A Wish to Build a Dream On

by Vivian Vaughan

  Finally they arrived outside Wichita.

  “Boss says to plan on campin’ there a couple of days,” Tom relayed. “It’s our last camp. We’ll drive the cattle into Wichita to sell, then come back an’ settle up.”

  “We made it.” She struggled to conceal her melancholy. “Ahead of the competition.”

  “You bet. I never doubted it. Ol’ Reese Catlin has a reputation for gettin’ what he sets his sights on.” His gaze lingered on her face. “He’s one hard hombre, Andie. Harder on himself than on anyone else.” In a moment of uncertainty contrary to his gregarious nature, Tom squirmed in the saddle.

  “I know you’ve been hit a lick by Catlin’s reaction to that stampede,” he said at length.

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Fact is, I was wonderin’, after we sell the cattle, how ’bout you, me, and Jordan settin’ off for Texas on our own.”

  “Tom! How could you—?”

  “Whoa, now, Andie, don’t go takin’ it wrong. I’m not suggestin’ anything that’s not strictly on the up an’ up. I’d like a chance to get to know you on my own, that’s all.”

  She relaxed. “Thanks. You knew how much I needed a compliment, didn’t you? But to be honest, I think I’m due a rest from members of the opposite sex. Uncle Kipp told me about a reputable freight driver; we’ll catch a ride with him back to Fort Worth. Jordan needs to spend time with his pa’s relations.”

  Tom tipped his hat. “Well, think about it. All right?”

  “Sure.”

  Before Tom was out of sight, emotions welled inside her. Their last camp. The poignancy of it, the finality of it, brought tears to her eyes; she fought them all the way to the sandy knoll Reese had scouted. The last camp he would lead her to. Possibly the last meal she would cook for him. The last…

  By the time she drew rein and set the brake, she was beside herself. The mules and wagon were to be sold in Wichita. This had been her last time to hee and haw to Bessie Mae and Bertha Jane. Desperately, she sought control. In the end, she tackled the problem in her usual way, with work.

  As soon as Jordan and Night Hawk dug the firepit and had the fire going, she handed them each a gallon jug. “We passed a berry patch back a few rods. Right beside the trail; you can’t miss it.”

  “Fresh berry cobbler!” Night Hawk whooped.

  “Yahoo!” Jordan cried. “Mister Catlin’s gonna love that, Ma.”

  Andie turned aside, gripping her emotions. “Wear gloves so the thorns won’t get you. And don’t quit too soon. I need two full gallons, in case we have visitors from town.”

  For their last meal together, Andie decided to go all out and fix the drovers’ favorites: Grumpy loved frijole pie; Goosey, Saratogy chips; Gimpy’s favorite was fried steak, and Tom could eat an oven full of camp potatoes by himself. With the skill of a sorcerer, she kept her mind off Reese Catlin. She wouldn’t allow herself to consider his favorite trail food—Uncle Kipp Stew; had she prepared it, she would have called it, and the obstinate trail boss himself, by the stew’s rightful name, for he was in her mind, if not in her heart, a son of a bitch of the first order.

  She had just fitted the last of the cobbler dough up the sides of a Dutch oven, when she heard a horse approach camp. Her first impulse was to expect Reese. She squashed it. Any hope she allowed into her heart would be sure to come gushing out at an inappropriate time. She refused to ruin the last night she had with him…with any of them…by crying.

  Cautioning herself not to give in to futile hope, that it was surely Tom or Gimpy—or anyone other than the one person she yearned to see—she didn’t realize until he stepped from the saddle that the rider had approached camp from the wrong side. Dust swirled around the site, settling on top of the frijoles and in her unfilled cobbler crusts. She spun around.

  “How dare you—!” She came to an abrupt halt at sight of a glassy-eyed, highly agitated stranger.

  “You’re comin’ with me.” Even as he spoke, the stranger advanced toward her.

  Reese Catlin felt like a first class heel. He hadn’t meant to hurt Andie. Hell, he’d rather have chopped off his right arm than hurt her. But better sooner than later. On the other hand, he couldn’t just ride off into the sunset and let her ride off, too. For days now he had worried with the idea of talking to her, but he couldn’t decide what he would say if he did.

  It was downright frightening, the way he missed her. He missed the giddiness he felt when he was anywhere near her, the magic when they kissed, touched, held each other.

  He missed wondering whether he was falling in love with her. Now he knew. He missed knowing her smile would be the first thing he saw when he rode into camp at night. If she smiled lately, he hadn’t seen it, because he had deliberately not looked. But he had a notion she hadn’t been smiling. He oughta say good-bye, make sure she understood that his way was best. She called him a coward, and dang if he wasn’t. He was scared to death of hurting her. She had suffered enough in her lifetime.

  And so had he. He didn’t hanker to end up like his pa, pining his life away, wasting his life, when he had so many hopes and dreams. Dreams that were fixin’ to come true.

  They’d arrived at the last camp well ahead of the next herd down the trail, a good day and a half, anyhow. He had beat the competition; tomorrow he would learn whether it had been worth the extra effort and money. He had a hunch it would be. Yet, in one way, it was a hollow victory. For he hadn’t realized how much he had looked forward to sharing it with Andie.

  He oughta say good-bye, wish her well. Hell, maybe he’d even ride down to the Pedernales country to see her sometime, sayin’ she was agreeable to such a suggestion. That’s what he could tell her. Then at least he would have said good-bye in a way that wouldn’t leave her feeling like he’d run out on her.

  He didn’t leave the herd too early; and he didn’t leave without telling the points he was heading for camp. He had learned that lesson, he hoped, for the last time.

  It was a beautiful day, not too hot, with a slowly setting sun and a soft afternoon breeze. Riding up to camp he experienced a surge of giddiness he hadn’t felt since…hell, since before that damned stampede.

  He skirted the camp, stepped down from the saddle, reining in his eagerness. He recalled Andie saying she felt good with him, like a kid. That was the way he felt now, riding in, hitching his mount, coming to see her. Then Night Hawk and Jordan rounded the chuck box. The look on their faces brought him up sharp.

  “What’s wrong?”

  They answered in unison. “She’s gone!” “Ma’s gone!”

  Reese’s heart jumped to his throat. He glanced around, looked back at the boys, saw their fright. “What do you mean?”

  “She sent us to pick berries,” Night Hawk began.

  “An’ when we came back she was gone,” Jordan wailed.

  “She probably walked off a ways…for personal reasons.”

  Night Hawk shrugged. “Maybe, but lookee here. There’s dirt all over ever’thing.”

  “Her cobblers are covered with it,” Jordan pointed out.

  Reese forced himself to remain calm. “Could’ve been a dust devil. Did you call her?”

  “Bunches of times.”

  “In ever direction.”

  Reese studied the dirt that had blown over the crusts; he crossed to the fire. A layer of dust crusted the bubbling frijoles. He looked out at the mules.

  Without warning he recalled the first time he had seen her. What a shock. A woman! He’d hired a confounded woman for camp cook! He smiled recalling how she had threatened to ride one of the mules back to town. Stubborn as a mule, he called her then. She wasn’t stubborn, he learned later. Only determined. Like him. They were a lot alike—

  Then he saw the hoofprints, close to the fire, where a horse never trod. Terror climbed up from his belly. “Who’s been here?”

  “No one.”

  “We’ve been gone,” Jordan reminded him.

  Night Hawk hunkered beside Reese to e
xamine the hoofprints. “Ain’t Indians. They don’t generally ride shod horses.”

  “Generally could get her—” Terror had reached his throat; the words almost strangled him.

  “Ain’t no cowboy, neither,” Night Hawk commented.

  “No cowboy worth his salt would ride up to the wrong side of a camp,” Jordan claimed.

  Reese eyed the footprints that sank into loose sand stirred up by the horse. They hadn’t been made by a Western boot. Night Hawk said as much.

  “No cowboy’d wear foot gear like that. Might be the death of him, if he were to.”

  Reese nodded, thinking how that broad flat heel and thick sole could get wedged inside a stirrup. A cowboy needed a high-heeled, pointed-toe boot that would fit easily into a stirrup and slip easily out of one, in case of trouble.

  But the trouble here had happened to Andie. Whether at the hand of a cowboy or a farmer or a damned banker, didn’t matter.

  Following the tracks to the outer edge of camp, Reese had suddenly seen enough. He stopped briefly to reassure Jordan. “Hold down the fort, son. I’ll bring her home.”

  Racing for his horse, he jerked his Winchester from its saddle scabbard and checked the load.

  “Want me to call the hands?” Night Hawk asked. “You might need help.”

  That was true. There wasn’t time. “Not yet.”

  “Where’ll you be, case we need to go alookin’?”

  “Wherever the hell she is. Follow the tracks.” His eyes found Jordan’s. “Keep yourself safe.”

  The sonofabitch hadn’t tried to hide his trail, nor had he wasted time. The horse Reese followed made a beeline east, and Reese spurred his mount after him.

  Fear gripped his gut. He wanted to blame Night Hawk for leaving her alone at the camp, but if an armed man came lookin’ for trouble, a kid asleep in the wagon wouldn’t have stopped him.

  He wanted to blame himself, and partially succeeded. But mostly he wanted to find her. To find her alive and unharmed.

  The tracks led east across the prairie, headed for the distant foothills. Walnut River ran on the other side of those hills, Reese recalled from earlier trips up the trail, with farms scattered along the river bank.

  The boot tracks made by Andie’s abductor could belong to a farmer. But farmers didn’t go around abducting women.

  Just this side of the foothills, the tracks veered north. Reese topped a rise and saw a wagon. He forced himself to draw rein and investigate the situation. He wouldn’t do Andie any good, if he charged in and got himself shot.

  The wagon had a busted wheel. Beside it a man, nondescript from the distance, paced, head bowed. He pivoted at the tongue, reversed direction, then stopped at the back of the wagon. He seemed interested in whatever was inside the wagon for he cocked his head in that direction, waited a minute, then reversed his tracks and paced to the tongue again.

  Reese was still trying to reason through the situation when a woman’s scream rent the air. It froze his heart, raised hairs on the back of his neck, and mobilized his brain. Spurring his mount, he galloped down the hill, headed straight for the man, who was so intent on looking at the wagon, he didn’t hear the commotion until Reese had drawn rein, slid from the saddle, and raced toward him.

  The man turned, wide-eyed. His clothes were rumpled, his hair shaggy, his bleary-eyed expression, anxious.

  Reese drew back a fist. “What’re you doin’ with my woman?” He followed his question with a punch that landed the farmer flat on his back. He bent over the man, heaving, waiting, but his blow knocked the man cold. He turned instantly to the wagon, from where the scream had come.

  At that moment Andie climbed over the tail gate and stepped around the side as serenely as if she were in church. Reese’s heart lurched.

  “Mister Wisdom…” Her eyes widened at sight of the farmer, sprawled on his back in the dirt. She looked up. “Reese?”

  Their gazes locked. For the longest time he could do nothing more than stare at her. She was safe. At least, she looked that way. His eyes strayed to the bundle in her arms.

  “What did you do to Mister Wisdom?” Her voice sounded soft and strange…and wonderful.

  Reese looked down at the man, who sat up, rubbing his jaw.

  “Mister Wisdom?” Reese turned back to Andie. “What the—”

  “It’s a girl, Mister Wisdom,” Andie told the farmer. “A beautiful baby girl. And your wife is fine.”

  Reese reached her before he knew he had moved. He caught her face in his hands. He kissed her lips. “I love you, Andie.” He kissed her again. “I thought I’d lost you.” He kissed her again. “I love you.”

  She started laughing. “Before I would ever agree to marry you, Reese Catlin, you’d have to promise not to hover over me like an ol’ mother hen.”

  “Marry…?” He gazed into the depths of her prairie green eyes, lost in the love he saw there, in the love he felt for her.

  Between them the baby started crying. He glanced down, actually saw it for the first time. His eyes found Andie’s.

  “Marry me, Andie. Now. In Wichita. Today, tonight, tomorrow at the latest.” He looked at the baby again. A little pink fist waved spasmodically, gripping Reese’s heart with a strange new tender-sweet longing. “And have lots of my babies.”

  Roses love sunshine, violets love dew,

  Angels in heaven, know I love you.

  “Don’t you think they’re about finished?”

  Andie snuggled into Reese’s arm. What a day! The cattle brought top dollar and Reese Catlin admitted he loved her, all in the last twenty-four hours.

  Below them now, in the dusty cowtown street, the RC cowboys gathered to serenade the newlyweds. Already they had gone through “Green Grow the Lilacs,” “Careless Love,” and “Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes.” They were on the sixth repetition of the third stanza of “Down in the Valley.”

  Know I love you, dear…

  Reese kissed the top of her head.

  “It was a perfect wedding, Reese. I loved everything about it. Even the berry cobbler, sandy crust and all.”

  He eased a hand down her side, feeling her curves beneath the yellow muslin dress. “I’m not sure how most women would take gettin’ married in front of a campfire, but I suppose it was proper enough for an ol’ trail cook like yourself.”

  “I wanted it that way for Jordan and the drovers. They’re the ones who brought us together.” She plucked at the yellow skirt. “This dress, bought with their hard-earned money.”

  Know I love you…

  Reese squeezed her closer. “I didn’t deduct. Figured a bridegroom oughta spring for his bride a dress.”

  “Oh, Reese.”

  Angels in heaven, know I love you.

  “’Night, boys,” Reese called over the song’s final notes. “See you in camp tomorrow.”

  “Take good care of Jordan,” Andie called down.

  “Hey, Ma,” he called up. “We wired Uncle Kipp ’bout your birthday present.”

  “Thank you, honey. It’s the best present I ever got.”

  “Yahoo! You be…”

  But Reese was already pulling her back inside, where he closed the French doors, drew the drapes, and took her in his arms. “When’s your birthday?”

  “Jordan thinks it’s today.”

  “Today? What’s this present you’re so proud of?”

  She laughed and hugged him with both arms. “You.”

  At his quirked eyebrow, she explained. “Not long before he met you at Uncle Kipp’s, Jordan made a wish on the Evening Star.”

  “Oh?”

  “He wished for me a new husband—for my birthday.”

  For the longest time, Reese held her, quiet and still. At length, he said, “Lucky I came along when I did.”

  “When wishes come true, Reese, there’s usually more love than luck.”

  “It was love that brought me back to that camp,” he admitted. “You’re more important to me than that ol’ Matthews spread or even
the fear of ending up like my pa. When I rode into camp and found out some fool had carried you off, I knew the only thing that mattered was being with you, loving you, forever.”

  He kissed her then, cupping her face in his hands, bringing her lips to his. He moved gently, worshiping, adoring, loving, while he released her with all but his lips and in no time had her disrobed.

  Then he bent his head and nipped kisses along her neck, across her chest, found her breast. When she trembled against him, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to bed.

  “Ah, a real feather mattress.”

  “The finest hotel in Wichita, ma’am. Nothin’s too good…” His words caught. The sight of her lying unclothed in the middle of the bed stoked a flame that had been kindled long ago, that first day when he tried to fire her and she tried to quit.

  She lifted her arms. “Come here, Reese.”

  The sound of her voice calling him to their bed trilled along his senses, softer than a spring breeze, enchanting him.

  The heat of her skin when he lay beside her melded them together. He inhaled her sweet rose-scented skin, with its lingering of wood smoke and cinnamon, and he knew his heart had found its rightful home in hers.

  “Wanta know what I’ve been dreamin’ about?” Whispering into her lips, he moved over her. Her hands trailed up and down his spine, shooting spears of pure desire to the source of all life.

  “What?” she whispered back.

  “This.” With a strong thrust he entered and filled her. The impact was startling, for both of them. He could see it in her eyes, the need, the want, the joy.

  He paused, absorbing the moment, its magnitude, its magic, and the unbelievable fact that she was his and he was hers…forever.

  He began to move, watching her all the time, unable to take his eyes from hers. They smoldered, her green eyes, while she moved with him, steadily climbing higher and higher, until in one brilliant fiery instant they leaped together toward the exploding sun. A few moments later, he collapsed beside her, drawing her close, but not close enough. She could never be close enough.