exhausted.’’
‘‘No,’’ Jamie answered. ‘‘He’ll only make himself sick.’’
Both women moved closer to their brother. His movements pushed them away once more, knocking them both onto the rain-slick ground.
‘‘Wait!’’ Win shouted from behind them.
‘‘Stay out of this, cowboy!’’ Jamie jumped to her feet. ‘‘This is our responsibility.’’
Win glanced at Kora.
‘‘Let him try,’’ Kora whispered. ‘‘He can’t make matters any worse.’’
Dan was now curled into a ball in the dirt. He’d began shouting names from a roll call long dead.
Win took a deep breath. ‘‘Soldier!’’ he snapped. ‘‘ Soldier, stand at attention! You’re getting the uniform dirty.’’
To both girls’ surprise, Dan slowly stood. His list changed to battle names and numbers dead and wounded.
‘‘Now march!’’ Winter commanded.
Dan slowly began his walk, circling back to his chair. When he finally sat down, he was silent once more. Kora stepped inside and retrieved a dry blanket as Jamie removed his wet shirt and boots.
Win watched as both women wrapped the spider-thin man tightly in quilts. Once again he was touched by the way they cared for Dan. Win had missed that kind of family, and the sight of them made him feel as if there were a cavern in his heart.
He dried his face at the washstand and almost ran for the privacy of his study. Stripping off his wet clothes, Win wished he could clear his thoughts as easily.
As he pulled on a dry pair of pants, Kora walked into the room. She stood just inside the door looking like a child who’d fallen down the chimney. Her nightgown was spotted in black, her feet muddy, her hair a shambles of ashes and dirt from where she’d fallen in the field.
Win stepped aside and reached for a clean shirt. ‘‘You look like you’ve been riding drag during a mud storm.’’
She hugged herself and took a step backward. ‘‘I just stopped to say thank you before I go clean up.’’
‘‘Come get warm first,’’ Win said, offering his fire. ‘‘And no thanks needed.’’
Kora moved closer. As she stretched her hands toward the fire, Win pushed a footstool close for her to sit on. ‘‘That gown looks ruined,’’ he mumbled from behind her as he rummaged for another shirt. ‘‘Why don’t you put this on while I get some more wood? You’ll catch your death if you go back up to the attic all wet.’’
Kora slipped out of her gown and into Winter’s shirt. The shirttail hung to her knees. She cleaned off mud from her legs and arms using the few clean spots from their damp clothes.
When Win returned, he carried a small tub and a bucket of water. ‘‘For your hair,’’ he mumbled awkwardly.
Without a word she knelt and leaned her head over the tub. For a moment Win didn’t move, then slowly he dropped to one knee beside her and the water poured over her head. She shook the dirt from her hair and let her fingers run through the tangles as he slowly poured.
When she finished, he handed her a towel he’d brought in over his shoulder. She covered her head and began to rub the water out.
His large hands lightly touched hers, pushing them aside so that he could dry her hair. Kora raised her head and enjoyed the feel of the warm towel moving over her. He worked the towel down, drying all the way to the ends in long, sure strokes. His towel-covered hand returned again and again to her scalp, slowly moving over her hair.
Kora rested her arm against his leg and leaned her cheek on his knee as he continued to stroke. She was almost asleep when he stopped.
‘‘Thank you,’’ she whispered. ‘‘No one’s ever done that for me before.’’
He sat, using the footstool to lean his back on, and pulled her against his side. ‘‘Thank you,’’ he said more to himself than her. ‘‘I enjoyed doing it. Watching your hair turn from warm honey to sunlight as it dried was a pleasure.
‘‘Besides, I should be thanking you for your help. If you hadn’t yelled, we might have gotten to the fire a minute later and lost the barn along with several horses stabled there.’’
‘‘Why would someone do such a thing?’’ She raised to look at him. ‘‘It doesn’t make sense.’’
‘‘Tell me every detail you saw,’’ Win quizzed. ‘‘The markings of the horse, how fast he rode, how tall, anything.’’
As Kora related all she remembered, Win’s frown grew deeper.
When she finished, he whispered, ‘‘You saw no face?’’
Kora shook her head.
Win let out a long breath. ‘‘You may have seen just enough to put you in great danger.’’
He moved his hand slowly over her hair.
‘‘Don’t worry.’’ Kora tried to make her voice light. ‘‘I can take care of myself and Jamie’s always around. After all, it’s only till summer.’’
‘‘Until then’’-Win moved his hand into her hair- ‘‘with all that’s going on, I’d like there to be peace between us.’’
Kora leaned forward and hugged her knees. ‘‘I’d like that, also,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ve never lived in a place like this. It’s not the house so much as the way of life. All the men treat me with such respect, and there is so much to do. I guess I thought life on a ranch would be dull and lonely, but I feel like I’m standing in the center of a swarm of bees.’’
Win laughed. ‘‘I feel that way since you moved in. I’ve been alone for so long, I’d forgotten what it was like to live in a tribe.’’
She looked at him. ‘‘Is that what we are, a tribe?’’
‘‘Very much so,’’ he answered. ‘‘When I was little, I lived with my mother’s tribe. Everyone took care of everyone else. I saw that tonight with you and Jamie on the bucket line, and again with Dan. I’ll miss it when you’re gone.’’
Kora turned toward the fire so he couldn’t see her face. He’d said he’d miss them, but he hadn’t said stay.
FIFTEEN
WINTER LEFT THE SALOON AND HEADED ACROSS THE street to the mercantile. The ranchers’ meeting had lasted hours longer than he’d thought it would, and he’d downed several more drinks than he needed to keep his head clear. Most of the men felt they had to have their say, even if they were only repeating an idea someone else had already voiced. Then H. D. Worth, who’d argue with a dead frog, had to counter everyone’s speech. And of course Lewis, who’d bet that same frog how high he would jump, felt a need to summarize anything Worth said. All in all, it was a waste of valuable time. They wanted to help, but anyone who knew the land knew Winter’s ranch was the one that would be crossed if the cattle moved. It was in the middle of the only practical trail, and it was too big to be missed.
‘‘Afternoon,’’ Kendell, the mercantile owner, said as Winter forced the door shut against a north wind.
Kendell was a man graying into his forties with the thin look of a buzzard about him. He was always pleasant, helpful, and almost too friendly. He’d inherited the business from his father and married his wife by blind luck.
Everyone except him seemed to know that his treasure lay in her and not the store. But Kendell valued only things he could keystone and sell for double the price.
‘‘Good afternoon,’’ Win mumbled. ‘‘My order ready?’’
‘‘You bet. I’ve got it boxed with the bunkhouse order on the porch, ready to load in your wagon.’’ Kendell glanced at the last box on his counter. ‘‘I was just waiting to see if there was anything you’d want to add to the missus’ order.’’
‘‘Shirts,’’ Winter remembered. ‘‘She said to throw in three new work shirts for me.’’
