Buchanan tell you about the water problem?” She wiped a stray chicken feather from her skirt with the sweep of her hand.
It was hard not to notice the delicate shape of her fingers as she pulled at her sunbonnet strings, tugging the calico bonnet up her back and over her head, covering her golden hair.
He returned his thoughts to the matter at hand. “I checked the wells myself. They’re deep enough not to run dry in summer.”
“That’s true.” She leaned on the hoe. “I thought you were seeing Mr. Buchanan for a job. Had I known you were buying the place, I would have said something.”
“What’s the problem? Has it got something to do with the creek?”
“So you noticed that?”
“Hard to get anything by me.” He tipped his hat to her, his lopsided grin dizzying. “They don’t call me the toughest horseman this side of the Rockies for nothing.”
“You’re going to take back the creek?”
“It’s mine, and the law is the law.” Gage considered the garden patch again and the pretty slip of a woman standing beside it. “What’s wrong with your uncle that he won’t plow for you?”
“I’ve got to earn my keep, and he only has one set of workhorses. They’re for the fields, not for working the garden.”
“We’ll see about that. I’ll be right back.” He led his mare away by the bit, striding as easy as you please, kicking up dust with every step he took.
He disappeared around the side of the house, and Sarah released a pent-up breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The toughest horseman this side of the Rockies, was he? He sure looked it. He was powerful enough to make her pulse skip crazily. Man enough to make her wish. Just wish.
See there? There she went again, hoping for what was as rare as hen’s teeth.
He’s not interested in you. How could he be? She was a widow with a stack of medical bills and a child to provide for. A woman down on her luck and with little to offer a man. Gage Gatlin was handsome enough. He could probably have any woman he wanted. A woman of means and beauty. There were surely enough of those types of ladies in town, and Sarah knew she couldn’t hold a candle to the lot of them.
She dusted a streak of dirt from her skirt. No, a man like Gage Gatlin wouldn’t be interested in a woman like her.
Time to get back to work. She gripped her hoe, the smooth wooden handle warm from the sun, and lifted it high. Down it went, striking into the earth. Metal clinked as it hit a rock and the impact recoiled up her arms. As she worked the hoe deep into the dirt, the blister on her thumb ached.
“Whoa, there. What do you think you’re doin’?” Gage returned, leading his mare hitched to Milt’s small plow. “I figure this won’t take long, so just step back and rest a spell.”
“But—”
His back was to her as he looped the long thick reins around his neck and dug the plow’s metal tooth into the ground.
He was no stranger to work, and she had to admire the way his muslin shirt stretched over his broad shoulders as he handled the plow. The wind battered the shock of dark hair tangling below his collar—longer than was proper, but it seemed to fit the rough, raw image he made, a lone man against the endless prairie and sparkling sky.
And what was she doing? Wasting time standing idle while he worked? Goodness, he’d already completed one long row. Swiping off his hat, he tunneled his fingers through his dark locks, then glanced at her, his smile slow and easy.
“Does it meet with your approval, ma’am?”
Oh, his Western drawl was honey-sweet and made her chest flutter. She did her best to hide it and to answer politely, not like a woman interested. “Just fine, Mr. Gatlin. How can I thank you?”
“There’s no need, as we’re neighbors now. I might be needing a favor in return one day.” He repositioned the plow, making a second row. Muscles bunched beneath his cotton shirt, and sweat beaded his brow as he worked.
A favor, huh? She couldn’t imagine what. Plowing was hard work, so how was she ever going to help him in return? She wasn’t used to being beholden to a neighbor—and a handsome stranger at that.
Well, there was work always waiting to be done. She’d best get to it. After one last look over her shoulder at the man with the dark Stetson shading his face, she hurried into the kitchen. She truly shouldn’t be watching him so much, it’s just that her eyes kept finding him if he was in sight.
You wish too much, Sarah, for things that cannot be. Was it sadness or regret that lingered heavy and familiar in her chest? She didn’t know which as she pumped water until it ran cool and she discovered she could see Gage through the open kitchen window. Hat tilted at a jaunty angle, he was speaking low and easy to his mare. His big hands held the plow with ease.
What kind of man was he, at heart? she wondered. There was an untamed toughness to him, rugged like the very land itself. Yet he handled the mare with kind words when other men would use the reins as a whip.
Oh, well, it wasn’t her concern, anyway, was it? she reminded herself and turned her back on the kitchen window, winding through the dim, cramped shanty to the back bedroom. The door creaked on its hinges as she peered into the room far enough to see Ella, asleep in her bed. Fierce love burned in Sarah’s heart for her child, who lay lost in dreams, her blond locks curling across the snowy pillowslip like finely spun gold.
Unable to stop herself, Sarah smoothed the crocheted afghan tucked beneath the girl’s chin, remembering a time when Ella had been a baby asleep in her crib and a man had been plowing their first garden patch—her husband.
It was so long ago now that her grief at his death had healed. One day she knew there would be another man in her life she thought to herself as she walked to the kitchen. A man who had enough love in his heart for a woman with a child and responsibilities.
Looking out the kitchen window as she mixed sweet ginger water, Sarah watched Gage Gatlin finish furrowing another row of her garden. The rich earthy scent of freshly turned dirt filled the air as he managed the plow with easy skill. He gripped the handles and clucked to his mare to send her plodding forward. He looked hot beneath the noontime sun.
She had to figure out something to repay him, something a neighbor would do for a neighbor. The thought heartened her as she searched the pantry for sugar and spice, and a jar of winter preserves caught her gaze. That’s what she’d do. She would bake him a cherry pie in exchange for his kindness to her.
Feeling lighter, Sarah rescued the best cup from the top shelf in the kitchen and filled it with cool water. The curtains snapped in the breeze to give her brief glimpses of the man hard at work. She tried not to think about how masculine he looked as she measured sugar and ginger into the cool water.
By the time she swept down the steps and into the side yard, Gage was pulling his lathered mare to a halt. He was breathing hard with exertion. He whipped off his hat and raked his fingers through his dark locks.
“You’re done already?” She handed him the glass.
“I don’t let grass grow under these boots.” He drank all the water in one long
