In some ways it was a relief to have Murphy Creek there. Ever since he'd come in, Merlin had been watching her every move, never letting her out of his sight. Like he was hungry.
Like he was a hunter and she was a juicy grouse just about to walk into his snare.
She avoided his eye while she set another place at the table and dished up the stew. Merlin had brought in a keg and insisted on sitting on it, even thought she offered to take it. She just wasn't used to a man treating her like she was important. Pa never had, neither her nor Ma.
She listened with fascination during supper, as Murphy told of his adventures since they'd last met. "I don't understand why anyone would care about what flowers are growing someplace," she said, when he finished telling about the summer he'd spent in the Sawtooth Valley, over in Idaho. "It doesn't seem like fitting work for a grown up person."
"That's what I thought when Franklin told me what sort of folks Malachi and me would be guiding," Murphy admitted. "After I got to know Nelly, I started to understand. She said it was important to... Let me see if I can remember how she put it. '...to add to the sum total of human knowledge.' Yes, that's it." His chuckle sounded a little skeptical to her. "I guess that includes knowing what flowers grow where."
"But they're all the same."
"No, they're not," Merlin said, to her surprise, since he'd said nothing since they'd sat to table. "Down in Louisiana, the flowers--all the plants--are different from what they were back in Idaho. And those are different in the valleys and in the mountains. Now Texas, there's a place where the plants get different from one county to the next."
"I was down in red rock country the year before I went to the Sawtooths," Murphy said thoughtfully. "Not much the same from one to the other, except maybe grass."
"Even grasses are different. What we cut for hay in Cherry Vale wasn't the same as what grew on the River Ranch, down along the Boise."
Holding up her hands, Callie said, "I give up. But it still doesn't seem like something for a grown man to do."
No one argued with her, but she did see Merlin's mouth twitch.
Murphy took his leave not long after that. "Wind's picking up. I'd better make sure we're ready for a storm."
"I'll come along, check the mules." Merlin put on his hat and coat and followed Murphy out.
The cabin seemed so empty without him. But safer. The way he'd been watching her was unsettling.
* * * *
She was in bed when he came in, chilled to the bone. The enamel kettle held tea and it was hot, so Merlin poured himself a cup and sat at the table to drink it. Except for the sound of the wind in the eaves, the cabin was silent.
The floor's too doggone hard. And cold. Wish I knew where that draft was coming from. His bedroll was still in the corner where he'd left it this morning. The last thing he wanted to do was crawl between those cold blankets and shiver all night long.
We didn't just sleep alongside each other. We slept in the same bed. No reason we can't do it again.
No reason except he wasn't sure he could keep his hands off of her. Ever since she'd spoken the word bath, he'd been picturing her naked. He knew what she'd look like, knew how her breasts would feel, filling his hands like fat grapefruit, but softer, and ever so much sweeter. He knew how she'd smell, when he buried his face in her long, thick hair, because he'd never forgotten the faint hint of musk mixed with spice she always had about her, even after a hard, sweaty day's work.
Most of all, he knew what she'd taste like, when he sampled her dark, secret places.
"Great God! What a fool." He leapt to his feet and stomped to the corner. Kicking his bedroll into place, he bent to open it.
"Merlin? Did you need something?" Her voice was soft and whispery with sleep.
Yes. I need you.
"Stubbed my toe. Go back to sleep."
"Uh-huh. G'night."
He washed himself, just a lick and a promise, because he was too lazy to heat up a bucket of water this time of night. Usually he got himself a bath and a shave every third day whenever he was anywhere near a barbershop. Tomorrow he'd shave, but the bath would have to wait. He'd be a fool to leave her alone in town.
All night long, whenever he woke, he strained to hear her breathe. The wind defeated him, growing stronger by the hour. Sometime in the wee hours, he stood and dragged his bedroll to the edge of the hearth. That blasted draft had found him again, and his feet were like blocks of ice. His body grew warmer then, but he was a long time sleeping. All the while he listened, and heard every rustle, every sigh, from behind the canvas curtain that was as strong a barrier as iron bars.
She's not a sometime woman. She's for always.
He wasn't sure yet if he was ready for always.
* * * *
Callie was just dishing up the porridge when Murphy knocked. She'd never known a man to eat porridge before, but Merlin swore it was better than eggs for sticking with him until dinnertime. He ate it right out of the kettle, with salt and butter.
She wasn't complaining. Porridge was easy, and they had more than enough cream to make it rich, plenty of sugar to sweeten it, which was the only way she'd eat it.
Murphy took one look at the bowl she set before Merlin and said, "What the dickens is that?"
"Oatmeal. Want some?"
"Hell no. Uh...beg your pardon, Callie. But that ain't a man's tucker."
"Only thing they served on the last cattle drive I was on. We got beans and beef for dinner and supper, but porridge--different kinds--for breakfast. The cook wouldn't fix anything else. I learned to like it." Merlin held out his bowl for more.
"I'll take coffee, if you have some."
"I made it 'specially for you. Merlin says you'll both be out, getting ready for the storm. You need to warm your bellies first." Setting two cups on the table, she filled both.
"It's going to be a hell-raiser," Murphy said after he'd taken a large swallow. "So far it's just wind, but the snow's out there." He shuddered. "Lots of it."
He sipped silently while Merlin finished his porridge and drank a cup of coffee. As they both stood, Murphy said, "I reckon we'll have to pull the loaded wagons into the barn when Jeb gets here. There'll be no unloading them until the wind dies."
"Whoever set those corrals on the upwind side of the barn ought to be staked out there in a blizzard. I'm going to line all the empty wagons up along the fence. It'll give the mules some shelter."
"Good idea. Getting' ready is half the battle."
They left together, still planning how to best deal with the coming snow.
She'd grown up in Iowa. She knew what blizzards were like. But back there trees had broken the wind. What would it be like here, with not a tree of any size for miles, save along the river?
It wouldn't hurt to bring in extra water, and to fill the wood bin. She pulled on her old coat and went to work.
The woodpile was about forty paces from the cabin, beyond the outhouse. If it got as cold has it had week before last, she'd not want to have to go outdoors to fetch wood.
Five trips later, she had filled the wood bin built against the east wall of the cabin as full as she could get it. Whoever had cut the small door through the wall must have known what kind of weather to prepare for. Just opening the cabin door when the wind was blowing could cool the place down enough to use up another log or two.
There was only one spare bucket, but a crock, three Mason jars and a kettle served to hold nearly twice that much water again. Surely three bucketfuls would last them through the worst of even a bad blizzard.
When she could think of nothing else to do, she decided the incoming teamsters probably would enjoy some fresh bread. She was setting the sponge to work when Merlin stuck his head inside. "Cal, can you come help me?"
She grabbed her coat and the scarf she'd stuck into the sleeve. "What can I do?" she said as she stepped outside.
The wind snatched the words from her mouth. Tiny, sharp particles of ice were borne on it. They cut into her skin like knives and pulled the ends of the scarf from her hands.
She wrapped the tails tighter and tucked them in before she took the rope end Merlin was holding out to her.
"What? I didn't hear you."
"I said tie this to that ring beside the door. I want to make sure it's long enough."
She'd noticed the iron ring set in the log wall at waist level, but hadn't given it much thought. It certainly was convenient to have something to tie a rope to, besides the latch, but she wasn't sure what the rope was for.
She soon learned. Merlin strung it from the cabin door ring to a lone post standing about halfway between, where he wrapped it twice around. From there he went to the small door in the corner of the barn, where there was another ring. He ran a second line to the outhouse, where he had her hold the end while he drove an iron stake into the ground with a sledge hammer. Once he'd made sure the stake was well-seated, he wrapped the rope end three times around it and tied it off in a complicated knot that left only a short stub dangling. He went back to check both ropes when he was done, pulling each one taut to make sure they wouldn't easily come loose.
"What are they for?" she said, when he was testing the one to the outhouse.
"I've never seen a blizzard here," he said, "but I saw one in Kansas. The drifts were so high a man couldn't see over them. They changed the whole aspect of the land, and you could get lost five paces from your cabin door."
She looked at the almost flat, featureless land extending for a half mile in every direction. "But there's nothing here for it to drift against, besides the buildings and the corral fences."
"It doesn't need anything. It whirls around the corners of buildings, catches on fenceposts. Don't ask me why, but don't expect me to take chances either." He gave one last good pull on the rope. "Hope that stake holds. The ground's like iron."
"Will the mules be all right?" They were standing in a loose cluster in the small south corral, close to the barn wall. There wouldn't be room for another sixty or so inside, when the expected wagon train arrived. Not even if they crowded together.
"It's not likely to get as cold, not as long as it's snowing, anyhow. That's why I pulled all the wagons a ways out from the east fence. To break the wind. Once the snow starts drifting, it should pile up between them and the fence, work like a wall."
They walked together back to the cabin. When he put his arm around her, she leaned against him, enjoying his warmth, his strength. Hesitantly, she slipped her arm under his and around his waist.
At the door, he released her. "I'll get some wood in, then we'll be set."
"I already did. The bin's full and there's extra inside." Ducking under the rope, she worked the latch and pushed the door open.
"You didn't have to."
"I'll get as much good out of it as you. Besides, you were busy and I wanted you in before dark." Once her coat and scarf were hung on the peg beside the door, she went to the counter next to the fireplace and took down two cups. "Sit down. I've water hot. Tea won't take long"
She set it to brewing stronger than usual. "Is Murphy coming back? I can make more coffee."
"He might. Make plenty. Jeb's due in anytime. He and his men will welcome it."
One of the shutters rattled as a blast of wind struck. "Hope he gets here soon. It's no night to be on the road."
Merlin had drunk only part of his tea when a halloo sounded. He drained the cup, pulled on his canvas coat and tied his hat on with a wool scarf that covered his ears. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."
"Do you want me to bring the coffee to the barn?"
"It's too cold. I'll send Jeb over for it. He'll be grateful for a chance to warm up." He was out the door on the last word.
Making a man who'd been on the road in this weather walk all the way over to fetch coffee was just plain stupid. After making sure there was plenty of oil in the spare lantern, Callie set it on the table and dressed herself for the cold. The boots, britches, and wool shirts Merlin had bought her were just the ticket. She might not be willing to wear them to town, but she'd choose looking like a hoyden any day over freezing to death.
The coffeepot was filling the cabin with coffee-scented steam by the time she'd put on the several layers of clothing. She strung all five cups from the shelf onto a piece of string before she wrapped two layers of the dusty burlap she'd found in the loft around the pot, and used a raggedy scrap of linen to hold it together. Carrying the coffee pot by its bail with one hand and with the lantern and strung cups over the other forearm, she opened the door.
It all but exploded inward, pushed by the fierce wind. Callie gasped as the breath was snatched from her mouth. The wind eddied fiercely in the open doorway, fighting her for the door, causing the fire to flare then gutter. She used her weight to pull it closed, and made sure the latch was secure before grasping the rope and trudging toward the barn, leaning into the wind.
The snow was no longer the near-invisible ice pellets that had stung her face earlier. These flakes were big enough to see, even in the dark. Although they looked fluffy, they still had enough ice in them to hurt as they flew nearly horizontal in the gusting wind.
When Cal appeared, she was greeted by the teamsters with great enthusiasm, Merlin almost yelled at her. She'd no business coming out in this weather, especially not among these rough men.
Almost as if she'd heard his thought, his sister Katie appeared in his memory. And just what is it you can do that I can't, Merlin Silas Lachlan? I may not be as big as you, but I'm as strong and way more stubborn.
He'd grant Katie the stubborn. He'd have to grant Cal the size. She was no more than a couple of inches shorter than him, and slim but not skinny. Could she shoot like Katie? He doubted it. Her father didn't strike him as the sort to teach his daughter to protect herself.
He was here. He could protect her, if need be.
Everyone got at least a sip of coffee. As soon as the pot was empty, Cal took it back to the cabin, with a promise to bring more as soon as it brewed. The men, warmed from within by even so little coffee, went to work with a will. By the time she'd returned, they had all the loaded wagons lined up along the middle of the barn, the empty ones added to the makeshift drift fence outside, and most of the mules brushed, fed and watered.
She set the coffeepot down and turned to go.
"Hey, little lady, don't leave us alone," one of the teamsters called. "We don't get to see pretty faces all that frequent."
"I've got warm bread for you," she said. "There are four loaves, so you'll have to divide it small. Can one of you help me carry it over?"
"I will," Merlin said, before any of the teamsters could volunteer. The flare of possessiveness heating his gut surprised him.
Words would have been blown away had they been foolish enough to speak on the way to the cabin. As soon as they were inside, Cal said, "Where will they all sleep? I can't imagine any of them going to town in this."
"In the warehouse. There's a mostly empty room over there with a stove that'll keep them from freezing. Murphy said last winter they spent half their nights there."
She finished wrapping a second loaf in a clean flour sack. "Would he like me to cook for them? I wouldn't mind."
"I would. You're not here to take care of a bunch of rough teamsters."
"Don't be silly, I like to cook." All the loaves wrapped, she put them into another flour sack. "It's not as if I've anything better I want to do."
Maybe not, but I have.
He bit the words back just in time. If he had a brain in his head, he'd sleep in the warehouse tonight, along with all the other horny bastards.