Sally: Autumn Storms (F&L Story #4)

Sally: Part 7

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Part 7

Sunday, October 10, 2010.

The next morning, after her critters were fed, the eggs were gathered and a few chores that couldn’t wait were finished, she saddled up her two horses and took Wilson on a tour of her land. He barely said more than good-morning to her, and she couldn’t help but wonder how his night in that camper had gone. She got her first peek into it after they hauled it to a cement pad behind her tractor barn and couldn’t imagine how he endured it. As they circled back along the southern border of her property, she asked him about it.

“I slept in my truck,” he confessed with a grim frown. He didn’t look too happy about it, and picturing his long legs scrunched up across his bench seat, she didn’t bother to hide the giggle.

“I told you so,” she said, grinning at him. “We’ll get some cleaning supplies when we get back and get it scrubbed out.”

He turned that frown on her. “I appreciate the offer, ma’am, but I’ll do it on my own time.”

“Nonsense,” she began, but he jerked Casanova over into Daisy's path and rounded on them both.

“Ma'am, it was kind enough of you to let me stay in the camper until I can find a place of my own. No man worth his salt would ask you to clean it out for him, too. You're paying me as a farmhand, not a house cleaner. I'll – do – it – on – my – own – time.” He spit out that last part between clenched teeth, and Sally's throat threatened to mock him with a highly amused chuckle.

Well, didn’t that just beat all? He was willing to put aside his own comforts to do his job. He just might regret that when the workday was done, and his only access to a shower was the water spigot under her kitchen window. But hey, he was a grown man with the ability to make his own decisions. She’d have to let him figure out things for himself. She imagined there were worse things than watching a half-naked cowboy scrub himself down while she enjoyed her evening cup of coffee.

“If you say so,” she told him and pointed out the bordering property. “That’s the North place, the former owners of this farm. Good neighbors, but don’t let Ginny North see you. She’ll come over to visit, and I’ll have to practically shoo her off with my BB gun.” Sally looked back at Wilson and winked at him. “She’s got a thing for good-looking cowboys. Not much more sense than God gave a boulder, but she’s sweet enough.”

The brim of his hat rode low on his brow, so she couldn’t see his reaction, but he asked, “How old is she?”

“Eighty-three,” she laughed. Wilson absorbed that his usual stoic demeanor, earning an exasperated groan from her, but when she peeked over her shoulder at him, she saw his lips twitch again, almost smiling. That was enough. It was progress, at least. Confident she’d have him smiling and laughing by the end of next week, she turned back to her tour and chatted nonstop all the way back to the main buildings.

In the horse stable, she hopped off her chestnut mare to grab some brushes and carrot treats from the back room. When she came out, Wilson had already removed both saddles and was wiping down Casanova, the gelding which he rode, with handfuls of straw. She watched as he went through the grooming process with precision and an economy of motions. He even bent to lift and check each hoof. In less than ten minutes, both equines were groomed, treated, and led out to the nearby pasture to graze. If she’d done all that by herself, it would have taken three times as long. He seemed to know his way around horses, and now was the perfect opportunity to badger him about his ranch work.

“You do that well,” she said when he closed the gate and sauntered back to the stable to clean up the grooming area. “You said you worked as a foreman?”