Justice for Elsie Read online

  Growing up, I frequently watched my scamp of a brother get in trouble, and I didn’t once squeal. I believe in honest living, but not at the expense of someone I care about. My only point in telling you this is to explain to you that I’m a loyal man, which you mentioned as one of the requirements for being your groom.

  Elsie leaned back in her chair and read through the entire letter a second time. Mr. Latham seemed like just the kind of man she was looking for. If he grew to care about her, he wouldn’t turn her in to the law. Yes, this was precisely the letter she’d been waiting to receive, but now that she’d finally gotten it, she wasn’t all that excited. Another man—a certain down-on-his-luck cowboy with a twitchy palm—was on her mind.

  Still, it made sense to respond to Mr. Latham. She was looking for a long-term man, a husband who would stand by her side forever, not a dalliance with a ranch hand. She wondered if Mr. Latham was as handsome as Wyatt. And would he make her insides turn to mush like Wyatt had? There was only one way to find out.

  She needed to meet Mr. Latham in person. The problem was that she couldn’t ask him to leave his home and occupation in New York without a promise of marriage in return. Marriage and a place to stay were implied as her end of the bargain in exchange for him moving west.

  It was quite a quandary. She could either ignore the letter and never know if she was missing out on a perfect husband, or she could respond and know for sure who she was dealing with. Before she lost her nerve, she scratched out a response indicating she would like to meet him. Though she didn’t mention marriage, she knew that’s what he would expect, and she hoped by the time he arrived, she would be in a more focused mindset.

  Her ranch hand John was in the barn milking Bessie. She handed him the envelope that contained the letter she’d just finished writing. “Take this to the post, would you, John? I can finish with the milking.”

  John stood from the stool, wiped his palms down the legs of his trousers, and took the letter from her. “Sure thing, Elsie,” he said. “Anything else you need in town?”

  She furrowed her brow in thought. “Now that you mention it, I think I’m nearly out of flour, if you’d be so kind as to pick me up a sack.”

  John agreed and left to do his errands, while she took over milking Bessie. When she finished, she grasped the pail’s handle and headed back to her cabin.

  Wyatt was standing outside the barn, and Elsie’s heart fluttered in her chest upon seeing him. “Oh, hi,” she stammered.

  “Good mornin’, Miss Elsie. Let me get that for you.” He reached out and took the pail from her, then accompanied her up the front steps of the cabin, taking care not to stumble over the broken one.

  She could feel her face blazing, embarrassed as she recalled what had happened with him inside the barn, but Wyatt’s easygoing manner put her somewhat at ease. He set the pail down beside the inside keep. “I think my first order of business should be repairing that step leading to your door. What do you think?”

  “Yes, that’s a fine idea.” She was grateful that he’d chosen to focus on practical matters instead of attempting to engage in idle chatter, which could lead to talk about the spanking. From here on out, they needed to act professionally. She was owner of the ranch and he was her hand.

  They returned to the barn together, where her pa’s old workbench and table were kept. She assisted Wyatt by holding the oak wood in place as he sawed it with his left hand to trim it down to size. Over the scratching of grinding wood, her courage grew, and she said lightheartedly, “So, you really are left-handed, huh?”

  He didn’t crack a smile, nor did he acknowledge what she’d said. He frowned harder and concentrated. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and Elsie thought he might be thirsty. She abandoned the task of holding the wood and walked back to the cabin. Upon returning with a glass of lemonade, she was surprised to discover that Wyatt had stopped working in her absence.

  “Thanks, I had a hankerin’ for a cold drink,” he told her.

  While he gulped down the beverage, Elsie considered why he’d paused in his work. She knew it wasn’t because he was lazy. She didn’t know much about him, but she knew a hardworking man when she saw one, and Wyatt certainly was that. She could tell by the way his muscles rippled under his clothes, the callouses on his strong hands, and the fact that he was up at dawn to meet her.

  Setting aside the empty glass, he regarded her with his warm brown eyes. “Ready to continue?”

  She nodded and resumed standing by his side, where she once again held the wood stationary while he sawed. Her only guess for why he’d stopped working while she was away was that he was trying to make her feel useful. She thought about telling him he didn’t need to do that, but she decided to hold her tongue. If that were the case, it was very sweet of him. It dawned on her that he would make a good father. Just like he was doing with her, he would allow a young son feel that he was instrumental in a chore’s success.

  His reliance on her help continued during the next chore. He asked her to hold nails in place so he could hammer them in. If any other man had asked her to do that, she would have refused, but she trusted Wyatt not to miss the nails and hit her thumb. She knew he had a good aim. After all, every sound swat on her backside had landed perfectly, she thought wryly to herself. He proceeded with tapping the first nail, and sure enough, he didn’t miss.

  While they worked, they began to speak easily with each other, and Elsie discovered that he had been a ranch hand in the next town over. “Why’d you leave?” she asked.

  He removed the nail he was holding between his teeth and pressed the tip of it into the wood. As though they’d been working together for years and not hours, she reached out and steadied the nail between her thumb and forefinger while he tapped at it with the hammer.

  “I left because of difficulties with my boss. He wasn’t exactly a fair man.”

  The nail secure, Elsie removed her hand so that Wyatt could bury it into the wood with a hard blow. “That’s too bad. I’ll bet he’s sorry to have lost you. I can tell you’re a hard worker.”

  He smiled at her, which made her feel a flutter of happiness. “That’s a nice thing for you to say, Elsie. Truth is, it was time for me to move on from Rosemead. The girl I was courtin’ left me for another man—for the boss’s son as a matter of fact—and I wouldn’t’ve liked sticking around to watch them tie the knot.”

  Elsie felt surprised, both that a woman had left this gentle, handsome man and that he had revealed his heartbreak to her. “I hope you get to liking it better here in Virginia City than you did in Rosemead.”

  He chuckled. “Already do, Miss Elsie,” he said softly, without looking at her.

  It was a simple statement, but Elsie guessed the deeper meaning. He liked it better because he liked her, just like she liked him. Happy feelings warmed her insides as though she’d just swallowed a shot of whiskey.

  As the hours passed and they continued to work together side by side, Elsie noticed something about Wyatt that eliminated her earlier confusion. She realized he was not involving her in the chores because her participation was vital, or at least of great usefulness. Wyatt didn’t use his right arm hardly at all, and several times when even her assistance wasn’t enough to allow it full rest, she spotted the barely perceptible wince on his face that he tried to mask when he moved it.

  She didn’t call attention to his injury. She knew a man’s pride could be damaged easily, and she didn’t want to do that. But her pa had taught her how to heal injuries that commonly troubled ranch hands, and Elsie thought that perhaps if she could take a good look at his arm, she’d be able to help.

  When she witnessed for a fourth time him wincing upon moving his right arm, she couldn’t stand to watch him suffer further. “Hey, Wyatt, what do you say we call it a day? I’m feeling tired.”

  Wyatt set down his hammer. “That’s fine by me. I’ll head back to the bunkhouse then.” He removed this work gloves and stuffed them in his trousers pocket. Dippi
ng his head and tipping his hat goodbye, he turned to leave.

  Elsie’s heart picked up speed. She didn’t want him to leave, but she wasn’t sure how to go about asking him to stay without the excuse of having him work. “Uh… um… Wyatt?” she stammered.

  He stopped and turned his attention to her. The kindness in his eyes gave her courage. “Um, would you like to join me for supper around seven o’clock? The hands usually go to supper in town on Fridays, but I’d like to talk to you more… you know, about the ranch and all.”

  Wyatt didn’t say yes right away. He rubbed the back of his neck, appearing conflicted. Elsie’s stomach tightened into knots, and her face flushed with embarrassment. Perhaps she was behaving in too forward of a manner. She’d just met him the previous day, after all, and it was customary for a man to ask for a woman’s company, not the other way around.

  Finally, he answered. “That’s right neighborly of you, Miss Elsie. I’d be honored to have supper with you. See you at seven.”

  Though she was grateful and relieved that he had agreed to dine with her, his hesitation stung. Perhaps he was still in love with his former girl in Rosemead and uninterested in spending time with any other woman. Elsie wondered if the girl in Rosemead was prettier and more to his liking than she was. She looked down on her dusty trousers and button-up shirt. He probably thought she looked more like a boy than a woman, she realized with some dismay.

  To remedy that, Elsie bathed and scrubbed out all the dirt from her hair and body, after which she dotted lavender water on her neck and wrists. She fished out from the back of her closet a blue satin dress with a lace collar that she hadn’t worn in nearly a year. After stroking the brush through her wavy brunette hair a hundred times, she left it down, allowing it to flow around her shoulders instead of confining it in braids or pigtails. When she’d finished gussying up, she studied herself. The mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door reflected a young woman she hardly recognized. She looked almost pretty, though she made mental note to be more diligent with wearing her Stetson while on the range. Freckles she couldn’t recall having a year ago appeared prominently across her nose. There was no time to concoct a powder that matched her skin color before Wyatt arrived, but it provided her with some comfort to know that the darkness of evening would help to mask the blemishes.

  A short time later, a gentle tap alerted her to Wyatt’s presence. She drew a deep breath and walked to the front of the cabin. As she reached out to open the door, she experienced a moment of paralyzing fear and self-doubt. Dining alone with a man wasn’t something she’d ever done before, and she didn’t know quite how to behave, especially since it wasn’t exactly courting they were engaged in. The excuse she’d given was to discuss ranch matters, but he would know right away upon seeing her that she wanted him to think she was beautiful. Without their supper being defined as either business or pleasure, she didn’t have a social script to follow.

  The second knock jolted her out of her reverie. Finally, after drawing another deep breath, she opened the door. As soon as she saw his kind smile, she relaxed. He would not mock or think her silly, and judging by the spark of light that flashed through his eyes, he thought she looked pretty in her women’s duds. That was confirmed when he spoke. “You sure look nice, Miss Elsie.”

  She smiled shyly back at him as she stepped aside to allow him entrance. “You look nice yourself, Wyatt.”

  He’d shined up his boots, given his face a scrape, and put on a clean shirt. She thought he’d looked handsome with a five o’clock shadow and dirty clothes, but cleaning up had given him a more gentlemanly appearance, and she felt even more drawn to him.

  Supper consisted of ham and potatoes, simple fare, but Wyatt tucked in with enthusiasm. In between bites, he said, “I’ve never met a lady like you, someone who’s as good at cooking as she is at men’s work.”

  She warmed to the compliment. “My ma died when I was very young, so I ended up taking over the household chores—with help from our housekeeper, of course.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your ma,” he said as he sawed into another slice of ham.

  “My pa is dead too. I don’t hardly remember my ma, but I was really close to my pa.” Her voice threatened to break, which surprised her. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry about her father’s absence in some time.

  He must have heard the sadness in her voice, for he set down his knife and fork, reached out, and squeezed her hand briefly before letting it go. “It must be real difficult for you, running this ranch without your pa.”

  She nodded and looked down at her hand that he had touched. His warm, calloused fingers still seemed to sizzle on her skin and had caused an inner trembling and longing. His touch had been so tender, and no one had been tender with her since her pa had died. She felt at once vulnerable and strengthened by Wyatt’s attention toward her.

  After supper, they sat together in her sitting room and talked about their shared interest of ranching. Wyatt smoked a pipe, while she drank tea.

  “My pa smoked,” she told him. “I still have a tin of tobacco if you’d like to take it back to the bunkhouse. I’ll never use it.”

  “Thank you, Miss Elsie.” He smiled at her, but she noticed there was sorrow in his smile. She wondered if she’d said something to make him feel down, or if he was sad on her behalf over her losing her pa.

  She set her tea aside, stood, and walked to the fireplace, where she picked up the tin on the mantle. When she held it out and he took it, his hand brushed against hers, causing a sudden bolt of desire to lick through her belly. Elsie studied him to see if he perhaps felt it too, but it didn’t appear so. His expression remained the same.

  The sorrowful look on his face continued to appear every so often during their conversation. Just when she thought he was enjoying his time with her, he would suddenly pull away and stare mournfully into space.

  After one such pause, she decided to address his injury. Perhaps that’s what troubled him and he would be happier without the burden of pain his injury caused. “Wyatt,” she said cautiously. “I want to ask you something, and I hope you’ll forgive me for being so bold.”

  The sadness left his eyes. They became bright with attention and focused on her. “What do you want to ask me, Miss Elsie?”

  She looked down and removed an invisible bit of lint from the skirt of her dress before she met his gaze again. “The thing is, I’ve noticed that your right arm is injured, and I’m wondering if you might let me take a look at it without your shirt on.” Her cheeks grew warm at the thought of him half-dressed. “I have some experience fixing up injuries common to ranch hands,” she added quickly.

  He groaned and tilted his head back, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

  “Plain as day,” she said, smiling gently. “If I hadn’t been working alongside you, I might not have figured it out, but then I would have noticed it was taking you a long time to finish your carpentry tasks. How did you injure it?”

  He shrugged his left shoulder. “I reckon it was from overuse. One day I was out swinging a lasso and heard my arm crack like a whip and then I felt a terrible pain. I’ve barely been able to move it since.”

  “Did you see a doctor?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, I thought after some time it would heal on its own, but it’s only gotten worse.”

  She stood and walked to where he sat. His eyes followed her and didn’t leave her face. He set his pipe on the table next to him as she reached out and lightly touched his shoulder. “May I see it?” she whispered.

  In answer to her question, he unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, starting at the collar. She swallowed hard as his muscled chest came into view, covered in a thin layer of dark hair. When he unbuttoned the last of the buttons, she took hold of either side of the shirt and carefully helped him remove it from his body with as little movement as possible to his right arm.

  She looked into his eyes and saw that he was still studying her int
ently. Her breath hitched. The way he looked at her made her feel very aware of her body so close to his, and she found herself wanting to draw even closer.

  She placed both of her hands on his injured bare shoulder and gently pressed against a spot. “Does that hurt?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

  She continued to feel around his shoulder. “Tell me when it hurts.”

  After two more presses, he grunted. “That hurt right there.”

  She smiled with satisfaction. “You have a partially dislocated shoulder. It’s called a sublux.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’re smiling like that’s a good thing.”

  She nodded. “It is. If you had fully dislocated it, you probably would have noticed it looking very strange and gone straight to a doctor, who would have popped it back in place. Because it’s only partial, it’s not visible, so you didn’t think it needed attention. But I can relocate it. It’ll heal and then you won’t have any more pain.”

  “You’re joshin’ me,” he said, his eyes widening with surprise and a glimmer of hope.

  She shook her head. “I’m not. I can fix it up right now, but it’ll hurt when I do.”

  He waved his permission with his left hand. “Go right on ahead. You owe me a little pain after what I gave you yesterday.”

  She felt her face and ears heating with embarrassment. It was the first time he’d made any mention of the spanking.

  He noticed the change in her demeanor and the redness in her face. “None of that,” he said firmly. “I told you not to be embarrassed, didn’t I?”

  “Yes,” she agreed softly, the sound of his insistent voice compelling her to quell her embarrassment. She blinked at him a few times before she focused her mind on the task. She settled her hands on his warm skin, placing one in front of his shoulder and one on his back to brace the shove. “On three,” she said.

  He gave her a nod and looked away, preparing himself for the pain that would come.

  “One, two—” With a strong push, she shoved the ball back into its socket before she got to three, knowing it would help for the pain to begin before he thought it would.