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STILL DECEMBER 2, 1891
Graham buttoned his jacket as a sudden chilling wind blew in from the north. Only a month down from the summer range high in the Sawtooths and he was counting the months before he’d be heading back. After weeks of quiet solitude, the constant chatter from the ranch hands and clamor of Ketchum’s city streets set his teeth on edge. Thinking back to his recent interchange with Miss Webster, he let out a loud puff of air. Neither the sheep nor his dog argued with him half so much.
Graham could feel Evan’s eyes studying him before the rancher asked, “Something troubling you, Graham?”
The shepherd weighed his answer, not sure where his employer stood on the subject of opinionated women. Finally, he said, “You’re a reasonable man.”
Evan chuckled. “I like to think myself so. There’s a few who might differ with that opinion. There was a rancher just this week up from Hailey who thought my asking price for that bay yearling was clearly not reasonable. And he told me so in a most direct manner.”
Graham chewed on his lower lip a while. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you give up your independence for married life?”
Evan made no attempt to temper his response and he laughed. “You make it sound like I gave up something of great value for a ball and chain.”
“Seems to me that’s exactly what any man does when he willingly submits to marriage vows.”
The rancher turned with an amused expression. “You’re serious?”
Graham hitched a shoulder. “It’s my opinion.”
“Well, I’ve one of a different sort. For me, it was giving up a lonely life in exchange for a lifelong companionship with a woman I’d give my life for. You know, Lena. How could marriage to a woman as kind and dear as she be equated to imprisonment?”
“Didn’t mean offense. Mrs. Hartmann is all what you say and more.”
Evan nodded. “Much more. You might be grateful your parents didn’t share your opinion or you might not be sitting there debating the merits of married life.”
“You speak true.” Graham thought it best to drop the subject and turned his focus to the swift-flowing river, pondering the freedom it represented to a man like himself. He’d need to be careful about voicing his thoughts or he’d be pegged as a romantic, or worse, a poet. He’d known a few years of marriage. They hadn’t been pleasant, but at least they’d been brief. God rest her soul.
They rode on in silence, the road leading north along the meandering Big Wood River. Another five or six months before he and Alec would drive the sheep north again. He wondered how he’d manage these months of confinement. Only up there did he find the freedom that had called him to America. He glanced back at the collie tucked into a tight ball of sleep on the wagon bed. They’d traveled across the stormy Atlantic, crossed half a continent, before pushing even farther into Idaho’s rugged central mountains. It’d all been to find a place doing what they both knew well, tending sheep.
After a mile or more, Graham asked, “Do you think Miss Webster knows her dog is pregnant?”
Evan turned to him. “She is?”
“No doubt about it. You’d have noticed if you’d looked.”
“Suppose so. I had my attention more focused on Miss Webster. What’d you do to rile her?”
Graham crossed his arms across his chest. “Nothing.”
“Never saw nothing affect someone like that,” Evan said drolly.
“Dogs like that shouldn’t be kept as pets.”
Evan turned a look of astonishment on him. “Is that what you told her?”
“I’d bet my monthly wage on that dog being full-blooded border collie. A dog like that needs room to run. More than that, it needs a job to do.”
“You said that to her?” Evan grinned when Graham nodded. He shook his head. “That might explain the hackles I see rising every time you two are anywhere close to each other.”
Graham wouldn’t comment on that. True or not, her bad opinion of him might make her less favorable to any offer he might make to buy one of her dog’s pups. He chewed on that for a time before making a suggestion. “You could use another good herding dog if you plan to grow the herd next year.”
“That’s what Bart and I discussed in the fall. We’ll still keep running cattle, but I’m liking the look of the future in wool and mutton. There’s some who may take issue with our decision, but we’ll still keep running cattle. If Bart can swing a deal for that piece of land due south along the Snake River, we’d have our winter home for those we don’t sell in fall.”
This was the most Hartmann had said at one time concerning his plans for next year. And Graham liked the way the man was thinking. If he owned the ranch, it would be exactly what he’d do. Grow the herd. Buy the land while it was available. And there was so much land here. No land controlled by the rich gentry. A man like himself might have opportunity here to start small and with hard work become a man of means, a man respected. He was counting on it, and he was saving for it.
Even if Hartmann didn’t buy one of her pups, he would. Another dog would help him next spring. And if the pups were, as he expected, Alec’s offspring, one would be a fine addition to his team. Maybe two. But Hartmann was right, Miss Webster was not favorable towards him or his dog. Once she found out about her own dog’s tryst with Alec, she might never forgive either of them.
Clara sat beside Daisy, rubbing her fingers in the silky hair behind the dog’s ears. “Don’t you want some stew? Look at this beef.” She stopped herself, realizing she was talking to her dog like an indulgent mother. Actually, she sounded like her own mother. She made a face and set the bowl on the floor.
The dog stretched her legs to her side, and closed her eyes, ignoring the dish inches from her nose.
Releasing a heavy sigh, Clara tucked her legs beneath her skirts and said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you. It wasn’t really your fault.” Although she wouldn’t go so far as to agree with Mr. Kincaid that his dog was too irresistible, he’d certainly found a way to lure Daisy from the shop. Since the shepherd’s return in October, she’d known it to happen at least three times.
Clara turned at the sound of footsteps approaching along the poetry aisle.
Dr. David Reynolds rounded the corner. “Is this the patient?” He squatted next to Daisy’s bed. “Maddie said you were concerned that she might be ill. What makes you think so?” He ran his long fingers along her sides and crooned to the dog. “Good girl.”
“She isn’t much interested in food recently. She’d rather nap than play, and she just seems disinterested in the things she used to love to do. I’m worried. She did catch a squirrel the other day and ate it before I could stop her. Do you think that made her sick?”
“Hmm.” Dr. Reynolds pressed his stethoscope to her chest. “Her heart sounds strong. Her eyes are bright.” He continued his examination, gently probing her abdomen, lifting her eyelids.
Maddie joined them, sitting on one of the children’s stools next to the shelf of nursery rhymes. “What’s your diagnosis, Dr. Reynolds?” She asked this in such a way as to sound somehow provocative.
Something passed between the doctor and his wife. Clara dropped her eyes to her dog.
“When did Mr. Kincaid return from the mountains this fall?” the doctor asked.
Clara frowned. “I think it was in mid-October.” Actually, she knew the date, because she and Maddie had taken a drive that afternoon. They’d witnessed the band of sheep as they were being driven south through the cottonwoods. “Why is that important?”
As the doctor ran his fingers along the dog’s stomach again, he pursed his lips. He glanced first at Mrs. Reynolds, giving her a tender smile before turning back to Clara. “Did you ever ask for a puppy for Christmas, Miss Webster?”
“Why, yes. But . . .” Awareness dawned by slow degrees, followed by a blinding flash of clarity. “No!”
Dr. Reynolds took his wife’s hand. “Most assuredly, yes. I should think that by Christmas, Daisy will provide that gift, maybe two.”
Maddie clapped her hands with delight. “Puppies! How positively wonderful!”
Dr. Reynold’s eyebrow lifted and he grinned. “Or three.”
Clara slumped back against the bookcase. “And that man’s wretched dog is to blame.”