His hand landed smack on the back of a startled skunk.
Moira clapped her hands over her mouth and stumbled away.
Champion had chased the bobcat into a den with a previous occupant. A burst of noxious odor hit Moira like a wall. John lunged. He clutched his face and staggered upright. The girls shrieked and scattered like shrapnel. Champion whimpered, tail tucked between its legs, slinking away, muzzle down.
Hazel pinched her nose. “That’s not a cat.”
Her eyes watering, Moira clutched John’s arm. “Skunk.”
“Skunk,” he repeated, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think of that.”
Pops appeared on the hill, then halted, waving his hand before his face. “Who got skunked?”
“That would be me.” John coughed and sputtered.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Pops shouted. “There’s a watering hole about fifty paces ahead. Go rinse off.”
John held his hands before him like a blind man. “My eyes are swelling shut. I can’t see a thing.”
Moira buried her nose in the crook of her elbow. “I’ll lead you.”
The odor was alive, slithering down her throat and coating her mouth. Moira coughed.
John groped along his puffy cheeks. “What’s happening to my face?”
Her own eyes watered profusely, tears running down her face. She pried them open and got a good look at the cowboy. His cheeks were swollen, the sockets around his eyes puffy and misshapen, even his lips were bloated. His face was rapidly becoming unrecognizable.
“Take my hand.” Moira linked her left hand with his and wrapped her right arm around his waist.
Sightless, he extended his right hand, feeling his way. Together they stumbled toward the creek.
Tony jogged toward them, stopping a safe distance and pinching her nose. “You need help?”
Moira glanced over her shoulder. “Get some rags. Have Darcy catch up with Pops and Hazel. He’s gonna need a change of clothes and some soap.”
“Soap isn’t going to help with that stench.”
Moira swiped at her runny nose. “Well, it sure can’t hurt.”
She spotted the depression and followed it down to a stagnant puddle left by the wet fall weather. John tripped through the muddy hoofprints and waded in to his waist. Moira followed close behind, worried at his lack of sight. He pressed his face into the shallow water and threw back his head, showering Moira with water droplets.
“Hey!”
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Moira wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “You’re not sorry at all.”
“Nope.”
She laughed and skimmed the heel of her hand along the water, kicking up a splash.
He waded deeper and Moira splashed after him, catching his elbow. “Not too far.”
Halting, he turned and grazed her shoulder with his elbow. “Sorry.” He reached for her and stumbled, threw out his arms, and sank deeper into the water.
Moira struggled, pulling them toward the bank until the water grazed her waist. She snatched his hat and filled the crown with water, then dumped the contents over his head.
The cowboy gasped and sputtered. “You might give me a warning next time.”
Moira laughed. “Where’s the fun in all that?”
John reached beneath the water. After a moment his hand emerged clutching his familiar, faded blue bandanna.
He mopped at his face “Another.”
Moira obliged, dumping a hatful of water over his head. After ten or twelve dousing, the odor abated somewhat and Moira stepped back. The swelling in his face had gone down, though his eyes remained blistered and closed.
Keeping her arms above her waist she circled until she was upwind of the cowboy. He turned in her direction, running his hands down his face.
His reaction had her worried. “Have you ever been sprayed by a skunk?” she asked.
“I’m happy to say I’ve never had the pleasure.”
“I think you had a reaction. I’ve never seen a swelling like that before. Mrs. Gifford only had a bit of red after she was sprayed.”
“Who is Mrs. Gifford?”
“My foster mother. I worked for Mr. and Mrs. Gifford for years.”
“Wait, I don’t understand. You worked for them? I thought you said they were your foster family.”
Moira smirked. Since he couldn’t see her face, she didn’t have to hide her reactions. “Orphans are little more than indentured servants, serving out our time until we come of age.”
“Surely it’s not like that for everyone.”
“Too many. It’s a hard life out west. It makes people hard. I could spread out blame, but what’s the point. Folks shouldn’t have children if they’re not going to care for them.”
His whole body stilled. “Your parents couldn’t help dying, Moira. You must see that.”
“My parents weren’t dead, Mr. Elder. Not right away. My pa ran off. He figured his money went further supporting one man instead of a family. My mother was sick. Tuberculosis. She couldn’t care for us.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right. They’re both gone now. My brother left the Giffords first.” A sharp pain gripped her heart. “I stayed. I thought he’d come back for me. He never did. When I came of age, I set off on my own, too. I got a job cleaning rooms after hours at a hotel not far from the Giffords and waited. If Tommy came looking...well, I didn’t want to be far.”
Except he’d never come. And the longer she’d waited, the less hope she had. The more she worried he couldn’t forgive her, the more she realized she had to find him and set things right.
“Moira, I’m sorry for bringing up the past. Of reminding you of the pain. Truly I am.”
He stepped closer, blindly reaching out his hand. Moira flinched away. She didn’t want his pity. There were truths in life, that was all.
“I’ve been looking for Tommy ever since. Once we’re together, we’ll be a family again, things will be different.”
He’d make her whole again. She wouldn’t be a burden or a charity. She’d be family. He’d forgive her for what had happened.
“That’s an awful lot of responsibility to put on a person. An awful lot of hope to pin on someone.”
“It’s not worth talking about. You wouldn’t understand.”
He couldn’t understand. He was a loner, but Moira needed family. She needed love and belonging. She needed something to fill the empty parts of her soul. There was no use explaining loneliness to someone who’d never been lonely.
John sank deeper, tipping back his head. “I thought you were afraid of the water.” His shirt plastered to his body, outlining the muscles of his shoulders, the corded strength of his arms.
Moira shivered.
“I’m afraid of running water.”
“You’re afraid of indoor plumbing?”
“No!” She chuckled. “Ponds and lakes don’t bother me so much. It’s the rivers and streams. I’m afraid I’ll be swept away.”
“We’re not getting very far today. Why don’t we call it quits and let everyone rest. We’ll pull out the washtub and give everything at camp a good scouring.”
Moira blushed. She’d gone forty-eight long, hard hours in the same clothing. She’d been soaked twice, but that was different. She needed soap and water and a good scrubbing. A thorough washing sounded wonderful.
“How do I look?” John asked suddenly.
“Horrible!” She replied quickly, grateful for the change of subject. In the two days since she’d let go of civilization, she hadn’t yet adjusted. “You look like you’ve gone three rounds at the fights. And lost.”
“What else do you see?”
“That’s an odd question.
”
“It’s strange, not being able to see.” He turned a lazy circle, sending ripples toward her. “I can’t see you, but I’m picturing you. It makes a fellow think about things. Reminds me of playing blindman’s buff as a kid. When I think of you, you’re very serious. You’re always looking at where you’re going, never what’s around you.”
“I don’t want to trip.”
“We’re not walking now. Humor me. Tell me what you see?”
“No Man’s Land.”
“And what does No Man’s Land look like?”
“Red.”
“You’re terrible at this, you know?” John raked his hands through his damp hair. “Haven’t you ever played I Spy? I spy with my little eye, something green. You’d be surprised at how much people never notice. Look at us right now. My eyes are closed and even I see more than you do. I see black clouds.”
“They’re gray.”
The cowboy shot her a look of pure disgruntlement. “You lost your turn. Don’t interrupt.”
“Fine.”
“The sun is reflecting off the water, shimmering, there’s catfish.”
“This pond is too small for catfish. Besides, how can you see a catfish if you’re blinded?”
“I didn’t see it, it bit my toe.”
A twitch of a smile flickered around the edges of her mouth. Grateful he couldn’t see her reaction, she clamped shut her lips. “I hope it hurt.”
His face distorted in a way that told her clearly he was attempting not to smile. “Of course you don’t.”
The fool man didn’t even have the sense to be embarrassed. Moira chewed her lip and glanced over her shoulder. Where on earth were the others with the supplies? The soap and the change of clothes.
“The water is cold,” John said. “So it must be spring fed. Which means there are trees around. The trees are spindly, already losing their leaves. A storm is coming, but the clouds aren’t dark enough yet. They’re building in the sky like mountains.”
“Your mouth has been leaded, not gilded.”
“I hear the cattle. They’re gathering, too. Trampling down the hill looking for water. Pretty soon that old bull will wade right in up to his waist. I never once saw a bull who liked water as much as that old lazybones.”
He was right, already the cattle dotted the area around the watering hole. They were keeping a wary eye on John and Moira, waiting for their turn.
Instead of admitting that, she said, “It’s a good thing you’re a cowboy. You’d make a terrible poet.”
“Keep your voice down, you’re disrupting my artistic genius. And they’re not cows,” he said with exaggerated patience. “They’re long-horned Texas steer, and they’ll gore you for mocking them. If you’re going to be a trail boss, you should talk like a trail boss.”
Her cheeks warmed despite the chill water. It suddenly occurred to her what a ridiculous turn her life had taken. A simple twist of fate had stranded her in Indian Territory on a cattle drive with a reluctant cowboy.
“My brother Tommy and I had a game, too. We’d imagine where we’d be if we could be anywhere in the world at any time in history. What about you? If you could be anywhere, where else would you be?”
“I’d pick a week from now. In Cimarron Springs,” he announced immediately. “Warming my feet before my own fire with my boots set firmly on my own stool.”
“But what about your family? Wouldn’t you rather be with them?”
John guffawed. “Only once a year at Christmas. When it’s too cold for hunting and the women are around making sure we’re all on our best behavior.”
Her smile faded. “Don’t you miss them?”
“Of course I do. But that’s the way of things. People grow. They move on. Jack and Robert have their own families now.”
“But you could still be a part of their lives.”
“Of course. But things change. We can’t go on like we’re still kids.”
“Things don’t have to change,” she said.
“You know what would happen to this pond if the spring dried up? If the water didn’t keep pumping out? It would go stagnant. Moss would grow on the surface and all the tadpoles would die. The whole place would turn rank. Life is like that. Things have to change to stay alive.”
Is that what she’d done? Had she grown stagnant? No. That wasn’t it at all. She was preserving her family. That was an honorable goal.
He had everything. He had a home. And he didn’t want it. He didn’t understand and he never could. He was carefree and unencumbered, waxing on about shimmering streams and imaginary catfish. He’d lived his safe life near the ground, never understanding what it was like to live up high, inching along a thin wire without a net. Never knowing where your next meal would come from or where you’d sleep that night.
Even with his face swollen and the faint stench of skunk drifting over the rushing stream, he was handsome. It wasn’t just his looks, there was something compelling about him, a pull that kept her waist-deep in a freezing pond when she could be curled up before a warm fire instead.
He had effortless charm and an easy way. Perhaps that was the problem. He was right about her. She always kept her head down. She was drawn to his sense of adventure.
He ran his hand down his face and for a moment she sensed a rare vulnerability. In that instant his shoulders appeared less broad, his expression worried, though muddled by the swelling, distracted. She’d come to think of him as invincible, certainly indefatigable. His patience never lagged, his temper rarely flared.
He’d taken a rotten situation and put a humorous spin on the events, and not for his own benefit.
John took a step forward and stumbled. Moira reached out and steadied him. His shirt was soaked through, plastered against his torso. The heat of his shoulder radiated through the chill water, warming her hand.
Her breath grew shallow and uneven.
She took the bandanna from his free hand and dipped it into the water, wringing out the excess. Her touch cautious, she laid the cool cloth against his creased eyes. He winced and Moira pulled back.
His hand covered hers, pressing the cloth into place. “It’s all right.”
Moira shivered against the husky timbre of his voice.
“You’re freezing.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Lead me toward the bank. If we don’t get you out of this water, you’ll catch your death.”
Together they struggled through the thick mud toward the bank, then collapsed on the dry, prickly grass.
Moira glanced up. “It looks like the cavalry is coming.”
Pops appeared on the horizon, his bulky form moving faster than Moira had thought possible. Sarah and Hazel jogged beside him.
John touched her hand. “You haven’t told me where you’d rather be.”
“I’d go back in time and right a wrong.”
His head jerked around. “What wrong?”
“It’s nothing. Never mind.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re stubborn as all get-out?”
“They tell me all the time. I just never listen.”
“That’s because you’re stubborn,” he replied gruffly.
John accepted the blanket Pops draped around his shoulders. “Someday I’ll get my answer, Miss O’Mara.”
She tightened the blanket Sarah had given her and glanced at the sky. True to John’s prediction, the clouds had grown and darkened. They hadn’t made any progress yet that day and they were going to be halted by a thunderstorm.
Pops swung his arm in an arc. “Get yourselves back to camp. I’ve got a surprise waiting.”
John sighed. “Please tell me it’s not another skunk. This day can’t get any worse.”
A clap of thunder met John’s muttered question.
&n
bsp; “Yep,” Pops replied. “Looks like this day just might get a touch worse at that.”
Moira trailed behind the group. When she was with John, he consumed her thoughts, her focus. She hadn’t thought about Tommy in hours. She hadn’t considered what she’d do next. She hadn’t even thought about the sheriff’s promise or what she might find at the telegraph office in Cimarron Springs. Moira scoffed. She hadn’t thought of anything beyond the present. The oversight felt like a betrayal.
When she’d lived with the Giffords, she’d felt trapped. At least the choice of searching for Tommy had been taken from her. Not anymore. She had no excuses for faltering in her goal. Glancing in John’s direction, she shook her head. She’d vowed not to be distracted and it was time to keep that vow.
No more kisses. No more banter. This was business. They were driving a herd of cattle. Once they reached Cimarron Springs, they’d never see each other again.
* * *
John groaned. He still couldn’t see well. Despite a good dose of Pops’s magic cure-all, a syrupy concoction with a foul aftertaste, his eyes remained swollen and his vision blurred. “You didn’t tell me the surprise.”
“The drummer caught up with us.” Pops muttered something unintelligible. “Now where is my ladle?” John heard the distinctive clink of tin cups and cutlery as Pops searched his chuck wagon. “That’s funny. I don’t remember putting it there. Anyway, he’s unhitched his horses. Looks like he plans on sticking around a while.”
“The girls must be chomping at the bit.”
“Not like you’d think. You gotta remember, they’ve got no money. They’re not getting their hopes up. Don’t know how they’ll get outfitted. I think they’re afraid to ask. They’ve got their pride you know.”
John absorbed the quiet rebuke. Of all the roadblocks he’d considered, pride hadn’t been on the list. “Two days ago I had a crew of men. I didn’t have to worry about this stuff.”
“That was two days ago. This is now. You’ve got other problems.”
The Cattleman Meets His Match Page 16
