Authors: Sara Petersen
“Let me see your hands,” he commanded. Jo’s mouth flew open to refuse, but Mac forcefully grabbed her arm and pulled it to him. Her palm was down, but he could see the bloody cloth she’d tied around it. Jo went limp, standing there in silence while he flipped her palm up.
Mac’s jaw clenched tightly at the sight of her soiled cotton bandages and the raw flaps of angry skin peeking out from underneath its edges. He let go of her arm, and it dropped limply to her side. Mac stood casually in front of Jo with his hands resting on his hips. Weary of this battle with her and angry because he could no longer justify his treatment of her, he let out a manly breath and twisted his neck to the side, cracking it to release tension. “Why didn’t you say anything?” his low voice demanded.
Jo looked up at him, her cloudy blue eyes accusing him, but her lips motionless.
She’s right again
.
I would have ridiculed her. She had no reason to think any different of me
. Angry at himself and angry at Jo, he cocked his finger at her, signaling her to follow him. Without looking back to see if she complied, he went in the house and up the stairs. Only when he was standing outside of the water closet, did he turn to see if she’d followed him. Holding the door to the water closet open, he stood aside for Jo to enter.
Thinking this was his way of telling her to clean up, and happy to do so, Jo entered the bathroom. She was stunned when he charged in behind her, shutting the door behind him. The room was small to begin with, but with Mac’s large frame occupying most of the space, Jo felt trapped.
Edging to the far wall, she cried, “What are you doing?”
Apparently, she had moved to exactly where Mac needed to go because he slid past her, awkwardly skimming against the front of her and began rifling through the cupboard. Trying to avoid him, Jo jumped to the other side of the tiny room still waiting for an answer.
Mac placed a bottle of alcohol and some thin cotton bandages on the porcelain sink, along with a small yellow jar. Glancing sideways at Jo, he ordered, “Come here.”
With a slight shake of her head, Jo declined, “I can do it myself.”
Irritated that she wouldn’t just let him help her, he gestured to her hands and mocked, “Yes, you’ve certainly done a fine job so far.”
He is so unfair. What does he expect me to do? Give up? Quit? No doubt, that has been his intention all along
, she ruminated to herself. Jo didn’t want to be crammed in this tiny bathroom with Mac a moment longer. She reached for the doorknob. “I will get Mattie to help me,” she spat.
As she pulled the door open, Mac moved behind her. Reaching to the top of the door, he forced it shut and kept his wide flat hand pressed to it, blocking her escape. “I don’t think so,” he ordered decisively. “That woman has threatened to skin me twice already today.”
Jo felt his solid legs pressed up behind her, skimming along her backside, and swiftly shot away from the door to create some space between them.
Her movement reminded Mac of a hurt animal attempting to flee. Smoothly, he backed away, trying to calm her. “If she sees your hands, I’m a goner for sure,” he said lightly, beseeching.
Jo stared into his eyes, and for the first time since she’d met him, they weren’t filled with hostility. His eyes were an intense icy blue with tiny flashes of light fanning out from the pupil. They reminded Jo of icicles hanging from the house in winter, with white sunlight flowing through them. Tentatively, taking a step forward to the sink, Jo held her palms out to Mac, deciding for the moment to trust him.
Unwrapping the cloth, Mac gingerly peeled it away from her hand. The bandages were stuck to her skin from the hard, dried blood, causing Jo pain as the seal was broken. Once the cloth was off, Mac flipped the cool water on and let it flow over her fiery hands. He wet his own hands with soap and began rubbing the dirt and dried blood from her skin. The sight of his rough hands rubbing hers was acutely intimate, and Jo looked away restlessly. A stubborn patch of blood in the center of her palm refused to wash away, so Mac rubbed slow circles over it until the white skin was clean. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flush creep up Jo’s throat, and he heard her quick intake of breath as he massaged her palm.
When the blood was all cleared, Mac flipped off the faucet and handed a towel to Jo. While she dried her hands, he poured some alcohol from the bottle onto a fresh cloth. He lifted Jo’s hand in his and deftly dabbed it onto the wounds. Glancing at her, he saw tears well up in her eyes, but she fiercely blinked them away.
Seeking to distract her, he asked, “So, what did you do before you came here?” Nodding at her hands, he said, “You obviously weren’t a ranch hand as Leif claimed.”
Deciding to be honest, Jo replied, “I was a schoolteacher.”
Well, that explains why her hands are chewed up
, Mac mused, irritated at Leif for lying to him. Deep down, though, he knew it wouldn’t have mattered if she had worked on a ranch before or not.
The work is harsh; I’m harsh. Some blistering was inevitable, but this
, Mac thought, staring down at her raw palms,
is beyond minor blisters.
The low opinion Jo held of him irked him for some unexplained reason. Obviously, she didn’t think enough of him to tell him about her hands.
What did she think? That I would fire or taunt her, rather than help her?
Mac chilled, the rag momentarily freezing in his hands as it dawned on him that Jo’s assumptions were probably spot-on. Every once in a while, he was shocked by his own severity. Mac resumed his cleaning, dabbing more alcohol on Jo’s hands while debating about what to do with her now. Looking at her angry palms, he could only imagine how much grit it took to move those bales of hay.
“I can’t decide if you are stubborn or stupid,” he issued bluntly. “You’d think a schoolteacher would be smart enough to know when to quit for the day,” he accused.
Jo’s eyes flashed at him. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Mac’s head jerked up from his work. “You had a choice,” he stated flatly, locking eyes with Jo.
Taking a deep breath, her eyes slid away from him
. I suppose he’s right
, she thought to herself.
I could have left; I almost did leave. If Charlie and Leif hadn’t happened along when they did and helped me with the last load, I wouldn’t have done it
.
While Mac was busy rubbing a smelly salve across her blisters, she took time to study him. His black hair was clipped short, the wavy ends brushing against his thick neck. Jo noticed a day’s growth of beard along his tight jaw line. It was dark against the deep tan planes of his face. She noticed a miniscule dent in the middle of his nose…
probably from a break
, Jo surmised. Surely, his temperament got him into a lot of brawls. She briefly studied his lips, but the firm smooth shape of them caused her stomach to flutter, and she quickly moved on to his chin. It jutted out slightly and had a small cleft directly in the middle, identical to Leif’s. Jo found it appealing and boyish on Leif, but on Mac’s stern face it was like an etching on a hard marble headstone. She scanned back to his eyes, where tiny crinkles appeared at the corners. Usually those were from laugh lines, but Jo seriously doubted that was the case with Mac. In the week she had been here, he hadn’t smiled once.
She couldn’t help but wonder about Mac and why he would insist on tending to her hands. Certainly, Mattie was a force to be reckoned with, but she didn’t intimidate Mac. Unquestionably, no one intimidated Mac. Jo considered the idea that he may feel slightly responsible for her condition, and tending her was a way to ease his conscious. Being honest with herself, she admitted that Mac wasn’t the one to blame. Setting aside his injustices, she tried to imagine this from his perspective. This was his home, and when he returned, he found a stranger sharing it, sharing his bathroom even. He had been right too; the work
was
taxing on her. It was so draining that today she had been in tears and nearly quit. Obviously, Mac cared about the ranch and needed capable employees that he could trust with the heavy work load. Was it so wrong of him to be angry that a woman was hired to do the job of a man? He depended on the success of the ranch, and he needed reliable hands to help make it prosper.
Jo pondered all of these things while Mac wrapped the clean bandages around her hands. The salve had quieted the stinging fire from the alcohol, and Jo was grateful to have her hands cleaned and wrapped tightly. Mac quietly put the supplies back in the cupboard before turning to face Jo. Now that the task was finished, the occupants of the room were tense and uncomfortable, waiting for the other to speak first or leave first.
As usual, abhorring the awkwardness, Jo spoke up first, offering a quiet “thank you” to Mac. He said nothing in return, so she turned and opened the door. The tense tight air in the water closet flooded into the hallway as Jo opened the door, anxious to be liberated from the bathroom.
Exhausted physically, mentally, and within, Jo escaped to her room. Before she lay down to sleep, she thoroughly washed the days labor from her body with a cool wet cloth, then stepped into her peach chemise and dropped into her bed.
Chapter Fourteen
The following morning Jo arose at her usual time. Abandoning her plans to quit, she dressed and went to the barn for Shirley’s morning milking. The light gray sky felt thick and wet this morning hinting at the prospect of rain. Entering the barn, Jo lazily traveled to each of the stalls, offering a soft pat and hello to the horses. She stopped longer at Captain’s stall, running her hand along the length of his nose, giving him extra attention. Yesterday, Captain had shared the work load with Jo, pulling the heavy bales of hay up to the loft. Like soldiers in battle, they now had a special bond cemented through the trial of yesterday, and he had earned his position as Jo’s favorite horse.
Moving along to the last stall where Shirley spent her mornings, Jo found nothing but hay. Thinking she must be in the pen behind the barn, Jo went out back to look for her. As her eyes traveled over the pasture, she saw Shirley grazing on the green grass, her udders soft and relaxed. Jo had taken over milking duty on the second day she had arrived. She wondered who had beaten her to the chore this morning. Suddenly worried that she had inadvertently overslept and it was later in the day than she thought, she hurried to the house.
The kitchen was dark and cozy this gray summer morning. On the counter stood two full pails of frothy milk, with a note from Mattie:
Jo,
I was going to speak with you last night, but you were in bed before I got the chance. Kirby and I are driving over to Whitefish early this morning. We won’t be back until dark. I left some ham and biscuits in the icebox. Please, help yourself. I will see you tomorrow morning.
Mattie
Isaiah 40:31
Tenderness filled Jo’s eyes as she brushed her fingertip over the scripture verse Mattie had left for her at the bottom of the page. It was one of Jo’s favorites. Mouthing the words quietly, she said, “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.” Touched by the Lord’s tender mercies and Mattie’s uplifting friendship, she tucked the note safely into her pocket, saving it for another day when she might need reminded that the Lord is over all.
Jo checked the clock in the parlor. She hadn’t overslept. Actually, she had woken up earlier than usual, which accounted for the quietness of the house. Assuming Leif, Mac, and Charlie would wake any minute, Jo decided to have breakfast ready for them. She quickly strained the milk through the cheesecloth, poured it in bottles, and placed it in the icebox to chill. Then pulling the ham out, she began preparing breakfast. Fifteen minutes later, Jo had slices of ham sizzling in the pan, fluffy scrambled eggs cooking on the stove, and biscuits warming in the oven.
Stepping onto the back porch for a cherished moment of morning solitude, she gazed over the mountains, their peaks obscuring in fog. Jo was always surprised at what a good night’s rest could accomplish. Yesterday, she had gone to bed hurt, tired, and hopeless, but those feelings had been swept away in dreamy hours of slumber, replaced this morning with only confused and pensive thoughts. She couldn’t forget the gentle pressure of Mac’s thumb as it repetitively circled her palm. The tenderness with which he had cleaned her wounds puzzled her. It was in stark contrast to his cold and callous animosity toward her. She wondered how he would treat her today. What impossible task would he charge her with? Yesterday’s pain was too freshly healed for Jo to survive another round of attack. Mattie had said that Mac wasn’t always so hard. Maybe, Jo mused, remembering his inexplicable gentleness tending her hands.
Jo leaned her arms across the rail, closing her eyes and letting the morning newness seep into her body. When she opened her eyes, she saw a man walking in the field, emerging from the gap in the tree line that led down to the swimming hole. His large frame and smooth stride identified him as Mac. Jo watched his long steps weaving through the thick green wheat as the sun cleared the horizon. He clasped a wheat head in his hand and broke off the shoot, placing it between his lips.
***
Mac felt eyes on him and looked up to see Jo leaning on the railing, watching him. When she saw him notice her, she quickly straightened and went in the house.
Mac had tossed and turned all night. Finally unable to sleep, he had irritatingly kicked his sheet off and headed out to the barn; if he was up, he might as well start the day. He tried to convince himself that his fitful sleep had nothing to do with Jo, but in truth he knew it had, and it annoyed him. He figured since he was up he might as well milk Shirley. Grabbing the pail and stool, he sat in the quiet barn. After washing her udders, he started the rhythmic chore. His hands were a bit rusty, and Shirley complained, mooing at him and swishing her tail in his face. He hadn’t done the milking since Leif had joined him on the ranch two years ago. Again, he tried to convince himself that he was only doing it now because he was awake and couldn’t sleep, but it didn’t work. The thought of Jo’s raw hands milking the cow was his real motivation, and he knew it
. Why do I care?
he railed at himself. He reflected on his feelings and came to the conclusion that Jo had actually proven to be an attribute on the ranch. He made himself feel better about misjudging her by telling himself that she wasn’t the norm, and if Leif hired fifty other women to do the same jobs, they would have failed. His realization that Jo wasn’t ordinary didn’t make him feel any better. He wanted to be angry with her, to dislike her; it was his tendency to dislike everyone almost immediately. During the night he mentally listed all of the bad qualities he’d seen in her: stubborn, willful, proud. He used the list to summon his dislike for her, but every time he tried, the memory of her blinking away tears as he dabbed alcohol on her blisters surfaced in his mind.
Still perturbed after milking the cow, he sprinted across the field in the dark sky for a morning swim, hoping the cool water would clear his mind. Diving into the deep biting water had helped, but spying Jo from across the field had agitated him once again. I should apologize
. What the hell?
thought Mac, annoyed with himself.
Where did that idea come from?
He quickly banished the thought from his mind, reminding himself that this was his ranch, she was his employee, and if she hadn’t been so stubborn, her hands wouldn’t be chewed up.
Walking into the house, he wasn’t expecting the sight of hot ham, eggs, and biscuits lying out on the table. When he’d asked
Kirby and Mattie to go to Whitefish for him today, she’d made it clear that she was unhappy with his treatment of Jo and with a “humph” had told him that he shouldn’t be counting on breakfast from her. Charlie and Leif were already seated at the table, scooping up scrambled eggs, when Mac slid into his chair. Bringing a pitcher of milk to the table, Jo seated herself and then bowed her head, saying grace before dishing her plate. Leif and Charlie chatted happily, not plagued with the discomfort Mac and Jo were each feeling.
Stabbing a chunk of ham, Charlie said, “The sky is looking gray today. I won’t be surprised if we catch some rain?”
Glancing out the window, Leif agreed with him. “At least we haven’t cut the hay yet. The rain will give the corn a good start though.” They ate quietly through the rest of their breakfast until Jo reached for a biscuit and Leif noticed the cloth tied around her hand. “Did you cut your hand?” he asked, concerned.
Embarrassed, Jo snatched her hand back and involuntarily glanced at Mac. Her cheeks turning pink, she stammered, “Uh no…I…It’s just a bit of blistering. I think my gloves are too loose.”
Leif set his fork on the tablecloth and pushed back in his chair, his eyes leveling Mac. He’d seen Jo glance instantly in Mac’s direction when he’d asked about her hands, implicating him as the culprit. Mac saw the accusatory stare from Leif and shot it right back at him.
As a roll of thunder pealed over the house and rain started to come down in sheets, Jo stood from her chair and began clearing the breakfast dishes, breaking the staring contest between the two brothers.
“Whoa,” Charlie exclaimed, rushing to the window, “it’s pouring out there.”
Mac followed him to the window, tucking his thumbs in his back belt loops, his solid muscles tightening across his back. Craning his head to look out the window, he said, “Well, it looks like we are going to have a change of plans for today. It’d be pretty pointless cutting hay in this weather. Get your slicker on, and we can string that barbed wire along the fence line.”
Charlie raced to the bunkhouse, eager to do as Mac bid. Every day on the ranch was a new adventure for him, something new for him to learn. That was one aspect of teaching that Jo missed, the student’s enthusiasm for life and what each day had in store for them. She was grateful to have Charlie as a reminder.
As Leif left the room, Mac carried the empty pans from the table to the kitchen. Clearing his throat, he said, “Charlie and I will be in the field, and Leif will probably be working on something in the barn.”
Jo waited for Mac to explain what he wanted her to do today, but he said nothing more, and lifting a slicker from the peg went out the back door. It seemed everyone but her had an assignment today. She wasn’t sure if Mac had purposely excluded her from work, or if it was habit during a summer storm for everyone to see about their own tasks. Well, she couldn’t stand there and do nothing, so quickly she cleaned the kitchen, washing and drying all the dishes and putting them away neatly in their places.
Twenty minutes later Jo was dressed in her slicker with rain pouring off the brim of her hat, walking across the pasture to where Mac and Charlie were wrestling with the slick wire. She stood awkwardly in the rain for some time before Mac acknowledged her presence. When he finally did, it was by roughly barking at her to stand back out of the way. Each time she tried to assist, he would force her out of position or specifically ask Charlie to do whatever it was that he needed.
Jo was standing next to the post Mac was stapling, holding the wire lightly and striving to be useful, when the line jerked and snapped, sending the sharp barbed wire curling back. Mac brusquely shoved her out of the way of the coiling wire, causing her to slip on the wet ground and fall backward.
Stepping over the vibrating wire, Mac roughly yanked Jo up off the ground and hollered at her over the storm to go to the barn and see if Leif needed any help. The rain pelted his face and poured off his wide shoulders as he heatedly dismissed her.
Jo turned and ran across the field but not before Mac saw the hurt welling up in her soft blue eyes. He wasn’t trying to be cruel, but if she’d been holding the wire any tighter when the line snapped, her wounds would be far worse than blisters. As much as he hated rainy weather spoiling his work plans, it had turned out to be timely. It allowed time for Jo’s hand to heal without Mac losing face or anyone catching on that he was being soft on her. “If she would just stay in the blasted house, I wouldn’t have to worry over her,” Mac mumbled under his breath, yanking the barbed wire off the ground while irritably shaking his head.
***
Jo entered the barn to find Leif shoeing horses. Propping herself on a bucket, she chatted with Leif and handed him tools for the next thirty minutes. Finally, he said to her, “Jo, on a day like this, we kind of just catch up on things that need doing but never get done. Don’t feel like you have to sit out here and watch me shoe horses if there’s something you’d rather be doing.” Picking up the rasp, he motioned to her hands and said, “Looks like you need to be taking it easy today anyway.”
Jo shrugged her shoulders, tired of her hands being an issue.
Leif looked up at her from the hoof he was filing. “Of course, if you’d rather stay out here and reflect on what a handsome man I am, you’re welcome to.” His eyes glittered cockily.
Jo smiled. “Well… I suppose there are a few things I would like to do, if I can somehow manage to peel my eyes off of you and go inside,” she drawled, tossing at him the bit of hay she’d been fiddling with and patting the horse as she walked by. Leif dodged her hay, chuckling lowly.
Jo spent the rest of the day inside, tidying the house for Mattie and writing letters to friends. She had enjoyed her time in the kitchen this morning and decided that since Mattie wasn’t there, she might as well continue feeding the men. By the time Mac and Charlie came splashing through the door in the afternoon, she had a delicious stew bubbling on the stove and fresh buttery rolls cooling on the counter.
“Jo, this is heaven. Why didn’t you tell me you could cook? I would have hired you on the spot. I was nearly starving from Kirby’s cooking at that point,” Leif teased, tearing a piece of roll and mopping up the thick gravy from his plate.
Well-fed and energized, the men once again barreled out into the rain, leaving Jo domestically happy in the house. She cleaned the parlor, scoured the upstairs water closet, washed and hung her laundry, and set a second batch of yeasty dough rising on the counter to form into cinnamon rolls. She had missed this. Cooking and baking was one of the womanly pursuits Jo enjoyed; luckily, it also happened to be one she excelled at. At home she was always making treats. With three ravenous older brothers and her father’s insatiable sweet tooth, Jo’s baking skills had been highly appreciated.
Later that night, cold, drenched, and fatigued from battling barbed wire and the elements all day, Mac came stomping into the house. The smell of sweet yeasty bread and lemony clean furniture polish greeted him. When Jo came into the kitchen a few minutes behind him, she warmed at the sight of Leif, Charlie, and Mac gathered around the stove, devouring cinnamon rolls in their stocking feet. Licking gooey sugar from their fingers, they looked guiltily at her.