Carol Arens - Rebel Outlaw

“A pleasure,” she said, nodding at each of the people sitting at the table because it was the polite thing to do and she was a polite person. “I’ll be out of your way in a heartbeat.”

“But we’ve saved you a chair,” Grannie Rose said, sliding it away from the table for her to sit down.

“And a plate of food.” Aunt Tillie pushed it toward the place they had saved for her.

“You must be hungry,” Colt Travers said with a wink. “Working late...making the place ready.”

“Colt Wesson, mind your manners.” Aunt Tillie shot her nephew a frown.

“Please do eat with us, dear.” Grannie Rose patted the chair seat. “You did a remarkable job on the house. I couldn’t have sabotaged it better myself.”

With her humiliation complete, Holly Jane felt her jaw drop open. It only took a second or two to recall her dignity, though. She straightened her shoulders and dug deep for the sunny smile she was noted for.

“Ordinarily, it’s a lovely home,” she said, then glanced about one more time, holding on to the vision of the curtains hanging at the kitchen window. Grandma had crocheted them only a month before the arthritis in her fingers became debilitating. She gazed at the table that Granddaddy had built with his own hands. If only she could sit at it one more time.

Since she just couldn’t, she said the only thing to be said. “I hope you find joy here. I’ll have my belongings out by noon.”

Tears burned her eyes. She dashed out the kitchen door before anyone might notice them.

Daylight, warm and fresh with autumn, greeted her, but she would have to wait to savor it. As it was, she would barely make it to the carousel before she bawled her heart out.

Lulu, roused from her morning nap, waddled out from under the porch and followed on short pink legs.

Halfway to the carousel, she heard the chickens raising a fuss in the barn.

Blame it. She was late feeding them. Changing direction, she strode toward the barn, wiping her eyes with her apron.

She stopped and went suddenly still. The chickens were no longer hers. It wasn’t her responsibility to feed them. If Mr. Colt Travers wanted his livestock fed he should have been here at dawn to do it.

Had the hens been merely livestock, she would have turned and gone back, left him to do his chore.

She probably shouldn’t have, but over the years she had given every hen and rooster a name. She could hear Henrietta cackling with pride at the egg she must have just laid. And her sister Matilda was brooding a batch of eggs. The chicks were due to hatch in a week.

Holly Jane continued toward the barn. Once she knew that Colt Travers was competent in caring for the flock, she would allow him to take care of them.

All at once a sickening thought hit her like a blow to the belly. She stared at the house, watching through the window while three distant figures ate their breakfast.

What if the Travers family was partial to chicken and dumplings? What if their favorite Sunday dinner was fried chicken?

Today was Sunday!

She hurried to the barn trying to decide what to do. Feed the chickens, yes, but what then? Set them free to become prey to hawks? Keep them in their safe little yard where Colt Travers might make dinner of them?

For now she’d watch to see what the man had in mind. He would have to pass through her land to get to the barn, or take a very long way around. She’d know if he were up to no good.

After she fed the chickens, she turned her attention to the task at hand...creating her new home. Over the past few weeks she had been collecting things to fabricate a shelter under the dome of the carousel. She had an oilcloth tarp to keep out the wind and rain, a big bundle of blankets to fashion a bed of, and two lanterns.

Last week, knowing that the new owners were on the way, she had dragged a big trunk down from the attic and stuffed it with corsets, petticoats, skirts and blouses, aprons and gowns.

Only a few of her personal belongings remained in the house. She ought to leave them there, spare herself the pain and humiliation of going back inside, but they were some of her favorites.

Since there was no help for her situation but to move on with life, Holly Jane picked up a hammer and a big square nail. She began to tack her tarp to the carousal poles.

As a child, she had begged Granddaddy to let her live on the carousel. Well, here she was, her dream fulfilled at last. Without a doubt, her grandfather was somewhere in the Great Beyond having a good belly laugh with Grandma.

* * *

Frowning, Colt stood on the front porch watching Holly Jane trying to hammer a tarp to the carousel.

There were some things that needed setting straight, and he’d begin with breakfast.

The old man hadn’t sold him the ranch with the expectation that his granddaughter would go hungry.

From the looks of things, she also planned to go cold. The temperature might be pleasant right now with the sun all warm and fuzzy, but once it set the night would turn blistering cold in a hurry.

He trotted down the steps with her breakfast plate, watching while she struggled with a hammer that was too heavy and a nail that was too big.

What did that little speck of a girl think she was going to do, live on the carousel?

That didn’t fit with the vow he had made to her granddaddy. He was to care for the spinster...it was written in black and white right on the contract, as legal and binding as all the rest of it. Even if it weren’t a legal obligation, he had given his word. He and William had shaken hands on it.

While it was clear that Holly Jane wasn’t the dried prune that her grandfather had hinted at, he meant to live up to their agreement...and he meant to do it in the house.

He watched her struggle while he crossed the yard. One time she nearly had the tarp tacked up, but the wood was hard and the hammerhead slipped. The nail went flying.

The odd little pig scurried after it, her beribboned ear flapping.

“Don’t you eat that, Lulu!” Holly Jane rucked up her skirt and hurried down the short ladder she had been standing on.

“I never should have sneaked you out of the butcher’s shed!” Holly Jane was so intent on chasing Lulu that she didn’t even notice him coming toward her.

The pair of them wove in and out of wooden horses, fancy carved benches, a lion and an elephant.

Before he knew it, Colt was no longer frowning. Watching the pig’s flapping bow and the woman’s bouncing yellow skirt would turn the sourest day sweet.

But that’s what Holly Jane specialized in, he reckoned, sugar and spice. He couldn’t deny that watching the curvy figure of his charge romping about was a treat. He didn’t even have to visit her shop in town to enjoy a sweet treat.

Too soon the chase ended and Holly Jane shot her pig a triumphant grin. She held the nail high with her delicate-looking fingers gripping it tight.

She climbed the short ladder, swinging yellow skirt and hammer in hand, clearly believing she would nail the tarp to the pole. Too bad the hammer was still too heavy and the nail too large.

The ladder began to wobble. Holly Jane dropped the hammer but held the tarp in place with her fingers.

He reached for the knife slung across his back and drew it from its sheath. He hoped Aunt Tillie was watching so she’d know how many uses his weapon had. She’d harped on him time and again to remove it at home. The trouble was, a man never knew when he might need its services.

Like right now.

Colt let the knife fly and watched with satisfaction as the blade pinned the tarp to the pole. And hell...there was even more satisfaction hearing Miss Sunbeam give a little screech.

She hopped off the ladder and glared at him.

“You could have cut my hand off!”