Whirlwind Baby

“A running iron?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re modifying our brand, Holt’s, the Baldwins.”

“Yeah, and right now we don’t know what mark they’re using. Could be a bar, a circle. We just don’t know.”

“You got a brand book?” Jake asked.

“The last one issued by the livestock association and a copy of The Prairie Caller for double-checkin’. There may be some new brands in the paper’s latest edition.”

Emma knew The Prairie Caller was the newspaper in Whirlwind. The newspaper in which Jake had run an ad hoping to get a family for Molly.

“At least the book will show us what’s legitimate,” Jake said. “Maybe help us figure out the brands that aren’t.”

The men’s voices dropped so low that Emma couldn’t hear any more. She uncovered the plate of corn bread and ham she’d put aside for Bram. After removing a cloth from the earthen pitcher of buttermilk, she filled a real glass, then carried it with the plate to the dining-room table. She set down the food, glancing toward the brothers.

Jake’s gaze flickered over her, his jaw locking, his eyes flashing. Apprehension had her going still. Why was he looking at her like that? What were they talking about?

“Well?” Bram leveled a look at his brother.

Jake turned away and started for the stairs. Over his shoulder, he said, “Good night, Miz York.”

“Good night.”

Bram gave a derisive snort and came to the table. Emma looked from him to Jake, who was already halfway up the stairs. What was going on?

Bram slid into his chair. “This looks really good, ma’am. You’re a good cook.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ross.”

“You’d better call me Bram.” His blue eyes twinkled. “You’ll talk yourself dizzy calling all three of us Mr. Ross.”

“All right.” She turned for the kitchen. “I’ll be in here, finishing up. If you need anything, let me know.”

He nodded, already digging in. Giving one last look to make sure Molly still slept, Emma went back into the kitchen and pumped water into the deep sink. Back in Topeka, her mother’s house had boasted an indoor pump and a bathing tub. Emma had been pleasantly surprised to find those conveniences here, too. There was even an oblong bathing tub in her room. Jake Ross and his family must do very well with their ranch.

She washed the bread pans, the griddle, the egg beater and the good china Georgia said had been her mother’s, setting everything on the wide counter to the side to hand-dry when she finished rinsing.

As she worked, her mind went again to the wagon accident. Once they’d arrived home, Jake had gotten her and Molly into the house. His jaw had been set, his features cold and intimidating, but he hadn’t yelled or punched or threatened the way Emma’s stepfather did when he was angry. He had simply said, in a voice vibrating with quiet fury, that he was going back for that busted wheel then would be in the barn fixing it.

Georgia had told her a ranch hand named Waylon was the one who had neglected to fix the wheel when Jake had told him to do so, and he’d been fired. There were enough dangers on a ranch without making their own by being remiss.

“That hit the spot, Miz York,” Bram said as he walked into the kitchen.

Jerked out of her thoughts, she smiled over her shoulder at him. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“The baby’s sleeping real good. I just checked.”

“Thank you.” She turned and took his plate, their fingers brushing. Emma thought back to when her fingers had touched Jake’s yesterday morning at breakfast. His touch had sent heat streaking up her arm and into other places of her body. But she felt nothing like that at his brother’s touch.

Bram moved to her other side, snagging a clean dish towel from the rack on the wall beside the sink. “I’ll help you dry.”

“Oh, no! That’s not—”

“Do I smell too much like dirt and cattle?”

He did smell of those things, but Emma didn’t find it unpleasant. She was more worried that someone—Jake—might think she wasn’t doing her job if everyone kept helping her all the time. With the back of her hand, she pushed her eyeglasses up. “You look worn out.”

“No offense, but so do you. If we work together, we can both turn in sooner.”

“Wouldn’t you rather eat the last of the apple pie?”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “I thought I might sneak that upstairs.”

She laughed as he picked up the skillet and began drying. He glanced over at her. “Jake told me there was a wagon accident today.”

She tensed, wondering if his brother had told him why they’d been in the wagon to start with. It was bad enough that Jake knew she wasn’t wearing a corset; she would be mortified if he’d told his brother about the theft.

But the other man acted as if he had no idea about her missing undergarment. “It’s good the baby’s okay, but Jake said you got banged up a bit.”

“Just a scrape or two.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t worse.”

“Me, too.”

“A busted wheel can be dangerous. Scary.”

“Yes. And loud.” She smiled at him, relieved to think that Jake had told his brother only about the wagon accident.

“Did he see anyone in town besides Hoot—”

He broke off abruptly and her gaze swung to his. So, he knew Jake had asked the newspaper man, Mr. Eckert, about the ad regarding Molly.

Bram chewed the inside of his cheek, looking as if he wished he hadn’t said that. After a long pause, he continued, “Did he talk to anyone named Quentin?”

“No, only the man from the newspaper.” The thought made her mad all over again and she couldn’t keep her voice from shaking. She rinsed the coffeepot and began drying. “He just had to know if anyone had responded to his ad about a family for Molly.”

This time, it was Bram’s gaze slicing to her and Emma winced inwardly. She had to watch what she said. Comments like that could anger these men. Any time she had expressed her opinion at home had certainly made her stepfather angry.

But, when Bram spoke, he sounded thoughtful, reassuring. “I don’t look for him to find a family. Not one that’s suitable, anyway. He won’t let her go with anyone if he isn’t a hundred percent sure.”

Emma didn’t see why Jake had to try and give Molly away, at all. She put the clean coffeepot back on the stove, asking softly, “Do you want to give her away, too?”

“No, but I haven’t been through what he’s—”

Emma glanced up, waiting.

Bram peered hard at the skillet he dried. “He’ll come around. He’s a tough nut to crack sometimes.”

She wanted to believe Bram; he certainly knew his brother better than she did. But what had he meant about Jake? What had he been through?

Before she could ponder too long, the big man beside her stacked the now-clean pans and placed them up on the long shelf that ran the length of the wall behind the sink. He hung the damp towel on the rack.

“Thanks for your help.” She dried her hands on her apron.

“You’re welcome. You should get some shut-eye. You’ve had a rough day.”

She doused the lantern, then followed him out of the kitchen.

He took care of the lantern at the foot of the stairs then started up, his piece of pie wrapped in a cloth. Pale yellow light washed down the stairs from a hall lamp by the bedrooms. “Good night.”

“Good night.” She bent and picked up Molly, soothing the little girl when she stirred. In the few steps it took to reach their room, the baby was again deeply asleep.

Emma moved to the bed, noticing a plain brown wrapped package at the foot of the mattress.

Last night, in the middle of the night, the little girl had climbed out and toddled over to Emma. She’d wanted to play and, when Emma had finally gotten Molly back to sleep, she’d kept the baby in bed with her. She couldn’t have her sister wandering about at night.

She settled the little girl into the fat mattress, where she would sleep until her bed arrived. Emma folded the blanket to the foot of the bed and left only the top sheet. The nights were too hot for more than one layer. She picked up the package and walked to the washstand against the far wall to turn up the lamp a bit. Amber light flickered on the floor as she sank down into the rocking chair that sat near the window. Tired and sore, Emma took off her glasses and placed them on the washstand. She closed her eyes for a second before unknotting the twine around the package and opening it. She gaped.

A corset!

As her fingers skimmed over the pale colored sateen-weave cotton and cream lace trim at the top, she wavered between embarrassment and pleasure. But, when she touched the satin ribbon threaded through the lace, the embarrassment faded. Jake had gotten her a corset. It had to have been him; no one else knew. How had he done it? When?

The package hadn’t been in the wagon; it would’ve flown out during the accident and Emma would’ve seen it. She lifted the undergarment, taking note of the fine whalebone, the steel busk at the center front where it hooked together. It was a “spoon busk,” curved in at the waist and widened into a pear shape at the bottom. That was what gave it smooth, slim lines, what every fashionable woman wore.

The garment was much finer than Emma’s stolen one. She held it up by the side seams to check the width. It would fit. It looked perfect. Her throat tightened.

Jake Ross had gotten her a corset.

She stared in amazement. She had to thank him.

It wouldn’t suit to ignore the gesture, regardless of the gift being so intimate. She pushed out of the rocking chair, clasping the undergarment tight as she hurried out of her room. She stopped outside of the door.

Everyone was asleep. Jake probably wouldn’t be coming back down here tonight and Emma certainly couldn’t go up there. Slowly, she turned and went back into her room, so overwhelmed she felt as if her chest might burst.

Believing her to be afraid, he had kept a marked distance from her ever since they’d reached the ranch. The smart thing to do would be to keep her distance, as well. It was best for her and Molly’s safety. But Emma couldn’t ignore the gift. She just couldn’t. The first time they had a moment alone, she would thank him.

Emma had been wearing her new corset for the last two days and she knew Jake was aware. Three times she had caught his heated gaze on her. But she still hadn’t had a single opportunity to thank him alone.

She wanted it done. Maybe then she could stop thinking about him in her room, touching her corset.

It was midafternoon and Georgia had gone into town for a Saturday meeting with the library committee. The men were out stringing fence. Emma had heard more talk last night as they’d tried to decide how to set a trap for the cattle rustlers.

About a half hour ago, Emma had put the baby down for her nap then swept and dusted the rooms upstairs. Now she surveyed the freshly scrubbed kitchen floor and fanned herself with one hand. Perspiration trickled between her breasts and down her spine, and she plucked the light cotton dress away from her skin. Pushing back the hair that had come loose from her braid, she undid the top two buttons on her bodice.

Since it appeared she wasn’t ever going to be able to talk to Jake alone, she would write him a thank-you note. She walked across the room to the big oak desk that sat in a space off the living area. A quill pen and ink well rested on the far corner, but Emma saw no paper.

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