A Ransomed Heart Page 7

  Mama didn’t take offence at all. She was not surprised at the girl’s fire and wit, it was becoming clearer to her every moment Logan had this girl pegged wrong.

  “Are your brothers married?”

  Annabelle laughed through her tears as she pictured her older brothers Jace and Peter. They both sported the Irish red hair and spitfire personality, and she couldn’t see any woman who would want to hitch their horses to her brother’s wagons. “Naw, for one thing we hardly ever get to town, for another they are more interested in their work than they are in any girls.”

  Mama nodded her head as if she knew what Annabelle was talking about. The next question was an obvious one, and Annabelle hoped it would remain unasked.

  Mama, too, contemplated it, but decided against it. The story would come out soon enough and she didn’t need to push it. Sometimes it was better to leave things unsaid, that way the next conversation had a topic to begin on. She dried the last of the dishes then quickly stacked them away in the wooden shelves. Then she took down some mugs from the same shelf and handed one to Annabelle, lining the other three up on the nearby stove.

  “Pour yourself some coffee, and then you can have your pick of beds upstairs. Sorry about the accommodations, but this is all we got…I suppose you knew that though.”She winked at Annabelle then poured the hot brown liquid into the other three cups. “I’m goin’ to go have a heart to heart with those cowboys.” Gathering up the cups she headed to the door. “Annabelle, thanks for helpin’ with the dishes.” Then she was gone, her slight frame slipping out into the gray evening.

  Annabelle didn’t feel like coffee, so instead she hiked up her skirts and climbed the ladder into the dark loft. A gray dusk had settled in the window but added no light to the little space. She saw the silhouette of an oil lamp on a nightstand between two single beds. Carefully she walked around the wooden bed frame and lit a match which was in the wooden trough on the table. The room sprung to life under the yellow glow and she looked around.

  The room was not big, probably the same size as the loft at her home. That is where her brothers had slept, and she had only been up there to gather linens and laundry, make beds, and do some tidying. This room was just as little, nearly the same; both beds against the wall where the rafters met the wall supports. The peak of the roof was in the middle of the room and she found she could stand erect in the very center. She wondered how these big men managed in such a tiny spot. On the wall next to the window was a wooden rod which held several long-sleeved work shirts and a couple dress shirts. Slung over the base of each bed was a second pair of pants.

  She stood at the foot of the beds wondering which ones were Logan’s. Picturing him up here made her heart race a bit. She couldn’t put a finger on her feelings towards him. One moment she hated him entirely for taking her right out of her life with no concern for anything, and the next she was completely enthralled with him. She found herself next to the shirts and one hand reached out and touched the soft worn fabric of a red plaid shirt, and she wondered which shirts were his. He hadn’t seemed too happy about her staying in his space. It was a rather intimate thing to be standing in the room of a man. Her heart raced a little faster and she tried to push the thoughts from her mind. Alarmingly, she wondered which of the two beds was his and her heart did a little dance in her chest. Trying to calm the frantic pace she promised herself when she figured out which bed was his she would sleep in the other one. The room was suddenly warm and she hurried to the window to let in some air. The frame slid effortlessly up and the cool evening air rushed in to the confined space. Peeking her head out she could see the corner of the barn door and wondered how Mama’s talk with the boys was going.

  Not wanting to think anymore about it she went to the first bed. It was made neatly and as she bent near it she smelled the unmistakable tang of Logan. It was like the prairie in the breeze, sagebrush, juniper trees and peppermint. She closed her eyes and took a deeper breath remembering how he had smelled the day before on the horse. Surprised she easily recalled his scent, his warmth, and the sound of his breathing. She could feel his arm tightly around her waist when she almost fell off the horse, and how his heartbeat felt against her skin. She remembered his lips so close to her ear when she had tried to escape. Her mind snapped back into focus and she hurried away trying to leave her traitorous thoughts at the foot of his bed. It might have been the chilly air or something more which had caused her to feel that way, but it didn’t matter, it was like nothing she had ever felt before.

  Eyeing the bed as if it might come alive and eat her she carefully undid the buttons on the front of her blouse. The heavy dress slipped off and onto the floor, she picked it up and tossed it onto Logan’s bed. Next she walked over and closed the window, then removed the remaining petticoats. Her shoes had been discarded earlier so she poured some water into the porcelain wash basin and splashed the cool water on her face in hopes to extinguish some of her feelings. Next she dipped her toes into the chilly water. It was cold and she hurried to dry them. She would discard the water in the morning.

  Hesitantly she walked back over to Logan’s bed and looked around the room self-consciously. It was ridiculous to think someone may be watching, and what did it matter? Calmly she pulled back the covers on Kit’s bed and slid between the cotton sheets. Next she trimmed the wick on the oil lamp and closed her eyes to sleep. But sleep didn’t come and she knew no matter how she tried only one thing would give her rest. Throwing back the warm covers she grabbed her dress and pulled it to the floor, then in one swift movement she pulled down the bed covers and slipped into Logan’s bed.

  Annabelle laid very still, her heart pounding in her chest. It was as if her whole world had been consumed by his being. The sheets smelled even more like him than she had figured they would. There was a strange and exciting thrill which coursed through her veins making her head swim in euphoria. She was lying in his bed! A giggle erupted from deep within her as she realized how ridiculous she was acting. He had been nothing but horrible to her. Other than keeping her from falling off the horse, he had tried to kill her by chasing down the stagecoach. He had spoken unkindly to her, yelled at her, threw her out of the bath tub, and tackled her like she had been a common steer at a branding party, not to mention the inappropriate spanking he had given her. So why did she feel this way; why was the very idea of him in this same bed so thrilling to her?

  Then it hit her, she was attracted to him. It was such a stunning idea because she had never in her life experienced attraction. It horrified and elated her. One, because she was to marry Mr. Sevier in just a few weeks, and two, because if she felt this way about Logan, then how would she feel about Mr. Sevier? Her brows furrowed and she pondered on the subject until she fell into a delightful dream about her captor.

  Kit had taken his coffee then went to meet with a couple of friends for a round or two of poker. Mama didn’t worry because no one in this town was rich enough to bet anything. Instead they played for coffee beans, and with any luck her stock would be added to by morning. Logan was the one who she wanted to talk to anyway. She had made some pretty interesting observations this evening, about both him and Annabelle, and she thought it would be best if she brought them to light. Logan only growled at her and went on grooming his horse.

  “Logan, do you want to tell me what is going on?”

  “No,” he spat, and moved around to the other side of his horse.

  “What did she say that frustrated you so much?”

  “Mama, I don’t want to talk about it.” He was being unkind but he was frustrated.

  “Listen here, young man,” she scolded, “I don’t know what is eating at you, but you better knock it off. That little girl in there has more to her than what you’re seeing.”

  “Like what, more of her fancy dresses and polite manners? Believe you me, she is playing us all for dumb.”

  “Why do you say, because her father is Mr. Sevier’s business partner? Surely they can’t all be bad.�
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  Logan turned and rested against the stable fence. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at her. “Don’t you remember, Mama, I know this man and the kind of men who work with him. They’re all bad.” He was frustrated and stomped over to the tack shelf, replacing the curry brush he had been using.

  “And her, what did she do?” Mama asked gently, trying to soothe the situation.

  He was quiet, and Mama handed him his mug of coffee. He took a drink while she continued with her talking.

  “I think you’ve her pegged wrong, boy. I noticed something about her tonight. When we were doing dishes I looked at her hands.”

  He looked at her, not amused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “She has working hands, Logan. Not just knitting and sewing, but hands that have worked hard.”

  His eyebrow rose slightly, but he was hesitant to see the implications of the observations.

  “Her brothers aren’t married and they help out at the farm. Does that sound like someone who has a lot of money? Rich men have wives and help, they don’t do it themselves.”

  Logan finished off his drink and handed the mug back to Mama. “So what are you saying?”

  “Boy, I’m just sayin' you need to give the girl some slack, I think there is a lot more to her story than what meets the eye. And if you shape up and behave yourself you may figure it out before it is too late.”

  With that she kissed him affectionately on the cheek and then turned to head back to the house.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked quizzically.

  “Oh, Logan, you know what I mean.” She winked at him and headed out into the darkness toward the house.

  Kit wouldn’t be back for hours. If he had felt more chipper he would have joined the group, but for now he wasn’t up to company. Instead he laid some fresh straw down on the ground and gathered some blankets from the shelf. Slipping off his boots he settled down into the bed. It was a far cry from his bed, but it was better than nothing.

  “Just like a woman to throw a man out of his own house,” he growled as he rested his head on his hands. He closed his eyes and was chagrined to see the pale face of the very woman he was trying to despise. She irritated him beyond all means, but there was something about her he liked. He enjoyed her personality, she was terribly beautiful, and for all he knew she was sleeping in his bed.

  The idea struck him hard and caused him to breathe in deeply. Her sweet smell could at this very moment be mingling on his pillow. Her soft body could be wrapped in his covers, her delicate features being framed by the white pillow case. The idea caused him to ache inside just a bit. He rolled onto his side and folded his arms; he needed to get her out of his head and fast. There were plans to be made so he forced himself to think of them instead. He just needed to steer clear of her for a couple of days and then he would be clear of her forever, or so he thought.

  Chapter 9

  Annabelle woke up early, it was a habit. There had always been chores which needed to be done, cows to milk, meals to make, clothes to mend. This morning she didn’t hurry out of bed as usual, instead she closed her eyes and listened to the world around her. The house creaked and moaned a bit as the daylight touched its rooftop as if signaling it to open its eyes and welcome the day. The animals outside were awake and there were birds squawking in the trees. In the kitchen she could hear someone moving about, probably Mama, readying the kitchen for a full day of work. Reluctantly she threw back the covers and left the warmth of the bed.

  Her dress would need some mending. She had an extra dress in her bag, but she figured it, too, had been lost. Taking a deep breath her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor, and in her hurry to dress she tripped over something on the floor. There on the floor by the foot of the bed was the object of her desire, her brown fabric bag. How had this gotten here? She was sure its contents were scattered about the barren valley floor by now, but instead it sat here, perfect as a pin, waiting for her to open it. She undid the clasp and looked inside; everything seemed to be there, if a bit ruffled. Reaching down to the bottom she found the stiff bristles and smooth handle of her mother’s brush. It wasn’t until she was looking at it that she realized she had been holding her breath, it escaped with a squeal of joy. It had not been lost after all.

  Logan had heard her moving about. He knew she had found the bag and when he heard her sound of elation he smiled. Mama had been right about one thing, he should not have been so callous with Annabelle. When he woke that morning long before dawn he had fetched her bag from the chuck wagon and had taken it up to her. She looked so beautiful asleep there in bed. He dared not linger too long because it would have been mortifying if she had woken up. Quickly he had deposited the case and quietly made his way down the stairs. Drinking the last of his coffee, he smiled to himself; she had been sleeping in his bed.

  By the time Annabelle had dressed and brushed out her hair, pulling it up into a bun on the back of her head, the house was silent. Carefully she made her way down the ladder and found a plate of eggs, some bacon, and a cup of coffee. She peeked into Mama’s room and saw the bed made. She had not slept too late, but she found herself worried what they must think of her taking so long to get to the chores. Draining the hot liquid quickly, she scalded her tongue; trying to cool it with the eggs, she took a couple large bites then grabbed a slice of bacon and headed out the door.

  The sun was bright and warm in the sky as Annabelle surveyed the surrounding area. The cabin was modest but nicely built, with a porch and rocking chairs sitting still on the wooden planks. There were flowerbeds at the front of the house dotted with little pink and purple flowers which looked longingly at the sun as if it could not reach them fast enough. There was a well-worn path which headed to the barn. It was not a large building but it, too, was nicely built. Her bare feet felt good on the warm earth and she hurried in the direction of the barn door. Surely, someone would be in there.

  The tiny valley was alive with people and animals. Women weeded their gardens that looked healthy and full. Children ran chasing dog and chickens. She noticed there were hardly any men around, and she wondered where they might be. Absentmindedly, she cleaned her hands off on the bright white apron her mother had made for her to go along with her new calico dress. Annabelle had chosen to wear it instead of the green silk she had worn the day before. It was in desperate need of mending and she would be able to help a lot better in this everyday dress.

  When she reached the door of the barn she straightened her skirts and drew a deep breath. She was unsure how she would react to Logan after her experience in his bed. This morning she noticed his scent lingered around her when she moved, and wondered how long it would last. If she was nicer to him, then maybe they could form some kind of friendship. Her nose wrinkled involuntary at the idea. Could she ever be a friend to Logan? Pushing the thoughts away she reminded herself of her goal. Marrying Mr. Sevier was the only option. If she didn’t, her family would be left with nothing, and she knew her mother especially would never survive. They needed her help. Romantic ideas would do nothing for them now. Squaring her shoulders she entered into the gray light of the barn.

  Smells of home were everywhere. The animals stirred in their fresh straw and eyed her with their watery brown eyes. The horses nickered for sugar and she felt remiss for not having any. Instead she touched them gently on the nose, rubbing between their eyes. Chickens cackled somewhere nearby and she heard the unmistakable sound of milk tinkling into a bucket. Following the sound she found Mama humming softly, her head resting on the warm flank of a brown milk cow. Her eyes were closed and her aging face looked peaceful. It made Annabelle miss her own mother; life as a farmer’s wife was never easy, but there were a few chores that seemed very close to heaven. Annabelle had always loved milking, she wondered if she would have the chance in her new life.

  “Mornin,' Miss Casey.” She didn’t open her eyes and the rhythmic squirting never halted.

  “Oh, please
call me Annabelle, Mrs. Kittlinger.”

  One blue eye opened, “Then you must call me Mama.”

  Annabelle smiled; it made her feel good inside that this wonderful woman would ask that of her.

  “Pull up a stool, Daisy here is about finished, but Sassy still needs to be milked.”

  It surprised her that Mama would ask; surely she, too, figured Annabelle was incapable of anything domestic. Then she realized this was her chance to show her, and everyone else, she was just as capable as they were. Quickly locating a stool and tin bucket she looped a rope around Sassy’s neck and tied it expertly. Then she lead the big bovine from her stall and tied the other end of the rope to the medal “O” hook which was mounted on the wall. Forking over some new straw for the cow to eat Annabelle adjusted her seat and took her spot on the left side of the cow. It felt like home here.

  It only took a few flicks of the tail in her face for Annabelle to realize the animal was going to be difficult. She stood from her spot and took a scoop of oats from a nearby bag. Dumping them into the trough with the hay she again took her seat. The cow seemed pleased with this new addition and only seemed slightly irritated with Annabelle’s cold hands.

  “Well I can see where she gets her name,” Annabelle said, laughter lacing her voice.

  Mama chuckled in return. “That there is Logan’s cow. He has always liked them a little spunky.”

  Annabelle felt a flush of warmth in her cheeks. Closing her eyes she put her head against the rocking flank of the cow and let the experience settle into her soul. The hide of her animal smelled like the earth and the smell of sweet milk wafted up to her nose from the rapidly filling tin. The rhythm of the milking urged a song and Annabelle started to hum to the tune of Amazing Grace. The woman behind her joined in. The hollow sound of their humming blended nicely in the quiet barn. Annabelle was flooded with memories of home, and her life there; next her mind drifted to Mr. Sevier and how her life would be there; then sometime between the third and fourth verse she wondered what her life would be like here.