As if reading Beatrice’s mind, Maisie caught her hand. “I wish you and everyone could know the kind of love I’ve found. Don’t settle for anything less.”
She wasn’t interested in marriage of any sort but wouldn’t tell Maisie that. “What do I do with the scraps and wash water?”
“Dump the water on my flowers by the house. They thrive on it.” She chuckled. “Though they’ve had plenty of water today. The scraps...” Maisie looked doubtful, as if uncertain Beatrice could deal with the task.
“Tell me and I’ll do it.”
“Very well. Take the bucket of scraps out to the pigpen and dump them over the fence into the trough. Watch for puddles on the path. ”
“Where will I find the pigpen?”
Maisie gave her instruction.
Beatrice emptied out the basin of water then carried the heavy, slimy bucket from the house, being careful not to let it brush against her skirts as she passed the barn. She smelled the pigs before she reached the pen and gasped. Nothing had prepared her for so many strange and, sometimes, unpleasant odors. She reached the fence and counted two big pigs and half a dozen small ones that rushed toward her squealing and grunting and running into each other, pushing one another out of the way and climbing over each other.
She laughed.
“Amusing, aren’t they? Now you can see why bad-mannered people are often called pigs.”
She jerked about to stare at Levi. “I didn’t see you.”
He shrugged, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I was over there.” He pointed. “If you’d taken two steps to the right you would have tromped on me but you were too intent on your task.” His gaze shifted to the bucket on the ground beside her.
The pigs squealed loudly.
“They’re getting impatient.” Levi picked up the bucket and dumped the contents over the fence into a wooden trough.
Beatrice stared, fascinated as the pigs buried their snouts in the trough, not caring if they stepped on each other. She shook her head. “Pigs are...well, pigs.”
Laughter rumbled from Levi, drawing her gaze to him. How his eyes danced, and his face crinkled in a friendly sort of way. Just because she called a pig a pig?
She turned back to the animals. “They’re noisy, rude and loud. And they stink.”
More rumbling laughter. “Johnny says he thanks God he wasn’t born a pig.”
That brought a burst of laughter from Beatrice. Her eyes connected with his and something sweet filled the air. She couldn’t remember a time she had shared real, honest amusement with a man. It caused her insides to bounce up and down...not an unpleasant sensation. She reminded herself not to stare, but despite her admonition she could not break the look between them.
He shifted his gaze first, letting it go toward the house. “Have you done Maisie’s dressing yet?”
Her thoughts jarred back to the reason she was here. Changing the dressing was not a task she looked forward to. She had not a clue how to tackle the job. “No, I just finished cleaning the kitchen.” She turned to retrace her steps.
Levi fell into step with her. They reached the barn. She welcomed the chance to shift her thoughts to something else. “I thought there would be horses and cows in the pens.”
“The horses are out with the men at the moment except for those we need for getting around and Pa’s breeding stock.” He pointed toward the animals in the pasture. “He has big plans for expanding our bloodlines into something that will make the Sundown Ranch horses more desirable than the average horse. We seldom keep cows in the pens. They are out grazing. Except for the milk cow. Do you want to see her?”
“Is she friendly?”
He grinned. “She won’t say hello if that’s what you mean, but she also won’t be rude like the pigs who act like pigs.”
He was teasing her and she didn’t mind. “It’s good to know she has her species figured out.”
They were at the barn door. He edged it wider open and she stepped inside.
“I hope you don’t find the smell obnoxious,” Levi said.
She sniffed as she turned her head from side to side. “There’s a warm, earthy scent, a musty odor and a kind of mushroomlike smell. None of it overwhelming or unpleasant. It’s rather a reassuring odor.”
He stared at her. “Reassuring? You make the smell seem vital.”
“Vital? Yes. That’s exactly how it feels.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of you.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant, nor was she sure she wanted to know. If it was good she would be flustered, if bad, she’d be wounded. No, better not to know. “So where is this milk cow?”
He swept his arm toward the alleyway and she preceded him the direction indicated. Old Sissy munched on her feed. There were wooden pens on either side, some with boards that looked as if they had been chewed. She glanced upward at the sound of something scurrying overhead.
“Mice,” he explained. “The cause of Maisie’s accident.” His expression hardened like black rock.
“Wouldn’t cats take care of that problem?”
“Cats are hard to find and harder to keep. We had a mama cat but she was half-wild and packed up her kittens and moved on.”
An amusing mental picture flashed through her mind of a cat carrying a valise out of which three little kittens peeked and she laughed softly, wishing immediately that she had kept her amusement hidden.
“What makes you laugh?” Levi asked.
She glanced at him to see if he was annoyed but he appeared more curious than anything and she explained. “After all, you did say she’d packed up.”
He grinned. “She carried them one by one to a new place.”
“Carried them. How?”
“By the scruff of the neck.”
“I remember a time the groom was angry with the boy who helped with the horses and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shook him. It didn’t look pleasant.” She shuddered to think of baby kittens being carried that way.
“It’s the way cats do it, and the kittens don’t seem to mind. Now, do you want to see the milk cow?”
“Yes, of course.” Though she’d momentarily forgotten their reason for coming to the barn.
He moved along the alley and stopped where a gate had been pushed open. A tawny-colored cow stood patiently with Charlie squatting at her side squirting milk into the bucket at his knees.
Beatrice knew where milk came from...in a picture-book sort of way. But she’d never seen it foaming up in a pail. For some strange reason it brought a sting of tears.
Charlie gave Levi a pained look. “I ain’t no chore boy.”
Levi leaned back on the side of the pen and gave his cousin a steady look. “Nothing wrong with good honest work.”
“This is squaw work.”
Levi’s laugh lacked mirth. “Not here. Big Sam says it’s man’s work.”
“Don’t see him doing it, though.” Charlie stood. “I’m done here.”
Levi straightened. “Not until you’ve stripped her. I don’t want her going dry. We need the milk. Finish the job.”
Beatrice looked from one to the other as the words that