Read Online Wyoming Heather by DeAnn Smallwood - Free Book Online
Authors: DeAnn Smallwood
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winters with blizzard conditions and below zero weather. Our first winter here we tied a rope from the house to the barn. During those whiteout blizzards when you can’t see your hand in front of your face, we’d follow along that rope while going out to feed or milk. Father swore he’d not put in another winter like that. He poured through his books and drew up plans. The next summer, we started in on our dugout barn. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of it.”
He walked over to the remarkable woman and gently put his arm around her. It felt right to both of them. And, feigning unawareness of their shared closeness, they walked past all the cages until they were further inside the cavernous room.
As his eyes adjusted, he could see several empty stalls, a milking stanchion, a walled-off area still half full of hay, a chicken roost, and, lining one wall, a row of egg-laying nests. He took it all in, amazed at the thought and planning that had gone into this unique barn. Heather moved toward two doors at the back of the room. Once opened, they revealed a root cellar with shelves of canning and sacks of potatoes. The smell from a near-empty bushel basket of apples sweetened the air as it mingled with the clean earthiness of walls and floor. She turned and looked at him, waiting for a response from a man whose approval was becoming surprisingly important.
“Heather, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He looked around the barn again, then back at her. “Your father must have loved you and your mother a great deal.”
“He did, and we loved him. He is, was, the Circle C.”
“He thought of everything. Everything except water.”
Heather’s head shot up and she faced him, her eyes wide, an angry flush starting.
With a gentle smile, he leaned toward her, gently stroking a finger down her cheek, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “And I can supply that.”
Chapter 13
Day was getting away from them as they rode through rocky canyons and dry creek beds. For hours, they hadn’t spoken and had only stopped for brief rests.
“A herd could get through here.” Whip broke the silence as he paused long enough to look over the valley below. Then he turned in the saddle, looking back at the way they’d come. “It would be slow going, but possible. We’ll go a little ways further, Heather, but if we don’t see something soon, we’d better head back. It’ll be dark in a few hours.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth before a chorus of distant sounds reached them. Cowboys shouted, cows bawled, and hooves struck sun-baked earth, sending pebbles rolling. The ground shook and dust stirred under the impact of the nearing herd as they came forward in closely packed formation. The smell of heat bouncing off the sea of plodding bodies was welcoming to the weary searchers.
Whip and Heather glanced at each other, both wearing the same grin. He motioned for her to follow him as he made for a copse of trees. It wouldn’t be smart to startle a herd of tired, thirsty cow’s intent on moving forward. The scent of the distant Powder River called like a siren’s song, luring them on.
Whip and Heather would silently wait until the lead cow passed them. Then they’d make themselves known. It had to be Whip’s herd. It had to be. Why they were coming in from this direction, they’d soon know.
Heather reined Patch alongside Whip’s buckskin. She leaned forward and laid a quieting hand on the horse’s neck. It wouldn’t do for him to whinny now, with the herd getting closer by the minute.
Whip touched her on her arm and when she turned to him, he mouthed, with a smile, “Mine.” Even from a distance he’d recognized One Horn, his lead cow, a Texas Longhorn and veteran of the trails. One long horn curved proudly, like the back of a rocking chair. The other side of horn was broken off at the base of what should have been an equally proud curl. Whip didn’t know how
He walked over to the remarkable woman and gently put his arm around her. It felt right to both of them. And, feigning unawareness of their shared closeness, they walked past all the cages until they were further inside the cavernous room.
As his eyes adjusted, he could see several empty stalls, a milking stanchion, a walled-off area still half full of hay, a chicken roost, and, lining one wall, a row of egg-laying nests. He took it all in, amazed at the thought and planning that had gone into this unique barn. Heather moved toward two doors at the back of the room. Once opened, they revealed a root cellar with shelves of canning and sacks of potatoes. The smell from a near-empty bushel basket of apples sweetened the air as it mingled with the clean earthiness of walls and floor. She turned and looked at him, waiting for a response from a man whose approval was becoming surprisingly important.
“Heather, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He looked around the barn again, then back at her. “Your father must have loved you and your mother a great deal.”
“He did, and we loved him. He is, was, the Circle C.”
“He thought of everything. Everything except water.”
Heather’s head shot up and she faced him, her eyes wide, an angry flush starting.
With a gentle smile, he leaned toward her, gently stroking a finger down her cheek, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “And I can supply that.”
Chapter 13
Day was getting away from them as they rode through rocky canyons and dry creek beds. For hours, they hadn’t spoken and had only stopped for brief rests.
“A herd could get through here.” Whip broke the silence as he paused long enough to look over the valley below. Then he turned in the saddle, looking back at the way they’d come. “It would be slow going, but possible. We’ll go a little ways further, Heather, but if we don’t see something soon, we’d better head back. It’ll be dark in a few hours.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth before a chorus of distant sounds reached them. Cowboys shouted, cows bawled, and hooves struck sun-baked earth, sending pebbles rolling. The ground shook and dust stirred under the impact of the nearing herd as they came forward in closely packed formation. The smell of heat bouncing off the sea of plodding bodies was welcoming to the weary searchers.
Whip and Heather glanced at each other, both wearing the same grin. He motioned for her to follow him as he made for a copse of trees. It wouldn’t be smart to startle a herd of tired, thirsty cow’s intent on moving forward. The scent of the distant Powder River called like a siren’s song, luring them on.
Whip and Heather would silently wait until the lead cow passed them. Then they’d make themselves known. It had to be Whip’s herd. It had to be. Why they were coming in from this direction, they’d soon know.
Heather reined Patch alongside Whip’s buckskin. She leaned forward and laid a quieting hand on the horse’s neck. It wouldn’t do for him to whinny now, with the herd getting closer by the minute.
Whip touched her on her arm and when she turned to him, he mouthed, with a smile, “Mine.” Even from a distance he’d recognized One Horn, his lead cow, a Texas Longhorn and veteran of the trails. One long horn curved proudly, like the back of a rocking chair. The other side of horn was broken off at the base of what should have been an equally proud curl. Whip didn’t know how
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