Wyoming Wildfire by Leigh Greenwood Page A

someone had to run the farm for him. That fell to me after mother died.”
    Burch began to feel uneasy. “Did you actually work the farm?”
    “I didn’t calve the cows if that’s what you mean. We had six laborers, but I made out the orders and supervised all the work.”
    “Did you learn to ride?” Burch asked, turning the conversation to what he hoped was a safer topic.
    “Everyone rides in Virginia, but the farm wasn’t nearly as large as this and I drove a buggy.”
    “We don’t use buggies out here. If you can’t ride, you’ll be confined to your own company for weeks, maybe months on end.”
    “Aren’t there any women around here?”
    “Only one I know of who lives closer than two days by wagon.”
    “And if I ride?”
    “You can go all the way to Laramie in two days. Why don’t I saddle two horses and we can take a ride later this morning?”
    “I have too much work to do” she said, taking his empty plate.
    He had the feeling work was not the reason for her refusal. “That can wait. Can you be ready by nine-thirty?”
    “I can’t ride in these clothes.”
    “No, you’d never sit a cow pony in all those skirts,” he said momentarily stumped.
    “Well have to wait until I can order something from Cheyenne.”
    “No, we won’t. Aunt Ada had trunks full of clothes. She was not nearly so well filled out as you” he said, glancing significantly at her womanly figure, “but you ought to find something to wear.” Sibyl was not adverse to admiration, but his gaze almost attacked her.
    “I wouldn’t feel right wearing her clothes.”
    “Don’t be foolish. You and your aunt need some proper domes for Wyoming. Aunt Ada lost a lot of weight during her last years and she had clothes of all sizes. Uncle couldn’t buy enough for her when he found out how sick she was, but she never wore most of them, just one or two to make him happy. Then she’d go back to her old gowns.”
    “Why can’t we wear gowns if she did?”
    “Because Aunt Ada never left the house. Uncle Wesley was her whole life. If he had died first, she would have died the next day. Do you want to be cooped up here for several months until I can take you to Cheyenne in the wagon?”
    “Several months?” she echoed incredulously.
    “I won’t be free until after the fall roundup and the steers are sent to market.”
    “But that won’t be until October or November sometime.”
    He patted his stomach. “If you keep feeding me like this, I’m going to be too lazy to finish before Christmas.”
    Sibyl looked at the lean, hard muscle of his arms and doubted he would ever be too weak to do whatever he liked.
    “Remember, nine-thirty” he said, brushing her cheek with his fingers.
    When she realized he had actually touched her without permission, she was so surprised she couldn’t think of anything to say until he was gone. Only the empty room heard her pungent observations on men in general and a tall, impudent cousin in particular.
    Once she got over feeling guilty, Sibyl enjoyed going through Ada Cameron’s clothes. There was a lot that was the wrong size or would need some adjustment, but there were some lovely dresses and several items that were unlike anything she’d ever seen before.
    “Do you mean to wear this?” her aunt asked, holding up a leather skirt short enough to show half her calf.
    “Not if you want it,” Sibyl teased.
    “I don’t think I could?
    “Neither do I, but I plan to wear these boots. I don’t have any shoes that can survive the winter or the kind of mud I’m persuaded must fill the yard every time it rains.”
    “But there’s grass in the yard.”
    “Not around the barns and sheds.” She pulled on a skirt that was only six inches off the ground. “This ought to do nicely.”
    “It’s too short,” protested Augusta.
    “Not with the boots. I can’t go dragging my petticoats through dust. Besides, there’s no one here to stare at me except Ned and Balaam.”
    “What about the other