Early the next morning, Sunday, Catherine slipped out of the soddy. She leaned against the closed door, breathing in the damp, earthy air. Pop remained inside, still sleeping.
The first rays of sunshine crept over the distant horizon, and she stood for several minutes just outside the door, breathing and soaking up the morning. A whippoorwill called out softly in the distance. In these spare moments, she could pretend that there wasn’t a threat hanging over her head, could pretend she was still a simple girl trying to survive on the homestead with Pop.
She wrapped her hands around her elbows to ward off the morning chill.
Movement came from feet away. The cowboy, shifting on his stool.
A quick glance revealed the pale oval of his face in the early morning gray. Leaning back against the soddy’s side, he tipped back his hat.
“Little early to be stirring for a Sunday, isn’t it?”
She stiffened a bit, but forced out an exhale. He wasn’t trying to offend her. He had been kind in the face of her mistrust.
The evening before had been uncomfortable. She probably owed him an apology for blowing up. His words had touched on her fears. And she’d hated that he saw them, this man who’d been dumped at her door.
She’d actually expected him to be snoozing, although with such an uncomfortable seat and the cool night air, maybe that had been asking too much. He did have a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
“I just…” She let her voice trail off, eyes going to the horizon.
This was one of her favorite times of day. The quiet in between the night and day—animals both going to bed and waking. Those few moments when the sky turned beautiful colors and she could imagine…lots of things. That she wasn’t stuck out here with Pop. That she’d finished her schooling. Traveled.
Sometimes she wondered if the sunrise looked the same from the other side of the continent. Or from another continent.
Would the cowboy laugh at her if she admitted to such frivolous thoughts? They had no place in her daily life of work, work, work. But just for these few moments…
“Beautiful, ain’t it?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
She didn’t let her eyes slide over to him, afraid to see whether he judged her for needing these private moments.
“It’s moments like these that make me remember to slow down and appreciate the beauty God’s put around me.”
That didn’t sound like a man who would poke fun at her. She couldn’t help her glance toward him and found his gaze on her, not on the sky.
Heat flushed her cheeks.
Would there ever come a time when she grew comfortable around the cowboy? He could discombobulate her with only a sentence and a look.
Maybe if she’d had more experience with people she would understand his cues. But the very reason she didn’t have that experience was why she couldn’t let her guard down.
She shored up her shoulders and squinted against the rising sun. “I suppose it’s time to do the chores, at least the ones that can’t be put off until tomorrow. Pop will read his Bible for us after breakfast.”
He’d been unconscious a week ago and missed much of the quiet Sunday she and Pop had spent. Even if they’d lived closer to town and the little Bear Creek church, no doubt they would have had quiet worship time at home.
The cowboy pushed up off the stool, one hand coming to rub high on his chest. “I probably can’t milk the cow for you, but I can gather eggs.”
The cowboy followed her to the shed, whistling softly.
By the time they reached the shed, the cowboy had gone from whistling to singing a hymn she remembered her mother singing from years ago.
The cow gave a mournful moo as Catherine settled on the milking stool. She found herself hiding a smile in the animal’s side as her hands warmed to the task.
The cowboy kept singing as he visited each hen’s nest and before she realized it, she was singing softly, too.
Matty heard Catherine’s soft soprano, and something shifted beneath his breastbone.
Not his injury. Something more.
He’d had the same feeling when she’d come outside that morning to watch the sunrise. For someone who was constantly busy, always working, seeing Catherine take a moment for herself to appreciate the beauty of God’s creation… Well, he’d been unable to look away from the beauty of her.
Now he sang to distract himself from the attraction. Even with the distance she’d put between them last night, it had simmered. He thought she felt it, too.
But after Luella’s rejection, he found it hard to trust his gut, at least where women were concerned.
And besides, Catherine seemed determined to maintain her isolation on the homestead. He didn’t understand why, and his curiosity ate at him.
Was her determination really a result of what had happened in the schoolroom?
Or because of Pop?
Or something else?
An hour later, they’d eaten the fresh eggs Matty had scrambled and the bacon he’d fried.
“Catherine and I were thinking we might pay a call on your other close neighbor this afternoon,” he said to Pop.
“The Elliott ranch? What for?” Pop asked.
“To visit.”
“Catherine don’t visit.”
Catherine’s eyes remained on her plate. She was no help.
“We won’t be gone long. I’m sure you can stick a pole in the creek, catch us some dinner.”
Pop leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest. “You can visit all you want, but why’s Catherine have to go? What’s she got to visit about?”
“I’d like to go, Pop,” Catherine said, though she kept her eyes down.
“Fine.” The older man got up from the table, dishes rattling when his knee bumped the table. “Fine.”
Pop stomped to the door and slammed out of the dugout.
“You think he’s going to cause trouble?” Matty asked, concerned.
“I think he’s going to go wandering. He might not even remember where we’re going in a little while,” Catherine said, voice low.
But that didn’t erase the little worry crease between her eyebrows. “Maybe I should stay, just in case.”
“I’d like you to go,” he said. “Let this Elliott and his family see you. Realize that you’re a vulnerable woman.” And if they agreed to help watch over Catherine, maybe he could also ask them to send word back to his family.
She bristled and he held up his left hand—the one not holding the spoon to shovel food in his mouth—as if to placate her. “Not that you are vulnerable, exactly—” He stopped himself before he got in hotter water with his words. He did think she was vulnerable out here alone. Ralph was much larger than her, and if he surprised her…and Pop wasn’t any real help. If anything, he was more work for her.
It all reminded Matty a little of waking up from that fever, alone and knowing no one was coming to help. Well, he wasn’t going to let things go out here, not when he could help. Even if getting her to accept it was like breaking the stubbornest filly he’d ever met.
She seemed contemplative. That little line between her brows furrowing deeper. “I suppose it would help if I wore one of my mama’s old dresses.”
Catherine in a dress? “That’d be perfect.”
If this played out the way he wanted it to, he wouldn’t have to worry about Catherine after he headed home to Bear Creek.