In His Kiss: Blemished Brides, Book 4 Page 5

  By the time she raised her head to look out the window, a soft golden glow shimmered across the land and the barns. A man walked toward the house, but it wasn’t the wrangler. It was Uncle John. It had to be close to suppertime.

  Ellie closed her notebook and went to stand in front of her dresser, splashing water on her face from the washbasin. Her uncle’s deep, loud voice downstairs mingled with that of her aunt’s. She opened the door to her room and stepped out into the hallway.

  “That man attacked her, John,” Aunt Fiona’s voice rose in anger. “I said before it was a bad idea to hire him.”

  “Calm down, Fiona. I didn’t hear about any of this when I was at the bunkhouse earlier.”

  “Well of course not. Why would he talk about it?”

  “I’ll check with Stubbs in the morning. I’m sure you misunderstood what Ellie was trying to tell you.”

  “I didn’t misunderstand, John. She wrote it on a piece of paper, that he was half Indian. Eleanor has a good reason to be afraid of Indians.”

  Ellie stood at the top of the stairs. She shouldn’t be listening to her aunt and uncle’s conversation, but they were clearly talking about her. Her aunt was twisting everything she’d tried to tell her earlier about what had happened.

  Uncle John laughed. “What happened to Ellie occurred more than twelve years ago, Fiona. She was eight years old. She probably doesn’t even remember any of it.”

  “I won’t forget what happened to my sister,” Aunt Fiona hissed under her breath, her words barely audible. “Or to Eleanor. And neither will she.”

  “Calm down, Fiona. I’ll talk to Stubbs in the morning. Lance Taggart came highly recommended, and if I’m going to build a racing string, I need a good trainer. Even Trace Hawley, who owns the largest racing operation in this valley, wanted to hire him.”

  “Then let him. You can find someone else to train your horses.”

  “He’s made more progress in one week with that colt than anyone’s been able to in a month.”

  “My concern is for my niece’s safety, John. Not some half-blooded wrangler.”

  “I’m going to go wash up for supper, Fiona. I’ll talk to him in the morning and find out exactly what happened.”

  The back door in the kitchen opened and shut. Ellie ran down the stairs. Aunt Fiona thought that the wrangler . . . Lance Taggart, had been the one to do her harm. Aunt Fiona had clearly misunderstood her note.

  “Eleanor, you’re just in time for supper,” Aunt Fiona greeted her. She’d looked troubled, but now she plastered a wide smile on her face.

  Ellie approached her aunt. She opened her notebook to the page that showed what she’d written earlier. She held the paper under her aunt’s nose, pointing at the words “the man who helped owns a dog.”

  “Yes, Lance Taggart owns a dog,” Aunt Fiona agreed. “But if he was with the men who approached you and were rude, he must be dealt with, Eleanor.”

  Ellie shook her head. The muscles along her neck and shoulders tensed. She pointed at the words again, then stared at her aunt, pleading with her eyes.

  Why won’t you understand and hear me?

  Aunt Fiona smiled. Her chest heaved as she drew in a breath. She placed her hand on Ellie’s arm.

  “I don’t know what’s got you so adamant, Eleanor. Regardless of what he did, it’s better that he’s gone from here. I’ve always been a bit worried about having someone like him around.”

  Ellie shook her head. Aunt Fiona’s smile turned cold along with her eyes. Her gaze darted to the back door, then back to Ellie. She leaned forward, her grip on Ellie’s arm tightening.

  “This matter is closed. I don’t want you to bring it up again. John will talk to his foreman tomorrow and Lance Taggart won’t bother you anymore.”

  Ellie stared at her aunt. This wasn’t right. The man had helped her against two other men, and now he was the one to lose his job? She shook her head again.

  “He’s an Indian, Eleanor,” Aunt Fiona hissed. “You, of all people, should be a little more concerned about having someone like him around.” She stood straighter and swiped her hand across her forehead. “Need I remind you that his kind killed my sister – your mother – and left you for dead?”

  Chapter Six

  “Taggart. I need a word with you.”

  At the sound of Stubbs’ insistent voice booming from somewhere behind him, Lance straightened but didn’t turn around immediately. He set aside the rope he’d been braiding into a new lariat. The muscles along his jaw twitched. He’d waited since yesterday for some sort of confrontation with the foreman, and it appeared as if now was the time.

  Lance didn’t sleep in the bunkhouse with the rest of the cowpokes and wranglers. The quiet of the lean-to he’d constructed in the woods beyond the ranch buildings was much more agreeable to getting a good night’s sleep. Besides, Mahto wasn’t welcome in the bunkhouse any more than he. He usually joined the rest of the men for evening meals, but left as soon as he was done eating. He hadn’t seen Hank or Fred since the incident with the knife yesterday. Clearly, they hadn’t complained to Stubbs this morning.

  Slowly, Lance turned to face his boss. Sunlight streamed into the barn in a wide ribbon from the open door. A horse snorted in one of the stalls, the straw rustling beneath its hooves.

  Stubbs marched toward him, his short legs covering the distance with quick strides that left him breathing hard. He ripped his hat from his head, no doubt so he could stare up at Lance better. Sure enough, the foreman glared at him after coming to a stop right in front of him. He waved a hand in the air.

  “What in tarnation are you thinking, boy? Goin’ and pickin’ a fight with men like Hank and Fred. Tyler Monroe told me you had a decent head on your shoulders.”

  Mahto came up between him and Stubbs and let out a bark. Lance snapped his fingers and pointed to the horse blanket that lay by one of the stalls. The dog dropped his head and lumbered away, lowering himself onto the blanket. His head rested between his paws on the ground while his alert eyes lingered on Stubbs.

  With his watchful dog always nearby, there was no concern over Hank’s threat that Lance needed to watch his back.

  “I didn’t start a fight.” Lance met Stubbs’ glare.

  Stubbs smirked. “Hank’s got everyone riled at the bunkhouse since last night, howlin’ that you nearly took his hand off with your knife.” The short man leaned forward. “Care to tell me what you were thinkin’ when you decided to act like some Injun on the warpath?” His voice raised and he shifted weight from one foot to the other. His face turned a glowing shade of red as his stare intensified. “I’m tryin’ to look out for you, but you ain’t makin’ it easy for me, Taggart.”

  Lance smiled. “Hank got less than what he deserved. I barely nicked his skin.”

  “Well you’d better start talkin’ right quick about what he did to deserve what you done to his hand, before John Patterson finds out.”

  A shadow darkened the stream of sunlight coming into the barn at that moment. Mahto raised his head, but remained in his spot on the blanket.

  “Before I find what out?”

  John Patterson walked into the barn, glancing first at Stubbs, then at Lance, who stood facing him. Stubbs whirled around on his heels. He coughed to clear his throat. He shot a warning glare at Lance before facing the owner of the Circle P.

  “Mornin’, John,” Stubbs stammered.

  John Patterson approached, his eyes remaining on Lance. “What seems to be the trouble?”

  Stubbs laughed quickly. “No trouble. Just a misunderstandin’, I’m sure, between Taggart and a couple of the men. You know how those boys get when they come in from the range.”

  Lance took a step forward. It was time to do his own talking. “I was protecting my dog,” he said slowly, holding the boss’ stare. If Miss Eleanor had run to her uncle to tell a different story, he’d wait to let John Patterson bring it up.

  “Your dog?” Stubbs’ voice rose again in disbelief. “You’re
causin’ trouble over a dog?”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Patterson said. “My wife’s in an uproar at the house because my niece came to her yesterday, saying that you –”

  Mahto sprang from his place at that moment and let out a high-pitched bark. He ran toward the open barn door, his tail wagging. Seconds later, the silhouette of a slight figure in a skirt darted into the light. She stopped before fully entering the barn, then rushed toward them. Lance frowned. What was she doing here?

  He scoffed silently. If he read the displeased look in John Patterson’s eyes correctly, it sure seemed as though she’d gone running to her aunt about him and told her about their encounter. After his quick meeting with her yesterday at the house, Lance had almost believed she wasn’t going to complain about him to her relatives. He couldn’t have misread her look of gratitude, but he also couldn’t dismiss the fear and mistrust he’d seen in her eyes before he’d realized she couldn’t talk.

  John Patterson and Stubbs both turned at the same time to look at Miss Eleanor, as her wide eyes settled on him. Lance met her gaze, his own eyes narrowing. She hesitated before approaching.

  “Ellie, is something wrong?” Patterson stepped toward his niece. He reached for her arm. “Where’s your aunt?”

  She instantly shook her head, and pointed in the direction of the house. Her eyes went to her uncle before coming back to Lance. Even though he might lose his job over this woman, Lance stared at her, mesmerized by her soft eyes and the waves of her coppery hair that flowed down her back. The muscles along his neck tensed and he cursed silently.

  Never get involved with their kind, Hunts With A Lance.

  She stepped forward, putting herself between him and her uncle.

  Patterson watched her for a moment, then turned to his foreman. “Stubbs, this is my niece, Eleanor. She hasn’t been introduced to anyone, but it seems there was an incident yesterday involving her and Lance Taggart.”

  Stubbs shot an accusing look in Lance’s direction before he hastily wiped his hand down the front of his shirt, which he then held out to Miss Eleanor. Patterson’s niece hesitated, then placed her hand in the foreman’s. She turned to her uncle and shook her head again while pointing at Lance. Stubbs watched her, a puzzled look on his face.

  “My niece doesn’t speak,” Patterson clarified. “That’s why Fiona’s rather concerned over what happened yesterday.”

  “What happened, Taggart?” Stubbs turned dark eyes on him.

  Lance jutted his chin toward the woman. “You should ask Miss Eleanor.”

  He fixed his gaze on her again. She hastened a glance at her uncle, then a quiet smile formed on her lips. His gaze was locked on her. She didn’t have to speak. Everything he needed to know was written in her eyes. She wasn’t here to get him fired.

  The sensation of being enveloped in a warm blanket swept along his skin, and burrowed deeper into his chest. Lance studied her some more. His response to her was as surprising as her behavior. No other woman would have come to his defense, especially not after the way he’d scared her with his knife-throwing act.

  “I just said, my niece can’t talk.” Patterson’s stern remark forced Lance to shift his attention away from her. “Did you bring your notebook, Ellie, so you can write down what you want to tell me?”

  She quickly shook her head, still directing her hand at Lance. She moved both hands up and down in quick succession, then brought her right fist to her chest and opened her hand as if throwing something on the ground.

  “What are you doing, Ellie?” John Patterson stepped closer, taking her hand to stop her motion.

  “She said I didn’t harm her.”

  Miss Eleanor nodded, smiling toward Lance, then at her uncle. She pulled her hand from his grasp and made the motions again.

  “She can communicate, just not the way you’re used to.” Lance met Patterson’s incredulous eyes. “She can talk with her hands.”

  “Why didn’t Edward tell us she could communicate with her hands?” he mumbled, almost to himself, then shook his head. He looked back at Lance, a slight hesitation and disbelief in his eyes. “And you understand what she’s saying?”

  “Among my mother’s people, using hand gestures has always been a way to communicate with tribes who speak a different language. We call it sign talk. Your niece told me yesterday that a Cheyenne woman taught her how to make the signs.”

  Eleanor nodded at her uncle. With eager eyes, she looked at Lance. She gestured with her hands.

  “She wants you to know that she came here to thank me for what happened yesterday.”

  Lance loosely translated Eleanor’s hand motions. It sounded strange, defending himself through someone else, especially this woman.

  Patterson followed his niece’s gestures with interest. He appeared almost intrigued by the notion that she communicated so effectively this way. She’d clearly learned a lot from the Cheyenne woman who had taught her, but she struggled with certain ideas and left out many of the movements.

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened, Taggart?” John Patterson faced him when Eleanor nodded after Lance’s translation.

  Lance straightened. He wasn’t one for running for help when he’d gotten into confrontations with men in the past, and he sure wasn’t going to start now. As far as he was concerned, the encounter with Hank and Fred was over and done with. He glanced at Eleanor. He’d interfered to protect his dog, but also to protect her. For her sake, it was best to explain what had happened to her uncle.

  “Hank and Fred were acting less than gentlemanly toward Miss Eleanor yesterday. When Hank pulled a gun on my dog, I threw my knife to keep him from shooting.”

  Patterson’s eyes shifted to his niece. Anger blazed in his gaze. “Did someone act disrespectfully toward you?”

  She took a step back, facing her uncle. Mahto came up beside her and rubbed his head against her skirt. Eleanor patted the dog before nodding at her uncle’s question.

  “Stubbs, deal with those men, before I do. Make it clear that if I find out about anyone disrespecting my niece, they can saddle up and get off my property immediately, and getting fired’ll be the least of their worries.”

  “Sure, John. Once everyone’s assembled for supper tonight I’ll get the word out to the men.” To Eleanor, he said, “My apologies to you for the way the men behaved. I can assure you, that you have nothin’ to worry about. Most of the boys are decent, and those that forgot their manners will learn again right quick.”

  He directed a hard gaze to Lance. “Keep your nose clean,” he mumbled, then turned to John Patterson. “If you’ll excuse me, I got some heads to roll.”

  Patterson watched his foreman leave before he directed his attention back to his niece.

  “Does Fiona know you’re here?”

  Eleanor shook her head. Her uncle smiled. He reached his hand out to Lance. “Thanks, Taggart, for looking out for Ellie.” He ran his other hand through his hair. “My wife can get a bit worked up at times, and she made an assumption she shouldn’t have.”

  Lance shook the older man’s hand. Patterson didn’t need to elaborate. It was clear what his wife was getting worked up over. Had it been any other man to chase off Hank and Fred, she’d no doubt have come and thanked him herself.

  “Miss Eleanor left her sketchbook by one of the corrals, so I brought it to the house. I ain’t looking for trouble with your wife.”

  Patterson smiled at his niece. “Well, since Ellie vouched for you, I don’t see that you gave her any trouble. Glad you were there to help her out. She’s got some challenges to overcome, but it appears as if you could be of some help.”

  If Patterson had offered him the deed to the Circle P at that moment, it would have been less of a surprise than what he’d just said. Instinctively, Lance backed up a step, and smirked.

  “Not sure what I can do, Mr. Patterson. I got horses to train, and I don’t think –”

  His thoughts were interrupted by the high-pitched call of a woma
n from somewhere outside the barn. Fiona Patterson repeatedly called Eleanor’s name.

  “Fiona’s a bit over-protective,” Patterson said, glancing from Lance to his niece. He shook his head at the sound of his wife’s voice. “We never had children of our own. I know she would have liked to know you better growing up, but living so far away, it wasn’t possible. You’d best go and put your aunt’s mind at ease, Ellie.” John Patterson nodded to her.

  Her shoulders slumped and the sparkle left her eye. She looked like a wild mustang that had been caught, only to realize it had lost its freedom. She hesitated before nodding in resignation.

  “There you are.” Fiona Patterson sauntered into the barn. She stopped short when she looked from her niece to her husband, and then to Lance.

  John Patterson stepped toward his wife. “It’s alright, Fiona. I asked Ellie to come with me to clear up the misunderstanding from yesterday.”

  Fiona Patterson still glared at Lance. It was an all too familiar look, but there was also something deeper in her stare. Some old wound seemed to rip open when she looked at him.

  “Next time, please tell me. I was worried sick when Eleanor didn’t come down for breakfast.” Her smile was forced when she reached for her niece’s arm. “Come along, Eleanor.”

  “Did you know that Ellie could talk using her hands, Fiona?”

  Patterson’s question halted his wife. She stared up at him as if he’d grown two heads.

  “Talk with her hands? What do you mean? Of course she can communicate by pointing at things to make her wishes known.”

  “She can do more than simply point. She uses gestures and motions with her hands, same as the Indians do.”

  Fiona’s head snapped to Lance, then back at her husband. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Edward would have mentioned it. Besides, he would never condone her associating with Indians.” With her last word, her icy glare was back on Lance before she moved to leave the barn, still holding on to her niece’s arm.

  Eleanor pulled free of her aunt’s grasp. She motioned with her hands that she didn’t want to return to the house. Lance stared at her. She made the motion again, more forcefully, while looking directly at him. She wanted him to say the words to her aunt.