The Cowboy's City Girl. Linda Ford

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СКАЧАТЬ for a white woman? Especially a high-society woman. A Doyle, which seemed to mean something to her, but meant nothing in Levi’s world. Not that he cared what her opinion might be except to object to it on general principles.

      Except it mattered far more than he wanted it to.

      “Charlie, where have you been and what have you been doing since we last saw you?” Maisie asked.

      “Been around.” He hung his head. “Tried to find work but no one wants to hire a half-breed.”

      Levi refrained from pointing out the bottle was as much a hindrance for Charlie as his heritage.

      “Not everyone feels that way,” Maisie soothed. She turned to Beatrice. “Tell us about your day, my dear.”

      Beatrice chuckled, drawing Levi’s gaze to her, filling his mind with surprise and his heart with relief. He’d expected her to compete with Charlie for the worst day. “My day has been full of so many surprises I cannot begin to name them all. Being allowed the chance to do this job is an answer to prayer. Then I was rescued from the river by Levi. I am blessed beyond measure.” Her smile faded. “I apologize for the ruined meal. I found preparing it more difficult than I imagined.” She reached for Maisie’s hand. “And I thank you for being patient with me.”

      Maisie looked pleased. “You’re welcome.”

      When Maisie didn’t continue, Levi reminded her, “It’s your turn to tell about your day.”

      “My blessings are self-evident. I was afraid I’d be lonely with Big Sam away, but here I sit with three young people at the table. How blessed I am.”

      “You’re glad to see me?” Charlie asked, his tone indicating both doubt and longing.

      “I’m always glad to see you. I hope you plan to stay a while.”

      He grinned and pushed his longish hair off his face. “Maybe I will.”

      If his cousin stayed it would keep him out of trouble. For some reason—perhaps their shared heritage—Levi always felt protective of Charlie. He looked at Beatrice to see if he could guess her feelings about Charlie being invited to stay. Their gazes collided. Her look went on and on. Challenging him. He wanted to say, Look after Maisie, make meals as best you can and leave my heart alone.

      His heart? His heart had nothing to do with Beatrice. That thought was Maisie’s fault. It was she who had said he should listen to the call of his heart.

      There would be no such call and even if there was, he would not hearken to it.

      * * *

      Beatrice didn’t realize how tense Levi made her until he and Charlie left the house again and a long sigh emptied her lungs.

      “I’m a city girl, too.” Maisie’s voice brought Beatrice back to the here and now. “A teacher. I planned to teach in a girls’ school but when I saw an ad Big Sam had placed seeking someone to instruct his three boys, I changed my mind. The idea intrigued me. And I applied for the job. Big Sam demanded character references. He must have liked what my teacher and pastor said, as he said I got the job. My father wasn’t happy. He said it was a whim and I’d regret it.”

      “Did you... Do you?” It amazed Beatrice to think of Maisie as a city girl.

      “Not once. I fell in love with the boys immediately. They were wild and untamed. Big Sam had taken them with him everywhere after Seena died. I had my hands full teaching them manners and how to read and write. By Christmas, Big Sam and I were in love. How I love that man still.” She looked into the distance. “I hope he comes home soon. I miss him.” She gave a regretful chuckle. “He is not going to be happy to see what I’ve done to myself.”

      “I’ll make sure you rest so you can heal as quickly as possible.” Beatrice prepared the water to wash the dishes.

      “If you help me move closer I can dry,” Maisie said.

      Beatrice would have refused but she heard the lonely tone of Maisie’s words. She pushed the chair and stool closer, then handed Maisie each dish as she washed it.

      “Levi is very protective of me,” Maisie said. “So don’t mind him if he’s...” She waved her hands to indicate she wasn’t sure how to describe him.

      Beatrice nodded as if she understood, but kept her attention on washing dishes, certain her cheeks were pinker than leaning over the hot water would make them. And she supplied her own words. Darkly handsome. Protective—even of a young woman he’d barely met. Has strong arms that make a girl feel safe.

      Enough. She’d learned her lesson about trusting men. She had only one goal in mind—a life of independence that allowed her to follow her own plans and be freed of her father’s.

      Thankfully, Maisie didn’t pursue the subject and they were soon done with the dishes.

      Beatrice took the dry plates and returned them to the proper shelf. She stood back to admire the clean dishes. “Why did no one tell me how satisfying it is to see dishes washed and stacked in the cupboard?”

      Maisie laughed. “Most people don’t find it quite so satisfying after doing it three or four times a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.”

      Beatrice faced the older woman. “Do you find it satisfying?”

      “Immensely so, but then I’m doing it for those I love and that makes all the difference.”

      Love made all the difference. What a wonderful idea. Beatrice sighed almost inaudibly.

      With the last of the dishes done and the kitchen clean so far as Beatrice could tell, she could think of no reason to stand about continuing this conversation, though she wished she could. It was nice to hear Maisie talk about love and marriage in such positive tones. Marriage, according to her parents, was more of a business deal than romance.

      As if reading Beatrice’s mind, Maisie caught her hand. “I wish you and everyone could know the kind of love I’ve found. Don’t settle for anything less.”

      She wasn’t interested in marriage of any sort but wouldn’t tell Maisie that. “What do I do with the scraps and wash water?”

      “Dump the water on my flowers by the house. They thrive on it.” She chuckled. “Though they’ve had plenty of water today. The scraps...” Maisie looked doubtful, as if uncertain Beatrice could deal with the task.

      “Tell me and I’ll do it.”

      “Very well. Take the bucket of scraps out to the pigpen and dump them over the fence into the trough. Watch for puddles on the path. ”

      “Where will I find the pigpen?”

      Maisie gave her instruction.

      Beatrice emptied out the basin of water then carried the heavy, slimy bucket from the house, being careful not to let it brush against her skirts as she passed the barn. She smelled the pigs before she reached the pen and gasped. Nothing had prepared her for so many strange and, sometimes, unpleasant odors. She reached the fence and counted two big pigs and half a dozen small ones that rushed toward her squealing and grunting and running into each other, pushing one another out СКАЧАТЬ