The Cattleman Meets His Match

by Sherri Shackelford

  John fidgeted. “Ruth Ann?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. Whatever happened with her?”

  “You remember well enough.” Moira had finally ceased looking at him as though he was about to disappoint her at any moment. He didn’t need Pops dredging up the past and casting him in a bad light. “She married Alex Stillwell. They’ve got a pecan farm and five children.”

  “I didn’t ask who she married. I asked why she didn’t marry you.”

  “That’s personal.” Best to end this conversation here and now. He didn’t need Moira wondering what was wrong with him. “What have you got there?”

  “A bit of bread for cooking over the fire. Sarah got it started this morning.” Pops handed him the pan.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Give me a minute.”

  Pops set off for the chuck wagon and returned a moment later with several slender twigs about two feet long apiece. He handed each of the girls a stick. “These are for cooking. Let me show you what to do.”

  He sat next to John and pinched off a fistful of the bread dough, then rolled it into a rope between his palms. Keeping hold of the bread with one hand, he grasped the stick with the other, then wound the dough around one end. “Be sure to pinch the ends together so it stays put.”

  He held the stick over the fire. “Just keep twirling it till the dough gets nice and golden brown.”

  The girls crowded around John, reaching for the dough. In short order, only a marble-sized ball of dough remained. With much giggling, the dough was formed into long snakes. More than one piece hit the dirt and had to be discarded. The activity kept the girls distracted, but not for long.

  After Moira left for her watch, Hazel nudged him. “Why didn’t you marry Ruth Ann?”

  “Well, it’s not so much why didn’t I marry her, but why didn’t she marry me.”

  “So?” Tony lifted her eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t she?”

  With Moira gone, he wasn’t as self-conscious about opening up. “We were too young. Or at least I was too young. She didn’t think I could care for her properly.”

  “Did you draw her a picture?” Hazel asked.

  “Um. No. Can’t say that I did.”

  “I’d like it if someone drew me a picture. I think Moira would like it, too. She likes to draw a lot.”

  “A picture,” Pops said. “Never would have thought of that. But it’s not a bad idea.”

  “I’ll keep that under consideration.” John twirled his piece of dough over the fire. “Although I don’t see how drawing pictures can make someone like you.”

  “Sure can’t hurt,” Tony said. “Doesn’t seem like what you’re doing so far is working out all that well.”

  “I can always count on you to put things into perspective.”

  While the girls laughed and talked, John considered his future. The girls had obviously decided he and Moira belonged together. Considering their odd circumstances, the assumption fit. They were relatively close in age, they were both single. Other than Pops, they were the two adults in camp that the girls relied on.

  He tried on the notion for size, letting the idea roll around in his head. He’d never felt for anyone what he felt for Moira. Not even Ruth Ann. His childhood sweetheart had been a friend. In retrospect, he realized their parting had been inevitable. Neither of them had felt deeply enough for the other to fight for their relationship.

  Maybe in a year or two, when his ranch was up and running and he had a steady source of income—when he proved he could care for Moira—maybe he’d see if she was interested in the idea as well.

  He wasn’t making the same mistake twice. He wasn’t courting a woman until he knew well and sure he could care for her.

  * * *

  The breakfast bell clanged the following morning. Tony stuck her face in the tent. “Mr. Elder says we’re pulling out in twenty minutes. With or without you sleepyheads.”

  Moira glanced around. “You certain? I just went to bed.”

  The nights were cooling yet Moira kicked off the covers and wiped at the fine sheen of sweat on her forehead.

  “It’s morning, all right. You can tell by the sun.”

  Moira tossed a shoe in her direction, but the girl ducked out of the tent and avoided the blow.

  Moira slipped into her denim trousers and tugged her blue chambray shirt over her head, knotting the long tail ends at her waist. Even those simple tasks left her winded and she sat back on her heels. After closing her eyes and counting to ten, she reached for her boots and pulled them on, wincing as the new, stiff leather brushed against her right ankle.

  The scratch on her ankle had healed well at first, then yesterday she’d scraped it and reopened the wound. The previous day she’d sweated despite the cooler weather. She’d hardly slept the previous evening for the throbbing.

  She rested for another few moments and stood, then stepped toward the tent flap. The world spun and she paused, pressing two fingers against her temple. After sucking in a few more breaths, she emerged into the morning sunlight.

  Four faces stood in a half circle around the tent opening.

  Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. “If you don’t ask for help, that wound is going to go septic and then we’ll have to cut off your leg at the thigh.”

  Moira’s eyes widened. “Don’t be silly. It’s only a scratch. I’m fine.” She steadied herself with a hand against the tent.

  “Well, we’re not going anywhere until you let us have a look.”

  “We’re wasting time.” Moira spoke in her most commanding voice. “Mr. Elder will be none too pleased.”

  “Mr. Elder is the one who called this meeting,” a masculine voice spoke.

  Moira groaned. “If it’s that big of a deal, you can take a look.”

  The group disbanded, appearing disappointed at her easy capitulation.

  Sarah brushed past. “It’s not a crime to ask for help, you know.”

  “I don’t need any help.”

  “Whatever.”

  John cleared his throat. “Have a seat over here. Let’s look at that ankle.”

  She dutifully took her place on the edge of the chuck wagon and stuck out her leg.

  John crouched before her and tugged off her boot. “You should have showed this to someone sooner. This appears infected.”

  “Do what you need to do. There’s no call for a lecture.”

  He rested his forearm on his bent knee. “Actually, there’s every need for a lecture. You’re part of my crew. If I tell you to have a scrape checked out, you check it out. Our success is dependent on the health of the crew.”

  Moira bit her lip and looked away. “I am sufficiently chastised.”

  He held her ankle and turned her leg from side to side and his hands dwarfed her foot. She’d never considered herself particularly dainty. Next to John she felt positively tiny.

  The cowboy took a bottle of liniment from a kit at his elbow and unstopped the cork. He poured a measure onto his bandanna and pressed it against the scrape.

  Moira hissed.

  “It’ll only burn for a minute.”

  True to his word, after the initial sting, the pain slowly faded. He pulled away the bandanna and examined the wound once again.

  “I’m going to wrap this. Keep the dirt out.”

  “Make it quick. We’ve a whole day ahead of us.”

  He grasped a roll of binding and carefully wound the bandage around her ankle. “I’ll change this tonight and check for infection.”

  Moira stared at the top of his hat. “Thank you.”

  She couldn’t recall the last time someone had looked out for her this well.

  The brim lifted, revealing his dark eyes. “You’re welcome. Say, I wanted to ask y
ou something. Would you like it if someone drew a picture for you?”

  “What kind of a picture?”

  “Maybe a tree or something.”

  “I, ah, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered.”

  Her heart skittered a beat. Covering her unease, she reached for her boot and tugged the leather back over her ankle.

  The cowboy held out his hand. Moira tentatively reached out her fingertips. He clasped them, helping her balance as she stood. She put some weight on her foot, testing the bandage.

  “It’s better.”

  He threaded their fingers together and stared at their clasped hands. “You don’t have to be strong for everyone. You don’t even have to be strong for yourself all the time. We’re a crew together, we help each other. Support each other.”

  “And what happens when we reach Fort Preble?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What happens when I become dependent on you and then you’re not there anymore?”

  “Well, it’ll be different, that’s for sure. Town life is quite a bit different from trail life.”

  “It’s not only that.” She’d promised herself she’d remain aloof from the girls. The more time they spent together, the more difficult keeping her promise became. “Once we’re back in town, everyone will go their separate ways.”

  “You can write letters.”

  “That’ll never happen. Out of sight is out of mind for people. Once this is over, we’ll never even think of each other again.”

  “Do you really think that?”

  “Don’t you?” She avoided his dark gaze. Lately she worried that she’d miss the cowboy most of all.

  She didn’t understand her feelings for him, but she recognized they were strong. And they frightened her.

  “I think it’s important to enjoy the time we have together. Here. Now. If you’re worrying about the future, or living in the past, you can’t properly enjoy the present.”

  “Strange words coming from a man who’s running from his own family.”

  Hurt flickered across his face, quickly masked by his easy grin. “Don’t forget. Check with me tonight. We’ll change the dressing.”

  He turned and strode away. An unexpected burst of anger flared through her chest. She’d expected him to fight back. Defend himself. Defend his actions. Instead, he’d closed the subject and left her feeling like a first-rate heel.

  He was kind to the girls, good to the animals. He was fair and open-minded. And he didn’t care a whit about moving hundreds of miles from his family. How did all those contradictory things exist in one man? Last night the girls had teased him. He’d had a sweetheart, Ruth Ann. The admission had shocked her.

  Almost as much as realizing she was jealous.

  * * *

  John’s crew had finally picked up speed. The next two days took on a rhythm and they made good time, fifteen miles each day. There was little need for instruction.

  He’d pulled a watch in the middle of the night during a brief squall, letting the rain sluice off his hat and dribble into his boots. Despite the discomfort, he slept better than he had in weeks. The following morning the smell of frying bacon teased his nostrils and pulled him from a restful slumber. Circling around the wagon, he stretched and yawned. A quick look in the mirror attached to the wagon post showed his face had returned to normal. He opened and closed his eyes a few times. They were still a mite bloodshot, but he no longer looked like he could scare a rattler out of its skin.

  It had taken seven days to make the trip. Fort Preble sat in the distance, tall chimneys puffing smoke from cook fires. He hadn’t expected they’d make it this far. Suddenly the idea of going the distance didn’t seem so far-fetched. They were a few days from the Kansas boarder and a few more from Cimarron Springs.

  He shook off the idea. The closer his destination came, the farther it seemed. He’d closed his mind against the dangers of the trip. With each day, he realized the chances of a disaster grew.

  The more he got to know the girls, the more he worried that something would happen. This morning his unlikely crew had crouched before the cook fire. They were filthy and exhausted, and, quite possibly, the best crew he’d ever had. The idea of putting together another crew at Fort Preble to make the rest of the distance soured his stomach.

  Moira rode into view, her new hat low on her head. She slid off her mount and approached him. “We’ve got riders. Two of them. They’re coming toward camp. Fast.”

  John reached for his gun. “Let me handle this.”

  At the rebellious gleam in Moira’s eyes, he set his jaw. “Let me handle this,” he repeated.

  Keeping his fingers on the stock, he watched as the two riders approached. They could be anyone with their enveloping slickers and their hats pulled low against the rain. John widened his stance.

  “What business do you have here?”

  The first rider lifted his head and glanced around. “That’s not the crew you left with.”

  John’s jaw dropped. Of all the people he’d expected to see, he wasn’t prepared for his brother Jack.

  John reached out, clasped his hand in a quick shake. “You’re a long way from home. Did you run out of fugitives in Texas or did Elizabeth send you to check up on me?”

  “Both. Elizabeth is beside herself with worry. She’d probably faint dead away if she saw you now.”

  John shielded his eyes from the sun and met his brother’s steady gaze. “I sure am glad you’re here.”

  Relief coursed through him. His thoughts came into focus. He’d come all this way to prove his point, when the answer was already in sight. He’d inherited his share of the ranch from their father before he was ready, before he’d broken free of childish jealousies and developed the confidence and conviction that came with maturity.

  Looking back on the past few days, he realized he’d sacrifice his pride if it meant the girls’ safety. Nothing else mattered.

  All this time he’d fought hardest with Robert, and the truth was humbling. Robert had lost his wife, he lived with guilt, and he struggled beneath the weight of responsibility that came with raising two children alone. Robert hadn’t saved his wife, so he was driven to save the rest of them. He just went about it the wrong way sometimes.

  A good man knew his strengths, but it took a bigger man to admit his weaknesses.

  John had lectured Moira because her stubborn pride prevented her from asking for help, when he had been guilty of the same offense.

  He’d set out on this journey filled with pride, and he’d discovered humility in the process.

  “I sure am glad you’re here,” John repeated. “I could use the help.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Moira glanced between the two men. “Do you two know each other?”

  “You could say that,” John said. “Meet my brother, Jack Elder. Jack, this is Miss Moira O’Mara.”

  The resemblance was unmistakable. John was an inch taller than his brother was and wider in the shoulders, though they both shared the same rugged good looks. Jack was clearly the older of the two. Gray hair showed at his temples and deep lines tracked across his forehead.

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss O’Mara.” Jack faced his brother. “You and I need to talk about your crew. Alone.”

  Moira held up her hands. “No. Absolutely not. Those girls are my responsibility. Anything you have to say to John you can say to me.”

  The cowboy jerked his head in a nod. “This concerns her, too.”

  “Your call,” Jack replied.

  Moira glanced uneasily at the second rider. Jack followed her gaze. “That’s Sergeant Baker from Fort Preble.”

  The second man braced his hands against his saddle horn. “I’m just along for the ride. This is Sheri
ff Elder’s show.”

  Pops rounded the corner of the chuck wagon and his eyes widened. “What brings you this far from Texas, Jack? You missed the cows?”

  The senior Elder brother dismounted and the two men clasped shoulders in a quick, perfunctory embrace that clearly demonstrated their affection.

  “You old coon dog,” Jack Elder teased. “Aren’t you too old to be trailing across the country?”

  “I’m not that much older than you, and don’t you forget it.”

  “Well, I am too old.” Sheriff Elder rubbed his hip. “I think I’m getting a bit of the rheumatism.”

  “I’ve got some of my cure-all.”

  “How about some coffee instead?”

  “There’s always coffee over the fire when I’m in charge.”

  Moira watched the three men from a distance. They shared a history and their easy affection kept her isolated, staring in from the outside like a child pressing her nose against an ice cream shop window. With their easy relationship, the distance separating them might have been miles instead of a few feet.

  Pops poured steaming hot brew into a tin cup. “How is Elizabeth? What about your young’uns?”

  “Elizabeth is fit and healthy. We’re expecting another child before Christmas.”

  John slapped his brother on the shoulder with a grin. “You never said.”

  “We were waiting to be sure. It’s been five years since our last was born.”

  “You’re awful cheerful for a man who’s about to give up sleep for the next year.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Sheriff Elder’s expression sobered. “Which is why I can’t stay long. I don’t know what you did, but you’ve made a stubborn enemy. Some deputy sheriff wants your head on a platter.”

  Moira groaned. “Wendell.”

  “He sounds like a real weasel. He’s claiming one of your crew stole from him. Says he’s got plenty of other people willing to say the same.”

  John braced one shoulder against the metal ribs of the chuck wagon. “I was afraid something like this might happen. Still doesn’t explain how you got roped into all this.”