talk quietly about cattle prices and the upcoming trip, she’d made fast work of cleaning the kitchen and excusing herself. She had nothing to say to the stranger. He’d said all there was to say in the bunkhouse and Lizzie had no choice but to make the trail drive with him and hope the time on the road would pass quickly.
In her room, she sorted through her sewing basket hoping to find enough leftover material to make at least one doll. That doll would go to Sarah Swenson, the sickly little girl who hadn’t been strong enough to attend church lately. Sarah’s parents had asked Lizzie to make it bright, with flowery material and pretty yellow yarn hair to cheer their daughter up. But all Lizzie could find were scraps of dull colors, browns and blues that she’d intended to stitch onto the feet for the doll’s shoes.
Lizzie had made a promise to deliver the doll today and the circumstances preventing her from keeping that promise knotted her stomach and made her feel miserable. After the trail drive, she’d have money enough to buy new materials and honor her orders, but Lizzie couldn’t forget Sarah’s eager face, her sweet smile when the promise was made. Lizzie knew something about disappointment and how a little girl’s dreams could shatter in an instant. Lord above, she’d felt that way more than a time or two in her own life.
Lizzie sank down on her bed and glanced at the doll with brown button eyes and a white lace pinafore, pigtails of yellow yarn hair and a small stitched smile sitting atop her pillow. She’d taken extra special care of the cloth doll her father had given her right after her mama passed away. Together, they’d named the doll Sally Ann, in remembrance of her mother, Annette.
A few years ago, she began copying the doll with her own sewing technique and creating fashions that compared to no other. What set her dolls apart was her attention to detail, the intricate patterns of dress, the lacy sleeves and tiny buttons down the back, the pinafores with delicate ribbons and shoes that laced. The doll’s creation warranted great time and effort on her part as each one had their own unique personality, their own style of dress. How many hours had Lizzie spent creating new fashions or enhancing those she’d seen in Harper’s Bazaar?
Lizzie put her materials back in the basket, knowing it was fruitless to try to sew a doll for Sarah out of her remainders. Plain and simple, she didn’t have what she needed. But she did have another idea and though it would pain her, she knew she could do at least that much for Sarah Swenson.
After undressing down to her chemise, Lizzie slipped into bed, fatigued and anguished from a day that had brought many unexpected surprises. She glanced at Sally Ann one last time before closing her eyes to tears, and prayed that tomorrow would be a better day.
When morning dawned, an early glow of gold peeking up from the horizon gave Lizzie hope and a newfound rejuvenation. She’d always found faith in the new day and thought that all things were possible in that moment. She rose from bed and washed from a blue porcelain basin on her dresser. The rose-scented water refreshed her. She combed her unruly hair, a chore that took time and great effort. She wasn’t one for fixing up, so once her hair was free from snarls, she tied it back with a strip of leather then dressed in a light blouse and gray skirt.
She moved quietly through the house, peering into her grandfather’s room. He was still asleep. It seemed each week their breakfast came later and later as she waited for him to rise. She entered the kitchen and slipped her head into an apron, tying it into a bow at the back. After setting the coffee to brew, she walked outside and headed toward the chicken coop to collect today’s batch of eggs. Spring sunshine warmed the morning air and heated her insides just right.
As she rounded the bend behind the barn, she came upon Chance Worth with his back to her, washing his face over the water barrel. Rays of sunshine caressed his bare shoulders and streamed over thick cords of muscle—the beckoning dawn revealing his beautiful upper body to be as strong and sturdy as the Red Ridge Mountains themselves. Without knowledge of her watching, he scrubbed his face and shook the water from his dark hair. Droplets landed on his back and forged down his spine to tuck inside the waistband of his pants.
Lizzie forgot to breathe. Unnerved at the sight of him half dressed, the skin on her arms prickled and a slow burning heat built in her stomach. She backed up a step, ready to turn away and ignore the gripping sensations. But she talked herself out of running. Tomorrow, she and Chance would set out on a journey where they’d spend days upon days together. Alone. It was better to face this confusion now. Clearly, she couldn’t stand the man, so what she was feeling had to be something aside from complete awe. She’d never come upon a man who’d created such unfamiliar and unwanted yearnings in her.
She’d only known boys. Many of whom she’d bested in school and some she’d rejected outright when they’d come calling. The only boy she tolerated at all was her best friend, Hayden Finch, who wasn’t living in Red Ridge presently.
But no boy ever made her belly so queasy or got her heart pumping so fast.
Lizzie inhaled deeply and said, “Mornin’.”
Chance took his sweet time turning around, and Lizzie caught a glimpse of pure naked flesh ridged with muscles as he moved to face her. She forced her gaze from his chest, praying to the Almighty that he hadn’t seen her ogling him. A lazy smile graced his face. “Well, mornin’ to you, Lizzie.”
“I’m going to the henhouse,” she said, annoyed at the flurries in her belly. “Didn’t want to get shot collecting eggs.”
He wiped himself down with a towel and then shrugged his arms into a blue shirt, eyeing her carefully. “No chance of that. I knew you were there.”
“You did not.”
His lips twitched and he began buttoning his shirt. “Sure I did. Heard you coming. Sort of wondered when you were gonna announce yourself.”
He couldn’t have known she was there, not with his head down, splashing water on his face. “I shouldn’t have to announce myself. This is my ranch.”
“But you did. Shows you’re learning.”
Lizzie prayed for patience. She walked past him and just before she entered the henhouse, she stopped and turned. “I’ll be going into town with you today. Just so you know. I have something I have to do.”
“I’m leaving directly after breakfast.”
She nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
“Don’t suppose you got a wagon anywhere on the ranch?”
She peered at the two wagon wheels leaning against the barn wall, one with broken spokes and the other growing wildflowers from its base. “That’s what’s left of it. The winter was hard. We used the wood to keep warm.”
He tucked his shirt into his pants and adjusted his gun belt. His Colt .45 sat low on his hip, cradled in the holster. “Shouldn’t be a problem packing our horses with supplies. We don’t need that much.”
She nodded and paused, contemplating. This trip wasn’t going to be like any trail drive she’d ever taken. She continued to stare at him until his deep voice broke into her thoughts.
“Breakfast is going to be late if you don’t get to those eggs.” He turned and just like that, dismissed her, as if he was the schoolmaster and she, the pupil.
She marched into the chicken coop, her blood boiling. She didn’t look her eighteen years, but Chance Worth would soon find out that Lizzie Mitchell wasn’t a child but a woman with smarts and enough grit to match him stride for stride.
*
