been spyin’. You know me better than that. I met John on the road yesterday. He seemed quite pleased with the whole affair.”
“There’s n o affai r . Can’t a fella show a little bit of kindness without a big fuss?”
“Ain’t nobody fussing. I can tell you for sure, every man on this place is happy you might be filling your mind with somebody new. You ain’t gone around smiling like this since that . . .”
“Leave it be, Rusty. You go on about your business, and I’ll take care of mine.” He shouldered past his foreman.
“I already saddled Tag for ya. Thought it would save some time.” Rusty matched his stride. “I’m serious, Ty. I know you’re my boss, but you’re also my friend. No need to fight what might be comin’. No need to deny it, neither.” He nudged Ty’s shoulder.
“I’m not going down that road again, pal. Some places don’t need to be revisited.” Tag gave a little hop when he mounted . You’re as eager to run as I am to get away from this conversation, aren’t you, old boy ? He nodded at Rusty. “Take care of things. I’ll be back early, unless the fish are biting.”
He spurred his horse and settled into the saddle for the ride across familiar prairie to the Feather . Don’t fight it, he says . He wasn’t fighting, was he? What was there to fight? Jacob was the common denominator between him and Robin. One man, one woman, and a boy didn’t add up to anything to make a fuss over. He was helping. That’s all.
Jacob waved when Ty approached. Why did that make his pulse quicken ? Helping, that’s all? Careful, Ty.
“Hey, buddy. You ready to go fishing?” He wrapped Tag’s reins around the hitching post in front of the house and retrieved the fishing pole from behind the saddle.
Robin laughed. “He’s been ready since sunup. He must have asked a hundred times when you would get here. Would you remember to bring a fishing pole for him? Would you bring one for me? The questions didn’t stop until he saw you riding in.”
Ty handed the pole he carried to Jacob. “I brought one for him, but I’m afraid I don’t have one for you.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I thought maybe only the two of you would enjoy a day together. I have things to do here.”
Jacob’s face clouded. “I . . . I have things to do, too.” He handed the pole back to Ty and scooted behind Robin’s skirts.
Ty scowled but was determined not to let this day end before it had a good start. “Well, then—how about I help you do what needs to be done then we can al l go fishing together. Would you agree to that, Miss Wenghold?”
“My plan was to surprise you, but I like your idea better—that is, if you don’t mind spending the morning in the kitchen.” She crossed her arms. “Do you know anything about baking cookies, Mr. Morgan, or frying chicken?”
Ty leaned against the porch pillar across from her. This was a side of Robin he’d not witnessed. She was bantering with him. And she seemed right pleased with herself. “For a fact, Miss Wenghold, I’m quite a good cook. Don’t know much about sweet stuff baking, but can fry a real mean chicken.”
Jacob emerged, arms crossed in replica of Robin. “ Ou r chickens aren’t mean.”
Robin giggled. “Mr. Morgan is bragging about what a good cook he is, Jacob. He didn’t mean the chickens were mean. What do you think? Could he make better fried chicken than me?”
Jacob shook his head. “Mens don’t cook gooder than ladies, do they,
“There’s n o affai r . Can’t a fella show a little bit of kindness without a big fuss?”
“Ain’t nobody fussing. I can tell you for sure, every man on this place is happy you might be filling your mind with somebody new. You ain’t gone around smiling like this since that . . .”
“Leave it be, Rusty. You go on about your business, and I’ll take care of mine.” He shouldered past his foreman.
“I already saddled Tag for ya. Thought it would save some time.” Rusty matched his stride. “I’m serious, Ty. I know you’re my boss, but you’re also my friend. No need to fight what might be comin’. No need to deny it, neither.” He nudged Ty’s shoulder.
“I’m not going down that road again, pal. Some places don’t need to be revisited.” Tag gave a little hop when he mounted . You’re as eager to run as I am to get away from this conversation, aren’t you, old boy ? He nodded at Rusty. “Take care of things. I’ll be back early, unless the fish are biting.”
He spurred his horse and settled into the saddle for the ride across familiar prairie to the Feather . Don’t fight it, he says . He wasn’t fighting, was he? What was there to fight? Jacob was the common denominator between him and Robin. One man, one woman, and a boy didn’t add up to anything to make a fuss over. He was helping. That’s all.
Jacob waved when Ty approached. Why did that make his pulse quicken ? Helping, that’s all? Careful, Ty.
“Hey, buddy. You ready to go fishing?” He wrapped Tag’s reins around the hitching post in front of the house and retrieved the fishing pole from behind the saddle.
Robin laughed. “He’s been ready since sunup. He must have asked a hundred times when you would get here. Would you remember to bring a fishing pole for him? Would you bring one for me? The questions didn’t stop until he saw you riding in.”
Ty handed the pole he carried to Jacob. “I brought one for him, but I’m afraid I don’t have one for you.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I thought maybe only the two of you would enjoy a day together. I have things to do here.”
Jacob’s face clouded. “I . . . I have things to do, too.” He handed the pole back to Ty and scooted behind Robin’s skirts.
Ty scowled but was determined not to let this day end before it had a good start. “Well, then—how about I help you do what needs to be done then we can al l go fishing together. Would you agree to that, Miss Wenghold?”
“My plan was to surprise you, but I like your idea better—that is, if you don’t mind spending the morning in the kitchen.” She crossed her arms. “Do you know anything about baking cookies, Mr. Morgan, or frying chicken?”
Ty leaned against the porch pillar across from her. This was a side of Robin he’d not witnessed. She was bantering with him. And she seemed right pleased with herself. “For a fact, Miss Wenghold, I’m quite a good cook. Don’t know much about sweet stuff baking, but can fry a real mean chicken.”
Jacob emerged, arms crossed in replica of Robin. “ Ou r chickens aren’t mean.”
Robin giggled. “Mr. Morgan is bragging about what a good cook he is, Jacob. He didn’t mean the chickens were mean. What do you think? Could he make better fried chicken than me?”
Jacob shook his head. “Mens don’t cook gooder than ladies, do they,
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