realized she had let her arms relax and brought the shotgun to chest level again. Just because he looked…different, didn’t mean he was. She concentrated on glaring at him.
His smile faded, but he didn’t look particularly worried. “Miss DuBois, what are you going to do when winter comes?”
A touch of arrogance in his tone made her certain he had seen her drop her guard. She glared all the harder. “I’ll get by, I reckon.”
He looked toward her woodpile. “How are you going to chop enough wood to keep from freezing? Do you plan to wade through the snow to do your chores morning and night?”
Cally was a little concerned about the wood, but she had him on this last argument. “Do you really think Pa ever did the chores?”
Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to realize she had him. “If you don’t freeze, you’ll starve. Even a grown woman wouldn’t try to make it by herself out here, and you’re a child.”
“I’m what?” Cally really considered swinging the shotgun to her shoulder. A child?
Haywood took his own sweet time deciding what to do. Was he wondering if she would really shoot him? She hoped he didn’t push her that far; Pa’s old shotgun hadn’t been reliable in years. When she saw his stance relax, she hoped she had won—at least for now.
“You know where to find me if you need me,” he said.
“I won’t need you.” Her voice, she noted with satisfaction, was as cold as ever.
Haywood rubbed Royal’s ears, and the traitor leaned into his leg. “I’ll check on you from time to time,” he said, donning his hat before swinging into the saddle.
He turned the sorrel toward town, and Cally hollered after him, “I’ll keep the shotgun handy!”
Andrew had the nerve to turn and wave at her to let her know he had heard—and didn’t care.
She glared at the horse and rider until they disappeared, then at the sack in her yard. She knew it contained all the weapons he had taken away from her. She was glad to have them back. She really was. She just didn’t want to look at them right now.
She took a deep breath and stomped across the yard, grabbed up the sack and stomped back to her house. She deposited the sack on the table, then turned and put the shotgun in its place.
She would dig her potatoes today. She would dig them all and take them to her root cellar. She marched to the barn to get the spade. “I’ll boil a potato for dinner,” she told the dog. “There’s nothing better than fresh dug potatoes. I might even boil two. Too bad you don’t like potatoes. Seems like you should since you like apples.”
She knew she was babbling and to a dog even, but it was either that or think about that insufferable sheriff. “I’ll check on you from time to time,” she mocked.
Royal twitched his ears at the change in her tone.
“Meddling sheriff,” she muttered, shoving the barn door open with more force than necessary. “Found me a job, did he? Like I have time for a job!”
She grabbed up the spade and left the barn. “Why, I’ve got so much to do here, I hardly know where to start.”
She had stomped half the way back to her garden when she glanced down at the spade and stopped in her tracks. She stared at a small clump of dried mud that clung to the blade. Haywood had cleaned the spade and shovel before he brought them back to the barn, but a tiny bit of earth had remained to remind her of how the spade had been used. Yesterday.
Cally found herself sitting on the ground, her knees drawn up to cradle her face. In spite of how upset she had been, she hadn’t cried the night Pa had been arrested. She couldn’t remember even wanting to cry before that, though tears had threatened a few times since. But now the floodgates had opened, and she was powerless to stop the tears. Sorrow, loneliness and fear washed over her in turns.
Once she raised her head to let the breeze cool her damp face, hoping that would help her regain control. Royal, responding to what he saw in her face, whimpered, nuzzled her shoulder and licked at her ear, causing her to burst into fresh tears.
She didn’t know how long she sat like that, in the middle of her yard with the offending spade discarded half a pace away, but in the end exhaustion won where willpower had failed.
She awoke later from a light doze and raised her head. “Potatoes,” she reminded herself, stretching her stiff shoulders. “Lord, Royal, what if Haywood had ridden in and seen that? He’d be hauling me off to town hog-tied to the saddle, I reckon.”
She came unsteadily to her feet and took a deep breath. “If that wasn’t the silliest thing.” She rubbed her cheeks to make sure there were no more tears and brushed at her damp knees. She felt foolish, but in a strange way it had been good to cry. She felt released from a kind of tension that she had felt since Pa had been arrested.
The spot of dirt from her father’s grave didn’t bother her when she caught up the spade and headed for the garden. Digging the potatoes felt good, too. She inhaled the scent of the rich soil as she brushed it away from each one. Big ones and little ones went into the bucket, and she carried them to her cellar where she spread them on a piece of woven wire. Then it was back to her garden for another bucketful.
The soil in her garden was much more mellow than where Haywood had dug the grave. Of course the garden was fertilized and cultivated every year, and there was no apple tree sapping the moisture like on the hill. For some reason, it didn’t hurt to make comparisons now. The cry and her garden had healed her, she decided.
She dipped the spade into the edge of the hole left by the last plant she had dug and lifted another clump of potatoes, watching them separate from the rich, dark brown dirt. Dirt the color of Haywood’s eyes.
The thought startled her. This garden that she loved so much shouldn’t remind her of him! He should have been the furthest thing from her mind.
She sat down beside her half-filled bucket to rest. She looked toward the hill where the two crosses stood. “Did you really ask him to look out for me, Pa?” she whispered. “Him? Pa, I can’t believe you’d do that to me.”
But in her heart she knew he had. Haywood wouldn’t lie about that.
Andrew settled into his comfortable chair. He eyed his sketchbook but it didn’t even tempt him this evening. It had been three days since he had visited the DuBois farm. The Gwynn sisters had come by again today asking when he would bring Cally in to meet them. He had hedged a little, not wanting to admit how obstinate the girl was. He had been certain she would come in herself by now.
He kicked a footstool into position and propped up his heels. Why did he keep thinking Cally would behave the way a normal young lady would? If he expected her to cooperate, he should have asked about a job at the livery.
He sat up suddenly. Or Lafferty’s feed store! Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? He would ask tomorrow and, with any luck, could ride out to the farm with a new, perhaps more tempting, offer.
Smiling, he grabbed the sketchbook, turning the picture of the Gwynn sisters to the back, and started a quick sketch of Cally with baggy clothes and floppy hat The outline complete, he concentrated on her face.
His mind had been occupied too much lately with Miss Cally DuBois. He hadn’t even had more applicants for deputy to fill up his time. What he needed was a good long ride through some of the little communities in the county. While his deputy was home with his sick wife, it wasn’t wise to leave the office for any length of time unless something specific called him away. He found himself wishing for a little trouble to have something new to think about.
Finally, this evening, Bill had come in saying his wife seemed to be through the worst of it. Andrew had wondered if the threat of having her women friends staying with her instead of her solicitous husband might have had some healing effect. At any rate, tonight Andrew