Yet, she'd proved herself capable.
She glanced his way, catching him looking.
He turned his attention to the water wagon ahead. "When this is empty, one of the boys will hitch the horses to it and refill the barrel at the creek. Usually about every five days." A smile tugged at his mouth. "Miles wants to build another so we can fill them both each time, then not have to worry about water as often. For now, though, we just have the one."
She studied the rig, and he tried to see it through her eyes. Dat had used an old four-wheeled wagon axle, then attached a large barrel that was about three feet wide across the center.
Miles had studied the barrel enough that he planned to make the second one himself. He would likely try to form the axle frame too, but they didn't have a full-sized forge, just an open fire and an anvil. The boy loved his tools though. He might attempt it anyway, if Jericho could find enough time to let him work on the project. Maybe once the first snow came and they weren't spending as many hours training the two-year-old horses.
Miles was right that having a second wagon would make the chore easier.
He reached for the spigot on the side of the barrel. "Put your hands under here, and the water will flow out to wash them."
She did as he said, moving far too close to him, as he had to keep twisting the handle for the water to flow. His arm brushed hers, but thankfully his shirt sleeves kept him from feeling her warmth.
When her hands were clean, he released the spigot. Then he dumped the dirty batter into the grass and turned the spigot so he could wash the pot.
"Is it better to bring the used dishes here to wash them then?" Miss Wyatt nudged his hand aside and turned the spigot so he could focus on the dish.
"If you like. That's what Sean and Lillian do, but before they came, whoever had kitchen duty usually brought in a bucket of water for the washing."
He could feel her interest sharpen, even without looking sideways at her.
"How long have they been here?"
She probably wanted to ask whose they were too. Every woman he'd ever met had been nosy. It wouldn't hurt for her to know these details. Might keep her from saying something that would hurt the children.
With the pot clean, he filled it with fresh water, then stepped away from the barrel. "Since last October. Our sister Lucy is—was—their ma. She, um, died, so I brought the children here to the ranch." He would never forget knocking at that shanty where she’d stayed in Virginia City. Little Sean had opened the door, and when the boy saw Jericho, he’d burst into tears.
It took a few minutes to quiet him enough to find out that Lucy's no-account husband had died of a fever, and the lad thought his mama was about to end the same way.
He'd pushed down the fear that gripped him, telling himself the boy's emotions made him exaggerate. But when he stepped into the bedroom, one look at Lucy on the blanket pallet on the floor made fear squeeze his throat with its clawing fingers. She barely lifted her covers, and the place stunk of vomit.
He'd tried to save her. He'd done everything he could. The doctor wouldn't come to that part of town, no matter how much Jericho offered to pay him. Said the epidemic was so bad in the shanties, there was nothing he could do. It simply had to run its course.
Jericho understood his meaning clearly—once everyone died who was going to anyway, the disease would clear up.
He'd not allowed his anger rein, though. Lucy and the children needed him. He'd spent the rest of that day and part of the night trying to get water and thin soup into his sister. But she'd passed away just before sunrise.
The children had cried, of course, but when he told them they were coming to live at the ranch—and that he'd bring their mother's body to be buried there—the first sign of hope touched their expressions.
They didn't deserve the life they'd been forced to live in that mining-town slum. Nor did Lucy. The difference was, she chose to stay with the lout she married, to allow that varmint to take away every dollar or bit of supplies Jericho brought her.
At least now the children were finally away from that hovel. Back on the ranch, where they could breathe freely and have plenty of food and a warm place to sleep.
"I'm sorry for your loss." Miss Wyatt spoke the words gently, not in that rote way that people often spoke condolences, but like she really felt them. Almost as though she could see his memories.
He nodded, then opened the front door. "It's good for Sean and Lillian to be here. Good for us all." He might have failed Lucy, but he wouldn't fail her children. He'd make sure they stayed here where they would be safe and happy and never want for anything.
After placing the pot of water on the stove for Miss Wyatt, he gathered up the other two buckets. "Use as many supplies as you need. I'll be making a run to Missoula Mills soon to restock."
He turned toward the door, a pail in each hand. "I'll fill these." It was about time he made himself useful around here. He had a house full of people depending on him, and he couldn't make a mistake.
CHAPTER6
Some of the potatoes had turned bad, so the stew would be more meat than anything, but this was the best Dinah could do. Naomi could have put together a much heartier meal, but the Coulter family would have to appreciate what Dinah could offer them.
That wouldn't go far in proving her worth to Mr. Jericho Coulter though.
