A Cowboy at Heart (23 page)

Read A Cowboy at Heart Online

Authors: Lori Copeland,Virginia Smith

He lumbered to his feet, and she shielded her eyes with one hand to look up at him. When had he grown so tall? Only yesterday he was a small boy.

An awkward expression dawned on his features. “One day soon you will find someone, Katie. You are too young to be a widow forever.”

Her answer was a wistful smile. That was a subject she preferred not to discuss with her brother or with anyone else. “Will you do a favor for me?”

His strong body straightened. “Name it.”

“Fetch this chair to the house for me. I’ve stitched until my fingers are numb.”

She stood and watched Levi lift the chair, the muscles in his arms bulging like a man’s, no longer the puny, thin sticks she used to tease him about.

Jesse’s arms are even bigger with muscles
.

The thought brought sudden warmth to the tender skin on her neck. Levi headed for the house, but she dallied behind. Her gaze strayed once again to the western horizon. The sun had crept low in the sky while she worked. Not many miles in that direction lay the Switzer farm. And Jesse. The rumor Levi had heard echoed in her mind.

When Levi and Mary were wed, the bride would come here to live. Levi would continue to work the farm with
Fader
, gradually taking on more and more responsibility until, years from now, he would take charge. Then
Fader
would build a
dawdi haus
and he and
Mader
would move into it, leaving the family home to Levi and Mary and, by then, their children.

And what of Katie? A feeling of desolation threatened as an
image of herself, the unmarried aunt who occupied the small bedroom at the top of the stairs, loomed in her mind.

If Jesse asked me to leave the Amish, would I
?

The answer rose up in a heart already heavy with sorrow. No. This was the life she loved, the one God had given her. She could not live any other way than the way she had been raised.

Besides, Bishop Miller’s accusations hammered at her heart, as painful as when he’d first said the words. Her barrenness was a curse she would not inflict on another man.

Swallowing past a lump that seemed to lodge in her throat more often than not lately, she turned her back to the west and headed for the house.

Jesse stood beside Rex, his left hand on the pommel, and took a minute to gather his nerve. Rex turned his long neck to fix him with a brown eye as if to say,
Well, what are you waiting for
?

“Are you sure about this?”

Luke, who was already seated in the saddle, spoke quietly. There was something about the darkness of night and the song of the crickets that called for hushed voices, even though they weren’t being watched. At least not yet.

“I’m sure. There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m letting you boys have all the fun tonight.”

Colin’s soft laugh sounded from beyond Luke. “You call digging postholes in the dark fun? I’ve said before you had pickles for brains, and this proves it.”

Jesse grimaced in his direction, though no doubt he’d just wasted a good scowl. The dark was thick as mud tonight. Clouds covered the stars, and though the moon occasionally peeked through a misty break, its random appearance was no help.

“I may have spent years trying to pickle the rest of myself, but my brains are fine, thank you.”

Butch spoke up from behind. “You want me to get the milking stool?”

Luke chuckled, and Jesse rounded on the boy. “No, I don’t need a milking stool to get on my horse!” He instantly regretted his harsh tone, but if Butch told Luke and Colin he’d used a stool yesterday, he’d never survive the ribbing. He went on in a kinder voice. “I’ll get up there on my own. I still have one good arm and a couple of strong legs.”

He turned back to the saddle, but not before giving Rex a loaded look.
Help me out here, boy. I’d hate to end up on my backside on the ground
.

He tightened his grip on the saddle horn and placed a boot in the stirrup. His right arm wasn’t completely useless. He’d been working to strengthen the abused shoulder muscles, and though it hurt to lift his arm overhead, he managed to grab onto the saddle. Setting his teeth, he gave a giant heave, pushing off with his right boot. Pain stabbed at his shoulder, but he bit back a groan and pulled, trying to take the weight on his left boot. He wavered, and for a second he thought he’d end up on the ground after all. But then Rex skittered sideways, and he felt pressure on his backside. Butch gave a shove, and Jesse managed to swing his leg over. Not the most graceful move he’d ever made, but at least he was in the saddle.

Once he had his balance, he nodded at the boy. “Thanks, son. Appreciate the help.”

“I can be more help if you’d take me with you. I’m stronger than I look, and I’m a good digger.”

Jesse looked down into the boy’s upturned face. Being left behind while the men rode out to a sneaky midnight job would be a bitter disappointment to any boy. He wouldn’t have stood still for it when he was that age, but he knew Butch would obey the way he always did. Maybe letting him tag along would be good for him.

Jesse glanced toward Colin, who was the boy’s guardian. “What do you think?”

Colin cocked his head sideways, his face hidden in the shadow of his hat. “We do have a lot of work ahead of us. Another pair of hands would be mighty welcome.”

Jesse indulged in a smile. Colin understood a boy’s feelings as well as he did.

Butch nearly hopped with excitement. “You mean I can go?”

“Yeah, you can go. But first run in the house and tell
Maummi
Switzer so she doesn’t worry.”

The child raced toward the house as though a wildcat were on his tail.

Luke chuckled. “I like that boy. Reminds me of myself at his age.”

Jesse poured his scowl into his voice. “Yeah, but don’t worry. We’ll train that out of him.”

The men enjoyed a laugh, and then Jesse kneed Rex toward the house. When Butch ran out, he was waiting beside the porch, which was higher than the milking stool. “Hop on up here.”

“Yes, sir!” He ducked beneath the railing and, grasping the
hand Jesse extended, swung up into the saddle. He settled in behind Jesse and got a grip on the sides of his belt.

Colin raised a hand and pointed westward. “How far does the fence go in that direction?”

Jesse shook his head. “I never got to check it out. I’m thinking we should start at this end, though. It’s not likely we’ll finish the job tonight. Better to clear the way to the creek first.”

The three horses headed out at a walk. Soon they had left the house behind them, and skirted around Jonas’s barn. The goats stirred as they passed, but the cattle had settled farther away, their bodies a dark cluster of shadows on the ground edging the wheat field.

The men approached the corner of the fence east of the place where the stream narrowed and turned toward the north. The sound of rushing water filled the night.

“I don’t understand.” Colin said. “That stream runs from the north. Why wouldn’t Littlefield stake his claim farther up?”

“The creek bed’s a lot narrower up there, no more than a trickle.” Jesse had noted the distinction when he last traveled along the fencerow. “I figure there must be an underground feed close by somewhere, because it’s not near as deep as it is here. And the bank is steeper up a ways.”

“Not good for watering cattle,” Luke noted. “Especially when there’s a nice, wide place right there.” He pointed to the west, where the stream broadened and gained depth, a perfect watering hole.

Jesse agreed. “If you’re a power-hungry cattle baron who’s used to getting what he wants, why not take advantage of a prime source?”

They approached the narrow trench that marked the boundaries of Jonas’s farm, and halted. Colin and Luke dismounted and set about pulling tools from their saddlebags. Behind him, Butch swung his leg over and dropped to the ground, and then he stood looking up at Jesse.

Jesse studied the ground. Once he got down, he might never get back up again. With a sigh, he shifted his weight to his left boot in the stirrup, grabbed a handful of Rex’s mane, and stepped down. He counted it a blessing he didn’t fall but landed on two feet.

Luke stood peering northward toward a rise in the land that was distinguishable only by a slightly lighter shade of black. “How far would you say Littlefield’s place is?”

Jesse knew what he was thinking. “Far enough that he won’t hear us.”

“What about his thugs?”

“Let’s hope they’ve drunk themselves into a stupor. They won’t be expecting trouble from Jonas, and they think I’m worthless at the moment.”

“Hey, this is good news.” Colin’s voice, barely above a whisper, drifted to them from a few yards away, where he’d gone to inspect the fence. “Look here.”

Using two hands he hefted one of the posts, which was nothing more than a long spike, up out of the ground.

“They must have barely pounded them in,” Luke commented.

“They were in a hurry,” Jesse said. “They did most of this in a single night.”

Colin turned his head at the same moment a break in the clouds let the moon’s rays through and illuminated his wide smile.
“That’s a dirty thing to do, but let’s copy them. Come on, fellas. We have a fence to move.”

Jesse imagined Littlefield’s fury when he discovered that his boundary line had been repositioned. Oh, how he wished he could be there to witness that moment.

By dawn Jesse was not only thanking the Lord that he’d had a nap after church but wishing he’d slept a few hours more. In fact, he’d petered out after thirty posts or so, even though his job was only to hold the post in place while Colin pounded it into the ground. They set him on guard duty, and he couldn’t swear he hadn’t drifted off once or twice.

But the job was done. The fence was moved, more or less following the faint furrow in the land that Jonas had cut two decades before, though they’d had trouble finding it in places, so overgrown was the fertile land. Their gloves were in a sorry state, and every one of them bore wounds from wrestling with the barbed wire, though Luke’s hands looked the worst. They had taken care to wash them in the creek before settling on the ground to await the dawn and the inevitable moment when their night’s work was discovered. Finally, the sun rose above the eastern horizon, painting the clouds overhead pink.

Jesse shivered against the morning chill, and shifted his weight in a vain attempt to find a more comfortable position on the hard, rock-strewn ground. In the dawn of light, he realized he wasn’t all that far from the place he’d lain after being shot. Had it really been eleven days ago? He extended his right arm until
he felt the painful pull in his shoulder. Seemed as though it had been months.

“I’m hungry.” Sleep weighed down Luke’s words, making them slow and drowsy. “Wish we’d thought to get
Maummi
to pack us something for breakfast.”

“Mmm.” Colin’s hat muffed his voice. It covered his face as he lay prone on the ground, his arms cradling the back of his head. “What I’d give for a stack of Becca’s hotcakes right about now.”

“Hey, Luke, remember McCann’s breakfasts back on the trail?” Jesse could almost hear the sizzle from the cook’s frying pan and smell the bacon mixed with smoke from the campfire.

Luke groaned. “Don’t remind me. My stomach thinks my throat’s been slit.”

A loud snore issued from the place where Butch had curled up in a ball, bringing a quiet laugh from all three men.

“How can a kid that skinny make a noise that loud?” Luke asked.

Jesse chuckled. “I think he’s been taking lessons from
Maummi
Switzer.”

“Boys,” came Colin’s quiet voice, “we have company. Get ready. The party’s about to start.”

A pair of riders topped the ridge to the north and came to a halt, their silhouettes standing out starkly against the empty Kansas sky. Jesse cast a glance sideways at Colin, who had taken the hat off his face, his gaze fixed in that direction. His voice sounded calm and even, but there was no mistaking the underlying note of tension. “Hold off, gentleman. Let them make the first move.”

Jesse nudged Butch’s back to rouse him before climbing to his feet, his senses on high alert. His pistol, retrieved from Jonas’s
barn, hung from his belt. Though he’d spent time yesterday practicing drawing with his left hand, he was nowhere near ready for a confrontation.
Lord, I’d be much obliged if it doesn’t come to that
.

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