The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) (6 page)

Fascinated by this strange new world, Lacey stepped deeper into the cavernous building and carefully hung the lantern on a hook she found driven into a center post. As she remembered Hawke's words about fire, and the fact he'd lost a house to flames, a violent shudder passed through her. It wouldn't happen again—never again. It
couldn't
. To reassure herself, Lacey double checked the strength of the hook, satisfied herself that the lantern was secure and in no danger of setting fire to anything, and then took a look around the barn wondering where to start first. Surging with sudden excitement, she decided to head straight for the lone cow. She had a feeling that gathering milk would be a bigger challenge than the eggs.

"Top o' the morning to you, Hazel," she said, stopping just short of the animal's stall. "I've come for your milk."

The black and white creature heaved its head over its shoulder and stared at her with huge brown eyes. Never had Lacey seen such a large animal up close, and a sudden bullet of fright shot up her spine. What if the thing tried to attack her? It could flatten a lass like herself just by sneezing! Frightened, but determined to see this job through, she pressed herself tight against the stall divider, and eased her way alongside the animal.

Keeping one eye on the cow's every movement, Lacey glanced down at the bulging sack between Hazel's hind legs. That's where the milk would come from all right; she was pretty sure about that much, but how to get it out without putting herself in danger? Settling on a plan, Lacey set the bucket down, then slowly inched it under the animal's udder with the toe a her shoe. When it was in place, she quickly backed out of the stall to watch from a safe distance.

Hazel stamped her hind foot, twitched her long, skinny tail, and bellowed, but milk was not yet pouring into the bucket. Obviously the animal needed help of some kind to produce the milk, but Lacey was much too afraid of the beast to actually touch her anywhere. Perhaps, she thought, if she went gathering eggs now, by the time she came back to check on Hazel, the bucket would be full. Of course, Lacey wasn't so out of touch with the world beyond St. Josephine's that she didn't realize the odds were heavily against such a miracle. But that didn't stop her from praying for one. Or from going on to her next chore.

She discovered immediately that she was
not
afraid of the chickens. In fact, chasing them around the barn was grand sport! Trouble was, they were afraid of her. Every time she tried to catch one, the thing would squawk, flap its wings, and take off running. Lacey ran after each and every one of the birds, even tripping and falling twice, but otherwise didn't slow down long enough to catch her breath. After a while, a pretty brown hen sporting little white speckles throughout its feathers fell over in a dead faint.

Concerned she'd frightened it to death at first, Lacey gingerly cradled the bird in her arms until its little eyes blinked open. Relieved to find that she had not murdered one of Hawke's pets, she positioned the revived hen in the basket and began stroking the tender spot on its back between its wings.

"There now, my bonny sweet chicken," she crooned breathlessly. Be` a good lass and give me up an egg, would you please?"

Almost as if cued; the heft clucked, ruffled its feathers, then stood, leaving a nice little brown egg behind in the basket.

"How delightful!" Proud to bursting of the accomplishment, Lacey scrambled to her feet with a renewed burst of enthusiasm, stood with her feet spread and hands on hips, and surveyed the rest of the scattered chickens. All of the birds were keeping a wary distance from her, but that didn't daunt Lacey in the least.

Strolling down the center aisle in an exaggerated swagger, she sang out, "All right, you sweet wee chickens; who among you will be the next?"

* * *

Inside the kitchen of the ranch house, Hawke glanced out the window above his small sink and stove—not just the one with the best view of the barn, but the only window in the house favored with a pair of actual curtains.

Wondering the same thing he'd been wondering for the past fifteen minutes, he thought to himself;
where the hell is that woman?
She should have finished her chores and returned to the house long ago. The stove was hot, the coffee was ready, and the sausage patties were arranged neatly in the skillet. Hawke was sorely tempted to cook and eat every last one himself, but then it occurred to him that the delicate Irish female might be having some trouble with Hazel, who wasn't always so agreeable to being milked. He
had
fed her awfully early that morning, and if she didn't have enough alfalfa left in her feeder to keep her occupied during the milking, well...

Again Hawke glanced out the window. All seemed quiet and he could see a steady glow from the lantern streaming out from the crack in the doors, telling him that she wasn't having a problem with the light. So what could the holdup be? Had she wandered up to the loft in spite of his warnings? Or was she just dawdling? He thought of the way shed sauntered off toward the barn, of the almost too innocent look in her eyes, and decided it would be better for them all if he at least went out to check on her.

Hawke moved the skillet and coffeepot back to a cooler part of the stove, went into the living room to get his coat, and had just slipped into it, when the door suddenly burst open and Lacey blew into the house. Her hair had indeed exploded from its bun and now fell in a thousand russet spirals across her shoulders, back, and even her face. The part of that pretty face which wasn't hidden by coppery little curlicues was streaked with dirt, and her rumpled skirt was dotted with bits of bedding straw. What the
hell
had she been up to?

"Top o' the morning to you," she said, her tone lyrical, cheerful. "'Tis something to be said for rising early and putting oneself to work in the collecting of the meal. I thank you, kind sir, for allowing me the pleasure of gathering what there is of ours. Oh, and don't worry yourself none about the lantern—'tis hanging right outside the doorway here, the flame blown out."

With a frown that was more of a playful pout, Lacey held the empty pail up for Hawke to see. "I'm afraid your stubborn Hazel was not up to giving us so much as a drop of milk this morning, but look here." She shoved the basket under Hawke's nose, beaming over the one tiny brown egg. "Your chickens were none too willing either, but see what I managed to squeeze out of that wee speckled one."

"
Squeezed
—?" The conversation was so strange and Lacey seemed so pleased with herself, Hawke couldn't make heads or tails of it but he could see that the bucket was bone dry. "There's no way in hell that cow's empty—her teats have to be near to busting by now."

Lacey shrugged. "I wouldn't know about her teats. I just know that she wouldn't give me so much as a drop of milk."

"Well," he said, grumbling a little, "maybe you weren't rough enough with her. She is used to me, you know."

"I suppose that could have been the problem, me new to her and all. Should I try her again?"

"If you plan on getting fed while you're here today, you're going to have to." She started to set the egg basket on the floor, but Hawke stopped her cold. "And that's another thing; I usually get close to a dozen eggs out of those chickens each day. I don't know what in hell you were doing out in the barn for so long, but from the looks of it, I'd say you weren't taking your chores too seriously."

"Oh, but 'twasn't that way a'tall. Let me try again, and you'll see." When he offered no immediate argument, Lacey dashed back out the door before he could change his mind, the bucket swinging from one elbow, the basket from the other.

Hawke had every intention of following her to find out exactly what she'd been doing instead of her chores. Her method for extracting the day's supply of milk from Hazel must have been pretty feeble, and even more curious, he couldn't wait to find out what she meant by "squeezing" an egg from the speckled hen. Before he could satisfy his curiosity on either count, however, he had a little chore of his own to see to.

Reaching inside his jacket, Hawke lifted the ledger from his deep pocket, turned it to the Lacey O'Carroll page, and moistened the tip of his pencil.

Under the
Disadvantages
column, he noted:

3. Incompetent Farm Hand.

Then he slipped the ledger back in his jacket and headed for the barn.

Falling is easier than rising.

—An old Irish saying

Chapter 4

Hawke was watching his incompetent farm hand through a crack between the boards directly across from the milking stall, but he could hardly believe what he was seeing and hearing. Had his eyes deceived him, or had the woman just snuck up behind Hazel, edged the bucket under her swollen udder with the toe of her flimsy shoe, then backed out of the stall again? And was she now
shouting
at the animal? Hawke pressed his ear against the pine slats to better hear what she was saying.

"Notice that I'm not asking you," Lacey said, parroting Hawke by speaking in her deepest, gruffest voice. "I'm here to
tell
you that you'll be giving me some milk, and giving it to me now you miserable creature, or I swear by the piper o' Moses, I'll be bringing a curse down on you I will!"

Chewing her cud noisily, Hazel glanced over her shoulder, regarded the boisterous woman with contempt, then went back to nosing around in the scattered alfalfa till left in her feeder.

Thinking a curse couldn't hurt, Lacey shook her index finger at the bovine and made good her threat. "If you don't have some milk in that bucket by the time I come back to you, may you melt like butter before a summer Sun!" Then she turned around and leveled a determined gaze on the chickens. "As for you flighty wee lasses..."

Outside the barn, Hawke backed away from the slats in stunned surprise. What in the name of all that's holy had he turned loose on his animals? Either the Irishwoman's brains were as scarce as bird droppings in a cuckoo clock, or she came from such aristocratic stock, she hadn't even
seen
farm animals before, much less worked with them. Suddenly concerned for his chickens, who were squawking and carrying on like a fox was loose in their midst, Hawke hurried around to the front of the barn and tore through the doors.

There he found Lacey stretched flat out on the floor, belly-side down. She'd trapped his rooster in the egg basket, and even though it was struggling mightily, she held the cock firmly in place. Then she began shouting at it in the same gruff voice she'd used on the unimpressed Hazel.

"I'll have an egg now, my pretty wee chicken, and don't be wasting my time—out with it!"

"Stop!" Hawke demanded, afraid she would squeeze the very life out of his only rooster. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

Looking over her shoulder, Lacey blew a few spirals of hair away from her eyes, smiled at him, and said, "Collecting eggs, like I was told, sir. This one does not seem to be too willing."

"That one," Hawke explained as he reached her and hunkered down next to the basket to check on the bird, "is my
rooster—
do you
know what a rooster is, by any chance?"

"Aye," she murmured, understanding. "'Tis a lad of a bird, and one that can not be making us any our breakfast." Lacey pushed herself to her knees and brushed the dirt and straw from her skirt. "Would you mind showing me how I might tell him apart from the lasses so I do not make that same mistake again?"

"There's no need for that." Hawke stood, extended his hand, and helped Lacey to her feet. "I don't intend to let you near my chickens again. As badly as you shook them up, I'll be lucky if they lay any eggs the rest of the week."

"Oh... oh, no." Tears sprang into her eyes, but Lacey fought to keep them inside. "I tried so hard to do it right, honest I did. Will you tell me what I've done wrong? I did get the one egg you know."

Oh, hell—she 'wasn't going to cry, was she? Hawke hadn't been faced with a woman's tears since... well, since his mother so very long ago. He hadn't been able to help the only woman he'd ever cared about to stop the flow then, and he didn't even want to try now. But he had to do something. Feeling that spot inside him going soft again, Hawke purposefully hardened his voice when he finally answered.

"I'm not blaming you, so don't get all blubbery on me. Where did you find that one egg you brought me?"