Jesse woke before the rooster crowed. Frost decorated the window around the edges, and the orange tint hinted that the sun had started its climb over the mountain. He stretched long in bed, then tossed back the quilt. The morning was peaceful, but he wasn’t expecting it to last.
What would the ornery pup have in store for him today? Nothing, he hoped. For whatever reason, Nate had set his eyes on Jesse, and it was plainly causing everybody some pains. He’d taken a risk dumping the boy in the water trough yesterday. He didn’t want to push his luck and lose his chance of working with the sheriff. He had to keep the half-pint from provoking him into something, but the kid sure as hell made it difficult.
Jesse tucked in his shirt, buckled his belt, and headed downstairs. When he walked into the kitchen, the aroma of fresh-boiled coffee lifted his nose.
Mrs. Crosson, with hands deep in dough, smiled. Her apron was smeared with her early-morning work. “Help yourself.” She pushed a few loose strands of strawberry hair behind her ear, powdering herself with flour. “I’ll start breakfast in a few minutes.”
Jesse picked a cup off a shelf, recalling that Ma had sometimes worn the same busied look. His family had been a bad one, but he missed those moments with her.
“Would you mind gathering the eggs? Usually Nathanial does that, but I’d prefer not to wake him.” She winked.
Jesse chuckled. He did believe it best not to bother a biting dog. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be glad to oblige.” It seemed he wasn’t the only one enjoying the peaceful morning.
Snatching eggs out from under squawking chickens, flogging their wings, stirring up dusty feathers, was a chore he hadn’t done since he was probably the half-pint’s age. In short time, he was back at the house. He pulled the door closed as he turned and accidentally smacked into the kid, who was buttoning up his coat.
The kid’s face soured. “Watch what you’re doin’.”
Not again. Jesse would have thought that after Nathanial had gotten his ass fanned last night, he would ease up with the pissy attitude. That boy likely would be a burr under his saddle until he could figure out why Nathanial disliked him so much.
Mrs. Crosson snatched a red scarf off a peg shelf where all the coats hung near the door, then wrapped the woolly thing around the half-pint’s neck. “As soon as you’re done milking the cow, muck the stalls. You were supposed to do that yesterday, and you didn’t.”
Nathanial’s shoulders sank. He didn’t want to shovel shit. Who did?
Maybe Jesse could use that to put them to rights. He recalled that he and his brothers had bonded over shoveling crap a few times. “I can help if you want.”
Nathanial gave him a funny look as if Jesse were plumb drunk, probably trying to figure out why he would volunteer to bend his back over such stink work. Couldn’t the kid see that he wanted a simple peace treaty?
“Suit yourself.” Nathanial shrugged, making it clear he didn’t care one way or the other.
It wasn’t the answer Jesse had hoped for. He thought with it being a new day, the kid might give him a chance. Mrs. Crosson frowned, a sure sign that she was about to scold the boy for his bad manners.
Jesse quickly shook his head for her to let it go and hoped he wasn’t overstepping. He and the boy needed to find their own way to peace. He handed over the egg basket, wished himself good luck, and opened the door to brave being alone with the little tomcat.
At the barn, Jesse picked up a shovel that leaned against a wall. Nathanial was already sitting on a low stool and squeezing at the cow, squirting milk into a bucket. It was no surprise that the boy kept his back turned. Neither of them spoke.
Nothing seemed to fit as Jesse rolled around in his head what he might say. Did the boy like to fish or hunt? Maybe there was a shared fondness for something that Jesse could use to win the kid over. Not reading the pirate book that first night had been a big mistake. Three stalls down and one to go. Time was running out for him to think of something.
He looked up from his work, taking a breather. Nathanial had disappeared with the milk bucket. Clever. Jesse did the shit work while basically looking like a dummy, talking to himself, and the boy was back in the house, nice and warm. The little tomcat won this hand.
Jesse stood the scoop in the corner and then shut the barn door behind him.
Bacon sizzled in the frying pan, and Kate cracked an egg into the grease. Nathanial sat eating dippy eggs while Jesse pulled out a chair.
Mrs. Crosson set a plate with three sunny eggs, a thick slice of bread, and lots of curly bacon in front of him.
“Nathanial, get your books.” The boy’s ma set a tin pail, probably loaded with a hearty lunch, on the table.
“I’m almost done.” The kid sopped up the yellow on his plate and bit off a mouthful of yolk-smeared bread.
“I’m sure Jesse will saddle Buck for ya.” Mrs. Crosson winked at Jesse.
This could help, Jesse thought.
Without hesitation, the boy dropped his hunk of bread on his plate, shoving away what was left of his food. “Where’s Pa?” Nathanial looked toward the stairs and began to rise.
“He’s sleeping. Don’t you wake him. If you’d rather not have Jesse saddle your horse, then I suppose you can walk to school.” Mrs. Crosson picked up the plate and headed into the kitchen.
The little tomcat’s eyes narrowed. Where in his thinking was that hateful little glare coming from? Jesse had done nothing but give the kid a cold dunk, and that certainly didn’t warrant such a mean scowl.
The house walls creaked against a harsh gust of wind. Nathanial glanced over his shoulder at the leaves blowing past the window. “Nice day for a walk.” He smirked and, with one swipe, grabbed his lunch pail and marched away.
The door slammed, making Jesse wince. What was he to do?
He pushed back his chair and went to the window. The hard-nosed brat kicked at the dirt as he walked from the yard onto the coach road. Was it even possible to befriend that kid? Jesse swallowed a gulp of coffee, doubting so, and shook his head. This morning had so far left him tense. He couldn’t sit still with the boy weighing on his mind. Thankfully, he spotted a stack of wood that needed splitting.
When he had every hunk of wood in the pile split, he blew into his hands. Warming up with some hot coffee would be good.
The very second he stepped inside, the rosy glow of flames and a steady heat caressed his skin as he rubbed his aching hands. Now for that coffee.
The missus was wrapped in Sheriff Crosson’s arms. Her head against his chest, she sobbed, and he whispered into the waves of her hair. As one, the husband and wife looked up.
Jesse awkwardly paused midstep. “Excuse me.”
What had he walked into? Obviously, this was a private matter. He spun, reaching for the knob. He’d go sit in the barn. It wouldn’t be warm like the house, but it would keep the wind from beating on him. It had been a hell of a morning thus far.
“Jesse.” It was the choked-up and gentle voice of Mrs. Crosson.
He turned slowly, wishing he was somewhere else.
Mrs. Crosson wiped away her tears. “You must be chilled from that awful wind. Please sit. I’ll pour you some coffee.”
The sheriff marched toward the door and Jesse. The man’s face was wrinkled up rougher than tree bark. Jesse wondered what had him so bothered. He stayed quiet, not moving toward getting that coffee.
Sheriff Crosson grabbed the black hat, jammed it down on his head, then shoved on his coat. “Warm yourself, then saddle your horse.” The sheriff stormed out the door, and … slam.
What was going on? If Mrs. Crosson was beside herself because of the ongoing trouble between Jesse and Nathanial, Sheriff Crosson would have said something. That wasn’t what he was seeing. Mrs. Crosson’s eyes were red, bloodshot, as if she’d never cried harder, and she kept wiping at them.
It wasn’t his place to pry. He stayed quiet and drank his coffee, but her constant sniffles kept him wondering.