Page 52 of If the Boot Fits

Samantha bit back a smile as she hooked her arm through the basket handle and lifted it off the table. She followed Ida Mae out of the house and into the yard, where the wagon waited. Ida Mae veered right, keeping her eyes glued to the paddock fence where Mrs. Stewart stood behind Jimmy, holding him safely in place as he sat on the top rail, jabbering happily and clapping chubby hands together in delight.

Martin followed Ida Mae’s progress with his eyes, barely sparing Samantha a glance when she swung the picnic basket over the side of the wagon and settled it in the bed.

“We’ll be ready to go in a couple minutes, Martin. I just want to check on Clint first.”

The man tore his gaze away from Ida Mae long enough to nod. “The team and I are ready whenever you need us.”

“Thank you. And thank you for being willing to ride as escort for us today. I know cattlemen typically disdain farmwork, so I appreciate your sacrifice.”

“Ain’t no hardship, Miss Dearing. The way I see it, it’s more like a paid holiday. Can’t remember the last time I went on a picnic.”

Samantha smiled. “Well, I hope you’re able to enjoy yourself.”

“Be hard not to.” His gaze slipped back over to the corral, and Samantha took that as her cue to leave.

Clint had started his swimming lessons with Duke that week. They spent an hour in the pond each morning before resuming their usual duties. Clint hadn’t gotten up the nerve to get out of the shallows yet—likely, the memories of his near drowning were still too fresh—but he’d mastered floating yesterday and hoped to add some leg action today. As Samantha circled the side of the house, the sound of splashing brought a grin to her face. Her brother was definitely moving something.

When she reached the pond, she found Duke standing in chest-deep water, his dark hair slicked back from his face, his arms extended in front of him, his hands clasped around Clint’s wrists.

“Don’t bend your arms. Keep ’em long. That’s it. Blow the water outta your nose, then turn your head to take a breath. Good.” He walked the length of the pond backward, leading Clint along. “Easy with them kicks, boy. This ain’t a race. You wanna be relaxed in the water. Controlled. You don’t wanna wear yourself out before you get where you’re tryin’ to go.”

“How’s he doing?” Samantha called.

Duke twisted to meet her gaze, then grinned, his pride in Clint’s growing proficiency obvious. “Look fer yourself. We’ll have him dog-paddlin’ on his own by the end of the week.”

Clint’s head popped out of the water. “Is that Samantha?” His eyes remained closed as he groped for Duke’s shoulder. He pulled the older man’s shirt down so that it gaped enough at the neck to expose a patch of skin several shades lighter than the tan of his face, neck, and forearms. Duke was quick to straighten his shirt and keep himself decently covered in the presence of a lady. At least as decent as one could be in such a soggy state. Clint, on the other hand, gave his state of undress absolutely no consideration as he raised a bare arm out of the water to wave at his sister.

“Did you see me, Sam? Duke says I’m pickin’ it up really fast.” His smile was so wide it made her heart ache with gladness. All hints of the overprotective brother worried for her safety had disappeared, replaced by a boy excited by his accomplishments. Exactly how it should be.

“You’re doing great! Maybe one day you’ll be good enough to teach me.”

He stood a little taller in the water, his shoulders just far enough above the surface for her to make out the small crescent-shaped birthmark directly beneath his collarbone. It had been bright red when he’d been born but had faded to a dull brick color over time. Mother hadn’t liked the blemish and had asked Mrs. Stewart to handle bathing and dressing the baby. Samantha would help sometimes, and one day she’d asked Mrs. Stewart about the mark. The housekeeper had said it was where the angels had kissed him. Samantha had been rather jealous after that, especially when a search in her own bath had turned up no angel-kissed places on her skin. Eventually, of course, she’d learned that it was simply a birthmark. Nothing inherently ugly or blessed about it. It was just a part of her brother, like his big heart and long feet.

“Where’re you off to today?” Duke asked, his expression reverting back to the formal lines typical of her interactions with him. He’d always treated Clint with warmth and familiarity while treating her with cool aloofness. She supposed that was natural since he spent his days mentoring her brother in the skills of ranching while she remained uninvolved on the sidelines.

“We’re heading to the old Ellis place,” Samantha replied with a matching level of polite detachment. “Daddy gave me permission to help Mrs. Ellis try to revitalize the garden there.”

Her brother’s smile flattened a bit. “Martin’s going with you, right?”

“Yes, as is Ida Mae and half the Ellis family. I’ll be fine. We’re taking lunch with us, so you can expect me back early afternoon.” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go back to your lessons.”

Clint’s eyes didn’t leave hers, and an odd sense of foreboding wiggled down her spine. “Stay safe, sis.”

“You too. Don’t go drinking half the pond again, all right?” She teased him, hoping to dissipate the uneasiness that had snuck up on her, but it lingered all the way to the Ellis farm.

24

Elizabeth Ellis’s gentle grace had never been more evident than while she walked the rows of her garden. Samantha marveled at her optimism in the face of such bleakness. Knee-high weeds, shriveled vegetables crawling with insects, dead vines covered in yellowed leaves. Samantha had been utterly depressed at the scene. Yet Asher’s stepmother’s eyes twinkled with delight over each discovery she unearthed.

Clad in a wide-brimmed straw hat, work apron, and garden gloves, Mrs. Ellis looked completely at home in the half-acre plot while Samantha felt as if she were visiting a foreign land. She recognized the dried-out corn stalks at the back of the plot, but the rest of the plants blended together in a leafy mess her untrained eyes were unable to sort. Afraid she’d uproot plants instead of weeds, Samantha volunteered for water duty, filling the large watering can Mrs. Ellis had brought and traipsing back and forth from the garden to the pump. Martin manned the hoe and shoveled out the worst of the bug-eaten produce while Elizabeth and Ida Mae hand-pulled the smaller weeds among the plants and harvested whatever edible vegetables they could find.

The sun shone brightly, quickly warming the cool morning air into something more oppressive. Samantha’s steps began to drag. She swore the watering can weighed twice as much on her sixth trip as it had on her first. Pausing in the shade of the house, she set the can down and stretched out the kink that had developed in her neck. Her arms ached, her back throbbed, and her glistening shine of feminine perspiration had transitioned into the unattractive dripping of sweat twenty minutes ago. She couldn’t say she enjoyed the work, yet it filled her with a singular satisfaction that made her discomfort worthwhile. And every time Asher’s mother exclaimed over finding a slightly stunted cucumber or still-tender pea pod, Samantha’s arms ached a little less.

Retrieving a handkerchief from her apron pocket, Samantha dipped the cotton square into the watering can and squeezed out the excess water. She ran the cloth over her face and neck, biting back an audible sigh as the dampness cooled her skin. Her gaze traveled to the blanket near the front of the house, where Fergus entertained Jimmy with a pair of sticks representing characters in a very animated story.

“Miss Dearing! Come see.” Mrs. Ellis waved her over to a patch covered with dying vines, her face alight with excitement.

Thinking she must have found some hint of life in the plant cemetery surrounding her, Samantha bent to collect the watering can, ready to do what she could to aid the resurrection process, but Mrs. Ellis shook her head.