Читать книгу The Shepherd's Bride - Patricia Davids - Страница 12

Chapter Four

He wouldn’t go up to the house today.

Carl stood in the doorway of his one-room hut and stared at the smoke rising from Joe’s chimney a quarter of a mile away. The chimney was all he could see of the house, for the barn sat between it and his abode.

It hadn’t taken Carl long to decide that avoiding Lizzie would be his best course of action. It was clear how uncomfortable his presence made her last night. He didn’t want her to endure more of the same.

Her presence made him uncomfortable, too.

She made him think about all he had lost the right to know. A home, a wife, the simple pleasure of sitting at a table with someone.

No, he wouldn’t go up to the house, but he knew she was there.

Was she making breakfast? If it was half as good as supper had been, it would be delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such light and fluffy biscuits.

Even for another biscuit, he wouldn’t go up the hill.

He could make do with a slice of stale bread and cheese from his own tiny kitchen. He didn’t need biscuits. He didn’t even need coffee.

And he sure didn’t need to see her again.

Lizzie Barkman’s pretty face was etched in his mind like a carving in stone. All he had to do was close his eyes, and he could see her as clearly as if she were standing in front of him.

He hadn’t slept well, but when he dozed, it was her face he saw in his dreams and not the usual faces from his nightmares.

In his dream last night, Lizzie had been smiling at him, beckoning him from a doorway to come inside a warm, snug house. He wanted to go in, but his feet had been frozen to the ground as snow swirled around him. Sometimes, the snow grew so thick it hid her face, but as soon as it cleared a little, she was still there waiting for him—a wonderful, warm vision in a cold, lonely world.

Carl shook his head to dispel the memory. No, he wouldn’t go up to the house today. She wouldn’t beckon him inside, and he shouldn’t go in if she did. He was a forbidden one, an outcast by his own making.

He needed to stop feeling sorry for himself. He had work to do. He glanced toward the sturdy doghouse just outside his doorway. “Come on, Duncan. We have sheep to move today.”

Duncan didn’t appear. Carl leaned down to look inside and saw the doghouse was empty. Puzzled, he glanced around the pasture. His dog was nowhere in sight. Carl cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered the dog’s name. Duncan still didn’t come.

This wasn’t like him. The only time the dog occasionally roamed away from the farm was when school was in session. He liked to play fetch with the kids and visit with the teacher’s pretty female shepherd. It was too early for the children or the teacher to be at school yet, so where was Duncan?

Maybe Joe had taken him and gone out after some of the sheep already. If that was the case, Carl had better see that the fences in the hilltop enclosure around the lambing sheds were in good repair.

He headed up to the barn and found Joe pitching hay down to the horses in the corral. If he hadn’t gone after the sheep, where was the dog? “Joe, have you seen Duncan this morning?”

Joe paused and leaned on his pitchfork handle. “Nee, I have not. He’s not with you?”

Carl shook his head. “He was gone when I got up.”

“He’ll be back. Lizzie should have breakfast ready in a few minutes. Tell her I’ll be in when I’m done here.” Joe resumed his work.

“I’m not hungry. I’m going to fix the fence in the little field at the top of the hill, and then I’ll move the ewes in the south forty up to it. They’ll be easier to move into the barn from there when it’s time to shear them.”

“All right.”

Carl knew if he took two steps to the left, he’d have a good view of the house from around the corner of the barn. “It’ll make it easier to keep an eye on them for any early lambs, too.”

“It will.” Joe kept pitching down forkfuls of hay.

“I don’t expect any premature births from that group. They’ve all had lambs before without any trouble.”

“I know.”

Carl folded his arms tight across his chest and tried to ignore the overpowering urge to look and see if he could catch a glimpse of Lizzie. “We might have to cull a few of them. We’ve got five or six that are getting up there in years.”

Joe stopped his work and leaned on his pitchfork again. “I’m not senile yet. I know my own sheep. I thought you were looking for your dog.”

“I was. I am.”

“Have you checked up at the house?”

“No.” Carl unfolded his arms and slipped his hands into his front pockets.

“That granddaughter of mine was singing this morning. Could be the dog thought it was yowling, and he’s gone to investigate.”

“Is she a poor singer?” Somehow, Carl expected her to have a melodious voice to match her sweet smile.

“How do I know? I’ve been tone-deaf since I was born. It all sounds like yowling to me.” Setting his pitchfork aside, Joe vanished into the recesses of the hayloft.

Now that he was unobserved, Carl took those two steps and glanced toward the house. He didn’t see Lizzie, but Duncan sat just outside the screen door, intently watching something inside.

“Duncan. Here, boy!”

The dog glanced his way and went back to staring into the house. He barked once. Annoyed, Carl began walking toward him. “Duncan, get your sorry tail over here. We’ve got work to do.”

The dog rose to his feet, but didn’t leave his place.

Carl approached the house just as the screen door opened a crack. The dog wagged his tail vigorously. Carl saw Lizzie bend down and slip Duncan something to eat.

After deciding he wouldn’t see her at all today, that tiny glimpse of her wasn’t enough. He wanted to look upon her face again. Would she welcome his company or simply tolerate it?

It didn’t matter. He had no business thinking it might.

What had Joe told her about him last night? Carl kept walking in spite of his better judgment telling him to go gather the flock without his dog.

By the time he reached the door, Lizzie had gone back inside, but the smell of frying bacon lingered in the air.

Carl stared down at his dog. “I see she’s discovered your weakness.”

Duncan licked his chops.

Carl grinned. “Ja, I’ve got a strong liking for bacon myself.”

“Come in and have a seat before these eggs get cold. I hope you like them scrambled.” Her cheerful voice drove away the last of his hesitation. She was going to be here for only a few days. Why shouldn’t he enjoy her company and her cooking until she left?

He moved Duncan aside with his knee and pulled open the screen door. The dog followed him in and took his usual place beneath the bench Carl sat on. Duncan knew better than to beg for food, but he would happily snatch up any bits his master slipped to him. It was a morning ritual that had gone on for years.

The house smelled of bacon and fresh-baked bread. Lizzie must have been up for hours. She stood at the stove stirring something. There were two plates piled high with food already on the counter. Carl sat down and waited. “Joe will be in shortly.”

She took her pan from the stove and poured creamy gravy into a serving boat on the counter beside her. “Goot. I ate earlier. I have a load of clothes in the washer I need to hang out. Having a propane-powered washer is so nice. At home, we do all the laundry by hand.” Turning around, her eyes widened with shock. “No! Out, out, out!”

Carl leaped up from his seat. “I’m sorry. I thought it was all right if I ate here.”

“You, yes. The dog, no.”

It took him a second to process what she meant. “But Duncan normally eats with me at breakfast.”

She plunked the gravy boat on the table. “Then he will be thrilled when I’m gone. But until I leave this house, I won’t tolerate a dog in my kitchen at mealtime. Look what his muddy feet have done to my clean floor. Take him outside.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at them both.

So much for basking in the glow of her smile this morning. Carl looked down and saw she was right. Muddy paw prints stood out in sharp contrast to the clean black-and-white squares. The dog must have gone down to the creek before coming to the house.

Duncan sank as flat against the floor as he could get. He knew he was in trouble, but Carl was sure he didn’t understand why.

“Come on, fella. Outside with you.”

Duncan didn’t move.

Carl took hold of his collar and had to pull him out from under the table. His muddy feet left a long smear until Duncan realized he wasn’t welcome. Then he bolted for the door and shot outside as Joe came, in nearly tripping the old gent.

“What’s the matter with him?”

“His feet are muddy,” Carl said. He left the kitchen and went out to the back porch. He returned with a mop and bucket. He started to wipe up the mess.

Already seated at the table, Joe said, “Leave the woman’s work to the woman.”

“It was my dog that made the mess.” Carl met Lizzie’s eyes. They were wide with surprise. Suddenly, she smiled at him. It was worth a week of mopping floors to behold. He leaned on the mop handle and smiled back.

* * *

Lizzie realized Carl’s bold gaze was fixed on her. And why shouldn’t it be? She wasn’t behaving in the least like a modest maiden. She averted her eyes and schooled her features into what she hoped was a prim attitude. It was hard when his presence made her heart race. He was a handsome fellow, but she shouldn’t be staring at him.