Rugged and Relentless (35 page)

T
hey’re here!” Clump pushed his way past the line of loggers snaking toward the washing tubs the next day. His heavy, uneven gait more pronounced than ever as he ran toward the women, he made better time than Jake guessed. “The cows is come home!”

He bellowed that last as he burst into the kitchen, Jake just behind him.

Jubilant whoops sounded before Evie came bustling out the doors, apron strings streaming behind as she headed for the train. Needless to say, everyone followed. At least, everyone who’d already washed his dishes. Those who hadn’t sulked in line while faster men chased after the women.

If that wasn’t some sort of commentary on the entire setup of Hope Falls, Jake didn’t know what was. Nor was he entirely clear on what that commentary said about any of them. He just shook his head and kept close watch as the tableaux unfolded.

He tried to guide the women away from the train so the men could unload the livestock, but Evie insisted on seeing her cows first thing. The other women took one look at the bulk of their suitors keeping a distance and wisely accepted the arms of Clump, Gent, and Riordan. Only Evie remained resolute in her position.
So Jake stuck directly beside her as they rolled open the doors to the livestock car, took a deep breath, and held it.

“Mercy.” Eyes like sunshine began to water as the stench rolled over them. Evie coughed and rocked back a step as the workers set up the unloading ramp for the cows to walk out.

“Here.” Jake closed her fingers around his bandana and raised her hand to her nose to block the scent of cow patties, methane, and livestock. He held her elbow to keep her steady and led her to the other women, away from her precious acquisitions.

“Those can’t be
my
cows,” she moaned from behind his bandana. “Nothing as wholesome as milk could come from anything smelling like
that
. Mr. Draxley erred again, I’m sure.”

“If quilts need to air before use after they sit in trunks, cows need heavy winds after being crowded in trains.” Jake saw no reason to hold back a chuckle and heard a few more from the men who caught his comment. “These are no oxen, I’m sure.”

“Nah, Miss Thompson.” Clump gestured toward the five bovine culled from the cargo. “You can see those there ain’t ox nor even bulls, but honest, live, milking cows. It’s easy to see.”

“How can you tell?” Miss Lyman looked at the animals with great interest. “They look much the same to me, Mr. Klumpf.”

“That’s easy. See, it’s the ud—er …” Clump hit the realization he’d stumbled into an indelicate topic of conversation, and his ears began to turn red. “Small horns.”

“Oh.” Evie lowered the bandana to reveal that fickle dimple of hers. “I wouldn’t have noticed such a slight difference. Thank you for your expertise, Mr. Klumpf. Have you had much experience with barnyard animals, or ranching, or some such?”

Suddenly, Jake saw Clump with new eyes. The compact logger with sturdy legs and an inability to keep anything to himself never mentioned his own past.
Why is that? And how is it that a logger knows anything about dairy cows and how to identify them?

“M’ family settled in Kansas, where we claim a good-sized farm. But Klumpfs believe in being fruitful. We multiply somethin’
fierce, and there’s only so much land to go around. I left to set up a homestead but started logging along the way.” Clump shrugged. “You could say I know plenty about a barnyard.”

A Kansas farm boy found logging in the Colorado mountains?
Jake might find it suspicious if it weren’t so ludicrous. Farmers usually remained farmers, no matter if they uprooted. They just set back down and planted somewhere else. On the other hand, Clump would be a fool to lie with five cows waiting.

Then again, he had no business making that comment to Evie about Klumpfs being fruitful and multiplying. It went too far, was too bold. The fact Clump used a biblical reference to boast of his family’s virility worsened the offense.
I never thought to hear the Bible used when a man tried to flirt
.

“Let’s take our cows to the ‘barn.’” Miss Lyman drew a deep breath.

“We’ll give Mrs. Nash a fine surprise with supper,” Evie planned as they led the way to a surprisingly well-made shanty behind the café, off to the side. “She’s craved milk for days.”

Now partitioned with four barriers to make five stalls, the structure smelled of fragrant hay. Various men led the cows in one by one until each stall housed an antsy occupant. They lipped at the straw, slurped up water from their trough, and gave resonant lowing sounds as they restlessly moved about.

With the cows inside, Jake sent the loggers back to work digging out the stumps of trees they’d felled the week before. No need for over twenty men to loiter underfoot and gawk over the women, as they tended to do whenever given the chance.

“They don’t look happy.” Worry creased between Evie’s brows. “Don’t they stop giving milk if they’re not happy?”

Miss Lyman rolled her eyes. “Whoever heard of happy cows?”

“They need milking,” Clump instructed. “It pains them.”

“The books say to milk in the morning and evening, not the afternoon.” Evie looked surprised at the very suggestion.

“Usually ’tis so,” Mrs. McCreedy affirmed. “But in this case,
Mr. Klumpf tells it true. More than likely these poor dears had no morning milking, and they’re long overdue.”

“Very well.” Evie rooted around in a corner and emerged with three short stools. Pails hung on pegs in the wall. “I’ve read about the method behind milking. Now I’ll practice.”

“They’re not looking very friendly,” her sister warned. “Perhaps we ought to wait until they’ve settled down?”

“Discomfort makes anyone testy.” Miss Higgins chose a stool after Miss Lyman took one. “I doubt they’ll settle as is.”

“Come along.” Mrs. McCreedy took the two toward the closest animal. “I’ll show you two how to go about it. ‘Tis simple.”

“The tracts seem straightforward enough.” Evie headed for the farthest stall and began murmuring to the beast. The soothing sound of her voice carried as Jake followed to find her patting the cow’s side while lowering herself to the stool.

Placing her cheek against the same place she’d had her hand, Evie reached under and began pulling. First one hand, then the other, she tugged in a rhythm that matched the sound of milk squirting into a tin pail. Only trouble was the sound came from across the makeshift barn. Perplexed, she drew back, glanced down, repositioned herself, and tried again. Same results.

Jake bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as her confidence faded to confusion then irritation.

Meanwhile, Miss Lyman moved on to another cow while Mrs. McCreedy showed Miss Higgins the way of things. The sound of milk splashing into pails filled the structure … and none came from Evie’s efforts.

She went so far as to get up, giving the cow’s hindquarters wide berth, and settle on the other side. Still nothing. Finally, Evie gave an exasperated huff. “This one doesn’t work.”

“I’ll try.” Clump shuffled over, distinctive tread muffled.

Yet again, Jake noticed how thick the soles of the other man’s boots must be for the entire uppers to remain visible when each step sank into so much hay coating the ground. Could Clump’s
characteristic stomp be an adopted mannerism?
Does he wear those boots as protection in the woods and for stabilization in the mud, or to make himself taller?
It wouldn’t be the first time a short man elevated his shoes.

Clump squatted beside Evie. Oblivious to her doubtful glance, he reached in and had milk pouring into the pail in about two seconds flat. “There she goes, Miss Thompson.”

Bewilderment gave way to outrage. “I talked to her, patted her side, rubbed my hands together so they weren’t cold, and tugged firmly but carefully with alternating hands like all the tracts directed. That cow did this on purpose, Mr. Klumpf!”

Jake couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore, earning himself an evil look. He didn’t care. The expression on Evie’s face when Clump succeeded had been so incredulous.

“Stop laughing this instant, Mr. Creed.” She gave the order but didn’t bother to see if he followed it. Instead, she watched as Clump repeated what he’d done before, protesting that she didn’t see any difference. In fairness, neither did Jake.

But Evie didn’t need to know that. Her annoyance whenever she didn’t master something amused him. It was as though she expected to be good at something simply because she wanted to be. And on the rare occasions when determination and preparation didn’t produce results, the idea anything remained beyond her control was treated as a personal insult. It made Jake’s day.

Until Clump slid his hands over Evie’s to demonstrate what he described as “rolling your palm while you pull.” Then the entire scene didn’t seem so funny anymore. Especially when she smiled that way, flashing her dimple at Clump.
At Clump
.

Jake stopped laughing.

A sense of humor was God’s greatest gift to mankind
, Braden Lyman decided during the dozenth interview with one of his new workers and his family’s prospective suitors. Maybe he should list those
the other way around, since the men came to Hope Falls for the women and worked as a secondary pursuit.

Either way, Braden figured he would’ve gone mad weeks ago if he hadn’t been granted a keen appreciation for the ridiculous. And Lacey’s ad certainly managed to attract a few improbable characters. Clumpy Klumpf and Bear Riordan were distinctive men with amusing names, but Braden had other favorites among the workers he’d met thus far.

Salt and Pepper, he nicknamed the two tall Nordic fallers who’d apparently arrived with the man now answering Creed’s questions about his work history. The pair split one personality between them, but at least their dependence on each other made for a point of interest.

Dodger brightened Braden’s day when the shifty fellow tried to make off with his pen. When Evie caught him at it, Dodger gave a merry wink and tossed it back, claiming he liked to borrow things from time to time. Since he possessed fine taste, Braden should have been flattered. Instead, Braden was amused. He gave Dodger the pen as payment for the entertainment he provided then told him he’d be out of Hope Falls the moment he tried anything like that again. Strange how the men who made their way through his door seemed so much more full of life than the stuffed shirts he’d known back in Charleston or even when he did accounts for the mine.

Take that fellow with the overblown manner and patched top hat who went by “Gent.” Sweating from the start, Gent’s brow and neck bore charcoal-colored trickles of nervousness. No one mentioned the telltale evidence that Gent blackened his hair, but Creed pressed the man about his age. Gent admitted to a stately thirty-seven, a mere two years over the request. No doubt he shaved a few years from that figure, but the man worked hard and made a good influence among the men, so Gent remained.

So a man in his forties roamed the forest, chopping trees and trying to nab a bride half his age, while Braden lay stuck in bed.
His sense of humor kept him going when hope couldn’t. Time stretched thin, days passing in dark drips of unfamiliar shadows creeping over too-familiar walls.

“You know I’m a bull-of-the-woods.” Bullheaded Craig Williams spoke now. “Creed knows the outfits I’ve worked for. I’ve been at it for twelve years. I can do everything from bull-whacking to falling to bucking and even make a passable engineer when called to man a donkey engine. My work speaks for itself.”

But that doesn’t stop him from flapping his gums
. Braden wondered how quickly they could get the pompous logger out of his room.
Going to be a long time if we wait for him to pause
.

“That’s not the real reason you’re calling all of us into this room one by one. So why don’t you skip easing into things by asking about my profession and move to the important questions?” Suddenly, Williams sounded a lot smarter.

It made Braden trust him even less. None of the other men challenged the way they chose to conduct the interviews. That Williams felt comfortable enough to do so said a lot about his character. Or lack of it.

“All right, Williams.” Creed didn’t shift from his chair, where he sprawled to take up as much of the room as possible. If he leaned forward, it signaled interest. If he leaned farther back, it indicated he’d given up ground to Williams. That Creed knew the rules of staking territory and didn’t hesitate to use them was just one reason Braden kept the man close. He made a good ally, but Creed would probably make a far worse enemy. “If you’ve got everything figured out, why don’t you just tell us?”

Braden arched a brow in silent challenge, relieved to notice that, for once, none of the women interrupted. His sister had a way of barging into situations without understanding them—the entire town had become a prime example of that—and his fiancée and her sister didn’t do much better. In fact, Evie might just give Lacey a run for her money when it came to being outspoken, but that wasn’t Braden’s problem.

From the way he’d seen Creed eyeing Evie, he’d be glad to take on that burden when the time came. And when the time came, Braden wouldn’t object. If nothing else, Creed could match his fiancée’s sister for stubbornness. Besides—it amused Braden to watch the byplay between the two of them. They each kept so busy not acknowledging their interest, it became comical.