Grace be a Lady (Love & War in Johnson County Book 1) by Heather Blanton Page A

building and saw Greg and Raney surveying the mess.
Perhaps reading their faces, he cocked his head to one side. “Raney, it’s just
my opinion, but if you can tolerate Buttercup there, it would make more sense
to house him with you. You’ll burn through less wood if you’re not heating your
place and the bunkhouse.”
    Raney
worked her jaw back and forth, hiding a grin. “Yeah, we were just talking about
that.” She narrowed her gaze at Grace. “You snore?”
    “Not
that I’m aware.”
    “Well,
maybe. We’ll see.” Raney poked Thad in the shoulder as he leaned on the wall.
“I still want the bunkhouse fixed good as new. Never know when I might have
cause to fill the beds again.”
    “Or
if you sell this place, it needs to be in good shape.” He winked at the woman.
    She
jabbed him again, this time harder. “Your pa been talking’ about making me
another offer?” She laughed, as if the idea was uproariously amusing. “Well, I’ve
always loved his persistence, but the Diamond R is staying with me.”
    “If
you say so.” Thad turned and grabbed the end of a four-foot-long log as one of
his cowboys rolled it off his shoulder. “Greg,” Thad ordered, “grab that hammer
and bucket of nails right there.” He and the man dropped the log into the hole,
stacking it on the log beneath it. As they tapped and shoved the wood into
place, Grace swept the tools up off the floor and stepped over to Thad,
expecting him to take them off her hands. Instead, he pointed at the new log.
“All right, this is a good, snug fit. Toenail it, and Jay and I’ll go cut the
rest of the logs.”
    Grace
pondered the tools. A hammer in one hand, the bucket of nails in the other, she
had no idea what to do with either. Thad frowned for a second, and then tagged
Jay in the shoulder. “You go get started. I’ll give Buttercup, here, a
carpentry lesson.”
    Buttercup.
So help me—
    Jay,
a tall, gangly fella with a pronounced Adam’s apple, chuckled and touched the
brim of his hat. “Sure thing, boss.”
    “All
right . . . here, like this.” Thad took a nail from the bucket
and the hammer from Grace’s hand, and pounded the long, iron spike in at an
angle. He did one more from the opposite direction then ruffled her hair,
clearly enjoying her discomfort. “You’re a smart boy. I bet you’ll pick this
right up. Here, try.”
    Raney
slapped Grace on the back. “I’m going to get some cleaning rags and a broom.
Good luck with that.”
    Grace
waited for Thad and Raney to leave, and then pondered the bucket of nails.
Muffled voices from the roof and loud hammering convinced her that the hands up
there were too busy to notice her. Rolling her shoulders, she placed a nail at
an angle and tapped it with the hammer.
    As
she brought the hammer down for a third tap, harder this time, an explosion
reverberated behind her. Squealing, she spun, tripped, and flipped over the
wall, tumbling outside the building. A round-faced, pudgy cowboy peered down at
her, a smoking revolver in his hand.
    He
slid his gun into his holster. “Weather’s turnin’, son. They’re coming inside.
You might want to make sure there ain’t no more around if you’re gonna sleep
out here.” With that, he dragged another piece of tin into place, and the
whacking of hammers picked up again.
    Grace
scrambled to her feet and peeked over the wall. A large rattle snake, now in
two bloody pieces, twitched on the floor not three feet from where’d she’d been
standing. Her body flashed cold, as if she’d just stepped out into the mean
Chicago wind.
    “What’s
the shooting for?” Thad asked, returning with a log over his shoulder. Feeling
sick, Grace pointed. Thad leaned in for a gander and whistled in awe. “Yep, he’s
a fat one.”
     

     
     
    Finishing
the task of toenailing was torture. Grace’s hands shook, her fingers felt all
fumbly, and, when she hit her thumb for the fourth time, she wanted to throw
the hammer across the bunkhouse. A glance at