Premonition niggled Corra all the way to church—an unwelcomed irritation on what she had expected to be a pleasant outing. Truth was, what had begun as a daunting challenge with Jessica had, by degree, become a labor of love. Corra’s affection for the girl grew daily, signaling a painful departure at summer’s end.
And that was the problem. A worrisome barb threatened that her time at Hanacker Land and Cattle Company would end sooner than planned.
Sooner than she wanted.
Eleven-year-old Jessica was not the only Hanacker to steal Corra’s heart. She was quite fond of them all, particularly Josiah. He continued to snatch her breath every time he came near. Such as now, sitting next to her in his fresh shirt and string tie—a step up from his usual neckerchief. Dime-novel heroes paled considerably in the presence of this man who worked so hard and cared so deeply for his children and father. Could he care for her?
Heat flooded her face at the thought, and she turned away to check on Jessica and Joe in the back. The girl looked the picture of a perfect little lady. But oh, what a rambunctious spirit lay beneath the trappings! Today would prove the pudding.
Corra peeked in the picnic basket and Josiah chuckled beside her. “The way you keep looking in that basket makes me think you’ve got something alive in there. Something besides berry pie.” His gaze warmed her insides, and she was hard-pressed not to return his winsome smile. She just hoped the pies tasted as good as they smelled, for she’d seen his Adam’s apple bob when he walked in the kitchen this morning. The poor man nearly drooled like Rusty. She giggled.
He threw her a look. “What?”
“Just thinking.”
He held her in a steady gaze, waiting.
“About the picnic.” A partial truth. She pushed at her hair. “I hope there will be enough ice cream today. Letty makes a delicious strawberry flavor, and we may have to wrestle a place in line to get some of it.”
Oh dear, she shouldn’t have used that term, wrestle. What was happening to her deportment? The right side of Josiah’s mouth hitched up. What must he think of her unladylike ways?
After a shorter sermon than usual—due, no doubt, to Pastor Ward’s sweet tooth—the afternoon cleared to perfection for an outdoor gathering. Not too hot, nor rainy as she had learned the Colorado mountains could be of an afternoon. Jessica helped set out the pies, both of which she had made by herself. Pride tucked a dimple in the girl’s cheek as she took note of other desserts on the table. Even Corra was proud.
“If they had an auction, I’m sure your pies would go first.”
Jessica gave her a genuine smile then scooted the dishes a bit to the right. “Thank you, Corra.”
Her throat tightened. Jessica hadn’t called her anything the entire time she’d been at the ranch. Other than “ma’am” when her father got after her for being rude. Rather than wrap her arms around the waif, she gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “Run along and play with the other girls. I’ll set out our plates.”
Jessica darted off like a scalded cat, headed straight for a group of boys where Joe stood a head taller than the others. Corra searched the grounds for Alicia, but the pastor called everyone to attention for prayer. She bowed her head and folded her hands until a deep “amen” jerked her eyes open. Josiah stood next to her, hat in hand, with a look in his eyes that made her shiver. Could he tell?
He picked up two of their four plates and handed her one. “Hungry?”
“Shouldn’t we gather the children first?” The tin plate cooled her sweaty hands.
“And take a chance at missing out on a piece of that berry pie you watched like a hawk all the way to town?” His grin spun a delightful thread through her middle and she followed his suggestion. It was entirely too easy to attach herself to him. And entirely improper.
Sitting across from her sister’s family settled Corra’s nervous tension. Josiah’s gentlemanly ways and good humor soon broke her hold on worry. And overhearing Letty’s boastful conversation on Corra’s behalf with the head of the Women’s Society didn’t hurt, either.
As the afternoon waned, she secreted a large slice of Jessica’s pie and tucked it into the basket for Pop. Ice cream wouldn’t make the trip, but an extra chicken leg and a generous serving of Mrs. Miller’s potato salad would. Pleased that she could bring a little joy to the old rancher, she added the plates and utensils and closed the top. A scream split the air and she dropped the whole thing. Jessica!
Skirts a-flying, Corra ran in the direction of the ruckus, beating Josiah to the other side of the wagon. Joe was helping a heavier, bloody-nosed boy to his feet. Corra dropped to her knees in front of Jessica and gripped her arms. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
A blue-eyed grin met Corra’s breathless question, and Joe laughed behind her. “That wasn’t Jess who screamed, Miss Corra. That was Beau here, after Jess walloped him good.”
Corra sucked in a gasp and tightened her grip on Jessica.
“He said I couldn’t ride as good as a boy. Said my pa never let me trail cows up from the Pecos. He called me a liar.”
“Oh, Jess.” Corra covered her mouth in horror as the offender’s mother ran to catch him up in her arms.
“Apologize, Jess.” Josiah’s deep command sent a chill up Corra’s back and left no room for argument.
“Sorry.” Jessica hung her head, but Corra caught the gleam in the girl’s eye. Turning her toward the pump and horse trough, she bit her lip to keep from commending the girl. Josiah may want his daughter to be a lady, but never let it be said that Jessica Hanacker couldn’t defend herself. Corra schooled her emotions and helped Jessica wash her hands and face. So much for impressing the busybodies at church. And meeting her employer’s expectations.
On the ride home, Jessica sat on the bench between them so Josiah could hear the story again without interruption.
“What else could you have done besides hit the boy?”
Jessica shrugged at his question and stared at the reddened knuckles of her right hand.
Corra took that small, fearless hand. “You could have told your father the boy was being mean, and he would have handled it.”
“I ain’t no tattletale.”
“You aren’t a tattletale.”
Blue eyes squinted up at her. “That’s what I just said.”
Josiah’s shoulders bounced with a snort, and he slid a look at Corra. “Bet he doesn’t call her names again.”
He wasn’t angry? He wasn’t going to fire Corra for failing to teach his daughter to scream and faint and let someone else defend her? The relief was heady, but she kept it to herself. She’d never encourage such inelegant behavior as resorting to fisticuffs, but privately, she was proud of Jessica. The girl would not be easily taken advantage of when she reached young womanhood.
“Climb on back.” Josiah gave his daughter a wink and jerked his thumb toward the wagon box. She clambered over as if wearing britches and spurs rather than a dress and petticoats. Lord, help them.
Josiah adjusted himself a bit closer to Corra, trapping an errant fold of her skirt. Her pulse hiked to match the clopping horse hooves. The sense of family welled up inside her again, but she best not let it attach. Nothing would come of her three months on the ranch. Nothing other than helping a tomboyish girl become a young lady.