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minutes later Abby had washed and dressed. Her long, thick brown hair was pinned neatly into a bun, and her bed was made. She then donned her warm winter coat, wrapped the woolen shawl over her head, and headed outside, the basin of dirty wash water in her hands. After dumping its contents, Abby returned the basin to the table. She lit an old kerosene lantern, then extinguished the oil lamp, and left the bunkhouse.
    Snow had begun to fall before sunset yesterday, but thanks to the blustering winds only a light layer now coated the ground. As she made her way to the chicken coop in the fading darkness, the icy crystals crunched beneath her feet. The chill wind plucked at her skirt, then scurried beneath it. Abby shivered again and quickened her pace.
    “At least it’s relatively warm in here, ” she muttered when she finally stepped inside the chicken coop. Setting the lantern down on the dirt floor, she began gathering what few eggs there were from beneath the now irately clucking, highly agitated hens. “Well, warm at least in comparison to the outside, ” Abby added, as the seemingly indefatigable wind managed at last to find the chinks in the little building’s walls, and whistled gleefully inside.
    Though the coop could hardly be called toasty warm, Abby envisioned the morning yet to come and decided she would still prefer it over the lack of human warmth she suspected she would find in the main house. Her thoughts drifted back to last night’s supper. After the tension-fraught meal and stony looks, Abby was not so sure she ever wanted to break bread with Conor and Beth MacKay again.
    It was not as if she had defied Culdee Creek’s owner by saying grace. She had only, after all, agreed not to force her beliefs on them. But apparently Conor MacKay hadn’t thought so. His scowling countenance for the rest of the meal had all but shouted his disapproval.
    On the other hand, Beth had chosen to take a far more active approach. First she had “accidentally” knocked over her glass of milk. Then, after Abby had that mess sopped up and a fresh glass of milk poured, the youngster started pouting that her bowl of stew was cold.
    After dishing her up a fresh bowl of stew, Abby barely had a chance to dig into her own bowl of lukewarm stew, when Beth sweetly asked for some raspberry preserves to put on her bread. By then Abby’s patience was beginning to wear thin. However, before she had a chance to suggest Beth get up and get her own preserves, her father, also apparently weary of his daughter’s little game, ordered his daughter to do just that.
    The remainder of the meal passed in silence, save for the unmistakably angry visual messages Beth sent Abby. Recalling her looks, Abby could only guess at the encounters to come this day.
    No indeed, she admitted wryly. If she had had her druthers, she would have far preferred to wile away the day in this boisterous chicken coop.
    But that wasn’t to be, Abby reminded herself as she stood and pocketed four eggs. She had hired on for this job and, one way or another, had just about used up all her druthers in the doing. There was nothing to be done but face up to what lay ahead.
    Reluctantly, Abby left the chicken coop and turned toward the main house. Down the hill near the barns, several ranch hands, shrugging on dark canvas jackets and thick gloves, were beginning to leave the big bunkhouse. There were horses to be fed, pigs to be slopped, and gear to be readied for the day’s work ahead, Abby knew, before they all trudged up to the main house for breakfast. To the east, a faint hint of rose now washed the sky. Overhead, a few fluffy clouds scudded by. It promised to be a sunny, if rather windy day.
    Abby only hoped it would pass pleasantly. She knew it would pass quickly and, thankfully, keep her mind off further memories she’d rather not dwell upon. And there was always, after all the work was done, at least the possibility of a visit from Ella MacKay to look forward