Samantha Forrester was in her work area, her round, slender white arms bare as she worked clay on a pottery wheel with wet, clay-covered hands. At the sight of him, she called out a cheerful, “Good morning! Where are you going?”
“Town.” Steve sensed she wanted to chat, but he kept walking toward the barn. He saddled Calico and rode into town.
The ride took some of the edge off his mood. At the general store in Picket Post, he wrote out and nailed up signs asking for carpenters, woodworkers, bricklayers, hod carriers, laborers, ditch diggers, blacksmiths, brick molders, loggers, cooks, harnessmakers, and a ramrod for a cattle operation.
That done, he sent a wire to his office in San Francisco. Then he settled down at a table in Mary Francis’s dining room and wrote out a detailed order to his office in San Francisco requesting everything he was going to need to build an adobe palace for a beautiful, unavailable woman—the finest hardwoods obtainable, the stoutest wrought-iron window sashes, the most elegantly engraved ceramic toilet bowls, the smoothest marble for the entry hall, the richest stained glass for the fanlights over the doors. He ordered miles of pipe for plumbing and tons of Portland cement, quicklime, and mortar.
As he calculated all this, men wandered in to stand before him, introduce themselves, and state their craft if they had one. By noon he had twenty men signed on. The ad was working well. By the end of the week, he expected to have a hundred men. Many were tired of working cattle in desert country, and he was offering a decent wage. Word would spread. When men found they could earn the same money or better for making adobe bricks, they’d ride out to the Forrester ranch looking to hire on.
As he finished his list, a boy ran up with a telegram from San Francisco. Ian Macready would be arriving in a week with everything he needed to start building.
Steve stopped at the general store and bought most of the staples on hand—sugar, flour, beans, lard, eggs, sides of beef and pork, potatoes, rice, and canned goods. Feeding an army of workmen was expensive. He also bought almost every weapon and all the ammunition the store had. He signed a chit, asked the man to bill it to Mrs. Forrester, and got no argument. Word had spread that the Forrester woman was hiring everyone in town to build her a new house.
Steve caravanned to the ranch in rented buckboards driven by newly hired hands, others rode in the back. At the ranch, Steve found Eagle Thornton waiting in the shade beside Samantha’s house.
“Eagle!” Steve said, pleased.
“Heard you were looking for a ramrod for some cows.”
Steve dismounted and strode forward to shake the older man’s rough hand. “I thought you weren’t interested in taking on trouble?”
“Changed my mind. I figure if you can stand up to Russell and his thieving band, I reckon I can, too.”
“Well, you’ll have to talk to Mrs. Forrester, but I think with my recommendation, you’ll be hired.”
“That easy, huh?”
Steve glanced up and saw Samantha Forrester waiting on the porch of her Boston House. In a white gown, with her hair pulled away from her face and tied with a red ribbon, she looked fifteen years old. Steve realized he’d been avoiding seeing her. Part of him dreaded contact. Part of him strained toward her.
“Afternoon.” His gruff tone caused her eyes to widen, making her look even younger to him.
Steve introduce Eagle Thornton.
“Mr. Thornton, do you know how to gather a herd to sell?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you think you can do so without word getting around? I want to sell my entire herd, but I’d prefer we don’t announce that to the rustlers who are preying on my cattle. They might just double their own efforts.”
“Good idea. I don’t see any problem with it. We just won’t tell the youngsters, so they won’t blab it around.”
“You’re hired.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Steve took Thornton to the corral and introduced him to a group of men breaking horses. Most of them already knew Thornton. They hit it off at once, which relieved Steve’s mind.
He walked back to where Samantha waited.
“I see you hired some men,” she said.
“Within a week I expect we’ll have as many as we can use. Word spreads fast in this country.”
“Any problems?”
“No.”
“Dinner will be ready soon. Are we supposed to feed the men you hired?”
“I hired a cook who’ll take care of them. Bought supplies in town.”
“Good.” That relieved her considerably. Juana would not take kindly to having another twenty or thirty men to feed.
“I thought I’d just lead the men and supplies up to the work site, so they can get settled.”
“It’s too late now. They won’t get fed until bedtime. Let your cook prepare the meal here. I want to hear about everything that happened in town.”
Steve hesitated, then nodded. “I have to get the men settled then.”
He should have been hungry, but he wasn’t. Just looking at Samantha made his blood pound. Wearing a simple high-necked blue gown that molded itself to her round breasts, slender rib cage, and waist, she was hopelessly alluring.
“Hi, Mr. Sheridan.” Nicholas sidled up to him and gave him a tentative smile. Steve smiled back at him. The boy was hungry for contact with a man. Samantha shouldn’t be holding him in a manless prison on the Arizona desert. If she was going to take him away from the rest of his family, at least she could marry and provide him with a father. Still, it was none of his business. If she wanted to perch here—within range of her married lover—there was nothing he could do about it.
Samantha worried all through dinner. Steve seemed withdrawn, almost resentful at having to go over everything for her. But she was anxious to see progress, even to hear about progress. Now that she was committed to building, she wanted the house to spring out of the ground.
Feeling cross, Steve gave a sketchy report of his activities in town and excused himself right after dessert. The disappointment on her face gave him some small measure of satisfaction, but it didn’t last long. Once he was alone, he became furious at himself for being rude to her. He stalked across the yard to the barn, got his bedroll, and climbed the side of the mountain. He felt too restless to sleep. It wasn’t high enough up to be cool, but when he needed to look at his own life, he climbed a mountain if there was one around. Being able to see for miles helped put his life into perspective.
The climb took a little of the edge off his feelings. He spread his blankets and lay down. At first he just lay there looking at the desert, the sky, and the emerging stars, feeling hot and angry inside. Then slowly his mind settled into it—and he realized what he was so disappointed and mad about. Samantha Forrester was in love with another man. Of course that was no surprise—she was beautiful enough to have any number of men in love with her. But part of him still wanted to try for her anyway, even though another part knew it was useless to chase after a woman in love with someone else. It was like trying to fill a full cup.
Besides, he had things to do with his life. Things he couldn’t do married and rooted in one place. Samantha Forrester had done him a favor by being unavailable. But the thought gave him no comfort. It just left him feeling restless and disturbed and not knowing why.
For the last ten years he had traveled over most of the continent free as the wind. He’d enjoyed himself, and, except for Caroline, never once looked back with regret. Staying safe had been his first priority. But now that he was assured of safety, he wasn’t all that happy about it.
Samantha Forrester must never know how affected he was by her. He needed to find a tactic, a way to keep relations friendly between them while maintaining enough distance, so he could build this house. He’d learned long ago that the most dangerous woman was the one who felt spurned. So he reasoned the best strategy would be to pursue her gently, so she wouldn’t feel unattractive but would still continue to resist him. It didn’t please him to
deceive anyone, let alone Samantha, but at least it salvaged his pride to be the one deciding how their relationship, such as it was, would progress.
Finally he slept.
Steve rose early the next morning. His midnight vigil had strengthened him. He had a job to do. And he felt he’d decided on a course to follow with his enchanting and disturbing employer that would at least keep him sane.
From the crew who’d just finished digging the canal from the Gila River to the house site, Steve selected a handful of men to build a road up to the site. After the way was cleared, widened, and leveled, they would dam the new reservoir and dig trenches for the water and septic systems.
From the men hired in town, Steve chose two to act as foremen for the building project. He put one in charge of excavating the basement for the new house and the other in charge of building the forms and molding adobe bricks.
Adobe was made very cheaply, using straw, water, and clay. He had increased the expense by deciding to fortify the bricks with Portland cement and quicklime. It would cost more, and technically it wouldn’t be pure adobe, but the house wouldn’t come down in the first gulley washer, either.
Men piled into wagons heading for the mountain as Steve mounted Calico and prepared to follow them. Samantha stepped outside. He touched his hat and kicked Calico into a walk; she called after him. “When will I see you again?”
“I don’t know,” he said, without turning to look over his shoulder.
“But how will I know what’s happening?”
Sighing with resignation, he reined his horse and turned. Samantha was clear-eyed and sweet-tempered, smiling at him with a serenity that bespoke no unmet needs. Feeling far too aware of his own, Steve forgot the strategy he’d worked out the night before. The wagons rolled past him. Dust and noise and the knowledge that the men were watching added to his sudden confusion. “Maybe you could just trust me to build the house.”
Samantha frowned. “I do.”
“Good.” Steve kicked Calico’s haunches and cantered away.
When they reached the place where the road led up the mountainside, the buckboards slowed to a crawl. In places the men had to climb down and move boulders or cut brush, so the wagons could pass.
Even so, Steve was glad to be on the mountain. Work would even him out. It would remind him he could do anything he had to do, even ride away when he was finished, no matter how beautiful or appealing his employer might be.
They reached the work site at sunset.
Every day for the next week men showed up looking for work. By the end of the week, a hundred men were laboring on the road; another hundred were building forms for bricks. Until the heavy equipment arrived, they had to pour and mix cement in the forms. A steady stream of hands worked on the road, widening and grading it.
By the end of the second week, two dozen carpenters had built bunkhouses for themselves, the laborers, and their cooks, as well as a small wooden cottage for Steve. By the end of the third week, they’d built a row of bunkhouses for two hundred men and had started to lower the mountaintop where the house would sit. Dynamite speeded the work of digging the basement. Row upon row of bricks baked in the hot Arizona sun. Men built wooden forms for the foundation. The site now looked like a small town, bustling with constant activity. Lusty male curses rang out through the clearing. Even the birds had adjusted to the constant activity, singing out as the men worked.
Soon they would begin receiving three-by-sixes from the lumber mill and have stockpiled enough bricks to begin raising walls.
Samantha kept busy with all the details of running the ranch. She met with Eagle Thornton, paid bills, ordered supplies, and supervised the household help.
As often as she could, she and Nicholas rode into the desert to see if they could spot a prairie dog family. They didn’t find one, but the ride relaxed Samantha and gave Nicholas something to do.
One afternoon, on their way back, she saw the Indians camped beside her creek. The women walked out to meet them, as if they were their guests. This irritated Samantha; she didn’t appreciate feeling like a guest on her own land. In the past, she had enjoyed looking out her front window and being able to see great distances without human beings to mar the landscape.
“Can we stop, Mama?”
Samantha didn’t want to, but to do otherwise would have been rude. The Indian women smiled at her with openness and warmth, motioning her to get down. Reluctantly Samantha dismounted. The Indian boy, probably nine or so, took their reins and held the horses for them. The women motioned her to the small fire they’d built, where they had been cooking. A rock in the fire glowed with heat. Gesturing at Samantha to come close, one of the women knelt, poured a thin batter over the rock, let it sizzle and bubble up slightly, then peeled it off. With a shy smile, she offered it to Samantha.
“What is it?”
The woman mimicked a chewing motion and nodded. Then while Samantha hesitated, the woman made another one and gave it to Nicholas. He popped it into his mouth and chewed as if he knew it would be tasty. Whatever it was crunched loudly.
“It’s good,” Nicholas said.
Tentatively Samantha took a bite. It tasted like sweet corn, only crunchy. “It is good,” she said, surprised.
The boy, called Young Hawk, spoke English fluently. He introduced himself and the women. Their English was not good, but Samantha found they could communicate. The younger woman, Little Dove, had a sweet, round face. Red Star was older, taller, and the more dominant of the two. She must have been Silver Fish’s first wife. When Red Star spoke, Little Dove obeyed. They seemed as comfortable with each other as sisters.
Nicholas and Young Hawk looked at each other frequently, but they didn’t speak directly. It occurred to Samantha that little boys were as wary of one another as wild animals. Even so, she enjoyed her visit. Although Nicholas didn’t want to go, after about an hour she said good-bye. The Indians waved and smiled.
The next day Samantha packed a basket to take to them. Juana helped her choose things the women could use—beef from the smokehouse, corn from the corncrib in the barn, salt, molasses, flour from town, and a bolt of calico. She wanted to take more, but Juana convinced her they wouldn’t know what to do with much else.
The women received the gifts with amazement and gratitude. They gave Samantha a soft rabbit-fur blanket. She demurred at first, because they had so little, but they insisted. Nicholas loved the blanket, so she let him keep it in his room.
Each day, after their forays into the desert, Samantha and Nicholas stopped to visit. The women were soft-spoken and charming. The Indian children were polite and serious near the adults, but out of sight they were as rowdy and boisterous as white children. Nicholas loved playing with them.
Samantha relaxed and began to enjoy the company of the Indian women with their soft, smiling eyes. The baby girl, a round-faced, cooing infant with bright eyes and a sweet smile, enchanted her. Smelling a baby brought back memories of Nicholas when he was first born. Little Dove did not know the date of her birth, but according to Young Hawk it was in the month of the Dangerous Moon, November, which would make her three or four months old.
Holding the baby, crooning to it, Samantha felt a surge of hope. For the first time in years, life was good. Steve Sheridan was building her a new house. Tristera seemed to have a steadying, calming influence on her son, who looked healthier and seemed happier than he had in a long while. And her new ramrod, Eagle Thornton, had inspired her men with new confidence and esprit de corps. The herd in the holding pens was growing daily. Cattle bawled as they were roped and branded and added to the herd. Her world was whole and peaceful. All this freed her to look forward, to dare to believe that her future in this beautiful territory was going to be much brighter than her past.
Joe Dart rode in at the end of the day and found his mother sitting on the porch in the rocking chair. He dismounted, tossed his reins to Piney, his mother’s farmhand, and tramped up the steps, two at a time.
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�You been sitting here all day?” he asked.
His mother didn’t answer. Her eyes had not registered his presence. Joe yelled after Piney, “She been sitting here all day?”
Piney turned and smiled at him, the vacant, aimless smile of a man who had no worries because he didn’t have the sense for them. “Beg pardon?”
“I said, has she been sitting here all day?”
“Seems like, Mr. Joe.”
“Thanks.” Joe was gentle with Piney, because he was good-natured and as polite as a well-trained schoolgirl.
Joe sat down beside his mother. She had been a little moody ever since their trip into town. “Chased a dozen cows half the dern day trying to save their lives, and they acted like I was going to shoot ’em if they came outta that chaparral.”
“Cows aren’t smart, Joe,” Chila said. “That’s why we have to take care of them.”
Ham Russell walked up from the barn, knocking dust out of his dirty trousers with his gauntlets. At the foot of the steps he stopped and looked up at her. His face and hands were covered with pink, white, and brown freckles. Chila shuddered at the thought of his hands on her body. What a gross invasion that would be. Yet ever since seeing Denny in town, her body hungered to be touched.
Ham slapped his gloves against his thigh again. “That bastard Sheridan hired a new ramrod for the Forrester spread.”
The name jolted Chila. Sheridan was the name Denny was going by now. Joe had told her that in town. Sheridan…The red haze got between her and the pastureland.
“Who’d he hire?” Joe asked.
“Eagle Thornton.”
Chila’s lungs quivered. “Ah thought he rode off.”
“Well, I did, too, but when I was in town yesterday I learned that he hired on to build the Forrester woman a house.”
Chila knew that was not why he had stayed. Denny had stayed because Samantha Forrester was a beautiful woman, and devils preyed on helpless, unsuspecting women with sons to drown. And Denny would keep on doing that until he was stopped.
Adobe Palace Page 21
