Summer Breeze (21 page)

Joseph could well imagine that. "Little boys do love dirt."

The breeze picked up just then, trailing Joseph's hair across his face in a fan of yellow. He stared through the strands at the swaying branches of the oak tree, which were laden with new buds.

Soon spring leaves would unfold and the field grass would darken, painting the ranch in different shades of brilliant green. Rachel would get to see none of it.

"What are you looking so gloomy about?" Ace suddenly asked.

Joseph sighed and shook his head. "Just thinking, is all. It's sad, seeing her live like that." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the house. "Day in and day out, never leaving that kitchen.

She can't even look out a window to see the sunlight or watch a bird in the tree. I'm already going crazy after being in there with her for only a couple of days. I've been reading a book. Can you believe it?"

Ace drew out his own pack of Crosscuts and lighted one up. "You're growing right fond of her, aren't you?"

"It'd be a mite hard not to," Joseph replied with a sharp edge to his voice. "She's a nice lady."

Ace mulled that over for a moment. "No need to be so prickly."

"I'm not being prickly. Just don't go making something out of it. I'm fond of lots of women. It doesn't mean anything."

"I didn't mean to imply that it did."

Joseph caught him smirking. "What?" he asked, feeling inexplicably angry.

Ace held up his hands. "Nothing. You just seem mighty defensive all of a sudden. That's not like you."

Joseph tossed away his cigarette and jammed his hat more firmly onto his head. "I've got better things to do than listen to this."

Ace gave him a bewildered look. "Damn, Joseph. I haven't said anything."

"You can give a whole dissertation without saying anything. Do you think I can't read between the lines?"

Joseph stomped down the steps, ground out his

smoke, and sent his brother a glare. "You know exactly what you're hinting at."

"No, I don't."

Joseph refused to dignify that with a reply and took off for the barn. He heard his brother following him. "You're supposed to watch the house," he grumped over his shoulder.

"I can see the damned house just fine from here."

Joseph went into the barn. When he emerged a few minutes later leading the two horses, Ace was waiting to help put them in the traces. As they worked in tandem to harness the team, Ace asked,

"Are you falling for that girl, Joseph?"

That ripped it. "No, I'm not falling for her!" Joseph realized that he was almost yelling, and that only made him madder. "There you go, making something of it!" He jabbed a finger over the rumps of the geldings at his brother's dark face. "Don't even
think
it. You hear? You're the romantic in this family, not me. I take my pleasure where I find it, and then I move on. That's how it's always been, and that's how it'll always be."

"Boy, howdy, have you ever got a bad case."

Joseph bit down hard on his molars and made his tooth pang again. "I don't, either." He swung into the buckboard, gathered the reins, and kicked the brake release. "I'll see you when I get back.

Hopefully you'll be talking better sense by then."

Joseph was almost a mile from the house before he realized that he'd forgotten to load the wagon.

"Son of a
bitch."
He drew the team to a stop and just fumed for a moment.
A bad case?
Ace always had known how to put a burr under Joseph's saddle. Well, he who laughed last laughed longest. Joseph Paxton, falling for a woman? Ha. Not in this lifetime.

Simone Gilpatrick was a buxom, sharp-tongued woman with black hair and glittery brown eyes.

A lot of folks disliked her for being too bossy and nosy. She also had a reputation for being a gossip. Because Joseph normally shopped at the general store on weekdays when Gus, a burly, dark-haired employee, helped Harrison to man the counter, he seldom encountered Simone, and on those rare occasions when he did, he tried to ignore her.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Gilpatrick," he called as he entered the building.

"The afternoon is waning," Simone retorted from behind the counter. "It being the Sabbath and all, it's lucky you are that we're still open."

Hooking his thumbs over his belt, Joseph skirted the baskets and barrels of grains and foodstuffs that peppered the plank floor, his boot heels scuffing as he walked. "Looks to me like plenty of people are still out and about. I reckon you won't close until the boardwalks are clear. You might lose some sales."

She sniffed and puckered her lips as if she smelled something bad. Joseph just grinned. Everyone in town knew Simone was greedy. If not for her kindly, fair-minded husband, Harrison, she would have jacked up all the prices and never felt a moment's remorse as she put the pennies in her till.

She gave him an inquisitive look. "So what can I do for you, Mr. Paxton? If you're here to bend Harrison's

ear again about heifers and calving, he's busy cleaning shelves in back."

She wore a pale purple dress of shiny cloth that made her huge bosom look even more gargantuan than usual. Joseph wondered why on earth Harrison allowed her to wear something so unflattering. Then he wondered at himself for wondering. Harrison Gilpatrick was a quiet, peace-loving man who picked his battles and only bucked his wife when he felt he had to.

"I'm not here to visit today," Joseph assured her. "I've got some butter, eggs, and cheese to hawk."

Simone nodded. "I heard you were staying out at the Hollister place with Miss Rachel Day
and
night, as I understand."

Joseph flicked her a sharp glance. There was an underlying tone in her voice that he didn't quite like.

"There's nothing improper going on. If folks are saying otherwise, they're dead wrong."

She shrugged. "I've no control over what other people say, Mr. Paxton. As for what's going on out at the Hollister place, that's for you to know and the rest of us to only wonder about."

She came out from behind the counter, her manner brisk and businesslike. The shiny dress, when seen from hem to collar, magnified her plumpness until she looked like a garish barn door waddling toward him. "Where are these commodities you'd like to sell?"

Joseph was still stuck on what people were wondering about. "Now look here."

Simone arched an imperious black eyebrow. "Yes, Mr. Paxton?"

"Darby McClintoch, the foreman at the Hollister ranch, is laid up at my place from a bullet wound in the back."

"We heard about that. How is he doing?"

"Doc thinks he'll pull through. That isn't the point." He followed the store proprietress through the maze of baskets and barrels. "Darby believes the attack on him may be connected to the Hollister massacre five years ago, and he's afraid for Miss Rachel's safety. That's why I'm staying at the Hollister place, to protect the lady."

"I see," she said, her tone dubious.

"Miss Rachel lives in a boarded-up kitchen," Joseph protested. "She hasn't opened the door to anyone in years. How can people think anything improper is going on between us?"

Simone swished out the doorway, her broad ass grazing the doorjambs on both sides. "Rachel Hollister is an unmarried young woman, Mr. Paxton, and you are an unmarried man who—if you don't mind my saying so—has something of a reputation for being a womanizer."

A
womanizer!
Joseph was starting to get the mother of all headaches. A womanizer chased anything in a skirt. A womanizer had no scruples. A womanizer would compromise a decent young woman without batting an eye. He had
never
consorted with decent young women.

"That isn't to say that
I
believe anything inappropriate is happening out there." She flashed him a syrupy-sweet smile that fairly dripped venom. "But you may as well know there has been a lot of talk."

And Joseph was willing to bet that her tongue had been wagging the fastest.

"No matter how carefully you slice the pie, Mr. Paxton, some folks are always going to scrutinize the pieces."

Joseph's temples were pounding by the time he joined her at the wagon. The self-righteous, judgmental old bitch. It made him furious to think that anyone in this dusty little town would
dare
to point a finger at Rachel Hollister. She was one of the finest and most proper young women he'd ever met.

"Some people forget the eighth commandment," he told her. "It's a sin to bear false witness against your neighbor."

Simone just lifted her eyebrows again. "Do you want to sell these commodities or not?"

Joseph had been pissed at Ace earlier. Now he wanted to do murder. He couldn't very well strangle the old biddy, so he did the next best thing. He got his revenge by haggling with her over prices.

"Four cents for a dozen eggs? These are from grain-fed chickens, and I know damned well they should go for six cents a dozen. You sell them for nine. I just saw the sign. That's a fair thirty-three percent profit margin for you."

"Go away."

Joseph nodded. "Maybe I'll just do that. I reckon I can stand on the boardwalk, cut your store prices by a penny, and sell out, lickety-split, making not only Miss Rachel's usual profit, but most of yours as well. Care to make a wager?"

Joseph got six cents a dozen for the eggs, eight

cents a pound for Rachel's cheese, which was top price, and six cents a pound for the butter. As he drove the buckboard up Main Street, he grinned like a fool. Who ever said revenge wasn't sweet?

His next stop was at the sawyer's. Ronald Christian was a jet-haired man of medium build with friendly blue eyes. He wore patched but clean overalls, winter and summer, unless he was going to church, whereupon he donned a suit.

As Joseph swung down from the wagon, the little Christian boys came running out to greet him.

Richie, a six-year-old, hugged one of Joseph's legs, and Don-nie, a year younger, grabbed the other one. Joseph patted their ebony heads and smiled into their big blue eyes.

"Hello, boys. How are you doing today?"

Ronald emerged from the mill, an open-sided structure, essentially only a roof supported by poles. "Now, Richie, now, Donnie," he scolded. "Let go Mr. Pax-ton's legs. He can't walk with you hanging on him like that."

Joseph ruffled the boys' hair and then focused on their father. "Hi, Ron. I need some planks."

"What kind?"

"I don't much care. I just need them extra thick." He held up his hands to demonstrate. "Miss Rachel Hollister needs a new door."

Ronald nodded. "I heard you were staying out there."

Joseph could only wonder what else Ronald had heard.

"I was real sorry about what happened to Darby. How's he doing?"

"Doc has been dropping by to check on him regularly. So far, so good. He was running a bit of a fever last night. That's a worry. But Doc says it's to be expected."

"Bullet wounds are nasty business," Ronald agreed. "Always liked Darby. I hope he pulls through." He motioned for Joseph to follow him into the mill where he kept his stockpiles. "So what kind of wood are you looking for?"

"I don't rightly care. I just need really thick planks to build a barricade door, something stalwart to fill an archway."

Ronald led Joseph to the far end of the building. His boys swarmed over the stacks of wood like tiny ants, giggling, yelling, and seeming to be everywhere at once.

All of Christian's planed boards were no more than two inches thick. Joseph wanted stuff much stouter than that. He came upon a stack of roughly planed pine that hadn't yet been vertically cut.

"Those are perfect," Joseph said. "Can you plane them more smoothly at that thickness?"

Ronald stroked his jaw. "I can give it a try, but they won't be as smooth as regular planks."

"I can sand them down."

Ronald grinned. "You don't want boards, my man. You want quarter sections of trees."

Joseph nodded good-naturedly. "Can you fix me up with four of them?"

Diana, Ronald's wife, appeared just then. She was a

pretty little woman with brown hair, gentle green eyes, and a slender build. Her gray dress was ready-made from Montgomery Ward and on the cheap side, but she looked Sunday perfect anyhow. She extended a slender hand.

"Mr. Paxton, it is so good to see you. It's not often we get buyers on Sunday."

"I stopped by in the hope that Ron would be out here working."

Diana smiled. "Normally I scold if he works on Sunday, but Garrett Buckmaster is building a new barn, and Ron's got to fill his order no later than Tuesday." Her expression grew solemn. "We were very sorry to hear about Darby, Mr. Paxton. It must be difficult for Miss Rachel. Darby is the closest thing to family that she has left."

Ronald glanced past Diana at his frolicking boys. "Richie, get down off there before you fall and break your neck!"

Diana rushed away to corral her children, leaving Joseph and Ronald to negotiate prices.

On the way out of town, Joseph heard Bubba striking his anvil. It seemed that most all of No Name's business owners worked on Sunday. After turning the team into the yard in front of the shop, Joseph set the brake, swung down from the wagon, and wandered into the building.

"Bubba?"

The huge, muscular blacksmith appeared from around a corner. His grizzled red hair lay wet on his forehead, and his bare, muscular shoulders glistened

with sweat. The heat that radiated throughout the building almost took Joseph's breath away.

"Joseph. Hey."

"No rest for the wicked, I see."

Bubba chuckled. "No rest for the blacksmith on Sunday, anyhow. People stop by to place orders before going on to church, and I have my hands full, trying to fill them before they leave town in the afternoon."

Joseph nodded. "I won't keep you, then. I was just wondering if you've started on one of the doors yet, and if you think the idea will work."

"There wasn't much to it," he said, gesturing over his shoulder. "Just straightening and fusing the bars together. They don't look like much. In my opinion, they could use some paint."

"You mean they're done?" Joseph followed the blacksmith into the firing area. The barred doors lay on the ground near the forge. Bubba was right about the call for paint. The rusty iron didn't show well. "These are
great,
Bubba. You must have been up working half the night."