Whitefeather's Woman by Deborah Hale Read Free Book Online

night when he’d convinced Ruth andCaleb to let her stay on at the ranch. Her question, posed with a guarded posture and wary tone, puzzled him.
    â€œWhy should you clean the kitchen? If you can’t see that for yourself, ma’am, I don’t think you’re going to be much help to my sister.”
    â€œI know why the kitchen needs to be cleaned.” She stiffened and pushed a fallen lock of hair out of her eyes. “What I want to know is why you’re willing to help me. When I first arrived in town yesterday, you looked at me like I was a dead whale rotting on your shore. Later you spoke up for me with the Kincaids and now you propose to take charge of the children so I can set this mess to rights. What is it you want from me, Mr. Whitefeather?”
    The maverick filly out in the corral had exhausted his patience. He didn’t have a scrap left for this Boston filly who provoked a dust devil of contrary feelings within him.
    â€œWhat do I want?” he snapped. “How about a crumb of thanks? Or is that too much for a Montana half-breed to expect from a prissy New England lady?”
    Her fair complexion paled even further, until Barton’s spewed carrots stood out like a faceful of bright freckles. In John’s arms, the baby began to fuss. Rubbing the child’s back and rocking him, John softened his reproach of Jane Harris so as not to upset Barton further.
    â€œLast night, when you found out you didn’t have a job, you looked like somebody pretty near the end of her rope. When I walked through that door a few minutes ago, you appeared to have gone downhill in the meantime. Call me a gullible jackass, Miss Harris, but I’ve always had a soft spot for folks who are in trouble. If you can’t accept a little help with good grace, I reckon that’s your problem.”
    She thought his words over for an instant, then whispered, “I suppose it is.”
    Miss Harris looked too doggone appealing, and he wanted to stay mad. So John spun away from her and headed off to find Zeke.
    Over his shoulder he called, “Get busy and clean up around here. I’m doing this for my sister, not for you. She’ll be tuckered out when she gets back from doctoring Cicero. I don’t want her coming home to a kitchen that looks and smells like this one does.”
    Behind him he heard absolute silence, which pricked his curiosity so much he almost looked back. Instead he forced his feet down the hall and up the stairs to Zeke’s room.
    He tapped on the door. “Zeke, it’s me and Barton. Can we come in?”
    The door swung open. John almost flinched at the sight. He’d seen hog wallows cleaner than Zeke’s bedroom.
    The boy must have been cracking walnuts open with a hammer, for shells were spread across the wood floor like a crunchy carpet. Either the bed hadn’t been made that morning, or Zeke had climbed back under the covers recently. Discarded clothes lay everywhere. A company of painted toy soldiers littered one corner of the room where they had fallen in some pretend battle. Others sprawled behind a fortress of building blocks whose walls had been breached by imaginary artillery.
    Picking his way through the walnut shells, John cleared a spot on the rumpled bed, then sat down and began to bounce Barton on his knee.
    Zeke glanced around his room, as if noticing the mess for the first time. He knelt down and began sweeping the walnut shells into a pile.
    â€œDid she say you had to hang around indoors all day, too?” The boy’s lower lip thrust out in a stubborn pout.
    Sometimes John wondered if his young friend didn’thave the worst qualities of both his parents—Caleb’s stubborn streak and Marie’s spitefulness.
    â€œNope.” John shook his head. “I came in to get some coffee and a bite to eat.” Jane Harris had driven any thought of food or drink from his mind. “You housebound for the