Free Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] by Starry Montana Sky

up?”
    Tim flicked a look at Jack. The man’s request seemed harmless enough, and he nodded at his brother. Tim stepped over and pumped the water. Jack watched, wishing his ma had had one of these. Hauling water from the crik had sure been a heap a trouble.
    “This is where the men wash up,” Thompson said. “I’ve sent Harry in to heat up some pails of water. In the meantime, you boys strip down.”
    Strip down. Bathe. No way!
He’d wait until summer and swim in the crik. That usually got him clean enough. Even Widow Murphy hadn’t been able to force the twins to take a bath. “I ain’t takin’ no bath.”
    The Thompson man glanced at him, gray eyes sharp as a shard from a broken mirror. “Yes you will, my boy.”
    Jack didn’t like how the man’s calm voice ran against the look in his eyes.
He’s a big ’un. Might not be a good idea to go up against him
, a small whisper said in his mind. He batted it away.
Give in now, who knows what would happen next.
“I ain’t takin’ no bath!”
    Thompson ignored him, turning away. “Daniel, you go first.”
    The boy nodded and fingered his tie.
    Coward, Jack thought.
    Thompson touched one of the metal hooks set into the fence. “Hang your clothes here.”
    “
Sí
, I mean, yes, sir.”
    Jack cleared his throat. “I told ya, I ain’t takin’ no bath.”
    “You want to eat?”
    “Rather starve.”
    “Too bad. You’ll miss Mrs. Toffels’s chicken and dumplings. And I’ll bet she’s made apple pie for dessert.”
    Jack wavered. Apple pie didn’t cross his path too often, but he sure did remember those times it had. Birthdays mostly. His ma had always tried to make a pie for the twins’ birthday. Been a long while since he’d had himself a piece of one. “I’ll wash my hands and face,” he conceded. After all, his ma had always made him wash up before dinner. He might as well do it here too.
    The big man dropped his hand onto Jack’s shoulder and squeezed. Not hard or painful like his pa would have done. But Jack caught the warning. “Look at it this way. You have a choice. Either you strip off your clothes and wash all over, or I’ll do it for you. And I have a heavy hand with the soap and scrub brush.”
    Footfalls on the porch of the bunkhouse, a jangle of spurs, announced the arrival of several wranglers. A short, stocky man with buckteeth stepped next to Thompson. “Well, what have we here?”
    Thompson eyed Jack, sending him a silent message. “Company. About to have a bath.”
    Jack took in the three other men flanking Thompson and knew he was outnumbered. He could maybe escape Thompson, but not all the rest of the hands. The idea of being wrestled down, stripped, and thrown in that trough burned his neck like a noose. He’d go along with this bath thing for today—have himself some of that apple pie. But too much soap and water might make him grab hold of Tim and light out for the hills.

    A feeling of peace began in Samantha’s stomach, like the glow of a coal uncovered from the ashes, sending relaxation through her. With a contented sigh, she leaned against the back of the rose velvet wing chair in Wyatt’s parlor, relishing the warmth from the blaze in the fireplace. Tomorrow would bring its challenges. But now, clean and well fed, with the children tucked into bed, she could savor these few minutes before she retired to sleep.
    Across from her, the matching wing chair held a needlepoint pillow with cabbage roses worked in pinks and reds. Roses also decorated the vases perched on the enormous mahogany mantle. But it was the portrait above the mantle that caught her attention.
    Christine’s mother. It was evident by the curling blonde hair and big blue eyes. The pink full-bustled dress she wore matched the roses she carried in her hands. Did Wyatt still miss her? Samantha envied his having a portrait of his wife. Juan Carlos had never sat for a portrait, nor had a photograph taken. They’d always meant to—
    The sound of measured