Temper knew he had a lot of praying to do. And he had a feeling that Father Percy would be expecting him.
* * * *
Three days later, Temper was pulled from his daily chores by his boss. Holding a sheaf of papers, Ben drew him away from the barn, and they walked a short way up the path to the north pasture. Temper noted that he had discarded his crutch and was barely limping now. “How's the leg coming along?"
"Gettin’ there, Temper, gettin’ there. Now, I've been thinkin’ long and hard about what to do with that overgrown plot up there, and I've finally made up my mind.” He consulted his papers, the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. Temper leaned over and tried to sneak a peek. Ben grinned and rolled the bundle up, tapping it in the palm of his hand. “Not yet,” he admonished. “I want you to start clearing that brush and cutting down those trees. Once the horses are fed and watered, that's your priority, got it? Put together a crew. Use whoever you need to have it done by the end of the summer."
Temper's eyebrows shot up. It was a damn big job, and not a lot of time to do it in.
"I know,” Ben said, squinting in the direction of the plot in question. “It's askin’ a lot. But now I've got a plan, I'm of a mind to get it finished before winter."
"Yassir,” Temper acknowledged. He was fair itching with curiosity, but the one thing he had come to know about his boss was that the man could keep his lips tight until he was damn good and ready to talk.
A shout sounded from the barn, a single word that had them both running at top speed.
Fire!
Snow was closer and dashed into the barn before they got there. A faint wisp of smoke slipped out the top of the door and hung there in the air.
Temper veered off, heading straight for the well. He pumped a full bucket in seconds, his muscles driven by near panic, then hefted it and ran.
At first glance, things inside the barn looked bad, but a few seconds of peering through the haze of smoke revealed only a small fire smoldering in a hay bale. Temper made short work of it, waving a hand to try and clear the air. Frowning, he leaned over and plucked something out of the sodden hay. He held the limp cigarette up, suddenly aware of all the eyes that were fixed on him. Snow had Arcady by the collar, pinned up against a stall, and he was fair vibrating with anger. “He was sleepin', right there on that bale. Damn your hide, didn't I tell you what I'd do if I caught you smokin’ in here?” Snow gave him a little shake. Arcady stammered out a denial, but it fell on deaf ears.
"You're through here,” Ben said in that infuriating calm tone of his. “Get your gear. I'll draw your wages. Temper, Snow, get these animals out of here. Put ‘em in the training corral ‘til the smoke clears out."
Snow all but threw Arcady out the door as Temper hurried to follow orders. He wasn't looking forward to dealing with Ben's stallion, but he didn't have to. Ben put a bridle on the Bastard and led him out himself, swinging onto his bare back and trotting up to the main house.
When Temper brought out Obie's little chestnut mare, Arcady was standing toe to toe with Snow, his face red and every muscle in his neck standing rigid. The foreman stood still and quiet while the disgraced hand cursed at him, but a dark, ugly storm was moving in over Snow's face. Oh Lord , Temper thought, hustling the mare into the corral. If the men actually came to blows, he wanted to have his hands free.
"—and I'm tellin’ ya, it ain't mine! You told me no smokin’ in the barn, so I don't!"
Snow unclenched his jaw enough to grind out a response. “Whose was it, then? You're the only one workin’ down here."
Arcady cut his eyes toward Temper. “You! You set me up, didn't you?” He turned back to Snow, jabbing a finger in Temper's direction. “He's hated me right from the start. I bet he took a smoke out of my footlocker and left it in the barn!"
"What the hell, boy?”
* * * *
Three days later, Temper was pulled from his daily chores by his boss. Holding a sheaf of papers, Ben drew him away from the barn, and they walked a short way up the path to the north pasture. Temper noted that he had discarded his crutch and was barely limping now. “How's the leg coming along?"
"Gettin’ there, Temper, gettin’ there. Now, I've been thinkin’ long and hard about what to do with that overgrown plot up there, and I've finally made up my mind.” He consulted his papers, the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. Temper leaned over and tried to sneak a peek. Ben grinned and rolled the bundle up, tapping it in the palm of his hand. “Not yet,” he admonished. “I want you to start clearing that brush and cutting down those trees. Once the horses are fed and watered, that's your priority, got it? Put together a crew. Use whoever you need to have it done by the end of the summer."
Temper's eyebrows shot up. It was a damn big job, and not a lot of time to do it in.
"I know,” Ben said, squinting in the direction of the plot in question. “It's askin’ a lot. But now I've got a plan, I'm of a mind to get it finished before winter."
"Yassir,” Temper acknowledged. He was fair itching with curiosity, but the one thing he had come to know about his boss was that the man could keep his lips tight until he was damn good and ready to talk.
A shout sounded from the barn, a single word that had them both running at top speed.
Fire!
Snow was closer and dashed into the barn before they got there. A faint wisp of smoke slipped out the top of the door and hung there in the air.
Temper veered off, heading straight for the well. He pumped a full bucket in seconds, his muscles driven by near panic, then hefted it and ran.
At first glance, things inside the barn looked bad, but a few seconds of peering through the haze of smoke revealed only a small fire smoldering in a hay bale. Temper made short work of it, waving a hand to try and clear the air. Frowning, he leaned over and plucked something out of the sodden hay. He held the limp cigarette up, suddenly aware of all the eyes that were fixed on him. Snow had Arcady by the collar, pinned up against a stall, and he was fair vibrating with anger. “He was sleepin', right there on that bale. Damn your hide, didn't I tell you what I'd do if I caught you smokin’ in here?” Snow gave him a little shake. Arcady stammered out a denial, but it fell on deaf ears.
"You're through here,” Ben said in that infuriating calm tone of his. “Get your gear. I'll draw your wages. Temper, Snow, get these animals out of here. Put ‘em in the training corral ‘til the smoke clears out."
Snow all but threw Arcady out the door as Temper hurried to follow orders. He wasn't looking forward to dealing with Ben's stallion, but he didn't have to. Ben put a bridle on the Bastard and led him out himself, swinging onto his bare back and trotting up to the main house.
When Temper brought out Obie's little chestnut mare, Arcady was standing toe to toe with Snow, his face red and every muscle in his neck standing rigid. The foreman stood still and quiet while the disgraced hand cursed at him, but a dark, ugly storm was moving in over Snow's face. Oh Lord , Temper thought, hustling the mare into the corral. If the men actually came to blows, he wanted to have his hands free.
"—and I'm tellin’ ya, it ain't mine! You told me no smokin’ in the barn, so I don't!"
Snow unclenched his jaw enough to grind out a response. “Whose was it, then? You're the only one workin’ down here."
Arcady cut his eyes toward Temper. “You! You set me up, didn't you?” He turned back to Snow, jabbing a finger in Temper's direction. “He's hated me right from the start. I bet he took a smoke out of my footlocker and left it in the barn!"
"What the hell, boy?”
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