Linda Ford - Big Sky Cowboy

“What do you think of this?” Pa asked and Cora knew he wanted Wyatt to look at his latest invention.

“Interesting. What is it?” Wyatt sounded sincere.

“I’m trying to figure out how to hoe four rows at once.”

Cora smiled. Pa was always experimenting and inventing. Some things turned out well, others not so well, but like Pa said, you had to try and fail before you could succeed.

“I’m not sure I’ve got the angle of the hoes just right. Could you hold it so I can check?”

Wyatt’s boots clumped on the wooden floor as he moved to help Pa. “It’s a mite heavy,” Wyatt said.

“Do you think it’s too heavy for the girls? Bear in mind they’re good strong girls.”

Wyatt grunted a time or two. “Seems as if it would be a big load, especially if they’re supposed to pull it through the soil.”

“You could be right. Maybe if I shape the hoes to a point?”

“Might work.”

A thump, rattle and several grunts came from the shed.

Cora edged around the corner so she could see what they were doing.

They’d turned the hoe over on its back and Wyatt squatted next to Pa. “Maybe like this?” He indicated with his finger.

“That might do it.”

“You maybe should get some metal ones. They’d cut through the soil better.”

Pa gave Wyatt an approving smile. “Yup. Figured to do that once I get the working model figured out.” He rubbed his crippled leg. “Sure can’t move about the way I used to.”

Cora saw Pa’s considering look. She didn’t want him to get it in his head that he’d return to work on the barn. He was getting too old and had already had one fall. No, she’d do it by herself before she’d let that happen. She sprang forward.

“Pa—oh, hi, Wyatt. Did you two sort out the payment?”

“Sure did.”

Pa turned back to his hoe. “I’m going to try that.”

Wyatt patted Pa’s back. “Don’t hesitate to ask if you need help with it. Or anything.”

“Maybe you’d like a tour of the place.” Now, why had she offered that? She didn’t have time for a social visit. Not with beans to pick and potatoes to hill and hay to cut and stack. She could be three people, and the twins could be doubled, and the work would never end. Which, she supposed, about described the lot of most farmers. But having offered, she had little choice but to show the stranger around and learn more about him.

One way or another.

Chapter Three

Wyatt would enjoy seeing more of this tidy little farm. He didn’t mind the company, either. The young woman’s chatter was a pleasant change from Lonnie’s dour complaints about having to stay in one place. No amount of explaining about the necessity of stopping for Fanny’s sake satisfied him. Wyatt had been grateful to leave the boy cleaning up the campsite after breakfast.

He and Cora fell in, side by side. The lop-eared dog trotted alongside them. He tripped over himself and skidded into the ground.

Wyatt chuckled. “What kind of dog do you call that?”

“He doesn’t mind what we call him, so long as we don’t call him late for supper.”

Wyatt laughed. She sure did have a way of easing his mind.

As they walked beside the garden, Cora explained that they grew enough to supply their own needs and sell to others. But she stopped when they reached an overgrown patch of wild plants.

“We don’t ever touch that,” Cora said. “It’s Ma’s healing plants. She is the only one who can tell which ones are good and which are weeds. To me, they all look like weeds. She lets them grow wild and untamed. I’ve suggested she should tidy them to rows so we can clean up the patch.” Cora sighed. “By her reaction, you’d think I’d told her I planned to plow it under. So it stays that way.”

Wyatt studied the unruly growth, and compared it to the rest of the neat garden. He understood the need for order, allowing the plants to be better tended, but something about the untamed patch pulled at his thoughts. Wild and free. He shifted back to study of the tidy garden. Order and control. He’d had enough of the latter while in prison, but the former didn’t satisfy him, either. Was it possible to have something in the middle?

Cora cleared her throat to get his attention. He must have been staring at the plants long enough to make her wonder why they interested him so much.

“Maybe it could do with just a little taming,” he said, as if that had been his only thought.

“That’s what I said to Ma.”

They proceeded down a pathway between the two gardens. Grub, seeing the direction they headed, loped ahead of them.

“Ma and Pa have planted berry bushes of all sorts—raspberries, gooseberries, currants, chokecherries—and fruit trees. We get lots of berries, but not much fruit. Seems we always get frost too soon and the winters are too severe. Pa’s been grafting fruit trees to wild trees to see if that will work.”

The idea intrigued Wyatt. Was this a way of combining wild and free with tame? Would it work for a tree? How about a man? “Has it?”

“There is a lot of winterkill, but a couple of trees have given us sour little apples. Pa is determined to produce a decent apple. Says he’ll call it a Montana.”

They passed the bushes and reached a fence. Three cows grazed in a little pasture.

“I’m currently milking two of them.”

A flock of sheep nibbled in another fenced area of grass, and a field of green oats lay beyond.

“The sheep are Lilly’s project.”

A trail led toward the river and they followed it. When they reached the water’s edge, she stood in the shadow of the trees. They were downstream and out of sight from where Lonnie waited at the camp Wyatt had set up. He stood at her side with the sound of the water rumbling through his thoughts.

“This is one of my favorite spots.” She sighed. “I can see so far. Look.” She pointed. “The prairies roll away like giant waves.”

He followed her direction. Indeed, the prairies were like a golden ocean. They went on and on. No walls. No bars. A man could fill his lungs to capacity here.

She shifted, brushing his arm as she pointed to his right, sending a jolt through his nerves. Even an accidental touch startled him. He wondered if she noticed, and if so, what did she think? Would she put it down to unexpectedness? Of course she would. She had no way of knowing that any contact in jail had signaled violence, and before that, Pa’s touch had taught him to jerk away.

No wonder Lonnie was so anxious about even gentle touches. But Wyatt would teach him...teach them both to welcome such.

Cora spoke softly. “In that direction you see the hills with their hollows full of trees.” She turned still farther. “And the mountains in the west. ’Tis truly a beautiful land, and like Pa says, we are to be good stewards of it.”

“I never thought of being a steward of the land.”

“I take it you’re planning to have a ranch and raise horses.”

It was an obvious conclusion. “Kind of hope to.”

“Are you opposed to farmers?

He shrugged. “Not opposed to much of anything.”

She shifted and pinned him with a look. “Don’t you believe in seeking good and avoiding evil?”

Her look reached into his chest to squeeze his heart. He stiffened as pain and regret oozed out. “I hate evil.” She’d never know how much of it he’d seen.

She nodded silent approval and his heart beat smoothly again.

He heard the sound of horses’ hooves and turned to see two riders approach. Beside him, Cora stiffened, alert and cautious.

Wyatt gave his full attention to the pair. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as he could tell. Medium build, lean as cowboys usually were. Dusty, work-soiled cowboy hats pulled low to shade their eyes. They rode slowly, as if studying the surroundings, or perhaps looking for a wayward horse. But he’d seen no sign of a wandering animal.