splitting wood. Mr. Beaumont’s…well, I’m not certain what Mr. Beaumont’s doing, but I—”
“I’m stackin’,” Ned said helpfully.
“He’s stacking,” Wyatt said. “You were going to hire him, weren’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, he can’t split wood, now, can he? I told you about his injured leg.”
“Yes, you did, but—”
“Can’t split wood,” Ned interjected. “Can’t plant my feet proper and throw my shoulder into it.”
“Thought I could help him,” Wyatt said. “You don’t have to pay me, just him.”
Rachel looked at the throne Ned had made for himself out of Wyatt’s labor. “Pay him for sitting.”
Wyatt and Ned objected with one voice. “And stacking.”
Rachel was certain her brain slipped another gear. She took a steadying breath. “Why are you here now?”
“Sorry about waking you,” Wyatt said, setting up another log. “Ned’s got a second job to do this morning, so we thought we’d come early and get a decent start on this one.”
“Actually,” Ned said, sliding off the stack, “I need to be goin’. Joe Morrison’s got some shelves that need repairin’ at the emporium. Told him I’d be there before he’s set to open.” He tipped his hat at Rachel. “Don’t worry about paying me now, Miss Bailey. I’ll come back round for it later.”
Rachel stared after him, her lower jaw a tad slack with disbelief as Ned loped off, favoring his injured leg. When she looked back at Wyatt, she saw his features were so seriously set that he could only be suppressing a howl of laughter. “I su-p-pose you think you’re f-funny,” she said, thrusting her hands deep in her pockets to keep them warm.
“Go on back inside. You’re cold.” He swung the maul, driving the wedge cleanly into the wood and splitting it in three pieces this time. “I’ll be in when I’m finished here and you can make me breakfast. That’ll even things out between us.” He set another foot-long length of wood on its end and took aim. Just before he swung, he spared a glance for her. “Scrambled eggs, if you don’t mind.”
Rachel decided the best response was not to make one. She pivoted smartly and marched back to the house. If she owned a shotgun she’d use it to point out the direction of Longabach’s restaurant, then shoot him with it if he didn’t take the hint. She liked the idea so much that she entertained herself with plans to buy a shotgun. That kept her occupied while she washed up, pinned back her hair, and dressed for the day, but when she went to put a pot of coffee on, she saw he was still cutting and splitting wood. In spite of the briskness of the morning, there was a fine sheen of perspiration on his face and throat. She watched him pause once, lift his hat, and wipe his brow with a kerchief, then go right back to work.
It shouldn’t have softened her toward him. Rachel reminded herself that she hadn’t asked him to do anything for her and, in truth, had made several attempts to direct him elsewhere. She sincerely doubted this was what Clinton Maddox had in mind when he arranged for Wyatt Cooper to look after her.
Rachel wondered if she could find a way to better explain her opinion on the matter over breakfast.
Wyatt stomped his feet as he came in the door, alerting Rachel to his presence. The combined hearty aromas of bacon and coffee made him hope that she intended to feed him. He hung his coat and hat by the door and stepped into the kitchen. It was a consequence of the appetite he’d worked up that the first thing he noticed was that there were plenty of eggs and bacon in the skillet. She’d even made some biscuits that were now staying warm on top of the stove. Evidently she’d elicited the great black beast’s cooperation this morning.
“Smells good.” He came up beside her at the stove and warmed his hands several inches above the basket of biscuits.
“Wash up. I know your mother taught you manners.” Rachel glimpsed his half smile before he went to the tub and lathered his hands. She placed the biscuits on the table and served up the bacon and eggs, then took up the chair she’d occupied the night before. She was uncomfortably aware that she usually sat in the chair she was giving over to Wyatt. He’d only spent one evening in it and somehow she’d allowed him to claim it.
She’d have to be careful she didn’t let him wander around the house, marking territory.
“Did you say something?” asked Wyatt. He slathered butter on a warm biscuit.
“Hmm? No. No, at least I didn’t mean to. I was just thinking.”
“A penny, then.”
“It’s not worth that much.”
Wyatt let it go. “Ned and I made a pretty good start on the wood you’ll be needing.”
“About that, Sheriff Cooper, I—”
“Wyatt.” When she just looked at him, he added, “Wyatt. Most folks call me that.”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
Biting into the biscuit, Wyatt let it melt over his tongue. As the first taste slowly made its way to all of his senses, he was tempted to simply close his eyes for the sheer fine pleasure of it. “Well, they do,” he said around a mouthful. “Lord, but this is good. Why did you let me think you were all thumbs in the kitchen?”
“Please don’t make me responsible for what you think. I had problems yesterday with the eggs. I never said I couldn’t make a biscuit.”
“No, you didn’t, did you?” He nudged the honey jar toward him and drizzled a curlicue on what was left of the biscuit in his palm. The sweetness made the last two bites just about sinful. “I promise not to tell anyone you can cook like this as long as you fix them for me from time to time.”
“Now, why would I care if you told anyone?”
“First off, because they’d know you were entertaining me and that’s bound to make for speculation, and second, Abe Dishman will take it as a sign that you’re wavering in your old maid ways and is likely to lead the charge to your front door. There’s no hope I can beat back all your suitors.”
“Old maid, Sheriff?”
Wyatt didn’t answer. He picked up a forkful of eggs instead.
“Old maid, Wyatt?”
He lifted an eyebrow as he gave her a sideways look. “You’re just about the oldest unmarried woman in Reidsville. That pretty much defines old maid here.”
“I was only twenty-four my last birthday.”
“When was that?”
“March.”
“Twenty-four and one-half. You’re making my point for me.” He used his fork to indicate her plate. “You better eat. You’re going to need your strength to fight off Abe and everyone else who wants their name on your dance card.”
Rachel
