Carol Arens - A Ranch To Call Home

But there were also flames reflecting on his face.

Yep, the kid could go right or wrong at this point. If Jesse had any say in the matter, Bingham would grow to be a responsible citizen.

“I’ll take that job, sir!”

“You’ll need a horse of your own, son. Pick one out of the herd tomorrow.”

“You’re giving me a horse?” Bingham’s long jaw dropped open.

“No, not giving. You’ve worked hard and earned yourself a pony.”

The boy slapped his thigh. “I reckon I won’t sleep a wink wondering which one to take.”

Half an hour later, Jesse heard snoring from the other side of the campfire. He heard it because he was the one who could not sleep.

Images of home played in his mind. He could nearly hear the sound of the stream that cut between the house and the big red barn. He imagined the solid thud his boots would make on the wooden bridge when he crossed it.

He pictured the horses in the paddock, saw them racing across the meadows, resting in groves of cottonwood and aspen that were scattered over the property.

He’d been so busy getting ready for the herd that he’d neglected the house. It had suited his needs for a while, with the one chair on the porch and the other before the fireplace. It was hard to remember what he’d stuffed into the loft built over the kitchen, but he was anxious to get it out and put his house in order.

Gazing up at the stars, he knew he was a blessed man. He didn’t deserve any of what he had.

In the end, he did fall asleep halfway into a prayer of thanksgiving.

Chapter Four

It was late in the evening when Laura Lee hung a curtain on the last bare window. Listening to rain tap on the porch, she adjusted gathers over the rod, smoothing them with her fingers until they were evenly spread.

Then, hands on hips, she stood back to gaze at her handiwork. It looked like bouquets of snow-white flowers bloomed in the windows. Even though she was accustomed to sewing, her fingers ached...along with her back, her legs and her arms. Still, she could not remember a time when she’d felt better.

Glancing down, she saw the hem of her skirt winking in the high shine of the floor she had spent hours polishing.

The attic had been a treasure trove. She was surprised that the previous owners had left such useful items behind.

When Johnny returned, he was going to be pleased to see the place looking like home. There was a red rug on the floor, which she had managed to beat most of the dust out of before the rain started.

He would also appreciate the fact that he had sturdy dinnerware on which to eat the delicious meals she planned to make for him. She had been beyond pleased to find a cast-iron skillet and a pot in the loft. Basic tools but along with what she had purchased, she was well equipped to prepare food with the same skill as her mentor, Mrs. Morgan from the Lucky Clover.

There was still only the one chair, but one of the rooms had a big, comfortable bed with room and more to stretch. She’d found an extra blanket in the loft, and a good thing, too. The weather was turning colder by the day. It couldn’t be long before frost covered the ground.

Walking over to the chair, she glanced about, satisfied at how two weeks of hard work had turned her house into a home. With a tweak and a fluff, she plumped a pillow and set it back in the chair to make it look welcoming.

She smiled at her well-read copy of the Ladies’ Home Journal and Practical Housekeeper where it lay open on the end table beside the chair. Over the past few months, she’d all but worn out the pages of the magazine. Just this week, she’d spent many an evening in her chair, studying this and dreaming of that.

Hmm... One chair... A pair of newlyweds.

Sighing, she wondered where her fiancé was. It had been too long since she’d seen him and, oh, but she did miss the sound of his voice and the hint of mischief that always lurked in his brown eyes. She could not help but wonder where she would be when Johnny returned, what she would be doing or wearing.

However it happened, their reunion would be utterly romantic.

But where was he? She thought he would have returned by now. Worry over him was beginning to shadow the joy of being in her own home. It couldn’t take this long to conduct a business deal. Surely he was as anxious to get home as she was to have him here?

More and more she had to banish the fear that something might have happened to him. If only he hadn’t gone off with those men. They did not look like the decent sort, in her eyes.

It took some effort to forget Johnny’s smile, how he looked so gloriously happy to be off on an adventure when he rode away from her. It couldn’t mean anything, but still, she’d have rather seen a frown of regret.

In her opinion, it would have been a fine thing for them to work side by side to pay off the mortgage. Still, paid was paid and she should be grateful for it.

She tried not to think it, but would she be able to keep her property if something prevented Johnny from returning?

Yes, she thought so. Her booth at last week’s market had been a great success. It had been wonderful meeting so many friendly people, even if some of them did seem baffled about where her ranch was. She’d explained it, but in the end, they’d simply shrugged and welcomed her. There had been a few new ranchers to the area so the confusion was understandable.

Ten gongs chimed from the clock she’d found in the loft and placed on the mantel.

Time for bed and every muscle in her body was glad for it. Without a doubt, she was going to sleep like a stone. And a good thing, too. She would need to rise early in the morning to begin baking for market on Friday.

“Bedtime,” she announced to Chisel, who was already asleep in front of the hearth.

The dog twitched one ear. Clearly he was in no mood to move to another place to continue his doze. Leaning over him as far as she could, she banked the fire.

“Sweet dreams, my hairy friend.”

The soft woof he gave in answer must mean the same, she figured, except for the hairy part. Moments later, she fell into bed and was sleeping before she got three blessings counted.

* * *

Jesse drew the pocket watch from his vest. He wiped a smear of rain from the glass to find it was already one fifteen in the morning.

Hell, it was good to finally be home, no matter the hour.

A steady sheet of rain blurred the figure of Bingham racing across the bridge for home. Jesse had tried to get the boy to spend the night but he’d wanted to wake up in his own bed and was all but bursting to show his pa the horse he’d earned. The moment they’d sheltered the horses under the large lean-to in the corral, the kid had lit out for home.

Given Bingham’s youth, the extra hour of riding wouldn’t hurt. While Jesse was far from doddering, it had been a long, exhausting trip and he was weary to his bones. Walking over the bridge, he knew that if it weren’t that he was soaked to the skin, he would fall face-first onto his bed and not wake until the afternoon.

Through wavering sheets of rain, he spotted his house. In his mind, it had arms, wide open and ready to give him a welcome-home embrace.

Funny how something that wasn’t even alive could make him feel like that. It must be because a place of his own, that sense of belonging, had eluded him all his life.

It had taken a tragedy to get him here but—

What was in the windows? A white film? Fog, maybe?

He picked up his pace, his boots sucking in the mud with the effort to run. At the porch steps, he came up short, skidding and nearly going down with the shock of what he saw.

Not fog, not a white film, but curtains...lacy ones with dainty embroidered flowers.