Nah, Rachel would never give up her son.
After giving instructions to Mac about the change in cooking duties for a few days, he and Will grabbed some apples, a chunk of cheese, and a couple of day-old biscuits. That would have to do them this morning. He was already behind schedule for the day. Determined to get all the fencing inspected and any needed repairs finished before fall, Rusty pushed the men. But the one he was the hardest on was himself.
With miles of barbed wire to check, all the men spent a good part of their day riding the fences. Not as exciting as the old days of cattle ranching. With the animals enclosed and no longer roaming the plains, the cowboy’s job had changed from twenty or thirty years before.
Big Bob had a first-rate ranch, and Rusty was anxious to add to his savings so he could one day have a spread of his own. As time went on, he’d need lots of hands to run his ranch, and someone to pass it all down to when he died.
His thoughts drifted to Rachel. Now, there was an idea. Not only a fine looking woman, but a good cook, used to dealing with cowboys, and a son just chomping at the bit to work a ranch. If he could just get past his belief that all women were unfaithful, he might take a second—or third—look at Mrs. Stevens.
Not that she had ever given him a reason to believe she would welcome him as a suitor. In fact, she’d said almost nothing about her marriage or husband. Had he been cruel? Did she have a distrust, or dislike of men? There was certainly no doubt of the attraction between them. Her blushes told him she was aware of him as a man.
While pondering these thoughts, he and Will rode for hours, past windmills used to drive pumps that could draw water from underground, and miles and miles of fencing. The food they brought sustained them for their noon meal, along with some wild berries and a good sized catfish he’d caught and cooked over a fire.
By five o’clock, they were headed back to the cookhouse, the ringing of the dinner bell a welcoming sound to their growling bellies.
***
“I brought you some supper.” Rusty entered his bedroom and came to an abrupt halt to find it empty. Where had Rachel gone? Not that he expected her to take up permanent residence with him, but he thought . . . Hell, he wasn’t sure what he thought.
He backtracked and crossed over the pebbled pathway to her house. Amelia opened the door at his knock, looking mighty worn out. “Oh, hello.”
“Hello to you, too. How did the cooking go today?”
Amelia rotated her neck and stifled a yawn. “Fine.” She closed the door behind him, and said, “Ah, sorry about this morning.” She stared down at her shoe and continued in a soft voice, “I think you were right. I’m pretty sure I would have made a mess of things if Mac hadn’t been in charge.”
Rusty felt as if he’d won a high stakes round of poker. Not only was she talking to him, she was actually telling him he’d been right. “I’m glad it all worked out. Mac told me you were a big help today, and he couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Really?” Her eyes grew wide and for the first time he saw a genuine smile on her pretty face. He studied her for a minute, looking for some resemblance to what he saw in the mirror every day. She was obviously Beatrice’s daughter, but his? Not so sure. “Is Mrs. Stevens in her bedroom?”
“No. She’s in the kitchen with Will.”
Rusty headed down the hallway to the kitchen, Amelia trailing behind him. One look at Rachel and his gut twisted again. Her eye looked terrible, and she sat stiffly in the chair, obviously in pain. All the anger he thought was behind him re-surfaced. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
She jerked at his tone. “Well, good evening to you, too.”
“Sorry.” He placed the supper dish on the table and gently took her chin in his hand, moving her head one way, then the other. “You need a couple of days in bed. I can see the way you’re sitting here that you’re in a lot of pain.”
“I need to get back to work. I can’t lie around in bed all day.”
“I just talked to Mac and he said everything went fine today. In fact,” he turned toward Amelia, “Mac complimented Amelia on what a great job she did.”
“I’m not at all sur
prised. Your daughter has shown quite a bit of skill in the kitchen.”
The girl blushed; whether from the compliment, or Rachel’s reference to ‘his daughter,’ wasn’t clear.
“Will, you seem to be having a hard time keeping your eyes open. Go on upstairs and go to bed.”
“Ah, Ma. I’m not a baby.” A loud yawn followed, belying his statement.
Rachel grinned and ruffled Will’s hair. “To bed, young man.”
“All right.” Now that he had no choice, he dragged himself out of the chair, ducked when Rachel tried to kiss him, and left the room.
“I’m going for a walk before bed,” Amelia said, backing toward the doorway.
Rachel nodded in the direction of the plate Rusty brought. “Is that for me?”