Chapter 5
Wyatt looked out at the horizon, watching the cattle trek through the snow on the ground as they made their way to the bales of hay he’d put out in strategic places.
Lately, he hadn’t been thinking of this ranch as MacLean’s Mistake.
No, something had changed. Something he hadn’t expected.
And it was all because of the beautiful, young woman he’d met, quite by accident.
Or maybe it hadn’t been by accident at all. Lucy had suggested he visit Josie’s.
Sheridan DuBois, with her green eyes like new spring leaves, hadn’t been out of his thoughts for more than a minute since they’d met.
He hadn’t seen her since he brought her home from Sullivan’s Emporium and she’d hid behind him, afraid of the ‘wolf,’ but the memory of her warm body pressed against his back and her hands on his waist remained.
He sure wished she would have smiled. He would have loved to have seen that. He had a feeling her smile could light up the darkness.
Hank, one of his two ranch hands, rode up beside him. “What are you grinning about?”
Startled, as he’d been in his own little world, he jumped, making Brigadier move beneath him. “Nothing.”
Hank grunted. “Nothin’, huh? Didn’t look like nothing. Looked like you were moonin’ over someone.” He laughed then. “I remember that look. Saw it in my own mirror a time or two after I met Mary.”
Wyatt stiffened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“If you say so.”
He didn’t push it. Let the man believe what he wanted. Instead, he changed the subject. “How is Mary?”
“She’s a bit anxious, waitin’ for the baby to be born. Doc Hart says it could be any day now.”
“Have you decided on a name yet?”
He shook his head. “We’re still thinkin’ about a name for a son.” He lowered his voice, as if there might be someone else in the middle of this field that could hear him. “But I sure as hell don’t want him to be named Aloysius Constantine after her father.”
Wyatt gave a short bark of laughter, surprised. “Can’t say I blame you there though, you could call him Conn if you wanted. What about if it’s a girl?”
“Oh, that was easy. Sally. Sally Anne, after her mother and mine.”
“Why don’t you head on home then? And take the next week off.”
“Are ya sure, boss?” Hank’s eyes narrowed just a bit, but there was still pleasure there as well, as if torn between staying and going home to his wife. “I’d hate to leave you short.”
“Ken and I can handle it. Things are slow this time of year anyway. Go. Spend time with your wife, and if you need more time, just let me know.”
Gratitude glowed from the man’s eyes. “Thanks, Wyatt.” He grinned, kicked his mount, and wasted no time heading over the hill to his little house.
Wyatt watched him until he disappeared from view, then yanked up the collar of his coat against the biting wind that suddenly seemed to spring up.
Ken, his other ranch hand, rode up beside him. “Where’s Hank going?”
“I sent him home. Mary’s going to have her baby any time now. He needs to be with her.” He eyed Ken. “Why don’t you take off early, too?”
The man needed no second invitation. “See ya tomorrow, Boss,” he said, then he, too, spurred his mount and raced over the hill.
“Let’s go home, Duke.”
The dog didn’t need a second invitation either and started running circles around his horse, his joyous barks echoing in the stillness.
They headed toward home. He stopped before coming into the barnyard, his gaze taking in everything, as was his habit.
He noticed smoke rising from the chimney and a big, fancy buggy parked in front of the house.
He recognized it immediately. He led Brigadier into the corral, then walked toward the house.
Taking the steps two at a time, the dog right beside him, he let himself in. The aroma of something savory hit him immediately and he sniffed the air with appreciation. Duke did the same then rushed past him, anxious to see if whoever was in the kitchen had dropped anything on the floor.
“Mama?” He took off his coat and hung it up on the coat rack, adding his hat atop it. “Royce?”
“We’re in the kitchen, dear,” his mother called out.
He entered the room to see his mother at the stove. Something good sizzled in the cast-iron skillet. Royce stood at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables.
“Hello, Mama.” He kissed her on the cheek then turned to Royce and held out his hand, but a handshake wouldn’t do for the man his mother had married after being widowed for several years, and he found himself on the receiving end of a bear hug.
“Nice to see you, son.” Royce laughed as he released him.
“Hope you don’t mind, but we made ourselves at home.
Your kitchen is bigger than ours and Delilah wanted to try out a new recipe.
” He lowered his voice and leaned a little closer.
“And she wanted to see you. She worries about you out here by yourself.”
“I don’t mind at all.” And he didn’t. He loved his mother and just wanted to see her happy.
And she was. Royce Cabot was a good man, who loved to cook as much as Delilah did.
Lucy had done an excellent job of matching them.
And if he could get a delicious meal out of their visit, that was a bonus, though his mother had a tendency to upend his routine.
Still, he wouldn’t trade their visits for anything in the world.
“We stopped by to see Kyle, too, and brought you a couple bottles of his apple brandy. He says ‘hello’ by the way.”
His brother lived on a farm just east of Santa Fe and was the perfect halfway point between the two towns. “How is he?”
“He’s doing well. His business is growing. He seems happy, but you know your mother. She thinks he needs a wife.”
Wyatt smiled and nodded but kept his own counsel.
“We also stopped by to see Lucy Hart before coming out here.”
Wyatt sank into a chair. It was no secret that his mother wanted to see him married and settled down.
Actually, she wanted to see all three of her sons married and having children.
It was also no secret that she blamed Katie for walking out on his wedding day, either, but would she go so far as to enlist Lucy’s help?
Not just for him, but for Kyle and Preston, too?
He wouldn’t put it past her. After all, Lucy had done a wonderful job matching his mother with Royce.
And what, if anything, had Lucy told her about his request to find a wife?
“We cleaned out the bookshelf at home,” Royce said as he chopped more vegetables, “and dropped the books off for the lending library then talked a little bit about the fair they’re planning for a fundraiser.
It won’t be until spring, but you know, things like that take time and a lot of planning.
Your mother and I thought we’d set up a booth and sell some of her spicy pickles. ”
Relief rushed through him. He should have known Lucy would never betray his confidence. Relaxing just a bit, he snuck a sliced red pepper from the bowl of vegetables Royce was cutting and popped it into his mouth.
“Heard Josie’s daughter came to town,” Delilah said over her shoulder. “It’s a shame what happened to Josie. She was a nice woman.” She gave a stir to a pot on the stove, then turned to face him. “Have you met her?”
How should he answer? Yes, Mama, I went to Josie’s house and wanted to take her daughter upstairs? No, he couldn’t say that to his mother. Hell, he couldn’t say that to anyone. “I did. I met her at Sullivan’s Emporium.”
“Is she pretty?” Delilah moved closer to the table and took the bowl full of vegetables then just stood there, looking at him expectantly.
What? Was his mother matchmaking now for a woman he’d just met? “I suppose.”
“What do you mean ‘you suppose’? Is she pretty or not?”
He could feel the heat rising to his face. “She’s beautiful, all right.”
That seemed to satisfy her. She moved toward the stove and dumped the vegetables into the hot skillet, the sizzle loud, drowning out her happy humming.
He looked toward Royce. The man had the good graces to blush and shake his head, though he did give him a look as if to say ‘Your mother is incorrigible.’
Wyatt rose from his seat, more than a bit uncomfortable. “Did you bake anything for dessert?”
“No, dear, we didn’t have time.” Delilah slipped the dog a piece of potato. Duke took it from her hand gently then laid down on his bed of blankets and proceeded to crunch it into nothing.
“Why don’t I just head into town and get a cake or pie from Sweet Somethings?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He simply exited the kitchen at a fast walk, put on his coat and hat, and left the house.
“And where are you going all dressed up in your Sunday finery?” Mrs. Gallagher asked as Sheridan walked through the parlor, heading for the front door.
She stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “I thought I’d take a walk. Get to know the town a little better.”
Mrs. Gallagher beamed and let out a happy little sigh. “You’re staying.”
“For a little while, at least. Until I can figure out what to do.” She pulled the letter she’d written to Odette—she simply couldn’t call her grand-mère at the moment—from her drawstring purse. “Do you know where I can mail this?”
“Gemma over at Goldwater’s handles the mail.” Mrs. Gallagher looked at it with a little curiosity, though she didn’t ask who the letter was to. “She’ll take care of you.”
“Thank you.”
Sheridan stuffed the letter back in her purse and reached for the doorknob.
“If you’re going for a walk and dropping off that letter, you might as well pick up a cake from Sweet Somethings for dessert, too, but you can’t go out in that little jacket.”
Sheridan looked down at her jacket. “Why not?”
“Because it’s too cold for you to be traipsing about without something heavier.” Mrs. Gallagher dropped her dust rag and tin of lemon polish on the side table then met her at the door. She reached for a heavy winter coat from the coatrack. “Here. Wear this.”