Page 49 of Knox
Tate turned into a porter and retrieved their packed duffel bags, bringing them into the house.
Kelsey stood inside for a long moment, drinking in the polished logs, the stacked stone fireplace, the beautiful kitchen, the round table with the leather chairs, the overstuffed leather sofas, and most of all, the view.
The view. In the backyard, the land stretched out across emerald pastures, then fell into a valley rimmed with dark green fir. A river ran a silver finger through the hills, winding lazily to a small town in the distance.
She was on the Ponderosa, fromBonanzafame. Her father’s favorite show and she’d been plunked into the middle.
She’d met Hoss, the thug, aka Tate. And of course, Knox would be handsome Adam Cartwright. All she needed was a Little Joe.
“I’ll put you girls upstairs in Ruby Jane and Coco’s room.”
Gerri led them up a wide staircase, then along a balcony to a room with twin beds with curved leather headboards, dressed in western blankets, thick white comforters, and enough pillows to bury herself under, head to toe. Watercolors of white columbine and purple irises hung over each bed, and sheer linen curtains framed the windows.
The room was airy, warm, and embracive, and she barely refrained from leaping onto one of the beds and climbing under the covers.
Except, of course, for the sleeping part.
“Will this work?”
“I just might stay forever,” Glo said.
Gerri laughed as Tate put the duffel bags on the floor.
Kelsey walked to the window. Stared out at the barn.
“I’m going to make elevenses in a bit here. Make yourself at home, wander around. I think there might be a couple baby goats to find.”
What was it with the Marshalls and baby goats? But after Gerri and Tate left, after Glo collapsed on the bed feigning tears of joy, Kelsey followed her inner nudge and headed outside.
To the barn.
The smaller side door hung open, and she stepped inside. The soaring rafters smelled of hay and fresh straw, of horseflesh and dirt, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
A goat mewed at her, and sure enough, baby goats scampered around in the pen, skin and bones, their hides rough. She rubbed one between its not-yet-horns.
She stepped back and spied a massive Brahma bull staring at her, a chew of hay in its mouth. Dark eyes raked over her, and she remembered Hot Pete’s cool gaze. He was probably bucking off cowboys somewhere in Texas.
On the other side of the barn, the four pens were empty, the straw matted, used and soiled with cow pies.
A moan, something big and in distress at the far end of the barn drew her, and she followed the sound. Stopped as she watched a man, dressed in a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a grimy gimme cap, and a pair of long plastic gloves, gripping the hooves of what looked like a baby calf emerging from its mother’s body.
The mother lay on her side, grunting, her massive body heaving.
“C’mon, Daisy, work with me,” he said.
The voice was soft, gentle, and solid, and she’d recognize it anywhere.I told you, I’m going to get you out of this.
Knox.
Kelsey didn’t breathe a word as she watched the calf emerge slowly, its red face with a white stripe wrapped in sheer, sticky caul. The body fell onto the thick fluffy straw, and Knox began to massage it, clearing the sack from its head.
A long pink tongue curled around his hand. He laughed, and the deep resonance of it, like the jagged beauty of the mountains, filled Kelsey to her bones.
Thank you for being safe.
“Good job, Daisy,” he said as the cow got up suddenly, moved around to lick her baby. The calf’s dark red coat was thick with spit and mucus, but it looked up, its ears velvety and pink as they stuck out around its face, big brown eyes blinking against the ministrations.
The sight of it drew Kelsey forward, and she crouched at the edge of the pen, watching, a strange cotton in her chest.