by Braun, Matt;
“Not to change the subject, but these days politics and business are so intertwined it’s almost the same thing. I just want you to know how happy i am that you’ll be representing my husband and Santa Guerra.”
Kruger suddenly looked uncomfortable, and Laird laughed. “You’ve put him between a rock and a hard spot. He wasn’t to give me his decision until tomorrow, but I suppose now’s as good a time as any.” Laird settled back in his chair and stared down the table. “So what’s it to be ... are you or aren’t you?”
There was a moment of silence. Kruger unwittingly glanced across at Trudy, and she met him with a defiant look. The organdy gown seemed to accent her tanned features, and golden flecks of candlelight were mirrored in her eyes. It crossed his mind that she was a creature of the wild, not at all the kind of woman he’d known in the past, and he felt drawn to her in some strange way he couldn’t define. At last he blinked, broke the hold, and swung his gaze back to Laird.
“Yes, I believe I will accept your offer.”
“Aye, I thought you would, and I’m proud to have you on board.”
Laird raised his wineglass in toast. He tipped it first to his wife, then to Trudy, and finally to the young lawyer. “Salud, and welcome to Santa Guerra.”
Chapter 22
Angela’s days and nights seemed to blend together. Before she quite realized it, summer and fall had passed, and the year spun into early November. Her time was devoted almost exclusively to management of the ranch, and she had found it the most rewarding experience of her life. With Henry to advise her and the guidance of Ramon Morado on day-by-day matters, she had completely overhauled the operation. And it had been the most profitable year in the history of Santa Guerra.
Her confidence in herself, along with the degree of authority she exerted, had developed gradually. Upon assuming many of her husband’s duties, she had allowed several months to broaden her knowledge of the overall operation. She asked endless questions, all the while inspecting the herds and delving ever deeper into the books, and with a sort of methodical determination slowly came to understand the complexities of a cattle ranch. Almost from the outset she had won the respect of the vaqueros. She was, after all, La Madama, and with Ramon to relay her orders there was never any question that she had in fact become the mistress of Santa Guerra. But as her preoccupation grew and she took on added responsibility, she encountered several unforeseen problems. Not the least of which was Henry Laird himself.
Their first clash came when Angela cut back drastically on his breeding program. Though the horses continued to be a profitable venture, his crossbreeding of Durham-longhorn cattle was a constant financial drain. Over his strong protests, for he was never a man to admit defeat, she simply withheld funds and phased out the program in piecemeal fashion. Shortly afterward, she clamped down on all expenditures, revamping his rather loosely organized administrative procedures, and their arguments intensified. The underlying problem, which became apparent only with time, was that Hank Laird simply couldn’t let go. It was his ranch, the creation of his own boldness and vision, and despite all his good intentions, he found it nearly impossible to relinquish even token authority.
Angela eventually stumbled upon the idea of diverting his attention. For a while she kept him busy organizing patrols to intercept and pursue cattle rustlers. Then, before spring roundup, she inveigled him into making a complete assessment of the demand for beef and the Eastern cattle market. Later, as the trail-driving season got under way, he was occupied negotiating with drovers and various cattle agents in Wichita. Yet she was freed of his interference only sporadically, and the interludes ended altogether when the last herd took the trail north. With the bickering about to resume full tilt, she viewed it as something of a godsend when he was hit with a land suit and forced to settle out of court.
The change in her husband, after being humiliated in court, was remarkable. Seemingly overnight, he awoke to the fact that Santa Guerra was vulnerable to a form of legal extortion. He became obsessed with validating claim to every acre of the ranch and, all the better from Angela’s standpoint, he was actively involved in mapping out strategy to acquire the rights of every derecho holder. It came at the very moment she was groping for a new diversion, and at last it got him out of her hair.
Of no less consequence, at least in Angela’s mind, was his attitude toward Ernest Kruger. She found it a curious alliance, for the young lawyer possessed all the traits of character she felt her husband lacked. He was scrupulous to a fault, the product of an old, respectable family, and a man of deep religious convictions. In a matter of months he had altered Laird’s cutthroat philosophy to one of benign generosity and, even more astounding, her husband deferred to his judgment with only an occasional outburst of temper. To Angela, it was all but incomprehensible, for Henry Laird was actually accepting direction from a man half his age.
Several times when she attempted to broach the subject, Laird had dismissed it as a matter of smart business. She thought that a rather lame excuse, if not an outright evasion, but after a while she’d let it rest. There were currents to her husband she had never understood, most especially his sly pragmatism, and she knew things were not always as they appeared in his business dealings. In good time, when it suited his purpose, he would reveal his hand. Until then it was a waste of breath to belabor the point, and she pursued it no further.
Yet she was nonetheless elated by the prospect of Ernest Kruger. His sudden appearance in their lives seemed almost providential. For years now she had worried herself sick about Trudy; though no one suspected, she’d nearly taken to bed after that dreadful episode with the Morado boy. Not that she condemned Roberto—all men were brutish and disgusting in matters of the flesh—nor did she blame Trudy for yielding to temptation. The root of the problem was Henry, and until recently there was slim hope the situation would ever change.
All her life Angela had heard old wives’ tales about daughters idolizing their fathers to the point of love, even physical yearning. It was scarcely an emotion she would have experienced herself—the memory of Hiram Johnson provoked fear, not love—but she was under no illusions concerning Trudy. The girl worshiped her father, with an almost godlike reverence, and in her eyes no man would ever measure up to Hank Laird. Angela knew her husband encouraged the feeling, though she never for a moment believed his motives were anything more than that of a selfish father fearful of losing his little girl. Still, it was an unwholesome situation, one that might already have stunted the girl emotionally. Certainly it had driven Trudy to seek a substitute—the Morado boy—and the mere thought of it left Angela wretched.
Within the past few months, however, she had found reason for hope. Ernest Kruger was clearly bewitched by the girl. It was apparent to everyone but Trudy, not so much by word or action, for he was a man of great reserve, but rather in the hidden looks he gave her, and the mere fact of his presence. Kruger visited the ranch at least once a week, always with some flimsy pretext regarding business, and yet he constantly went out of his way to be near Trudy. It was done with the artlessness of a man who knew little about women or courting, and Angela often wondered why her husband allowed it to continue. But she didn’t dwell on the seeming contradiction, nor did she ever once open it to discussion. She simply thanked her God for the reprieve, and prayed for time to nurture things along.
Today, with fall roundup completed and winter approaching, she could at last afford a moment from her hectic schedule just to sit and think. Thanksgiving was only a couple of weeks off, and she thought that the perfect excuse to invite Ernest Kruger for a long holiday. He had no family of his own, and he was now her husband’s closest business associate, so it was not only proper but highly appropriate. A week’s stay as their houseguest might prove very beneficial all the way round. Seeing them together that long, Trudy could easily awaken to the fact that there was at least one man who dared stand up to her father. And afterward, assumin
g all went well, the possibilities were unlimited. She might even persuade Trudy to visit Corpus!
On impulse Angela left the study, which had now become her office, and hurried across the parlor. The hall clock struck four and she took that to be a good omen. It would never work if Trudy thought she’d planned all the details in advance; the girl was as bullheaded as her father, often impervious to any view but her own, and quite blunt about expressing her opinion. Better to use the oblique approach, very casual and offhand, simply a spur-of-the-moment thing. And—God forbid!—not the slightest hint of a mother playing matchmaker.
Angela stepped through the door, quickly crossed the porch, and took a seat in her rocker. She closed her eyes, willing herself to relax, and set the rocker in motion. At times like this she often wished she had Henry’s gift for subterfuge and guile. But it was unnatural to her, hardly the type of thing one learned by rote, and she felt thankful he’d gone to Corpus on business. One look at her face and he would have seen through her little scheme in an instant.
Several minutes later she heard footsteps and recognized the quick, purposeful stride. Trudy always rushed back to the house, threw on her range clothes, and went for a ride before supper. So like her father in so many ways! A creature of habit, yet horribly unpredictable, and never to be taken for granted. She slowly opened her eyes, blinked several times as Trudy mounted the steps, and stifled a small yawn.
“Oh hello dear. Back from school already?”
“Not soon enough,” Trudy replied, halting by the banister. “Another flay like today and I’ll be ready to tear my hair out.”
“Gracious sakes, don’t be too harsh on them, honey. All children are rambunctious, you know that.”
“Valgame Dios! I wish those brats were unruly, but they’re not. They’re just stupid!”
“Now you’re being intolerant,” Angela admonished. “And always remember, they haven’t had your advantages. They’re simple people, and education takes time, not to mention patience.”
“Damn patience! I love Los Lerdenos as much as you do, Mama. But they’re a lot easier to take when they’re full grown, and if that sounds intolerant ... well, I’m just sorry. It’s the truth.”
Trudy lacked the even disposition necessary to instructing small children. Her mother had coaxed her into supervising the school, and even trained several Mexican girls who displayed an aptitude for teaching to assist with the classes. But the school was a constant source of aggravation to Trudy; early each spring she dismissed the children for the summer, and only grudgingly did she resume classes in late fall. Except for her mother, who shamed her into accepting the burden, she would have left the school in disarray and gone on about her own business. Unlike Angela, she had little regard for education and almost no sympathy at all for the uneducated.
“Come sit down.” Angela patted the rocker next to her, and smiled. “You’re upset, and I know the children can be a chore at times ... but perhaps the day won’t be a total loss. Come on, just for a minute.”
Trudy crossed the porch and flung herself down in the rocker. “All right, but make it quick, will you, Mama? I asked the men to saddle my horse, and I don’t like to keep them waiting.”
“Of course, dear. It’s just an idea I had that might put you in a better frame of mind.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“Well, I’ve been sitting here sunning, and my mind got to wandering ... and it occurred to me that it’s gotten very dull around here since we finished roundup.”
“Boy, you can say that again—in spades!”
“Yes, exactly. And that’s why I’ve decided we need something to break the tedium. Something we haven’t done in a long time ... a party!”
“Party?” Trudy repeated blankly. “I don’t follow you, what kind of a party?”
“A Thanksgiving party. One of the old-fashioned kind, with lots of guests and a big turkey and all the trimmings. Like we used to have when you were a little girl ... before the war ... in Brownsville.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a party. Who would we invite, some of those one-cow ranchers from the Cattlemen’s Association?”
“Well, I haven’t given it much thought, but let’s see.” Angela frowned, thoughtful a moment, then suddenly brightened and clapped her hands. “Of course! We’ll invite Captain Blalock. After all, he’s your father’s oldest and dearest friend, and I recall Henry saying he’d finally married, so naturally we’ll ask him to bring his wife.”
“That makes two,” Trudy noted. “Better tell Ramon to shoot a small turkey.”
“On the contrary, I just thought of another one. We’ll invite Mr. Kruger to be our guest for the holidays. Poor man, you know he hasn’t any family left, and he probably hasn’t had a decent Thanksgiving since his mother passed on.”
Trudy gave her a quick, guarded glance. “Why him? He sure won’t add much to the holiday spirit.”
“Why, Trudy Laird! What an uncharitable thing to say. I mean, really, he is your father’s closest business associate ... and besides, I thought you liked Mr. Kruger.”
“Mama, you’d better get yourself some spectacles. Ernest Kruger is the stuffiest man I’ve ever met in my whole life. And on top of that, he can bore you to tears in nothing flat.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks! He’s a very cultured gentleman. Even your father is impressed by his manners and ... well, I don’t know ... his charm, I suppose.”
“He’s charming all right. Especially when he sits around and stares at me like I was some sort of freak. Ugh! Talk about the fish-eye.”
“I think you’re being cruel. Mr. Kruger probably admires you, that’s all. Goodness gracious, you’re nineteen and all grown up, and it’s certainly no secret you’re a very pretty young lady.”
“Oh c’mon, Mama!”
“No, it’s a fact, men do notice things like that. Perhaps it’s been a few years, but I’m not so old I don’t remember the looks they give attractive women.”
“Suit yourself.” Trudy uncoiled from the rocker and stood. “I’ll tell you something, though. If he starts tagging around after me while he’s here, I’ll blister his ear with some words he’ll never forget.”
“Honestly, Trudy, you might at least give him the benefit of the doubt. First impressions are often very misleading, and I suspect you’ll find there’s more to Ernest Kruger than meets the eye.”
“I can’t help it, Mama. The man gives me the willies. But like I said, you suit yourself. I’m late, and I’ve got to run. See you at supper.”
Trudy shrugged, then turned away and walked into the house. Angela closed her eyes, gently rocking back and forth, and began humming a church hymn. A tiny smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, and it occurred to her that she had handled a delicate situation with admirable tact. The seed was planted, whether Trudy knew it or not, and after Thanksgiving they could very well expect an invitation to Corpus Christi. Perhaps a long invitation.
Chapter 23
Laird heard the rumor in early April. All along the Rio Grande the border grapevine was alive with talk of Juan Cordoba’s latest countermove. An audacious man, with the pride and vanity of a martinet, the Mexican general had at last reached the limits of restraint. He placed a bounty of $10,000 on the head of Hank Laird.
On the north side of the river gringo ranchers were shocked but hardly surprised. Over the past two years Laird had led the fight against bandidos who preyed on Texan herds. He’d organized the Cattleman’s Association, convincing outlying ranchers to form a coalition for mutual defense. An alert system was established between haciendas; at the first sign of a raid, mounted couriers spread the alarm; within hours, pursuit columns converged on the border in an attempt to trap the marauders in a pincer movement. Though the bandidos always had the advantage of surprise, the plan produced modest results and had added a new element of risk to cattle-rustling.
Yet it was Laird and Los Lerdenos who formed the vanguard of defense. Santa Guerra now employed upward of seven hundred vaqueros; night and day ten patrols, each comprised of seasoned fighting men, rode the far-flung boundaries of the ranch. The raiders became increasingly cautious, resorting to hit-and-run tactics, and learned to strike only after a patrol had passed through a given area. For all their cunning, however, it was nonetheless a deadly contest: Los Lerdenos had accounted for nearly forty rustlers killed or hung in the last year alone. Without Laird and his vaqueros, the war would have been lost long ago, and it was their steady attrition of bandidos that prompted the bounty.
General Juan Cordoba, who served in the dual role of military commander and bandit chieftain, slowly became aware that his rustling operation was in serious jeopardy. And he knew that the Texas ranchers without a strong leader to unite behind would lose their determination to fight. He concluded the simplest solution all the way round was to kill Hank Laird.
Forewarned, Laird took immediate measures to tighten security. He increased the size of his personal escort, and instructed Ramon Morado to add another fifty vaqueros to the patrol force. Angela and Trudy, who had made several trips to Corpus Christi during the winter, were restricted to the compound until such time as the danger passed. At Ramon’s suggestion, Copperdust and several prize brood mares were also moved from the breeding pasture to the compound stables. And within the month, Juan Cordoba retaliated by burning out four ranchers whose property abutted the southern boundary of Santa Guerra.
Early in May, with murder and pillage increasing at an alarming rate, Laird dispatched a request for assistance to Governor Richard Coke. Elected the year before, Coke was a native Texan and had no ties with the Reconstruction politics of carpetbaggers and scalawags. One of his first acts was to disband the state police and reorganize the Texas Rangers, who had themselves been disbanded by occupation authorities at the close of the Civil War. The Ranger force was limited in numbers, however, and by now Texas was infested with outlaws. Their orders were to clean out the state county by county—only recently they had put John Wesley Hardin to flight—and they were slowly working their way south. Governor Coke responded to Laird’s request, promising help within a few weeks, and advised him to hang on until the Rangers arrived.
