Authors: Sara Petersen
“I answered your questions. Answer one of mine?” he asked, grabbing her arm and stopping in the grass. Rubbing his hand along his jaw, he demanded coldly, “Why does it matter to you? I’m just your boss. You just work on my ranch.”
Jo didn’t understand his question. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.
Standing directly in front of her, he stared into her intently. “If Sam was legitimate or born on the wrong side of the sheets? Why did it matter to you?”
Jo pulled her arm free and continued walking. “I care about Sam, and I’m a schoolteacher. It’s painful and difficult for children who don’t have both a father and mother in their home.” She tossed the answer back to him.
Mac strode in front of her, cutting her off. “So, you’re just a concerned schoolmarm?” he probed cynically.
“That and it’s immoral,” she declared.
Mac cocked his head to the side, his ear trained to detect deception.
A war raged inside Jo. She wanted to tell him why it mattered, wanted to trust him with her feelings with past pains, but she was afraid, terrified of his cutting words. Yes, it was detrimental to Sam. Yes, it was morally wrong, but Jo knew the other reason it had mattered so much to her.
Standing there fretting over what to say, Jo was filled with an emergent warmth, flowing into her agitated heart with its calming and assuring balm. The fear that swarmed her, the shackles that restrained her, fell away. She had a choice, and it was hers alone to make. Mac had been cold and cruel, but was it another illusion? Once, she’d accidentally run over Rooster’s paw with a wheelbarrow full of heavy stones, breaking the dog’s front foot. Before long, the paw had healed, and Rooster was romping around the farm, chasing squirrels and rabbits and getting into mischief like he’d never been injured. Years after, though, if Jo even looked at his paw or tried to touch it, he would growl at her. She knew Mac’s words were truthful, but intuitively Jo sensed they were also a weapon he wielded to protect himself. She’d prayed for help to understand Mac and to befriend him, so setting aside her fears, she trusted the inner compass compelling her to be open and honest.
Staring undaunted into Mac’s arctic gaze, she whispered shakily, “I cared about someone before, and he hurt me. I thought I knew who he was, but it turned out, he was a lesser man than I imagined. That’s why I left home.” Taking a deep breath, she continued softly, “My sister, Krissy, and he are set to marry this summer. I couldn’t stay to watch.” Jo’s eyes filled with tears. “I was a fool. I was blinded to who he really was because I was attracted to him and because he showered attention on me, said he loved me. It was an act though, and I bought it.”
Mac listened intently to her, his stomach twisting guiltily with each revelation.
Jo’s eyes melted up at him. “I vowed I’d never be so stupid again, so easily duped. His betrayal has left me bitter, suspicious of men…and mistrustful of their intentions. With an illegitimate son…I pegged you for the same type of man, lacking in character…practiced in manipulation.” Jo paused for a moment, then she released a heavy cleansing breath and said sincerely, “I really am so sorry that I misjudged you. I probably shouldn’t have pried into your life tonight and your reasons for, well for…trifling with me. There was no way for you to know that your pretenses were a painful re-enactment.”
Mac stared wide-eyed at Jo, shocked by what she’d just shared with him.
Jo stared back at him with open, tender eyes, pressing her lips together anxiously before making up her mind to tell him the rest. Stepping up to him and summoning her courage, she whispered, “What type of man you are mattered to me because of
this
.” Jo lifted Mac’s rough hand in hers and tenderly laid it across her arched neck, placing his fingers directly over her pulse precisely as he had done days before. Her pulse beat swiftly against the pads of his fingers while she stared vulnerably up at him and candidly laid her insecurities in his palm, to crush or cradle. “You said it yourself; my pulse gives me away.” She shrugged her shoulders lightly, almost as if she was apologizing for the truth she had disclosed. Carefully, she pulled his hand away from her throat, turned her back on him, and walked toward the campfire, leaving Mac rooted to the earth.
He was stunned by her admission and entranced by her honest, unveiled emotions and the feel of her soft hand supporting his. In the war they had a nickname for soldiers who exposed themselves to enemy fire without any regard for their well-being. They called them Practice Pigeons. It was common during the war for the French to use pigeons as carriers to transport messages from the battlefront to headquarters. The pigeons were rarely shot down due to their small size and speed. Fighting closely alongside the French in the Battle of the Matz, Mac had watched as a French officer released a homing pigeon. As it spread its wings and flew out over the battlefield, carrying its important missive, a dark shadow cut through the smoke-riddled sky. It was a falcon released by German forces, and with target in sight it had screeched through the air, ripping into the pigeon with its mighty talons. Mac would never forget the pigeons slow-spinning decent to the earth, its wings torn from its body. Jo was like that homing pigeon, beautiful and brave, flying undaunted over the combat zone. Stricken, Mac stared at her departing figure awash in the orange glow of campfire light.
“And I’m the falcon?” he muttered to himself.
***
The crash of railcars and squeal of train brakes awoke Jo the next morning. She had slept surprisingly well, tucked safely in between Kirby and Charlie all through the night. Jo was expecting to feel embarrassed or regretful over the forwardness she’d displayed last night to Mac, but she didn’t. When things went sour with Will, she had buried it all inside, barely acknowledging her true feelings to herself, let alone to anyone else. The effort it had taken to deny the heartache she was feeling and pretend nothing was amiss had exhausted her. In contrast to that experience, this morning she was well rested and hopeful. Honesty, with herself and Mac, had allowed for peace of mind. Instead of feeling ashamed and guarded, she felt relieved. No more secrets hid in the shadows, waiting to lurch out at any moment. She’d admitted to caring about him, and not even a speck of her regretted it. Momentarily, Jo had trifled with cynicism, but at heart, she was a believer in the sovereignty of love and its capacity to heal.
This morning, lying on her back, the dawn of a new day refreshing her, she decided that whatever pain may come, she would be a courier of God’s love, patient and full of compassion. Rising from her blankets, she stretched her arms over her head and shook off the remaining embers of sleep.
Leif was kneeling on the ground across the fire pit, gathering up his bedroll, when he noticed she was awake. Last night, he had spied Mac and Jo in the field and was curious about the peculiar exchange between them. It was like watching a silent picture show in silhouettes, and when Jo had finally returned to camp, she was quiet and went straight to sleep.
“Good morning,” Leif said to her.
She smiled brightly at him. “It is a good morning,” Jo beamed back happily. Her cheerful attitude quickly repelled any concerns Leif entertained regarding her and Mac’s encounter in the field. She seemed cheerier than usual.
“Sleeping outdoors seems to agree with you,” he remarked lightheartedly.
Jo twisted side to side, loosening up her stiff body. “Well, I don’t know about that. I can’t wait to climb into my clean bed tonight.”
“Me too,” Leif teased naughtily, wagging his eyes at her.
Jo walked over to where Leif was squatted on the ground, rolling his blankets up. She gave him a friendly shove, knocking him off balance and onto his knees. “It’s way too early in the morning to start that,” she said, rolling her eyes. Leif just laughed, dusted himself off, and finished his chore. “Where’s Mac this morning?” Jo asked curiously, looking around and seeing no sign of him.
“He’s making arrangements with the railroad for loading the cattle. I got the impression he was wanting to get them loaded and get on our way home.”
“Good,” Jo exclaimed, “I’m anxious to get back too.”
An hour later, the cattle had begun their journey to some easterner’s dinner plate, and Jo and the men were trotting speedily along on their horses, making good time back to the ranch. Mac and Jo hadn’t spoken yet this morning, choosing to let the previous night’s disclosures dissipate as rain from a violent thundershower slows and calms, leaving only a misty dampness indicating its occurrence.
After Jo had left him to return to the campfire, Mac had walked in slow circles for hours, hushing the cattle with his deep baritone hum and thinking heavily about Jo and her revelations. Mac was still unsure of his response, but several things had unraveled in his mind during the long hours of thought. First, if he ever had the pleasure of meeting the man responsible for the haunted look in her eyes, his greeting would be a solid punch to the face, followed by another to the stomach and another to the face and so on. He had been right when he detected a discordant tone in her voice related to her sister. It was doubtful that he would ever know how it was that Jo’s sister came to be engaged to her former flame, but he’d seen the aching reality of it in her eyes. Hearing from her own lips that she’d once cared for a man didn’t sit well with him either. It had grated and gnawed on him all night long. He wondered if she still cared for the man, and if so, to what degree.
Secondly, he was still shocked by Jo’s open admission that she felt drawn to him, and he wondered if it was purely physical or if the tenderness in her eyes had been evidence of a deeper emotion. Since their first meeting, Mac had been physically aware of Jo, but he’d attributed it to consequences of reclusive ranch living. Undeniably though, last night he had felt more than physical pull. He’d experienced a longing for her, her person, who she was. The heavy question on his mind today was
what am I going to do about it
? Having hurt her once, he had no desire to do it again, and the reality was…Jo was right to be wary of him. He wanted her, and it wouldn’t have been long before he would have acted on the impulse. He’d arrogantly accused her of having feelings for him before, but now that she had actually confirmed it, the challenge to stay away from her would be even more difficult. He hadn’t spoken to Jo yet today, but he had observed her from a distance and noticed that she seemed to have no embarrassment over last night’s conversation, and also, thankfully, was even less interested in rehashing it than he was.
Without the cattle to slow them down, it was early afternoon when they returned from the drive. As usual, when Sam saw them ride in, he came shooting out of the house and into the yard. Mac was glad to see him. In the last week he’d barely had time to even lay eyes on Sam, let alone spend time with him. The town was planning a celebration in a couple weeks to mark its thirty-year anniversary, and thinking on it now, Mac decided to take Sam.
It will be an opportunity to spend some time with him, as well as create a diversion for everyone on the ranch, myself included
, he thought as he watched Jo athletically swing down from her horse.
“Hi Sam!” she greeted, as Sam ran to her and threw his arms around her legs in a tight hug. She smoothed his buttery hair and smiled down into his face.
The warm greeting Sam gave Jo concerned Mac, fearing Sam, like himself, was growing too attached to her.
“What have you been doing while we were gone?” Jo asked him.
“I’ve been helping Mattie, and I’ve been checking on the cows, like Pa does.” Mention of his Pa reminded Sam that he was also home, and he scared up a stream of dust as he took off in his father’s direction. “Pa,” he shouted, as he leapt into Mac’s arms.
Mac took off his hat and placed it on top of Sam’s head, saying, “I sure missed you. I could’ve used a tough ole cowboy like you on the trail.”
Jo watched for a minute then retired to the house, leaving Mac and Sam to their warm homecoming. She was grateful to be home. It had been less than a full day since they’d ridden from the yard, but with all that had passed between Mac and her, it felt like ages. Jo spent the rest of the afternoon working in the field with Charlie, while Mac and Leif were busy repairing an old thresher that had been brought over from the neighbors while they were away. They may have all been tired from their drive, but work on the ranch never lulled. There were always jobs to be done and not near enough hands to do them.
Later that evening, after enjoying a delicious steak dinner prepared by Mattie, Jo rambled through the garden, checking on her plants and pulling weeds at random. Due to the long list of chores waiting for their return home, Mac and Jo still hadn’t spoken, each going their separate ways to complete their tasks. The pea plants were growing larger and had started to droop across the dirt, to Jo’s disliking. She hated picking vegetables or fruits that were lying on the ground. Few things sickened her more than the inadvertent touching of moldy, mushy vegetables. Tomorrow she would ask Mac if there was any scrap wood and hopefully find time to build a trellis or two.
Climbing into her bed that night was as heavenly as she had imagined it to be.
Chapter Twenty-One
The summer was flying by in a golden haze of contentment for Jo. Her love for the ranch and the pe
ople occupying it was growing tall like the heritage peas climbing over the garden trellises, and like the healthy plants, Jo’s presence on the ranch provided sustenance to those around her.
A week before, they had taken the cows to market, and in the time since, Jo had spent sunny days working in camaraderie with Charlie, whom she’d grown to love. As for Charlie, he worshipped the ground Jo walked on. He had never been so free to speak his mind nor had he experienced before the sensation that his opinions were of value. While working on the ranch, obstacles always arose, and when they did, Jo would look at Charlie and ask him what he thought or how they should work the situation. The confidence she placed in him bolstered his confidence in himself. Today he was going to town with Leif to get a part for the thresher and spend the night at home with his father, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. At the ranch he was a man, and at home he was a boy. The demotion rubbed him raw, and he found it harder and harder to contain the brittle resentment that was building toward his father.
Charlie and Jo were just returning from the upper pasture when they saw a black car rolling up the dusty road in front of the ranch house. Leif and Kirby strolled out of the barn to meet them.
“How did the left flank on that cow look? Was there any pus or coloring that looked off?” Kirby questioned them. Jo and Charlie had ridden up to the pasture to check on a cow that had been caught in the barbed wire two nights ago and chewed its leg up pretty badly.
Jo looked at Charlie to answer Kirby’s question. “Yeah, there’s some infection causing problems. The cow is walking all right, but the wound looks a smidge worse than yesterday,” Charlie answered.
While the three of them discussed it further, Jo was distracted by Mac, who had pulled off his shirt and was splashing cool water from the hand pump onto his shoulders. His broad back was tan and beaded with sweat and grime from the last hour he’d spent welding the cattle gate. The muscles in his right arm flexed tautly with every push of the handle. Jo stared as he cupped the clear water in his left hand and splashed it over his shoulder to the back of his thick neck. Water streamed down the middle of his back, funneled by the heavily muscled walls on either side of his spine and disappeared into the waistline of his pants. Mac stopped pumping and, filling both hands with water, splashed it into his face, rubbing his wet hands over his jaw refreshingly. As he scooped another handful and raised his hands over his head to throw the water down his back, Jo noticed a jagged white scar running the length of his torso on the left side of his back. The violent white line contrasted brilliantly against his suntanned skin.
***
Sensing eyes on him, Mac looked over his shoulder, meeting Jo’s searing gaze. Embarrassed to be caught watching him, she quickly looked away, but not before Mac noticed the appreciation in her eyes. After their conversation at the creek bank, Mac had carefully avoided flirting with Jo or showing any physical interest in her, but it had taken concerted effort to do so, especially because she seemed to be doing the opposite. After admitting her attraction to him, she no longer felt compelled to hide it, and over the last week, Mac had witnessed her admiring stare more than once. The more guarded he was, the more liberated she was. Before, when there was work to be done, she would choose to partner with anyone else above him, but now she was always riding out with him or seeking him out in the barn. She even asked him to help her build the pea trellises and talked lightheartedly and friendly to him the whole time. It was unnerving. Mac’s experience with women had taught him that when they were hurt, they bristled up or hid away, but as usual Jo was not the norm. He thought she would demand something from him or close off and hide from him after he’d hurt her, but instead she was more open than she’d ever been.
Last night for instance, he had been sitting on the couch in the lamplight, his shoulders achy from the heavy workload of the day, and Jo, noticing his discomfort, deposited her book on the table. Coming to stand behind him, she placed her small hands on his shoulders. At first, he tensed and was about to brush her away, but the pressure of her hands and the comfort she offered eased him. In the still, dim room with only the clock ticking away, her hands massaged his shoulders and neck until he was a lump puddle on the sofa. There was no expectations, no awkwardness, no base physical urges between them, just the thoughtful ministering of a woman, a friend. When she had finished, she squeezed his shoulders affectionately and turned to leave.
Before she could exit, Mac called her name from the sofa, “Jo.” The softness in his voice stopped her, and she spun to look at him. His head lolled back, completely limp on the cushion, and his eyes were closed. He admitted quietly, “It matters to me…what kind of man you think I am. It matters to me.”
Jo was offering a sweet friendship to him, but because of his attraction to her, it was a dangerous thing for her to do. The only thing he’d ever be willing to give her, he knew, was far below what she would accept.
Mac watched the black car ascend the hill and pull into the driveway. Grabbing his shirt from the pump, he used it to dry his hands as he strolled leisurely across the yard to meet the visitors. From her horse Jo watched as both doors opened and two men climbed out. Leaving the door open, the driver moved around it, striding up to Mac and extending his hand. Jo watched as Mac looked down at the extended hand and then insultingly ignored it, before pulling his shirt over his head.
“Hey, hey,” Leif muttered coolly to Kirby, pointing in the direction of the strangers, “look who we got here.”
Kirby’s cantankerous eyes narrowed as he glanced toward Mac and the new men. “Humph, those boys have got to be the dumbest beasts that ever walked the earth,” he muttered under his breath. Looking pointedly at Leif, he continued, “The boss ain’t going to like this. There’s gonna be trouble.”
Jo swung back to watch Mac, wondering who these men were and why Leif and Kirby were acting so uneasy.
Cocking his eyebrow at Leif, Kirby hinted furtively, “It might be best to get reinforcements.”
Leif’s friendly countenance had vanished, and he nodded his agreement, subtly glancing toward the house. Kirby slipped in that direction noiselessly as Leif sauntered toward the group of men gathered at the car. Jo and Charlie, still on their horses, followed closely behind him. As they approached, Mac glanced rigidly at them, his eyes tightening at their presence before skidding back to the newcomers.
“Well, to what do we owe this pleasure?” Leif asked, the words pleasant, but his tone cold and unfriendly. Jo guessed the strangers to be in their late twenties, although the one closest to Mac, the driver, seemed to be a trifle older. Both men seemed decent enough on the surface, well kempt and clean, but an innate wariness crept over Jo. The driver was tall, almost as tall as Mac even, with a lanky build. His face had a couple of days’ growth of beard darkening it, and he kept slicking his hand down his cheeks nervously to comb the stubble.
When Jo approached, the man’s round prowling eyes flicked over to her, sizing her up in a sickening way that left her feeling dirty. His mouth lifted in a friendly smile. Seeing through his transparent smile, Jo felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck raise alarmingly. The man had the sly, shady look of an unhealthy person, not unhealthy physically, but sick in character. Mac shifted a step to the left, positioning himself in front of Jo and drawing the man’s attention back to himself. The other man was shorter but brawny, with wide set gray eyes and pale, pitted skin. His fat tongue kept sliding from his mouth over his lips in a repulsive way that soured Jo’s stomach. It reminded Jo of Jake Hosworth, the town boozer from back home, or as the school children called him, moonshine man. He had always licked his lips in that same smarmy way.
Slapping a phony smile on his face, the driver responded to Leif, “Hello there, Mr. Hawkins. It’s good to see you again.”
Leif glared narrowly at him, cocking his head to the side. “I disagree,” he rejoined flatly.
A fleeting blackness popped into the driver’s eyes, but he quickly covered it, saying smoothly, “Now we figured you might feel that way.” His words slithered from his mouth as he nodded toward the other man with him. “And you certainly have a right to.” Shuffling his feet, he sugared, “But, well, the truth is we got to feeling pretty rotten that we’d run out on you, and we were hoping to make amends.”
A tumbleweed rolled across the yard as Mac and Leif said nothing.
“Mr. Hawkins, we’ve come to beg for our jobs back. We’d like to resume our work on the ranch,” the man uttered hopefully, as he twisted his hat in his hands.
Leif casually kicked the dirt with the toe of his boot. “What do you think about that, boss?” he said, turning toward Mac.
“I think,” Mac said, glaring at the man through hard, steely eyes, “that I’m looking at a flannel-mouthed liar.” The words echoed loudly across the front yard as the insulted man’s eyes twisted blackly in his skull.
Struggling to hide his flash of anger, the driver splattered a contemptuous smile across his face, arguing, “I can see how you might be thinking that, but…”
“But nothing,” Leif interrupted. “The real reason you’ve come skulking back here is because that copper mine closed down, and you’re out of work.”
Jo could tell the driver wasn’t expecting them to know about that as he fumbled for a new lie. “That’s true. The mine did close, but we were on our way back before it shut down. Isn’t that right?” he said, nodding to his sidekick.
The short, red-haired man dipped his head in agreement, “That’s right,” he added.
Mac’s lips curled in a wry smile. “Well, that may…or may
not
be accurate,” he drawled, “but either way, it doesn’t matter. You won’t find work here.”
The redhead cut in boldly, “You have enough work for ten men on this ranch, and harvest is coming on soon. You’re going to need riders to watch over the cattle in the high pasture while you’re busy with the crops. If need be, we’ll hire on at less pay.”
Irritated now, Leif quipped sarcastically, “That’s real generous of you, fellas.” He paced to the side and then coldly stared at the two men. “But I wouldn’t hire the pair of you again, if you were the last two men in Montana.” A strained silence permeated the air as Leif’s words settled in.
Lazily, the driver scanned the field, looking at the cows grazing in the pasture on either side of the road. Then hoping to persuade Mac, he pressed in a low voice, “When harvest comes and you’re working round the sun, you’ll regret not hiring us back.”
Leif interrupted him again gesturing to Charlie and Jo, “We’ve got all the hands we need.”
Following his gesture, the driver appraised Charlie and Jo, dismissing them with jeering laughter. “A boy and a woman,” he sneered, his true nature surfacing. “My, my…you were desperate for cowpokes.”
Mac’s jaw ticked violently at the cut to Charlie and Jo. “That boy,” he stressed coolly, “is worth a hundred lying, lazy snakes like you.”
Venomously, the driver stared at Mac, his pride stung and his ego insulted. Peering at Jo, who was still sitting astride her horse, he raked his lewd eyes up and down her nastily. Mac’s fists hanging loosely at his thighs twitched ominously.
Stepping closer to Mac, the driver tipped his head toward Jo, hinting disgustingly. “That looks like a
fine
mount,” he drawled, his lips curling licentiously.
The man had made a faulty move, placing himself in reach of Mac. A deep red flooded hotly under the tanned planes of Mac’s face, and his jaw clenched down fiercely, but the insolent man was too dumb to notice it. With his mouth open, he flicked his oily eyes to Jo, saying suggestively to Mac, “The strong
fillies give the best rides...”
A thundering crack snaked through the air as Mac’s massive fist connected with the driver’s filthy mouth. His boots rolled over his head from the violent force of Mac’s meaty blow, and he pounded ferociously into the dirt, dust raining down on him. He lay in an inert heap, bright red swells of blood gushing from his face, with Mac standing aggressively over him like a snorting bull.
The redhead rushed to his cohort, dropping beside him and lifting his flopping bloodied head off the ground. “Macon! Macon!” the man shouted, shaking his friend to waken him.
Even if the man had been coherent, he wouldn’t have been able to answer as his mouth was brimming with blood. Jo sat mute in her saddle, stunned by Mac’s speed and savagery. She watched as the bright red blood seeped down the man’s face to be soaked up in his shirt; his nose cocked wickedly to the side at an odd angle. Leif’s description of Mac pierced her mind.
Deadly
.
Angrily, the brawny man let go of his friend and shot from the ground, itching to attack Mac. With dangerous beady eyes flashing the color of his hair, he shoved his jacket aside revealing a long-wicked hunting knife with a wooden handle and lethal blade.
As he laid his hand on it, a gravelly rasp echoed from the front porch, “Git your hand off that poker if you like breathing.”
Four heads whipped around to stare at Kirby. He was standing on the porch, rifle shouldered and trained on the angry man, his finger resting on the trigger. The man’s rat-like eyes jumped back to Mac, who was still poised and ready for attack, never having taken his eyes off of the man.