The Cowboy Tutor

He caught up to her and coughed a little, though she noted he wasn’t out of breath.

“Something funny?” he asked.

“Yes. Us. Look at me. My chin stuck out, rushing across the prairie like I’m trying to outrun a fire, while you hop along like a rabbit with a broken foot. Anyone seeing us would surely shake their head in disbelief.” She laughed again, then realized how he might interpret her comments and clamped a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to mock your limp.”

He only laughed, his eyes flashing with amusement. His dark gaze held hers as she gave another nervous laugh. She wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed more by her ill-considered comment, her continuing suspicion or the way her heart lurched as his look invited her into exciting territory full of adventure, excitement and something she couldn’t…wouldn’t…try to identify—a sense of connection.

She tore her gaze away and forced her steps toward the little slough where she’d found some dried grass for the cow. The cow’s desperate lowing reached her, followed by the bleating of the calf. They directed her thoughts sharply back to her responsibilities. She’d tethered them so the calf couldn’t suck the cow and steal the precious milk. “The cow needs milking. The calf needs feeding.”

“Sounds like a song.” He repeated the words, setting them to a rousing camp tune. “And the wind keeps blowing till my mind is numb.” He added several more verses, each more mournful than the first, yet comical, and she laughed.

“I see you missed your calling. You should be in the entertainment world.”

He grinned, a look so teasing and inviting her mouth went dry. “I don’t have a hankering for being pelted with rotten tomatoes when I jest about how hard times are.”

She lifted one shoulder in resignation and acknowledgement. “Might as well laugh as cry, I say.”

“Amen.”

She allowed one brief glance at him. Remnants of his amusement remained, and something more that she recognized as determination—an echo of her own heart. “And do what one can to make things better.”

“Exactly.”

Her brief glance had gone on longer than she should have allowed. Thankfully they reached the struggling trees at the almost dry slough, and she hurried to release the cow. When she turned to do the same for the calf, Justin already held the rope. Together they headed for home. Usually she had her hands full keeping the calf away from the cow, but with Justin helping it was a lot easier, and they reached the barn in short order.

She turned the cow into the stall. “Do you mind putting the calf in that pen over there? There’s a bit of grain for it.”

He did as she asked, then lounged against a post, watching as she milked. Usually she found the time relaxing, but not under his study. “You don’t need to stay here.”

“See no reason to leave. Unless you want me to.”

Did she? Of course she did. Even if she didn’t suspect him of something dishonest, even if he was the spotless character Mother seemed to think he was, he held no interest for her. Mother hoped he’d be a match for Louisa.

So why then did she shake her head? “Of course not. Thanks for your help.” She returned to the soothing rhythm of milking, as aware of Justin’s presence as if he shouted and yodeled rather than waited quietly.

She finished, poured some milk into a trough for the calf and headed for the house to strain the rest for the family. Sally took the pail as she stepped inside.

“I’ll take care of this. You go deliver the laundry.”

“Thanks.”

A few minutes later, Madge sat behind the wheel of their reluctant automobile and tried not to envy Justin his better car. Justin had continued to follow her and, without seeking permission, climbed in beside her. Obviously he meant to accompany her. She couldn’t find the strength to suggest otherwise. Besides—she clung to her excuse—she might discover something about him he didn’t mean for her to find.

The clean laundry, smelling of soap and hot irons, sat in neat piles behind them, covered with an old sheet to protect it from the dust.

When they arrived at her first delivery point, he got out and grabbed a basket.

“I can manage. I do all the time.”

“Yeah. I guessed that.” He led the way up the sidewalk. “You remind me of my mother.”

“Should I be insulted to be compared to an older woman or flattered it’s your mother?”

He chuckled. “I meant you are independent just like her. She could have let us know she was in trouble, but she didn’t. Even when we found out, we practically had to force her to tell us the truth. When the bank foreclosed on her house, she insisted she and Levi could find a place somewhere. It took all of us talking fast and hard to convince her to move in with Carson.”

“She sounds like a strong woman.” Even as she spoke, Madge shuddered. “I intend to see we don’t lose our house. I think Mother and I could manage, but Louisa would suffer ill health from the upset. Who knows what Sally would do? At times she seems ready to conquer any challenge, yet at other times I fear a harsh word will destroy her.” Why she was telling him all this left her as puzzled as Sally often did in her reactions to life.

They reached the door, so conversation came to a halt. Madge handed over the clean items and received a few coins. She tucked the money into her deep pocket to add to the coffee can when she got home. The payment was due next week, and she knew without counting she would never make it.

“I need something special to happen,” she muttered, then wondered if she’d lost her mind to utter the words aloud.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind.” She eased the automobile down the street to her next delivery. Again, Justin insisted on carrying the basket to the door. Thankfully, the distance was short, making conversation impossible.

She drove three blocks and picked up another batch of laundry.

“Seems to me you’re working hard, finding ways to cope. What is it you’re worried about?”

She snorted. “We’re in a depression. No jobs. No money. Drought. Poor prices. What isn’t there to worry about?”

“I hear ya. But not all those things touch each of us personally. For instance, you have work. You have a source of food and your house.”

“For now,” she muttered, immediately wanting to smack herself for revealing more than she intended. This wasn’t his problem. She didn’t even trust him, for goodness’ sake. Why would she want to share her problems with him?

“Your house is still mortgaged?”

She grunted. Let him take it for agreement or not. Whatever he wanted. She didn’t intend to discuss this with him.

“Are you in danger of losing it?” His quiet words flushed through her, leaving a trickle of anger and determination.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” She took the corner too fast and skidded. Let him think about that instead of talking about losing the house. She couldn’t contemplate the possibility. Her anger fled as quickly as it came. “I’m not worried. God has promised to take care of us. I simply have to believe He will.” Though it would require divine intervention within the next few days.

“There again, you sound like my mother.”

She glanced at him and gave a tight smile that did not budge the determination tightening the skin around her eyes. “She must be a good woman.”

He grinned. “I think so.” His gaze lingered. Did he think the same of her?

And what difference did it make if he did?

She tried to think of all the reasons it didn’t matter, but for a moment, for the space of a heartbeat—for the time it took to blink away from his gaze—she let herself imagine he had complimented her, and she allowed herself to enjoy the thought.

She headed out of town toward the farm. Her journey took her past the Mayerses’ place. Young Kenny stood at the end of the garden, a few feet from the edge of the road. She squinted at him. “What’s he doing?”

“Best I can guess is he’s taking the chickens for a walk.”

She sputtered in surprise. “Never heard of walking chickens.” But indeed the boy had half a dozen hens tethered by a foot and marched them up and down the end of the garden.