Dorothy Garlock (9 page)

Ben painfully climbed the steep stairway to a room tucked under the roof. Johanna could walk upright only in the middle of it, because of the sharp slant of the ceiling. It looked larger because its only furnishings were a bed, a table, a ladder-back chair, and an old trunk. Pegs for hanging clothes lined the wall at one end. A faded quilt in what Johanna recognized as the “flower garden” pattern covered the sagging straw mattress on the rope bed. Jacy looked at the ill-kempt room in dismay.

Forcing a lightness in her voice, Johanna said, “After a good cleaning we’ll be very comfortable here.”

Ben smiled, but his voice was anxious as he said, “This house needs a woman. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thank you,” Johanna said, then asked hesitantly, “Is Mr. Macklin always this difficult, or is this just one of his bad days?”

Ben’s brows went up. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Johanna, but Mack is always difficult. He’s an unhappy, unfulfilled man, and this is one of his better days. If you can do it, close your mind to his cruel remarks, for he’s to be pitied. He’s never allowed himself to be happy. He cares for no one and nothing but this valley. He feels it’s a sign of weakness to show either mercy or compassion to another human being.”

*   *   *

When the sisters were alone, Jacy came to Johanna and rested her head on her shoulder.

“That old man is horrible, Johanna. I can’t believe he’s Luis’s father.”

“Neither can I, but Mooney said he was.” She took hold of her sister’s shoulders and held her away from her so that she could look into her face. “We won’t be discouraged, Jacy. Mr. Macklin isn’t used to having women around. He’ll soften up, but in the meantime, we won’t let that mean old man think that he’s smart enough to get our goat!” She laughed, and Jacy couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, Johanna, you’re just like Papa. You can paint a silver lining on the blackest cloud.”

“We can make this dreary, dirty room livable,” Johanna said with determination. “Get out our sheets, towels, dresser set, and mirror. I’ll go down and get a pail of water and a broom.”

Johanna changed into a faded brown work dress and tied an apron around her slender waist. She secured her blond hair in a knot atop her head, then took her first tentative steps down the stairway. She entered the kitchen and stopped short. She stood in the middle of the room and gazed with despair at the disorder, wrinkling her nose at the offensive odor coming from the spittoon by the hearth. The cooking range and a very long work counter were covered with piles of earthenware plates, pots, and an assortment of cutlery. The floor was constructed of smooth stone slabs and littered with grease and scraps of food embellished with chunks of dried mud that, Johanna assumed, had been tracked in by the men. Soot hung like Spanish moss behind the cookstove, and cobwebs floated from the ceiling beams. She felt a flicker of anger at the thought that the ashes in the hearth had probably been there for months.

As she hesitated, hard footsteps, accompanied by the jingle of spurs, resounded on the stone floor outside the house, then into the hall. Seconds later came the murmur of male voices that escalated into a storm of angry words, unintelligible and rumbling. She could distinguish the cold, harsh voice of the old man, and a second, equally cold voice rising in argument. Johanna was gripped with curiosity. Who would dare raise his voice to the formidable old man?

The hail of angry words grew louder until the antagonist and the old man were shouting at each other. The old man’s angry voice rose and his words reached the kitchen.

“You’ll do as I say, you bastard, or you’ll not get one foot of this valley!”

“I’ve already got the whole goddamn thing, you old fool! You’ve gone too far this time.”

“You’ve got nothin’! Hear me! You got nothin’ but what I’ll let ya have!”

“You’re dreamin’, you ornery old cuss. You got only what I’ll let
you
have!”

“This valley is mine and I’ll do with it as I goddamn please. You ain’t runnin’ things yet, by God! Come back here, you bastard, I ain’t through—”

The words were cut off by the sound of a door slammed so viciously that the walls of the house shuddered. Silence fell, and Johanna drew a long breath of relief for the end of the barely restrained violence.

She moved to find the broom and a pail, then heard the hard steps and the soft jingling of spurs coming down the hall. She stood, apprehension holding her motionless, wishing desperately that she didn’t have to face another difficult Macklin. It was too soon. She needed time to adjust to this family, to their violent tempers, and to the drab, unfriendly atmosphere of the house.

A huge man with hard blue eyes and white-blond hair filled the doorway. Speechless, Johanna stared, her startled eyes questioning his apparent anger at her for being there. His face was twisted with bitterness and a smoldering rage that was directed at her.

Arrogantly her stare was returned. He stood with his feet apart, balancing on the high heels of his boots. His long legs seemed to stretch up forever before reaching his slim hips, about which was strapped a wide gunbelt. His shirt, opened at the neck, revealed a chest tanned toast-brown. A head of curly, wind-tossed flaxen hair reached almost to the top of the doorway. Piercing blue eyes gleamed diabolically over his blade of nose.

His tightly compressed lips opened and he bit out, “So you’re the one that’s come to stud!”

Johanna had no idea how many seconds went by while she stood and stared at him with open-mouthed astonishment, his words echoing through her mind.

“What did you say?” The words came out of her as if someone else had said them.

“With outraged virture, too!” he sneered. “A saloon girl with outraged virture! Well, I never thought I’d live to see
that
!”

Johanna was so surprised by his attack that she felt faintly giddy. Her face paled.

“Why are you talking to me like this?” She swallowed with difficulty. “Who are you?”

He strode forward until she had to arch her neck to see his face. He searched her pale, distraught face for a hint of duplicity. Without softening his expression, he hit her with angry cutting words.

“Is it possible the old man hasn’t told you about the bastards of Macklin Valley? I’m surprised!” he said angrily, sarcastically. “Let me introduce you to one of them. Burr Englebretson Macklin. My mother’s name was Englebretson, but I’ve taken the name Macklin, not for any love of the old bastard but because it sticks in his craw for me to do so. I’ve taken it from him, just as I’ll take this valley for my own by the right of having been unfortunate enough to be sired by that old man—and because I’ve ridden hard, driven hard, and worked until calluses covered my hands and I almost dropped in my tracks. That’s my right of ownership, and I’ll not have a scheming woman shoved down my throat in order to keep what’s already mine!”

Johanna gasped at the onslaught. “I don’t understand any of what you’re saying.”

He looked down at her with cold eyes filled with scorn. They flicked over her face as if he were looking at something beneath his contempt. She could almost smell the anger that radiated from him. Without being aware of it, she stepped back, but his hard eyes held her bewildered ones as if they were caught in a snare.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know of the old man’s plans! We’re pawns. Pawns, in his plan to populate the valley with legitimate grandsons made in his own image. Look at yourself and you’ll know why you were chosen for this honor. Blond hair and blue eyes, same as mine. He’ll see to it that we’re wed, all proper and legal. No more bastards . . . Macklin Valley will never be left to a bastard.” His chin jutted and he taunted, “How does it feel to know you’ve been brought here solely to act as brood mare?”

“No! I don’t believe you!” Johanna was on the edge of hysteria.

“Believe it!” He glared into her rebellious face, his jaw muscles pulsing as he fought to contain his anger. “If you’re eager to put out the fire burning in your britches, I’ll oblige, but that’s as far as it’ll go. I’ll not wed you. The old man is as devious as the devil, but bastard or not, I don’t give up what’s mine, and I choose my own women.”

He was gone before she could voice the retort that sprang to her mind, but his presence remained in the room long after his giant strides swallowed up the length of the hall. The sound of the door being slammed echoed throughout the house.

Johanna swayed. The walls of the room seemed to recede. The insults he had heaped upon her were the hardest thing she’d had to bear aside from her family tragedy. She stood with her arms clasped around her shuddering body in an effort to dispel the effect this overpowering man had left on her. She collapsed onto the bench by the table and buried her face in her hands.

Burr Macklin was every bit as rancorous as the father he so obviously despised and who so obviously despised him. How could Mr. Cash have sent her to this place knowing what the old man had in mind? This man was so far removed from her imaginings of the man she would someday marry that she felt she would prefer to face plague, pestilence, or starvation rather than become tied to him for life. He was heartless, uncivilized, and savage; and there was not a speck of difference between him and old Mack Macklin, who had sired him.

F
ive

^“
S
o you’ve met him.”

Johanna spun around on the bench, a picture of flagrant outrage, her classic beauty enhanced by the high color in her cheeks and the sparkle of tears in her eyes. Ben hesitantly came through the doorway.

“Yes, I’ve met
him
!” Her voice was shrill with anger. “There’s not an ounce of difference between father and son.”

As he took a seat opposite her, he sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “It’s unfortunate you had to meet him just now. He—”

“To meet Burr Macklin under any circumstances would be unpleasant,” she retorted. “He’s detestable, arrogant, and uncivilized, besides being boorish and . . . self-centered! I’m no meek little mouse, Ben, and I refuse to be intimidated by a loud voice and crude language. I resent that man’s implying that I came here for any reason except to do the job I was hired for. And from the looks of this . . . pigsty, a housekeeper is sorely needed!”

“Lass, Burr was as unaware of Mack’s plans as you were. It’s natural for him to be resentful.” For a brief moment a small flicker of pain showed in his eyes.

Johanna tried to steel herself against softening, but it wasn’t her nature to stay angry for long.

“Ben, what can I do?” She looked pleadingly at him. “We have almost no money left. And my sister—”

“Red told me about your sister. He thought that perhaps she should stay with him and Rosita.”

A lump of fear came up into her throat. “Do you think that he . . . that Mr. Macklin will be unkind to her?”

“I’m sure he will, if the opportunity presents itself. We must try to keep them apart.”

His use of the word we had a soothing effect on Johanna. She reached across the greasy table and clasped his hand. His fingers were long and slim and his nails trimmed and clean. It struck her how out of place he was in this house, but for now her mind was too crowded with impressions to wonder why he was here; it was enough to know she had a friend.

“She mustn’t know about the . . . other thing, Ben. This reason Mr. Macklin wanted me here. She’s just beginning to accept her condition, and I don’t want her upset.”

“We’ll do all we can to keep her from knowing. I’ll speak to Burr.”

Johanna got up. “I’d better get back upstairs. I came down to get a broom and a pail of water,” she said with a dry smile, “and what I got was a blow, right between the eyes.”

*  *  *

Back in the attic room she set to work with vigor, making as little noise as possible lest she wake Jacy, who was curled up on the bed. She swept down the walls with the broom before sweeping and mopping the floor, using strong lye-soap water. When she finished she was exhausted, but the room was clean and smelled of soap and scrubbed wood.

After giving the room a satisfied glance, she carried the pail of dirty water down the stairs and out the back door. She walked past a small boy leaning against the house, watching her. He lowered his eyes when she looked at him. Appearing to ignore him, she went to the end of the porch and threw the water out into the yard. The boy didn’t move. She started back toward the door, then veered off toward him. Johanna loved children and missed the contact she’d had with them in the classroom. She was particularly curious about this child, eager to know why he so obviously disliked her.

“Hello.”

The boy neither looked up nor answered.

“
Hola,
” she tried.

He continued to look down. His dark brown hair was long and looked freshly washed. She couldn’t see much of his face, for his chin rested on his chest, but he was rather light-skinned and his features were sharp. The bright flannel shirt he wore, obviously new, was much too large for him, and the sleeves were turned up at the cuffs. She reached out a finger and lifted his chin.

“No English? No
español
?” she asked gently.

The boy jerked his head away from her hand and looked up at her. She almost recoiled from the venom that shot from the child’s cold blue eyes. The shock of seeing the vivid blue eyes between thick dark lashes left her speechless. Quickly she concealed her surprise and smiled at him.

“You gave me a fright when you threw the stone at the horses,” she said in Spanish.

“I no want hit horses!” His small face was tight and he looked at her defiantly.

Still smiling, Johanna said, “You didn’t like my hat?”

“I no like you!”

The smile left Johanna’s face. “How do you know you don’t like me? You don’t know me.”

“Old Mack want you be Burr’s woman. He said to Ben when wagon come. Burr don’t want no woman.” The little boy’s lips were trembling and he was trying hard to stare her down and keep the tears from his eyes.

Johanna heard a door open at the far end of the porch.