Dreaming on Daisies by Miralee Ferrell

hated to see Leah distressed.
    She pushed the wide barn door to the side before he could spring forward and help. “You can unsaddle out here or bring your horse inside, if you’d rather.”
    “Inside is fine, thanks.”
    The next few minutes passed in silence as Steven made short work of stowing the saddle and the rest of his gear and stalling his gelding. He couldn’t miss the tension in Leah’s shoulders or the tightness in her voice. It might have been a mistake to move here, but he’d stick it out, at least for now.
    Maybe her fears over her father’s disapproval wouldn’t be realized, and the transition would go smoothly. How bad could the man be, anyway? He looked to be at least in his midfifties, so he should have some common sense by this stage of life. Surely he’d see that having an extra hand on the place, even for a few hours a week, was a benefit, not an aggravation.
    Leah silently beckoned and headed outside and around the barn. She walked with deliberate steps to a one-story clapboard structure with a stove pipe jutting from a shake-covered roof. A wide porch ran across the front and extended down one edge, with two rockers on each side of the door. A washbasin and pitcher perched on a shelf to the right, with a stack of firewood to the left.
    It appeared neat and tidy and exuded an air of hominess. “This is where you’ll bunk. You’ll take your meals with our family.”
    He stopped short. It never occurred to him that he wouldn’t do his own cooking. His pulse raced at the thought of eating a meal with Leah. He’d sat through any number of meals in polite company, but the idea of Leah Carlson sitting at the same table unnerved him. He wrenched his attention back to the bunkhouse. “How many ranch hands live here?”
    She shrugged. “You’re it. At least for now.”
    “You don’t have any other help?”
    “We do, but Buddy and his wife, Millie, have the room in the house that used to belong to my brother, Tom. Between Buddy, me, and Pa, we’ve done a decent job of keeping up with things, till lately.”
    She flung open the front door. “But it seems as if there’s more and more to do all the time. The herd has increased—lots of new calves this spring and colts old enough to work, plus equipment in need of repair.”
    Steven heard the hesitation in her voice and sensed what she hadn’t said. The ranch might be expanding, but he doubted Charlie Pape was doing much to pull his weight. “This looks fine. Did you do the decorating?”
    A blush enhanced her cheeks. “Millie helped. It’s not much, but we wanted it to be homey for—whoever came.”
    The neatly made bed to the right of the door had a clean pillow, a handmade quilt in bright colors, and a washstand near the foot. Three other beds were devoid of bedding, but a stove in the back of the room burned with a cheery blaze, and a coffeepot sat on the lid, exuding a mouthwatering smell. Cream-colored curtains outlined the front windows, and two braided rugs, one next to the bed and another on the hearth, added more color. A rocker with a high back and padded seat had been placed near a rustic bookcase with several volumes on the top shelf.
    He gave a low whistle. “It’s a sight better than the cabin that burned or my hotel room. I’m grateful, Miss Carlson.”
    Her face broke into a wide smile, a trait so rare that it made him short of breath. “We agreed it would be Leah, remember?”
    “Leah!” Boots thudded on the porch, and the door flew open. “What’s goin’ on around here? I put my horse in the barn, and there’s a gelding I ain’t never seen before. You’d better have a good explanation, girl. I don’t allow no tramp miners to bunk here, and you know it.”
    Leah’s smile disappeared, and a hard, tight expression took its place. Steven’s heart contracted at the raw pain he saw reflected there.
    By the time she turned and faced her father, though, all signs of anger were gone. “Hello, Pa. Millie should