actually, it was pretty hard to miss. She knew exactly what she’d done wrong. She’d made him sound like a sissy. “You’re right. You look like a frontier man. Maybe even a cowboy. Ready to get out and ride.”

He held her gaze a moment then tipped his chin in barely there acknowledgment before he crossed to the table with a faintly familiar swagger.

She didn’t have to think hard to know where she’d seen it before. Robbie had done his best to imitate Linc’s rolling gait.

No, she definitely wasn’t the only one in this house to be affected by his presence. She stiffened her spine and held her chin high. Only she wasn’t a child. She was an adult who knew exactly what she wanted. A stable life, a nice home. No way she’d ever consider camping out on the prairie to be something romantic.

The strains of “Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie,” echoed through her head. She meant every word of the song.

Chapter Five

Linc crossed toward his grandmother’s house, singing that silly song he couldn’t get out of his head. Several times he’d discovered he sang it aloud and stopped instantly. He ought to have more consideration for his surroundings. It wasn’t like he was with a bunch of cows or even some cynical, fun-making cowboys who would josh him good-naturedly, or otherwise, depending on their personal objectives in life.

Once he heard Robbie singing along in a voice lacking both strength and musical ability. Not that Linc thought he had the latter. Lots of people had felt free to point that out to him. He countered with the same words every time. “Mostly I sing because I’m happy. Sorry if it has the opposite effect on you.” Mostly he continued to sing, unless it seemed likely to start a fight.

But when he heard Robbie, he figured now was not the time to have second thoughts about raising his voice in song. Seems the boy had little enough to be happy about in this life. Sure he had lots of good things—a warm home, a father with a steady job and the hope of gaining Sally for a stepmother. Momentarily the thought made the song die on his lips. He sure hoped that Robbie, Carol and their father would appreciate Sally the way she deserved. But that thought aside, Robbie didn’t realize how good he had it because right now likely all he considered was what he’d lost. His mother. Linc knew how sorrow could make all other thought impossible.

He’d mostly gotten over his own loss, though there were times when missing his mother seemed like having a pile of hay lodged in his stomach. It just wouldn’t go away. Now he had the fresh pain of losing Harris. And the dreadful specter of his father’s possible death.

But the day had been pleasant. Seeing Sally’s smile, playing with Robbie, watching Carol light up when he sang a cowboy song. As he hit the back step of Grandmama’s house, his happiness dissolved into reality. He flung the door open. “How is Pa?”

“Same, my boy. I gave him more medicine an hour ago. He’s been resting since then.” She turned from arranging slices of yeasty-smelling bread on a platter. “I heard you singing as you crossed the yard.” Her smile was gentle. Not at all reproving.

But Linc felt as if he stood before ten pointing fingers. How callous to be happy with his brother buried in the mountains and his father likely dying a slow, painful death. Yet for a few hours this afternoon he’d shoved the knowledge to the back of his brain and enjoyed himself. Yes, he’d had fun.

He didn’t realize he smiled so openly until his grandmother straightened. “What have you been up to, Lincoln McCoy?”

He sobered so quickly his lips almost knotted. “Grandmama, I was working all afternoon.” Playing with Robbie and Sally most surely qualified as work. He was amusing the boss’s son, after all. “Did you know the Finleys have a tiny grove of crab apple trees? I pruned them. Hopefully they will become stronger and more productive now. And I turned over the garden soil.”

Grandmama sniffed. “Those trees have been there longer than the Finleys.” She studied him a full thirty seconds. “First time I ever saw someone so pleased about a little yard work.”

His sigh was long and purposely exaggerated. “Would you feel better if I dragged through the door, my chin bobbing on the floor and moaned and groaned about how hard life is?”

Her sigh was equally long and exaggerated. “Of course not.”

He started to smile, but she held up a warning hand.

“But I’d feel a lot better if you told me Sally Morgan was away for the afternoon.”

He narrowed his eyes, vowing he would not let her guess how glad he was that she wasn’t gone. “Now why would that make any difference to you?”

She matched his narrowed eyes. Not for the first time in his life he realized how alike they were in their gestures, and often in their speech. “Because I fear it means a lot to you.”

He wanted to protest. Say it didn’t make a speck of difference. Assure her he never once looked at Sally. Never even noticed her. But he couldn’t lie. If he tried, she would know immediately. The trouble with two people having the same mannerisms was she would see his attempt at lying as clearly as if she had lied. Instead he shifted directions. “Didn’t you say she was unofficially promised to Abe Finley? Practically engaged to be married.” He hoped his silent emphasis on unofficially and practically didn’t come across in his words.

“I said it. Did you hear?”

“I must have, since I repeated it to you.”

Grandmama took three steps toward him, stopped with her very sturdy shoes toe-to-toe with his dusty cowboy boots. “I mean, did you hear it here?” She tapped his forehead. “Or is it stuck somewhere between there?” She touched his right ear. “And here?” She flicked his left ear.

“Ow.” He jerked away and grabbed at his ear, pretending a great injury. “Why’d you do that?”

“You don’t need to think you’re too big for me to handle, young man. If you don’t behave yourself I’ll hear, and if I hear, I’ll deal with you.”

“Ho, ho.” He bounced away a few feet. “You might find it hard to put me over your knee and smack my bottom.”