Free Sweetwater by Dorothy Garlock Page A

ground-tied when I drop the reins.”
    “How remarkable. Back home we tie the reins to a weight on the ground.” At the door Jenny stopped. “Won’t you come in? The least I can do for what you’ve done for us is to offer you a meal.”
    “Flitter!” Cassandra snorted. “You’d better know before you accept that it’ll be burnt beans and rock-hard biscuits.”
    Laughing green eyes met Trell’s.
    “Now you know. Cooking is a skill of which I know very little. But I’m learning … from my little sister. We haven’t yet discovered how to control the darn cookstove, but we will.”
    “Even if she could
control
the stove, she couldn’t cook.”
    “Cass,” Jenny chided. “Why do you always have to be so frank?”
    “I’m being honest. And don’t call me Cass.”
    “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
    “You don’t like the name?” Trell asked. “I’ve always liked it.”
    “Why? Did you have a horse named
Cass
?”
    “No. I knew a woman who was the prettiest little thing I ever did see. She was sweet as sugar and … smart. Lordy, she was smart! And she could sing like a bird. Her name was Cass. The name’s been a favorite of mine because of her.”
    “Really? Did you love her?”
    “Like a sister.”
    “Well. In that case,
you
can call me Cass. But no one else can.” With the air of a queen, Cassandra walked into the house.
    Jenny watched her with a proud smile. She lifted her brows in question when she turned back to Trell.
    “It’s true.”
    He couldn’t stop looking at her. She didn’t seem to care at all that her face was smudged with black smoke and her hair hung in strands down her back. A sudden burst of happiness sent his heart galloping like a runaway horse.
    “I’ve met Irishmen before, Mr. McCall. You’re full of blarney, But I forgive you. You made Cassandra happy.”
    Trell took the water bucket and went to the pond. His observant eyes had spotted a well without a rope and a pulley. Had it been deliberately put out of use in order to make things here difficult for the teacher? He washed at the pond and ran his fingers through his hair before he put his hat back on his head. On the way back to the house he passed the woodpile where an axe lay on the ground. He picked it up, wiped it off and sank the blade in a stump.
    “I can bring over a rope and pulley so you can use the well,” he said when he returned to the house with a full bucket of water.
    “I would appreciate it. It would be easier than carrying it from the pond.”
    Jenny had washed and pinned up her hair. She introduced her younger sister, who was so bashful that she hid behind Jenny’s skirt.
    “You are our first visitor. Whit, Mr. Whitaker’s son, comes at night and brings grass for the horses. He’s Shoshoni and isn’t allowed off the reservation.”
    “Not even to come here and help with chores?”
    “I was told by the man who drove us out here that the agent would take a whip to him if he caught him. He’d better not touch that boy while I’m here! It is the silliest rule I ever heard. I intend to write to the Indian Bureau in Washington about it.” Jenny motioned for Trell to sit down. Cassandra and Beatrice took their places.
    “Jenny!” Beatrice whined. “I want bread and jam.”
    “We don’t have bread and jam, honey. Eat a cookie.” Then to Trell, “Cassandra made the cookies. They are really good.”
    “Too bad Tululla didn’t teach me to make biscuits.”
    “Help yourself to the beans. I’ll pour you a cup of tea. I do make a decent cup of tea.”
    “A person can’t live on tea, Virginia.” Cassandra passed Trell the plate of cookies. “I think you’ll find that these will go down much easier than Virginia’s biscuits. Tululla, our cook back home, said that the route to a man’s heart was through his stomach. I’m afraid Virginia will never get a man.”
    “I’m not looking for one, Cassandra.” For the first time Trell heard impatience in Jenny’s tone. “I admit that cooking