Emily Carmichael - How To Lasso A Cowboy

Johanna, as always, was the perfect hostess, inquiring about the Woodburns’ health and offering to pray that this ride in the damp air brought them no harm. Emma, for once, lost her tongue, but Cooper held no faith that it might be a permanent condition.

To Cooper’s surprise, Winnie asked Woodburn to take a look at her chair and offer his advice on restoring it. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin and stood as if suddenly on an important mission.

Emma and Johanna followed, frowning as Winnie directed Woodburn to her bedroom and the rocker. Just before they reached the door Cooper heard Emma whisper, “Right into her bedroom. Can you believe it? I’ll have to talk to her about this.”

Cooper looked back at Mary, wondering what she thought of his two older sisters. She’d said Winnie was a treasure; who knows, maybe she liked the other two as well. He wanted to tell her they really were not so bad once you got to know them, but he wasn’t sure he believed that himself.

He had to say something. He couldn’t just stare at the poor creature pushing the crust of her pie around on her plate until the others returned. “Would you like more?” he finally managed to get out, thinking that of course she wouldn’t like more, she had not finished half of what she’d been served.

“No, thank you.”

“More coffee?”

“No.”

That was it. There was nothing else to offer and he had no idea of what to say. He thought of volunteering one of his sisters-after all, he had an abundance-but he didn’t know if she would get the joke. He knew nothing about this woman and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. She looked to be in her midtwenties and he had heard she liked to read.

Her hand shook slightly as she raised her cup then clanked it against the saucer when she lowered the china back in place.

“Mary.” He waited for her to look at him.

Slowly, her stormy blue eyes met his. They appeared more blue than gray tonight, but no less frightened than before.

He said the first thing that came to mind. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I swear I mean you no harm.”

She didn’t have to say a word. He knew she didn’t believe him. He racked his brain trying to think of why she would be so scared. He couldn’t remember speaking directly to her before yesterday. The few times he had been in the store it had always been her brother, not her, who waited on him.

“Is it because I fought for the South?” Maybe something had happened in the war that still haunted her.

Mary shook her head.

“Is it because I’m a man? Are you afraid of men in general?”

Again her head moved with the same answer.

Folding his arms across his chest, Cooper leaned back in the chair trying to understand her. Silence thickened between them. Voices drifted from Winnie’s bedroom, but Cooper couldn’t make out what any of them were saying. So, he guessed they probably couldn’t hear Mary and his conversation either. Assuming they were having one, of course.

Her silence wouldn’t have bothered him if he’d just thought her shy. He’d often found shy folks good company. The air didn’t always have to be charged with words. But Mary wasn’t just timid. There was something else. She was truly frightened.

With a thud, he rocked the chair into place and stood. “I want to show you something,” he said, then wished he had moved slower. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m just going to my desk.”

Moving briskly, he pulled open the bottom drawer and grabbed a book, then forced himself to walk back to her slowly. “During the war I tried to always carry a book in my pack. Sometimes I’d read it ten times before another came in the mail. More than once I traded with someone else doing the same.”

He laid a tattered copy of Great Expectations beside her plate. “I could never trade off this one, though. It saved my life.” He leaned lower, wishing she would look at him. “See the bullet hole. Went clean through the cover, but lucky for me it didn’t make it into my back.”

Mary’s finger traced over the pit mark in the upper corner of the book.

“I never told my sisters about the shot. Didn’t want to worry them.” His hand rested a few inches away from hers, but he made no effort to touch her. Somehow by sharing his secret, he had offered his friendship. Now it was up to her.

“Have you read Dickens’s book?”

“No,” she answered. “But I’d like to.”

He’d found the key, he thought. A bridge over the fear.

“I could loan you this book, but you have to promise to bring it back. It’s kind of my good luck piece. No matter how hard things get around here, I can always pull this book out and remember how close I came to not making it back home.”

She raised her head. A smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Thanks. I’d like to read it. I promise I’ll be careful.”

She didn’t look so plain when she smiled, he thought. She might never be his friend, but at least she wouldn’t cringe the next time she saw him.

Cooper heard his sisters returning. He sat back down in his chair and noticed Mary slip the book into her pocket. The book was obviously something neither of them planned to share with anyone else.

WINNIE THANKED WOODBURN one last time from the porch. Her round head, topped with an equally round bun, bobbed up and down as she rattled on about the day. The Yankee, on the other hand, stood straight and tall as if at attention. Neither of them seemed to notice the wind whipping around them, but Mary huddled into her shawl and hurried toward the far side of the buggy.

Cooper hesitated a few seconds before offering to help Mary into the carriage. When she placed her hand in his this time, without his gloves, he felt the gentle warmth of her touch.

“Thanks again for your help.” He wished he had the guts to ask her if she sensed the bond that shot between them when she was so close. He felt as though he walked through his life along a gallery of paintings and suddenly he’d discovered one had a heartbeat.

“Thank you.” She brushed her free hand over the book. Her whisper carried on the wind. “For the loan.”

“Maybe when I come to town again, we can talk about it. I’m not usually around folks who spend time reading.” He didn’t want it to sound like he was asking her to step out so he added, “If you have time between customers at the store, of course.”

“All right.” She smiled again, a little broader this time, then disappeared behind the leather of the buggy.

Cooper realized he held her hand too long, but he didn’t want to let go. The warmth in her fingers made him wish he’d tried before now to be her friend. He couldn’t think of anything to add, so he backed away, letting the breeze rob him of even the fragrance of her.

As he walked around Woodburn’s old rig, he noticed his sisters had already stepped inside. Woodburn meticulously checked the lines of the reins. When Cooper passed by, the Yankee whispered, “Stay away from my sister, Adams. You’re not welcome company.”

The insult stung like a slap. “I could say the same thing to you,” Cooper countered.

“I’ve not sought your sister out, sir.” Woodburn’s words were clipped, irritating in their truth.

“Nor I yours.” Cooper wanted to know where the man stood. If he had an enemy, it was best to know it now. “My presence in your store has always been for business. Nothing more.” How could the Yankee think that he might be courting Mary? All Cooper was trying to do was make her not jump with fear whenever she saw him.

Woodburn nodded once. “Then you’re welcome as long as we understand one another.”

“We understand one another.” Cooper turned and stomped up the steps. He didn’t go inside, but watched the moon glisten off the tattered buggy as it disappeared down the ribbon of road toward town. Anger rushed through his veins like a prairie fire in a draught. He wasn’t some hotheaded youth who needed to be warned to stay away from his sister. Cooper had done nothing improper. Mary was in her midtwenties, an old maid by anyone’s standard. Even if he had been courting, she could speak for herself. She didn’t need a brother riding herd over her.

He smiled, realizing he’d been even more absurd than the shop owner suggesting there might be any hint of a flirtation between Woodburn and Winnie. She would be forty her next birthday. Even in her youth, Winnie had never been the kind to draw a man’s eye.

By the time he went back in the house, the sisters had retired to their rooms, like birds nesting for the night. He poured himself the last of the coffee and sat down at his desk. He intended to work, but couldn’t resist opening the bottom drawer. There, hidden away from the world, was his collection of books. Dickens, Poe, Thoreau, and a dozen others.

Not many, he thought, compared to the private libraries in homes back east, but more books than most had this far west. His parents had settled this land with one book, the Bible. They hadn’t thought reading or writing very useful skills but Cooper’s mother taught Johanna, then Johanna taught Emma, then Emma taught Winnie. Then of course, Winnie taught him.

Cooper grinned. His schooling was not only sparse, it had been filtered down to the point he should be surprised to recognize his own name.

He picked up Kingsley’s Westward Ho. A year, maybe longer, had passed since he’d held a book in his hand, but the welcome feeling was still there, inviting him in, engaging him to stay. He told himself there was never enough time to read anymore, but he knew it was more than that. Cooper no longer believed in dreams. Somehow, one has to be able to dream to be lost in a story. And of late, just making it through each day had become his only goal.

Leaning back, with the book in his hand, Cooper looked around his home, really seeing it for the first time since he’d built it. After the war, when he came back to the ranch his father had homesteaded, he could not wait to increase the herd, build this house, and start a family. He had it all planned out, wanting to forget the fighting and the time he lost. He wanted to start living.