Grace be a Lady (Love & War in Johnson County Book 1) (6 page)

Once
the debris was cleared and the roof beam repaired, Grace got a good view of her
new
home
. The bunkhouse was a low, rectangular log building with a tin
roof. Three small windows allowed in a dismal amount of light, but it was
enough. Four bunk beds, mattresses rolled up on them, lined the walls. Two
bunks, splintered by the blow from the oak, had been removed to a burn pile.
Grass and leaves, and pieces of the splintered roof beams littered the floor.

A
simple kitchen comprised of a stove, dry sink, and cutting block took up one
end of the building. For bath time, a curtain hung on a wire that could be
pulled across one corner, concealing a large, round metal tub. A large, black,
pot-bellied stove squatted in the shadowy center like a brooding bear. Grace
couldn’t imagine any quarters more different than her airy, luxuriously-appointed
home back in Chicago.

Regardless,
the building was too much for one person, but she couldn’t complain. At least
out here she could have a lot of privacy. It just felt so . . . lonely.

“You
sure you want to sleep out here?” Raney asked, coming up beside Grace. She
studied the building’s interior with a skeptical dip in her brow. “It’ll be
kinda . . .”

“Lonely,”
Grace dead-panned, “but I’ll be all right. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience
you.”

“Oh,”
Raney waved that off, “I got an extra room in the house. You might ought a
sleep in there for a few nights anyhow. We’ve got a lot of cleaning to do in
here.” She flicked her dust rag at a spider web embedded in the corner of a
window.

Cringing,
Grace watched as the owner of the web ducked back into the shadows. Above them,
a cowboy dropped in a new piece of tin over the hole in the roof, cutting off
even more light. “Well, if it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

“No
trouble at all. I’ve already got the room dusted, and fresh sheets on the bed.”

Thad
appeared in the hole in the wall and ran his hands over the logs that had been trimmed
off. His boys had sawed a ragged opening into a more symmetrical square. He
leaned into the gloomy building and saw Greg and Raney surveying the mess.
Perhaps reading their faces, he cocked his head to one side. “Raney, it’s just
my opinion, but if you can tolerate Buttercup there, it would make more sense
to house him with you. You’ll burn through less wood if you’re not heating your
place and the bunkhouse.”

Raney
worked her jaw back and forth, hiding a grin. “Yeah, we were just talking about
that.” She narrowed her gaze at Grace. “You snore?”

“Not
that I’m aware.”

“Well,
maybe. We’ll see.” Raney poked Thad in the shoulder as he leaned on the wall.
“I still want the bunkhouse fixed good as new. Never know when I might have
cause to fill the beds again.”

“Or
if you sell this place, it needs to be in good shape.” He winked at the woman.

She
jabbed him again, this time harder. “Your pa been talking’ about making me
another offer?” She laughed, as if the idea was uproariously amusing. “Well, I’ve
always loved his persistence, but the Diamond R is staying with me.”

“If
you say so.” Thad turned and grabbed the end of a four-foot-long log as one of
his cowboys rolled it off his shoulder. “Greg,” Thad ordered, “grab that hammer
and bucket of nails right there.” He and the man dropped the log into the hole,
stacking it on the log beneath it. As they tapped and shoved the wood into
place, Grace swept the tools up off the floor and stepped over to Thad,
expecting him to take them off her hands. Instead, he pointed at the new log.
“All right, this is a good, snug fit. Toenail it, and Jay and I’ll go cut the
rest of the logs.”

Grace
pondered the tools. A hammer in one hand, the bucket of nails in the other, she
had no idea what to do with either. Thad frowned for a second, and then tagged
Jay in the shoulder. “You go get started. I’ll give Buttercup, here, a
carpentry lesson.”

Buttercup.
So help me—

Jay,
a tall, gangly fella with a pronounced Adam’s apple, chuckled and touched the
brim of his hat. “Sure thing, boss.”

“All
right . . . here, like this.” Thad took a nail from the bucket
and the hammer from Grace’s hand, and pounded the long, iron spike in at an
angle. He did one more from the opposite direction then ruffled her hair,
clearly enjoying her discomfort. “You’re a smart boy. I bet you’ll pick this
right up. Here, try.”

Raney
slapped Grace on the back. “I’m going to get some cleaning rags and a broom.
Good luck with that.”

Grace
waited for Thad and Raney to leave, and then pondered the bucket of nails.
Muffled voices from the roof and loud hammering convinced her that the hands up
there were too busy to notice her. Rolling her shoulders, she placed a nail at
an angle and tapped it with the hammer.

As
she brought the hammer down for a third tap, harder this time, an explosion
reverberated behind her. Squealing, she spun, tripped, and flipped over the
wall, tumbling outside the building. A round-faced, pudgy cowboy peered down at
her, a smoking revolver in his hand.

He
slid his gun into his holster. “Weather’s turnin’, son. They’re coming inside.
You might want to make sure there ain’t no more around if you’re gonna sleep
out here.” With that, he dragged another piece of tin into place, and the
whacking of hammers picked up again.

Grace
scrambled to her feet and peeked over the wall. A large rattle snake, now in
two bloody pieces, twitched on the floor not three feet from where’d she’d been
standing. Her body flashed cold, as if she’d just stepped out into the mean
Chicago wind.

“What’s
the shooting for?” Thad asked, returning with a log over his shoulder. Feeling
sick, Grace pointed. Thad leaned in for a gander and whistled in awe. “Yep, he’s
a fat one.”

Finishing
the task of toenailing was torture. Grace’s hands shook, her fingers felt all
fumbly, and, when she hit her thumb for the fourth time, she wanted to throw
the hammer across the bunkhouse. A glance at the snake kept her in check. This
hole was getting fixed, in case she did have to sleep out here eventually.

The
finished job wasn’t going to be pretty. Most of her nails were bent. A few
times, the angle was wrong and she missed the wood completely, requiring a
second nail right beside the first. She plugged away, though, not seeing much
of a choice. With each log delivery, and without comment or disparaging looks,
Thad went behind Grace and deftly hammered the nails, straight and crooked
alike, all the way into the wood. Then he’d hand her back the tool and move on,
reminding Grace of a teacher checking on a student’s work. Bull would have hit
her with the hammer for such clumsy mistakes.

By
late afternoon, the wall was patched, the roof was repaired, and the cowboys
were packing up their tools. Raney had swept, wiped, dusted, and sweated over
the interior, bringing it around to something that was almost inviting.

Almost.

Grace
wandered outside and tossed her hammer into a carpentry box. Stuffing her sore
thumb into her mouth, she took a moment to survey Raney’s ranch. The woman
lived in a simple white farmhouse with a lovely, inviting porch on two sides. A
tall cedar with a bench built around it shaded her front yard. A little red
chicken coop and a huge barn, also painted red, sat a stone’s throw from the
house. A corral and round pen sat between them and the bunkhouse.

As
cowboys tossed their tool boxes into the back of a wagon and retrieved their
horses from the corral, Thad walked up and laid a hand on Grace’s shoulder. Too
used to Bull grabbing and hitting, she jerked out of his grip and spun on him,
ready to block a hail of blows.

“Whoa,
sorry!” Thad raised his hands in peace. Grace swallowed the fear she knew had
blossomed on her face.

“I’m
sorry. I don’t like being grabbed.”

“I
gathered.” Perhaps to get past the awkward moment, he changed the subject,
motioning toward the bunkhouse. “Not bad toenailing, Buttercup, and what you
lack in skill, you sure make up for in tenacity.”

Arms
as heavy as lead, joints aching, Grace was still energetic enough to demand
some respect. She was as tired as any man here. “Do you have to keep calling me
that? My name is Gr –eg.” Her voice rose on the last syllable. She’d nearly
said the wrong name again.

He
laughed and shoved her hat down over her eyes as he walked away. “Sure, Gr-eg,”
he mocked again, as if the joke was never going to get old. “We’re going for a
swim in a hot spring on the way back to the ranch. Come with us. It ain’t far.”

Panic
made Grace’s heart trip over itself. “No, I can’t!” She’d sounded a little too
alarmed, and kicked herself.

Thad
half-turned to her, one hand resting on his gun. “Can’t swim, huh?” He shoved
his white hat further back on his head, giving him a relaxed, friendly air. “I
can teach ya. It’s a skill you should have, in case you have to cross swollen
–”

“My
parents drowned. I hate the water.” For once, not a lie, exactly. Grace had
gone swimming some over the years, especially before she left her grandparents’
farm, but there was always uneasiness in her spirit. A swim sounded so
inviting, filthy as she was, but there was simply no way that could happen now.

Thad
drummed his fingers on his thigh and nodded. “Sorry for your loss.” He stood
uncertainly for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but finished with, “If
you decide to go, the pools are only three or four feet deep. Anyway, I’ll see
ya tomorrow.”

“You
will? Why?”

He
tossed a wave toward Raney’s house. “Raney wants us to move her herd tomorrow.”
He rested his hand on his hip and squinted at her. “You can ride, can’t you?
Ever moved any cattle?”

“Yes
and no.”

He
frowned. “Yes, you can ride and no, you’ve never moved cattle?”

Grace
nodded.

“Well,
then, tomorrow, Buttercup, you get your first lesson in cowboyin’.”

She
searched for a clever retort, but approaching hoof beats drew the group’s
attention to a rider trotting into Raney’s yard. All the commotion and cowboy
chatter halted abruptly, and Thad’s expression darkened. With slow, stiff
movements, as if he was barely controlling his temper, he stepped away from his
men to greet the visitor.

A
handsome man, in his early-to-mid thirties with haunting hazel eyes, reined in
his appaloosa and nodded. “Thad.”

“Nate.”

Everyone
in the yard watched the two men intently. The stranger’s attention darted
warily over the audience. Grace was struck by the tension brimming among these
men, but especially between Nate and Thad.

“Raney
around?”

“I’m
right here, Nate,” Raney called, drying her hands on a towel as she crossed the
front porch. “What brings you over?”

Nate
grudgingly pulled his gaze away from Thad, and addressed the woman. “The
independents are having a meeting over on the KC Thursday night, if you’re of a
mind to come. We’re gonna talk about Bill and Maggie.”

Thad
took a step. “What for? You or some of the other independents thinking about
buying their spread? Pa’s already got plans—”

“Got
plans to buy it, too?” Nate speared Thad with an accusing glare. “Bill’s cattle
were rustled twice before this fire. You know as well as I do one of his men
was bushwhacked. Now we’re supposed to believe Maggie’s death is an accident?
And how convenient the Lazy H is just gonna ride in and buy up another spread.”

Thad’s
hands balled into fists. “If you’re sayin’ my pa had anything to do with those
crimes, you’d better step down off that horse.”

“Stop
it, boys,” Raney commanded. “There’s been enough bloodshed in Johnson County.
There won’t be any on my spread. Nate, I’ll see ya there.”

He
and Thad held one another’s gaze. Grace had seen that expression over and over
on Bull’s face, and on those of his men; a willingness to follow anger to its
worst conclusion. Given the right time and circumstances, these two could kill
each other.