Colorado Hope(33)

“You do wonderful work. How did you learn this skill?” Grace asked.

Clare bounced Ben and answered, “I just moved here from Laporte. Next to my family’s ranch lives an old Mexican who taught me what he’d learned in Sonora. I used to go sit next to him on a stump, watching him punch bridles and saddles for the local cowboys. He’s well-known around these parts, and since I was such a curious lass, and would do anything to get out of the noisy house, he let me watch him. When I was about six, he gave me a strip of leather and showed me how to use the various punches.” She deposited Ben into Grace’s arms. She picked up a few tools that had wooden handles and different-sized metal tips. Then Clare reached for a bridle that sat nearby and demonstrated using a mallet to pound one of the tools into the leather.

Grace watched in fascination as Clare’s fingers moved adeptly and a design emerged. “I’m impressed,” she said. “Thank you for showing this to me.”

They went back out to the horse stalls. Clare said, “I love horses. I spent more time on the back of a horse as a child than I did walkin’, and although I’d rather be ridin’, this is the next best thing.” She walked down the corridor and stopped at a stall where a sturdy mustang nickered at her. She rubbed the horse’s forehead and said, “This is my horse—Keeezheekoni. That’s Cheyenne for burning fire.”

Ben reached out and petted the horse, and giggles erupted. Clare continued. “Well, I had named him Feisty, but Eli told me there’s no word in Cheyenne for that, so he gave him that name. But he’s Keezy for short.”

Grace enjoyed Clare’s exuberance, and her love for horses swam in her eyes as she rubbed the mustang’s ears. “Who is Eli?”

“He’s my sweetheart—over in Greeley. And we’re to be married—although he doesn’t know it yet.” She wiggled her brows as if in conspiracy with Grace.

Grace laughed at her brashness and confidence. Clare wasn’t all that unlike the way she herself had been, declaring a similar intention to an eighteen-year-old Monty when she’d been a mere ten. Recalling his humorous reaction to her innocent pronouncement sent another stab of grief to her heart, but she hid her feelings by looking away.

Clare tickled Ben under his chin. “I just turned eighteen, and couldn’t get out of the house fast enough.” She laughed. “Now it’s Shannon’s turn to be babysitter to the brood while our parents work the ranch. I took a room at the Agricultural Hotel, although I haven’t brought over my things yet.”

“I’ve recently moved here myself,” Grace said, and then she felt the pang once more of her loss—living alone in someone else’s spare room, instead of homesteading in a cabin with Monty.

“Is it just you and the wee one?” Clare asked kindly, not the way the prying gossipers might ask. She seemed to genuinely care.

Grace nodded, but before she could catch herself, she started crying. Oh, why couldn’t she control her tears? She buried her head into Ben’s soft hair and stood there, weeping and feeling foolish.

“Here.” Clare led her over to a bench and sat her down, then swept Ben from her arms and eased down beside her. She pulled out a wrinkled handkerchief. When Grace looked at it, Clare said, “It’s clean.”

Grace shook her head. “I know. I-I’m sorry. I’m all alone. I lost my husband—”

Unabashed, Clare wrapped her arm around Grace and held her while she cried. When was the last time anyone had held her, comforted her? Too long ago. She had spent this last year trying to be brave and hopeful, but now all her walls protecting her heart crumbled to dust, leaving her with a sick, empty feeling.

When her tears were spent, she wiped her face with the cloth and looked at Clare, whose eyes showed a deep compassion. Grace imagined Clare had a lot of experience comforting her crying siblings over the years.

“How about we go get a soda?” Clare didn’t wait for Grace to answer. She went into the back room and then returned with her straw hat—which was a cross between a sun bonnet and the kind of felt hat men wore—and walked toward the front entrance to the livery. Grace hardly noticed the men working with the carriages and wagons, hitching up horses and throwing saddles over horses’ backs, or the strong stench of horse sweat and manure and damp hay.

After exiting onto the street, Clare said, “Where do you live? Do you need help with your precious babe here?”

Grace snuffled, so grateful for Clare’s kindness. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry for crying. I don’t even know you—”