His Prairie Sweetheart. Erica Vetsch

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СКАЧАТЬ I have reached the age of twenty-one without your help and oversight. I can operate a simple water pump.”

      He stopped pushing up the next window, his hands dropping to his sides. “All right. How about you show me then?”

      “Fine.” She stalked into the cloakroom, snatched the empty bucket from under the water crock and strode outside. Lars still tumbled with the dog in the long grass, but Rut was already busy with a broom, sweeping the steps.

      Savannah kept her chin in the air as she rounded the building, aware of Elias behind her. The pump stood twenty yards to the west of the schoolhouse, surrounded by a wooden platform. Sunshine had warped the boards a bit and a few nails stuck up, pulled loose by the wood shrinking over time. She dropped the bucket beneath the spout with a clank and grabbed the iron handle.

      Up, down, up, down. Though she pulled and pushed with all her might and the pump squealed and squeaked, no water came out. Elias stood to the side, arms crossed, face bland. Savannah blew a few wisps of hair off her forehead, regripped the cold iron and tugged with vigor.

      Still nothing.

      She let her hands drop. An uncomfortable prickling raced across her skin. She couldn’t even pump water. What was wrong with the wretched thing? What was she doing here?

      Slowly, she forced herself to look Elias in the eye, prepared for his gloating. He would have every right, since she’d shoved his offer of help back into his face.

      “Are you done?” He had one eyebrow raised, the very picture of long-suffering patience.

      Nodding, she stepped back. He turned and put his fingers to his lips, letting out a piercing whistle that brought both children and the dog at a run. A couple of quick words to Lars in Norwegian had the boy running back to the school and returning with the small pail he’d brought from home.

      “This pump hasn’t been used in a while, and like I said, it’s temperamental. You have to prime it with a little water, even if it’s only been a couple of days. Always remember to fill a bucket on Friday afternoon before you leave, so it will be ready for Monday morning.” He took the pail of water from Lars and poured it carefully into the top of the pump, working the handle gently at first.

      When the water from the pail had disappeared, he gave half a dozen strong pulls on the handle and was rewarded with a gush of water from the spout. He filled the larger bucket, but dumped it on the grass in a rusty, brown arc. After another bucketful, the water ran clear and clean.

      Savannah forced herself to remember her manners. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Parker.” Her lips were stiff, and straight vinegar tasted better than this particular slice of humble pie, but she got the words out.

      He shook his head. “The kids can help you inside. I’ll sluice down the privies and make sure the lean-to and corral are tight while you clean. If you need anything—not that I’m assuming you will.” He held up his hands. “But if you do, holler.”

      He strode across the grass, leaving Savannah staring after him. His walk was powerful, his upper body swaying slightly, his arms swinging. Girard had been graceful, with a long, easy stride and loose limbs, but he lacked Elias’s muscular shoulders and chest, tending more to the lean side in build. More intellectual than physical. Everything about Elias Parker spoke of hard work and capability.

      But he wasn’t to be trusted. No man was. Elias offered help one moment, but in the next, let her know he was certain she would fail. Girard had asked her to marry him, but at the last moment, he’d fled rather than go through with the wedding.

      Even her father wasn’t reliable, never home for more than a week at a time, always traveling, always putting business first.

      No, a woman shouldn’t put her trust in a man. She was better off on her own.

      It might be lonely, but it was better than a broken heart.

      * * *

      Trust a woman to kill herself just to prove a man wrong. Elias hammered another nail into the corral fence, jerking the board to make sure it was tight. Savannah Cox had scrubbed and polished and sorted and cleaned all morning without a break and without a word.

      She’d feel it tomorrow, he figured. No way was she used to hauling buckets of water or washing windows or scrubbing floors. Not with her manners and clothes and all.

      Elias picked up his toolbox. His brother had better appreciate this.

      Miss Cox headed back to the pump with another bucket. She’d shed her jacket and rolled up her sleeves, making her look a little more approachable. Water gushed from the pump and hit the bucket, tipping it over. Elias chuckled as she righted the pail and held it up with her foot. Why didn’t she use the knob on top of the spout like a normal person?

      Probably because she didn’t know sic ’em from c’mere when it came to practical matters. She hadn’t even known how to prime a pump in the first place. He’d had to force himself not to laugh out loud at her consternation. And her apology had nearly choked her.

      Still, she had apologized, which was more than some folks would’ve done. He watched her tote the full water bucket, leaning away from the weight as she hefted it up the stairs and into the schoolhouse.

      Captain lay in the shade beside the porch, but he sat up when Elias drew near. “Hey, Cap. You’re sure working hard.” The dog trotted over and put his nose under Elias’s hand, inviting a pat. “Shall we go in and see the progress?”

      Captain’s nails clicked on the entryway floor, and the smells of vinegar and soap prickled Elias’s nose.

      “Don’t bring him in here.” Savannah knelt in one of the doorways into the schoolroom, a scrub brush in her hand and a pail of soapy water on one side, a bucket of clean water on the other. “Dogs don’t belong inside, and if he marks up this floor, you’re going to be the one scrubbing it next.”

      Still touchy.

      Elias put his hand on Captain’s ruff. “Sorry, boy, the boss has spoken. Outside.” He pointed to the door and snapped his fingers. Captain gave him a sorrowful look but turned around, clicking his way out.

      Elias went to the other doorway and surveyed her progress, inhaling the aromas of lemon polish and lye, vinegar and ammonia. Every surface gleamed. She’d accomplished more than he’d thought she would.

      Stubborn or efficient? Maybe both?

      Savannah dipped her scrub brush in the bucket again, scooting backward toward the door. The boar-bristle brush scraped against the floorboards in rhythmic circles. She rinsed with a cloth from the clean-water pail. The floor glistened damply, but when it dried, it would be dull until she waxed it properly.

      The bow on her apron, so perky this morning, had gone limp. Her rolled up sleeves revealed pale, slender arms. The brush looked too big for her small hand, and her neat hairdo had become a bit bedraggled, with wisps escaping the braided knot at the back of her head.

      “Where did the kids get off to?”

      She wiped her forearm across her brow, sitting back on her heels. “I sent them on home. They worked hard all morning, and there wasn’t much left for them to do once I started on the floors.”

      Flo-ahs. Why was it that every Southerner made one-syllable words СКАЧАТЬ