e ridiculous. Of course you can speak with him, just don’t—you know—encourage him in a lifestyle I don’t want for him.”
“Did you ever think perhaps what he wants is more important?”
“He’s a child.”
Rusty tugged on the brim of his hat. “I will honor your request, Mrs. Stevens. Have a pleasant day.” He strode off, having wasted too much time already.
***
Rachel watched him swagger away. That was the only word that fit the man’s stride. All loose limbed and comfortable. And his backside in those tight Levi’s he wore was definitely something to admire. By other women, of course. She had no interest in Mr. McIntyre or his backside.
Liar.
Even though it was merely eight o’clock in the morning, she needed to get started with the noon meal and then supper for more than twenty hungry cowboys. She’d already served breakfast, having risen with the sun. After her short break to awaken Will and get him fed and started on his day, she returned to the cookhouse to prepare the noon meal.
Her assistant, Mac, was already pulling out vegetables to chop. Earlier, he’d brought in a round of beef that she would cut into pieces and make cowboy stew. That would simmer all morning, and she would serve the meal at noontime, along with loaves of fresh baked bread and apple pies. She planned beans and corn bread for supper. With the men’s sweet tooth always looking for a treat, she would also make fried apples with bacon.
“Rachel, if you have a minute this morning, can you look in on Mrs. Richardson? She wasn’t feeling too well today, and I think some company would help her.” Big Bob stood in the cookhouse doorway, leaning his forearm against the frame.
The man stood well over six feet and weighed two hundred forty pounds of all muscle. Despite his size, he was soft-hearted and devoted to his wife. Suffering from arthritis for several years now, Mrs. Richardson’s world had shrunk from the ranch, to the house, to her room, to her bed. A woman from town came in each morning to tend to her personal needs. Rachel liked Mrs. Richardson immensely and felt sorry that the illness had deprived her of a full life.
One of Rachel’s favorite things to do was to clean up after supper each night, and then she and Will would go to the ranch house where Rachel would read to Mrs. Richardson. She had tried on several occasions to get Will to read aloud, but despite his age, he still stumbled over the words and became embarrassed. She didn’t understand why a child his age didn’t read better.
“Yes, sir, I’ll be glad to sit with her for a while. Perhaps I’ll bring a new book to start.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. I really appreciate it.”
Rachel hated the sadness in the big man’s eyes. He adored his wife; they’d been married for more than twenty years. Already in their forties when they wed, they’d never had children.
She couldn’t imagine her life without Will. She and Billy had an acceptable marriage, but nothing so wonderful that she wanted to repeat it. They got along, but once Will was born their focus turned to him, and they more or less drifted apart.
She was saddened when he died of pneumonia, but certainly didn’t feel the heartbreak she knew Big Bob would if Mrs. Richardson was taken from him. Perhaps she wasn’t capable of that kind of love. Another reason to avoid getting married again.
The morning flew by, and by noon she was ringing the old bell outside the cookhouse for the men to return for dinner. Her always hungry son came dashing from the house, racing to where Rusty walked, taking his hand as they headed to the tables. Her stomach tightened. She really did not want him tagging after the ranch foreman. Besides the fact that she and the man disliked each other, she wanted Will to admire other men. Like Uncle Jesse or Uncle Michael. Not some cowboy.
Once the room filled up, she stood behind the table that held the large pot of stew which she ladled into each man’s bowl. They moved along the line, picking up chunks of bread. Mac went from place to place pouring coffee.
After all the cowboys had been served, she cut large pieces of apple pie and left it on another table for the men to help themselves. She wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her dress and watched her son and Rusty chatting away as if they were old friends. She needed to get Will into town to spend time with Michael and Uncle Jesse. Those were the men she wanted him to admire.
“Ma, I finished my chores and schoolwork. Can I go with Mr. McIntyre to see about the north fence?” Will hopped up and down on one foot, his young face tight with excitement.
She smiled at her son’s enthusiasm. Even though the last thing she wanted to do was let him go, she would never be able to stand the boy’s disappointment.
Rusty strolled up and placed his hand on Will’s shoulder. “I’ll make sure the boy stays out of trouble.”
Her heart sped up. What was it about this man that affected her so? That lazy smile was a deception. There was nothing lazy about Mr. McIntyre. She’d seen him at work when she was hanging her wash. One time he removed his shirt and hung it on the corral post as he worked with one of the horses. All golden skin over taut, rippling muscles. A vision she should not have enjoyed as much as she had.
“It’s not that. I wanted him to practice his reading this afternoon.”
“Aw, Ma. I did my schoolwork already.”
“I know, young man, but your reading needs a lot of practice.”
“Man does not live by books alone.” Rusty flashed her a smile.
She rolled her eyes. “I won’t even comment on that since I’m pretty sure you know you just now misquoted the Bible.”
He pushed his hat back with his thumb and looked down at Will. “I’m sorry, son, but if your mama says no, then that’s that.”