I gawked at Inky.
“Hear me out now, Miss Dixie, before you say anything. Mama always told me stories from the Good Book. My favorite was Noah and his big boat, the ark ’cause of the animals he had to round up. She said toward the end, Noah sent out doves to scout for dry land. One day the bird came back with an olive branch. That’s when Noah made the new world. Don’t ya see? That little branch was a sign. A sign of hope. New beginnings. Ain’t that what Spirit Dove ranch is? A chance for better lives? Second chances?”
I fought tears. Lost the battle. I wasn’t alone.
“You’re right, Inky. The olive branch is perfect. Just perfect.”
I crawled into bed only a few hours before sunup. All of this was too good to be true. Never would’ve guessed Doves could get so worked up over a ranch.
Right before falling into what I hoped was a deep sleep, I started to giggle. Jackson McCullough would fall off his horse when he saw all of this.
Providing, of course, he ever came back.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
For years the only thing Peg’s girls concerned themselves about was frilly-lace gowns, fancy hair combs, and rouge so thick it took a shovel to hold it all and a buck knife to scrape it off. Trousers, flannel shirts, and boots were as strange to them as petticoats, camisoles, and high-heeled slippers were to me. Papa once said ranch work was too hard for a delicate rose such as Mama. I wondered if that would be the case with the Doves. I needn’t have worried.
Unlike Mama, my roses had thorns.
As suspected, Rebecca Sue and Mary Lou took to ranch life like bees take to honey. They blossomed before our eyes. Laughing. Singing. Smiling. Talking like magpies. Between me, Inky, and the two of them, the stalls and corrals stood brand-spanking new in no time at all.
Cinnamon surprised everyone, including herself, with her unexpected eye for color, decorating, and organizing. She, Fancy, and Sassy tore through the main house. Scrubbing. Painting. Sweeping. True to her word, Peg gave us all the furniture we could use. Big Mike joined in too. His men hauled wagon load after wagon load of tables, chairs, sofas, and crates full of chickens. Much to Fancy’s delight, Fang came along too and never went back.
Curtains here. Rugs there. In only two weeks’ time, a dirty wood and mud cabin transformed into a soft, inviting cottage.
Working hand-in-hand with Inky, or more like heart-to-heart, Cinnamon came up with a plan to make-over the bunkhouse into more of a cute doll house with separate rooms for everyone complete with bathtubs. In the middle, a small sitting room centered around a pot-belly stove big enough to keep the place nice and toasty in the winter.
Debbie Ann insisted on painting a new sign—a huge white dove carrying an olive branch. Took two days to mount it above the gate into the ranch. It was worth the effort. Printed in bold black letters, Spirit Dove Ranch loomed impressive.
All of us had our own strengths. Separate, we were a forceful. Together we were unstoppable.
“Ye bit off a big piece to chew, lassie. That’s for sure,” Big Mike said. “Me boys think ya mad. Have bets for and agin ya.”
“How did you bet?” I asked.
Laughter shook his jelly belly. “I be no fool. I told them if anyone could make a go of an all-female ranch it would be Dixie Dandelion.” He frowned. “But lass. The real work is yet to come. They be wagering on the horses. Most be saying ya no can do it. That breaking and training horses coupled with procuring contracts for such horseflesh is a man’s game.”
“What say you?”
“Considering the fact Sassy Anne is going to make the deals, I be daft to bet agin ye. Still, keep your Colt and Winchesters handy. Some may not take kindly to ye proving them wrong.”
The thought of rustling never entered my mind. After all, horse stealing was a hanging offense. Then again, so was killing, and that still went on.
“You joshing me? You really think they’d cause trouble?”
“Aye, I do. Come after you, the girls, and the herd. Horses be a serious business, lass.”
My temper flared. “I’ll shoot every damn one of them what tries it.”
“Aye. I have no doubt. Just be aware.”
I made a note to stock up on ammunition and rifles. Guess I wouldn’t be the only one target practicing.
“Aw, lass. McCullough would be proud of ya.”
Heat rushed up my back and circled my neck.
“Is that what you think? That I did all of this for Jackson McCullough’s approval?”
His walrus mustache trembled. “Why, I mean nothing by it, lass. Just sayin’.”
“Don’t be saying it again. I couldn’t give two hoots what McCullough thinks. This ranch is all my doing. He doesn’t figure into it.”
“Even so, ’tis funny how just the mere mention of his name riles ya so. Me thinks ya miss the lad.”
I considered punching him. Thought better of it. Ready to chew nails I stomped off to the barn. Stupid, damn Irishman.
If Inky noticed my foul mood, he said nothing. Smart man. I took Joe’s bridle from the hook on the wall.
“You’s headed out, Miss Dixie?”
“We’re headed out. Throw a saddle on Mud. It’s time we got horses.
We rode in silence. Every once in a while I felt Inky’s gaze on me, but he said nothing. I liked that about him. Had the feeling he could read me like a book just like Big Mike could. But unlike Big Mike, Inky had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.
I blew out a long breath. Eyes closed, I breathed in a gulp of wood-scented air. The tension in my shoulders and the pounding in my head died. Damn Irish temper had gotten the best of me yet again. I didn’t mean to snap at Big Mike. Besides. He was right.
I missed Jackson.
Not a day went by that I didn’t think of him. Wondered if he’d found Whitaker. Worried if he was safe or knee deep in snow and trouble. But most of all, did he think about me? Miss me?
And yes. More than once I’d told myself how proud he’d be of me and the ranch. But those thoughts were private. Having them voiced out loud by another person rattled me. If my feelings were that visible, others would think me vulnerable. I couldn’t afford that. Especially now that I’d jumped whole hog into a male dominated business. One slip. One sign of weakness could cost me everything.
“Miss Dixie? Just where are these horses?”
Couldn’t help but giggle. Wait till I told him we were heading right-smack dab into the middle of an Indian village.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Black Bear and Inky eyed one another like two tomcats ready to square off. I understood their mistrust but was in no mood for a pissing contest.
“Black Bear, this man works for me and is my friend. Leave him be.” I turned to Inky. “Same goes for you.”
I could tell by their scowls neither one of them liked being ordered around by a woman, but they backed off just the same. Inky settled deep in the saddle. His hand only inches away from his holster.
“Why Foxtail Woman bring Buffalo fighter to village?”
Irritated, I struggled to keep my voice calm. “I told you. He works for me. Besides. He’s no longer a soldier.”
“Never kilt no Indians, neither,” Inky said. “That don’t means I won’t.”
Holy crow. He just had to throw in that last part. The hairs on Black Bear’s neck bristled. In a desperate attempt to keep peace, I blurted out, “I need horses.”
That did the trick. Black Bear turned his attention to me. His familiar bear cub grin brightened his dark face.
“Have many horses. What you bring in trade?”
Why the sneaky, red-skinned rascal.
Accidently, on purpose, I knocked my hat off. I knew the sun would fan the flames in my hair. “You owe me a favor. Remember?”
His grin faded.
“Foxtail Woman? Where is Big McCullough?”
Spotted Owl appeared out of nowhere. Was I ever glad to see his leathery face. Ready to squeeze his neck I took a step. Then stopped. Ma
ybe a hug would be stretching our friendship too far.
“Jackson rode off.” Even I heard the sadness in my voice.
“He return. No worry.”
Gosh, he sounded so sure. “Promise?” I mouthed.
“Hmm. Is foretold in the Heavens.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
“Why you want horses?”
I shifted back to Black Bear. “Plan on raising them. Just bought a ranch. But I need a starter herd. Thought maybe you’d give me Buck and a few mares and yearlings?”
“Come. We talk.”
I motioned for Inky to follow. Black Bear practically growled. Spotted Owl offered me his hand. “Come too?”
I pulled him up behind me in the saddle. Black Bear hung back. Thank goodness young bucks respected their elders. Inky rode up beside me and nodded at Spotted Owl. An unspoken truce formed. An uneasy one for sure, but it was better than nothing.
“Where’s Croaking Frog?” I asked Spotted Owl as we rode.
“With ancestors.”
The old man’s death saddened me. “Does that mean Black Bear is the Medicine Man now?”
“Hmm. That is so.” He placed my hat back on my head. Hadn’t even seen him pick it up. “Fox hair have much power.”
Red hair had power. Silly notion. Or was it? Didn’t we give power to words chiseled on two stone tablets? Was this really any different?
Joe let out a whinny. Pulled on the reins.
In the distance came a high-pitched answer.
The sight of Buck standing lean and muscled against a backdrop of waving grass and blue skies gave me gooseflesh. I wanted to think the big-barreled stallion recognized me. But I knew it was his ol’ pal Joe that made the buckskin come on the run.
Only a few feet from us, Buck slowed. I dropped the reins to Joe’s neck. Cautious and skittish, the two walked toward one another. One whiff was all it took. Nuzzles. Nips. Small nickers. The two were one again. Had to admit seeing Jackson’s faithful buddy sparked tears to my eyes. Spotted Owl pressed something in my hand.
Persimmons.
I dismounted and offered the treat. Buck plucked the fruit from my hand. Joe crowded in hunting for his share. I threw my arms around the stallion’s gold shoulders and took a long good whiff of horse. Buck was so much a part of Jackson I felt like I was hugging a piece of him. Silly. But true nevertheless.
The ground rumbled. Buck pulled away. Gave a shrill cry.
His harem of mares circled. Frisky colts pawed the ground. Bucked and kicked in excitement. Inky’s low whistle sounded behind me.
“Miss Dixie. Them’s prime horseflesh.”
I walked over to Black Bear and glanced up. “Tall Warrior has much love for this horse. Thank you for taking good care of him.”
Face beaming, Black Bear grunted. “Tall Warrior’s buckskin make much trouble. Fight with other stallion. Steal mares. I give to Foxtail woman. Not sad for him to go.”
“And the mares?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He raised his gaze. Stared off into the distance. I knew I was asking a lot. Horses were valuable to Indians.
But so was my hair.
I could almost hear the arguments in his head. Feel the conflict in his heart. One of those out-of-the-blue thoughts hit me upside the head. I grabbed his reins. Led him out of earshot from Inky and Spotted Owl. Surprise raced across his strong face.
“I need six tame horses as well.”
“Foxtail Woman push favor too far.”
“Winter must be hard on your people.”
Confusion replaced surprise. “Black Bear no understand. What is winter to horses?”
“Hear me out. Hunting for food is a big problem in winter, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“You give me Buck and his mares to honor my favor. In exchange for the six tame horses, I’ll give you the same number of steers come winter. Their meat and hides should be enough to get your people though the worst part.”
He hesitated but only for a moment. “Foxtail Woman half coyote. We have deal.”
I marched back to Joe pretty damn proud of myself. I untied the lariat from my saddle and looped it around Buck’s neck. I handed the rope to Inky.
“The mares will follow Buck back to ranch. Doubt you’ll have any trouble. I’ll catch up with you.”
“Where’s you going?”
“Got to pick up six more horses. Won’t take long.”
He shook his head. “Miss Dixie. There be times I’s think you is the smartest, bravest little woman I’s ever knowed. Then there be times I’s think you plumb loco. Not sure what I’s think right now.”
“Want to know a secret, Inky? At times I think the same thing.”
Laughter trailed behind him as he led the horses to the ranch.
On the way back to the village, I asked Spotted Owl, “What did Black Bear mean when he said I was half coyote?”
He chuckled. “Coyote is trickster. Mean you sly. Good trader.”
Sure hoped that was true. I no more had six head of cattle than the man in the moon.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Six women.
Six horses.
Six minutes before I realized teaching flowery-perfumed greenhorns how to rope and ride would be about as easy as teaching pigs to sing. Inky had it right. Sometimes I was plumb loco.
“They stink, Dixie.”
“Well of course they do, Fancy. They’re wild beasts.”
“They’re not wild, Debbie Ann,” I said. “And they’re horses. Not beasts.”
Six pairs of eyes rolled at the same time.
“If this ranch is going to work, y’all need to at least know what end of a horse eats and what end craps.”
“Well, trust me, Dixie gal.” Sassy tiptoed around a steaming green pile. “I think I’ve got that figured out.”
Six peals of laughter.
“I went to great lengths matching each horse with your own traits,” I continued.
“Are they girls or boys?”
Six deep breaths.
“They’re boys…ur, geldings, Fancy.”
“Because we are so good at handling men. Oui?”
Six heartbeats before all of us doubled over. My ribs hurt so bad from laughing, I hugged myself to keep them from breaking in half.
“Did God really make one of them just for me?”
Bless Mary Lou’s heart. Her innocent question changed everything. Now each horse was rare. Special. Like a custom-made ring or necklace. No fancy girl can resist having a one-of-a-kind.
“Let’s see how good you did with matching us up,” Sassy challenged.
I handed her the lead rope tied to a blazed-face sorrel with four white stockings. “I picked this fella for you ’cause he’s flashy. Bold. High-spirited.”
Her smile told me I’d hit the mark.
“Debbie Ann, I chose the little bay for you because he has a gentle soul and kind eyes. Cinnamon, you get this one.” I walked a lanky chestnut over to her. “He’s dark as ebony wood and just as mysterious. Like you.”
Two blue roans stood side by side, the spitting image of the each other. “Rebecca Sue? Mary Lou? These big boys are for you. Both are solid. Dependable. Loyal to the bone. From far away, they mirror the other. But up close, each has a special beauty all their own.”
One horse left. A striking Appaloosa with black spots covering his white rump. Earlier he’d come within a frog’s hair of sticking his nose in a hornet’s nest instead of his feedbag. Beautiful to look at but a might slow on the uptake.
“Fancy, this beauty is for you.”
“Because he’s so pretty?”
“Well, of course. Why else?”
“Can I give him a bath?”
“You can wash all those black spots off his white ass for all I care.”
“Oh, Dixie, I won’t scrub him that hard. Promise.”
Sixth time in one morning I’d counted to ten.
Chapter Thirty
Papa claimed gi
rls and horses went together like corned beef and cabbage.
While it was true a man and his horse were inseparable, a girl and horse were born with a magical bond no man would ever obtain, let alone understand. Joe and I had this bond. Couldn’t put it in words, but it was true nonetheless. Overnight this magic touched the Doves and worked its charm. Come morning every horse had a name.
Sassy’s showy gelding was Dancer because “He prances and dances with every step.”
Debbie Ann’s bay was Jewel. Sounded more like a filly’s name to me, but she insisted it was the only one what fit.
Cinnamon named her dark chestnut Poe after some writer fella who wrote spooky tales.
Rebecca Sue and Mary Lou kept it plain and simple. Bill and Bob. Don’t ask which was which.
Last but not least, Fancy called her spotted-butt horse Prince Charming—Prince for short. Typical.
Every morning after breakfast was over and done, Inky worked a few of the wild horses in the catch pen while I taught riding lessons in the big corral. I started with the basics, like feeding, grooming, and how to stop from screaming when stepped on. Funny thing. No matter how careful, a horse will eventually stomp on your foot. It’s just the nature of things. Just like being thrown off. More than once Papa said, “If ye nar fall off a horse, it be because ye nar climbed on top of one.”
How to saddle up and ride came next. Countless hours of riding in circles taught balance and feel for the horse. First a walk. Not much of a problem.
Then a trot. Butts hit saddles so hard I could hear the slap. Feel the pain.
Finally, a slow lope. Hands tight on the saddle horn. Stirrups lost.
Laughter and cussing.
I had to hand it to them. They were quick learners. Tickled the fire out of me when at last they left sore butts, chafed thighs, and the safety of the round pen behind to gallop hell bent for leather.
Flushed and breathless, eyes shining like diamonds, Cinnamon summed up the feeling.
“Is so exhilarating. Like flying. Is it not, Dixcee?”
Roping was a whole other can of worms. At best, I was only fair. Of course Rebecca Sue and Mary Lou showed us all up. They could shake out and throw a loop after only a few tries. Not really a big surprise there. Much to our amusement, the only thing Fancy could rope was herself. She’d twirl and twirl only to have the lariat collapse, twist, and curl around her body like a hemp snake. Inky laughed till he cried.
The Adventures of Dixie Dandelion Page 12
