The boy cautiously revealed himself and crept forward a few steps. He was wearing a faded plaid shirt much too big and a pair of dirty, suspender overalls much too small. His small inquisitive face was as dirty as his bare feet.
“Closer. Right here.” Maria waved her sketchbook in the air and patted the ground beside her.
Tye turned to the boy. “It’s all right, Lenny. This is Miss O’Donnell, the town’s new teacher. You and your pa met her sister, Abigail, the other day. You know, the gal your pa saved from the lynx sitting in the tree? The gal who was picking blackberries?”
The boy nodded and edged closer, craning his neck to get a glimpse of Maria’s sketch pad. Finally, he knelt beside her, and she handed it to him.
“My, that’s right purty,” he whispered in awe. He ran his finger over the picture as if he was caressing it and committing it to memory. “I like the butterfly.”
“It’s actually not good,” she admitted. “Some artists can capture every little detail. I just draw for fun.”
“Can you teach me?”
“I could show you a little about it, but you start by selecting something you like and then you try to draw your picture as close to the real thing as possible.”
“Whatcha going to do with your picture?”
“Nothing. You may have it, if you like.”
Lenny’s whole face split into a wide smile.
“In fact, you can have the sketchbook and pencil.” Maria rose and dusted off her skirt. “I have another at home and one at school.”
The boy shook his head vehemently. “No, it wouldn’t be right.”
“Yes, it’s fine.” Maria thrust the book and pencil at him. “There’s only a few sheets left anyhow. You see, I tear out and burn all those sheets of objects I’ve attempted to draw and don’t like. Think of it as a present for your father taking care of Abigail the other day when she encountered the ornery lynx. Go on, give it a try.”
Lenny took the sketch pad and pencil she offered. “Thank you, ma’am.” He nodded politely, then without another word, scampered up the bank and between the trees. They heard Lenny give an excited hoot as he galloped through the bushes. “I’m gonna capture me a picture of a red squirrel on this here paper!”
Tye stood. “I believe you made the kid’s day, Maria.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth as she surveyed the ground at her feet. “My talents as an artist aren’t spectacular. Often I just waste precious time when I should be doing other more worthwhile things.” When she looked up, Tye Ashmore’s face was just inches from hers.
“Then let’s not waste any more precious time, and let’s do something worthwhile.” He placed his hand gently on her shoulders and drew her toward him.
“Tye, this isn’t such a good idea,” she whispered and pressed her hands against his solid chest. “I could lose my job. Most school boards prefer unattached, unmarried women.”
“As do I,” he said as his lips descended slowly to meet hers.
“Tye, no.” She tried to shy away, but he held her firmly.
“Just one, Maria,” he said. “Just one to remember me.”
She felt his lips touch hers. The kiss was light and gentle like a summer breeze. And when he pulled away and looked into her eyes with a covetous gaze, she realized this man was going to be a complication she had not counted on.
****
Although Abigail was pleased Maria and Tye had taken some time to be alone, she didn’t like the idea of having to suffer through the afternoon with Brett. She suspected Maria had already grown fond of the quiet mannered, sometimes brooding rancher ever since the day on the flatboat when she fainted. And Abigail also knew unsupervised time together could only help to further their relationship, even though Maria had been adamant she would not jeopardize her teaching position. She started to repack the picnic basket and was surprised when Brett rose to help her before he sat down beside her to relax and stare at the cloud formations in the sky.
“Why doesn’t Tye want to work for the army?” she asked. “I heard he was offered a good job to scout for them.”
Brett removed his hat, ran his fingers though his hair, and reset it. He leaned back on his elbows. His long booted legs spilled out onto the grass.
“Tydall is a rancher at heart, even though he’s one of the best scouts around the Territory. He soaks up Indian languages like a dry desert in a rainstorm, and he can speak or understand Ute, Arapaho, and a little Apache. He can sign as well and can speak half-decent Spanish. He came here with his family when he was fourteen and took to the hills and backlands, often taking off for days to explore the woods and land. He’s trapped, hunted, and crossed paths with numerous bands of wandering Indians who befriended him. Often he’d spend time in their villages just learning their habits and enjoying their friendship while they taught him their skills.” Brett laughed. “His brothers often joke how you don’t get Tye mad when he’s handling a knife. I guess I was lucky I only have a sore jaw from the escapade on the flatboat.”
“The Indians didn’t try to kill him?” Abigail asked.
“Growing up, he was wild and more Indian than White. It didn’t hurt that the Ashmores would turn a blind eye to bands in the area, letting them drink from their wells, and loot a calf or two from their herds to fill their hungry stomachs.”
“I’ll bet the army was far from pleased,” she said in a pointed tone.
“Well, you have to understand the Ashmores were originally from Virginia and came west to avoid the Civil War. Tom Ashmore, their father, was a peaceful man and never believed in killing as a way to settle any argument. But his boys, although thoughtful and respectful of their pa’s position, never shied away from a fight when it came to them.”
An easy smile played at the corners of Brett’s mouth. “Then there’s Julia Gast, Flint Ashmore wife, who’s a potter. She even worked with a renegade, Two Bears, who helped her gather wild horses to sell to the army when she arrived in the Territory and needed cash. The family’s ties to the Indian tribes are knotted pretty tight, and Tye won’t ever try to undo those knots or sever the rope.” He stared over at her, and she could feel his warm gaze travel from her face down to her tips of her feet. She felt a tingling in the pit of her stomach.
Abigail stammered, “Charlie…Charlie Haney who works at the inn said Tye is often called on by the army when they need an interpreter or help when they cross paths with errant bands passing through the area.”
Brett removed his hat, reclined on the quilt, propped his hands under his head, and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the late summer sun on his face. “It’s the only time he won’t refuse to help—when children and families are involved.” He snorted out a laugh. “The last time he interceded for the army and helped a band pass safely through the area headed for Utah, he found his doorstep at the ranch heaped with wild game, a new buckskin shirt and pants, moccasins, a string of Indian ponies, and a ton of other gifts. Indians admire loyalty, and word travels quickly from tribe to tribe.”
He opened his eyes, sat up, and turned to her. “So how’s the inn coming along? Tye tells me he’s taking Maria to dinner there on Friday night to celebrate the re-opening. I can’t wait to see him get out of those buckskins.”
“It’s coming along wonderfully.” There was exuberance in her voice. “We’ve redone the barroom and renamed the dining room to the Lantern Room when we ran out of money for more gas lights and had to hang rows of miners’ lanterns along the walls instead.”
“I heard you tore down those ugly curtains.”
“Yes, they were hiding the view of the town,” she said. “We put up some sheer curtains we could tie back and lined the sills with vases of wild flowers. I’ve hired two sisters to sing for the diners before they perform later in the bar. Uncle Henry would be surprised if he could see it now.”
“No doubt. He helped a lot of men in his days.”
“Did you know him?” she asked. “What was he like?”
“He was an honest man. A man of his word. He never turned down anyone who was destitute. Loaned people money.”
“Then why would someone want to kill him?”
Brett shrugged. “For his money, I imagine. Supposedly his wallet was missing.”
“Why would my uncle be in the cemetery in the evening?”
He shook his head and balanced his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know. Did you have a chance to look at all his ledgers?”
“Yes, but not in great detail. What can you tell me about Aunt Emma?”
“Emma was a charmer in her younger days, I hear. Beautiful, but people say she was crafty, for whatever it’s worth.”
Nodding, Maria asked, “Were they happy?”
Brett pursed her lips and sighed. “Hmm…why wouldn’t a woman be happy when a man gives her everything she wants? From the looks of things, Henry paid her debts, dressed her in the finest clothes, and built her a mansion.”
“I see.” But she really didn’t. He had never once said anything about love. She thought about the upcoming re-opening of the Mule Shed Inn. She hoped there would be a large gathering of people so as not to diminish all the work she and her help had accomplished. Brett Trumble interrupted her wandering thoughts.
“And who will be escorting you on Friday, Miss O’Donnell?”
“I have no escort. I plan to dine with Tye and Maria.”
“Oh, no. That will never do. I’d be pleased to escort you.”
“Thank you, but no,” she said in a determined voice. “I’ll be too busy to even eat.”
“I insist.”
“Absolutely not!”
“A two hundred dollar debt says I will, Abby.” His voice was low and insistent.
“You’ll get your money and whatever it cost for the lumber for our cottage.” Abigail rose from the quilt, stalked to a nearby tree, and stared out over the landscape. Brett walked up behind her and propped a hand on the trunk of the tree, just above her head. She felt his shirt brush against her back.
He heaved a sigh, his breath warm on the back of her neck. “Your temper’s like the nitroglycerin you hauled down from Canon City Landing—prone to explode when you get rattled.”
“And your manners are like an old mule, despicable, deplorable, and obstinate!”
Brett spun her around and pulled her toward him, bending his head and covering her mouth with his. He kissed her soundly, lifting his face a moment, before he plundered her lips again. When he released her, she stepped backwards, away from him. He reached out to caress her cheek, but she turned her head sharply away.
“You’d better leave,” she ground out in a low voice, refusing to look up.
“I’ll pick you up at six on Friday.”
“Don’t bother. I have to leave early and be there at five.” There was fire in her voice.
“Look at me, Abigail.” She turned and gazed at him. “Now who’s the one being obstinate? I’ll pick you up at five. You shouldn’t go unescorted.” Without another word, he touched two fingers to the brim of his hat and walked to his black stallion, a magnificent beast wearing a hand-tooled saddle. He slipped up easily on his mount, turned the stallion toward town, and rode away.
Chapter Nine
It was the first day of school, and Maria was fighting with her tangled hair and rattled nerves.
“I look like a plucked turkey,” she wailed, studying her reflection in a small mirror propped against a stack of books on the cottage’s nicked kitchen table. She had combed her hair a dozen times until her scalp hurt. Finally, she had pulled the tresses back into a tight matronly bun at the nape of her neck. Her ears stuck out on both sides like handles on a buttermilk urn.
Abigail turned from the breakfast dishes she was washing at the sink and looked at her sister in mild amusement. She wiped her sudsy hands on a towel and snatched Maria’s hairbrush from the table. With quick, efficient motions, she plucked the pins from her sister’s bun and vigorously brushed out the snarls from her hair cascading down her back.
“You’re a school teacher, not an old maid, for goodness sake,” Abigail scolded, parting Maria’s sleek hair down the middle, smoothing it gently over her ears and pulling it back into a loose bunch of curls to fall down her back. She tied them firmly in place with a white ribbon to match the starched white collar on Maria’s brown dress. “Now shoo, or the teacher is going to be late for her first day of school. How embarrassing would that be?”
Maria grabbed the new bag, her shawl, and a small picnic basket with her lunch and a plate full of cookies she had baked the night before as a treat for her new students. She set off at a fast pace on a path lined with end-of-the season buttercups and daisies leading to the schoolhouse on the opposite end of town. She was so nervous, she hardly noticed the morning unfold in front of her as chipmunks darted over the dew-laden grass collecting dried seeds and birds high in the trees sang their early morning melodies. But she was thrilled to discover she was not late. She hung her shawl on a hook in the cloakroom and eyed the room critically.
Desks of various sizes, the largest in the back, marched up the room in three rows and were scrubbed clean. The slate chalkboard behind her desk shone with an ebony brilliance. Even the beeswax on the furniture and floors emitted a familiar, clean scent heralding the start of a new school year. Early morning light sparkled through the newly washed windows and covered her desktop in a soft yellow glow. But it was only when she approached the desk to deposit her book bag and basket, she noticed the white sheets of paper lying there.
Maria frowned as soon as she recognized her familiar old sketchbook and pencil she had given Lenny. She picked up the book, pleased to see he had kept her butterfly picture. She lifted the cover. There, underneath, was a delicate sketch of a red squirrel perched high on a tree limb, with its head cocked as if it detected danger nearby. Lenny had not missed a single detail and had perfected it right down to the clusters of pinecones amid sharp, spiny pine needles.
Tears welled in Maria’s eyes as she stared at the picture. The child was talented way beyond normal children his age. The work was exceptional. She frowned, realizing his father must have demanded he return the drawing materials. She slipped it into the top drawer of her desk as the children began to file in, and she made a mental note to remember to ask Tye or Abigail to take her to see River Roy. She now knew the child would not be in school as Brett had earlier predicted.