But that will begin to change about the time your voice cracks. It just takes time.”
Janna knew that there would never be enough time in the whole world for her to grow into a man, but she had just enough common sense and self-control to keep that revealing bit of truth to herself. With steady motions she shoveled soup into Ty’s mouth.
“You trying to drown me?” he asked, taking the soup from her. “I’ll feed myself, thanks.” He crunched through a pale root of some kind, started to ask what it was, then decided not to. The first thing a man on the trail learned was that if it tastes good, don’t ask what it is. Just be grateful and eat fast. “What’s this about herbs and Shakespeare and letters?” he asked between mouthfuls of soup.
“My father and I used to divide up a play and read parts to each other. It helped to pass the time on the trail. I still have a trunk of his books,” she said, helplessly watching the tip of Ty’s tongue lick up stray drops of broth. “When I need supplies, I’ll go to the Lazy A or the Circle G and write letters for the cowhands. Most of them can’t read anything but brands, so I’ll also read whatever letters they’ve saved up until someone like me happens by.”
Ty looked at the thick, dark lashes, crystalline eyes and delicately structured face of the youth who was much too pretty for the man’s comfort. “Where did you go to school?” he asked roughly.
“On the front seat of a buckboard. Papa had a university degree and a case of wanderlust.”
“What about your mother?”
“She died when I was three. Papa told me her body just wasn’t up to the demands of her spirit.”
The spoon hesitated on the way to Ty’s mouth. He pinned Janna with an intense glance. “When did your Daddy die?”
She paused for an instant, thinking quickly. If she told Ty her father had died five years before, he would ask how a kid under ten had survived on his own. If she told Ty that she was nineteen, he would realize that the only way a nineteen-year-old boy could lack a deep voice and a beard shadow and muscles was if said boy was a girl wearing men’s clothing. She wanted Ty to figure that out for himself—the hard way.
“Papa died a few seasons back,” she said casually. “You lose track of time living alone.”
“You’ve lived alone since then?” he asked, startled. “The whole time?”
She nodded.
“Don’t you have any kin?”
“No.”
“Wouldn’t any of the townspeople let you trade room and board for work?”
“I don’t like towns.”
“Surely one of the ranches would take you on as a cook’s helper or fence rider. Hell, if you can tame a mustang, there isn’t a ranch anywhere that wouldn’t take you on as a mustanger,” Ty added, disturbed at the thought of an orphaned child wandering homeless over the land. “You could make a decent living catching and breaking horses for the rough string.”
“I don’t catch mustangs,” she said flatly. “Too many of them refuse to eat once they’re caught. I’ve seen them starve to death looking over a corral fence with glazed eyes.”
“Most mustangs accept men.”
Janna simply shook her head. “I won’t take a mustang’s freedom. I’ve gentled a few ranch-bred horses for women’s mounts or for kids, but that’s all.”
“Sometimes a man has to do things he doesn’t want to in order to survive,” Ty said, his eyes narrowed against painful memories.
“I’ve been lucky so far,” she said quietly. “More soup?”
Slowly, as though called back from a distance, he focused on Janna. “Thanks, I’d like that,” he said, handing over the plate. “While I eat, would you mind reading to me?”
“Not at all. Anything in particular you want to hear?”
“Do you have
Romeo and Juliet?
”
“Yes.”
“Then read to me about a woman more beautiful than the dawn.” He closed his eyes and smiled. “A well-bred lady of silk, softer than a summer breeze, with pale hair and skin
Janna knew that there would never be enough time in the whole world for her to grow into a man, but she had just enough common sense and self-control to keep that revealing bit of truth to herself. With steady motions she shoveled soup into Ty’s mouth.
“You trying to drown me?” he asked, taking the soup from her. “I’ll feed myself, thanks.” He crunched through a pale root of some kind, started to ask what it was, then decided not to. The first thing a man on the trail learned was that if it tastes good, don’t ask what it is. Just be grateful and eat fast. “What’s this about herbs and Shakespeare and letters?” he asked between mouthfuls of soup.
“My father and I used to divide up a play and read parts to each other. It helped to pass the time on the trail. I still have a trunk of his books,” she said, helplessly watching the tip of Ty’s tongue lick up stray drops of broth. “When I need supplies, I’ll go to the Lazy A or the Circle G and write letters for the cowhands. Most of them can’t read anything but brands, so I’ll also read whatever letters they’ve saved up until someone like me happens by.”
Ty looked at the thick, dark lashes, crystalline eyes and delicately structured face of the youth who was much too pretty for the man’s comfort. “Where did you go to school?” he asked roughly.
“On the front seat of a buckboard. Papa had a university degree and a case of wanderlust.”
“What about your mother?”
“She died when I was three. Papa told me her body just wasn’t up to the demands of her spirit.”
The spoon hesitated on the way to Ty’s mouth. He pinned Janna with an intense glance. “When did your Daddy die?”
She paused for an instant, thinking quickly. If she told Ty her father had died five years before, he would ask how a kid under ten had survived on his own. If she told Ty that she was nineteen, he would realize that the only way a nineteen-year-old boy could lack a deep voice and a beard shadow and muscles was if said boy was a girl wearing men’s clothing. She wanted Ty to figure that out for himself—the hard way.
“Papa died a few seasons back,” she said casually. “You lose track of time living alone.”
“You’ve lived alone since then?” he asked, startled. “The whole time?”
She nodded.
“Don’t you have any kin?”
“No.”
“Wouldn’t any of the townspeople let you trade room and board for work?”
“I don’t like towns.”
“Surely one of the ranches would take you on as a cook’s helper or fence rider. Hell, if you can tame a mustang, there isn’t a ranch anywhere that wouldn’t take you on as a mustanger,” Ty added, disturbed at the thought of an orphaned child wandering homeless over the land. “You could make a decent living catching and breaking horses for the rough string.”
“I don’t catch mustangs,” she said flatly. “Too many of them refuse to eat once they’re caught. I’ve seen them starve to death looking over a corral fence with glazed eyes.”
“Most mustangs accept men.”
Janna simply shook her head. “I won’t take a mustang’s freedom. I’ve gentled a few ranch-bred horses for women’s mounts or for kids, but that’s all.”
“Sometimes a man has to do things he doesn’t want to in order to survive,” Ty said, his eyes narrowed against painful memories.
“I’ve been lucky so far,” she said quietly. “More soup?”
Slowly, as though called back from a distance, he focused on Janna. “Thanks, I’d like that,” he said, handing over the plate. “While I eat, would you mind reading to me?”
“Not at all. Anything in particular you want to hear?”
“Do you have
Romeo and Juliet?
”
“Yes.”
“Then read to me about a woman more beautiful than the dawn.” He closed his eyes and smiled. “A well-bred lady of silk, softer than a summer breeze, with pale hair and skin
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