The Brave Cowboy Read Online Free PDF Page B

at the floor and rubbing dried dough from her fingertips. “Of course,” she said. “I mean no.” She raised her head and smiled at him with a perhaps unconscious wistfulness. “Where is this—animal…?” She stepped to the kitchen door and opened it and looked out at the mare tethered to a pillar of the porch. The mare stepped back a pace, her ears stiffening. “Well, Jack, I declare—she
is
a beauty. Now what do you call her?”
    “I told you: Whisky.”
    “Whisky?” Disapproving, Jerry said: “A
fine
name for a horse.”
    “Well damnit, she drinks.” Burns sprinkled more dry flour over the dough. “She was drunk when I bought her—that’s how she fooled me. She acts pretty decent when she’s all likkered up.”
    “I’ll unsaddle her.”
    “Better not; she’s still kind of spooky. Doesn’t like women, anyway.” He patted and shaped the dough into a compact mass. “I’ll take care of her in a minute.” He look about for lard or butter. “Hey, gimme somethin to grease this dough with.”
    Jerry shut the door and went to the cupboard and took down a can of lard. “Here,” she said, pulling off the lid; “help yourself.” Burns stuck his fingers in and then smeared the ball of dough. “Now put it in that basin.” He did; she covered it with a clean dish towel and then set the basin on a shelf above the cookstove, feeling his dark gaze on her as she moved through the warmth of the kitchen.
    “I’ve been missin somethin,” he said.
    “What’s that?”
    He smiled again. “Home life, I guess.” He raised a hand to his hat. “Doggone, it’s so long since I been in a house I even forget to take my hat off.”
    “You’ve got dough all over your hands.”
    He removed his hat and hung it on a nail by the door; he looked at his hands. “Yeah, you’re right.”
    She went to the sink and poured a little water into the basin. “Here, wash your hands; then you’d better go out and take care of that mare of yours.”
    “You think she’s gettin jealous?”
    “You wash your hands.” Jerry felt herself blushing.
    Unable to look at him, she said: “What would you like to eat?”
    “You said you were gonna rassle up some ham and eggs,” Burns said softly, rubbing his hands with soap “I could sure go for some ham and eggs; to tell the truth I’m hungry as an old grizzly in April. My belly’s gettin all frayed from rubbin against my backbone.”
    “We’ll have to do something about that,” she said—a little formally. She opened the firebox of the stove and stuffed in some paper and kindling. “What have you been doing for the last year or so, anyway?”
    “I was afraid you’d ask me that.” He dried his hands on a towel hanging over the sink. “I can’t lie to you, neither; sure wish I could, it’s so downright shameful.”
    She looked at the sly smile on his lips and guessed. “Don’t tell me you’ve been herding sheep again!” She struck a match on the stove and lit the paper.
    “Jerry, you’re absolutely right. Yessir, I’ve been playing nursemaid to God’s lowliest critters. So help me…”
    She slammed shut the door of the firebox and opened the damper. “At this rate you’ll end up on a dude ranch, Jack.”
    “You’re right; when a man’s fallen to herdin sheep he might as well go all the way down.” He walked toward the door and as he opened it Jerry Bondi reached out and put her hand on his forearm. He looked down at her.
    “Jack…” She tried to smile at him; she could find nothing to say. He waited. “You’d better take care of your horse,” she said finally. They could hear the mare outside, stamping, shaking her gear.
    “That’s what I aim to do.” He gave her wrist a squeeze. “Don’t you worry none about Paul; I’ll think of somethin. I sure didn’t ride fifty miles just to take the air.”
    “I’m sure of that,” she said. “Now I’ll have to worry about you too.”
    “No need for that.” He grinned at her. “Nothin can hurt