And the fact that all of this was found on a ranch in the middle of Colorado told her that Luke Butler was a man of wealth.
In an attempt at small talk and in getting to know the housekeeper, when she had questioned Maria as to how big the ranch was, the other woman had looked puzzled and had waved her hand in an airy way and replied that it went everywhere.
Emma wondered what exactly everywhere meant.
Before she left her room, she had washed as quickly and as well as she could, because she was anxious to see the ranch and where she would be staying for what would very probably be a week or so. Because she didn't have her things, she'd had no choice but to sleep in a single petticoat and put on the same dress that she had worn the previous day.
When she had haltingly arrived at the kitchen, Luke was nowhere to be seen, but the signs of his occupation were everywhere. Several hats identical to the one he had been wearing hung on pegs next to the door, and a coffee cup and used plate were still situated at the head of the table where he had undoubtedly had his breakfast.
She had found Maria, and had shyly introduced herself and offered her help in any way she could.
Maria was a pleasant, rotund soul with knowing, dark brown eyes and twin dimples in her cheeks that were forever creased in happiness for one reason or another.
Now, after a pleasant morning of chit-chat and female camaraderie, Emma was more than pleasantly surprised to realize that she liked the older woman and that her tentative feelings seemed to be returned.
But why in the world, she had opened her mouth and asked that question about Luke was beyond her. But it had slipped out. She had mentioned that Luke had prepared her a meal the night before and had taken pains to put her at her ease by telling her that he was far less gruff than he sounded.
And now Maria stood in front of her, her mouth open in shock, seemingly at a loss for words.
Emma dried the skillet and pans while sitting at the table, her chair turned to face Maria as they worked together and talked at the same time. Her hands stalled as she tried to interpret Maria's expression. She explained her question to the woman further, "I haven't been around men very much. He seems to be exactly like he is on the surface."
"And how is that?" Maria asked.
Emma's mouth formed a half-smile. "Stubborn." Her eyes flew to Maria's and asked, "Short-tempered, maybe?"
"Yes, these things are true about Luke."
"But not soft, as he told me?"
Maria's mouth twisted in a grimace. "I am not sure exactly why he would say such a thing to you. Soft? No."
They studied each other for a moment and when Emma didn't respond, Maria added, "He is a good man, but soft? No." She shook her head in denial.
"He's not mean, surely?"
"Mean? No, not exactly. Fair, I would call it. A man that is responsible for a ranch of this size and the many men under him, has to have a firm hand, would you not agree?"
Emma nodded her head in agreement, but her mind wandered. That description sounded exactly like the man she had met last night, although she hadn't had much time to develop an appreciation yet as to whether or not he could be called fair.
Certainly, when he realized her adversity to the milk he hadn't pressed it.
In fact, by the sound of things he had tried to calm her fears.
She did like that about the man.
****
Emma wasn't very happy with the lie she was embroiled in pertaining to her 'twisted ankle.' Evidently, Luke had told Maria and Maria was treating her much like an invalid.
She wanted nothing more than to go outside and explore but she couldn't because of her 'injury.'
Instead, she sat in a cushioned, comfortable chair with her leg propped up, reading a copy of the Farmers' Almanac.
She was quite understandably bored, really didn't know anything about farming and didn't particularly want to learn at the moment, and her eyes kept lifting to the window overlooking the kitchen garden. It was lost on her completely the irony of the book she held, versus the place she wanted to be.
The colors spilling from the plot were amazing. Maria had proudly boasted that the garden was hers, and when Emma had enthusiastically wanted to see it, she had been promised that treat when her leg healed properly.
Her leg would never heal properly and she was itching to go see the garden now. To the left and right of the garden, bright yellow flowers guarded the plot like sentinels would a much loved castle. The garden itself exploded in colors bursting of orange, greens, reds, and yellows. Emma could see tomatoes, cucumbers, okra, peppers, and squash.
She had always loved working in the garden at the orphanage; it was one of her favorite memories and one she cherished from her youth.
She had had no family, no mother to love her, but the garden was a constant that grew year after year, it seldom changed, and could always be counted on for nourishment and was a continued form of exercise.
Twenty minutes later, as Emma was still sitting and dreaming about the garden, Maria came through and told her she would be out at the barn for an hour or so to take her husband his lunch. She explained that she did this every day, and then she would come back and prepare Luke's lunchtime meal as well.
As soon as the door closed behind Maria, Emma wasted no time but jumped up and walked as swiftly as she could through the back door and out to the garden. She looked around but saw no one else, and as Maria had walked in the opposite direction and the house stood between them, Emma felt safe wandering up and down the manicured rows of vegetables.
She spied radishes and turnips, potatoes and rhubarb. She picked a small, cherry tomato and popped it in her mouth. The sensation of tomato and sunlight hit her palate, and she closed her eyes and enjoyed being in a garden for the first time in many years.
She pulled a few weeds and tossed them away, knelt down and felt the soil to see if it was well irrigated, and slowly came to her feet again.
The vegetables were fat and overflowing, and she knew they needed to be picked or they would begin suffering. Surely Maria had too much to do and needed help with the chore.
Emma was determined to approach her with the offer if it turned out she would be here for awhile. Even if she wasn't, Emma would dearly love to be able to spend a few wonderful hours picking and preparing the vegetables for the table.
She couldn't stop herself, and gathered five large size yellow squash and held them close to her chest as she began to pick her way carefully back to the house.
She turned too quickly and stepped on a hard, protruding rock. Immediate pain shot through her right leg and she dropped the vegetables as she fell to the ground.
Clenching her teeth at the throbbing coming from the sole of her foot, she reprimanded herself silently for not being more careful. She sat on her bottom in the moist dirt and rubbed her foot, trying to ease the pain. She looked around her and rolled her eyes at her own carelessness. Now her only dress was covered in damp soil.
She slowly got to her feet and began picking up the precious squash. There was not a solitary chance she was going to leave the vegetables to rot after what she had just gone through.
Slowly, being more careful this time, she began walking back to the house. Her foot was still sore and she realized with a bit of humor that she was well and truly limping now. She was favoring not only her right leg, but her right foot as well.
She had only just left the cover of the garden when she saw Luke taking long strides toward her. He came to stand in front of her, and he said not a word.
As Emma stood in front of him holding her cache of squash, she felt exactly like a small child that was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. He towered over her, and she bit her lip and held it between her teeth as he studied her.
His eyes dropped to her mouth and when they stayed there, her pulse started racing and she darted her tongue out to lick her suddenly dry lips. His eyes slowly lifted to hers.
"What are you doing out here?" His voice sounded d
eceptively mild.
"Picking vegetables?" she responded.
"Are you asking me or are you telling me? Sounds like you're not too sure."
Her voice became stronger. "Yes, I was picking vegetables."
"Who said you could do that?" A dark frown covered his face.
"Nobody said I couldn't," she responded mildly.
"Did I tell you to stay off that ankle?" His tone changed to one of censure.
"Um, I believe you did."
"Are you off that ankle?" He taunted her.
"Not presently, no."
There was silence between them.
She shuffled her feet, trying to relieve the pain in her foot. He noticed the movement and cursed under his breath.
Luke swung her up in his arms and carried her through to the kitchen and dumped her in a chair at the kitchen table. She scooted as far back from him as she could until her spine hit the back of the chair. He grabbed the vegetables from her and tossed them on the table.
He needed her to understand how life on the ranch was. He leaned down and put his hands on the arms of the chair and stared down into her upturned face. "You don't know how to mind very well, do you?"