struck her was the quiet and the purity of the air here in Cicero Creek. With all of the industry in Chicago, the air was often awash with foul-smelling smoke coughing from tall chimneys. Crowds of people hurried to and fro on the streets as cool winds blew in from the lake. This slower, quieter pace would take some getting used to.
She was pleased to see there were a few stores: Stoner and Son’s Mercantile, Olofsson Furniture and Cabinetry, Evans Boot and Saddle Making, and LeMann’s General Store.
She smiled at the conflicting sign in Gertie’s Bakery window: Expert Teeth Pulling. A sign squeaked, swaying overhead on the building’s second story: Gertie’s Boarding House: Clean Sheets Extra.
Four horses were tied to the hitching post in front of the Red Garter Saloon. Next to it was Billy’s Barber Shop and Coffins. Before they passed the schoolhouse, Boone turned the buggy toward the tree-lined creek.
Chapter Seven
They crossed the creek where it was roughly twelve feet wide. Once Boone had the buggy out of the water, he drove under a wooden arch rising out of stone posts. Hanging from the split-rail arch was a wooden sign that read, “Annie’s Ranch.”
He pointed to the sign. “Your grandfather took down the sign that said, ‘Tanner’s Ranch’ and hung this after he found out you were coming. He was as excited about having you move in with him as a kid at Christmas with an orange in his stocking.”
A warm rush of emotion swept through Annalee. Grandpa had renamed the ranch in her honor, using his nickname for her. She smiled and squared her shoulders, thrilled that the ranch—her future home—carried her name.
Boone urged the team up a hill where a narrow lane had been cleared of pines and cottonwoods. At the top of the hill sat a log cabin, so silent it screamed of loneliness. Annalee didn’t know whether to cry or to turn tail and run.
He stopped the buggy in front of the steps leading to the covered porch. After helping Cora down, he wrapped his hands around Annalee’s waist and set her on the ground. She slowly surveyed the area. Chickens pecked the dirt around a leaning, patchwork chicken coop. Two horses nickered a welcome inside the confines of the split rail fence adjacent to the stable. Trees were in rows beyond the outbuildings, like empty desks in a schoolhouse.
Boone saw where she was looking. “Those are Lee’s prized orchards—apples, peaches, pears, and cherries. About twenty acres’ worth. He owns eight hundred acres on this side of the creek. About four hundred on the other side. Raised cattle mostly, some hogs and chickens.”
“I don’t know anything about farming or ranching. I’m a seamstress.” Her heart sank as reality hit. “I’ve never lived alone, much less out in the wilderness. Never gathered an egg or chopped wood.”
Boone smiled. “You’ll learn.”
“Can I see the bunkhouse from here?” She hoped having the ranch hands nearby would lessen this solitary feeling grasping at her with frigid fingers.
He took her arm, escorted her closer to the barn, and pointed off in the distance. When he did so, his other arm encircled her. She tried to ignore his nearness, really she did, but the warmth and strength of him beguiled her. He smelled of bay rum, leather, and the outdoors. His deep voice made her toes curl in her boots.
“See the log cabin yonder at the edge of the fruit trees? That’s the bunkhouse. The men take care of the cattle and the range. Now that your grandpa’s gone, they tend to the chickens and the milk cow.” He looked at her and caught her staring. His expression softened, and he whispered, “Are you paying attention, lil’ greenhorn?” He pulled her closer to him.
She nodded, feeling the heat of a blush kiss her cheeks, embarrassed he’d caught her watching him.
“I love it when you blush.” His head inclined toward hers, and her stomach did a twitchy thing. He wouldn’t kiss her, would he?
“It’s so isolated here.”
She was pleased to see there were a few stores: Stoner and Son’s Mercantile, Olofsson Furniture and Cabinetry, Evans Boot and Saddle Making, and LeMann’s General Store.
She smiled at the conflicting sign in Gertie’s Bakery window: Expert Teeth Pulling. A sign squeaked, swaying overhead on the building’s second story: Gertie’s Boarding House: Clean Sheets Extra.
Four horses were tied to the hitching post in front of the Red Garter Saloon. Next to it was Billy’s Barber Shop and Coffins. Before they passed the schoolhouse, Boone turned the buggy toward the tree-lined creek.
Chapter Seven
They crossed the creek where it was roughly twelve feet wide. Once Boone had the buggy out of the water, he drove under a wooden arch rising out of stone posts. Hanging from the split-rail arch was a wooden sign that read, “Annie’s Ranch.”
He pointed to the sign. “Your grandfather took down the sign that said, ‘Tanner’s Ranch’ and hung this after he found out you were coming. He was as excited about having you move in with him as a kid at Christmas with an orange in his stocking.”
A warm rush of emotion swept through Annalee. Grandpa had renamed the ranch in her honor, using his nickname for her. She smiled and squared her shoulders, thrilled that the ranch—her future home—carried her name.
Boone urged the team up a hill where a narrow lane had been cleared of pines and cottonwoods. At the top of the hill sat a log cabin, so silent it screamed of loneliness. Annalee didn’t know whether to cry or to turn tail and run.
He stopped the buggy in front of the steps leading to the covered porch. After helping Cora down, he wrapped his hands around Annalee’s waist and set her on the ground. She slowly surveyed the area. Chickens pecked the dirt around a leaning, patchwork chicken coop. Two horses nickered a welcome inside the confines of the split rail fence adjacent to the stable. Trees were in rows beyond the outbuildings, like empty desks in a schoolhouse.
Boone saw where she was looking. “Those are Lee’s prized orchards—apples, peaches, pears, and cherries. About twenty acres’ worth. He owns eight hundred acres on this side of the creek. About four hundred on the other side. Raised cattle mostly, some hogs and chickens.”
“I don’t know anything about farming or ranching. I’m a seamstress.” Her heart sank as reality hit. “I’ve never lived alone, much less out in the wilderness. Never gathered an egg or chopped wood.”
Boone smiled. “You’ll learn.”
“Can I see the bunkhouse from here?” She hoped having the ranch hands nearby would lessen this solitary feeling grasping at her with frigid fingers.
He took her arm, escorted her closer to the barn, and pointed off in the distance. When he did so, his other arm encircled her. She tried to ignore his nearness, really she did, but the warmth and strength of him beguiled her. He smelled of bay rum, leather, and the outdoors. His deep voice made her toes curl in her boots.
“See the log cabin yonder at the edge of the fruit trees? That’s the bunkhouse. The men take care of the cattle and the range. Now that your grandpa’s gone, they tend to the chickens and the milk cow.” He looked at her and caught her staring. His expression softened, and he whispered, “Are you paying attention, lil’ greenhorn?” He pulled her closer to him.
She nodded, feeling the heat of a blush kiss her cheeks, embarrassed he’d caught her watching him.
“I love it when you blush.” His head inclined toward hers, and her stomach did a twitchy thing. He wouldn’t kiss her, would he?
“It’s so isolated here.”
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