Read Where the Deer and the Antelope Play (Code of the West) for Free Online Page A

do you ask?”
    A wide smile revealed straight, white teeth. His face flashed a slight pink. “I was just thinkin’ . . .”
    She blushed too. “Thank you for that compliment, Mr. Wiley.”
    “Just Wiley, no mister. I’ll go find Tap.”
    “Tell him there’s a peach pie waiting for him.”
    “Frankly, ma’am,” Wiley pushed his hat to the back of his head, “I don’t reckon he’ll need any extra encouragement.”
    “You’ll stay for supper?”
    “Actually, I’m stayin’ out in the tack room a few days.”
    You are? Not after December 22nd.
    Pepper stared out the frosty window as Wiley drove the horse and buggy through the giant double doors of the barn.
    I will never sneak up on any man ever again. What a fool. I could have been shot. Or worse.
    After building a fire in the cookstove in the kitchen under two big pots of very cold water, she began cleaning up the front room. She trimmed the lamps and lit each one. Then she stacked the saddle, tools, and pieces of leather in a corner behind the table. After putting away boots, shirts, dishes, brass casings, and assorted pieces of spurs, bridles, and guns, Pepper found a halfway clean dusting rag.
    When she finished sweeping the room, she slipped out on the front porch to enjoy the freezing breeze brush across her face and hands.
    The kitchen proved to be a more formidable task. By the time the dishes were clean, the floor mopped, and the food put back into the pantry, sweat rolled down her face and soaked her dress.
    She addressed the wide-eyed cat, “Sal, I’m surely glad I didn’t have to stay and work at McCurleys’. Just a nice res tful day at the ranch. I ought to get supper started beings there’s going to be company, but I’m bushed.”
    Pepper strolled back into the front room and plopped down at the piano bench.
    I wonder if I’ll get lonesome out here after a while? At the hotel people are always coming and going. At April’s, I dreamed about a nice, quiet, isolated house like this.
    She lifted the cover off the keys and began to peck with one finger. Each note sounded muffled and dull.
    “All right, Andrews, what did you do to my piano?”
    She propped up the top of the grand piano and found a shirt and a leather vest crammed against the strings.
    A dirty clothes hamper? You’re using a grand piano for a clothes hamper?
    She carried the items into the bedroom and flung them against the wall on top of a stack of what looked like dirty clothes, towels, and bedding.
    “I’m not cleaning your bedroom, Mr. Tapadera Andrews. At least not for another thirteen days.”
    She was startled to hear a sharp rap at the door. Tucking her hair up in the combs, she scooted across the front room.
    Why is Tap knocking at the door?
    She took a deep breath, prepared a smile, and flung open the door so hard it banged against the wall. The short man in the heavy topcoat jumped back.
    “Excuse me, ma’am,” he stammered, pulling off his hat and exposing a nearly bald head.
    “Who are you?”
    “I’m Mr. H. F. Rawlins, the new manager of the First Mercantile Bank of Fort Collins.”
    “A banker?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Are you lost?”
    “Eh, I hope not, but I am awfully cold. Would it be proper for me to step in by your fire while we chat?”
    “Oh, yes, certainly. Come in.”
    He ambled toward the fireplace. The redness in his cheeks signaled a long buggy ride. The cat met him halfway and began to meow and rub against his boots.
    “I’m afraid I’ve let the fire dwindle. Go ahead and build it up if you’d like. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
    “Mrs. Hatcher, that would be the nicest thing that has happened to me all week.”
    “Oh, I’m not Mrs. Hatcher.”
    Squatting next to the fire, the man placed several more sticks of wood on the coals. “Oh, my, don’t tell me I’ve come to the wrong ranch.” He pulled some papers out of his overcoat pocket. “I’m looking for a Mr. Zachariah Hatcher’s ranch.”
    “This is Hatcher’s