he told her. “Never seen a dog yet that didn’t like stew meat.” He tore up two slices of bread, adding them to the pan, then reached for a crock on top of the cookstove. What looked to be bacon grease spilled over the whole offering, and he carried it toward the door.
She opened the screen and held it wide for him to pass. He nodded his thanks. “I’ll get some milk for the dog,” he offered. “Looks like she’ll be dropping a litter before too long.”
The animals beheld the pan of food for a moment, wary of his scent, Beau supposed, then gave in to the hunger they could not hide. Ever watchful, they shared the pan, Cat finally crouching as her balance gave way.
“I thank you,” Maggie said with polite formality, bowing her head. “They haven’t had much to eat lately.”
And neither have you. She was a prickly little thing, but her loyalty to the creatures who depended on her gave away a soft side of her nature Beau planned to exploit. He’d keep her here, for a while at least. Help her get cleaned up and find something decent for her to wear. And then, if it was the last thing he ever did, he’d find out who’d beaten the tar out of the girl.
Chapter Two
“I don’t want any one of you touching that girl. And I sure don’t want any of you looking her over,” Beau added for good measure. “She’s young and on her own, and I’ve told her she can stay here for a while.” He paused to cross his arms across his chest as he scanned the four men before him.
Joe Armstrong, a strapping youth who lived up to his name, grinned and nodded readily. “That’s all right with me. She’s not much to look at, from what I saw, boss. Reckon I’ll stick to Betty.”
“You just better hope Betty sticks to you,” Radley Bennett scoffed. “She’s lookin’ for a man with some money.” He caught Beau’s eye and sobered. “I hear you, boss. The girl looks like she’s already had too much attention from someone.”
“She’s on the run,” Beau said bluntly. “She needs a place to stay, and I don’t want her feeling threatened by anyone on my ranch. She’s to be left alone.”
Shay agreed silently, nodding his head, dark eyes flashing, his mouth tight. Beau expected no more from the man. His face was scarred, a puckered slash marring the skin beneath his right eye, drawing his mouth up a bit when he spoke. Something he did rarely, keeping to himself, remaining silent, for the most part. But the man put in a full day’s work and Beau had found no fault with him. His name was Shay, but beyond that, he was an enigma. There would be no hassle coming from Shay. Beau would bet his life on it.
He turned his gaze on Pony Taylor, short, stocky and sturdy as the Shetland horses that gave him his nickname. He’d come to Beau from a traveling circus, where he’d been a trainer of those small creatures. His talents overcame his stature, and Beau trusted him with his prized mares, knowing they were in good hands.
“I’ll keep an eye out for the girl,” Pony said quietly. “She’ll come to no harm here.”
“No one else is to know she’s on the place,” Beau stated, his gaze encompassing the group. “If I hear otherwise, there’ll be hell to pay.”
The four men nodded in unison, and Beau relaxed his stance. They were to be trusted, he was dead certain of that. He wouldn’t have allowed them room in his bunkhouse if he weren’t. Wearing a blue uniform for two years had taught him that the men surrounding him were his first defense. If he couldn’t trust the troops he fought with, he might as well lay down his gun and call it quits. He’d chosen his ranch hands with the same thought in mind.
“She’s going to clean stalls this morning,” Beau stated, aware of the harsh glance shot in his direction by Pony. “Her choice,” he emphasized. “I figure it’ll take the best part of the morning to round up the yearlings and get them into the near pasture. Rad and Joe, you’ll follow Pony’s lead in sorting them out.” He turned to his trainer. “You know what I’m looking for. Pick the best. I’ll look over the rest for the sale.”
Beau turned his gaze to Shay. “Keep an eye on things in the barn and check that pasture gate. We can’t take a chance on losing any of those yearlings.”
With nods of agreement, the men left the corral and Beau glanced over his shoulder toward the main barn. He’d be willing to bet that Maggie had been listening to his words. It had been his intent that she feel secure, and unless he missed his guess she was just beyond the double doors this very minute. He’d left her with pitchfork in hand at the far end of the line of stalls. With any luck, she’d be done with the chore in an hour or so.
It would give him time to sort out the back room, just off his kitchen, a place where she could sleep undisturbed.
She’d only caught one name—Pony. And wasn’t that appropriate for a man working with horses, Maggie thought. She wondered which one of the four he was. He’d be in charge this morning. Her thoughts turned to the yearlings, those frolicking creatures who raced the wind with no thought of restraint or fear of danger. She’d come upon a herd of mares and their offspring, yearlings and weanlings alike, late the evening before, watching them as they bunched together beneath the shelter of overspreading tree limbs.
Now they were to be separated from the mares. And she wondered which of those carefree beauties Beau Jackson would keep, and which would be sold. The muscles in her arms flexed as she pitched a fork loaded with manure into the wheelbarrow. Maybe he’d let her help with the yearlings, she thought wistfully. Her mouth pulled down. Probably not. He’d think her too stupid, fit only for scut work, just like Pa had said.
She inhaled deeply. It was up to her to prove him wrong—that is, if she decided to stay on here for a few days. He’d offered her refuge, and she was mightily tempted. Too far away from the farm for Pa to find her right off the bat. And if those four ranch hands were true to their word, she’d be safe…for a while.
The wheelbarrow was heavy, and she took a fresh grip on the handles, a grunt escaping her lungs as she hefted the weight. The manure pile was fifty feet or so beyond the barn and she trudged there, her arms aching from the punches they’d received the day before yesterday. Three more trips, she figured, would do the trick, and then she’d spread fresh straw and take a gander at the rest of the barn.
The room was small, but adequate, Beau decided. The cot against the inside wall held a thin mattress, and he winced as he thought of the feather tick topping his own bed, in a room directly over this one. If she left the door open, she’d get a breeze through the kitchen. Otherwise, the air would be stifling. He eyed the outside wall. Maybe if he cut a hole, put in a window….
A shadow fell across the floor and he turned. Maggie stood in the doorway, peering past him into the storage room. A sense of relief washed through him. He’d wondered, just for a while this afternoon, if she’d cut and run. The yearlings were contained in the pasture, and their antics had kept his ranch hands hopping. One foot propped on the fence, he’d watched them sort through the herd, his mind only half aware of the melee before him. He’d walked through the barn, searched the tack room, even checked the loft, without any sign of Maggie.
A stifled sound from behind him had caused him to turn his head, looking upward at the open loft window. She’d been there, only half visible in the shadows, watching the yearlings evade the men who sorted through their numbers, following Pony’s shouted instructions. One hand covered her mouth as she smothered another laugh. And he’d relaxed, chagrined at his relief.
Now,
