A Ranch To Call Home. Carol Arens
dog plopped its hairy rump on the dirt, stirring up dust with its tail.
“Mr. Rawlings!” she called over her shoulder. Luckily the man was standing in the livery yard. “Your dog is following.”
He crossed the road, grinning. “I reckon I ought to have mentioned.” He clapped his palm on the wagon wheel. “The dog comes with the horses.”
“But I don’t need a dog.”
“Oh, he’s useful enough. With his size, coyotes and wolves won’t bother you much.”
“I’ve never been over bothered by the beasts as it is.”
“Haven’t heard of the great wolf migration three years this past February then, I reckon?”
To her knowledge, wolves did not migrate. She shook her head. What she wanted was for the dog to migrate back to the livery.
“The story goes that a fellow named Biggers, a newspaperman, was riding out on the frontier one day when he spotted thousands of animals on the lope. He was a curious fellow, given his occupation, and he went to investigate. Turned out to be wolves. Now, no one knows quite why they did it, mass exodus like that, but Biggers wasn’t the only one to report it. Supposedly it’s the truth.”
Supposedly might be a long stretch from the truth. He wanted to be rid of the dog was what she thought.
“Truth or not, I didn’t agree to purchase your dog.”
“The thing is, he’s not my dog. When I bought the horses, he came along. Followed me just like he’s following you.” Bartholomew Rawlings petted the dog between his ears. “I doubt you’ll be rid of him. But he’s a good boy for all he’s a hairy giant.”
“Go home,” she said to the dog since she was having no success getting the livery owner to keep him. “I can’t feed you.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over that, miss. He’s a hunter. It’s fair to say you won’t see a rat in your barn or a rabbit in your garden once he moves in.” Apparently Bartholomew considered the matter finished because he tipped his hat and walked away.
“What’s his name? How old is he?” If the animal really was not going to leave the horses, she ought to know that little bit about him.
“I believe he’s two, same as the team. Don’t know the name he started with since I was a mile from the auction when I noticed he was coming along. He’s been answering to ‘Hey, dog!’ for the last six months.”
The very last thing she needed was to be responsible for a nameless dog.
After another tip of his faded brown hat, the liveryman crossed the road and went inside his stable.
With any luck, while she was busy purchasing her goods, the dog would attach himself to someone else’s horses.
* * *
Glancing out the window of the general store, Laura Lee spotted the great beast. Not only had he not taken up with someone else, he looked quite content where he was...asleep on the four-foot-high pile of hay in the wagon.
Turning her attention to the task at hand, the last of many, she examined several bolts of lace with which to sew curtains.
An especially sweet one caught her eye, having hearts and flowers embroidered on a sheer fabric. It would be romantic for Johnny to see them hanging in the windows when he came riding home with the money to pay off the mortgage for the ranch. She only hoped she had time to sew them and hang them in the windows before he did.
The problem was, she didn’t know how much fabric she would need since she had no idea how many windows the house had. The one and only thing she knew about it was that her name was on the deed...the home belonged to her.
It might be a palace or a cozy cottage. The knowledge that she was only hours from seeing it for the first time left her breathless. Tearful emotion cramped her throat when she set the fabric bolt on the counter and told the clerk she wanted only half of it.
There was no sense in spending more than she needed to. She would be back in town on Friday for market day and could purchase more if her house turned out to have an abundance of windows.
In her mind, there were dozens. She’d always dreamed of a house with lots of windows for her to sit beside. There hadn’t been a time when she didn’t long for a cozy spot with a plump chair to watch the wind blow and the snow fall, to see heat roll off the ground in waves during the summer, peer through the glass when spring rains pelted the earth.
“This will be all, Mr. Teal.”
She’d been in the store for more than an hour. Her stash of money was going to feel a lot lighter going out than it had coming in.
“Are you sure you want to head out now? It’ll be dark in a few hours.”
“I’ve been waiting all my life for this house. I can’t wait a moment longer.”
“A woman on her own...it just doesn’t seem right or safe. Let me find a fellow to ride out with you. For the life of me, I can’t picture where your ranch is.”
“You and Auntie June are of a mind. And I thank you, but I’d rather do this on my own.” If she decided to weep for joy or dance around the parlor like a mad woman, she would rather do it privately. “At any rate, it appears I’m not on my own after all. I’ve been adopted by that big dog on the hay pile.”
She scooped up the fabric and walked toward the door because she really could not wait another moment.
Mr. Rawlings followed, carrying the crate of baking pans she had purchased. “You going to be warm enough in that coat? Nights turn cold this time of year.”
If Laura Lee hadn’t just met Mr. Rawlings, she would hug him. His concern for her seemed fatherly in a way she had never known.
Her own father might be alive and well somewhere in the vast world but she had no way of knowing since she hadn’t heard from him since she was twelve years old. He’d left her at the Lucky Clover Ranch because she had begged him to. He’d waved her goodbye and ridden away with a great smile on his face.
Same as Johnny had. The thought left her feeling uneasy.
George Quinn did love her in his own way. Just not as much as he loved his adventuresome way of life. Every once in a while, he had looked at her as though he was surprised to see her.
Oh, Laura Lee, he would say, as if she had just returned from a distant place. But really, the only place she had been was out of the sphere of his attention.
“I have a warmer one, Mr. Rawlings. In case it’s not enough, I’ll snuggle up to my hairy new companion.”
The storekeeper gave her a hand up into the wagon seat. Not that she needed the help. My word, she’d been climbing in and out of wagons on her own for as long as she could remember. Back on the Lucky Clover, she’d often driven wagons like this one for miles across open land, delivering food to the chuck wagons.
Even though it wasn’t needed, the helpful gesture did make her feel at home in Forget-Me-Not.
“Thank you,” she said, her smile down at him springing from a joyful heart. “I’ll see you on market day.”
Two hours later, Laura Lee was riding toward the sunset. On her right was a farmhouse with children playing in the yard. A woman stood on the porch of her white two-story home. When she saw Laura Lee, she waved her arm. A breeze snatched hundreds of fall leaves off the trees behind the house and blew them into the yard. The fading sunlight caught them, giving the appearance of golden rain drifting to the yard.
From what she understood, her own ranch was no more than an hour past this pretty place. Laura Lee waved back, certain that she would become fast friends with her neighbor.
With the sun setting and the land darkened, the earth seemed hushed, except for an occasional breeze that stirred the grass. It whispered