Page 22 of Falling for the Cowgirl
Ivy plopped down on the bench and watched the dust rising in the distance from where Hance was riding away. For a second, she tried to conjure up a feeling of some kind for the barber, but as she pictured him, she felt absolutely nothing, not even a smattering of interest.
Why not? He was a fine-looking fella. And he was mighty nice to her.
She released an exasperated sigh. She always hoped that in allowing herself to spend time with other fellas, a sparkmight develop with one of them. But it never happened. No matter how much time and effort she gave anyone who liked her, she could never reciprocate.
“Land sakes, Jericho,” she murmured. “It’s all your fault.”
“What’s all Jericho’s fault, Ivy?” Ellie remained near the house while Ty had gone off, probably following after Jericho or Judd or both.
“Jericho’s ruined me.”
“Ruined?”
“I can’t make myself like anyone else, ’cause none of them ever match up to him.” Ivy reckoned she was safe enough sharing her thoughts with the little girl.
Ellie climbed up on the bench and patted Ivy’s hand. Her blond hair was still plaited neatly after the long day, and her calico skirt and blouse as spotless as when she’d first put them on. With having three women—Greta, Astrid, and Ivy—to fuss over her, Ellie was much more conscious of particulars than Ivy had ever been.
Ivy had always been more interested in climbing trees, chasing frogs, and catching bugs than in her appearance. And though she’d tried to heed Astrid’s advice the past two years on becoming more womanly and ladylike, she always seemed to fall short.
She glanced down to the buttons straining at the seams of her bodice. Even when she was wearing Linnea’s pretty clothes, she still couldn’t do it right.
If only Ma had been there for her. But her brothers had been more involved in her life than Ma had been, so that by the time Ma passed away, Ivy—at eleven—hadn’t really grieved the loss or missed her.
During their long trip to the West, Linnea had been thefirst woman to take a real interest in her. Greta had been a good influence on her too. But that hadn’t stopped Ivy from feeling motherless all these years. And it hadn’t stopped her from turning out to be a failure as a woman.
She hadn’t really cared a whole lot about behaving and dressing properly until after Jericho left. She supposed that, in some ways, she’d blamed his lack of interest on her not being pretty enough or womanly enough to attract him. And she’d tried ever since to do a better job of being the woman everyone expected her to be.
Of course, she was bound to catch the attention of other men in the high country simply because a single woman was about as scarce as a daisy in a dung heap. But apparently she hadn’t changed enough for Jericho. He wasn’t interested in her now any more than he’d been before.
If only she could finally figure out how to put him from her mind once and for all.
“Clear as a boil on a bulldog’s nose that you care about her.” Judd’s voice cut through the silence.
With two beds instead of the usual bunks, the place was more private than the other cowhand cabins. Even so, it was cramped and musty, with hardly enough room to turn around. With the door propped wide and the window open, a night breeze blew inside, cooling them after the hot summer day.
Lying on his bed propped on his elbow with his journal before him, Jericho puffed at his pipe and slanted a glance at Healing Springs’ overseer.
In the room’s lone chair positioned by the oil lantern andthe unheated stove, Judd had his Bible open on his lap. Somewhere in his middle years, Judd had the coloring of an old man, a head full of thick white hair, a white beard, fluffy white eyebrows, and a long handlebar mustache.
Apparently, Judd had been with Wyatt from the start of the ranch. He didn’t ride with the cowhands often anymore. Instead he kept watch over the goings-on closer to home. He’d always spent more time with Greta and the children than he did anyone else. While he wasn’t much of a talker, he was a beloved father and grandfather figure to everyone who lived there.
Judd met Jericho’s gaze levelly. “You always were sufferin’ with Cupid’s cramp around her.”
Jericho wanted to pretend he didn’t know who Judd was referring to. But it wasn’t worth the effort. “She’s like a sister to me. That’s all.”
Judd released a lowharrumph, one that told Jericho just how little he believed him. The older man turned the page in his Bible and dropped his attention back to his reading, but not before Jericho saw the twinkle in the man’s eyes.
Jericho pulled in another puff, rolled the cherry tobacco smoke around in his mouth, then exhaled it while dragging his focus back to the notes in front of him, ignoring the flush creeping up his neck. He wasn’t about to let himself dwell on Ivy. He’d done enough of that for one day.
He picked up his pencil and jotted another note about Hance before comparing him to the small black-and-white photograph he had of Rodney James. Taken at the start of the War of Succession, it showed Rodney with a scraggly beard and mustache. He wore his bowler hat low over long hair, shielding his eyes. He was of medium height without any other features that set him apart.
The lack of identifying qualities made the tracking down difficult, especially because Rodney had likely done all he could to change his appearance, no doubt giving himself a clean-cut look without all the facial hair.
After only two days back, Jericho had listed at least a dozen men who could fit Rodney’s vague physical profile. And after a few more days of digging around, he’d be able to list a dozen more.
Of course, he had a short list of other indicators. He knew the man had asthma, had a traumatic childhood of abuse from his father, had eventually lived with his elderly grandmother before joining the war efforts, and had never been married.
But still, it wasn’t much to go on.
