The Texan. Carolyn Davidson

in her direction.

      None of the women seemed to recognize Cleary, and for that Augusta was grateful. It would have been embarrassing had they known the man by name. Instead, she performed introductions as they began to eat, and he was inundated by questions from the women surrounding him.

      Not known for their reticence, Pearl and Janine were vocal in their curiosity, but Cleary was not forthcoming with information, merely turning their queries in another direction, until they exchanged glances and returned to eating breakfast.

      “Today, we’re going to hang curtains in the parlor and work at building a place to keep chickens,” Augusta told her charges. “I’d like Honey to water the garden and paint the front steps. Mr. Cleary has kindly finished repairing them for us, and I’ll purchase some paint at the general store.”

      “It’s easier to buy eggs at the store,” Janine said bluntly. “Keeping chickens is a messy job.”

      “Raising chickens is a profitable venture,” Augusta told her firmly. “Not only can we eat the young roosters, but we can sell the eggs at a nice profit.”

      “Next you’ll be talking about a cow,” Janine said. “I’m not sure we’re gonna be allowed to keep livestock in town.”

      “Lots of folks have chickens in the backyard,” Augusta said. “I’ve checked, and there are no ordinances against animals for your own use.”

      “Did you hear from that lady at the store that wants me to do some sewing for her?” Janine asked. “That brings in good money.”

      “Yes, and so does laundry,” Augusta told her. “Mrs. Stevens and her husband own the hotel, and she’s about persuaded him to let us do all the linens twice a week. Harriet Burns, our neighbor, wants us to keep her in clean sheets for her boarders, too.”

      “I’m not real fond of using a scrub board,” Pearl said darkly. “We had a laundry lady when I was at the Pink Palace.”

      “That wasn’t all you had,” Augusta reminded her with a pointed look at her eye, where the lid still wore two stitches. “It was your choice to leave there, Pearl. If you want to go back to the lap of luxury, be my guest. But once any of you leave here, it’s for good. We’ve already talked about that.”

      “I’m not going back,” Pearl said quickly. “I’ve done worse things than scrub sheets in my day.”

      “We need income,” Augusta told them. “That’s the whole reason for working. We can’t run this place without money, and we have to do the things that are within our capabilities. Laundry and sewing, keeping a kitchen garden, raising chickens and selling eggs to our neighbors are all moneymakers for us.”

      “Well, if you’ll get the paint, I’ll do the front steps. I noticed Mr. Cleary working on them this morning,” Honey said shyly. “And in the meantime, I’ll tend the garden and help in the kitchen.”

      “Can I be of assistance?” Cleary asked Augusta. She thought he looked almost hopeful as he met her gaze.

      “You already have been,” she told him. “You probably don’t want to be associated too closely with our endeavors. It might not look good for you in town, whatever your business might be.” And if she waited long enough, he might tell her just what it was he did for a living, she thought.

      “I’ve never been one to worry about what folks think,” he said bluntly. “If you need my handyman skills, I’ll be happy to pitch in and help. And in the meantime, I’d be glad to run you into town in my buggy to get your paint, ma’am.”

      “Well, that beats walking, any day of the week,” Bertha said flatly. “You better snatch up that offer in a hurry, I’d say, Miss Augusta.”

      “I don’t want to put you out,” Augusta told Cleary, then watched his eyes light with some emotion she couldn’t decipher.

      “I’d be glad to accommodate you, ma’am,” he said politely, his words accompanied by Pearl’s subdued snort of laughter. He glanced at the buxom blonde, and her hand flew to cover her mouth.

      In the midst of a conversation that bore undertones she couldn’t interpret, Augusta turned to Bertha. “When is John Burgess bringing the hens?” she asked.

      “First of the week,” Bertha said. “Gives us four days to have a coop ready, and a fenced yard for them to scratch in.”

      “It sounds to me like you’re going to need a load of things delivered from the lumberyard,” Cleary told Augusta. “We can go by and place an order if you like.”

      She hesitated. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure how to go about building a henhouse. Nor do I know how much lumber to order.”

      “Let’s ask Harriet Burns if she has any gentlemen living in her boardinghouse who might be looking for work for a couple of days,” Cleary suggested. “I don’t think you ladies are up to building such a thing, unless you’ve got experience at swinging a hammer.”

      Augusta rose from the table. “I’ll take you up on your offer, Mr. Cleary. If you really want to help, you can figure out what we need from the lumberyard, and I’ll provide the cash to buy it.” She glanced at him quickly, thinking of the wad of bills he’d pressed into her hand two days ago. It had been a generous contribution, and she hadn’t properly thanked him for it. Her own account was satisfyingly healthy, but Cleary’s contribution had provided enough to buy more than a load of lumber, if she was any judge of the price of wood.

      “Let’s take a walk out to the back,” he suggested, placing his fork on the table and nodding politely at the watching women. With one hand on the small of her back, he opened the screened door and led her out onto the back porch.

      It burned there, that wide palm and the four outstretched fingers. His thumb rode the line of her spine and she felt a shiver spin from that spot, vibrating down the length of her back. Whatever it was Mr. Cleary’s touch did to her, she could not afford to allow it. With a quick double step, she moved ahead of him and heard his stifled laughter at her back. It served only to stiffen her spine and renew her determination, and she walked briskly toward the spot she’d chosen for the proposed building project.

      “We’ve got two dozen chickens coming, all pullets hatched early this spring,” she told him. “They’re already laying. The eggs are small, but given a couple of months, we’ll have plenty of them, good-sized, too, every day. And then, once they’re old enough, we can let some of them hatch their eggs, and we’ll have a steady supply.”

      Pleased with her plan, she turned her head to observe his reaction. It was not what she expected. A wide grin exposed white, even teeth, and his hands were deep in his trouser pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

      “I think you’ve forgotten one small item, ma’am,” he said. “In order to have eggs hatch, you’ll need a rooster in your little flock.”

      “Well, yes, of course,” she said hastily. “I’m sure Mr. Burgess will be happy to provide us with a rooster.” She made a mental note to bring the subject up when the gentleman came to deliver his white leghorns on Monday, next.

      “You’ll need roosts and nesting boxes,” Cleary told her. “A henhouse with a sloped roof, a door, a couple of windows and a small exit for the hens to get out into the yard.”

      She dug into her pocket and brought forth a tablet and a pencil stub, kept handy for just such a purpose. With a glance, she tore off the top sheet, folded it and placed it back in her pocket, then offered Cleary a speaking look. “List what we need, and I’ll make note of it,” she said.

      He did, itemizing two-by-fours and wooden siding, nails and hinges, chicken-wire fencing and upright posts. And then he had her read it back to him. “They’ll need to cut some of the two-by-fours in half and you’ll need about twenty feet of dowel rod for the roosts.”

      “Dowel rod.” She wrote it down, then glanced up. “What’s dowel rod?”

      “Same