Authors: Sara Petersen
Not long after Mattie and Jo’s conversation, the men clambered into the kitchen anxious for supper following a demanding day. Jo felt a twinge of guilt, seeing their sweat-drenched shirts and red faces from working in the field. She hoped they didn’t resent her shaded day spent in the barn and kitchen.
As the group sat down to eat, Jo’s gaze drifted to Mac. She felt ashamed of herself for jumping to conclusions about him and judging him to be immoral. It was a puzzle to her why he’d let her go on believing the worst of him. Jo studied every interaction Mac had with Sam at dinner. She no longer saw them in the light of parental duty, but impressive demonstrations of care. Some people who adopted children thought of themselves merely as a financial support, a shelter for the child and food in their stomachs, seldom feeling any genuine affection for the child. Mac was the opposite. He cared for Sam as a true father, providing love and guidance, as well as meeting his physical needs. The observation raised her opinion of him highly.
Mac cleared his throat as Sam rudely reached across the table for another roll.
Reminded of his manners, he placed his hands back in his lap, asking politely, “May I please have another roll, Mattie?” Mattie passed him the basket of rolls, but before taking one, he looked at Mac. Mac nodded positively at Sam, and his little chest puffed out two times its size.
Jo watched the interaction, noticing how Mac’s small gesture of approval resulted in extreme happiness for Sam.
***
Mac pushed his food lazily around his plate, not interested in eating and even less interested in speaking. The tranquil hours he’d spent conversing with Jo this afternoon had been effortless enough, but his sociability was a muscle, and having been idle so long, was now sore due to its infrequent use. He was anxious to seek solitude in the evening air.
All through dinner, he felt Jo’s intense eyes studying him, their blue lucidity seeking to penetrate like rushing water grinding through unyielding stone. Her gaze was unnerving, and he started to feel increasingly agitated as if being stalked through the crosshairs of a sniper rifle.
Spending so much time with her today cleaning out the barn was obviously a mistake
, he reflected testily to himself. Finally fed up with her gawking, Mac dropped his fork loudly onto his plate and shoved his chair back from the table. He stared hard at Jo, glowering to emphasize his dislike for her scrutiny.
Instead of blushing and shifting her eyes away like usual, Jo softened, her gaze turning warm and approving, something he hadn’t seen from her before. Anger, censure, wariness, even kindness he’d experienced, but this openness, this approval, beckoned him. He liked that look in her eyes. He wanted her to think highly of him. However, this realization upset Mac. It meant that some part of him was beginning to care for her, to care for something. Alarmed by his own weakness, Mac narrowed his eyes, fixing Jo with an icy stare that clearly said, “Back off.”
Unflinchingly, Jo gazed back at him with tender eyes and smiled softly.
Mac’s defensive wall tore away and crumbled, the separation inside him causing actual physical pain in his chest. Like a parasite forced to detach, the wall left violently, screaming, fighting, and clawing for its life source. Panicked without its familiar buffer, Mac jumped up from the table and slammed out the back door and into the dusky night.
All heads turned to follow him and cringed as the flimsy screen door banged loudly against the frame and vibrated on its hinges. Affronted by Mac’s rudeness, Kirby scowled at the door and shouted, “Criminy! That boy’s cracked!” He swung back around, seemingly addressing the group but raising his bushy gray eyebrows shrewdly at Jo. “What is puttin’ diggers in his hide?” he questioned suspiciously.
Jo smiled pleasantly at Kirby, saying nothing. For the first time in weeks, she was feeling completely at ease. She had a pretty good idea about what had caused Mac to jump out of his chair and flee the room. He was scared. She had read his thoughts like a book. First, annoyed with her staring, he’d tried to intimidate her with his irritated scowl. On any other occasion it would have worked, but Jo was feeling particularly daring tonight, and so instead of dropping her eyes, she’d smiled at him. Her warm display had shocked Mac to the core. She’d seen it in his eyes. The moment he’d realized his intimidation didn’t work and that Jo genuinely cared for him, he'd fled. It was a pattern of his that Jo was beginning to catch on to. Each time they shared a smile, a laugh, or a pleasant exchange, he would distance himself for a few days and become guarded.
She ached for Mac, person to person, soul to soul. He was clearly hurting from something in his past. One moment, he was friendly and amiable, the next angry and short-tempered, and still, the next, aloof. He was fighting who he really was, burying his pleasanter self under a stony façade.
But why?
Jo wondered inwardly.
When Will and Jo were courting, he took her to a traveling magic show that had stopped in town. She was awed and intrigued, sitting in the audience watching automobiles disappear before her eyes and beautiful women float through the air like ghosts. After the show, Will took her hand and, furtively avoiding guards, snuck her onto one of the magician’s boxcars. Mystifying treasures used in the show were in reality just dusty lights, props, and mirrors.
Today while they were cleaning out the barn, it was like she’d snuck into Mac’s boxcar and viewed the pieces he was trying to hide. He was caring, and witty, and playful. Like the magician’s show, once she’d seen the props, she could never believe the illusions again. Mac wanted people to think he was callous, but today in the barn he’d listened to her for almost two hours, attentive and thoughtful the entire time. Mac was the opposite of everything she’d pegged him as. He wasn’t immoral, wasn’t without convictions. He was lovingly and selflessly raising a child that was not his own. Jo felt liberated. She’d figured him out. Mac was a master illusionist; his premiere act was appearing cold, cynical, and harsh. In truth, he was simply a wounded person.
Anxious to retreat to her room to sort through her discoveries privately, Jo stood and began clearing the table. Reaching for the biscuits and jam, Leif stopped her, “I’m actually wanting more of those, Jo.”
She placed them back on the table. “Oh I’m sorry, Leif.” Stacking her plate on top of Mac’s uneaten dinner and Sam’s half-eaten dinner, she went to the kitchen and scraped them into the chicken scraps bowl. Returning to the table, she grabbed the pot of gravy, planning to clear it away.
As she did so, Kirby’s leathery hand shot out, guarding the pot. He muttered a warning, “Jo, I’ve never gotten into a scrap with a skirt before, but if you clear that pot, you just might be the first.” Contritely, Jo pulled her hand away from the pot.
“Jo,” Mattie said, coming to her rescue and placing her hands on her shoulders, “You don’t need to clean up. I can handle it myself tonight. Why don’t you go steal a smidge of time for yourself?”
Jo smiled appreciatively at Mattie, anxious to retreat upstairs to the privacy of her cozy bedroom and delve deeper into the day’s insights. Wishing everyone a goodnight and smooching Sam on the cheek, she went to her room.
The night had yet to cool off, and her bedroom upstairs was stifling. Pacing to the window, she threw the gauzy curtains aside and pulled it open. Thankfully there was a strong breeze, and Jo thrust her head out of the window, letting its force cool her cheeks. So far, the summer had been hot but tolerable. Today, though, the ardor of summer blanketed its oppressive heat over the land, the air, and all things living. Jo hated sleeping when it was hot. She began preparing herself for a miserable night. Leaning out the window, she gazed across the field to the path that led to the swimming hole. What she wouldn’t give to submerge her cooked skin in its icy reserves! Not brave enough to seek out the refreshing hole in the dark of night, she wilted from the window, looking for other ways to find relief. Her eyes fell on the enamel pitcher and basin. Scooping it up, she hurried to the water closet, returning to her room swiftly with both containers full of cold water.
Stripping the work-worn clothes from her back, she dipped the washcloth and began sponging herself with its refreshing coolness. That and the breeze relieved her somewhat. Opening the top drawer of her bureau, Jo found a thin silky slip and pulled it over her head. Still stifled by the prickly heat, she abruptly dunked her caramel head into the basin of water. Using her hands, she cupped the water, pouring it over her neck. As Jo stood up, her dripping hair smacked down the middle of her back, wetting her slip but feeling so wonderful. Tiny droplets dribbled down her neck and chest, soaked up by the flimsy undergarment. Deftly pinning her tangled wet hair high on top of her head, Jo finally felt comfortable enough to settle in for the night.
As she pulled the covers back to slide into the bed, she noticed her pillow for the first time since entering the room. Lying on top of it was a brand new pair of leather gloves. The quality was much nicer than the ones she currently owned. She slid the glove onto her hand. The leather was soft yet strong, and the fit was perfect, neither small and tight, nor large and loose. She had no doubt that these gloves were intended for her, and she knew intuitively who was responsible for the thoughtful gift. Mac and Kirby were the only two people who had ventured into town today, and Kirby would have just given them to her. Mac must have slipped up here and laid them on her pillow before coming out to the barn. The thought of his presence in the sanctuary of her room caused alarming feelings within Jo. She pictured his tall frame crossing the floorboards of her room, to stand at the edge of her bed. That he had placed the gloves on her pillow, instead of her bureau or chair, seemed significant to her, although she couldn’t describe how or why. Pulling the second glove onto her hands, Jo balled her fists, flexing and testing the fit.
Like a glove
, she thought wittily to herself.
Taking them off and placing them on the bureau, she contemplated Mac and his gift. She wanted to thank him for them, but knew that he’d probably placed them here in the room to specifically avoid an awkward thank you scene. She couldn’t simply let the gesture go unrecognized.
With a full heart Jo climbed into bed, wondering why Mac hadn’t corrected her horrid assumptions that he had fathered Sam out of wedlock and why he hadn’t told her from the start that he had adopted him. Even more perplexing to Jo was why he had pushed her up against the fence, propositioning her that day and why this morning he’d boldly teased her, putting his hand along her throat and staring hotly into her eyes. It was as if he wanted her to believe he was a dallier.
Why would he want that? And why was he so friendly this afternoon in the barn, taking an interest in my life, and even teasing and laughing with me, but then tonight at dinner, he was once again hard and mean? And if he is so heartless, why would he surprise me with the gloves?
The questions flowed round and round in Jo’s mind, and she fell asleep without any suitable answers.
Chapter Nineteen
Over the next two days, Mac kept his distance from Jo; whether purposely or not, Jo couldn’t tell. The crops were ripening in the fields, and there was rarely a moment of rest on the ranch. Between the hours of dawn and dusk, everyone had their duties, and it required the effort of each individual working as a cog in a wheel to keep the ranch ticking.
Today Jo was in the high pasture with Leif, clearing a massive pine tree that had fallen during the night. Its trunk had squashed the fence and popped the barbed wire from the posts on either side of it. Her new gloves were proving to be a timely gift, their thick leather preventing her from cutting her hands on the spurs as she untangled the mess of wire. She had wanted to openly thank Mac for the gloves, but he’d seemed distant, and she sensed that he didn’t want her to acknowledge his thoughtfulness. So instead of saying “thank you,” Jo thought of another plan. After everyone had retired to bed last night, she snuck down to the kitchen and baked a batch of sugar cookies. Once they cooled, she wrapped them in wax paper and lined them in a tin her mother had sent from home. Tiptoeing around the kitchen, she thoroughly cleaned up her mess, making sure to leave no trace of her activities behind, and carried the tin of delectable cookies to her room. They were now sitting on Jo’s dresser, waiting for an opportune time to be delivered.
On the schedule for tomorrow was driving a small group of cattle to the railhead and riding home again. Jo was looking forward to the drive, hoping to expand her knowledge of ranching and practice her recently acquired riding skills. She was also secretly hoping that the drive would provide an opportunity to speak with Mac and acknowledge that she’d misjudged him, as well as find an answer to the plaguing question of why he hadn’t corrected her misunderstanding on the spot.
***
While Leif and Jo were busy fixing the fence today, Mac, Kirby, and Charlie moved the cows closest to the ranch to the upper pasture. Moving the cows around so they wouldn’t overgraze an area was a full-time job, and it was late into the evening when Mac, Kirby, and Charlie rode back into the yard. The three of them dismounted their horses in the barn and led them into their respective stalls.
“Charlie,” Mac called from two stalls down as he shoveled a pitchfork of fresh hay into General’s trough. “It’s late. I’ll brush the horses down and feed them. Head on up to the house and see what you missed for supper.” Charlie ran the brush over Sergeant for a few more minutes until Mac barked, “Git goin'. We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and morning’s already on its way. We’ll be leaving to meet the train long before daylight.”
Charlie opened the door, softly nudging the horse back as it tried to slip its way out of the stall. Hanging the brush up on a nail, he kidded Mac, “It’s risky…letting me eat first. There might not be any left when you get inside.”
Mac pointed his pitchfork at him threateningly. “There better be.” Charlie laughed as he galloped out of the barn, hungrier than he’d ever been in his life.
Mac took his time brushing down the horses. He hadn’t planned on spending so much time on the range today, but he’d come across two heifers that were calving late this season, and he figured it would be easier to bring them home to the ranch rather than waste time riding out daily to check on them. As Mac filled Captain’s watering trough, he wondered how Jo and Leif did on the fence today. The last few days he’d been left with no choice but to regretfully pair the two of them together. Each night at supper, he’d watched for signs that the long hours working side by side had lit a spark between them. Leif still annoyed him, flirting with Jo all the time, but she held her own, and Mac enjoyed watching her give Leif a set down.
Last night when they were all gathered in the living room after dinner, Leif had baldly asked Jo, “Which of us Hawkins men is the best looking?” Jo was leaning back against the couch with her knees tucked up, contentedly reading a book when Leif bothered her with his question. With a sigh, she thumped the book closed and looked at Leif in irritation. His eyes flicked with laughter as if he’d led her into a trap. Mac continued browsing the paper, but inwardly he was awaiting Jo’s response.
“Let’s see,” Jo mused while studying Leif. After several seconds, Mac felt Jo’s gaze shift to him. He dropped the paper and met her eyes, watching them travel up to his hair, back down to his eyes, along his jaw, over his lips to his chin, and then slowly rise to his eyes again. Holding his paper steadily, he watched her expressive face. That same approving, appreciative look from the other night gleamed back at him.
Damn, she is appealing, staring at me like that with her wide innocent eyes
. Mac flipped his paper back up, grouchily foreseeing another dunk in the icy river headed his way.
“Well,” proclaimed Jo, “I’ve made my decision.” The paper was still in front of Mac’s face, but unable to concentrate, he hadn’t read a word of it.
“I hate to play favorites, but there is one of you I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of. So I guess, I have to say that out of all the Hawkins men,” Jo paused for effect.
“Come on, Jo, just say it’s me and get it over with,” Leif interrupted cockily.
Ignoring him, she went on, “I’d say Sam is the handsomest!” Jo reached out and grabbed Sam’s leg, pulling him across the floor with the wiggly limb and tickling him. Sam laughed, squirmed and rolled around on the floor, begging her to stop and demanding her to keep at it, in the same breath. Mac had dropped his paper when Jo pronounced Sam as the winner, and watched them. Sam was trying to tickle Jo in return, squeezing his hand under her chin. She played along, laughing and trying effortlessly to get away, delighting Sam. Mac had appreciated Jo’s response. It pleased him an inordinate amount that, to his knowledge, Jo had never returned Leif’s flirting.
Mac finished caring for the horses and eagerly strode across the yard and into the quiet house. He sat down on the chair next to the back door and pulled his boots off, then walked quietly down the hall to the living room, wondering if anyone was still awake. The lamp spread its soft glow over an empty room.
Charlie and Kirby must have wolfed down their supper and jumped straight into bed,
Mac reflected. He returned to the kitchen and pulled the plate Mattie had fixed for him out of the icebox. Not even bothering to heat it up, he sat down at the counter and shoveled cold potatoes onto his spoon.
***
Jo was lying awake in her room with the window open when she’d heard Kirby, Charlie, and Mac ride into the yard. The rest of them had eaten dinner hours ago and spent the evening visiting on the porch like usual. Jo had taken Sam for a walk down the lane and played with him all evening, trying to distract him from missing his father. After their walk he had curled up on Jo’s lap in the rocking chair, and despite his best efforts to wait up so he could tell Mac “goodnight,” he’d drifted off to sleep. Jo was unaware that Sam’s eyes had closed for the night until Leif whispered to her, “The nipper’s out.” Standing and stretching, Leif added, “I think I need to hit the hay too. Here, I’ll carry the little rascal up to bed.”
“There’s no point in shifting him around. If you just hold the door for me, I can take him up,” she said. So carefully she followed Leif up the stairs and down the hall to Mac’s room, where Sam slept. Leif pushed the door open wide for Jo to walk through and went to the bed to flip the covers down. Tenderly, Jo set Sam onto the bed. He stirred a little and whimpered, so Jo knelt next to the bed and brushed his blonde hair softly, rubbing the skin between his eyes lightly to settle him.
Seeing that Jo had things under control, Leif tiptoed out of the room. As Jo knelt on the cool wood floor, soothing Sam, she looked around the room. Like every other piece of furniture in the house, Mac’s bed was huge. The posts were thick pine logs that extended high toward the ceiling. Smaller logs were notched and set between the posts creating a canopy. The bed must have been built in the room because there couldn’t have been any other means of getting it through the door frame. Looking around, Jo had realized that the beautiful log bureau must have come to life in the room as well. It was nearly as large as the bed. When Sam was breathing heavily signifying that he was fast asleep, Jo quietly stood to her feet and, leaning down, kissed his sweet brow, her heart giving a little squeeze.
Once out of the room, she hustled down the hall to her own room and retrieved the tin of cookies she’d made Mac late last night. Crossing the threshold of his doorway once more, she came to the side of his bed. A knot formed in her stomach as she pictured him sleeping there. As she placed the cookie tin directly on top of his crisp white pillow, Mac’s icy words filtered into her mind, “You’re trespassing.” A wave of trepidation struck Jo.
Will he find it offensive that I have entered his private space? Will he think it incredibly invasive? Is it incredibly invasive?
She asked herself these questions and was only able to leave the cookies there by reminding herself that he had done the very same thing in her room. Decision made, she whispered another soft “goodnight” to Sam and slipped silently out the door, back to her own room.
***
Mac finished his supper quickly, the cold fare not worth dragging out. Heading up the stairs to bed, he regretted not being home early enough to spend time with Sam. Mac glanced down the hall past his room to Jo’s door. It was shut tightly for the night.
Before he’d left this morning, he stopped by the upper pasture to take a look at the downed tree and noticed she was wearing the new gloves. They had been an impulse purchase when he was in town the other day. The General Store had been busy with customers that day, and while he was waiting he browsed around. When his eyes fell upon the gloves, he immediately thought of Jo and before he could change his mind, purchased them. On the way home, he had begun to regret the impulsive buy. She needed the gloves, and he wanted her to have them, but he didn’t necessarily want her to know they were from him. So instead of just giving them to her, he had placed them on her pillow, hoping that she’d think either Leif or Kirby was the responsible party. Before retreating from her room, he caught sight of the photographs standing on top of the dresser. He picked up the one of Jo with her family and studied it. She was the shorter bookend in the line of siblings, but the handsomest in his opinion. Her sister was tall and willowy, with light hair that was cropped short. She was pretty in her own right, but she looked like a replica of a thousand other girls, all powdered and poised. He swung his eyes to Jo’s face in the picture. Jo’s beauty was as natural as creation, fresh and unaffected, not the kind that heeded time and trend, or came and went with the whims and rages of the world. Her wavy long hair and startling eyes were emblems of beauty long before short hair and kohl became agreeable. Mac got caught momentarily on her eyes. He’d never seen anything like them. They pierced through the lens right into his soul, as if he were looking directly at her and not just holding a photograph in his hand. He'd ran his thumb over her in the picture. Then discomfited, he'd placed the photo back on the dresser amongst a stack of letters and feminine trinkets and had straight away left the room.
Peeling his attention away from Jo’s closed door, Mac softly turned the doorknob to his own bedroom and entered. Instead of pulling on the electric light, he crossed to his bedside table and lit the lantern. Its dim light spread through the room and fell across Sam’s dreamy face. Mac quickly undressed and prepared for bed. As he tugged the covers back on his side of the mattress, his eyes fell upon the tin. He picked it up with his large hands and pulled the lid off. A dozen delicious cookies with cinnamon sugar sprinkled on their tops filled the tin. Realizing that Jo had placed the cookies on his pillow for him to find, just as he had placed the gloves on hers, melted him. A soft smile spread over his rigid face, unearthing lines and creases that had been buried long ago.
***
Before sleep had a chance to fully recharge him, Mac awoke and slipped quietly from the bed where Sam lay snuggled in the sheets. Crossing to the dresser in the pitch black, he used memory muscles to locate his clothing. Once his arms were loaded with a pair of pants, a shirt, and socks, he walked to the door, twisting the knob slowly and prying it open, cautious of the squeaky hinges. Still rubbing sleep from his eyes, Mac padded bare-chested down the hall to the water closet. The house was shrouded in darkness, without even a glimmer of the sun’s morning rays dawning yet. “Ahhh!” Jo’s feminine voice cried as she collided with Mac’s dark outline.
The force of their collision sent Mac’s clothes thumping to the floor as he swung his hands up in front of him to find Jo’s person in the darkness. His hands wrapped around the bare skin of her arms as he steadied her and regained his bearings. Hissing lowly, he called her name. “Jo?”
In the brief flash of contact, Jo had become aware of two things: Mac was in the hallway with her, and both of them were indecent. During their collision her cheek had rubbed across the smooth skin of his chest, and she could still feel its warmth on her face. She had just been coming back from the water closet, with only her thread-worn robe wrapped around her, when she ploughed into him. “Mac?” she whispered back to him.
His name echoed in the dark silence of the hallway as he still held her in his arms. “
I need to get a light, hold on,” he ordered.
There was no way Jo was going to wait around for him to get a light, so immediately upon releasing her, she started toward her room, thumping directly into his back again as she did so.