Read Online Summer Breeze by Catherine Anderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catherine Anderson
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What you saw was what you got. She liked the way his ears stood up, with only the rounded tips flopping forward.
He only straightened them when she spoke or made a sound.
He was a handsome fellow, she decided. A snow-white blaze ran the length of his muzzle, and the lighter russet spots above his amber eyes lent his face a pensive look. He was a sheepdog, she concluded, a breed that had proven useful in herding cattle and become popular with the ranchers hereabouts. Rachel had heard it said that most sheepdogs were uncommonly intelligent. Looking into Buddy's alert, questioning eyes, she had little trouble believing it.
"You're a pushy sort, aren't you?" she whispered, wishing that she could let him into the kitchen.
As it. was, he was about to destroy her makeshift repairs. He shoved with a shoulder and snapped another slat. "Stop!" she whispered. "You can't come in. Can't you tell when someone doesn't like you?"
"He's hungry. "
Startled by Joseph Paxton's deep voice, Rachel jumped back from the opening.
"Whatever you fixed for supper smells mighty good, " he went on. "I thought I had jerky in my saddlebags, but I was mistaken, and he's not used to missing a meal. I've spoiled him, I reckon. "
Rachel retreated another step. The dog seemed to interpret that as an invitation. Before she could react, he jumped through the hole, breaking the remaining slats and jerking one towel completely loose. The next instant, she was being accosted by the friendly canine. Fortunately, he was an agile fellow and light on his feet. When he planted his paws on her chest, she barely felt his weight. He growled at her again, a yaw-yaw-yaw that sounded absurdly conversational.
It was impossible for Rachel to look into the animal's expressive eyes without wanting to smile.
"So you're hungry, are you? All I have is stew and cornbread, and I don't think that's good for dogs. "
Buddy dropped to his belly, put his paws together as if he were praying, and then lifted his head to bark. The message was clear. Stew was very good for dogs, the more the better. Rachel was lost. Maybe it was the
prayer position that did her in—or maybe it was the sweet, imploring expression on Buddy's face.
She had never been able to turn away a hungry critter. As a girl, she'd loved to feed the wild animals and birds that visited the ranch. One year, her pa had built her half a dozen birdhouses for Christmas so she'd be able to watch the sparrows build their nests and hatch their babies the following spring. Oh, how Rachel missed the birdsong. With her windows boarded up, inside and out, she couldn't hear it anymore.
Just in case Joseph Paxton decided to climb through the hole after his dog, she retrieved the shotgun before advancing on the stove. With the weapon leaning against the wall within close reach, she set to work to feed Buddy. Thoughts of Darby once again assailed her as she filled a serving bowl with stew and added some crumbled cornbread. This was to have been the foreman's supper. Would he ever again tap on the wood safe and enjoy a meal that she had cooked for him?
She cast a considering glance at the damaged barricade as she set the bowl on the floor. Buddy didn't hesitate. With a happy growl, he began gobbling the food as if he hadn't been fed in a week.
Rachel straightened, gathered the blanket closer around her shoulders, took a breath for courage, and said, "I shall strike a bargain with you, Mr. Paxton. In exchange for information about my foreman, I'll feed you supper. "
Surprised by the unexpected offer, Joseph sat bolt upright on his pallet. Surely he hadn't heard her right.
"I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"I said that I'm prepared to make a deal with you. Food for information about Darby. "
Joseph ran a hand over his midriff. "I'm hungry enough to eat the south end of a northbound jackass, Miss Hollister, but I've already told you everything I can. "
"That Darby's been shot, you mean?" Her voice went high-pitched. "Surely you
He only straightened them when she spoke or made a sound.
He was a handsome fellow, she decided. A snow-white blaze ran the length of his muzzle, and the lighter russet spots above his amber eyes lent his face a pensive look. He was a sheepdog, she concluded, a breed that had proven useful in herding cattle and become popular with the ranchers hereabouts. Rachel had heard it said that most sheepdogs were uncommonly intelligent. Looking into Buddy's alert, questioning eyes, she had little trouble believing it.
"You're a pushy sort, aren't you?" she whispered, wishing that she could let him into the kitchen.
As it. was, he was about to destroy her makeshift repairs. He shoved with a shoulder and snapped another slat. "Stop!" she whispered. "You can't come in. Can't you tell when someone doesn't like you?"
"He's hungry. "
Startled by Joseph Paxton's deep voice, Rachel jumped back from the opening.
"Whatever you fixed for supper smells mighty good, " he went on. "I thought I had jerky in my saddlebags, but I was mistaken, and he's not used to missing a meal. I've spoiled him, I reckon. "
Rachel retreated another step. The dog seemed to interpret that as an invitation. Before she could react, he jumped through the hole, breaking the remaining slats and jerking one towel completely loose. The next instant, she was being accosted by the friendly canine. Fortunately, he was an agile fellow and light on his feet. When he planted his paws on her chest, she barely felt his weight. He growled at her again, a yaw-yaw-yaw that sounded absurdly conversational.
It was impossible for Rachel to look into the animal's expressive eyes without wanting to smile.
"So you're hungry, are you? All I have is stew and cornbread, and I don't think that's good for dogs. "
Buddy dropped to his belly, put his paws together as if he were praying, and then lifted his head to bark. The message was clear. Stew was very good for dogs, the more the better. Rachel was lost. Maybe it was the
prayer position that did her in—or maybe it was the sweet, imploring expression on Buddy's face.
She had never been able to turn away a hungry critter. As a girl, she'd loved to feed the wild animals and birds that visited the ranch. One year, her pa had built her half a dozen birdhouses for Christmas so she'd be able to watch the sparrows build their nests and hatch their babies the following spring. Oh, how Rachel missed the birdsong. With her windows boarded up, inside and out, she couldn't hear it anymore.
Just in case Joseph Paxton decided to climb through the hole after his dog, she retrieved the shotgun before advancing on the stove. With the weapon leaning against the wall within close reach, she set to work to feed Buddy. Thoughts of Darby once again assailed her as she filled a serving bowl with stew and added some crumbled cornbread. This was to have been the foreman's supper. Would he ever again tap on the wood safe and enjoy a meal that she had cooked for him?
She cast a considering glance at the damaged barricade as she set the bowl on the floor. Buddy didn't hesitate. With a happy growl, he began gobbling the food as if he hadn't been fed in a week.
Rachel straightened, gathered the blanket closer around her shoulders, took a breath for courage, and said, "I shall strike a bargain with you, Mr. Paxton. In exchange for information about my foreman, I'll feed you supper. "
Surprised by the unexpected offer, Joseph sat bolt upright on his pallet. Surely he hadn't heard her right.
"I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"I said that I'm prepared to make a deal with you. Food for information about Darby. "
Joseph ran a hand over his midriff. "I'm hungry enough to eat the south end of a northbound jackass, Miss Hollister, but I've already told you everything I can. "
"That Darby's been shot, you mean?" Her voice went high-pitched. "Surely you
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