by Lynn Donovan
Roland swallowed hard. “My very question…”
His thoughts and his voice trailed off into the woods. Were they in danger? Could he have stayed too long and now the bounty hunter had caught up with him? “Perhaps we should be going?”
Surprise replaced the far-off look. “Oh. He’s really no danger…but, if you need to get back, certainly we can leave. I’ve done what I needed to here.”
Roland looked out across the cemetery. The children were still playing with the little sensory plants. The birds called to one another high up in the trees, squirrels scampered from branch to branch. Peace and tranquility blanketed the quaint plot of land. Was he being overly paranoid? Then again was there any such thing when one is on the run from the law. Bitter bile lapped at the back of his throat. He swallowed, but the sour taste stayed in his mouth. How could he be so foolish as to come with her today? He needed to move on.
But he had promised to look at the Second Chance cattle. Perhaps moving to another ranch, he could buy more time to be near Hope and yet keep his tracks obscured.
Who was he kidding? He had no idea how to outrun the law. Other than find a cave somewhere deep in the northern mountains and become a hermit. He was bound to be caught eventually. He sighed. “Yes, I should probably be getting back. I need to gather my belongings and prepare to move to the Second Chance Ranch. Who’s the foreman over there, anyway?”
“My cousin has had a more successful year… without her husband. Her ranch tends to be more profitable--“
“War causes hard times for everyone, Mrs. Ledbetter.” Roland almost reached out to comfort her, but held himself back. “I would never judge anyone’s survival results.”
She smiled shyly. “Thank you, Dr. Meadows. Charity’s foreman is Andre Hernandez.”
“Of course.” Roland allowed himself to touch her back to guide her toward the picnic area. Together they gathered the picnic and walked toward the wagon. “Come along, children, Bella.” Sadness tainted her tone.
“Aw, momma.” Jaxon whined. “We haven’t put all the sleeping beauties to sleep.”
“Sweeping buty, Momma.” Jewell clapped her hands.
Hope chuckled. “I know my darlings, and Bella hasn’t chased down every lizard, but we need to go home now.”
Reluctantly, Jaxon took his little sister’s hand and followed his mother to the wagon. Roland lifted them into the back and assisted Hope to the bench. Prince and Bella leapt on their own into the bed of the wagon with the children and curled up together, intertwining their heads on each other’s neck.
Roland liked this feeling. A picnic with a family. He could see this being his life, if only he didn’t have this murder charge hanging over his head. Gloom washed over him. He flipped the reins and the mule lunged forward. They rode in silence to Hope’s ranch. By the time he pulled into the barnyard, the children had been lulled to sleep. He hated to disturb them, but knew they needed to go inside.
He crawled over the side and gingerly lifted Jewell, handing her to her mother’s waiting arms. Bella followed Jewell’s sleeping body with her nose and leapt from the wagon. Roland turned back and caught his breath. The boy was sound asleep with his arm over Prince’s shoulder. Something about the stillness of the overly active child grabbed ahold of his heart, and formed an inconsolable longing, an ache in his chest. How he wished the boy could be his son, the girl could be his daughter, and Hope could be his wife.
He cleared his throat, shoving the regret and remorse as far down as possible, and carefully lifted him into his arms. Prince pranced back and forth until Roland left the wagon bed, then Prince jumped down and stayed at his side. Roland followed Hope into her house and put Jaxon in the half-size bed she indicated was his. He patted Prince’s head and waited a moment longer. He wanted to stand with Hope and watch them sleep. To hold her in his arms, gazing at the precious little ones, and thank God for the family he had been blessed with.
But it was all an impossible lie. He could never have this. Not with Hope Ledbetter or anyone else.
Ever.
He was a wanted man and on the run. He needed to leave her ranch as soon as humanly possible, to keep his trail obscure, and never ever make any promises to a woman for a long and happy life.
NINE
“Mrs. Chance, I understand you’re having problems with your calves’ mortality rate.” Roland stood on the large veranda of the elegant colonial style home. So different was this ranch from Hope’s. It was apparent the loss of her husband to the War had not affected her financial profits nor the condition of her ranch. It was as if this was how it had always been, on this Second Chance Ranch. Perhaps it was not the husband who coordinated the operations. Roland smiled wryly to himself. Women out here in Texas were of a hardier constitution than those back east. The women he had known back home would have never survived, let alone thrived as this Charity Chance was doing.
“Dr. Meadows, thank you for looking into this for us.” Hope’s cousin bore the same red hair, although her’s was more of an rich auburn whereas Hope’s had just a hint of the red shade in what would otherwise be considered blonde. A shiver of instinctive warning slithered up his spine. He closed his eyes and swallowed. He didn’t know why, but felt he needed to get away from this ranch house, and out in the field where he could be more secluded.
“Could I have a look around? Which pasture do you have your pregnant cows?”
“Of course. Let me change and I’ll join you.” She stepped back from the door.
“Thank you ma’am, but could you just point me in the right direction and I’ll go on out there to get started examining the cows and calves… you can join me when you’re ready.”
Mrs. Chance reversed her step and entered the veranda with him. “Well, I don’t see why that would be a problem.” She shaded her eyes with her hand and faced west. “The cows are moved to the western pasture this time of year until they calf. It’s just native grasses, so we’re pretty sure it’s not a poisonous plant or Johnson grasses.” She shook her head and turned her eyes to meet his. “I don’t understand it, Dr. Meadows. I’ve never lost calves like this. The momma’s seem to be alright, haven’t lost any of them, except to the occasional coyote, but the calves don’t seem to make it a week, we just find them dead with their momma bawling over them. It’s eery, Dr. Meadows. Breaks my heart, it does.” She blinked away tears.
Roland nodded. “But the momma cows seem to be alright?”
“Yes. It’s the darnedest thing.”
Roland turned to look at the western pasture dotted with cows. “I’ll go see if I can determine the problem. Maybe snakes are biting the calves? I don’t know ’til I get out there and look around and examine them. Maybe I can luck out and observe a birth or two.”
“That’s a strong possibility, Dr. Meadows. They’re dropping every few days.”
Roland stepped off the porch, while Mrs. Chance returned to her doorway. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Roland said over his shoulder. His mind was already focused on solving this curious puzzle. He eased into the saddle on his horse and made his way out to the field she had indicated. The cows shifted with unease to have a stranger among them. At first glance, they looked good. Bulging at the middle with birth imminent. They looked well fed, their noses were wet and of good color. They eyes looked good. He eased up to one that seemed calm and patted her head. Ran his hand down her shoulder and gently reached for her hoof. No fever.
What few calves stood beside the healthy females, however, looked drawn. Some gagged, others coughed, indicating breathing was difficult. Roland shook his head. A momma cow bawled, lifting her head high like a dog howling to the moon. He gingerly walked over to her. She nudged her nose against something lying at her feet. A dead calf. Ants and flies ravaged the carcass. Roland drew out a knife and wrapped a sample in a handkerchief.
He straightened to look out across the land, scanning the immediate area for signs of plants that might be causing t
he trouble, evidence of snakes, predators, whatever might be amiss. He trotted his horse toward the river. A delicate white-blossomed plant grew there near the water, but wasn’t in the pasture with the cows. He turned back to the field and rode in among the cows. How could the calves be affected but not the cows? It has to be external to the mommas. He swung his leg over the saddle to dismount and continued to walk among the cows. Soon he spotted one wandering off from the herd. He remounted and squeezed the horse’s sides to urge him forward, slowly walking toward the cow that obviously was isolating herself from the others. Roland kept a slight distance. Perhaps he could witness a birth and then see what might be happening to cause their sudden death.
As expected, the cow soon dropped a calf. Mrs. Chance and her daughter approached him quietly. “Well, see there. I told you it was a strong possibility. She lifted a jar of a creamy liquid from a basket her daughter carried over her arm. “Let’s give them some time and then I’ll treat her udder.”
Roland jerked his head to the side. “Treat her udder… with what?”
“Oh, it’s just a salve I mixed up. It’s a bit of a family secret that’s been sent down through the generations. We women use it for our youthful complexion and it’s wonderful for the cows’ udders, too. Helps protect their delicate skin from the sunburns and keeps the teats subtle for the calves.”
“Hmm.” Roland looked at the jar. “And you apply this salve to every udder postnatal?”
“Uh, if that means soon as she drops her calf, yes. As soon as I know the calf has been born, I try to get out here and treat them.” She lifted her chin slightly. Had he hit a chord of pride on her part?
“Mrs. Chance, I don’t mean you insult, I’m just looking at any possibilities for these calves mortality. Can you tell me what’s in this salve?” He peered into the jar.
“Well, I -- of course. I’m sure our grandmother wouldn’t fault me for giving you the family recipe. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.” She hesitated. Roland smiled at her consternation to reveal this sacred secret. “Finely crushed oats, apple cider, and the gelled interior of this.” She pointed at a patch of long, slender, succulent plants.
Roland broke off a stem and sniffed at the jelly ooze. “Is this… aloe?”
She nodded. “It was brought with the slaves from Africa long ago. Now it grows as if it were native to Texas.” A blush filled her cheeks. “It has medicinal qualities that our grandmother incorporated into her face cream and we’ve refined it into our salve for the cattle. It soothes their sunburned udders. It’s truly amazing.” She touched the side of her face. “Does the same for us women who spend a lot of time in the harsh sun, too.”
“Could I take this jar?” Roland reached out to examine the content. He sniffed the creamy salve. Something wasn’t right but he couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong.
“Well, I suppose that’d be alright.” She released the jar into his hand.
“May I ask something of you, also, Mrs. Chance?”
“Of course, Dr. Meadows.”
He looked across the short distance to the cow licking her newborn. “Don’t put any salve on the cows until I have had a chance to determine what might be causing the mortality decline.”
She tilted her head to one side, curiosity etched on her face. “Alright. You think it could be in the salve?”
“I’m just not sure, but I want to check everything out first. There are some poisonous plants growing down by the river, I don’t know yet, but I suspect that somehow they might be affecting the herd… it’s just a theory… I really don’t know, yet.”
She looked toward the river. We don’t allow the calves to go near the river until they are strong enough to swim. I don’t see how--” She turned back to him. “But then again, if I knew what was causing our calves to die, I wouldn’t have asked you to come over, would I? Do whatever you need to do, Dr. Meadows. I won’t interfere or use any salve until you let me know it’s alright.”
Nodding with a practiced doctor’s reassurance, he tucked the jar of salve into his saddlebag. He rode toward the river and picked some sprigs of the white blossoms and caught a frog. He tucked these things into the saddlebag and rode back to her ranch. He’d find a quiet place to think and examine all he had seen. Perhaps the hayloft, like at Hope’s ranch, would serve as his sanctuary for bedding and quiet reflection. He carried the saddlebag over his shoulder as he climbed the ladder. Once he settled into a corner of the hayloft, he began his investigation of its contents. Opening the jar, he took out a scoop of creamy goo and massaged it onto the frog’s back. He dropped him into a feed bucket so he couldn’t hop away and examined the plant blossom. It looked like hemlock. But how could it have gotten anywhere near the calves to affect them?
He leaned back against the hay and closed his eyes, letting all he had seen today pass through his thoughts like a parade. The assessments he’d made on the cows, the calves, the land and its flora, and the river with the white-blossomed plants that reminded him of hemlock, but, he noted, could be something harmless. He needed to find an alchemist in town. Hope’s face infiltrated those thoughts. Soon all he could see in his mind was her smile, her eyes, her soft touchable hair. He missed her, her son, the darling daughter.
An odd sensation drew his attention from his pleasant reverie. His eyes darted about the barn. Was someone there? He hadn’t heard footsteps or the door move, but his senses were fully awakened that he was not alone. Roland eased forward from the hayloft to peek over the open floor. Everything seemed in order. No animals alerted to a stranger’s presence. Perhaps it was the paranoia plaguing him once again. He eased back into the shadows of the loft and listened.
A jingle of a bridle being spirited off a hook reached his hearing. He resisted leaning forward to see who was preparing a horse at this time of evening. A dirty hat and a dark vested shoulder was all he could see from his angle. Who was this? The cowboys from the competition had become familiar to Roland, but this one was not. Had he competed? Or could he be the one he had been avoiding? The one sent by Sheriff Grayson? Roland swallowed and waited.
The man took the bridle in his left hand, hefted a blanket and saddle over his right shoulder and left the barn. Soon Roland heard the whinny of a horse the man selected from the corral and the plodding of hooves as he rode away. Where was he going? Better yet, who was he? Fear grabbed Roland’s gut, his heart pounded against his ribs. He closed his eyes and tried to calm both. He had to think. Mrs. Chance needed an answer to her problem, but he needed to get far away. He looked around for his things, but caught sight of the bucket. He glanced inside and instantly knew what was killing the calves.
But how?
“Mrs. Chance, could we sit down to talk?” Dr. Johnny Meadows stood at her door. He shifted uneasy and continuously glanced over his shoulder. Why was he so nervous?
“Of course, Dr. Meadows, is this about my calves?” She’d hoped to know what was wrong so it could be fixed, and prayed it wasn’t just some mystery that could not be solved, but now that he stood at her door, her heart felt troubled.
“Yes ma’am, but I’m concerned for your safety as well.”
Charity’s hand fluttered to her throat. How could the effects on her calves be a danger to her or Charlie? “Oh dear me, do come in.”
She pushed the door back to allow him in. “Tea?”
“That would be nice, ma’am, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. I’m… uh, overdue at another event.”
“Well, then, shall we take a seat in the parlor?”
Dr. Meadows nodded, but the sadness in his eyes tugged at Charity’s heart. Whatever could have such an effect on this man? He sat on the edge of a divan while she took her usual chair near the hearth. He appeared to be ready to spring to his feet at a moment’s notice. His nervousness was contagious, she felt a taut tension begin to tighten at the nape of her neck and in her tummy. She swallowed bitter bile and tried to focus on what he had to say.
“Let me ask you a question. Did you say you made t
hat salve, yourself?”
Charity nodded and sucked her lower lip into her mouth. “It’s our grandmother’s secret recipe.”
“Do you use this same… recipe for your own personal use?”
Charity jerked, her back stiffened. “Well, yes. Lantern women have been using Grandmother Isabella’s salve for decades. Why?”
“Mrs. Chance, I don’t quite know how to tell you this.” Dr. Meadows squirmed even closer to the outer edge of the divan. He rubbed the back of his neck the way she’d seen Sebastian do when he was getting one of his debilitating headaches. Did this doctor suffer from the same thing? Was he as ridiculously weak as her husband had been? She swallowed the disgust. She couldn’t allow herself to judge other men by her lazy worthless husband.
“Ma’am. The jar of salve you gave me when we were out there in the field is poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” She leapt to her feet. “Oh goodness. You mean to tell me, I’ve been poisoning my own calves? They… they died because they suckled the momma cow’s teats. Oh, mercy.” She closed her eyes and leaned against the back of her chair. She’d killed her own calves. How could this be? She had used this same recipe at her own vanity table for years, since she was a young woman. She lifted her eyes to meet his, she wanted to understand. “I don’t -- how could it be poisoned?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. But it is… and I suspect hemlock. There’s an abundance of it growing along the creek, and--”
“Hemlock!” She could feel the blood drain from her face. How could hemlock be in her salve? She never gathered the lacy little flower from the river. She knew what she was doing when she gathered herbs. Who on earth--
A tremble began in her fingers. A quiver at her lips. She’d wouldn’t? Would she? “Are you sure?”
His eyes were so sad. “I’m pretty sure. I’d have to take a sample into town to have it analyzed, but… I applied some of the salve to a frog and observed its side effects. I’m eighty-five percent sure it’s hemlock. Especially since I know it grows near here.”
