The Cowboy Comes Home

Robbie emerged from the shadows. “Why you going to do that?”

“So your father can park his car in here.”

Robbie made a rumbling noise with his lips. “I’d sooner have a horse.”

“Me, too, little guy.”

They stood side by side in shared sorrow at the way horses were being replaced with automobiles and tractors.

Linc moved first. “I need to ask Miss Sally to show me the tools. Want to come along?”

“Yep.”

Linc wasn’t sure who needed the other the most. He, to keep his thoughts in order when he spoke to Sally, or Robbie, who seemed to crave attention, but together they marched to the back door. Robbie stood by his side as Linc knocked.

Sally opened the door. “Mr. Finley said to expect you. He said I should show you what needs doing.”

Linc backed up two steps. Robbie followed suit, though not likely for the same reason. Linc did it to gain a safety zone. Even so, he felt her in every muscle. She smelled like home cooking and fresh laundry, the most appealing scent he’d ever experienced.

She slipped through the doorway. “I’ll show you around.”

I’ve already looked about. The words were in his brain but refused to budge. Instead he nodded, and he and Robbie fell in at her side.

She led him to the back corner of the yard. “Mr. Finley said the crab apple trees should be pruned.”

Robbie climbed one of the trees and sat in a fork, pretending he had a spyglass as he looked out across the yard.

Linc and Sally stood under the scraggly trees that were shedding the last of their blossoms and trying to bud, finding it difficult because of the lack of moisture. He examined the three trees. “Lots of dead branches that need to come out.”

She nodded. “I figure they must be tough as an old cowhide to survive the drought and wind and grasshoppers. Especially the grasshoppers. The little pests have gnawed most of the trees to death around here.”

“Then I guess they deserve lots of care.”

He turned from examining the branches. She stood under a flowering bough. Their gazes collided. Her eyes were wide and watchful. Wary even. No doubt she had heard about the McCoys by now. “You know I’m Beatrice Shaw’s grandson?”

She nodded. “My mother told me.”

“Did she tell you about the McCoys?”

Sally’s gaze never faltered. “She said your mother had died and you have a father and older brother.”

“My brother is dead, too. In a mining accident.”

“I’m sorry.” She brushed his arm with her cool fingers then jerked back, as if she was also aware of the tension between them.

“Pa was injured, too. That’s why I’m here. To let him rest and recover.” He clung to the hope Pa would get better.

“How is he?”

“Not good.”

“Again, I’m sorry. If there is anything I can do to help….”

He stood stock-still, letting her concern filter through him. Not many around here knew of the accident. No reason to hide the fact but no reason to tell it either. He didn’t want or expect sympathy—just a fair chance to prove the McCoys were an okay bunch. Yet the way her eyes filled with regret and concern made him realize how much he wanted to share his sorrow.

He leaned against a tree. “I was working on a ranch when I got word about the accident. Harris—that’s my brother—was killed outright. Pa was in terrible shape. I made arrangements to bury Harris.” He told her details of the funeral. “It was ten days before Pa was able to travel. The doctor out there said to take him home so he could die in his own surroundings. Grandmama’s place is the only home we’ve ever had so I brought him here.”

She listened to his whole story without uttering a word, but murmuring comforting sounds.

He fell silent, feeling a hundred pounds lighter having told her. Suddenly he jerked upright. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you the story of my life.”

She laughed softly. “I expect there’s more to your life than that and I didn’t mind. Helps me understand.”

He didn’t ask what it helped her understand, and she didn’t explain. Perhaps they both knew the answer without speaking it—his tale helped her understand him, just as sharing it helped him understand how kind and sympathetic she was. He had never before felt so comfortable with another human. Sure, he had unburdened himself to the occasional horse—Red heard lots of his woes—but never before to another person, and most certainly not to a woman.

Grandmama warned him she was a genuinely gentle person. Now he understood what she meant.

Guilt flared through his blood, searing his nerve endings. He glanced over his shoulder as if Grandmama watched.

Chapter Three

“Abe said you would show me where the tools are.”

Linc’s words jerked Sally back to her responsibilities. “Of course.” She didn’t offer to show him the barn but marched toward the shed at the back of the yard. She paused as they reached the garden. Robbie followed at their heels and veered toward the hole he’d been digging this morning.

She watched him and spoke her thoughts. “I’d like to plant a garden.”

“I’ll dig the ground for you.”

She thought of arguing. Would she look as if she couldn’t manage? On the other hand, his help would certainly make the work go faster. Still undecided about how she should handle his offer, she opened the door and stepped aside as he entered. But two feet of distance did not protect her from acute awareness of the warmth of his body as he passed, nor the scent of leather and freshly cut hay. And something more she could not identify, nor did she intend to try. But whatever it was made her feel as if a weight pressed against her chest, making her lungs reluctant to work.

He took his time looking about, then emerged with a round-nosed shovel and a rake.

She had thought long and hard about planting a garden. Well, actually she’d only thought of it this morning and decided growing a garden would prove to Abe she was efficient and capable. Her plan had been to dig the soil on her own, but suddenly accepting Linc’s offer to help seemed the wisest thing in the world. It would enable her to get the garden in sooner, which was good.

When he told her about his father and brother, she sensed a man who valued his family above people’s opinions. She respected him for that.

He strode to the edge of the garden and began turning over the soil.

Robbie stood before the hole he’d dug. “You can’t touch my fort.” His expression dared anyone to do so. Sally knew he would fly into a rage if they did.

Linc leaned on the shovel, his expression serious, and pushed his hat back to reveal a white forehead. Brown dirt dusted the rest of his face, and a thin layer wrapped about his pant.

Sally smiled gently. The man could look as handsome in work-soiled clothes as in a polished and pressed suit.

He nodded toward Robbie. “I respect a man who defends his property.”

Robbie’s expression revealed confusion. “What’s that mean?”