Page 49 of If the Boot Fits

Asher lathered a cloth and rubbed it over his chest, belly, and arms before giving his armpits a good scrub. “I’ve got an appointment, that’s all.”

“With a girl?”

Water hadn’t slowed the questions. Maybe a soggy cloth filled with sweat stink would do the trick. Asher launched the rag at Fergus’s head, but the kid managed to dodge, leaving the wet cloth to splat on the porch floor.

“I’m meeting a friend, if you must know.” Asher reached for the towel he’d draped over the side railing and ran it over his face.

“A girl friend?”

Asher sighed into the towel before dragging it down his torso. “You know, if your story writing career doesn’t work out, you should look into lawyering.”

Triumph gleamed in Fergus’s eyes. “I knew it! You are going to see a girl.”

“It’s not what you think,” Asher insisted as he hung up the towel and reached for the clean shirt hanging on a peg by the back door. “I’m just giving a friend some riding lessons.”

At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

“I don’t remember you cleaning up special to give me riding lessons last Christmas.” Fergus crossed his arms and raised his brows in an admirable imitation of one of Jack’s smug expressions.

“That’s because it was winter, and I hadn’t been baking on a roof for half the day.” Asher pulled on his shirt and shoved his arms through the sleeves, trying not to look at the half-full water basin. The longer Fergus tormented him, the harder it was to remember why he shouldn’t dump the remaining contents over his brother’s head.

“Is it Darla Washington? I saw her talking to you after church yesterday. Or maybe Felicia Hanson? The way she kept stumbling whenever you were nearby seemed mighty suspicious. The third time she tried, you weren’t looking, and old Mr. Drummond had to steady her. She recovered twice as quick when he was the one touching her arm.”

Asher had felt a twinge of guilt when he’d pretended not to see Miss Hanson’s third stumble yesterday, but his sympathy had run short after her second attempt to secure his assistance. Her obvious ploy left him feeling a bit insulted that she thought so little of his intelligence. Miss Washington exhibited no false artifice, but she also exhibited no restraint in her conversation. The woman could drown a man in the sheer volume of words that poured out of her mouth. If Mama Bess hadn’t taken pity on him and called him away, he might still be treading water in that churchyard.

“Is it Miss Dearing?”

The suspenders he’d been stretching up to his right shoulder slipped out of Asher’s grasp and snapped against his hip. He winced.

“Aha!” Fergus crowed in triumph as he danced a celebratory jig featuring high knees and wiggling arms. “I guessed it!”

Clenching his jaw, Asher fit his suspenders over his shoulders with mechanical deliberateness. “You can throw out as many female names as you want, Ferg. I ain’t gonna tell you anything.”

Fergus ceased his dance, but the annoying twinkle in his eyes proved he saw more than Asher would have liked.

“For what it’s worth,” Fergus said, his boyish face seeming to mature before Asher’s eyes, “I like Miss Dearing. And not just because she brings me books and makes yummy cobbler. She’s nice to Mama.” His gaze shifted to the door that led to the kitchen. “And Mama needs some niceness these days.

“When Miss Dearing came by on Saturday to tell us about the garden, she sat with me while we waited on Mama to finish up her bread kneading. I showed her my stories, and she gave me a new idea for how to add those sewing mice you told me about to my barnyard. She said they could make Mrs. Merriweather a fancy hat in exchange for letting them take shelter in the barn. Once Mrs. Merriweather approves of them, the hens and pigs will follow her lead. But first, she thinks I need a story to explain how the sewing mice come to be here. I had been planning to have a cat chase them out of their old home, but she had an even better idea about an owl who snatches them up and carries them off for his supper. One of the mice jabs him with her needle. The owl screeches and drops them into our trough. Now they have to decide if they want to make a new home in our barnyard or have an adventure trying to find their way back home.”

Asher chuckled and ruffled his little brother’s hair. Good thing Fergus was easily distracted by story ideas. “Sounds like you’ll be busy writing for a few days. You’ll have to let me know how it turns out.”

Fergus blinked a bit, then focused his gaze once again on Asher. “She’s real good at coming up with ideas, Ash. She might even be able to come up with one that lets you stay home for good.”

The pang he’d been trying to ignore for the last couple of days intensified a hundredfold. Asher tugged Fergus into a rough embrace and rested his chin on his little brother’s head. “I wish livin’ life was as easy as writing stories, Ferg. ’Cause there’s nothing I’d like more than to be around while you and Jack grow up. To help out Mama Bess and be the family our pa wanted us to be.”

Fergus tipped his head back to peer into Asher’s face. “We got lots of ranches around here. Maybe you could get a job at one of them, now that you aren’t so green.”

Asher’s chest throbbed with longing. If only it were that easy. “The Bar 7’s been good to me. I can’t just leave them in a lurch.” Although, if they already had a man lined up to fill his position, how much of a lurch would it really be? “I tell you what. While I’m here, I’ll ask around. See if there are any openings for positions that can match my current pay. If I find something, I’ll give serious consideration to staying. All right?”

The smile on his little brother’s face made mincemeat of his heart. “Thanks, Ash!”

“Sure.” Asher ruffled the kid’s hair a final time.

Fergus pushed Asher’s hand away from his head, but his smile lost none of its shine.

Brothers might be a nuisance, but they were a nuisance he wouldn’t mind having around a little more often. As Asher rode out to the old mill, family nostalgia kept him distracted until he spotted a fella in cowboy gear keeping Samantha company by her wagon.

Asher frowned. He’d thought she’d wanted these lessons kept private. Why had she invited another man along? And why did Asher have the urge to punch the interloper in the nose?