The cattle started running near dusk, not an hour before their usual bedding time, and for a while, she was sure they wouldn’t stop until they reached China, or wherever in their terror they sought escape.
Fear, fanned by remorse, consumed her. She followed Reese’s orders to the letter. She made coffee. Gallons and gallons of coffee. When she used up that already ground by the men whose lives she had placed in jeopardy, she opened another package of Arbuckles roasted coffee beans and ground them herself. Then she ground another package, and another. Soon she had a mound of peppermint sticks, which in the long run she hid, for they reminded her of Woody and Dink. And of Jordan.
She had never been involved in a stampede, but in cattle country, even the word was spoken in hushed tones. Stampedes cost money: Cattle were lost or killed or maimed, many cattle, all at one time. And those that survived lost so much weight by the time they stopped running, their value dropped significantly. Such a loss could cost Reese his dream.
But of much more serious concern, stampedes cost lives. And the men whose lives were at risk this night had become her family.
Then there was Jordan. Her precious son. Frantic with fear for him, Andie searched the camp for ways to keep busy. When she ran out of pots in which to boil coffee, she transferred the frijoles to a Dutch oven and set about scouring the blackened frijole pot with sand and wood ashes.
Jordan, her precocious son, who loved her so much he had inveigled her into the most embarrassing and potentially the most wonderful experience of her life. Seeing her despair, he had set out to change her life; he loved her enough to try to find her a husband, this boy who had adored his own pa.
And he might have succeeded. She and Reese might have gotten together. But now she had ruined everything; her idiotic penchant for cleanliness had placed every drover on the drive in grave danger. Including Jordan, her precious son. Including Reese.
With the coffee boiled, Andie put away the bedding, then set about finishing supper, while night closed around her. Darkness amplified the sounds—hooves thundering against the hard-packed earth; horn clashing against horn; sixshooters barking in an effort to turn the driving mass of silent, frightened steers. Underscoring it all, the earth rumbled and shook without cease. She felt the reverberations through the soles of her shoes; heard it as utensil clanged against utensil on the side of the wagon; as water sloshed in the water barrel. Finally, she closed the lid to keep things from falling out of the chuckbox.
Gimpy was the first to return. “Boss sent me in,” he explained. “Didn’t want you here by yourself.”
“What about Jordan?” The words clawed their way through a panic-constricted throat.
“Don’t worry, none, Cookie. The kid’s with Grump.”
“Why didn’t Reese send him with you?”
“They’re on the other side,” Gimpy explained, or tried to.
Andie struggled to understand. “The other side of what?”
“Way things are out there, when the boys started turnin’ the herd toward that big prairie off to the west, well, it sorta left me odd man out.”
“I don’t understand. Where is Jordan? Is he safe?”
“Fit as a fiddle. They’re on the far side of the herd and at the back of it. Grump’ll take care of the lad.”
“But they’re turning the cattle. What if…?”
The seasoned drover took a seat near the campfire. “Could I trouble you for some coffee, Cookie?”
“Of course.”
“An’ some vittles? If it’s not too much trouble.”
No one asked the cook to serve him, but Andie knew what Gimpy was up to. He wanted to take her mind off Jordan. She poured coffee and handed it to him. “Reese sent you?”
“Yes’m. Said you’d likely be scared plump outta your wits.”
“I am, that,” she admitted, and felt a little better for it. “Where is he?”
“Mister Catlin? Last I saw, he was racin’ for the lead. He’s the one knows how to stop a stampede; he’s the best.”
Andie dished a plate of stew, added three freshly baked biscuits, and handed that to Gimpy, too.
“Much obliged, ma’am. Why don’t you fix yourself a plate?”
“Me? Oh, no, I couldn’t eat.” She stirred the stew. “If I had something to put this stew in, I could wash the pot and use it for coffee.”
“Coffee?”
At his astonished tone, she glanced around. “Reese said to make lots of coffee.”
Gimpy’s eyes strayed to the fire, where boiled coffee settled in six Dutch ovens and the freshly scrubbed frijoles pot.
“I imagine that’ll be coffee aplenty,” he said. “Come on over here an’ try to relax some. I’ve been party to many a stampede an’ they ain’t near as bad as folks let on. Why I’ve only knowd of three men kilt—”
“Gimpy,” Andie interrupted. “If you don’t mind, I’ll pass on stampede tales tonight. Maybe later.”
“Oh, well, if you feel thataway, all right.”
To assuage his wounded pride, Andie took him a couple more biscuits and offered him the pot of fresh honey Night Hawk had collected a few days earlier. She had been saving the honey for a special occasion, but after the stunt she pulled tonight, there probably wouldn’t be a special occasion.
Around midnight the drovers began to drift in, singly or in pairs. They came for fresh mounts and coffee, but had no time to eat.
“We’ll eat when things quiet down,” Monte told her.
“Seen anything of Grump?” Gimpy wanted to know. “Or Goose?”
“They’re ridin’ with the boss,” Dink said. He and Monte had come in together, and together they climbed aboard fresh mounts and headed back into the night, leaving Andie even more frightened.
If Grumpy was with Reese, where was Jordan? The question was so terrifying, she couldn’t speak it aloud.
Professor was the next to arrive. Then Goosey. But still no sign of Reese or Jordan.
When Gimpy asked the question he had posed to each drover by turn, Goosey further unsettled Andie.
“Hell, Gimp, it’s pitch dark out there. How’d you expect me to know where anybody is?”
Andie was on the verge of sending Gimpy and his worries out to help the others, when Grumpy showed up. Alone.
His face, like the others, looked like a racoon’s mask, with dust ringing his eyes above relatively clean skin where his bandanna had protected his nose and mouth. Grumpy fit his name in every respect, but he was the most observant of the brothers. He recognized Andie’s concern right off.
“Don’t worry none about the kid, Cookie. He’s with Tom.”
“Tom? I thought…where’s Reese? What happened to—”
“Take it easy, Cookie. They’re seasoned men out there.”
“I want to know the truth, Grumpy. I’ll have to deal with it sooner or later, whatever happens. I caused it.”
“You didn’t cause anything, Andie.”
Reese! His clothing was so sweaty and dust-covered he was almost unrecognizable. Except to her. She was half way across the clearing when she realized what she was doing. She couldn’t throw herself in his arms in front of the drovers. She stopped, watching him scan the group with bloodshot eyes.
“Where’s Tom?” His tone was sharp.
“Tom?” Terror sped through her with the force of a cold north wind. It blew away her senses, leaving her lightheaded. “Jordan’s with…”
Reese caught her before she crumpled to the ground. She was subliminally aware of his arms around her, of being held close to his chest, of being carried. When he left the campsite, headed for her tepee, she began to struggle.
“No. Put me down.” He neither stopped nor changed directions. “Jordan. I have to find Jordan.”
“I’ll find him, Andie.”
“No. This time I’m going.”
In the end she stayed behind again. Reese took Night Hawk and an extra horse and rode off into the faint light of a dawning day, leaving Andie on Grumpy�
��s bedroll, hovered over by the three Tahlman brothers.
Before leaving he knelt beside her, kissed her forehead, and with a grim set to his mouth that even his mustache couldn’t hide, told her not to worry.
It was the longest wait of her life, longer even than Samuel’s illness, or so it seemed. She tried to prepare for the worst, but when they returned and she rose on wobbly legs to confront the little group who stood at the edge of camp, she knew that although the worst had not come to pass something dreadful had happened.
Reese supported Tom with one of the drover’s arms around his neck. Tom’s other arm hung limp. Even from the distance, Andie realized it was probably broken. One side of his face was bloody. His shirt and britches were torn.
Jordan stood beside them, still as death, dazed, she judged, from the vacant set of his eyes and the ashen cast to his skin. She dropped to her knees, extended her arms, but he didn’t move.
“Go ahead, son,” Reese urged. “I think your ma needs a hug.”
Jordan moved then, ran to her, clung to her, and buried his face in her shoulder. She squinched her eyes against the sting of tears. Too soon she had to release him to tend to Tom’s wounds.
Tom was more fortunate than she had first thought. The break in his left arm was simple and would heal with time. She set it with trembling hands. The lacerations and bruises on his head and back would heal, too. But until they did, they would be a reminder to all of the courage of this handsome, fun-loving drover.
While Andie rubbed liniment on his battered back, he continued to needle Reese. “Hell, Cookie. If I’d known this was the way to get your attention, I’d have thrown myself in front of a herd of stampedin’ cattle sooner.”
“Make light of it if you want,” Reese retorted, “but you’re damned lucky to be alive. You and Jordan both.”
Tom’s horse had stumbled, as Reese explained, landing Tom and Jordan in a ravine ahead of one branch of the stampeding herd. Tom covered Jordan with his own body, and Jordan came away with no more than a good fright.
“You’ll have to stay off a horse for a few days,” Andie advised. “Let that break get a good start at mending.”
“Ride in the wagon,” Reese ordered, his tone curt. Lingering fright, Andie decided.
“Good thing you aired the beddin’, Cookie,” Tom quipped. “Else I’d be asphyxiated.”
“If I hadn’t aired the bedding none of this would have happened.” Behind her she heard Reese send the drovers back out.
“We’ll keep ’em on the move till midday or so. Maybe thataway, they’ll settle down enough to graze awhile and hit the bed grounds early.”
When he headed for the far side of the wagon, she followed. She watched him dip water into the wash basin and splash his face several times. Finished, he poured the basin of water over his head and swept his hands through his hair, shaking at length like a dog coming out of a creek.
She handed him a clean towel. Their gazes met, then darted apart. “Did we lose any cattle?” she asked quietly. It had been a hard night for everyone, Reese most of all.
“Won’t know till it gets good an’ light.” He spoke in a hushed monotone, and she ached to be in his arms. To comfort and be comforted.
“I’m so sorry.”
“For the last time, Andie, you didn’t cause that stampede.”
“But I…”
“Those flappin’ blankets weren’t the cause. If the cattle had stayed on course they’d never have gotten close enough to camp to hear the dang things.”
“Then what—?”
“It was my fault?” he barked.
“You weren’t even there. You were—”
“With you.” He glanced at her suddenly; his weary eyes were filled with sadness. He looked defeated. “I was with you and my duty was with the herd. Hell, I almost got your son killed. Don’t you know that?”
“Not on purpose, Reese.”
“I sure as hell talked you into lettin’ him ride drag.”
“You were right. I have to learn to turn loose. You’ll teach me—” He shook his head, as though pondering a heavy question.
“I’m not cut out for a family man. Tonight proved that.”
His claim would have distressed her, had she not known how tired he was. Without a word, she moved into his arms, pressed her face against his heart, and held him.
He embraced her, too, tightly, as though he might never let her go. She felt his lips nuzzle into the top of her head.
“God, Andie, how did this happen?”
Unsure of his meaning, she moved to kiss him, but he stopped her with his lips to her forehead. They stood still as a spring morning, while he gripped her shoulders. Agonizing seconds passed. Then he stepped back, clamped his Stetson on his head, and turned to business. “Pack up and follow the herd.”
She walked with him to his horse. He stepped in the saddle. “Soon as it gets good an’ light, I’ll find a noonin’ camp.”
A week later they crossed into Kansas, but leaving Indian Territory with its potential dangers did not change Reese’s mind. He went out of his way to avoid being alone with her. She dared not press the matter, since she wasn’t certain what was wrong.
She suspected, of course. Even before the stampede Reese had shied away from marriage like it was the plague. The stampede, which he considered his fault for being with her, had probably reinforced the opinion that Mister Matthews had planted in his head about a wife being the sorriest thing a man could have on a ranch. The near catastrophes and loss of a quarter of the herd likely added fuel to the fire.
With the romance cooled, camp became a solemn place. No one joked. Goosey stopped playing “Green Grow the Lilacs” and went back to “Little Joe the Wrangler” and “The Old Chisolm Trail.”
Composed as lullabies for spooky cattle, neither did much to lighten the mood; their messages hit too close to home. One told the story of a young wrangler killed in a stampede, the other described the miserable conditions on a trail drive.
Finally she realized that if they were to get back together, she would have to make the first move. Fleetingly, she wondered why she cared. Living with such a pigheaded man would likely be more trouble than it was worth.
She was unable to make herself believe that, however. So, one morning while the cowboys were choosing day-mounts from the remuda, she followed him to his horse.
“Reese, we need to talk.”
He focused on his cinch. “Runnin’ low on supplies?”
Pigheaded, indeed! “No. We’re running out of time.”
“Time?”
“For us.” Even with her heart breaking, she wanted to stomp her foot at his pigheadedness. “To straighten things out between us.”
She watched his shoulders heave, then bunch forward.
“Reese!” she demanded. “Talk to me.”
He glanced around. Pain etched the corners of his eyes. Longing filled their chocolate depths. “I almost killed your son.”
“We’ve been over that. I don’t hold you responsible. Neither does Jordan. So, stop torturing yourself. It’s over.”
“It isn’t over. It’s my way of life.”
“It’s my way of life, too. And Jordan’s.”
He dropped his gaze to the cinch. She watched his fingers tremble before he jerked it tight enough to strangle the poor horse. “I don’t want to hurt you, Andie.”
What was he saying? She felt like he had squeezed her lungs with that cinch. “Whatever’s on your mind, say it to my face.”
His eyes sought hers. She watched him fight for control. “Grumpy was right. I’m not the marryin’ kind.”
“Marriage! Who’s talking about marriage?”
“It would come to that.” Their gazes held. Messages passed between them. Messages of turmoil and anguish, of longing and…
Without thinking, she threw herself on him, clung to him, fighting tears. “Damn Mister Matthews!”
He held her gingerly, as if he were as afraid of holding her as h
e was of loving her. “It isn’t just him,” he admitted. “I finally understand my pa.”
Pulling back mere inches, she gazed up at him. His face was grim; she watched him struggle and knew it was against the very thing she fought so hard to recapture. “What about your pa?’ ’
“The night of the stampede when I finally found Tom and Jordan, when I saw Jordan’s little body crumpled beneath Tom’s and knew I had put him there, that’s when I felt it.”
“What?”
“The measure of my pa’s grief when he lost my ma.”
“Oh, Reese.” She reached up, cradled her hand around his jaw. For a second he relaxed against her palm. Then his jaw clenched.
“I can’t do it to you, Andie.”
“What?”
“You’ve already been hurt once. I’m not going to be the next man to hurt you.”
“You won’t be.”
“Not if we put a stop to this while we still can.”
Her heart stood still. While who still could? “What happened to your highfalutin ideas about using troubles as stepping stones?”
“They were hogwash.” He stepped in the saddle. “Trust me, Andie. It’s best this way.” She watched, helpless, as he gathered his reins and turned away.
“Don’t tell me what’s best, Reese Catlin!” she shouted after him. “I’ll love you till my dying day if I want to, and you can’t stop me. You love me, too. You’re just too pigheaded to admit it. And too, too cowardly to take a chance.”
Andie didn’t try again to persuade Reese to change his mind. She wanted to believe she was better off without such a pigheaded man, but wasn’t quite able to convince herself.
Jordan didn’t ride drag anymore, on Reese’s orders, and once he was back in the saddle, Tom Lovejoy relayed Reese’s directions to campsites, along with any other information Reese deemed necessary for Andie to know during the day.
His choice of Tom hurt almost more than him not coming himself. During the entire drive Reese had been jealous any time Tom came around her; since the stampede he seemed determined to throw them together. It was as if he were saying, “I don’t want you anymore. Take Tom.”
A Wish to Build a Dream On Page 8
