Cowboy to the Rescue

by Louise M. Gouge

  “Well, Mr. Anders—” Nate reached down and patted the limp hand “—you just give Zack and me a few minutes, and we’ll get things all fixed up.” Nate didn’t know how he managed to say all that without choking on the emotions welling up inside, especially with Miss Anders staring up at him as if he was some kind of hero. My, a man could get caught up in those blue eyes and that sweet smile. Those golden curls only added to her appeal. Nate cleared his throat and turned back to deal with the wagon.

  Lord, what have You got me into this time?

  * * *

  Susanna forced her eyes away from Mr. Northam to focus on Daddy, her stomach twisting over his lie. This was so unlike Daddy. She understood why it wouldn’t be wise to let these strangers know they had money, but his insistence that they make this trip across the country under an assumed name continued to disturb her. And although Daddy had denied it, she could tell the man’s last name meant something to him. She wouldn’t press him to tell her, at least not until they were alone and maybe when he felt better.

  “Daughter, where’s my coffee?” The artificial gruffness in his tone further encouraged Susanna. The earlier hopelessness he hadn’t quite been able to hide seemed to have disappeared with the arrival of these good men, that and the bright sun now warming the campsite.

  While she poured water into the battered tin pot and checked the fire, her own mood remained wary. Not about the men, but about Daddy’s health. He always tried to put on a good front, so she would have to watch him carefully to keep him from overdoing.

  “Miss?” Mr. Northam gave her an apologetic frown. “If it’s coffee you’re wanting, I have some in my wagon.”

  She eyed him as his words sank in. Of course. Their coffee had been dumped on the ground along with their other supplies. Why hadn’t she realized it before? “That would be very kind of you, Mr. Northam.”

  “Call me Nate, please. Out here, we younger folks mostly use first names.” He shrugged in an attractive way and gave her an appealing grin. “Of course, I won’t assume—”

  “You may call me Susanna.” She could just hear Mama’s disapproving gasp at her agreement to such informality, especially when it was obvious from their speech that these men were Yankees. But this was not the South, where a strict code of manners ruled the day, accompanied by a strong dose of hatred for all things Northern. She didn’t doubt the people out west had a similar code, but maybe not quite as strict, as she’d noticed among the folks in the wagon train from St. Louis. Not once had she heard the war mentioned. Not once had any Southern traveler scowled at or refused to obey their Yankee wagon master, not even Daddy.

  In any event, Mama had also taught her that a lady never treated other people as if she were better than they were, even if she was, for kindness never went out of fashion. Susanna hadn’t yet figured out this cowboy’s social status, but his older friend called him boss, and he had a commanding air about him, suggesting he was a landowner. Otherwise, she might have thought twice about granting him that first-name privilege. If he turned out not to be a gentleman, she could always withdraw her permission.

  Nate returned from his wagon carrying a cast-iron kettle and coffeepot.

  “Thank you.” Susanna reached for the items, but he held them back.

  “You look after your father.” He gave her a brotherly wink. “I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

  Her heart lilted into a playful mood. “Well, as I live and breathe.” She shook her head in mock disbelief. “A man who cooks when there’s a woman around.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled. “Out here, men have to learn to do a lot of things some folks call women’s work.” He placed the covered kettle over the fire and stirred up the flames. “Otherwise we’d starve and wear the same clothes for a month of Sundays.”

  In spite of herself, Susanna laughed, and it felt good clear down to her toes. For the first time since she’d returned from the creek the night before, she thought everything might indeed be all right.

  “Of course,” Nate continued, “you understand that the ladies sometimes have to take on men’s work, too.” He sent her another teasing wink. “Milking cows, plowing fields, breaking horses, that sort of thing. If you’re out here to homestead, you have that to look forward to.”

  “Well, I never,” she huffed, turning away to hide a grin. “The very idea.” This was getting entirely too silly. She’d just met this man. But how could she stop when their teasing back and forth encouraged her so much? Should she tell Nate that Daddy was a prospector, not a homesteader?

  Nate saved her from the dilemma. “Go look after your father.” His soft tone and gentle touch on her arm made her pulse skip in an entirely different way. “I’ll bring you something to eat before you know it.”

  Not trusting herself to answer, she went to tend Daddy, only to discover him watching the whole thing. He said nothing, and his mild expression, marred only by an occasional wince, held no censure. With his strong sense of discernment, he would warn her if her behavior was improper or if Nate did not appear to be a gentleman.

  In a short while, Nate brought them each a tin cup of steaming coffee and then a tin plate of beans and bacon, with a wedge of corn bread on the side. Susanna had been eating beans all across the prairies and mountains of this wide land, but never had they tasted so good. Even Daddy grunted his approval. Susanna struggled not to eat too large a portion, but the desire to make up for missing last night’s supper almost overwhelmed her. Fortunately, Mr. Northam—Nate—had busied himself dividing his team between the two wagons and had no idea how much she devoured.

  In just over an hour, the horses were hitched up and ready to roll. Even the campsite had been cleaned up and the fire doused. Nate and Zack lifted Daddy into the cleaned-up schooner, and Susanna tucked him in. They made him as comfortable as possible on his canvas cot, supplementing the torn ticking and reclaimed straw with evergreen branches and providing pillows from their own bedrolls. Susanna climbed in beside him and settled back to endure the ride. In spite of the bumpy trail and an occasional groan from Daddy, she managed to drift off into a light slumber.

  * * *

  Once Nate’s two-horse team got over the initial surprise of pulling the extra weight, they settled into a slow, steady pace. He wouldn’t have tried this arrangement if they were on the east side of the mountain pass, because it took all four horses to make it up the many inclines. But the worst of the trip was over, and the valley floor was just another two hundred yards or so downhill. If all went well, they could make half of the journey today and arrive home tomorrow.

  Following behind the prairie schooner, he waved away the dust it stirred up, at last resorting to tying on a kerchief over his nose and mouth. Had he made the right decision to tell Zack to drive the schooner? If he were up there right now, maybe he could learn more about Susanna and her father. But the Colonel would be angry enough over this arrangement, so Nate had chosen to drive this specially rigged wagon with its irreplaceable cargo. If anything happened to Mother’s anniversary gift, he would need to take the blame, not Zack. What was he thinking? If anything went wrong, the Colonel would blame him regardless of whose fault it was.

  As the morning wore on, the sun beat down on Nate’s back, so he shed his light woolen jacket. A quarter mile north of the trail, the Denver and Rio Grande train sped along on its daily run, sending up a stream of black smoke that draped behind the engine like mourning crepe.

  Up ahead, Susanna poked her head out the back of the schooner and honored him with a wave and a smile. He didn’t fault her for her response to his teasing at the campsite, even though they’d just met and hadn’t really been properly introduced. Once again, if there was a fault, it was his. From the state her father was in, he figured they both needed all the encouragement they could get. He’d always found that humor lightened a person’s load. Fortunately, just like his sister, Susanna c
heered up when she was teased and gave back a bit of it herself. Besides, teasing her kept his thoughts in the right place.

  He wouldn’t put too much into her friendly waves and smiles. After all, she was likely motivated by gratitude. Of course, that didn’t keep Nate from hoping to further their acquaintance. They would arrive in Alamosa by midmorning tomorrow and there part company. Somehow he had to figure out a way to have a nice long chat with the young lady to find out whether they had any interests in common. Once he got home, the Colonel would keep him busy for the rest of the summer, and he wouldn’t risk his father’s anger by coming back for a visit unless he had a good enough reason.

  He blew out a sigh of frustration, and his kerchief fluttered in front of his face. Thoughts of his father’s controlling ways never failed to ruin his day, and humor rarely worked to cheer him up. The Colonel had it in his mind that Nate would be marrying Maisie Eberly from the ranch next to theirs as soon as she turned eighteen. While Maisie was a nice girl, he’d never felt a desire to court her, nor had she shown any interest in him. The Colonel didn’t seem to think that mattered, nor did any of Nate’s other opinions.

  A familiar anger stirred in his chest. One of these days he would find the courage to take a stand against his father’s control, even if it meant he had to leave home and give up his share of the ranch. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the land he’d worked so hard to cultivate, the community he’d helped to build, but a man could only take so much and still call himself a man. He would make his decision by mid-July, when the whole community would gather for his parents’ anniversary party.

  As if a boulder had come to rest inside him, setting that deadline sat heavy on his soul. But what other choice did he have?

  Chapter Two

  “What do you put into these beans to make them taste so good?” Taking a ladylike bite, Susanna leaned back against the wagon wheel to savor it. Nate had provided a stool for her so she didn’t have to sit on the ground, making this meal all the more pleasant. With Daddy fed and taken care of, she could finally eat her own supper—beans again, but wonderfully mouthwatering.

  “Now, don’t go asking about my cooking, young lady.” Seated on the ground, his back against a bedroll, his long legs stretched out in front of him, Nate spoke in that teasing tone so much like her brother’s. “Angela—she’s our cook and housekeeper—would tan my hide if I gave away any of her secrets.”

  “Humph.” Susanna sniffed with a bit of artificial pique. “As if I didn’t have a few secret recipes of my own.” Not many, but enough to impress folks back home, especially at church dinners. Like Nate’s family, hers had employed a housekeeper who’d taught her some basic cooking skills, which had come in handy on this journey. But she wouldn’t mention that they’d had servants, for that would reveal their financial status.

  “I’m sure you have some very fine recipes.” He chuckled and shoveled in another bite.

  On the other side of the campfire, Zack whittled on a stick, his empty plate beside him. He stretched and yawned, then took himself off toward the horses grazing nearby.

  Susanna busied herself with finishing her meal before sitting back to relax. After a long, hot afternoon of riding into the sun, they sat facing the trail they had just traversed, taking refuge on the shady side of the prairie schooner. Now as the sun went down behind them, it cast a deep purple hue over the eastern range bordering the San Luis Valley.

  “What a wondrous sight,” she murmured. “We have our beautiful Appalachian Mountains back home, but these are so much higher. They’re truly awe-inspiring.”

  “They are indeed.” Nate pointed his fork toward the tallest peak, which still wore a snowy white crown from last winter’s snow. “That’s Mount Blanca, and the whole eastern range is called Sangre de Cristo.”

  “Sangre de Cristo. That’s Spanish, isn’t it?”

  “Yep. Just about every place around here has a Spanish name because Spaniards were the first Europeans to settle here.” Nate’s soft gaze toward the east bespoke a love of the scene. “Sangre de Cristo means blood of Christ, an allusion to that deep, rich color.”

  “Ah.” Agreeable warmth filled her. She’d never dreamed she could enjoy the companionship of a Yankee man this way. But Nate hadn’t said or done anything that was even slightly improper. “Those Spaniards were people of faith.”

  “At least the old padre who named these mountains was.” He shot a curious glance her way. “And you?”

  His question confused her for only a moment. “Oh, yes. My mama always said that after all the South suffered in the war, she didn’t know how anyone could go on without the Lord.” She instantly regretted bringing up the devastating conflict that had shaped her entire life. But Nate didn’t bat an eye, so she hurried on. “I made my decision to follow Christ when I was nine years old, and He’s never let me down.” His understanding smile invited her to echo his question. “And you?”

  “Yep, around that same age. Ten, actually.” He stared off as if remembering. “When the Colonel came home safely from the war in answer to our prayers.” A frown briefly creased his brow, though Susanna could not guess why. “Of course, lots of fathers came home badly wounded or didn’t come home at all. But at ten, I was only concerned about my own. As time went on, praying and trusting God became as natural as breathing.” He grunted out a laugh. “Now, don’t get the idea I see myself as somebody special. Just the opposite, because I need the Lord’s help all the time to do the right thing.”

  Susanna’s heart warmed at his guileless confession. “I believe we all do, Nate.” She’d watched Daddy’s faith dip after Mama’s death, but as they headed west, he seemed to grow more encouraged. Although she would never understand his urge to go digging for silver, anything that gave him a reason to live had her approval, even if she had to be dragged along on his quest. Even if she had to wait to see her own dreams come true. She supposed parents were always a mystery to their children. “Do you always call your father the Colonel?”

  “Yep, just like everybody else.” Nate grimaced. “If you ever meet him, you’ll understand why.”

  “He’s that intimidating?” Susanna knew many former military officers, Daddy included, but they were Southern gentlemen and never made a lady feel uncomfortable. Maybe Northern officers didn’t have the same good manners. They’d certainly treated the South badly.

  “You could say that.” Nate stood and took her empty plate, setting both of them in a metal pail.

  “I’ll wash the dishes.” She rose and brushed dust and twigs from her skirt.

  “Nope.” Nate held up a hand. “You go see to your father. Maybe you can light a lamp and read to him. I’m sure he’d like to have his mind on something other than...” He shrugged, a charming gesture that conveyed sympathy and understanding.

  “Thank you. I’ll do that.” Tears stung Susanna’s eyes, but she managed to keep her voice steady. “We’ve been reading Charles Dickens’s Bleak House on our journey. Fortunately, those thieves weren’t interested in stealing books. I’m sure hearing another chapter will take his mind off his pain.” How kind and thoughtful this man was. Not at all like the Yankee carpetbaggers she’d learned to distrust and avoid. But she quickly shut the door on the warm feelings trying to invade her heart. Mama would turn over in her grave if Susanna even considered finding a Yankee attractive.

  “Bleak House. That’s a good book. My folks sent me back east for a year at Harvard, and that’s where I first read Dickens’s works.”

  So Nate had an education and liked to read good books. Now she had something to discuss with him, something that would keep her thoughts off how handsome he was.

  She climbed into the back of the wagon to find Daddy staring at her with a slight grin on his dear bruised face. Heat flooded her cheeks. Had he been listening through the canvas to her conversation with Nate? She searched her memory for anything t
hat might have sounded improper but came up with a clear conscience. Why had she worried? Probably because Nate was a Yankee, and Daddy had always said nothing good ever came out of any Yankee. But here he lay with more mischief than censure in his eyes.

  “What are you up to?” She would get the upper hand before he could say anything.

  He chuckled, then coughed, then grimaced and groaned.

  “Oh, dearest, don’t laugh.” She knelt beside him. “Zack said you probably have some broken ribs and should try not to laugh or cough.” She eased him up and gave him a drink of water from a canteen. “Would you like for me to read to you?”

  He gave a brief nod. “First take this.” He handed her a wrinkled, sealed envelope from the broken remnants of their traveling desk.

  “What on earth?” She accepted it only to discover its unusual weight. “Is this one of our gold pieces in here?”

  “Shh.” He gently clasped her free hand and whispered, “Tomorrow when we reach that hotel, slip this to the manager—before Northam speaks to him, if you can. And don’t say anything about it to these cowboys.”

  “What?” Her mind could conceive of no sensible reason for Daddy’s request.

  “Shh!” He glanced toward the back opening of the wagon. “Just do as I ask, daughter.” He patted her hand. “Will you?”

  Susanna swallowed hard. In all her born days, she’d never seen Daddy do anything dishonest. Back home in the dry-goods store, he’d always taken a loss rather than offend a customer. Surely, she could obey this simple order. “Yes, sir, I will.”

  But an odd foreboding crept into her heart and kept her awake far into the night.

  * * *

  After breakfast the next morning, Nate and Zack hitched up the teams and prepared to head out. As he had several times a day since leaving Pueblo, Nate checked the cargo in his wagon, lifting a silent prayer that they could get it home without any difficulty. So far they’d managed, but they still had the river to cross.