bottom of the stairs, ready to ascend, her hand on the railing.
“Ma’am? You sure about this?” he called out over Barker’s shoulder.
“I’m fine, Mr. Wolf. I do thank you for bringing me here and your help with my luggage.”
Guess there wasn’t much more he could do, no matter his unease with the situation. He tipped his hat to her and turned back toward the buggy.
As he hoisted the trunk to his shoulder and then deposited it on the porch, he couldn’t get his mind off the situation and the vulnerable look he’d seen in her eyes when he’d helped her down from the buggy. It was that look that made him hesitate about leaving her here.
Barker didn’t want him around, that much was obvious, but that had always been the way between them. When Barker had arrived looking for work, he hadn’t liked that Doug turned to Wolf for advice about the ranch instead of him. Wolf had been a part of this ranch since the beginning, but Barker didn’t care about the history between Doug and Wolf. He figured that family came first—no matter how loose the tie. And he knew how to work that connection with Doug. The man might be several years older and rough around the edges, but since Doug had no family around, he wanted Barker to stay.
Barker had worked as a ranch hand before he’d come to find work at the Rocking S. A few decisions he’d made at the beginning made it obvious to both Doug and Wolf that he didn’t have the experience to be a foreman. He needed overseeing until he wised up. That’s why, when Doug left for the East, he’d asked Wolf to check in on the place every now and then and especially to be there at the stockyards when the cattle were sold. Doug figured that with more experience and instruction, Barker would eventually learn the ropes.
Barker took instruction from Doug, but when it came to Wolf, from day one the man turned a deaf ear. Doug knew it but figured it would eventually work its way out between the two of them. Doug, always the optimist. But once his cousin left for the East, Barker changed—moving into the big house and helping with less of the physical work. By the time everyone learned of Doug’s passing, Barker acted as though he owned and ran the entire operation.
In the year that Doug had been gone and knowing Barker like he did now, Wolf wouldn’t put it past him to step right in, pretending to comfort Mrs. Stewart in her grief and while he was at it, take what he wanted while she was at her most vulnerable. That could be the ranch. That could be her. Likely it would be both.
He looked out over the ranch, remembering a time before the outbuildings and the main house were there, a time before the few fences had been erected to keep the cattle away from the large garden and out of the corn. Over the years there had been lots of changes, but the land still called to him. It would always call to him. Since they’d learned of Doug’s death, all the hired men carried on doing what they knew best—ranching—but knew that sooner or later they would all get word on what would become of the ranch and, by extension, them.
In the corral, Jordan Hughes worked with a horse, getting it used to the feel of a saddle. Wolf walked over and leaned against the railing, watching the young cowhand work with the two-year-old gelding. The kid was entirely too timid, but he’d learn. And being cautious was always better than being foolhardy.
Wolf watched for a few minutes, offering a suggestion once and feeling pleased that Jordan tried it and it worked on the horse. Then he headed over to the cookhouse to say hello to Otis.
As he approached, he heard humming around the back of the building and followed the sound. Otis sat on an old straight-backed chair, a bucket filled with potatoes at his feet as he peeled the one in his hands. He looked up when Wolf appeared and wiped a hand on his dirty apron. His face, swarthy and lined from a life in the sun, managed to rearrange itself into a grin.
“You’ll be cooking for more. Mrs. Stewart has arrived.”
“Figured that was her in the buggy.” Otis tilted his head, squinting into the sun to study Wolf. “You stayin’ too?”
“Might. Barker’s acting strange.”
Otis grinned. “Well, he probably don’t know how to act around a proper woman. All he’s ever been with is Gertie from the saloon. Nice as she is, he still don’t treat her very good.”
That didn’t do much in the way of reassuring Wolf. “How would you know?”
“Oh, I get into town every now and then.”
Wolf grunted. Now that he thought about it, Otis did stop into his parents’ dry goods store to get spices that his mother grew and dried. He just hadn’t realized the old coot stopped at the saloon too.
“’Course lately, Barker’s had Gertie out here for a few days at a time. She’s been gettin’ real comfortable in the house. Guess things will be different with Mrs. Stewart around. Been ten years since the first Mrs. Stewart. She kept us all on our toes, don’t you know.”
Wolf remembered. Douglas’s mother had had high expectations of everyone and everything, but then she had high expectations for herself too. She had a gentle way with all of it, and the ranch hands respected her. It would be interesting to see how the new Mrs. Stewart fitted in with things.
“When I saw the buggy, I started in on these spuds. Got a special meal planned.” He turned over the potato in his hand, critically examining it for any remaining peel. Then he squinted back up at Wolf, studying him. “How long are you fixin’ to stay?”
Although Wolf hadn’t made up his mind, Otis knew him better than he knew himself. Since Doug had departed with the understanding that Wolf would look after things, Wolf figured a wife was included in that understanding too. Should the situation be reversed, it was no more or less than what he would expect of Doug.
Wolf mentally ran through the work orders waiting on his workbench in town. He had new ones coming in daily. If he stayed here on the ranch more than a day or two, he’d have to bring his tools and supplies here.
“Hmph,” Otis said when Wolf didn’t answer immediately. “Well, whether you stay or go, it’s up to you. All I can say is it’s a dang good thing we had a wet spring. The garden’s producin’ a sight more’n I need what with the comin’ of the fall roundup. There’ll be a rack of bellies gathered at the table with or without you, though I doubt Mrs. Stewart eats much at all compared to the hands.”
Wolf turned a deaf ear. He’d heard Otis’s caterwauling ever since he was small and knew the man meant little by it. After years of soldiering with Doug’s father, Otis had arrived with him and worked as a ranch hand at whatever needed doing. He’d handled the cattle until his old war injury had gotten the best of him. Since then he had settled into a job that he truly enjoyed. Guess he was more a farmer and cook by nature than a cowboy.
“If I stay, I’ll bring in a turkey.”
“It’ll only set Barker off—you being in the bunkhouse again.”
A smile tugged at Wolf’s mouth. Didn’t bother him a bit. “Barker doesn’t own the ranch.”
Concern clouded the old man’s eyes. “Not yet anyway.”
So Otis had concerns about Barker too. That look sealed Wolf’s decision. He’d take the rig back to the livery, let his folks know he’d be gone awhile, grab his tools, saddle his own horse and be back. And he would stay as long as it took to see which way the wind blew.
