A Headstrong Woman(4)

“My place isn’t at the table…”

“Join us, Millie,” Elijah ordered. He seemed almost as relieved as Alexandria for the distraction of another body.

Alexandria felt relief flood her as she claimed her seat and filled her plate with food she would do little more than pick at. Elijah and Millie chatted as they ate and Alexandria retreated into her thoughts. She was pulled from those thoughts by a knock at the door and looked up curiously as Elijah stood to answer it. Any break in their monotonous routine was welcome to Alexandria.

“Mornin’ Rand; is there a problem?” Elijah’s deep baritone floated to her ears.

“No, sir; a man just rode in and says he’s lookin’ for work,” the familiar voiced responded. Rand was good friends with Alexandria’s brother and was engaged to one of her school chums.

“Well, send him to the house after he has some breakfast and I’ll see him; we could use some extra help.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alexandria heard the echo of boots moving away and the click of the door before Elijah’s heavy foot falls brought him back to his breakfast. He and Millie resumed their conversation as though they had never been interrupted.

Elijah stood after he finished eating, “I’ll be in my office looking over some things.”

Alexandria watched him leave and then stood to help clear the table.

“You go on; I know you wanted to get started,” Millie nodded toward the door.

“Thanks, Millie,” she offered the woman a grateful smile.

Alexandria scooped Lilly onto her hip to carry the child outside. She wanted to weed the garden and give Lillian a chance to run off some energy before the day heated. She opened the door to stop short as she found herself face to face with buttons, not an altogether common occurrence for her at her height. She titled her head up to meet two cobalt blue eyes that immediately stole her breath at the amount of pain she found there before the man schooled his features and his eyes became guarded. Somehow that pain struck an all too familiar chord in her own heart. Alexandria took a step back and struggled to find her composure. Neither of them had spoken but it seemed as if a moment of kinship had passed silently and inexplicably between them.

“You must be looking for my husband,” she finally spoke the first acceptable words that came to her mind.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the man nodded.

“Follow me,” she instructed and turned to lead him to the nearby office.

“Elijah, your visitor is here,” she announced and turned to leave.





Elijah quickly stood and moved to greet the tall, slender man who now filled his office door way.

“Elijah Morris,” he extended his hand.

“Jonathon Stewart.”

The man’s hand shake was firm; that was a good sign. “Come in and have a seat.”

Elijah moved back around his desk and studied the man across from him. He had noted the man was nearly equal to him in height but where he was thick and solid, the man before him was slender, though by all appearances well-toned. With a thick head of wavy black hair and startling blue eyes he was likely popular with the ladies; what Elijah wanted to know was what kind of hand he would make. That wasn’t as easily discerned.

“Do you have any experience as a hand?” Elijah queried. The man didn’t bear the look of perpetual drifter as so many of the hands who shifted through.

“Yes, sir, I worked my uncle’s ranch every summer for three years.”

Elijah nodded in satisfaction; he was willing to give the man a try and expressed as much.

Several minutes later the two of them rode from the house to find the men and the herd.

“You say you worked your uncle’s ranch summers, what did you do the rest of the time?” Elijah asked to make conversation.

“It’s been several years since I worked my uncle’s ranch. I own a farm in South Dakota.”

“What brings you out here then?” Elijah eyed the man curiously. He watched pain cross the man’s face and wished he hadn’t asked.

“I buried my wife and stillborn daughter six weeks ago.”

The man’s voice was devoid of any emotion.

“I buried mine about a year ago,” Elijah shared. He watched confusion fill the younger man’s face. “That was my second wife you met at the house this morning,” he was not quite able to stop the grimace that accompanied the words. “I had my daughter to consider after Martha died and she needed a mother.”