The Forever Man(38)

Mr. Cooney was making his way from the barn, laden with milk pails, and  she hurried to the door. "Yoo-hoo! Mr. Cooney! Would you like some  breakfast? The biscuits are warming, and the sausage is ready."                       
       
           



       

Depositing his double burden by the springhouse, he opened the door.  "I'll just take a couple with me, missus. My woman will be waiting  breakfast for me at home."

The boys were inside the chicken house, and Johanna watched as the hens  tottered down the ramp from the small entrance they used. They scurried  around the fenced-in area, heads to the ground as they fed on the  scattered corn Pete had provided. Timmy appeared, holding the door for  his brother, and Pete emerged, carrying the blue-speckled pan full of  eggs, his tongue tucked neatly into the corner of his mouth.

They made their way across the yard, then, with a great stamping of  feet, came into the kitchen. "Here's your eggs, Miss Johanna." Pete  carried his burden proudly. "We got almost two dozen this morning."

"That's more than all my fingers," Timmy announced, shedding his coat and scarf just inside the door.

"We gotta wash in here. It's too cold by the pump." Depositing the eggs on the cupboard, Pete made for the sink.

"I left you a pan of warm water," Johanna told him, her hands full of  food as she carried sausage and the pan of oatmeal to the table.

"Hurry, Pete. We're gonna get Pa." Timmy rinsed his hands, standing on  tiptoe to reach the water, and dried them ineffectually on his shirt.

Breakfast was quick, the food disappearing rapidly, and then they were  ready. Johanna headed for the barn, stopping by to pick up the butter  she'd left, wrapped and in the basket, in the springhouse. Pete carried  the basket of eggs, and Timmy ran ahead to open the barn door.

In a matter of minutes, she'd harnessed the horses and loaded the wagon,  her fingers fairly flying as she fastened buckles, performing the  familiar chore. In the full light of day, they set off for Belle Haven,  Johanna's reticule containing the letter she'd written at Tate's  request, assuring Bessie Swenson of her welcome come April.

And this morning, even that approaching event could not quell the happiness that rose within her.





There he was, waiting for the train to come to a full stop, one hand  holding the pole, one foot already on the step, his satchel behind him.  As the puffing engine passed, Johanna waited impatiently. The rail cars  slowed, until finally, with a screeching of brakes, the iron wheels  skidded on the tracks and the whole shebang rocked back and forth.

"Pa! We been waitin'!" Timmy's shriek carried to the stationmaster, and  beyond him, to the assortment of townsfolk who waited for the variety of  goods to be delivered from the city. Mr. Turner's helper sat aboard an  empty wagon. Selena Phillips stood in the doorway of the station house,  empty mailbag in hand, waiting to exchange it for this morning's  delivery.

And from the passenger coach, Tate Montgomery stepped to the platform,  reaching back to swing his satchel from the train. Two small boys  approached at breakneck speed, and he braced himself for their assault,  bending to catch their bodies as they hurled themselves into his arms.

Johanna's tears came close to overflowing as she watched. Such fatherly  love was beyond her imagining. And then the big man on the platform  lifted his gaze to where she stood, and she saw a change sweep over his  features. His eyes narrowing against the rays of the sun, he scanned her  motionless form. His mouth tilting up at one corner, he gave each  portion of her anatomy a slow, thorough inspection that pleased her  enormously, even as she blushed at his scrutiny.

With one boy in each arm, hat askew and face drawn by weariness, he  approached. "Ma'am? Do you know these two scallywags?" he asked,  squeezing the small bodies tightly.

"Pa! She knows us real good!" Timmy hollered, loudly enough to make his  father wince and tilt his head away from the excited child.

"He's teasin' us, Timmy." Pete's scornful set-down went unheeded as Timmy wiggled to be lowered to the ground.

Running back to where the brown satchel had been abandoned on the  platform, Timmy struggled to lift it, both hands wrapped around the  handle. "Pa's got our presents in here, I'll betcha."

Tate bent, lowering Pete to the ground. "Help your brother with that, son," he said, his gaze still on Johanna.                       
       
           



       

And then he reached her, his hands circumspect as they rested on her  shoulders, only the force of his fingers revealing the depth of his  need. His kiss was brief, a mere brush of lips, but the breath he  expelled against her cheek told her of his restraint. Never would Tate  be less than a gentleman in public, but the effort was costly.

"Just wait till I get you alone." If it was meant to be a threat, he'd  missed the mark, Johanna decided. Delivered in a growling, guttural tone  against her ear, the words sent a thrill of anticipation down her  spine.

"Did you bring me something?" she asked, sweetly and innocently, her eyes blinking a teasing message.

"A couple of somethings. But one of them will have to wait," he told  her, releasing her from his grip and turning back to where a boxcar was  being unloaded.

A ramp was lowered to the platform, and from within the dark interior, a  bellowing creature of enormous proportions was being led by a very  sturdy-looking man. "That's a red-and-white purebred shorthorn bull  you're looking at, Mrs. Montgomery." He'd turned her to view the  proceedings, and his hands were on her shoulders, his lips near her ear.  "How do you like your present, honey?"

"My present?" She was bewildered, to say the least. Instead of getting  rid of fifteen head of cattle, it seemed, they were about to take  possession of a bull.

"How do you like him? Isn't he a dandy?" Tate's enthusiasm was overcoming his weariness, if his excitement was any indication.

"We already have a bull." She hadn't seen the creature lately, but if  the swollen bellies of the cows in the near pasture was any indication,  the animal had done his job last year. Johanna didn't have to be close  up to believe in the animal's prowess. She'd as soon he stayed out in  the far corners of the farm. Bulls were worrisome.

Now Tate had announced that this beast was a gift meant for her benefit.

"I meant it as a surprise, Jo." Releasing her from his touch, he walked  to where the stockman held fast to the bull's rope. The other end was  looped through a ring piercing the animal's nose, and Tate gripped the  rope tightly, controlling the bull with a knowledgeable grip.

"I'll tie him to the back of the wagon," he told her, leading his prize past where she stood.

Johanna followed him at a safe distance, her teeth biting at one corner  of her mouth. "He looks expensive," she ventured quietly.

Tate shot her a knowing grin. "I'll say! I had to bid high for this one. But he'll be worth it, Jo."

"I didn't know you were that rich, Tate." She'd seen the ads for this  kind of creature in the farm magazine her father bought on occasion. A  purebred shorthorn must have cost a fortune. Well, perhaps not that  much, but at least a whole lot more than Johanna had in the bank.

"It would have taken everything I had left, Johanna."

"Would have?" She wrinkled her brow, not understanding his statement.

"Can we talk about this later, honey?" Tate tugged at the rope, making  sure of its knots as he tied the bull to the back of the wagon.

"No, I don't think so," she said slowly. The thought of riding home with  that animal behind her gave her a feeling of unease she could not have  described. But she was even more apprehensive about the eerie sensation  that had seized her at Tate's announcement. If he hadn't spent his bank  account on the bull, where had he gotten the money? She doubted the men  in Chicago had given him credit.

"Johanna? We need to hurry. We'll have to drop off the apples, along  with the butter and eggs, and I don't want to have this bull in town any  longer than we need to."

Butter and eggs and four bushels of apples were the least of her worries  right now, Johanna thought, her insides twisting into an aching mass as  she faced her husband. "Where did you get the money?" She felt the  blood leave her face, felt it pooling somewhere deep within her, felt  the cold chill of disbelief sweep over her.

Across the width of the wagon, his mouth tightened, and his gaze pierced  her with steel-gray strength. "I took out a small mortgage on the farm.  Now climb in the wagon, Jo, so we can get going."