The Rancher Takes a Cook (15 page)

Anna righted herself and stood, jaw open in
momentary horror, as the entire stack of ironstone dishes continued
their sideways momentum. Everything moved in slow motion. Anna
forced her shock aside and sprang into action, catapulting forward
to catch the bowls. Her efforts didn’t help much, though, because
the entire stack landed with a crash on the hardwood floor.

“No…” The word came out like a moan as Anna
dropped to her knees and examined the white dishes for damage. Each
bowl was made of shiny white ironstone with wide, fluted edges and
delicate leaf prints pressed into the sides. She had long admired
their simple beauty and was always so careful when handling them.
Now they lay scattered across the floor, covered in soup broth and
leftover chunks of potatoes.

“Are you hurt?” Jacob’s voice was thick with
concern, or maybe a touch of fear, as he dropped down beside
her.

Anna didn’t stop to think about it. Her arms
had padded the landing of a few bowls, but the violent crash had
broken many. A chunk of ironstone slid several feet away. “The
beautiful dishes…” she moaned under her breath as she began
stacking each item she found undamaged. So far, four were not
broken. Five. Six. Remnants of broth moistened the floor and clung
to the bowls, spreading onto Anna’s hands as she handled them.
Seven.

“Anna, you’re bleeding.”

She glanced down at both hands. A smear of
blood coated the inside of her right thumb. Her heart sank. That
meant another dish broken. She turned a bowl over in her hand. A
chip was missing from the circular base. Before she could examine
it closer, Jacob pulled the pottery from her grip.

“I need to see it.” She grabbed for the
dish.

He held it out of her reach with one hand
and with the other, grasped Anna’s arm to examine the injury.

“It’s just a little cut, but I need to see
how badly that bowl is broken. Maybe I can glue it back
together.”

“I’m not worried about the bowl, Anna.”
Jacob’s voice sounded as if he were trying hard to rein in his
patience like a runaway horse. “We need to see how bad you’re hurt
and make sure there aren’t any shards still in your hand.”

Anna tamped down her frustration and finally
stopped fighting his overpowering strength. She sat back on her
heels to allow him to peer at her thumb. It only stung a little,
nothing to stop the presses for.

“I don’t think it’s very deep, but we need
to get it cleaned up.”

“It’s not deep at all, and I’ll take care of
it when I’m done here.” She didn’t mean to sound as annoyed as she
really was, but the words slipped out. Aunt Lola had told her these
dishes first belonged to Mr. O’Brien’s wife, Jacob’s mother, and
Anna wanted desperately to see if she could repair the damage.

At her words, Jacob stilled and the sudden
lack of motion made Anna stop as well. He raised his sky-blue eyes
to meet hers. Their expression changed several times, from hurt to
anger to sympathy. Anna found herself captivated, as always, by
their intensity. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

She held her breath. “I’m sorry,” she
whispered.

He nodded, his gaze touching her lips before
it skittered back up to her eyes. He still held her injured hand,
cradling it in both of his own.

Anna’s mouth was dry, but the silence seemed
to beg for words to fill it. “I didn’t know today was your
birthday. I would have baked a cake.”

His eyes twinkled. His gaze dropped to her
mouth again and he leaned forward, bringing his lips down to hers.
So strong, so gentle. It wasn’t a deep kiss or a long one, but it
held such sweetness that Anna almost followed him when he pulled
away.

Jacob’s right hand came up to cup her cheek,
his rough fingers stroking it gently. His eyes roamed her face, as
if cataloging its features. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m so glad you’re home.”

His eyes smiled. “Not half as glad as I
am.”

He held her gaze for another long moment
then leaned back and reached for another bowl to add to the stack
between them.

Anna blinked and scanned the area then
started to help him. “I’m so sorry about your Ma’s dishes. I know
these were special to her.”

Jacob glanced up and let out a little
chuckle.

Anna eyed him. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because we’ve broken so many of these
dishes, and Ma would get so upset each time. Finally Pa sent off
and bought a complete second set so every time a dish broke, we
could replace it and keep this collection complete.”

Anna absorbed his words. What a smart man
Mr. O’Brien was. She couldn’t hold back a giggle of her own. “You
mean there’s another set of this same pattern here somewhere?”

“Half a set. We broke an awful lot before Ma
taught us big, rough cowpokes how to be civilized. I’ll show you
where we keep them in a bit.” He reached for a chunk of broken dish
that had slid several feet away.

Anna’s conscience pricked. “You don’t need
to be down here helping me clean up. You’ve just come back from two
hard weeks at the line shack and you should be in the den
relaxing.”

He shook his head, his square chin forming a
stubborn set. “If I’d have been more careful to start with, they
wouldn’t be scattered all over the floor.” Stacking the last of the
pieces, he rose and extended a hand to help Anna stand. When she
came to her feet, he continued the tug and pulled her straight into
his chest, wrapping both arms around her waist. He gave her a sly
grin. “Besides, this beats talkin’ to myself in a cold little cabin
any day.”

Anna burrowed into his strong arms and
nestled her head under his chin. It was so wonderful to have him
home, safe and sound. She could stay like this forever, listening
to his heartbeat.

As the snow finally melted and the sun began
making a more regular appearance overhead, new signs of life popped
up everywhere. The grass showed green patches scattered among the
brown, and tiny shoots of new growth sprouted on most of the trees.
Jacob and his men spent every daylight hour with the cattle, now
that calving season had officially begun. Anna stayed quite busy
herself, as she and Aunt Lola gave the house a thorough cleaning
and airing. She longed to take Bandita out for a nice long canter,
but that would have to wait. There was work to be done.

* * *

Edward rode his horse along the river trail,
scanning the tree line for cattle as he listened for their low
mooing. Monty had assigned him as a line rider along the river that
day, searching for cows beginning to calf. When the birthing was
imminent, the expectant cow would usually separate from the herd to
find a quiet place to deliver. Most times, the cow would labor
successfully without help from the cowpunchers, but if the calf was
breeched or the cow carried twins, things could go south pretty
quickly without a pair of strong arms to help the mama cow
along.

Before coming to the ranch, the only thing
he’d witnessed give birth was their neighbor’s hound dog, Bessie.
This year, though, he’d already helped with at least a dozen
calvings. Jacob had taught him how to tell if the calf was facing
the wrong way inside the mama, and how to reach in and turn the
baby so its front hooves and nose faced first. It was a tricky
process and had to be done at just the right time in between the
mama’s pushes. Edward still wasn’t sure he was ready to do it
himself, but Monty seemed to think he could. He’d give it his
best.

So far, he’d been riding the river’s edge
for about half an hour and hadn’t spotted any longhorns in the
area, but he’d follow orders anyway and ride all the way to where
Two-Fork creek split off from the Guadalupe.

Just then, a low moo drifted from the woods
to his right. The trees were much thicker here, but he plunged into
the brush, dodging branches and hanging onto his hat so it wouldn’t
be knocked off.

As he progressed deeper into the woods, the
cattle noises grew louder, but they didn’t sound like a cow
struggling to calf. Was it a whole herd of cows? But that didn’t
make any sense. If a group of cattle were napping in the trees,
they didn’t make a lot of noise, just an occasional stomping or
tail swishing.

Edward pushed forward and finally broke
through the woods into a little clearing. A huge group of cattle
milled around the large open space, lowing uneasily. At first
Edward wasn’t sure what was keeping animals in the area until he
saw a small group of cowboys circling the outer edge of the
herd.

Cowboys? This didn’t make sense, either. The
men all had the dark features of Monty and his family, but none of
them looked familiar. He hadn’t crossed over Two-Fork creek, so he
had to be still on Double Rocking B land. Why were strangers here
rounding up cattle? He peered at the closest cows. These animals
had the Double Rocking B brand. The confusion began to clear in
Edward’s mind as understanding dawned.

A rifle cocked behind him. Edward spun
around in the saddle and faced hard black eyes underneath a
wide-brimmed hat. They glared at him from behind the double barrels
of a Winchester.

“Move and your life is over, gringo.” The
words spoken in a strong Mexican accent made Edward’s blood run
cold. He’d found the cattle thieves.

Edward opened his mouth to retort but was
stopped short when a rope settled around his shoulders and pulled
tight. The rope jerked him backward, and he flew through the air,
hitting the ground with a thud. A loud grunt pierced the air, but
his mind focused on trying to draw breath into his empty lungs. It
came in short gulps at first. When he was able to draw a full
breath, he realized he was being dragged across muddy,
manure-covered ground. Finally, he came to a stop.

Mexican voices called to each other in quick
short bursts. Edward’s brain struggled to catch up and couldn’t
understand the words. A short, stocky man who stank of tobacco
knelt at his side and began binding his wrists with a coarse rope.
Edward fought, but with the lariat still tight around his upper
arms, he couldn’t gain any leverage. The solid punch of a boot heel
in his back forced Edward’s head to the ground, stilling his
efforts to resist. The Mexican mumbled something under his
breath.

Edward took the opportunity to scan his
surroundings, cataloguing the area. It was hard to tell from his
vantage point on the ground, but there must be at least seventy or
eighty head of cattle. Four men rode horses around the herd, and
three others were mounted and deep in discussion about a stone’s
throw away. He strained to pick up a few words from their
conversation, but they spoke so fast and quietly, he could only
distinguish the words “gringo” and “caballo”.

When Edward’s hands were bound, his captor
rose to stand next to him, arms crossed and legs planted solidly
like an Arabian sultan. One of the men, who gave most of the
commands, yelled a quick order to Edward’s guard, who jumped into
action.

Someone yanked a rag over Edward’s mouth. It
tasted of sweat and wretched body odor. Another cloth covered his
eyes, and the knot in his chest threatened to smother him. They had
bound his hands and gagged him, but the loss of his sight meant he
couldn’t detect a blow coming. Couldn’t gather important
information about the bandits. Couldn’t see his chance for
escape…

* * *

Jacob reined in his horse to stand next to
Monty’s mount and rested both arms on the saddle horn. They sat in
companionable stillness for a few moments, the cattle grazing
nearby. At last, Jacob broke the silence. “The outriders find any
new calves this mornin’?”

“Paco and Bo each found a couple. Haven’t
seen Little Brother yet.”

Jacob shot a look at his friend. “He left
when the others did?”

Monty nodded.

“Which way’d he go?”

“The river trail south to the creek.”

Jacob glanced up at the sun almost directly
overhead. The boy should have been back two hours ago. He must have
come across a struggling cow trying to deliver. It hadn’t taken
Edward long to pick-up on what to do during the calvings he’d
helped with so far, but sometimes the longhorns got extra ornery
after they’d been laboring for a while. Jacob couldn’t say he
blamed them, but it never hurt to have an extra set of hands
available at a time like that.

“If it’s all right with you, think I’ll head
out that way myself. Just in case he needs back-up.”

Monty nodded. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

Jacob loped his mount over the sandy soil
until they reached the river then slowed to a steady jog. He
couldn’t explain the urgency that tightened his gut. Edward was a
smart young cowboy and knew when to call for help, but something
didn’t feel right about this one.

After keeping a steady jog for almost an
hour, Jacob reached Two-Fork creek with no sign of cattle or of the
young cowboy. The water here was only about eight feet wide and
hummed cheerfully as it hurried along with the extra volume of the
spring rains. It was oblivious to the fist-sized knot that had
formed in Jacob’s gut.

He turned his horse northwest to take the
shorter route back to the herd. Surely Edward had made it back by
now. As he jogged his mount over the uneven terrain, a half dozen
large birds circled the sky just ahead and toward the west. Turkey
vultures. The presence of the ugly, meat-eating birds always
signaled death. Had one of the cows died trying to give birth? A
new sense of unease prodded him to turn his horse off the trail and
move toward the circling birds.

He rode through a patch of trees which
opened to a large meadow. Urging his horse into a canter, Jacob
scanned the tree line surrounding the area. They were mostly
shortleaf pine trees, with a few oaks and maples mixed in the
group. A large rock poked up from the ground near one of the oak
trees, almost directly under where the vultures soared.