Read Online Summer Breeze by Catherine Anderson - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine Anderson
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recalled the reason: a heifer in the throes of a breech birth. He'd been out in the field with her until late and had been so exhausted when he reached the house that he'd fallen straight into bed.
Well, hell Excuses wouldn't fill his stomach. More important, they wouldn't fill Buddy's. Joseph was accustomed to going hungry on occasion, but his dog wasn't. Sighing, he rolled onto his side and rubbed the animal's upturned belly. "Sorry, partner. I'll feed you twice in the morning to make up for it. I know you worked damned hard today. You should have stayed home with Esa.
He would have fed you, at least. "
Buddy's warm tongue rasped over the whiskers sprouting on Joseph's jaw. Damn dog. If there was anything he hated, it was a licker. He pushed at the
shepherd's nose. "Stop it, " he whispered. "You think I don't know where that tongue of yours has been?"
Buddy whined and nailed Joseph directly on the lips. He almost sputtered as Rachel Hollister had.
Instead, he settled for rubbing away the wetness with his shirtsleeve and then changed the position of his upraised arm to guard his face. After a moment, the dog thrust his nose in Joseph's armpit, huffed, and went to sleep,
Joseph's thoughts drifted and circled until his eyelids grew heavy. Buddy snuggled closer, and their combined body heat made the bed cozy warm.
Rachel had turned her mother's rocker to face the archway. She sat poker straight on the chair, the shotgun balanced on her knees. A blanket draped around her shoulders, she stared fixedly at the towels she'd tacked over the crate slats. One question circled endlessly in her mind. What in heaven's name am I going to do?
She had no answers. She knew only that her world had been turned upside down. Nothing was as it should be—as she so desperately needed it to be. First and most alarming, her home was no longer safe, The hole in the barricade made her feel horribly vulnerable. When she thought about that man possibly crawling through, her skin shriveled, she broke out in a cold sweat, and she found it difficult to breathe.
He was there, just on the other side of the wall, a threat to her safety—and her sanity. She wanted him gone. Out, out, out!
But then what? She had no boards to repair the bar-
ricade, and she couldn't go into town to buy more. Darby always went to town and purchased what she needed. Without him, she was helpless, absolutely helpless. What on earth would she do if he died and never came back?
The question was one she couldn't answer, and it also filled her with guilt. What if Joseph Paxton was telling the truth, and Darby had been shot? She loved that old foreman like a father. What kind of person was she to be worrying about boards when he might be dying?
Tears stung her eyes. She began rocking in the chair to maintain her self-control. Squeak, squeak, squeak. The whine of the chair came faster and faster until she realized she was pushing with her feet almost frenetically and forced herself to stop. Darby. He was much older than she was, and at the back of her mind, she had always known that she would outlive him. She'd just never allowed herself to contemplate the possibility that he might die any time soon. Darby was the closest thing to family that she had left. Oh, how she would miss seeing his craggy face through the peephole that he had installed in her door. And how empty her days would be if he never again tapped on the wood safe for his meals.
The wetness in her eyes spilled over onto her cheeks, creating cold, ticklish trails that made her want to scratch. Only she couldn't pry her hands from the gun. Why hadn't she shot Joseph Paxton when she had the chance? He'd known she couldn't do it, blast him. Even through the shadows, she'd seen the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
This was all his doing. She never would have fired the shotgun if he hadn't made a loud sound and startled her. And just who did he think he was, tearing the boards off one of her windows and breaking
Well, hell Excuses wouldn't fill his stomach. More important, they wouldn't fill Buddy's. Joseph was accustomed to going hungry on occasion, but his dog wasn't. Sighing, he rolled onto his side and rubbed the animal's upturned belly. "Sorry, partner. I'll feed you twice in the morning to make up for it. I know you worked damned hard today. You should have stayed home with Esa.
He would have fed you, at least. "
Buddy's warm tongue rasped over the whiskers sprouting on Joseph's jaw. Damn dog. If there was anything he hated, it was a licker. He pushed at the
shepherd's nose. "Stop it, " he whispered. "You think I don't know where that tongue of yours has been?"
Buddy whined and nailed Joseph directly on the lips. He almost sputtered as Rachel Hollister had.
Instead, he settled for rubbing away the wetness with his shirtsleeve and then changed the position of his upraised arm to guard his face. After a moment, the dog thrust his nose in Joseph's armpit, huffed, and went to sleep,
Joseph's thoughts drifted and circled until his eyelids grew heavy. Buddy snuggled closer, and their combined body heat made the bed cozy warm.
Rachel had turned her mother's rocker to face the archway. She sat poker straight on the chair, the shotgun balanced on her knees. A blanket draped around her shoulders, she stared fixedly at the towels she'd tacked over the crate slats. One question circled endlessly in her mind. What in heaven's name am I going to do?
She had no answers. She knew only that her world had been turned upside down. Nothing was as it should be—as she so desperately needed it to be. First and most alarming, her home was no longer safe, The hole in the barricade made her feel horribly vulnerable. When she thought about that man possibly crawling through, her skin shriveled, she broke out in a cold sweat, and she found it difficult to breathe.
He was there, just on the other side of the wall, a threat to her safety—and her sanity. She wanted him gone. Out, out, out!
But then what? She had no boards to repair the bar-
ricade, and she couldn't go into town to buy more. Darby always went to town and purchased what she needed. Without him, she was helpless, absolutely helpless. What on earth would she do if he died and never came back?
The question was one she couldn't answer, and it also filled her with guilt. What if Joseph Paxton was telling the truth, and Darby had been shot? She loved that old foreman like a father. What kind of person was she to be worrying about boards when he might be dying?
Tears stung her eyes. She began rocking in the chair to maintain her self-control. Squeak, squeak, squeak. The whine of the chair came faster and faster until she realized she was pushing with her feet almost frenetically and forced herself to stop. Darby. He was much older than she was, and at the back of her mind, she had always known that she would outlive him. She'd just never allowed herself to contemplate the possibility that he might die any time soon. Darby was the closest thing to family that she had left. Oh, how she would miss seeing his craggy face through the peephole that he had installed in her door. And how empty her days would be if he never again tapped on the wood safe for his meals.
The wetness in her eyes spilled over onto her cheeks, creating cold, ticklish trails that made her want to scratch. Only she couldn't pry her hands from the gun. Why hadn't she shot Joseph Paxton when she had the chance? He'd known she couldn't do it, blast him. Even through the shadows, she'd seen the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
This was all his doing. She never would have fired the shotgun if he hadn't made a loud sound and startled her. And just who did he think he was, tearing the boards off one of her windows and breaking
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