“Do you have the time?” His uncle asked. “I can teach her as well as the little one.”
“I’ll teach her. Them.” Reese amended quickly. “I’ll find the time.”
“Okay by me.” Charlie added. “But if you change your mind…”
“I won’t.” Reese smiled down the table at Faith. “I just wanted everybody to know. Faith and I will be spending some time together each morning after breakfast.” Reese finished his meal and got up from the table.
Faith did the same, carefully heading in the opposite direction from Reese, her face, a becoming shade of pink.
Charlie waited until they’d both left the table, then addressed the others. “Sam, Joe, boys, find something to do away from the barn from now on.” Joe, the blacksmith, and the two ranch hands nodded in understanding.
“But, Pa,” Sam protested, “I clean the stables every morning. After breakfast.”
“Get up a bit earlier. Clean ’em before breakfast.” Charlie ordered.
Sam groaned.
Reese’s grandfather reached over to pat his youngest grandson on the shoulder. “One day,” Duncan promised Sam, “ye’ll understand and appreciate such thoughtfulness.”
* * *
In the days that followed, Faith fell more love with Reese and with the people living on the Trail T. She studied them all, learning the many ways each person contributed to the ranch. The kitchen was Sarah’s domain, the meals a communal affair. The children ate early, in the kitchen. The adults, including the two ranch hands, sat down to supper at the huge, dining table. It was a Jordan family tradition, begun by Reese’s father. Benjamin Jordan had spent his childhood eating alone, under the supervision of a nanny, who ate with the staff in the kitchen. Benjamin hadn’t been invited to sit down with his parents until after his sixteenth birthday. There was no such formality at the Trail T.
Mary taught school. It was her first love, the thing she did best. Charlie was the ranch ramrod, supervising the men. Sam worked with the horses. He had a special affinity for the animals. When he wasn’t doing lessons, he was working in the barn or the stables. Joe was the blacksmith. He made many of the household tools and kept the horses well shod. Reese’s grandmother, Elizabeth, tended her vegetable and herb gardens in the spring and summer, the chickens and geese, in the winter. And Duncan, Reese’s grandfather, who was past seventy, but spry, kept the family traditions. It was his job, and his passion.
Faith felt an overpowering need to belong, but she was careful in the tasks she chose. She didn’t want to intrude, disrupt, or usurp anyone else’s role. She spent her first few weeks on the ranch searching for her place—her vital role. And then she found it in Reese.
She noticed Reese groping for the entrance to his right jacket pocket as they returned from their morning ride.
Faith laughed. “Don’t you remember, Reese? It’s gone. Brutus stole it.” Reese’s first confrontation with Joy’s pony had been weeks ago.
Reese looked down at his side. He’d been trying to stash his cigars in a pocket that didn’t exist. “I keep forgetting.” He turned to look at her. “My favorite jacket. I’ll have to remember to order a new one.”
“A new one?” Except for the missing pocket, it was practically brand new.
“To replace this one.”
“Why not replace the pocket instead of the jacket?”
Reese shrugged. “It’s simpler this way.” He awkwardly tucked his cheroots into his left pocket. “Come on.” Reese dismissed the jacket. “There’s something I want to show you.” He turned to leer at her. “In the barn.”
By the time Reese had shown her the mare ready to foal in the back stall, Faith had forgotten about his jacket pocket. But she remembered it later that night when she found a crumpled sheet of paper on the floor near the bedroom dresser. Written across the front, in Reese’s heavy scrawl, was a list of things he needed to do.
At the top of the list, we
re the items: Telegraph bank, Washington, Senator Darcy, and so on, in order of importance. And at the bottom, added in pencil, were: shirts, cigars, brandy, jacket.
Faith smiled. It was late. After supper, Reese had gone to help Charlie and Sam with the mare. In his haste to change out of his good clothes, Reese had dropped his list. Knowing he would miss it, she tiptoed downstairs to his study. It wouldn’t hurt to check his supply of cigars and brandy while she was there.
* * *
“I thought you’d be upstairs sleeping.” Reese apologized, stamping the dirt from his boots in the kitchen doorway. He’d seen the lamplight glowing in the window, smelled the aroma of coffee simmering on the stove, but he hadn’t realized Faith was there until she raised her head from the table.
Faith straightened in her seat and wiped the sleep from her eyes. “I made some coffee for you.” She got up to pour him a cup.
“Thanks.” Reese wearily shrugged out of his coat.
“I warmed some of the leftover roast and potatoes, too. Are you hungry?”