She
won't mind. She is the most independent soul I ever saw. She was
goin' to church by herself long before I started walkin' with her.
She wouldn't mind goin' alone as long as I tell her ahead of time.”
The thought suddenly occurred to Bat that Leta might feel uneasy
about being seen alone with him. Maybe she would like it better if
Billie was with them sort of like a chaperone. “But if it would
make ya feel any easier about goin' with me to church, we can pick
up Billie and go together.”
“I think that would be a good
idea,” Leta agreed. “Your sister is a good customer. She's a really
nice person. I admire her a lot, and I'd enjoy visiting with her
outside of here for a change.”
“I feel the same way about her
myself,” Bat said.
“In fact, if that bonnet is for
Mrs. Sommers, I wouldn't say a word to let the cat out of the bag.
I'd understand if you're trying to surprise her or someone else,”
Leta suggested, fishing for the name of the woman the bonnet was a
gift for.
“That's right kind of ya to keep
the bonnet a secret. That's the way I want it,” Bat evaded,
touching the brim of his hat as he backed to the door. “I best be
goin' now, Leta. See ya Sunday mornin'.”
Chapter Eight
Sunday went almost like any other
Sunday with his sister, Billie. Only this time he had a woman on
each arm. After church, Billie insisted on Leta coming home with
them for Sunday dinner. He had kind of thought she might invite
Leta for dinner, but if she hadn't, he would have taken Leta to the
hotel again for the Sunday meal.
That afternoon, Bat spent most of
his time listening to the women talk. They had a lot in common once
he thought about it. Billie was a business woman, too. As such, she
had made it clear she wasn't interested in finding a husband any
time soon. Reckon that must be the way Leta felt. She sure seemed
to be the same sort of independent woman his sister was.
On Monday Bat headed for the ranch
to spend the week, helping round up and sort cattle with his
cowboys. Some of the hands had been branding the calves.
The steers were sorted and drove
to the west pasture by the creek, and the heifers grazed along the
mountain range in the south pasture with the spring fed
pond.
That first evening when Bat
stopped work, he was glad he'd brought a bag of groceries with him.
He fried potatoes and threw in some eggs. After supper, he sat on
the porch in the cool evening air by himself, trying to relax away
the aches and pains. It was very clear he wasn't used to hard
work.
He believed this to be the
quietest night he had ever known. It wasn't a bad thing, being
alone with his thoughts. He was just about too tired to talk if
someone had stopped to visit.
When darkness moved in, Bat went
inside and hunted the match box off the shelf by the cookstove. He
took the shade off the lamp in the parlor and rub the match head
fast against his jeans. The match whispered, and a flame flashed.
Once the wick caught, Bat turned the flame down and put the shade
back on.
In the lamp light, his shadow
shimmered on the dark wall behind him as he sat down in his rocking
chair. It was an automatic reflex for him to glance up to smile a
greeting at Hannah. The smile dried up on his face when he
remembered Hannah wasn't looking down on him anymore.
Billie had left a stack of Penny
Dreadfuls on the lamp table. He was surprised she didn't throw them
out with all the rest of the clutter when she was cleaning up. It
must have been because she knew the books belonged to him and not
Hannah.
He picked up the book on top.
Beadle's Dime Novels stuck out in big letters. The title was The
Seminole Chief. Bat chuckled. He remembered Hannah telling him the
Indian chief on the cover, waving his hands at three white men,
reminded her of the Indian she had the fight with all those years
ago.
The next one was Ted Strong's
Vigilantes. A good looking, well dressed cowboy in a red shirt was
in the top of a tree. Bat decided he'd have to
won't mind. She is the most independent soul I ever saw. She was
goin' to church by herself long before I started walkin' with her.
She wouldn't mind goin' alone as long as I tell her ahead of time.”
The thought suddenly occurred to Bat that Leta might feel uneasy
about being seen alone with him. Maybe she would like it better if
Billie was with them sort of like a chaperone. “But if it would
make ya feel any easier about goin' with me to church, we can pick
up Billie and go together.”
“I think that would be a good
idea,” Leta agreed. “Your sister is a good customer. She's a really
nice person. I admire her a lot, and I'd enjoy visiting with her
outside of here for a change.”
“I feel the same way about her
myself,” Bat said.
“In fact, if that bonnet is for
Mrs. Sommers, I wouldn't say a word to let the cat out of the bag.
I'd understand if you're trying to surprise her or someone else,”
Leta suggested, fishing for the name of the woman the bonnet was a
gift for.
“That's right kind of ya to keep
the bonnet a secret. That's the way I want it,” Bat evaded,
touching the brim of his hat as he backed to the door. “I best be
goin' now, Leta. See ya Sunday mornin'.”
Chapter Eight
Sunday went almost like any other
Sunday with his sister, Billie. Only this time he had a woman on
each arm. After church, Billie insisted on Leta coming home with
them for Sunday dinner. He had kind of thought she might invite
Leta for dinner, but if she hadn't, he would have taken Leta to the
hotel again for the Sunday meal.
That afternoon, Bat spent most of
his time listening to the women talk. They had a lot in common once
he thought about it. Billie was a business woman, too. As such, she
had made it clear she wasn't interested in finding a husband any
time soon. Reckon that must be the way Leta felt. She sure seemed
to be the same sort of independent woman his sister was.
On Monday Bat headed for the ranch
to spend the week, helping round up and sort cattle with his
cowboys. Some of the hands had been branding the calves.
The steers were sorted and drove
to the west pasture by the creek, and the heifers grazed along the
mountain range in the south pasture with the spring fed
pond.
That first evening when Bat
stopped work, he was glad he'd brought a bag of groceries with him.
He fried potatoes and threw in some eggs. After supper, he sat on
the porch in the cool evening air by himself, trying to relax away
the aches and pains. It was very clear he wasn't used to hard
work.
He believed this to be the
quietest night he had ever known. It wasn't a bad thing, being
alone with his thoughts. He was just about too tired to talk if
someone had stopped to visit.
When darkness moved in, Bat went
inside and hunted the match box off the shelf by the cookstove. He
took the shade off the lamp in the parlor and rub the match head
fast against his jeans. The match whispered, and a flame flashed.
Once the wick caught, Bat turned the flame down and put the shade
back on.
In the lamp light, his shadow
shimmered on the dark wall behind him as he sat down in his rocking
chair. It was an automatic reflex for him to glance up to smile a
greeting at Hannah. The smile dried up on his face when he
remembered Hannah wasn't looking down on him anymore.
Billie had left a stack of Penny
Dreadfuls on the lamp table. He was surprised she didn't throw them
out with all the rest of the clutter when she was cleaning up. It
must have been because she knew the books belonged to him and not
Hannah.
He picked up the book on top.
Beadle's Dime Novels stuck out in big letters. The title was The
Seminole Chief. Bat chuckled. He remembered Hannah telling him the
Indian chief on the cover, waving his hands at three white men,
reminded her of the Indian she had the fight with all those years
ago.
The next one was Ted Strong's
Vigilantes. A good looking, well dressed cowboy in a red shirt was
in the top of a tree. Bat decided he'd have to
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