Page 29 of Her Gentle Protector
“You need to watch yourself, Peter. Learn more, talk less. Step up and be the man of the house.”
“Maybe you ain’t such an excellent teacher,” Peter shot back, his face red with frustration.
“Are you always so grumpy?” Midge interrupted, asking him.
Finishing the coffee, Baxter handed the empty cup back to her. “Only when I’m wasting my time trying to fix up something that will never be fixed.”
“Then don’t bother fixing it up, Baxter Hartman. We were fine without you. We’ll be fine again.”
Midge’s eyes flashed with anger, and she marched back into the house, slamming the door so hard that Baxter felt it in his bones. He turned his scowl to Peter, a fierce expression etched on his face.
“You made her cry,” Peter accused, taking an aggressive step forward.
Baxter stood his ground, towering over the younger man. “I didn’t make her do anything. She’s upset because of you and your attitude.”
“My attitude? You’re the one who’s been treating us like we’re helpless. Like we can’t do anything without your precious help.”
Baxter shook his head in disbelief. “I never said you were helpless. I offered my help, and you refused to take it. You think you can do everything on your own, but you can’t.”
Peter stepped closer; his fists balled up at his sides. “I don’t need your help, old man.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Baxter said, his voice calm but firm. “You may not want my help, but you need it. You want to be the man of this house? Then act like one. Take charge and start fixing things up. But don’t come crying to me when you realize it’s not as easy as it looks.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Peter seething with anger behind him. Baxter knew he had a lot of work to do, but he also knew that he couldn’t do it alone. He had to bridge the gap between himself and the Beale family. Whistling for Kickers, he led his horse to the barn and saddled him before taking off down the road. He needed to check on Annamae and see if there was any word from Whit.
Chapter Eight
Knickers kicked up a cloud of dust as Baxter rode into town. His eyes scanned the area for any sign that people were about. They hadn’t received word that it was finally safe to ride into town, but Baxter couldn’t wait any longer.
He had been anxiously waiting for a response from his brother, but two weeks had gone by without a word. The ranch had a system in place for communication, with regular runners going back and forth between town and the ranch. They would meet at designated spots and call out for either Marshal Briggs or Whit. One of them was always on horseback, keeping watch to prevent anyone from entering or leaving the town while the fever still raged.
Baxter had become increasingly concerned about the Callaghan property and the Beale ranch after learning about Midge’s pa’s debts. The weight of uncertainty settled heavily in his gut like a rotten meal.
“Whit!” Baxter called, spotting his brother leaning against the hitching post outside the livery. Whitney straightened up, squinting against the sun to see who was calling him.
“Hey, Bax,” Whit replied, raising a hand in greeting. “Don’t come any closer.”
Baxter brought his horse to a halt at the end of the alley that ran between the buildings. He looked at his brother. Whit looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was disheveled, and dark circles were visible under his eyes. For a moment, Baxter felt bad about his impatience.
“How’s everything going?”
“Not good. Reverend O’Brien passed yesterday.”
“That’s too bad.” Baxter took off his hat and said a silent prayer for the pastor.
“Just one of many. How’s Ma?”
“She’s still over at the Chapmans.”
“Probably the best place for her. Is that cowhand still at the house?”
“Yeah. He’s finally better. He’ll probably go back to the bunkhouse soon.”
“How do you think Annamae will hold up?”
“Annie? She should be fine.”
Whit laughed. “Sometimes you are so dense. She’s been sweet on Sawyer since he came back with Caleb.”
