“Sir, we hadn’t spent any money on her yet.” The scrawny one scratched his head, a look of strained thinking on his face.
“He means bothering, you dolt.” The leader smacked his cousin on the head and knocked his hat off. The leader turned to Orlando. “You have our word, Mr. Thomas, sir. We won’t be costing any women no more.”
Orlando gave one more threatening look, then approached Samara. “Can we head home now?”
Samara nodded, giving him a speculative perusal. There were times he hated the legend his life had built living in the shadow of his father. People complained women liked to do nothing but talk, but he’d have to say the men of the mountains proved that they were just as apt to jaw, spinning tales around campfires late into the night. He wasn’t even sure how some of the stories connected to him were birthed, but they were, leaving a trail of awestruck men in its path. He shrugged off his upset, missing his secluded cabin where he was just Orlando, not some blown-up fictional tall tale.
“Do you think he’ll tell us about the time the mountain lion tried to chew his head off and he pried the animal’s jaw from his head with his bare hands?” Orlando heard whispered from the crowd of men as he lifted Samara onto the saddle.
Orlando shook his head in disgust as he mounted up behind Samara. With a quick nod to John, Orlando turned Loco toward home. Hopefully that little trip convinced Samara she was in the past. At the same time, he prayed it hadn’t planted far-fetched notions of him in her head.
Samara hated the fact that it took her a long time to calm her shaking body, even after being pulled tight to Orlando. While she appreciated that Orlando didn’t say a word about her obvious fright, it irritated her that she hadn’t confronted the men, or at least run for the cabin. She hadn’t even been able to call for help. Maybe leaving Orlando wouldn’t be the smartest move yet.
“Stupid, weak—” she muttered under her breath.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Orlando leaned his head closer.
Great, now the man had caught her talking to herself. “I was… I was just wondering if what those guys said was true. Did you really escape a band of angry Utes and strangle a bear… with your bare hands?”
Samara couldn’t hear what he mumbled before he huffed in her ear. “No, those are just tall tales. Most of the stories are actually of my Pa. For some reason my name gets tossed into the stories. While I did have a tussle with a bear once, I did not kill him with my bare hands.”
Samara turned her head to glance back at him, cocking her eyebrow in question. He rubbed the back of his neck and peered into the trees along the trail. Pink tinged his neck in a blush, and Samara smiled wide.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well what?”
“How’d you kill the bear?” Samara wondered if she really wanted to know.
“Let’s just say my knife wasn’t knocked from my hand.” Orlando adjusted in the saddle and surveyed the other side of the trail, cutting off her view of his face.
“What about climbing Pike’s Peak and the mountain lion chomping on your head?”
“I have no idea where that cougar story comes from. I swear some yarns spin themselves.” Orlando laughed, a look of chagrin on his face. “As far as Pike’s Peak goes, that tale is mostly true. I also had my haversack with medical supplies and some jerky along with my canteen.”
“Hmm.” Samara’s forehead crinkled in question at such a seemingly foolish venture. Everything Orlando had done so far exuded intelligence, so why would he do something so contrary to that?
“What?”
“Well, why did you go up there with so little?” Samara searched his face for lies or embellishments to his story.
“I was down by Pike’s Peak getting supplies when word got out that a group of miners had gotten stuck up on the peak. They had been foolish, really, getting well off the trail in an area much too treacherous to journey through. No one was willing to go save them.” Orlando shrugged as he looked into her eyes. “I couldn’t leave them up there to die. So I left my wagon with some acquaintances who mine near there and headed out to see if I could help.”
“Did you find them?”
Orlando nodded, his voice trailing off as he gazed blankly into the woods. “Not before two of them perished, though.”
“Oh.” Samara turned around, sorry she’d pushed him to answer.
Orlando wasn’t like any man she’d ever met. What kind of man risked his own life to save someone from their own foolish mistakes, and then felt such deep emotion later? She knew what kind of man risked that, a man just like her father. A man who would end up killed in his naive attempt to help others. Samara’s breath hitched at the thought, determined to steel herself to his kindness and move on as soon as she figured out how to.
A soft bleating interrupted her inner distress, causing her to sit up a little straighter. They rounded a curve in the skinny game trail they were following through the woods and emerged into a beautiful mountain meadow that stretched out toward the mountains in the distance. She gasped in delight at a herd of sheep that dotted the meadow like large cotton balls. A laugh escaped as she watched lambs frolic and tumble among the columbine and Indian paintbrush. With the mountains continuing their trek into the sky in the distance, the aspen and pine marching along the edge, and a meandering stream lazily winding its way through the tall grass and wildflowers, she thought this was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.
“Welcome to my home.” Orlando’s deep voice rumbled through her.
She then noticed the little cabin tucked into the corner of the meadow with a larger log barn hiding behind the cabin, inconspicuous in their attempt to blend into the surroundings. A corral held a couple of horses that called out to their approaching friend, Loco, who answered in turn. The creek winding past the cabin had a section fenced in where it bubbled along the edge of a garden that was shooting its green plants towards the sky. The fence looked odd with its log pieces woven together and stretching precariously over the creek, winding down its edge and crossing back, almost as if unsure of its job in this expansive wilderness meadow. It seemed a rather large garden for a single man who appeared to not need anything cultivated, just the woods— a few minutes and a meal would be had.
“It’s breathtaking,” she whispered, leaning back into him with a sigh of contentment.
“I never thought much about leaving where I grew up. It just always seemed home, you know. But when Hunter married my sister Viola, the cabin got mighty small. I figured this would be a good spot since we already had the cabin and barn built. I never imagined I would love it here as much as I do, but it’s become a place that’s mine. I still carry the memories of building the cabin and barn with Pa and the times we shared here while trapping. But with the garden, the flock, and settling in, it’s become a part of me that brings me a peace I hope might pass to you while you are here.” Orlando surveyed the area with pride.
Peace. She’d felt the wrap of its comforting arms around her the instant they turned the curve. It’d been so long since she’d been in its presence, she didn’t recognize the calm. She realized she used to bask in peace before her world had fallen apart. In a moment of fright, she wanted to push the feeling away, keep it at arm’s length, to remain on guard. Ready for when serenity left in a blink, leaving her exposed and vulnerable again. But exhaustion pulled at her shoulders. Exhaustion, not just from the last twenty-four hours, but from the last twelve years. She decided she’d let the tranquility remain, allow it to curl around her a little bit longer. Then when she had her feet back under her, she’d build her walls against it again.
Orlando loved his home in the mountain meadow. The presence of God saturated him with peace whenever he was here. Though he always knew God was with him, this place he’d claimed as his seemed steeped in the Spirit.
As Samara glanced around the area, small gasps of joy escaping from her, he prayed that God would wrap His Spirit around her, give her some space to breathe without the i
ntensity that radiated from her. He’d seen others who acted like her before, run up against the walls they built up to protect themselves, but they had been mostly warriors, men who spent their time on the attack or in defense from others. Was that what had caused her to be the same?
He sighed as she leaned back into him. Her shoulders relaxed and the tension left her. Maybe this meadow of his could heal her soul, like it had healed his.
“Why sheep? I’m sorry, but it doesn’t seem like something a mighty mountain man would raise,” Samara asked.
Orlando laughed out loud at the absurd description of himself, ruing running into those men and their stories. Now, his father fit that description. Orlando strived to live like his father, a man known throughout the Rockies as a man of respect, infused with the power of the mountains he’d been raised in. Though Orlando tried to encompass his father’s legacy, he often wondered if it was a fleeting wish, one he could never live up to. Lately he wondered if he even deserved to attempt, what with how catastrophically he’d failed his father.
He shook off those thoughts, not wanting Samara to sense his struggle. “They are actually an experiment I’ve been working on since last year. I want to find more sustainable means of livelihood to carve out of these mountains than mining. So many come out here, betting on striking it rich, only to end up struggling to feed themselves. With sheep, someone could sell both the wool and the meat. They could also eat them if times got lean and game were scarce. The ewes can be milked for a family. Overall, I thought it might just help out some folks willing to do the work. I have a friend I recently made who is taking some of the sheep down south a bit to see if we can replicate what I’ve done here. I guess we’ll find out in the next year or so.”
“Isn’t that a little controversial? I mean, aren’t the cattlemen not too fond of sheep? I mean, they don’t call them the Sheep Wars for nothing,” Samara asked.
“Sheep Wars? I know some of the cattle ranchers aren’t happy with sheep out on the plains, but there aren’t any ranchers up here running cattle. It’s too harsh for cattle.”
“You’ll be surprised. Maybe it hasn’t exploded yet, but it gets pretty nasty,” Samara said.
A thin thread of apprehension wove through him, but he shook it off. “I can’t help how others will react. There will always be those that come against me, and if there isn’t, the mountains will give a go at it. I believe this is a viable income for those willing, and I’m up for helping those who are.”
Orlando couldn’t become concerned about everything Samara knew would happen. If he did, he’d lock himself in his cabin and never actually live. He’d just put his trust in God like he always had and pray for protection and wisdom along the way.
Chapter 7
Samara shook her head at Orlando’s selflessness. She’d never met someone willing to experiment with a livelihood, one that invited attack, to help others survive. No one did that, especially not someone struggling to carve a life out of the mountains themselves. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d helped someone else. Pushing aside the prick of unease her thoughts created in her conscience, she refocused on the tidy little homestead drawing closer.
“Why do you have the fence around the creek and garden like that?” She hoped to distract herself.
“The little fluff balls kept getting in my garden and eating my medicinal herbs. Since I planted the garden next to the creek for ease of watering, I decided just to fence the creek in along with the garden to make it easier on myself.”
Samara chuckled in surprise and the bleating got louder and more enthused. The sheep had caught sight of them and were frolicking toward them. The first to arrive caused such a racket, she put her hands over her ears and turned to Orlando with a smile. He rolled his eyes and muttered something to her.
She took her hands off her ears. “What?”
He smiled and pulled her close, speaking into her ear and sending lambs tiptoeing in her belly. “I’m gonna have to get down and greet them, otherwise they’ll never leave us alone.”
She nodded as his hand slid down her arm to grasp the saddle. He leaned forward, invading her senses with his leather-forest smell before he swung his leg awkwardly behind him and over Zeus. If someone figured out that tempting scent, they’d make a killing in cologne sales. Heck, she’d buy a bottle just so she could keep that intoxicating aroma close, maybe spray her pillow so she’d dream of rugged mountain men who helped others and greeted sheep.
Samara giggled as she watched him meander through the flock. He was a dichotomy she didn’t understand. His clothing, while coarse, molded to his impressive body as if they were one, loose where needed for ease of movement and close to the muscles for stealth. His pants and jacket appeared handmade out of leather with fringe hanging, some missing from where it looked cut. His shirt that peeked out from beneath, while clean, appeared to be made from plain cotton dyed a faded red and was well worn. His dark gray felt hat had a large, flat brim and low crown misshapen and abused by much use. It covered his golden blond hair that hung to his shoulders. The gold in his beard was tinged with red. In her time, people would assume he rode the Thor bandwagon, but his version appeared genuine, determined, and much more heart-stoppingly gorgeous. His feet finished the picture, wrapped in moccasins stained dark with use.
What stilled the breath within her throat wasn’t his manly physique and good looks, but rather the way he moved with ease and care through the flock. He softly crooned to the sheep, touching each one gently on the face and the back. When one determined to be needy, he didn’t push it away. He stopped and lifted its face and rubbed beneath its chin, talking lowly to it. It had been the same way he’d treated her and Zeus, tenderly with patience. Even when the wolves had attacked, he’d remained calm, infusing her with his strength, never jerking or violent, just smooth, efficient movements. She hadn’t encountered this gentle ruggedness before and didn’t know how to prepare herself against it.
When all the sheep had said hello and wandered back out into the field and the three massive sheepdogs that looked to be Zeus’s relatives received their greeting, Orlando turned to her and approached with a shrug. He came beside Loco and reached up to pet Zeus, who whined behind her. He leaned in and whispered something in Zeus’s ear causing the dog’s tail to thump against the horse’s rump.
Orlando’s eyes twinkled with joy as he shrugged. “They’re a hassle, that’s for sure, but they should be content now. Let’s get you two into the cabin. I need to check both your’s and Zeus’s wounds, make sure they’re not getting infected.”
Samara nodded and swallowed. She needed some time to think, to decompress, and figure out a way to get back to her time. A way to get far from this man that caused her brain to skid to a halt.
Samara tripped over her feet at the threshold of the cabin. Her mouth decided to take up the torch of embarrassment by hanging open in a gawk so big a horsefly could’ve flown in and set up camp. The interior of the cabin, painted white, felt bright and fresh, not how she imagined a rustic cabin would be. Drying herbs hung from ladders attached to the ceiling. Shelves lined one wall and contained not only big tomes but what looked like journals and rows of carefully labeled jars and bottles.
A bed pushed up against one corner had a colorful quilt upon it and a trunk against the end. A door led to a room beyond which she assumed was a bedroom, though why he would have two beds confused her. A stone fireplace sat in the middle of the wall dividing the cabin, which was ingenious since the stone wall would heat the bedroom from the backside. Hooks hung on swivels that moved into the fireplace. Since no other stove was present, the cooking must’ve been done in the fireplace. She shook her head in amazement. The only other furniture in the room was a large kitchen table that only had two chairs and a rocking chair set next to a crude end table.
Though the cabin held more charm than she expected, the immaculate state of the room surprised her most. Between the crisp walls, split-log floor scrubbed spotless, and the she
lves without a speck of dust, one would think they’d walked into a house in the middle of the city in her time, not a cabin in the middle of the wilderness in 1879. Even the herbs hanging from the ceiling were cobweb free and tidy.
“I’m going to set Zeus on the bed out here for now. You’ll have the bedroom through the door. I’ll just grab my stuff from there after I bring in the saddlebags.” Orlando crossed the room and set the fluffy dog on the bed.
He crossed back to where Samara stood at the door and squeezed past her to go outside, but not before she saw the blush that had risen upon his cheeks beneath his beard. She smiled at his awkwardness, glad she wasn’t the only one troubled by this arrangement.
Zeus whined from the bed as Orlando disappeared. Samara crossed the room and sat beside the dog, rubbing him behind the ears. This entire situation was beyond awkward. Downright crazy was what it was.
“It’s going to be okay, big boy. Everything’s going to be okay.” Samara wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or the dog. She slid her fingers through Zeus’s beautiful white fur, scratching beneath his shoulder blade. Zeus’s paw started twitching, its wrapped length moving faster the more she scratched.
Orlando groaned as he came back in the cabin. “He’s never going to want to come to the field and do his job now. You’ll surely ruin him.”
Samara looked at Orlando in concern and wariness. Was this what would push him over? His smile and the humor in his eyes told her no. She inwardly sighed in relief.
“I’m sure Zeus will be more than happy to go back to work when he’s healed,” Samara crooned to the big dog like a baby. “But in the meantime, I plan on spoiling my hero.”
Orlando set his saddlebags on the table, then brought her dulcimer case to her. He placed it on the bed and roughly petted Zeus’s head. He moved to the fireplace and quickly had a fire going before she would’ve even had the kindling stacked. Just like the cabin, he exuded efficient exactness. She wondered what it would take to get him rattled.
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