Carolyn Davidson – The Outlaw's Bride (страница 8)

“We have a deal, Debra Nightsong.” His hand reached for hers again, and she slid it from her pocket, allowing him to grasp it in his own, warming it with the heat of his flesh. His eyes narrowed as he looked past the pasture before them, his sights on the same hayfield she’d measured with her own gaze. The hay was ready to be mowed, the sun promised to shine, probably for several days, for no rain clouds threatened in the west.

Debra felt a surge of satisfaction at the deal they’d formed. For a week she would have the help she needed. Her loft would be full, her animals would have their needs supplied for the winter to come. Perhaps the garden might thrive under a man’s touch, for she was not able to plow up the soil as she should. Her strength was not enough to turn over the earth for the space she required.

As if he knew her thoughts, Tyler leaned against the wall of the shed and mulled over the needs of her farm. She turned her gaze to him as he spoke, pleased that he seemed to so readily fall into the role she had set for him.

“I’ll use one of your horses to plow more space for a garden, Debra. Have any of them been broken to harness? Have you used them for plowing?”

“I’ve only used a shovel,” she said. “I don’t have the strength to hold a plow steady. It takes a man’s muscles to force the blade into the ground. And using the shovel takes me forever to prepare the ground for my garden.”

“I can handle that for you,” he said. “I’ll add to the space you’ve already set aside if you like.”

“I’ll plant corn if you prepare the ground for me,” she said quickly. “I only have room now for beans and tomatoes and such. I’ve got peas and carrots coming up, almost ready to pick.”

He looked back through the shed to where the chickens had strayed into the yard, pecking at the bits and pieces of food they found there. “Corn makes good feed for chickens through the winter. Can you have it ground at the gristmill in town?”

She nodded, feeling her spirits lift as she thought of the crop she might plant and then sow in late summer. If she could trust this man… And why shouldn’t she be able to? He was as good a prospect as the neighbor who had taken her wheat and left her the straw. As willing to help as the man who had mowed her hayfield and taken his greater share for granted.

“Can we work together for a while, Debra?” He asked the question softly, his voice falling on her hearing as a temptation, perhaps luring her into believing that he could be trusted, that his help would be hers for a time.

“Yes.” She accepted him so readily it shocked her. So easily did she acquiesce to his offer. “Yes,” she repeated. He was behind her now, looking over her shoulder at the animals in her pasture, his chore of putting up a corral for her well under way and she was comforted by the knowledge that for now, for these few days, she was not alone.

THE FENCE POSTS stood straight, the boards joining them nailed in place, each level with the next. Debra crossed her arms on the top rail, looking beyond the boundaries of her newly built corral to where her animals grazed in the sun. Another horse had joined her stable, a bay mare already with foal, purchased from a neighbor who needed ready cash. Already broken to the saddle, the mare would provide cash income if Debra chose to sell her after the birth of her foal. For unless she had a stud available on a regular basis, she would not be able to breed her mares at the right times.

Her resources sorely strained by the additional purchase, Debra consoled herself with the idea of a second colt or filly in the spring when the mare would deliver the first addition to her newly formed stable of animals. Her bank account was down to rock bottom, but the purchase was sound, Tyler had said, and she felt able to trust his judgment.

One dark night, astride one of her mares, he’d returned the gelding he’d confiscated as his own to its owner’s field, not divulging its origins to her, only saying that it had probably not been missed by its owner. Showing no guilt for his misdeed, he’d made her smile with his simplistic notion that his theft had only amounted to a loan from the farmer.

She admitted to herself that she would have hated the thought of his death at the end of a rope, should his crime have come to light, but not for the world would she let him know that she had ignored his theft and the subsequent return of the evidence.

His help had been invaluable over the past weeks, and she was reaping the results of his work. Her garden flourished, with corn hilled in neat rows, tomatoes forming small fruit on their vines and beans cooking in the big kettle in the house even now. A pan of peas had been shelled and cooked before she canned them in pint jars just yesterday. Carrots showed their orange shoulders just above the ground, awaiting her hand, and she planned the stew she would make from the last of the potatoes in her fruit cellar, plus a piece of beef she’d bartered from her neighbor.

A peck of peas and enough beans for a meal had earned her a chunk of stewing meat from his butchering. Summer was not the usual time for a steer to be sacrificed for the family’s needs, but the herd of cattle in the fields to the west of her property was prosperous, and her neighbor had killed one and cut it up for his wife’s use.

A quarter of the beef hung even now in the woodshed, and Debra planned for its use. She would cut it up, cook it in large chunks in her stewing kettle and then can it for her use over the next few months.

Tyler had said he was familiar with butchering and had given her neighbor a hand with his chore, earning her the beef as a part of his salary. The neighbor had quizzed him at length regarding his presence at Debra’s holding, and Tyler dutifully gave her chapter and verse of their conversation.

“I made it clear to him that I was merely a hired hand here, a man in need of money, and willing to work for it. I let him know that I admired you and respected you, Debra.”

“And did he believe you? Or did he seem to think the half-breed had taken a white man to her bed?”

Her blunt manner surprised him, although he wasn’t certain why it should have caused him any surprise. She was a bold woman, not afraid to speak her mind. He spoke again, wanting to ease her mind.

“He didn’t make any backhanded remarks, if that’s what you mean. Just seemed to accept my word for it. I think he admires you, Debra. He spoke highly of you and your ambition, your work here on the farm.”

She nodded, accepting his words of praise, almost as if they were due her. He could only hope that the townspeople were as well informed as to Debra’s conduct in the community. Putting the stain of a woman without honor on her was far from his intent. But people talked, gossiped when things didn’t seem to their individual standards, and putting Debra’s name on the line was not to be considered.

Their association had proved thus far to be profitable to them both, Debra considering herself the winner with a new corral and a pasture already partly fenced in.

Tyler said the neighbor had seemingly been satisfied regarding his presence at Debra’s farm, nodding agreeably when he was told that Tyler was helping with the crops and caring for the livestock. Agreeing that Debra needed help and hiring a hand to work for her seemed logical.

But, as Tyler said, the man had smiled broadly as he spoke of Debra’s hard work and her need for a husband. As if he considered Tyler an applicant for the position. Perhaps that would settle any gossip to be found in town, Tyler thought, and tucked the notion into the back of his mind to consider further.

He’d managed to work enough hours for the neighbor to earn himself a horse, not a prize package to be sure, but a ten-year-old gelding who promised to provide his owner with years of use. Debra didn’t own a saddle and had convinced Tyler that he could ride without the aid of leather between himself and his horse. His determination to purchase a saddle at the earliest opportunity was pure stubbornness on his part, she was sure, but it was an argument she knew she would not win. The man was determined to fit his animal out with all the requisite tools—bridle and bit and a saddle that would make his riding a comfort.

She scorned his need for such trappings, happy with the golden mare she rode, who obeyed the touch of her knees against her sides, the rope she tied about the animal’s neck enough of a guide for what she required of the mare she rode with pride. Tyler watched her, his eyes admiring her skill when she rode, and she delighted in the knowledge that he did not deny her ability to control her horse so easily.

Indeed, she could have ridden without even the rope in her hands, for the animal had been trained to obey her voice, and there existed between them a rapport that made their relationship a joy to watch. Yet she did not deny Tyler the right to his need for a harness for the plowhorse and the saddle he planned to purchase for his gelding.

The amount of hay she had decided to keep for her own use was cut in three days’ time, Tyler wielding the scythe, she spreading the harvest to dry in the sun. Raking it into rows the second day, she examined it and found it dry. By the time he’d cut enough hay to fill her loft, she’d spread it out, then raked it into piles, ready for loading onto a flat wagon from the shed.