A Ranch To Call Home

Skipping because there was no one to witness her acting like a loon, she passed through the main room to the area behind the fireplace.

To the right was a table with one chair and to the right of the table was a stairway that led to... She lifted up onto her toes trying to see. There was no way of knowing without climbing the steep stairs, but she thought the space might be a loft.

When she and Johnny had children, the boys could sleep up there. She could nearly see them peeking over the edge, their eyes green and—no, no, no! Brown eyes, warm and happy like their father, peering over the edge.

She shook herself. Perhaps she was still more sleepy than she realized. When she was wide awake, she would no longer recall the dream or how the man had made her feel so cherished.

Spinning left, she was grateful to see a kitchen with a wood-burning stove. As though in a deliriously happy fog, she moved toward the black-iron beauty that had six burners and an oven.

“Hurry home, Johnny! I need to give you a kiss.” And after they’d been to the preacher... Well, she blushed right there in her own sweet kitchen just imagining the kisses they would share.

Chisel, whining at the front door, snapped her to the here and now, which was a wonderful place to be.

“It looks like rain,” she announced, opening the front door. He bunched his legs, then leaped from the porch without touching the stairs. He raced across the yard, over the bridge and through an autumn-brown meadow.

He must be claiming the land as his, the same as she was claiming the house.

And what better way to do it than to explore the loft, then to clean the grime off the windows? After that, with a fire crackling in the fireplace, she would sit in her chair and sew her curtains.

If life could be any better, she could not imagine how.

* * *

If life could be any better, Jesse Creed could not imagine how. Sitting beside the campfire, he could smell his horses, hear them snorting and shuffling their hooves in the dirt.

After a week and a half on the homeward-bound trail, they would soon be grazing in their home pastures. It would take until after dark to get there. They might even encounter some rain. Where he was, it was clear overheard, but far off to the west, clouds were massing.

Rain or not, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to be home.

During the time he’d been gone, he’d seen more of the outside world than he wanted to. There had been no way to ignore tainted reality since he’d been constantly dragging Bingham away from this or that “adventure,” lecturing him on how a horse was better company than the Underwood brothers.

But he was a kid and curious. There was only so much Jesse could do to set the boy’s feet on the right path.

“You anxious to get home?” Jesse asked.

Bingham, lounging against his saddle beside the campfire, didn’t answer at first. An owl hooted in a branch overhead and a distant coyote yipped while the boy seemed to consider what to say.

“I’ll be right glad to see my pa. The thing is, I’m worried I’ll dry up with boredom. Next time you buy horses, I’d like to go along. You don’t even have to pay me.”

“You deserve to be paid. You’re a hard worker.”

There was a matter Jesse had been considering, going over it in his mind all during the journey home. Bingham was at a point in his life where his future might go one of two ways. He could work hard and become a man, or he could take up with the Underwoods and remain a boy for the rest of his life.

Jesse owed society recompense for the wrong he’d done. If he could keep this good-hearted boy from going astray...prevent Thomas Teal from having a broken heart, he would do it.

“With all these horses, I’ve got more work than one man can do alone,” Jesse began. “I’ll pay fair wage if you’d work for me when your father doesn’t need you at the store. You’ve shown what a good hand you’ve got with the herd, that you’re willing to work hard.”

Bingham leaped to his feet and crossed to Jesse’s side of the campfire with his hand extended. The kid stood tall with the star-studded sky behind him. It looked for all the world that he wore a sparkling crown.

But there were also flames reflecting on his face.

Yep, the kid could go right or wrong at this point. If Jesse had any say in the matter, Bingham would grow to be a responsible citizen.

“I’ll take that job, sir!”

“You’ll need a horse of your own, son. Pick one out of the herd tomorrow.”

“You’re giving me a horse?” Bingham’s long jaw dropped open.

“No, not giving. You’ve worked hard and earned yourself a pony.”

The boy slapped his thigh. “I reckon I won’t sleep a wink wondering which one to take.”

Half an hour later, Jesse heard snoring from the other side of the campfire. He heard it because he was the one who could not sleep.

Images of home played in his mind. He could nearly hear the sound of the stream that cut between the house and the big red barn. He imagined the solid thud his boots would make on the wooden bridge when he crossed it.

He pictured the horses in the paddock, saw them racing across the meadows, resting in groves of cottonwood and aspen that were scattered over the property.

He’d been so busy getting ready for the herd that he’d neglected the house. It had suited his needs for a while, with the one chair on the porch and the other before the fireplace. It was hard to remember what he’d stuffed into the loft built over the kitchen, but he was anxious to get it out and put his house in order.

Gazing up at the stars, he knew he was a blessed man. He didn’t deserve any of what he had.

In the end, he did fall asleep halfway into a prayer of thanksgiving.

Chapter Four (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)

It was late in the evening when Laura Lee hung a curtain on the last bare window. Listening to rain tap on the porch, she adjusted gathers over the rod, smoothing them with her fingers until they were evenly spread.

Then, hands on hips, she stood back to gaze at her handiwork. It looked like bouquets of snow-white flowers bloomed in the windows. Even though she was accustomed to sewing, her fingers ached...along with her back, her legs and her arms. Still, she could not remember a time when she’d felt better.

Glancing down, she saw the hem of her skirt winking in the high shine of the floor she had spent hours polishing.

The attic had been a treasure trove. She was surprised that the previous owners had left such useful items behind.

When Johnny returned, he was going to be pleased to see the place looking like home. There was a red rug on the floor, which she had managed to beat most of the dust out of before the rain started.

He would also appreciate the fact that he had sturdy dinnerware on which to eat the delicious meals she planned to make for him. She had been beyond pleased to find a cast-iron skillet and a pot in the loft. Basic tools but along with what she had purchased, she was well equipped to prepare food with the same skill as her mentor, Mrs. Morgan from the Lucky Clover.

There was still only the one chair, but one of the rooms had a big, comfortable bed with room and more to stretch. She’d found an extra blanket in the loft, and a good thing, too. The weather was turning colder by the day. It couldn’t be long before frost covered the ground.

Walking over to the chair, she glanced about, satisfied at how two weeks of hard work had turned her house into a home. With a tweak and a fluff, she plumped a pillow and set it back in the chair to make it look welcoming.

She smiled at her well-read copy of the Ladies’ Home Journal and Practical Housekeeper where it lay open on the end table beside the chair. Over the past few months, she’d all but worn out the pages of the magazine. Just this week, she’d spent many an evening in her chair, studying this and dreaming of that.

Hmm... One chair... A pair of newlyweds.

Sighing, she wondered where her fiancé was. It had been too long since she’d seen him and, oh, but she did miss the sound of his voice and the hint of mischief that always lurked in his brown eyes. She could not help but wonder where she would be when Johnny returned, what she would be doing or wearing.