Half an hour later, Lilah rode away with the sound of children’s laughter ringing in her ears. Candy prizes had been handed out for the neatest lettering, the best drawing of a foot, of a smile, of a fish, and for remembering to sign the drawing. Lord knows, she thought ruefully, if Edward had lured Martha into his bed many more times, Lilah would have been hard pressed to come up with enough categories to reward.
She was halfway back to the horse barn when she heard someone riding up behind her. Turning, she shaded her eyes against a blinding sun. Most of the men were over near the creek cutting the first crop of hay.
Chandler. Her hand rose instinctively to the hair that was tumbling from its pins, thanks to so many enthusiastic hugs. “You’re riding Demon,” she accused. It was the first thing that popped into her mind when she saw him ride up on the big bay stallion.
Actually, it was the second thing, but she wasn’t about to acknowledge the way her stomach quivered at the sight of those yoke-wide shoulders and his lean, unsmiling face.
He nodded to the docile mare. “Jenny’s a bit tame for you, isn’t she?”
It was a perfectly innocent observation, Lilah told herself. So why did it instantly set her teeth on edge? “She needs the exercise.”
“She gets enough exercise, Shem rides her every day.”
“Yes, well…”
She could hardly tell him that Demon couldn’t be trusted to behave around children, much less to stand patiently while she read to them for more than an hour. She had learned that lesson soon after Edward had been sent to prison, when she’d first started riding out to see to the family’s welfare.
Head held high, she did her best to look down on a big man who sat a tall horse. “Don’t you have anything else to do today? Shem can’t do it all, you know.”
Shem could do little more than offer advice. Which he did freely, and which Eli gratefully accepted. “I thought I’d ride out and see how soon we can start planting corn. We’re more than a month late, as it is.”
“Shem always had the corn in by the middle of April.” It was an open accusation.
“Shem never had to wait out a solid month of rain.”
“We’ve had sunny days this spring.” She hadn’t been here, but the weather in Salem couldn’t have been all that different.
“Not enough to dry the ground.”
She couldn’t argue the point. She’d heard Shem complaining too many times about the poor drainage of the fields nearest the creek. He’d wanted to try ditching, but her father had complained that it would take too long and cost a fortune besides.
“There’s ways of draining a soggy field, you know,” he said mildly. Demon was stamping and flicking his tail.
“Of course there are.” She could hardly argue with him. “Actually, I’ve been thinking of several ways to go about it.” She’d been thinking of no such thing, but her thoughts were none of his business.
He looked—the term magnificent came to mind, and she dismissed it. He looked…capable. Big, with large hands, muscular arms and straw-colored hair that showed the marks of his hatband whenever he removed his curl-brimmed black Stetson. Gray eyes…at least she thought they were gray. She’d never been close enough to be sure.
The thought of being close to that muscular body and those tanned, blunt features made the breath catch in her throat. She hadn’t reacted so physically to any man since she’d been fourteen and one of the young hands had had to carry her to the house after she’d tried to jump off the fence onto the back of a half-wild horse.
Elias Chandler bore no resemblance to the scrawny cowpoke who had staggered up the front steps with her long legs dangling over his arm all those years ago. For one thing, there was his arrogance. Some women would probably consider him attractive, but if he thought that just because he’d been hired to manage her father’s farm he was going to manage her, he was sadly mistaken. She didn’t take orders from any man, not even from Burke Jackson.
“I’m planning on getting the field turned by week’s end as long as the weather holds. Conditions here are some different from Oklahoma, where I’m from.” He gazed out over the rolling green pastures as if he had nothing better to do than to sit on top of a restless horse and talk about the weather.
Demon had a notoriously short fuse. Chandler controlled him as easily as if he were the gentlest of mares. One more thing to chalk up against him. “If you don’t like our weather,” she snapped, “why don’t you go back to Oklahoma?”
Here we go again, Eli thought, amused. He could tell by the way her cheeks flared up, the way she set her lips together in a tight line, that she was hankering for a setto. He was just as determined not to give in to her.
“Well, as to that,” he began, struggling to hide a grin, but before he could finish, she waved a dismissive hand.
“Don’t bother,” she said, gigging her placid mount into a trot. “I’m really not at all interested.”
He held the impatient stallion back while she rode off ahead, watching her as she jiggled on the saddle. Wishing he were the saddle.
What the devil ails you, Chandler? What you need is to take a few days off and spend some time enjoying the delights of a willing commercial lady.
He made a mental note to ask Shem more about the family that lived in the dilapidated old cabin, and whether or not Miss Jackson had any business sneaking off there.
Not that she’d exactly been sneaking. She’d headed off down the lane in broad daylight, both saddlebags full to busting. He’d ridden on past to check the condition of a section they been clearing. Jackson had been using it for a woodlot. Once they cleared out the stumps, he planned to turn it into another pasture unless Jackson had other plans.
When he’d ridden past the cabin on his way back, she’d still been inside. Sensing his distraction, Demon had started acting up and it had been all Eli could do to stay aboard.
Dammit, he’d been hired to oversee the operation of Jackson’s cow farm, not to keep his daughter out of trouble. God help the man who signed on for that duty.
For the next three days in a row Eli watched her ride off down the back lane. It was none of his business where she went or who she met up with. He hadn’t bothered to ask Shem, maybe because he didn’t want to know. He’d sooner come between a hawk and a three-legged rabbit than try to run interference between a hardheaded man and his headstrong daughter.
While Mickey was rounding up strays, getting ready for weaning and castrating last fall’s crop of calves, the driest of the cornfields was being seeded by a couple of the newer hands. It was hard, monotonous work, but it was what farmers did. If they’d signed on thinking they were going to be cowboys, they wouldn’t last long. The men who worked with the herd had to do more than wear the right hat. Mickey was experienced. His helper, another of the other new hires, had worked briefly on a Florida cattle ranch.
And then there was Streak, the herd boss, who was slow, deliberate and methodical. He kept records in his head, which was a problem for anyone trying to maintain an overall view of the operation, but Streak was a good man. And like Shem, he thought the sun rose and set on Miss Lilah’s head.
Eli made the rounds each day, checking on the work in progress. Repairs on the damaged chute and the shed roof they were extending weren’t finished yet, but until the corn was in and he had manpower to spare, they’d hold. He’d sent a man out