"Don't these animals bother you or your brothers?" Valeria asked.
"Naw. After a couple of days, they're careful to stay upwind of us."
She couldn't resist. "Should we do the same?" She was so used to anger and scorn from him, the slow rise of one ironic eyebrow surprised her.
"That's probably a good idea," he said.
He was daring her not to be afraid of him.
Determined to test his invitation, she said, "Elvira said one of the drivers told her it's customary for ranch hands to eat at the same table as the owner."
"Duke Rudolf would never allow that," Otto assured her.
"That's the custom on most ranches," Luke said, watching Valeria carefully. "Some of the wealthy ranchers have a separate cook and kitchen."
"I told you," Otto said, relieved that his faith in the absent Duke Rudolf had been restored.
"Do they bathe regularly?" Valeria asked.
"No, ma'am. There's not enough water most times. Besides, you get used to the smell after a while."
The eyebrow rose again, and Valeria repressed a smile. "What's it like to live on a ranch?"
"For you or the cowhands?" Luke asked.
She felt herself blush. "Both, I guess."
"It depends on whether you live on the ranch or live in San Francisco and let a foreman run it." "Assume I have to live on it."
"Are you going to have servants?"
Valeria hadn't expected that question. Servants had always been part of her life. She couldn't imagine life without them.
"Naturally her highness will have a full staff," Hans said. "You can't expect her to do her own cooking."
It had never occurred to her to wonder what she would do if she were on her own. Nothing about her situation had made that a likely problem. Even deposed royalty had servants. "What would I do if I didn't have servants?"
"Cook, clean, wash clothes, iron, mend, and do all the ordering of supplies for the household. Probably for the ranch hands, too."
She didn't know how to do any of that. "Maybe make your own clothes."
She'd never repaired a rip or replaced a button. "What about the men?" she asked. "Where do they live?"
"In a bunkhouse. It's a lot like rn.litary barracks."
"What do they do?"
"They spend most of their time away from the ranch looking after the cows. In the spring they round up the new calves and brand them. During the summer they make sure the cows can find food and water, doctor them against disease and insects, and try to keep lions and wolves from getting too many calves. In the fall they round up the steers they mean to sell. During the winter they do pretty much what they did during the summer."
"That sounds a lot like the herders in our country who take the cattle to the mountains for the summer," Hans said.
"They don't get to come back to the ranch very often," Luke said. "They sleep in the open, do their own cooking over a campfire, and wear the same clothes until they come back to the bunkhouse."
"You'll have nothing to do with any of that," Otto assured Valeria.
But she thought she probably would have more to do with it than any of them expected.
"It'll be dawn shortly," Luke said, getting to his feet. "I've got to talk to your cook." They'd eaten less than half the food on the table. "If he cooks this much food again, I'll have the drivers eat with you. There won't be anything left then."
He left before Otto could swallow his food and lodge a protest. "You were a fool to hire that man," he said, turning to Hans. "You were an even bigger fool to rehire him."
"If I hadn't, we'd still be sitting in Bonner."
"At least we wouldn't be faced with starvation or being pushed about by a petty tyrant."
"He's doing what he thinks is best for us," Valeria said.
"Then he's got a peculiar idea of what that is. I'll have to set him straight."
"Don't say anything," Valeria said. "He dislikes us enough as it is."
"He's a servant, your highness," Otto objected. "He has no right to dislike you or disapprove of anything you choose to do. If we were in Belgravia, I'd have him before the firing squad."
"Maybe that's one of the reasons we're no longer the rulers of Belgravia; people like you and my uncle put too many people in front of the firing squad."
"We didn't send enough," Otto replied. "Next time-"
"There won't be a next time. We're fortunate to have enough money to reestablish ourselves. We should begin to learn American ways, to forget our old life."
"I can never forget it," Otto said.
Valeria was afraid she couldn't, either. But she could do many things in America she couldn't do in Belgravia. Maybe she wouldn't miss her old life so much after all.
A deep, male voice dragged Valeria from a sound sleep. She couldn't imagine who it might be. And no one, man or woman, would have dared to rouse her with a peremptory call to, "Wake up! You've got one hour to get dressed!" Nor would anyone have spoken to her like she was a kitchen maid. She had to be dreaming.
Then she came fully awake. The heat and the stuffiness, the smell of bodies too closely confined, told her immediately she wasn't in her spacious bedchamber at home but in a tent in the middle of the hostile Arizona desert, traveling to a destination equally unfamiliar. Luke Attmore stood outside her tent demanding in his mocking
voice that she get ready in a hurry so she wouldn't hold him up. She considered reminding him that she was the one whose arrival was of importance. If she didn't mind a leisurely journey, he shouldn't.
But she didn't. Luke had made it abundantly clear that while he was responsible for her safety, he made the rules.
Valeria threw back the covers. "Wake up, Elvira," she called. "Mr. Attmore is on the prowl again."
Elvira had compared him to a caged lion, always pacing back and forth, unhappy with his bondage but unable to leave. She decided it was an apt description. There was something of the lion about him-his blond hair, powerful shoulders, athletic body. His roar of disapproval.
"What time is it?" Elvira moaned.
"It doesn't matter. We've got to get dressed." She got out of bed, fumbled in the dark for the lamp, a match to light it.
"I'll do that," Elvira said, sounding sleepy and guilty for not performing her duties.
"It's time I started doing things for myself," Valeria said.
"Duke Rudolf would never allow it," Elvira said, scrambling to lay out Valeria's clothes.
Valeria doubted Rudolf could change the habits of a whole country no matter how much he wanted to. Valeria looked at the dress Elvira had taken out for her to wear. "Don't I have something less elaborate?
Something like one of your dresses."
"No, your highness." "Not even a day dress?"
"You gave those away after your uncle announced your engagement."
Her uncle had wanted her to look splendid at all times.
"How about one of your dresses? We're about the same size."
"Your uncle would be scandalized."
"My uncle won't know, and I'm tired of being so hot. Besides, if I wear all my best clothes in this dirt and heat, they'll be ruined before I reach the ranch." They agreed that for the rest of journey, they would share clothes. Valeria also reduced her petticoats by three. "I'm no longer in a palace. It's not necessary that I wear enough petticoats to fill a doorway."
She saved more time by adopting a simple hairstyle that required only brushing before pinning her hair on top of her head. "Anything to get it off my shoulders."
She left the tent in thirty minutes, half the time she'd taken the day before. She felt rushed and thrown together, uncertain whether her appearance would be acceptable or incite laughter. She had her reward in Luke's look of surprise.
"Did Elvira throw you out?" he asked.
The man had a peculiar sense of humor. Maids didn't throw princesses out of their own bedchambers. Even if that bedchamber was nothing but a tent.
"I don't want to be guilty of w
asting your time," she said. "I intend to learn to dress as quickly as you."
"Then you'll have to sleep in your clothes."
Valeria didn't think she could do that, not even to earn a smile like the one he gave her now. Which was just as well considering how silly she was being. She started casting about in her mind for more ways to make him smile, ways to get dressed faster, eat less, anything to earn his approval.
She told herself not to be foolish, that a princess didn't seek the approval of ordinary people, but she didn't feel Luke was in the least ordinary. She felt he had been created on a grander scale than anyone she knew. She was the one who felt inferior, and that was an unfamiliar and unsettling sensation.
"Would you like to have breakfast with us?"
There was no sign of the table or of her breakfast.
"Your cook doesn't seem to be able to get himself organized as quickly as you."
Valeria hadn't thought of that. She was used to everything being ready when she was.
"Then I'll take a walk."
"Where?"
"Down to the river. Maybe over to one of those hills. I imagine the view from there is wonderful."
"You're welcome to walk to the river, but watch out for animals coming down for their morning drink. You can't walk to that hill. It's about eight miles away. Your clothes would be torn to ribbons, your shoes cut to pieces."
"Then I'll ride."
"I don't have time to take you, and I can't spare anyone."
"I can go by myself. I won't get lost. I can see the camp from there."
"When are you going to realize this is dangerous country? Mountain lions live in those hills. And if anyone is following us, that would be like handing you over to them."
"Do you mean I'm confined to that coach for the entire trip?"
"Until I feel sure we're not being followed and are reasonably safe from attack."
Her satisfaction in getting dressed in half the usual time faded. She still had no control over her life, and Luke thought she was an idiot. "No one's trying to kidnap me. I'm not of value to anyone."
The look he gave her-it lasted for only a fraction of a second-caused her to come vibrantly alert. It said she was of value. To him!
It was gone quickly, but a princess learned to be expert at interpreting brief glances. His glance said he cared. Being of value to Luke would be different from being important to Rudolf or her uncle. For them, her value would be inextricably interwoven with her position as a princess, with her inheritance. If Luke valued her at all, it would be for herself.
As a woman.
"I have to assume you're in danger," Luke said. "If you want to be helpful, get Hans and Otto to dress as quickly as you."
He turned, started to move away, then turned back. "Thanks for getting ready so quickly. The boys and I appreciate it." He flashed a quick, almost impersonal smile, then was gone.
"That's the rudest man in the world," Elvira said. She'd come out of the tent in time to hear the last exchange.
"By our standards, he probably is," Valeria replied. "By his standards, I think he just apologized."
Luke settled the deer more securely over his saddle, smoked a cigarette, and let his anger simmer quietly. He'd never had a more frustrating four days. He'd barely made eight miles a day, and then only because he drove everybody to the brink of rebellion. Valeria's people declared they were doing everything as fast as possible, but it seemed they got slower each day. A rattlesnake bit one of the cook's assistants. He'd survived but was laid up in one of the wagons, his leg black and swollen with the poison. Another man had broken his arm foolishly trying to convince one of the mules it didn't want to sample Valeria's dinner.
Now Luke had had to go hunting for meat.
Otto and the others had continued to eat as though there was no end to their food, and as Luke predicted, they ran out of meat. He could have sent Zeke after a deer. He should have sent Hawk, but he had gone himself. Given his present mood, he figured he'd be better off away from everybody for a few hours.
He had no intention of handing the deer over to the cook. He'd probably cook all the best pieces tonight, serve what remained for breakfast tomorrow, and throw the rest away. There were twenty adults in this group. Luke, Hawk, Zeke, and seven drivers made up one half. Valeria, Hans, Otto, Elvira, the cook and five servants made up the other half. Valeria's half consumed threefourths of the food and did none of the work. They spent all their time setting up and taking down tents, cooking and cleaning up after sumptuous meals.
But he couldn't blame Valeria for his difficulties. She had started to wakeup before he called. She was dressed and outside her tent long before Otto or Hans appeared. She still refused to wear any of the clothes he'd bought her, but she no longer complained of the heat. She said she had stripped her table down to bare essentials, but she simply had no idea how bare essentials could be.
Despite their continuing disagreement, he had begun to think of her less as a beautiful remnant of a useless and outdated society and more as a woman struggling to adapt to a new and unfamiliar environment. Zeke treated her like an ex-slave owner. Hawk ignored her.
Luke wished he could do the same.
Instead, he kept finding excuses for her mistakes. He paid no attention to Zeke's absurd accusation that he was going soft on her. Having lived in Europe, he understood more of what she was going through. That made it easier to keep from losing his temper when she demanded that
extra water be heated so she could wash her hair. It enabled him to understand why she continued the ritual of sitting down to a table set with priceless china and crystal. She wasn't emphasizing the distinction between herself and those around her. She was holding on to a piece of the only life she understood.
Coming to America must have been as frightening for her as being put into an orphanage had been for him and Chet. If they hadn't stuck together, fighting to protect each other, they wouldn't have survived. They'd felt almost as fearful when Jake and Isabelle adopted them, treated them with fairness, showed them love. It was a foreign world, but Chet had finally understood and wanted it for himself.
Luke couldn't accept it. He'd stayed outside the circle. He ...
The sound of rifle shots brought Luke out of his abstraction. He immediately whipped his horse into a gallop toward the camp.
Wild thoughts chased each other through his head. Somebody was after the horses, the mules, the gold and silver, silks and velvets-Valeria. He raked his mount's flanks with his spurs, but the horse couldn't run any faster over the treacherous ground.
Before Luke came into rifle range, he saw Indians circling the wagons. Even as he raised his rifle to this shoulder, he realized the scene made no sense. All the Indians in the area had been moved to reservations.
He started firing even though only the greatest stroke of luck would enable him to hit anyone from this distance. His horse galloped over rocks, around a towering saguaro cactus, through a chest-high tangle of mesquite. Luke kept up a steady rat-a-tat-tat of rifle fire even when his shots were deflected by branches of paloverde, cottonwood, or willow. He'd be lucky if he didn't fall out
of the saddle, but the attackers would know someone was firing on them from behind. Maybe that would drive them off before they could hurt anyone.
It did.
By the time Luke threw himself from the saddle in front of Valeria's tent, the Indians had gone. He rushed forward, threw aside the flap, and looked inside. Valeria and Elvira sat huddled on the floor propped up against the bed. For a moment neither of them moved, and Luke had the horrible feeling he had arrived too late.
As he started forward, Valeria lifted her head, turned a face with fearful eyes toward him. The look of relief, thankfulness, welcome-so many emotions were packed into that one glance-was unlike any that had ever come his way before. No woman had ever looked at him like he was the answer to her prayers, a hero come to rescue her, her savior in denim and scuffed boots.
Chapter Ten
"Are you hurt?" Luke hurried forward, dropped to one knee.
"No, but I can't get Elvira to move."
Luke tore his gaze from Valeria and directed his attention to the white-faced maid. He put his hand next to the side of her throat. He felt a pulse, weak but steady. He saw no sign of blood. He lifted her up, checked her back and sides, ran his hand over her body with the thoroughness of a physician.
"She's not wounded," Luke said, a weight lifted from his shoulders. "She's just fainted again."
He heard the tent flap being thrown back and turned, expecting to see Hawk or Zeke. Instead Hans entered the tent, his nervous body clad only in a pair of trousers.
"Your highness," he whispered, his voice hoarse with fear, "are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Valeria said.
"Elvira ... is she. .."
"She fainted," Luke said. "Where are your smelling
salts?" he asked Valeria. She dug though one of the boxes in her trunk until she found an elegant, cut glass and silver-gilt bottle, which she held out to Luke.
Cowboys 08 - Luke Page 11
