The Drifter

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Now, as soon as Eb Whitlock shows up, we’ll start on out to the homestead,” Duane said.

  Chase realized then that Eb’s big palomino wasn’t tied up to the hitching post, and Eb wasn’t part of the crowd of men clustered around Ry. He could guess how steamed Ry must be, considering he didn’t want Eb to be part of the wedding in the first place.

  “Here he comes!” shouted someone as Eb’s dual-wheeled pickup and horse trailer rumbled down the road sending up clouds of dust. Eb braked to a stop and the dust cloud settled over the wedding party and the horses Duane and Curtis had so carefully groomed for the event. Men brushed at their shoulders, women at their skirts as Eb, wearing a pearl gray western coat, vest and matching hat, climbed down from the air-conditioned cab of his truck with a politician’s wave and his truck-grille smile.

  “Howdy, folks,” he said. “Nice day for a wedding, ain’t it? Hey, Duane, give me a hand unloading Gold Strike,” he called as he started back toward the trailer.

  “Shore.” As Duane passed Chase in the buggy, he paused. “Guess you and Leigh might as well get the rest of ‘em mounted up while I help unload the wonder horse,” he said in a low tone.

  “He knew better than to ask me,” Leigh grumbled as she came up beside the buggy. “You just watch. That gelding will be covered with horse jewelry.”

  Chase laughed. “What?”

  “Silver on every inch of leather except the seat of the saddle. Just wait and see. In the meantime, we’d better divvy up these ponies. Give Amanda Pussywillow.”

  Chase climbed down from the buggy. “I thought Ry’s stepmother wanted her.”

  “She did, but she doesn’t ride as well as Amanda.”

  “How do you know how well Amanda rides?”

  “I was out in the yard holding my stomach and watching for the ambulance when she tore in here yesterday.” Leigh looked up at Chase from under her pink maid-of-honor Stetson. “She has the makings of a cowgirl, you know.”

  “Yeah, right. I’m sure she’d give up her big paycheck in New York to come out and wrangle for the True Love.”

  “You never know until you ask.”

  Chase’s stomach flip-flopped at the idea and he changed the subject. “Okay, Ry’s best man will be on Mikey, right?”

  “Right. He wanted Destiny, but forget that. He thinks he’s a hotshot around horses, but he doesn’t have a clue.”

  “What’s his name again?”

  “Stewart. Stewart Hepplewaite. Now let’s see.” Leigh tapped her finger against her chin. “We’ll put Ry’s stepmother on Bobby. He’s steady. And Ry’s mother on Billy.”

  Chase forced himself to concentrate as she rattled off the rest of the horse assignments he was supposed to handle. He started toward the group of people on the lawn just as a collective gasp made him turn around to see what they were all staring at. He was nearly blinded by the reflected light coming off Gold Strike’s saddle, headstall and breastplate as the big horse backed out of the trailer. But Leigh hadn’t been entirely right about the horse jewelry. The trim on the leather wasn’t silver. It was gold.

  Chase chuckled and continued with his duties. As he was approaching Stewart Hepplewaite to give him the bad news that he’d be riding Mikey and not Destiny, Ry caught his arm.

  “Did you see that s.o.b.?” he muttered.

  “Meaning Whitlock,” Chase said, holding back a smile.

  “He’s trying to impress Freddy, and convince her she’s making a mistake marrying me instead of him.”

  Chase couldn’t resist. “Think it’s working?”

  Ry scowled. “Oh, hell, of course not, but the guy’s so damned irritating.” Ry lowered his voice. “I’d love to nail him for these ranch accidents, just for the pure satisfaction of it.”

  “Just don’t let the fact that he’s a jerk get in the way of clear thinking, buddy. I hope it’s him instead of somebody close, like Duane or Belinda. But that’s not always the way things work.” He clapped Ry on the shoulder. “Time to mount up, bridegroom. Red Devil looks almost as antsy as you do, so be careful. We’d all hate to see you land on your butt during the ceremony.”

  “If it happens, I’m blaming Whitlock. Between that gold tack and the shine on his teeth, he could signal passing aircraft. I’ll be amazed if he doesn’t spook somebody’s horse.”

  “Hey, you two, get a move on,” Leigh called over to them.

  Ry glanced at Chase. “Okay, I’m going.”

  “You could look a little happier about it,” Chase called after him. Then he went in search of Stewart Hepplewaite.

  Twenty minutes later, the procession jingled and clopped down the road toward the homestead. The wedding would be late. Ry and Freddy led the way, so they wouldn’t get too much dust on their wedding clothes. Leigh and Duane had set up the procession like a cattle drive, with each of them riding point. Curtis and Ernie manned the middle as swing riders, Davis and Rusty rode flank and Chase rode drag with Jack, behind the buggy. Belinda handled Clyde, the ranch’s big draft horse, with ease. Between her and Dexter sat Chloe, whose tongue was hanging out, ears alert. Propped behind the seat was an easel and the framed lintel from the old homestead.

  Chase had asked to be in the back, because he thought it was the safest place for Bart, who was laced into the cradleboard on his back.

  Ahead of him Amanda rode next to Stewart Hepplewaite and the two of them were laughing and talking like old friends. Stewart was her kind of guy, no doubt, a polished New Yorker who could probably name every damn tune that had played on the radio the night before. Chase felt like strangling Stewart Hepplewaite.

  Miraculously, the procession arrived without incident at the clearing where the homestead had once stood. Duane dismounted and set up the easel with the framed lintel propped on it. Positioning his horse beside the easel, the minister turned to face the group while Ry and Stewart Hepplewaite arranged their mounts on his left and Leigh guided her horse to the minister’s right. The horses snorted and stamped some, but none of them acted up except Red Devil, Ry’s big chestnut. He kept throwing his head back, and Chase wondered how long it would be before Ry caught it on the chin.

  Freddy and Eb Whitlock moved to the back of the group, which assembled on either side of the clearing. Now that Hepplewaite was otherwise occupied, Chase maneuvered next to Amanda. Curtis untied his guitar from his saddle and began to play the wedding march as Freddy laid her hand on Eb’s arm and they nudged their horses into a rhythmic walk.

  Chase hadn’t expected the ceremony to get to him, but his eyes began to burn and his throat closed up. He glanced at Amanda and discovered she was looking straight at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. He felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut by Gold Strike. Caught in the brightness of her blue eyes, he couldn’t look away as Curtis played the final note on the guitar and Freddy and Ry began exchanging their vows.

  Chase had attended a few weddings, mostly for truckers he knew. He’d always thought the language was ridiculous. Everyone knew people didn’t stay married “until death do us part” anymore.

  And yet...

  This time, looking into Amanda’s eyes, the words took on a luster he’d never heard. Maybe it was because he knew Freddy and Ry would make it. They had love and grit enough to last until death took them. And if one couple could make it...

  Amanda’s gaze softened, and Chase would have bet money she was thinking the same thing. Then she smiled, and that smile sent sunshine pouring into his aching heart. Maybe, just maybe...

  A ripple of laughter from the group brought his attention back to the ceremony. He blinked, not realizing at first what had happened. Then he remembered Duane’s instructions about tightening cinches. Apparently, Stewart Hepplewaite hadn’t followed orders. As he’d leaned toward Ry to hand him the ring, his saddle had begun to rotate.

  Everyone stared in mesmerized silence as Stewart clutched the horn and rode the saddle slowly down. Gravity pulled it toward the underbelly of the horse, which is where he would ha
ve ended up if Ry hadn’t reined Red Devil in closer at the last minute, stopping the fall when Stewart was perpendicular to the ground.

  Stewart landed with his head in Ry’s lap.

  13

  THE LOOSE CINCH ended the run of good luck. Red Devil tossed his head back for the hundredth time, but Ry’s attention was on Stewart reclining in his lap and Red Devil knocked Ry’s hat off. The hat spinning to the ground spooked Maureen, Freddy’s mare, who reared, her hooves coming down on the easel holding the framed lintel.

  Both Ry’s mother and stepmother started screaming. That noise, added to the splintering of the easel, sent the minister’s horse into a bucking fit that dislodged the minister, who slid from the horse’s rump onto a small but very thorny hedgehog cactus. Chloe leapt from the buggy, her usual restraint destroyed, and raced around barking. Eb Whitlock spun in ineffectual circles on Gold Strike, seemingly unable to control the horse as sunlight flashed off the gold tack until Chase saw spots in front of his eyes.

  Chase backed his horse away from the general pandemonium, not wanting to endanger Bart. But Amanda waded right in on Pussywillow. Chase watched in open admiration as she grabbed Gold Strike’s bridle and halted the palomino’s spin. Chloe miraculously obeyed Amanda’s command to return to the buggy, and then Amanda worked side by side with the cowhands soothing mounts and reassuring edgy riders.

  Eventually, Stewart was sitting upright on Mikey once more, the ring was placed on Freddy’s finger, and the minister, who chose to stand, pronounced them husband and wife. They kissed as passionately as their restless mounts would allow, and Curtis played a recessional as they straggled back to the ranch house, the minister riding high in his stirrups for the duration of the trip.

  By the time they returned, the clearing around the ranch house looked like a used-truck lot. Ranching friends from all over the valley had arrived for the reception, and they crowded around to congratulate the bride and groom. Chase reined his horse past the well-wishers and headed for the hitching post. Bart was beginning to fuss.

  As Chase dismounted, Amanda rode up on Pussywillow. “I’ll take him now,” she said, swinging down and tethering Pussywillow.

  Chase eased the leather straps off his shoulders as she stood behind him to take the cradleboard. “Got him?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think he’s getting hungry.” Chase turned. “If you’ll hold him, I’ll unlace this thing. I don’t think you want to try and carry him through that mob still strapped in.”

  “Probably not.” Amanda held the board steady while Chase pulled the laces free. “He was good though, during the ceremony. I was afraid he’d cry and spoil it.”

  Chase laughed as he pulled Bart from the wrapped blanket. “And goodness knows, we wouldn’t have wanted to spoil the ceremony. It was so picture perfect.”

  Amanda chuckled. “Can you believe the way Stewart slid around into Ry’s lap? What an idiot.”

  “I don’t think he tightened his cinch, do you?” Chase said with a grin as he hoisted Bart to his shoulder. Life was turning out pretty well, after all.

  “Nope.” Amanda’s eyes brimmed with merriment. “I wouldn’t have missed that wedding for the world. What a hoot.”

  “Sure was.” He couldn’t stop gazing into her eyes. “You did a great job settling people down. Leigh must be right. She predicted that you’d make a good cowgirl.”

  “Did she?” Amanda looked pleased, and his hopes soared higher. “Coming from Leigh, that’s a big compliment.”

  He hesitated. “Amanda, we need to talk. I—”

  Bartholomew’s cry interrupted him.

  “We’ll talk,” Amanda said. “Later.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Yes.” She held out the cradleboard. “Trade you.”

  He held Bart in one arm and took the cradleboard with his free hand. “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Me, too.” Then with a smile that turned his insides to mush, she took the baby from him and left.

  * * *

  AMANDA KEPT EXPECTING the wedding reception to wind down, but the party seemed to gain momentum as afternoon turned into evening. Freddy and Ry showed no signs of leaving on their honeymoon—a week in the pine forests of Mount Lemmon, little more than an hour’s drive away. The guests obviously felt that as long as the bride and groom remained, the party should continue in full swing.

  Amanda surveyed the patio, proud of the way everything looked and her part in making it that way. While strolling mariachis played, people ignored the heat, drank beer and margaritas and ate Belinda’s food as if no one even considered the possibility of food poisoning. Yet Amanda couldn’t help wondering if they would be so unconcerned once they’d heard the gossip that would inevitably spring up surrounding yesterday’s disaster. A rumor of food poisoning in one New York restaurant had damaged its reputation beyond what any of her ad campaigns had been able to repair. She didn’t want that happening to the True Love. She had to admit her growing fondness for the place, or maybe it was the tall cowboy who was one-third owner she was growing fond of.

  Bartholomew seemed to enjoy the color and activity of the party. She alternated between putting him in his carrier, where he sometimes dozed off, and holding him. She slipped into Freddy’s office twice to feed him, but otherwise she kept him in the thick of things. He acted like a magnet for the guests, and nearly everyone came by to admire and coo. Everybody except Chase, that is. But that was okay. The promise of talking to him before the day ended shone like a beacon for Amanda. She hadn’t been mistaken. The wedding ceremony had stirred him as much as it had her. Whatever misunderstanding had caused him to stomp off this morning would be ironed out.

  Not that the problems would end there. She’d decided to tell her family about Chase, but she didn’t expect them to react well. And the logistics of a future relationship would be tricky, unless Chase agreed to the plan she’d dreamed up this afternoon. She could hardly wait to tell him about it. And then there was the medallion. She’d finally figured out where she’d seen one like it.

  Duane came by her table, a beer in one hand and an empty coffee can in the other. “Havin’ fun?”

  “Yes, I am,” she said with a smile.

  “Jest wanted to thank you for helpin’ with the commotion out there.” He angled his head in the direction of the road to the old homestead. “Didn’t know you was so handy with horses.”

  “I’m glad I could help.”

  “You recall how Red Devil was tossin’ his head?”

  Amanda nodded. “He’s pretty high-spirited.”

  “Not that high. When we took off his bridle, we found a big old burr under there. Must’ve been drivin’ him crazy.”

  “That was unlucky.”

  “More’n unlucky.” Duane scowled and spat a stream of tobacco into the coffee can. “That don’t happen ‘round here. The hands are real careful about stuff like that.” Duane eyed her. “I think some low-down snake put it under there on purpose.”

  “You mean as a wedding prank?”

  “Maybe more’n a prank.” He gave her a dark look. “Did Chase tell you about what’s been goin’ on?”

  “No.” She grew uneasy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Duane nodded and glanced away. “Guess he didn’t want to worry you none.”

  Alarm ran through her and she thought immediately of the snake under her bed. “So what is going on?”

  “I’d best let Chase tell you.” Duane reached out and wiggled Bartholomew’s foot. “See you later, cowpoke.”

  “Duane—” She closed her mouth as he walked away resolutely. Now she had a second reason to talk to Chase. If this place was booby-trapped, she wanted to know it. She had a child to protect.

  * * *

  CHASE LOVED HIS SON, but the more he thought about this critical talk with Amanda, the more he wanted to have it without the distraction of a baby. He studied the situation in the patio and finally approached Belinda, tossing his empty be
er can into a bin of recyclables on his way.

  She glanced up with a twinkle in her eye. “I hope all the festivities are giving you ideas, Chase.”

  He grinned at her. “Could be, Belinda. Matter of fact, I’m here to ask a favor. I need to talk to Amanda alone, and I wondered if you’d watch Bart for a little while. Last time I checked, he was sound asleep, so I don’t think he’ll be much trouble.”

  “That little baby would never be too much trouble. Dexter’s been wanting to see him. I’ll take Bartholomew over and sit with Dexter and Chloe for a while.”

  “That’s only if it’s okay with Amanda. I haven’t asked her yet.”

  Belinda smiled, and for a moment she looked like a young girl again. “You leave her to me. I’ll set it up. Where would you like her to meet you?”

  Chase sorted through the possibilities. Guests clustered everywhere—the patio, the main room of the house and the front porch. “Out in back, I guess, just beyond the gate. I’ll wait for her,” he said.

  “How romantic. I’ll send her out to you.” Belinda turned and headed for the table where Amanda sat talking to Ry’s mother.

  Chase mentally crossed his fingers and strode toward the back-patio gate. On the way he tried to figure out what to say to her. The word love buzzed around in his brain like a honeybee. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that word yet, but he was ready to tell Amanda that she meant a lot to him and that he didn’t want to lose her. He wondered if he’d have the nerve to ask her to stay in Arizona. Leigh thought he should. Maybe there was work in her field in Tucson. She’d seemed pleased about being called a cowgirl. She got along with everybody. Maybe she was beginning to like it here, and if not, he’d make love to her so often, she wouldn’t have time to think about where she was living.

  He glanced up at the sky as he slipped through the gate, leaving it open a couple of feet. A few clouds remained clustered around the mountains, and once in a while they’d light up as if somebody had turned on a switch inside them. But it didn’t look as if it would rain tonight, after all. Selfishly, Chase was glad. It gave him this chance to be outside in the warm summer night, waiting for Amanda. He moved into the shadows near the thick adobe wall. The laughter and music from the reception breached the wall, but the adobe buffered the noise just enough so that he and Amanda would be able to talk.