Charming Jo Read online

  She shot a final warning look at both of them before kneeing her animal forward. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

  She rode off in the same direction as Clay while Levi stood watching her go.

  “Is she always like that?” he asked, more to himself than Mac, since the only response he expected from Mac was a bullet between the eyes.

  With a defeated sigh, Mac swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and shot a final glare at his niece’s back before turning to Levi. “You mean stubborn?”

  “Yeah, but. . .”

  “Bossy?”

  “Yeah. . .”

  “Ornery?”

  Levi snickered. “There’s just something about her – what the hell is it?”

  Mac jabbed a gloved finger at him. “You keep the hell away from her, Travers. She’ll have you for breakfast. And if she doesn’t, I will!” His voice lowered, but the warning remained. “Jo isn’t like other girls.”

  Levi chuckled. “I noticed.”

  “Well stop noticing! That there’s one woman you’d do well to leave alone.” Mac spat on the ground and turned toward the barn, mumbling to himself. “Don’t know why I let her grind me - she’s never gonna change.”

  A low whistle escaped Levi’s lips. “Why would you want her to?”

  CHAPTER 3

  Jo cursed up at the old windmill. Seemed like she’d just fixed the damned thing, but from the way the wheel was spinning so violently, she was going to have to climb up there again.

  If only she didn’t have to climb so high. People were inventing things all the time nowadays – so why couldn’t someone invent a better way to fix a damned windmill? A way that wouldn’t force her to climb thirty feet straight up.

  She could go get Travers to do it. In fact, she should go get him. But she wouldn’t. No way would she give him the satisfaction of thinking she couldn’t handle her own damned ranch.

  Besides, he didn’t need to know she’d rather face down a den of rattle snakes than climb that ladder. That was her own business.

  She rode back to the stable, saddled a second horse and searched around until she found Newt. The old man was perched on an upturned pail in the barn next to one of the milk cows that he’d somehow managed to tie to a rail.

  But from the looks of things, his crippled fingers weren’t about to get any milk from that udder – no matter how full it was, or how loud the cow bawled.

  “Dammit, girl, just be still.” Almost white hair poked out from beneath his hat and his thin gray whiskers gave his weathered face a look of gruffness – like he needed anymore of that.

  If it weren’t for his arthritis, he’d be the most sought-after ranch hand in the county. And even though he couldn’t do most of the jobs that needed to be done at the Double M, Joanna insisted he stay on. After all, it had been Newt who’d comforted her after her mama died; Newt who’d finally convinced her to accept Ginny and Mac onto the ranch; and Newt who’d stayed on even after Papa died and Jo had taken over.

  “Hey Newt. I could use your help with something.” Jo squatted next to him, gently eased his hands away, and pumped the teats just as he’d taught her so many years ago. Milk sprayed into the bucket in sharp bursts.

  “Not so fast,” he growled. “Find your rhythm. There you go.”

  Jo hid her smile as best she could. Newt might be old and tired, but he held firm to his code – do the job right or get the hell out of the way and let him do it.

  “I have to fix that sucker rod again, and I need your help.” Jo gave the cow’s flank a gentle pat, eased the bucket out from beneath the beast, and set it aside. “All I need you to do is control the horses while I haul up the rod and --”

  “I know what needs to be done.” Newt fumbled with the rope for a long moment before he finally freed the cow and walked her back to her stall. “Just ‘cuz I can’t do it no more, don’t mean I don’t know how.”

  “Newt. . .” Jo stopped. Nothing she could say would make it any better. “You get the tools and I’ll run this up to Ginny. Meet you outside.”

  His only response was a loud grunt.

  Half an hour later, they had the horses tied to the block and tackle and Jo was on her way up the thirty-foot ladder.

  “Mac ain’t gonna like this,” Newt muttered. “He ain’t gonna like this at all.”

  Jo swallowed her reply. It was Mac’s fault she was up there in the first place. He was even more scared of heights than she was, otherwise, she’d sure as hell have him up there doing it instead.

  She hauled up the joint rod, fished around for what seemed like forever before she finally hooked up the plunger, then set to repairing the break.

  Cattle milled below, bawling loudly.

  “These here animals ain’t sounding too happy, Jo.” Newt didn’t sound nervous – just impatient.

  “I’m working as fast as I can, Newt. It’s not exactly easy, you know.”

  “Don’t start preaching to me about how hard it is, missy. I been fixing windmills longer ‘n you been breathin’.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Then you know, too, that you shoulda damn well got someone else to do this. I know you got that Travers fella workin’ here now. He coulda done it.”

  Jo risked a glance down. “You know about Travers already?”

  “For God’s sake, girl, don’t look down.” Newt shook his head. “Didn’t I teach you nothin’?”

  Jo turned her attention back to the rod. “How’d you find out so fast?”

  “Clay done told me.” He almost sounded hurt. “Woulda been nice to hear it from you or Mac,” he continued. “But no, I gotta hear it from the runt.”

  “Sorry, Newt – but things are a little crazy around here in case you didn’t notice.”

  “I noticed alright,” he growled. “An’ you think hiring Travers is gonna make them less crazy?”

  Jo shrugged. “No.” She set the mill to spinning again and began the long climb down. “All I’m thinking is that he can ease some of the workload for a while.”

  He clicked his tongue. “You’re foolin’ yourself, girl. Hiring a cur like him is just asking for more trouble.”

  The sounds of an approaching wagon turned their attention from the mill.

  “And speakin’ of trouble,” Newt muttered, shaking his head.

  Carrie pulled to a stop beside the other horses. As she fluffed her hair and straightened her skirts, she didn’t even look at Jo or Newt.

  “I thought Mr. Travers might be with you.”

  “He’s not.” Jo stepped to the ground and peeled her gloves off finger by finger. “And don’t bother going looking for him, either. He’s busy.”

  “But I brought lemonade.” Carrie searched the surrounding land, as though surely Travers would pop out from behind a tree at any moment.

  “Good,” Newt said, stepping forward. “I’m damn near parched.”

  “Me, too.” Jo chuckled as she lifted the cup and jug of cool lemonade from the seat beside Carrie and offered it first to Newt.

  When he’d had his fill, he passed her the cup and she drank more than she normally would have – just to prickle Carrie. She set the near empty jug on the seat and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

  “Go home, Carrie. Leave Travers alone.”

  “You’re such a poop, Joanna,” Carrie said, obviously unmoved by Jo’s warning. “I just wanted to take him some refreshment.”

  “He’s got a canteen,” Newt said. “An’ if he don’t, that’s his problem. Not yours.”

  He and Jo set about collecting the tools and unhitching the horses from the blocks. Carrie remained where she was, shading her eyes with one hand while keeping a firm grip on the reins with the other. Even Carrie wasn’t stupid enough to let down her guard around the milling cattle.

  “Will he be joining us for supper?” she asked.

  “Who?” Jo and Newt both asked at the same time, then grinned at each other.

  “Mr. Travers.” C
arrie’s tone was becoming increasingly annoyed.

  Newt eyed Jo for a minute, then sighed and clicked his tongue.

  “Yes,” Jo answered slowly. “That was part of our agreement. He’ll eat his meals with us, Carrie, but if you think for one minute about carrying on --”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Carrie didn’t even pretend to look offended.

  Newt lifted the heavier tools into the buggy beside Carrie and frowned at her.

  “I’m leavin’.” He turned back to Jo. “Unless there’s something else?”

  “No, that’s it. Thanks, Newt.”

  He climbed up into his saddle, nodded at Jo, and urged his horse back toward the yard.

  When Carrie clicked to her horse, Jo took the animal by the bridle and looked up at her sister.

  “I mean it, Carrie. Levi Travers is not someone you want to be toying with.”

  “I’m not toying with him, Joanna.” Carrie rolled her eyes dramatically. “He’s merely a means to an end for me and I intend to make good use of him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Carrie smiled sweetly. “San Francisco. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “Wha. . .?”

  “Milly Jean told me he’s on his way there, and I intend to go with him.” She looked so smug, it took all Jo’s control not to leap up into the buggy and slap her.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Jo managed to keep from yelling – but barely. “We’re not going to let you go to San Francisco.”

  “Yes,” Carrie answered dryly. “I know. You’ve made it perfectly clear where you will and will not allow me to go. But I’m old enough to make my own decisions now, Joanna. And I’m going.”

  Why did she have to be so infuriating? Why couldn’t she go along with things – just once?

  “You’re not going.” Jo released the reins so she could collect the remaining tools.

  “Yes,” Carrie answered, her voice more confident than Jo had ever heard. “I am.”

  “And what, exactly, are you going to do when you get there?”

  “I don’t care. As long as it has nothing to do with cows, chickens or dirt.”

  “Where will you stay? You’ll need to get a job.”

  Carrie shrugged, but there wasn’t a trace of indecision in her voice. “I’ve already written Aunt Meredith and she’s agreed to let me stay with her.”

  “Aunt Meredith?” Jo choked. “But she’s an actress!” Aunt Ginny would die a thousand deaths at the thought of Carrie living with an actress.

  “Yes,” Carrie sniffed. “I’m well aware of her occupation, Joanna. Unlike you, however, I am not such a snob. It doesn’t matter to me, as long as I have a place to sleep until I find something else.”

  “But Aunt Meredith?”

  “Yes.” She swatted at a mosquito. “Do you have a better suggestion?”

  “You’re damned right I do.” But Carrie wasn’t listening. She never did. “If you’re so set on leaving, why don’t we sit down with Mac and Ginny tonight and talk it over? I’m sure if we can find suitable arrangements for you, we’d all be more willing to let you go.”

  The look in Carrie’s sky-blue eyes chilled Jo clear down to her toes.

  “I really don’t care if you’re willing to ‘let me go’ or not,” she said. “I’m going. I have some money saved and since Mr. Travers is heading that way anyway, I can use him as my traveling companion to ward off any trouble.”

  “Ward off trouble?” Jo dropped the gear she was holding and grabbed Carrie’s horse again. “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble a man like Travers could cause? Think of your reputation, Carrie.”

  “Pish. San Francisco is big enough that no one will pay any mind to me arriving with the man and then parting ways. It’ll be forgotten faster than yesterday’s breakfast.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, Carrie,” Jo began, “but you have no idea what Travers is like. How do you know he won’t. . .I mean, how can you be sure your reputation will still be intact by the time you reach Aunt Meredith’s?”

  “Let go, Joanna. I need to get back.” Before Jo could step out of the way, Carrie snapped the reins against the animal’s back and sent it off the same direction Newt had gone.

  Jo watched the buggy bounce away, silently cursing everything around her. Carrie in San Francisco with Levi Travers. What would Mama think of that?

  o0o

  “I’m not waiting anymore. Let’s eat.” Jo passed the carrots to Carrie who took half a spoonful and passed the bowl on.

  Ginny set it down without taking any, a small frown puckered her brow. “A few more minutes won’t make any difference.”

  “If they can’t get themselves to the table on time, Ginny, that’s their fault.” With her fork jabbed into a huge piece of ham, Jo shrugged. “I’m hungry so I’m going to eat. You do what you like.”

  She continued to pile food on her plate while Ginny’s remained empty. Carrie picked at her carrots without eating anything. For long minutes, the only sound was Jo’s knife and fork scraping against her plate. The clock on the window ledge slowly ticked off the minutes and still no one spoke.

  Just as well. Better for the digestion, that’s what Mama used to say, anyway.

  Jo had just stuffed her last forkful of potatoes into her mouth when the door opened and the two men strolled in, both of them stiff and tense.

  Lines etched around Mac’s pale blue eyes, and his mouth pinched together in a tight line. Travers didn’t look much happier. The twinkle she’d watched dance in his eyes earlier had disappeared and his jaw clenched so tight, it made her own hurt just to look at him.

  “Sorry, Gin,” Mac offered, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “We had the darndest time herding one of the bulls. He was being as pig-headed as. . .well--”

  “Joanna?” Carrie’s suggestion was met with howls of laughter from both Mac and Travers. At least Ginny had the decency to hide her smile behind her napkins.

  The tension drained from both Mac’s and Travers’s faces. Jo shot them each a glare before swallowing the thick lump of potatoes still in her mouth.

  As the two men took their seats, Mac winked across the table at Jo and handed Travers the bowl of carrots. “I see some of you had the good manners to wait for us, this being Travers’s first meal here and all.”

  His last, too, Jo mused, if he didn’t stop staring at Carrie.

  “I’m sure you must be famished, Mr. Travers,” Carrie gushed as she lifted the meat platter and offered it to him.

  “Allow me.” He speared two big pieces of ham, passed the plate to Mac, then flashed her a bright smile. “Did you do the cooking tonight, Miss Carrie?”

  “No, but I made pie.” With a flutter of her lashes and a sugar-sweet smile, Carrie pointed toward the side board where the steaming pie sat cooling.

  Jo rolled her eyes. She should have known it wouldn’t just be Travers she need worry about – it was going to be Carrie who’d give her the most grief. That girl would flirt with anything in pants, except of course, Jo. And now that she had it in her head to go west with Travers, there’d be no telling what she’d do.

  “I see you got over your snit.” Jo looked pointedly at her uncle, who offered no explanation other than a shrug.

  She caught Travers looking at her; a small smile tugging at his lips. And even when he spoke to the others, his eyes kept shifting back to look at her.

  “Smells awfully good,” he said as he heaped more on his plate and nodded his thanks to Ginny. His hair fell in chestnut waves around his collar and over his forehead. Jo’s fingers itched to brush it out of his face, but no sooner had she pushed the thought away, than he did it himself – again flashing her a bright grin.

  “Miss Ginny,” he said. “I’m told you’re the best cook in the county.”

  Before Ginny could respond, Carrie puffed up like a peacock.

  “I’m learning all her secrets,” she said. “I believe every lady should know how to cook. Afte
r all, it’s the way to a man’s heart, isn’t it?” Her voice dripped with enough sweetness to make everyone else’s teeth ache.

  “Or a man’s coffin if you’re cooking,” Jo muttered into her napkin.

  Travers choked on his ham, swallowed a huge gulp of water, then grinned at Jo. Good God – had he heard her? No one else seemed to. Or maybe they were just used to it by now.

  Carrie’s lips curled into a forced smile. “I’m still learning, of course, but I help out when I can. Like with the pie.” Again she pointed toward the window.

  Jo swallowed her retort. No point in dragging this conversation on any longer. If Carrie wanted Travers to think she was a good cook, that was her business. And if he was stupid enough to believe her, that’d be a lesson he’d long remember.

  “Do you cook, Miss Joanna?” Travers leaned back in his chair, a knowing grin daring her to answer.

  With her mouth full of carrots, Jo’s only answer was a glare hot enough to cook his own hide.

  Mac swallowed and nodded toward Jo. “Joey doesn’t have time to cook. She’s got a ranch to run.”

  “So if Joanna runs the ranch and Ginny does the cooking,” Travers said, turning to Carrie. “What is it that you do?”

  “She handles the books,” Mac answered over his next forkful of carrots. “Smart as a whip that girl.”

  “Mac.” Ginny shook her head briefly as color flooded Carrie’s cheeks.

  “What? It’s the truth.”

  “Yeah.” Jo snorted. “But she doesn’t like people knowing it. She’d rather have people think she’s pretty.” She could feel Carrie’s heated glare, but for reasons she didn’t want to think about, Jo couldn’t stop herself. “After all, men don’t like smart girls, do they, Carrie?”

  “Joanna!” Carrie’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets any second. “I’m sure Mr. Travers isn’t interested in any of this.”

  “Actually,” Travers interrupted, his grin becoming even larger. “I am.” He winked at Jo. “In all your years, you never learned to cook at all? Not even a pie?”