Chapter 5
Gabe pushed back from the table and stood up.
“Rosa,” he barked, “Where are her clothes?”
“On the line. They no dry yet.”
“Come on.” He almost stomped his way to the door before turning to glare at Tess. “Are you coming?”
“Me?” she asked through a mouthful of eggs.
“Who else?”
Miguel smirked over his coffee. Tess looked over to Rosa, who shrugged.
“O-okay,” she fumbled, depositing her plate on the counter and hurrying after him, at the same time scrambling to pull on her shoes as she tripped out the door.
The sun shone brilliantly, dancing in the early dew of the new day. Fresh new scents overwhelmed her, filling her with childlike wonder. Who knew dirt could smell so wonderful? So clean, so alive, so . . .
“We don’t have time to stand around all day,” Gabe snapped.
“Sorry,” she answered quickly. “I was . . . oh, never mind. I rather thought I would be helping Rosa today.”
It took three of her steps to match Gabe’s long stride.
“Rosa doesn’t need help; you’d only be in her way.” He pushed open the gate and led her through a throng of squawking chickens to the coop at the back of the pen. “If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to learn to do the work that needs doing.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed, following him eagerly inside. “This is amazing.”
The coop was alive with the deafening clamor of even more chickens, all perched on nest-covered planks. Gabe snatched a huge wicker basket from a nail by the door and thrust it toward her.
“Reach underneath them and pull out the eggs,” he instructed.
Tess stepped up to the first chicken and gently slid her hand underneath.
“There there, girl,” she cooed. “I’m going to relieve you of that little old . . . ouch!”
The vexed bird was not pleased at having been disturbed and took her annoyance out on poor Tess’s hand—again and again. Tess freed her hand, regarded the injury with more than a little astonishment, and proceeded to push it right back in under the bird. The chicken continued to peck at her but only managed to make contact once or twice before Tess was able to grab the egg and pull it out.
“There!” she said triumphantly. “That wasn’t so bad.”
Gabe didn’t know whether to yell or laugh. He knew the chickens would revolt against a strange hand invading their space and that was precisely why he made her do it. But instead of running from the coop like he expected, Tess plunged her injured hand back in—over and over again—until she had claimed every last egg from the nesting birds. After the first of many unexpected and certainly painful pecks, she hadn’t even stopped to examine her hands, but instead became more determined with every wound.
If she knew Gabe was only trying to prove a point, she did not let on. She simply looked up at him with wide-eyed amazement and burst out laughing.
“I did it! I got all the eggs! Isn’t that wonderful?” Her whole face lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Can I do this again tomorrow?”
Gabe fought to keep his own smile suppressed. No point in letting her think he was happy with her; it would only reinforce her will to stay.
“Not only do you get to collect the eggs,” he said dryly, “you get to clean the coop as well. There’s fresh hay in the barn and there’s feed over in that bucket.” He pointed to a large gray pail at the far end of the coop. “When you’re done, come find me. There’s plenty of work to be done.”
“Oh, thank you, Gabriel,” she gushed. “I knew I would love this and I do. This is what living is all about!”
Gabe hadn’t heard a word she said since speaking his name. When had he been suddenly switched from “Mr. Calloway” to “Gabriel”? Nobody called him Gabriel, it just wasn’t done. He had always hated his name, always thought it was the furthest thing from a man’s name that could possibly be, yet when spoken by little Tess Kinley, with her silky soft voice, it sent a raging fire through his belly. He wanted to hear it again, exactly as she had just done, with joy that bubbled through her laughter and shone through her eyes. It was as though he had given her a precious gift instead of a hand full of peck marks and a coop full of chicken crap.
Before he opened his mouth and embarrassed himself, which he was sure to do, he turned on his heel and stomped toward the barn where Zeus stood saddled and waiting to go. A good, long ride out to the herd would clear his head of this nonsense.
Tess practically skipped into the house, so happy she was with her collection of dirty eggs.
“Rosa!” she called. “Look what I did! Eggs—and a whole lot of them, too!”
Rosa peered down into the basket and then up at Tess’s shining face.
“You do eggs?” she asked, clearly in disbelief. “Gabe Calloway no help?”
Tess shook her head vigorously with more than a little pride.
“No, I did it all by myself.”
“Show hands.” Rosa demanded, pulling the basket from her tightened grasp. Tess held out her hands, almost apologetically, and waited for the scolding.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve never done it before and I guess the chickens didn’t like having me there.”
Rosa clicked her tongue in disgust. “Where Gabe Calloway?”
Tess’s heart sank. Rosa was upset with her for disturbing the chickens. Now her only ally would surely convince Gabe to send her away.
“He was walking toward the barn the last I saw of him,” she finally answered. “I’m terribly sorry, Rosa, I had no idea . . .”
Rosa wasn’t even listening. She pushed past Tess and stormed toward the barn, ranting in her native tongue the entire way. Frantic, Tess ran to catch up.
“Please, Rosa, I’ll try to be more gentle tomorrow, don’t be angry.”
“Where Gabe Calloway?” Rosa yelled as she threw open the barn door.
“He ain’t here,” Joby answered from the stall he was cleaning. With his blond curls and freckles, he didn’t look any older than sixteen. “Took that horse from hell . . . oh, pardon me, Miz Kinley. . . .” He straightened as soon as he saw her. “He’s ridin’ out to the herd. Looked like he was in a bit of a mood.”
“I give him mood,” Rosa snapped as Miguel rounded the corner.
“What is wrong?”
Rosa flew into a Spanish tirade, her arms flailing around her head, speaking faster than Tess had ever heard another human speak. Rosa grabbed Tess’s hands and thrust them under Miguel’s nose, yelling all the while. Miguel spoke soothingly to her, pried Tess’s hands from his wife’s and turned her back toward the house. Tess stood where they had left her, wanting very much to cry but refusing to do so in front of Joby.
“Whoo-ey!” Joby whistled. “I’d sure hate to be the boss right now. Rosa’s some mad.”
“Yes,” Tess croaked. “I’m afraid I upset the chickens when I was collecting the eggs. When I told her about it she became quite angry. Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”
“You?” Joby repeated. “Miz Kinley, ma’am, you don’t know Spanish real well, do ya?” When Tess shook her head, he grinned broadly. “I reckon Rosa’s ’bout mad enough to swallow a horn toad backwards, but she ain’t mad at you, ma’am. She’s lookin’ to peel the hide from the boss.”
“But I thought . . .” Tess stopped, glancing from Joby to the house and then back. “But she’s so angry at me. She took one look at my hands and flew into a tirade.”
“Yeah,” the boy chuckled. “’Cuz the boss went ’n’ let you collect the eggs knowin’ full well they’d try to have you for breakfast.”
“What?”
“Them chickens’re crazy. They don’t let no one but the boss at their eggs. Rosa don’t even try, and she ain’t sceered of nothin’. ’Cept the boss’s horse.”
“You mean . . .”
“Yup.” Joby nodded, still grinning. “The boss’ll be in fer more ’n an earful when he gets back. I best go warn him or sure as hell I’ll be gettin’ the brunt of his mood when Rosa’s done with ’im.”
He threw down his pitchfork and closed the stall door.
“’Scuse me, ma’am.”
“Joby!” she called after him. “I’m supposed to clean out the coop. Could you please tell me where I’m to put the old straw?”
“The old straw, ma’am?”
“Yes. It’s awfully smelly in there, and I mean to replace all the straw with a fresh batch. But where should I put the smelly bunch?”
Joby chuckled softly. “Why don’t you wait ’til I git back, ma’am? I’d be happy to clean the coop.”
“No, thank you. I
want
to do it.”
The boy’s head shook in disbelief. “If you’ve a mind to clean it yerself, I ain’t gonna argue with ya. Just throw what you want in a pile somewhere and I’ll tend to it when I git back.”
Tess smiled. “Thank you, Joby. I would appreciate it.” She waited until he was mounted on his chestnut mare before she added, “Be sure to give Gabriel my regards.”
Joby tipped his hat toward her and rode off, a grin still painted across his face.
Tess waited until she was sure he was gone before adjusting her oversized clothes. It just wouldn’t do to have it all fall down around her ankles, now would it? She would have to see about purchasing some ready-made clothes at the mercantile, but for now she was quite happy to be wearing Gabriel’s.
She searched the barn for anything that might prove useful in her next project and settled on Joby’s discarded pitchfork and an old gray horse blanket. Tess had never held a pitchfork in her life and the mere weight of it surprised her. She laid the blanket on the floor of the barn, perfectly square, then attacked the straw pile with the fork, tossing heap after heap on top. When she had piled it as high as she dared, she propped the fork against the wall, took hold of one corner of the blanket, and pulled the entire package out of the barn toward the pen. Walking backward was not the easiest thing when pulling a blanket loaded with straw, but she did manage to stay on her feet, and that in itself was an accomplishment. Surely somewhere there must be a wheelbarrow, but it was certainly well hidden, wherever it was.
She returned for the pitchfork and began the wondrous task of cleaning up after the chickens. They were such funny little things, clucking around her ankles in a maddened frenzy as though she was doing them a grave disservice. Tess clucked right back at them, giggling and twittering as she shooed the lot of them out of their comfortable coop and into the chaos of the pen.
“Just doing a little housecleaning, ladies,” she scolded merrily. “I won’t be but a shake in here and then you can have it right back.”
Unfortunately for the chickens, Tess’s “shake” took a little longer than expected. Being a perfectionist didn’t help. It was almost an hour later before she had finally cleaned out the smelly coop to her liking and was ready to refill it with fresh straw. She piled the dirty straw neatly near the gate so Joby would have easy access to it, and once she learned what he did with it, she would simply tend to the mess herself.
The fresh straw smelled wonderfully sweet and clean, but again, by the time Tess was satisfied it had been distributed neatly and evenly throughout the coop, another hour had passed and she still hadn’t fed the poor birds. Gabe had not advised her on how much feed to put down, so she simply grabbed handful after handful and threw it over the ground until she was sure every chicken would get some.
Her neck and back ached; she was sweating and grimy and her hands were now covered with peck wounds and blisters. She’d never felt better in her life. She stood at the gate, pitchfork in hand, and admired her handiwork. A fine job for someone who had never done it before. Even Gabriel would have to admit that.
The thought was still fresh in her mind when the sound of horses drew her attention away. Gabe and Joby had crested the hill and wasted no time riding directly toward her. Joby tipped his hat slightly as he rode on past to the barn, but Gabe pulled his huge stallion to a stop a few feet away from her. The black Morgan snorted loudly and backed up a step until Gabe’s low voice and soothing strokes eased his nerves and settled him.
Tess raised her eyes to find Gabe watching her, his gaze boring into her, taking in every inch of her. She shifted uncomfortably but could not break his hold.
“I’m so sorry, Gabriel,” she blurted suddenly. “Joby told me Rosa is furious with you and it’s all my fault because I didn’t know how to . . .”
Gabe cleared his head with a shake, dragging his eyes away from her. She was covered in straw, head to toe, dirt smudged across her right cheek and nose, and God only knew what was stuck to the bottom of her left shoe. She was an absolute mess and it took every ounce of strength Gabe had not to jump down from his horse and kiss those full, trembling lips of hers. Just swing her up into the circle of his arms and kiss her good and proper.
“Gabriel?” her voice wavered slightly.
“Wh-what?” He hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice finding speed and pitch as she spoke. “About Rosa, I mean. She was fit to be tied when she saw my hands and I thought she was angry with me for upsetting the chickens but it turns out she was angry with you and I didn’t mean for her to be and I still don’t understand exactly why she’s angry but she most certainly is and Joby says . . .” she stopped, her head lowered. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me. I wanted to show Rosa how many eggs I got.”
Gabe felt his lip begin to twitch. What a funny little creature this Tess Kinley was; so worried about Rosa being angry with him when, in fact, it should have been Tess herself who was furious with him. But instead, she had gone ahead and cleaned out the damn chicken coop—and done a hell of a job, too. Gabe couldn’t remember it ever being so clean—even when it was new. Fighting back his smile, he steadied his thundering heart. No point in letting her know she’d done a good job, it would only fuel her resolve to stay.
He bobbed his head toward the coop. “You just finishing this now?”