The Cowboy Comes Home. Linda Ford
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McCoy.”
She nodded, unable to push a word to her brain let alone her mouth. The name had a familiar ring to it. Or was it only her stupid reaction making her think she’d heard it before?
“Are you Robbie’s mother?”
Words jolted from her mouth. “Oh, no.” A rush of them followed. “His mother is dead. I’m only the housekeeper. I take care of them. Every day. I make meals and—” Then a blank mind.
“Oh. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
Pleasure? Yes, it was a word that fit this man. He seemed to embrace life with his smile, his relaxed stance. Even his dark eyes—brown as mink fur—said life was good. Fun. To be enjoyed. Ah. That would explain why Robbie had responded so well to him. Robbie didn’t have much use for rules or anything interfering with his idea of fun. She tried to think how unnatural it was in a grown man but instead she smiled back, as bemused as Robbie was with the horse. Suddenly she realized he grinned because she hadn’t given her name. When had she ever been so foolish? So slow thinking? “I’m Sally Morgan.”
“Looks like we’ll be neighbors.”
Another burst of words shot from her mouth. “Oh, no. I don’t live here. I only come in the daytime. I live out of town.” She waved in vaguely the direction of the Morgan home. “Not very far from town. Just a nice walk. I come to take care of the house and the children.”
How could she have forgotten her responsibility? “Come along, Robbie. Your father will be home shortly.”
Robbie stuck out his lip in an all-too-familiar gesture.
Linc McCoy strode to the boy’s side with a rolling gait. “Nice meeting you, Robbie. Red says so, too, don’t you, Boy?”
The horse whinnied and nodded his head.
“See. He agrees.”
Robbie giggled, but when he turned back to Sally his look overflowed with rebellion. He had the same coloring as his sister, brown hair, brown eyes. On Carol it was sweet. Not a word she would use to describe Robbie.
Mr. McCoy planted a hand on Robbie’s shoulder and turned him toward Sally. “You run along now. Perhaps you can visit again.”
“Only with permission,” Sally warned.
“That’s right. You have to ask before you come over. Wouldn’t want to worry Miss Morgan, would you?” He shifted his warm, steady gaze to Sally, and her breath stuck halfway up her windpipe. “It is Miss, isn’t it?”
She nodded. It was an innocent enough question. It was only her befuddled brain making her think it brimmed with interest. “Yes.” If she didn’t get back in a matter of minutes, not only would supper be ruined but she was bound to say something really and truly stupid.
Robbie didn’t protest when she grabbed his hand and hustled him to the fence. He scampered over, but she hesitated. There was no graceful way to climb over and land on her feet.
Mr. McCoy followed her. “Allow me.” He pushed the wire down with his foot and extended his hand to help her over.
What a predicament. Place her hand in his and most certainly stumble over her tongue, or climb over on her own and most certainly stumble to the ground.
She chose dignity over wisdom, placed her fingers in his cool firm palm and wobbled her way over the swaying wire. “Thank you,” she murmured, managing to make her thick tongue say the two syllables without tangling them.
Abe’s car pulled into the narrow driveway.
Oh, no. She couldn’t possibly make it back before he discovered her absence. “Run, Robbie.” She grabbed his hand and fled for the back door.
They burst into the house. Sally choked on the burnt smell. Abe held a smoking pot in his tea-towel-protected hand.
“I’m sorry,” Sally gasped and rushed to take the pot. The potatoes were ruined. She dumped the pot in the sink and quickly checked the rest of the meal. The green beans she’d shoved to the back of the stove looked a little limp but were edible. The meat simmered in now glutinous gravy, but it could be salvaged with the addition of hot water. “Everything will be ready in a minute or two. I’ll call Carol.” But when she turned to do so, Abe blocked her way.
“Where were you? I come home expecting supper and discover my daughter home alone, you and my son missing. Did you let him run away again?”
Her tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth. She sucked saliva to moisten it. Why did he blame her when Robbie was so difficult?
“I need someone who can handle my home and children.”
She nodded miserably. She had always considered herself efficient until she started work here. And her future depended on proving it. Everyone knew Abe Finley was in need of a new wife and mother for his children. He was a man with a good home and a government job that offered stability. Too bad he couldn’t smile with as much pleasure as Mr. McCoy did. She dismissed the thought before it had a chance to roost.
“It won’t happen again.” Not if she had to chain Robbie to the stove.
“I’m glad to hear that.” He turned on his heel. “Call me when you have things properly organized.”
She was organized. She did watch his children with due care. A thousand protests sprang to her mind but were quickly squelched as she turned back to the stove. Abe wasn’t unkind. He simply liked things done properly, neatly. It wasn’t too much to expect. Especially if she wanted him to offer marriage to make the arrangement permanent.
Too bad he couldn’t enjoy life as much as Linc McCoy appeared to.
Sally slammed a pot lid on the cupboard with more force than necessary. Why was she thinking about a stranger when her future lay in this house? If she proved herself acceptable—and she vowed she would. And who was Linc McCoy to be hanging about Mrs. Shaw’s place like he owned it?
She managed to present a passable meal, substituting slabs of bread for the potatoes. Her father had always said there was nothing quite as good as bread and gravy, but she could tell Abe didn’t share the opinion. However, he ate without complaint and pushed from the table a little later, having eaten enough to satisfy most any appetite.
“You did fine despite your mistakes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She met his gaze for a moment but as always felt awkward and darted her glance past him to the dirty dishes. “I’ll wash up before I head home.”
“I appreciate that.”
Yet somehow she wondered if he did, or if he expected it. Immediately she scolded herself for her wicked thoughts. Why was she suddenly so keen to criticize him? She had no right. She was here to do a job. With the unspoken agreement that it could lead to more.
A window stood over the sink and as she washed dishes, she glanced out frequently. She faced the back of the yard, toward Mrs. Shaw’s place. A gate near the barn swung back and Linc, astride Big Red, rode out. He sat on the horse like the two were one, his hat pulled low to shield his eyes from the slanting rays of the sun. Red raced down the alley between the two properties. Linc and Red flowed like fast-moving water down the fence line. At the corner, the horse reared.
Sally’s heart clamored up her throat. He was going to be thrown.
But instead, he let out a loud whoop that reached her through the open window. Then he laughed and rode back.
He saw her staring at him and waved his hat, grinning so widely and freely it tugged at some remote part of her heart. Oh, to feel so free and full of enjoyment.
With another whoop, he guided the horse past the barn and out of sight.
She didn’t know who he was, but he certainly seemed to think life was a lark. She forced her attention back to the stack of dirty dishes and hoped he would ride fast and far, out of her