Horse is a real live Cheyenne warrior chief, and he made me an ornery Cheyenne brave.”
“Honorary brave, Zeke.” John bit back a grin. So had Jane Harris, unless he missed his guess.
“Why is a Cheyenne warrior chief working as a ranch foreman?” The lady’s wide eyes betrayed a shade of fear. And possibly a glow of respect?
“Long story, ma’am. Long, dull story.”
“No it ain’t,” piped up Zeke.
John gave the boy a warning look, but addressed his words to Jane Harris. “Was there something you wanted, ma’am?”
“Ah—yes, there was, as a matter of fact. I’ve got the kitchen scrubbed down as best I can and I managed to save some of those beans. The scorched ones I fed to the pigs. It won’t be enough for supper, I’m afraid. Especially if Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid get home in time to join us. After I change my dress, I wondered if you gentlemen might give me a hand fixing something more.”
John rose from his seat on Zeke’s bed, little Barton gathered close to his chest. The baby blinked heavy eyelids and sucked on his thumb.
“I reckon we could do that, ma’am.” Somehow, during his conversation with Zeke, the flash of anger he’d felt toward Jane Harris had eased. “Later, I can show you how Cheyenne women keep their hands free to work when they’ve got little ones to mind.”
“Thank you, Mr. Whitefeather. Or should I call you Night Horse?”
He liked the sound of his Cheyenne name on her tongue. A little too much, perhaps.
“Plain John will be fine, ma’am.”
Chapter Four
“That cradleboard was a fine idea. Thank you…John.”
How would she have managed this past busy week without it? Jane wondered as she took a hasty bite of her own dinner, then offered Barton a spoonful of applesauce. Fortunately, the child liked fruit a great deal better than he liked vegetables.
“Glad I could help.” John glanced at his nephew and winked. “You seemed to have your hands full that first day.”
Except for Barton’s company, she and John were eating their midday meal alone. Zeke was in school and Caleb had ridden out to a place called Sweetgrass after breakfast to check on Ruth. An outbreak of scarlet fever among the Cheyenne children had kept her there for several days.
“You were kind to help me out after I was so ungracious.” Jane kept her eyes fixed on the baby. As she brought another spoonful of applesauce to his mouth, her hand trembled slightly. “I’ve wanted to apologize to you before this, but I never had the chance.” Or the nerve.
Over the past week, John Whitefeather had proven himself a very different kind of man than Emery Endicott. He did have a temper, though. Jane hadn’t wanted to risk rousing it by reminding him of the rocky start to their acquaintance.
“No harm done.” John reached for a biscuit.
His sudden movement made her flinch, but if he noticed, he pretended not to. He spread butter on his biscuit without missing a beat. “You seem to be getting along better, lately.”
Jane smiled to herself. If only he knew how many mistakes she’d made in the past few days. How many chores she’d had to do over two or three times until the result satisfied her. But she’d persevered. On the Kincaid ranch, she felt needed in a way she never had in all her years with Mrs. Endicott.
“If Mrs. Muldoon would tarry in Bismarck another few weeks, I might develop a knack for this domestic routine.”
As she glanced around the tidy kitchen and at the contented baby, a strange feeling swelled in Jane’s heart. Though she couldn’t be certain, she wondered if it might be…pride?
John reached over and tickled his nephew under the chin. “You and Barton got any big plans for this afternoon?”
“Nothing special.” Noticing John’s dinner plate was empty, she fetched him a slice of plum cake and a cup of coffee. “We washed the laundry and hung it out this morning. If I can work up the courage, I might fry a batch of doughnuts while Barton takes his nap.”
John bit into the cake. “This tastes good.” He sounded more than a little surprised. “I saw you hanging out the wash. That was a clever idea, tethering Barton to the clothesline so he wouldn’t wander off.”
She’d come up with it all on her own, too. The peculiar feeling in Jane’s heart burned warmer. “He’s steadier on his feet every day, and he does like to walk. Besides, it was too hard on my back, stooping to get wet clothes out of the basket with him in the cradleboard.”
Jane didn’t mention the fat green grasshopper she’d had to fish out of Barton’s mouth. Why he spit out peas and carrots, but not live insects, was more than she could figure.
“Maybe later you could bring this little buckeroo over to the corral and we could take him for a ride.” John leaned back in his chair and took a long drink of his coffee. “He always gets a kick out of that.”
“Are you certain it would be safe?”
Jane wiped Barton’s face and lifted him out of his high chair. For a moment, she cradled his warm, sturdy little body against hers. The swiftness and intensity of her fondness for the child frightened her. It would be hard enough to leave the Kincaid ranch when the time came, even without strong emotional ties.
She looked up and caught John watching her with intense, perplexing concentration. The blue of his eyes sparkled as clear and brilliant as sapphires. And twice as hard.
His stare stoked a sudden fevered blush right to the roots of Jane’s hair. She tried to break eye contact with him, only to discover she couldn’t. His piercing gaze held her, probing her secrets. Then he let her go and she found herself capable of breathing again.
“The boy’s not made of glass, Miss Harris.” He spoke quietly, as always, but in a tone that brooked no argument. “Even if he was, we’d have to toughen him up.”
“At the risk of shattering him?” Jane heard herself ask.
Where had this unaccustomed defiance come from? Had John Whitefeather’s relentless blue gaze planted it within her?
“I’m not going to set him on the back of a bucking bronco, ma’am. Just a gentle old mare who can’t do much better than walk. I’ll hold on to him good and tight in front of me.”
John held out a large brown hand to the baby. “What do you say, Thundercloud?”
Barton immediately grasped one of his uncle’s fingers and pulled it close to Jane’s face.
She thrust the baby into John’s arms, trying not to sound as alarmed as the sudden movement made her feel. “Is that his Cheyenne name?”
“That’s what it means. Ruth gave it to him because he makes a lot of noise for a critter so small. You’ll come riding with us to keep an eye on him, won’t you, ma’am?”
Jane shook her head with some vigor. “Except for that trip in from Whitehorn, I’ve never sat a horse in my life.”
“Why didn’t you say so? I would have made Lionel give us a wagon to drive out here even if I had to steal one. No two ways about it—you’ll have to learn to ride if you’re going to survive in Big Sky Country. Tell you what. I’ve got an old gelding who couldn’t work up a gallop if you dropped a jar of nitroglycerin behind him.”
A bubble of laughter swelled inside Jane, all the more buoyant for being so unexpected. It rose and burst from her lips. “I suppose I could try.”
“Sure you can. Unless I miss my guess, you’ve done plenty of things this past week that you’ve never tackled before.”
Did a hint of admiration warm his words?
“That’s