Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

S he told him she was going to get someone named Antonio to get him settled in. He watched her walk away, her backside swaying gently beneath yards of pale blue silk. Oh, he liked her already. She had spirit. And gumption. Quite pleasant to look at, too, with her long light-brown hair, kissed by the moon with strands of silver, pulled away from her face to fall down her back in a riot of curls, and blue-gray eyes the color of storm-laden clouds. Her mouth—full and soft—seemed quite kissable. And the way color bloomed on her cheeks? Well, he liked that, too.

Why would a woman who looked like her need to advertise for a husband? It just didn't seem plausible, but then she'd stated, quite clearly, that she hadn't. It had been her niece working on her behalf.

And it didn't matter. None of it.

Miss Everleigh Miller didn't know it, but she—and this ranch hidden in a valley not far from the little town of Serenity—would be his salvation…for now. No one would dream of looking for him here.

He took his seat and finished the piece of cake, which was delicious but did little to fill the empty hole in his stomach. He'd been traveling for days, first by train, then by stagecoach, until finally hiring someone in Santa Fe to bring him here. That ride used up quite a bit of his available cash. The windfall he'd won at the gambling table from kingpin Erik King was safely stashed in a black valise with Father O'Malley, the only man Jake trusted.

Still, all the travel had been worth it. He was in a safe place, far from Erik King and San Francisco. He had told her he'd stay, yet he knew nothing about horses or cattle and had an idea this job meant getting up at the crack of dawn. The only time he usually saw the sun rise was when he'd stayed out all night because the cards had been in his favor.

A cat, a pretty little calico, jumped into his lap again and settled herself, her purrs rumbling from deep in her throat. He stroked her soft fur, eliciting louder purrs, which made him smile. He liked cats, and they seemed to like him. There had been one at the home for boys where he grew up, a big orange tabby that prowled into the dorm room on a nightly basis and chose a child to sleep with, which had usually been him. Strange thing, that cat didn't belong to anyone at St. Anselm's. Like them, she was a stray. How she got into the orphanage after Father O'Malley locked the doors, no one seemed to know. Or care.

He was a gambler by trade for the past five years, and he'd been luckier than most, winning enough to buy a beautiful home in San Francisco for cash and live the life he wanted—good food, good clothing, fine wine, beautiful women—a far cry from the boys' home where he spent his youth. But even with all that, something was missing.

How quickly that life of leisure, that pursuit of pleasure, had disappeared, not by a loss, but strangely, by a win. He should never have played poker with Erik King. He'd known of the man's reputation long before he'd dealt the cards, though he had never met him. It was said among his fellow gamblers that King hated to lose, that he was ruthless, easily offended, and persistent in his single-minded pursuit to get any perceived loss returned, by fair means or foul. More than one man had lost his life to King when they'd won against him.

The rumors about King were true, as he'd quickly learned, after a series of unfortunate, life-threatening events.

Something had to change. And that change had come in the form of a newspaper advertisement Father O'Malley conveniently left beside his coffee cup one morning. It was time, the good Father told him, most emphatically, to stop gambling and become respectable. He'd responded to the advertisement to appease the old man, mostly, which is how he ended up here, waiting for the delightful Miss Miller to return. Besides, what was one last gamble, perhaps the biggest one of his life?

"It's not funny, Antonio." He heard her say, then male laughter, and looked up to see her walking toward him. Once again, he couldn't help noticing how beautiful she was—for someone who had been described in the advertisement as a mature, older woman. He pegged her at around the same age as he was, which was thirty-five, though it was often difficult to tell.

An older man accompanied her, one who carried himself proudly, like he was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. Tall and brawny, he walked with a slight limp…no, that wasn't a limp. The man was quite bowlegged. From years spent in a saddle? Lines crinkled from his deep-brown eyes, as if he'd spent his entire life outside, squinting into the sun. Hair, not silver or gray, but pure white, surrounded his head and repeated in the impressive horseshoe mustache that covered his upper lip and extended down the sides of his mouth to flow, unimpeded, past his chin.

Jake removed the cat from his lap and rose to his feet.

There was no smile on the man's lips now, but amusement remained in his eyes and on his face. Despite that, Jake got the distinct impression that this man brooked no disobedience, no shenanigans, as Father O'Malley called them. He'd hate to see him sitting across the poker table, cards in hand, money in a pile. He'd be the type to smile as he laid down an ace-high flush.

Everleigh Miller stopped in front of him. "Mr. Hannigan, this is Antonio Lucero, my good friend and former ranch foreman. He'll get you settled."

Jake found his hand engulfed in the man's, felt the calluses of hard work on his palm and the strength in his fingers.

"Hannigan," the man said, his mustache moving as he spoke. Was that humor dancing in the older man's eyes as he glanced at her? Did he find the situation amusing? If he had to guess, he'd say yes.

"I'll leave you in Antonio's capable hands." When she walked away, Jake watched her until she entered the house and closed the door behind her.

Antonio cleared his throat, drawing his attention. "Let's grab your gear."

Confused, Jake stared at him. "My gear?"

"Your saddle. Your horse."

"I don't have a saddle but my bags are on the front porch." He didn't ride, had only been on a horse once in his life—when he was five—and it was not a good experience. His backside, after all these years, still remembered the pain of being thrown. "I don't have a horse, either."

"Fine. We'll fix you up." He cast a questioning glance his way, mustache twitching. "Do you ride, Hannigan?"

"No, sir."

The man heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he turned toward the house, as if trying to see the woman who had given him this problem. "Guess we'll have to teach you, then. Teach you how to rope, too, ‘cause I don't suppose you know how to do that either."

"No, sir, I don't." Jake looked around him. Exactly what had he gotten himself into?

"We'll start you off doing just basic things around the ranch until we can teach you how to ride and you're comfortable in the saddle." The man quirked a bushy white eyebrow. "Ever muck out a barn?

"No, sir, I don't believe I have."

"Chop wood?"

Jake shook his head. "I lived in the city. If I needed wood, I bought it."

"Milk a cow?"

"No, sir." Milk came in glasses in the fine restaurants he used to dine in.

Antonio rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't suppose you have ever fed chickens?"

Again, Jake shook his head. There had been some chickens at the boys' home, but collecting eggs and tossing grain to the birds hadn't been one of his chores, for which he remained thankful. For as much as he liked cats and dogs, chickens, especially roosters, made him extremely uncomfortable. He much preferred to see them on his plate, fried to golden perfection. "But I can learn anything you want to teach me."

The man stared at him, a slow smile lifting his mustache. The twinkle of amusement was back in his eyes. "Let's get your gear."

A few minutes later, bags in hand, he followed behind Antonio toward a long, low building.

"This is the bunkhouse. You'll be sharing it with six other men." Antonio opened the door wide, revealing the interior. Jake had nothing to compare it with, as he'd never been in a bunkhouse, but it seemed nice enough. Clean. There were ten sets of bunk beds, several sofas and chairs, and a big table. There was also a sink, stove, ice box, and glass-fronted wall cabinets filled with dishes. Nice rug on the floor. Red-and-white checked gingham curtains on the window. A bookshelf crammed with hard-covered books and dime novels, some of the covers torn and tattered, obviously well-read.

"There are rules here, Hannigan, the biggest one being that you will respect your bunkmates. I don't tolerate stealing, and neither does anyone else. No women in the bunkhouse. No fighting. No gambling. Miss Evie doesn't approve. Is that understood?"

No gambling? Jake nodded even though his stomach plummeted. Still, it was for the best. If he hadn't gambled in the first place, King wouldn't be looking for him now. And he had promised Father O'Malley he would never place another bet.

"You can take that single bunk in the corner." Antonio pointed to the bed on the far side of the room, near one of the windows. "There's a trunk for your belongings." He grabbed a key from a small box hanging on the wall and handed it to him. "Breakfast is at five sharp. If you miss it, you won't have anything until lunch. Trust me, you'll want breakfast. Supper is at seven. Payday is every other Saturday. You're more than welcome to join the others and head into town. There are a couple saloons, if you're a drinkin' man, and a bawdy house or two, but I'm thinkin', since you're here to maybe marry Miss Evie, you'll be passing those by.

"Later, when everyone comes in from the field, I'll introduce you to the rest of the men, but you'll be reporting to Teddy eventually. He's the one you'll have to impress with whatever knowledge you have." His eyes roamed over Jake, taking in his clothing. "This should be interesting." He paused. "One last thing, Hannigan." Any humor that had once been in his eyes disappeared. Indeed, he seemed down-right intimidating. "I'm very fond of Miss Evie. She's like the daughter I never had. If you hurt her or treat her with disrespect in any way, you'll answer to me. And after me, you'll answer to the boys. Teddy, Esteban, and Heath won't take it too kindly if their aunt is unhappy. Do I make myself clear?"

Jake stiffened. This wasn't the first time he'd been threatened, but it was the first time he knew the man would follow through. He rather liked his face the way it was. His nose had already been broken once. He didn't fancy it being broken again. "I would never hurt Miss Evie. You have my word."

The big man gave one final word of warning. "And don't ever lie to her, son. Lying would be a big mistake."

Too late. He'd already lied to her. Granted, it was a lie of omission, but still, it counted. Jake shifted his weight from one leg to the other beneath the man's unwavering perusal and gave a nod.

"Good enough. Make yourself comfortable, put your gear away, and I'll be back shortly to show you around." Antonio stepped out of the bunkhouse, closing the door behind him.

Jake walked over to his bunk, dropped two small suitcases on the mattress, and began to empty them into the trunk. It didn't take long. There wasn't much—after his house burned to the ground, he assumed by one of King's henchmen though he couldn't prove it, he only had some clothing and a photograph in a silver frame.

That silver-framed picture was the only thing left of his mother, Skye Hannigan. It had been with his belongings when he arrived at St. Anselm's after she passed away. Apparently, there had been no one who could take him in. Certainly not a father, who wasn't around. Hell, he didn't even know the man's name. He had been only three when his mother died.

He let out his breath. It wasn't good to dwell on the past. He locked the trunk, shoved the key in his pocket, and stood at the window, where he could clearly see the patio at the main house, the garden and yard—and the lovely Miss Miller as she scurried back and forth from the tables set up on the lush, green grass. She was a rather enjoyable sight, much better than the dark thoughts from his past.

The sound of the door opening made him turn. Expecting Antonio, instead an older man, probably about the same age as Antonio, though not nearly as big and certainly not as bow-legged, made a beeline for the big stove. He mumbled to himself as he pulled an apron from a hook on the wall and tied it around his waist. Apron in place, he flipped down one of the hatches on the stove, filled the space with kindling and twists of paper, then struck a match against the sole of his boot. He held the flame to the paper until it was fully engulfed then added larger pieces of wood and snapped the hatch in place with a bang.

Was he singing? Cussing? Jake couldn't tell, but the man's muttering was constant. He turned and stopped, stiffening as his gaze fell upon Jake. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and maybe a little surprise. "Who're you?"

"Jake. Jake Hannigan."

"Cleaston Jones, but most folks call me Grub. I'm the cook." He didn't approach him or offer to shake hands. Instead, he opened the ice box and pulled out a platter filled with ribs and steaks, already cooked. Probably leftover from the party earlier. "The boys'll be coming in from the field soon, hungrier 'an bears that ain't eaten in months, even though most of ‘em ate their fill at the party." He placed the platter on the table, his gaze roaming over Jake, much like Antonio had done. "You cowboyin' for Miss Evie?"

"I suppose so."

Grub didn't say anything more, but the expression on his face spoke volumes. It said, quite clearly, what he thought of Jake cowboying, but then he shrugged and went back to pulling food from the ice box, still muttering.

The door opened again, bringing in late afternoon sunshine, which was blocked momentarily by Antonio. "Ah, I see you've met Grub. Best cook this side of the Mississippi. We're lucky to have him."

The man blushed, his face turning a shade of red Jake rarely saw on a man. It highlighted the grizzled white whiskers on his chin, making them seem even whiter. He didn't say a word, but Jake could see he was pleased by the compliment as he shuffled back and forth from the ice box to the table.

"You ready?" Antonio asked, as he moved out of the doorway, once more allowing sunshine to slice into the room.

Jake shrugged. "Ready as I'll ever be."

The barn was nice if one could say that about a barn. Big. Clean, though there was still the smell of animals and hay and other aromas he didn't want to identify. Stalls, empty now, lined the walls on either side of a central corridor. Birds twittered from the rafters, and another cat, this one black with a splotch of white on its head, ambled along the top of the wooden plank between stalls, then jumped to the ground, sure-footed and agile. In moments, he was winding his way around Jake's feet, purring.

Still, he had nothing to judge by. He wouldn't know a good barn from a bad one. His experience was more toward saloons and gaming halls, where tables covered in green or red felt had been the norm, rooms filled with cigar and cigarette smoke, the triumphant shouts of men winning a hand or groaning with disappointment when they lost, and the occasional report of gunfire when there was doubt between the two. "For right now, until you learn to ride and go out with the boys, you'll be mucking out the stalls and making sure everything in the tack room is orderly and in good repair. I'll show you how."

They exited the barn and stopped at one of four paddocks. Several horses were in one of the corrals, gathered in the shade of the building, two of them much larger than the others. Draft horses, he assumed, the kind that pulled wagons or plows. They rushed to greet Antonio, who indulged them with quick scratches on their noses or behind their ears. "In the morning, after the boys have left, you'll bring the remaining horses here. Make sure there is hay and plenty of water." He pointed to the trough and the water pump. "The hay is in the barn, up top."

In the other enclosure was a cow. "You don't have to milk the cow. That particular chore belongs to Savannah and Miguel, Teddy's children, with me supervising. We'll just keep it that way…for now."

Jake didn't know how to milk cows, although, as with everything else, he could learn. He was just glad he didn't have to.

They walked a few steps across the barnyard toward the chicken coop, where behind the fence chickens pecked the ground. A rooster was perched on the roof of the coop, surveying his domain. He crowed, obviously unaware that it wasn't morning, but late afternoon, almost evening, then set his eyes on Jake. Even from this distance, Jake sensed malevolence in the beady-eyed stare. It was enough to make him take a step back.

Antonio, obviously having witnessed him stepping back, snorted. "That's Lucifer. Meanest rooster I ever knew," he explained, giving Jake proof of what he already suspected. "There's a shed behind the coop where we keep the grain. You won't have to collect the eggs, but you will have to feed them every morning, just watch yourself with him. Lucifer has a habit of sneaking up behind you. Ain't so nice when he starts pecking at your legs."

A group of men rode into the barnyard, kicking up dust. Three separated themselves from the rest and slid from their saddles, then began walking their horses toward the barn, conversing with each other.

"Ah, the boys are back. Wait here."

Jake watched the big man amble over to the three. Hats were removed as Antonio approached and he was struck by the similarities between the men. There was no denying they were brothers. All of them had dark hair, nearly pitch-black, and all were tall, almost as tall as he was. He suspected they were Miss Evie's previously mentioned nephews, Teddy, Esteban, and Heath, simply by the deference and respect Antonio showed them.

He observed as they gathered around Antonio. There was a lot of hand gesturing, accompanied by some of the older man's deep, rich laughter.

"Her what !" The tallest of the three brothers exploded, and shot a glare in his direction while Antonio continued to talk. Unlike the rooster who had stared him down, there was no malevolence in that look, but there was enough suspicion in this young man's expression to make Jake question the wisdom of his choice to stay. And he knew, without being told, the man was the eldest, simply by the weight of his stare and the explosion of his voice. "Lucy! That little scamp!"

"Now, don't go losin' your temper, Teddy. Nothing's been done that can't be undone," one of the other men spoke in a calm and soothing tone. He appeared to accept the situation with humor, if the huge grin on his face was any indication. Jake pegged him as Heath, though he had no way of knowing for certain. He was obviously the peace-maker, and someone who might, one day, become a friend. The third must be Esteban, who said nothing. There was no suspicion in his direct perusal, but there was a frank assessment, and somehow, Jake thought he came up lacking, as if Esteban knew the truth of his past and why he was there. He had faced that expression across a card table before. The man could be won over. Maybe.

"Wasn't plannin' to, Heath, but if you think, for one moment, I'm going to allow?—"

Antonio cut him off. "It's done, boys. Your aunt is allowing him to stay. She'll decide whatever it is she'll decide. Who knows, there could be another wedding here. Or maybe it won't work out, but it's her decision. Just remember, she's spent all her life raising you boys without a thought for herself."

"There was Marshal Tom," Heath added. " Tia Evie wasn't the same after he died."

"No, she wasn't, but I still don't like him here. We don't know anything about him, except he ain't no cowboy. Look at the way he's dressed." Again, this coming from Teddy, accompanied by another expression of distrust as he placed his hands on his hips and stared him down.

Jake held his ground. He'd never been one to be bullied —something he learned early on in the boys' home—but he did know how to fall back and regroup.

"You don't have to like it," Antonio stated.

There was definite tension as the four men approached him and Antonio performed the introductions. Teddy, the most vocal of the three, extended his hand, and said, "I'll be watching you, Hannigan. You do anything to hurt my aunt, even the smallest thing, and you'll be answering to me."

Jake simply nodded, taking the threat for what it was. He had no doubt the man would be as good as his word.

"I'm Heath." The youngest of the three held out his hand with a wide smile. "You ready to work?"

Though he wasn't, Jake said, "I am.".

The last man, Esteban, hadn't spoken and still didn't speak, but he nodded and held out his hand. Teddy might be the boss and the most outspoken, but this was the man he'd have to win over…that is, if he intended to actually marry Miss Everleigh Miller.

Evie watched from the kitchen window, dish towel in hand while Jake was introduced to her nephews. There were no punches thrown, no open hostility, but she could see there was tension. It was almost palpable through the open window.

"Esteban isn't happy. Neither is Teddy. Only Heath seems to be alright with Mr. Hannigan being here."

Hilde handed her a pot to dry. "Did you expect anything different from Heath? Out of all of Gina's boys, he is always the easiest going. The happiest." She pulled the plug from the sink and allowed the water to drain then wiped her hands on her apron, but her focus never left the window or the spectacle outside. "Uh oh, here they come." Without another word, she scurried out of the kitchen, leaving Evie alone to face her nephews.

She draped the dish towel over the back of a chair, poured herself a cup of coffee, sat down at the table and waited. It wasn't long before the door flew open, and Teddy stood on the threshold, his brothers behind him.

There was no greeting as Teddy came further into the room and got right to the point. "You gonna marry that…that…city boy?"

Oh, he was upset. There was a twitch at the corner of his left eye and his jaw was clenched. Even when he'd been a little boy, she'd always known exactly how upset he was just by looking at that twitch. The faster the muscle moved, the more displeased he was. "I haven't decided what I'm going to do."

He began to pace, striding from the sink to the ice box to the other side of the room, passing in front of his brothers then her at the table, his bootheels heavy on the tile, his hands tightening into fists then relaxing. "I'm gonna wring Lucy's neck!"

"You'll leave Lucy alone," she said.

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it." She took a careful sip of her coffee, but her gaze never left his. "I'm a grown woman. I can make my own decisions, and right now, you're acting like my father instead of my nephew. I will not have it, do I make myself clear, Teodoro Augustus?"

He stopped moving and just looked at her, obviously recognizing the tone and the fact she used his full name. He'd heard it often enough over the years. It didn't matter that he was a twenty-eight-year-old man and not the angry little boy he'd once been. He huffed, but still responded with the respect he'd been taught. "Yes, ma'am."

"I have not agreed to anything. Not at this moment, at least. He is a stranger. But maybe I want to get to know him since he's?—"

He didn't let her finish. "You're too old to be thinking about getting romantically involved with someone."

Too old? Not only did his words catch her off guard, but they hurt her. She never considered herself old. "Is that what you think, Teddy? That I'm too old for romance? Too old to fall in love?"

He didn't answer, but his face began to take on a reddish hue. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out.

"I have some news for you. I may be forty, but that doesn't make me old. Being afraid to experience life with all its good and bad makes one old. Being so set in your ways you won't try anything new makes one old, but falling in love, no matter what a person's age, makes one young." She rose from her chair, forcing him to take a step back. "This is my decision and mine alone."

"I don't think you're too old, Tia Evie. I think it's about time," Heath said, his eyes, so much like hers and his mother's, twinkling with amusement. Yes, Heath would find this amusing. He always did have an odd sense of humor.

As usual, Esteban said nothing, but there was suspicion in his dark eyes. Whereas Teddy had always been verbal expressing his anger—or happiness—and Heath had always taken whatever life threw him with aplomb, her middle nephew had always been the quiet one, leaving her to wonder what was on his mind, even when he was young. She held his gaze with her own. "Do you think I'm too old?"

He shook his head but did not speak.

"Good, because I just might marry him." She gave them all one final glare, then, head held high, she left the room. As the swinging door closed behind her, she heard the explosion of voices, which made her smile.

Too old, my foot! We'll just see who's too old!