Dorothy Garlock Read Online Free Page A

something so everlastingly normal about a campfire. Cooking in the open was nothing new to Willa.
    Jo Bell sat on the end of the wagon swinging her legs.
    “There ’tis,” she said. “Ya better get started.”
    Jo Bell’s tone as well as her words irritated Willa. So this is the way it’s going to be, she thought. Well, not quite. She would do her share, but she’d not be relegated to the role of servant by this spoiled woman-child.
    “I’ll make biscuits. If you want meat fried, you’ll fry it yourself.” She took a cloth-wrapped slab of bacon from the supply box and smelled it to see if it was spoiled.
    “What?” The word exploded from Jo Bell’s pouting mouth. “Starr did
all
the cookin’.”
    “I’m not Starr. Slice and fry the meat. I’ll make cream gravy. And, Jo Bell, go wash your hands before you handle the food.”
    “Well . . . horse turds! Ya sure got bossy in a hurry and ya ain’t even slept with Papa yet.”
    “I’m not going to be
sleeping
with your father,” Willa said sharply, pulling the flour tin toward her and peering inside. The flour looked to be free of weevils.
    “He ain’t goin’ to like that none a’tall. What’a ya think hepulled ya outta that crowd for?” Jo Bell tossed the words over her shoulder on her way to the creek.
    Willa’s back hurt and her mind whirled in confusion and fear. She worked automatically. When the biscuit dough was made, she pinched it into shapes and filled the dutch oven. With a stick she scattered the hot coals and placed the pot among them.
    Charlie filled the water barrel. He was a nice-looking boy with straight dark brows and hair that hung down over his ears. He wore a battered felt hat with a snake skin wrapped around the crown. He caught Willa looking at him and looked away. So far he hadn’t uttered a word. That was to change quickly, and she would learn that he had plenty to say when he thought there was something worth saying.
    “Ma’am, your dog’s comin’.” The words were spoken to Willa’s back.
    She turned quickly and looked back along the trail. Her eyes glazed with tears when she saw the brown dog limping toward them. He broke into a painful lope, and by the time he reached them, his head was hanging and his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth.
    “Buddy! Buddy!” Willa ran to meet him, threw herself on her knees and encircled his big head with her arms. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. How did you find me?” The bushy tail, full of cockleburrs, wagged; a wet tongue licked her face. “Buddy, Buddy, I never thought I’d see you again.” She knelt there with her arms about the dog and cried unashamedly until Charlie touched her arm.
    “He’s been hurt. Looky here. Somebody bashed him a good one.” The boy’s gentle fingers prodded the lump on the side of the dog’s head.
    “Damn, damn them! That’s why he didn’t come to the house.”
    “The cut’s still open. I can put some pine tar on it. It’s what we do for the mules.”
    “Oh, Charlie, will you? I’d be so grateful.” In her joy of seeing her dog, she failed to register the fact that Buddy, who never allowed anyone but her and Papa Igor to touch him, was accepting the gentle caresses of the young boy.
    “Yes, ma’am. He’s wore out and hungry. Just think, ma’am. He followed the wagon tracks all this way. I was hopin’ he would.”
    “You knew he was my dog?”
    “Yes, ma’am. I saw him with you back in Hublett.” He stroked the dog’s shaggy head. “I always did want me a dog. Had one once, but he just went off and didn’t come back.”
    “Pa ain’t goin’ to like it one little bit.” Jo Bell came to stand with her hands on her hips.
    Buddy looked at her and stiffened, instinctively knowing that the girl didn’t like him. He turned to lick Willa’s cheek.
    “Are you hungry and thirsty, boy?” Willa asked.
    “Pa ain’t goin’ to stand for ya givin’ him none of
our
grub.”
    “Shut up, Jo Bell,” Charlie snarled.