Read Online A Hopeful Heart by Kim Vogel Sawyer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kim Vogel Sawyer
Tags: United States, Fiction, Romance, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Ebook, Religion & Spirituality, Christian fiction, book, Christian Books & Bibles, Religious & Inspirational Fiction
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hiked its rump in the air first and then raised its wobbly head to stand on four shaky legs.
Vince laughed out loud. “We got ourselves a little bull.” He patted the cow’s side. “Good job, mama.”
Tressa’s breath whooshed from her lungs, her knees sagging with relief that the mother and baby were fine. She turned to thank Mrs. Wyatt for the comforting support of her hand, but to her shock, instead of Mrs. Wyatt, the brown-eyed rancher named Abel Samms stood beside her. And she held tight to his hand.
7
Abel watched the young woman’s face blaze red. She yanked her hand free of his so fast she nearly threw him off balance. Scuttling sideways, she ran smack into Aunt Hattie, and then took two backward steps that bounced her against the stall rails. There she stood, staring at him in silence with wide, pale blue eyes before she whirled around and presented her back.
He resisted releasing a snort of amusement. Considering she had latched on to him , she didn’t need to act all put upon. He’d entered the barn intending to tap Aunt Hattie’s shoulder and draw her out to the yard for a private conversation. But before he could follow through on his plan, that girl had grabbed hold of his hand and wouldn’t let loose. So he’d stayed.
Now he swiped his palm down his trouser leg to remove their joined moisture and faced Hattie, who offered a knowing smirk. Did she think that hand-holding had been his idea? He cleared his throat.
“Aunt Hattie, couldja step out here with me for a minute?” He didn’t wait for a response but turned and clumped outside, trusting her to follow. The excited chatter of Aunt Hattie’s pupils and Vince’s drawling responses to their questions carried through the barn door’s opening, so he stepped well out into the yard.
He squinted into Aunt Hattie’s grinning face. “What’re you –smilin’ at?”
“You.”
“Why?”
She touched his arm. “That was a kind thing you did, Abel, holding Miss Tressa’s hand.”
He started to explain that he hadn’t meant to hold her hand, but the girl’s name echoed through his mind, stilling his tongue. Tressa. An unusual name—as unusual as her eyes. He’d never seen such pale eyes—the color of wild sweet William, his ma’s favorite blossom. He’d picked dozens of sweet William bouquets as a little boy. But it’d been a while since he’d picked one for her grave. He needed to do that before the early spring wildflowers all died away.
Aunt Hattie continued. “New experiences can be frightenin’, so I know you gave her a real gift by holdin’ on tight.”
That girl’d taken his hand—he hadn’t given it—and he shouldn’t take credit. But there was something more important to discuss. “Aunt Hattie, I gotta ask you a question, an’ I’m trustin’ you to keep it quiet.”
Her heavy eyebrows knitted together. “You can trust me.”
Abel flicked a glance toward the barn. The murmur of voices told him the pupils and Vince were still occupied. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You heard about any ranchers around here losin’ lots of cattle the last couple of years?”
Hattie smoothed her hand down her bonnet strings. “Well now, Abel, every rancher loses a few head ever’ winter, an’ I reckon I’ve lost a calf or two to coyotes.”
“No, not that kind of loss.”
“Then what?”
“Rustlers.”
Aunt Hattie’s jaw dropped. “Rustlers? In Barnett?”
“Shh!” Abel caught her elbow and propelled her to her wagon. He propped his arm on the side and dipped his face close to hers. “Started after Pa died. I lost a good ten percent of my herd last year an’ even more’n that the year before. I know we had a hard winter in ’85. That took its toll on lots of ranchers, but in the past two years I haven’t found carcasses to account for comin’ up so short. There’d be somethin’. Even a pack of coyotes can’t drag off every bone from a steer.”
“Oh, my . . .” Aunt Hattie’s tone
Vince laughed out loud. “We got ourselves a little bull.” He patted the cow’s side. “Good job, mama.”
Tressa’s breath whooshed from her lungs, her knees sagging with relief that the mother and baby were fine. She turned to thank Mrs. Wyatt for the comforting support of her hand, but to her shock, instead of Mrs. Wyatt, the brown-eyed rancher named Abel Samms stood beside her. And she held tight to his hand.
7
Abel watched the young woman’s face blaze red. She yanked her hand free of his so fast she nearly threw him off balance. Scuttling sideways, she ran smack into Aunt Hattie, and then took two backward steps that bounced her against the stall rails. There she stood, staring at him in silence with wide, pale blue eyes before she whirled around and presented her back.
He resisted releasing a snort of amusement. Considering she had latched on to him , she didn’t need to act all put upon. He’d entered the barn intending to tap Aunt Hattie’s shoulder and draw her out to the yard for a private conversation. But before he could follow through on his plan, that girl had grabbed hold of his hand and wouldn’t let loose. So he’d stayed.
Now he swiped his palm down his trouser leg to remove their joined moisture and faced Hattie, who offered a knowing smirk. Did she think that hand-holding had been his idea? He cleared his throat.
“Aunt Hattie, couldja step out here with me for a minute?” He didn’t wait for a response but turned and clumped outside, trusting her to follow. The excited chatter of Aunt Hattie’s pupils and Vince’s drawling responses to their questions carried through the barn door’s opening, so he stepped well out into the yard.
He squinted into Aunt Hattie’s grinning face. “What’re you –smilin’ at?”
“You.”
“Why?”
She touched his arm. “That was a kind thing you did, Abel, holding Miss Tressa’s hand.”
He started to explain that he hadn’t meant to hold her hand, but the girl’s name echoed through his mind, stilling his tongue. Tressa. An unusual name—as unusual as her eyes. He’d never seen such pale eyes—the color of wild sweet William, his ma’s favorite blossom. He’d picked dozens of sweet William bouquets as a little boy. But it’d been a while since he’d picked one for her grave. He needed to do that before the early spring wildflowers all died away.
Aunt Hattie continued. “New experiences can be frightenin’, so I know you gave her a real gift by holdin’ on tight.”
That girl’d taken his hand—he hadn’t given it—and he shouldn’t take credit. But there was something more important to discuss. “Aunt Hattie, I gotta ask you a question, an’ I’m trustin’ you to keep it quiet.”
Her heavy eyebrows knitted together. “You can trust me.”
Abel flicked a glance toward the barn. The murmur of voices told him the pupils and Vince were still occupied. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You heard about any ranchers around here losin’ lots of cattle the last couple of years?”
Hattie smoothed her hand down her bonnet strings. “Well now, Abel, every rancher loses a few head ever’ winter, an’ I reckon I’ve lost a calf or two to coyotes.”
“No, not that kind of loss.”
“Then what?”
“Rustlers.”
Aunt Hattie’s jaw dropped. “Rustlers? In Barnett?”
“Shh!” Abel caught her elbow and propelled her to her wagon. He propped his arm on the side and dipped his face close to hers. “Started after Pa died. I lost a good ten percent of my herd last year an’ even more’n that the year before. I know we had a hard winter in ’85. That took its toll on lots of ranchers, but in the past two years I haven’t found carcasses to account for comin’ up so short. There’d be somethin’. Even a pack of coyotes can’t drag off every bone from a steer.”
“Oh, my . . .” Aunt Hattie’s tone
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