The Wren

by Kristy McCaffrey

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” Matt didn’t like hearing about her near-death stories.

  “Really?” she asked with concern. She quickly handed him the crutch. “C’mon, let’s get you outside so you don’t make a mess in the house. Your mother is busy enough as it is.” Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she added, “When you feel better, maybe I can scare up a few snakes to entertain you.”

  * * *

  Molly spent all morning with Matt, walking with him as he hobbled around the ranch, checking the horses, monitoring the progress of chores to be done, conferring with Dawson about the upcoming spring roundup. Molly learned this would be a joint effort with several surrounding ranches. Men from each outfit would be present to herd the longhorns to a common holding area, and then they would cut out their own animals for branding and potential movement to markets in Kansas.

  “You sound disappointed about missing the roundup,” Molly remarked as they headed back to the house for lunch.

  “I never really thought about it, but yeah, I guess I am a bit.”

  “Why does that surprise you?” She deftly sidestepped a pile of horse droppings as her calico dress swirled around her legs.

  “I’ve never pictured myself as a rancher.” He moved easily on the crutch, but his pale face belied his apparent strength and Molly knew he was exhausted. After lunch, she would insist he rest.

  “Why? Your pa runs quite a spread here.”

  “He does,” Matt agreed. “But I haven’t stayed put in one place for the last ten years. I’m not sure I would know how.”

  “It’s been much the same for me.” The sudden longing for a home hit her hard, constricting her throat. She scanned the plains beyond the house; the long yellow grass and colorful wildflowers swayed in the wind. Taking a deep breath, she knew she could always count on the land to calm her.

  In silence, they ascended the steps to the porch—Matt taking them a hop at a time—and entered the house.

  Lunch was cold roast beef, fresh bread, and potato salad. There was also a selection of pickled hot peppers which Matt ate in great quantity. Molly watched him with alarm.

  “Are you sure you should eat so many of those?” she asked, sitting beside him. Susanna sat at one end and Mrs. McAllister was across from her. Jonathan and Logan were out and about, and wouldn’t return until dusk.

  “It’s not as if I’ll be doin’ any kissin’ later,” he said casually, grinning at her and winking.

  Embarrassed, her face warmed and she suspected she was as red as some of those peppers.

  “He’s always liked spicy food,” Susanna remarked. “I pity the woman who marries you, Matthew. You won’t get many goodnight kisses.”

  “A man isn’t lookin’ for kisses at night,” he said.

  Molly’s eyes widened before she could stop the response. Why was he talking like this, in front of his own mother and Mrs. McAllister, no less? Her cheeks burned hotter.

  “Matthew Ryan, I would like you to behave yourself for our guests,” Susanna admonished.

  He just grinned, spearing a piece of roast beef and putting it in his mouth.

  “Oh, Susanna,” Mrs. McAllister said, “he’s fine. Men are just more direct in these parts. More simple. I fear Lizzie will have to readjust to that notion, but I have no doubt she will. She’ll make a fine rancher’s wife.”

  When Molly looked at the woman, she was annoyed to find Mrs. McAllister directing her words at Matt.

  “Do you think you’ll be settling in these parts, Matthew?” the woman asked.

  While Matt attempted to swallow the mouthful of food he chewed, Molly answered for him before thinking better of it. “Matt isn’t the settling-down kind of man, are you?” She glanced at him.

  He just raised an eyebrow in response.

  “Most Texas Rangers find freedom in not being tied down to one place,” she continued. “Makes sense, really. Criminals don’t stay put, so neither can the men who chase them.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Matt replied. “I suppose I could settle down if the right woman came along.” He looked straight at her.

  “Just as I suspected,” Mrs. McAllister said smoothly. “Lizzie is returning home in three days. I know she would love to see you, Matthew. Perhaps you could come for dinner one night? When your foot is all healed, of course.”

  Matt downed a large gulp of lemonade. “Do you think Lizzie even remembers who I am?”

  Mrs. McAllister laughed in a dainty, feminine way.

  Molly thought it sounded like a songbird bent on deceit.

  “Of course. You have quite a reputation in these parts. In all of Texas, I would daresay. A fine officer in the United States Army, an honorable Texas Ranger. Susanna, you should be terribly proud of him.”

  “I am,” Matt’s mother replied warmly. “But I do wish you would consider doing something a bit less dangerous,” she said to her son.

  “Of course,” Mrs. McAllister agreed. “And when you’ve married, you’ll want to present your bride with a fine house and enough land to do right by her.”

  “I suppose every woman in north Texas is highly interested in how much land her husband can acquire,” Matt said dryly.

  “Well, Elizabeth is right, Matthew,” Susanna said. “It’s important to build a legacy on which future generations can profit. Your father has worked hard to make the SR into what it is today. I know he’d like to see you and Logan take it over one day.”

  Matt became contemplative.

  “Every father wants his sons to follow in his footsteps,” Mrs. McAllister added. “It was my Charles’ greatest disappointment that we should only have one child, and a girl at that. But we have wealth in our land—Lizzie will bring much to a future husband.”

  “If she has so much,” Molly interrupted, annoyed at how threatened she felt watching Mrs. McAllister’s blatant attempts at matchmaking, “why does she need a husband? She could just run the ranch herself.”

  “Run it herself?” Mrs. McAllister asked weakly. “That’s simply not acceptable. It’s a man’s job to take care of such things. A woman only has the position her husband affords her.”

  Molly was about to ask how important position could possibly be out here in the near desolation of this part of Texas, but common sense buzzed in her ear and she held her tongue.

  “I’m sure Lizzie will find herself surrounded by many interested men, Elizabeth. Probably so many you’ll not know what to do.” Susanna smiled, clearly trying to calm the atmosphere.

  Mrs. McAllister nodded serenely. “Molly, dear, where is it that you’re from? I’m still not sure I caught that.”

  “Molly is an old family friend,” Susanna replied. “We haven’t seen her in some time, but we’re so glad to be getting reacquainted with her now.”

  “So, you’re from Texas?” Mrs. McAllister asked.

  “No,” Molly replied, “I was born in Virginia. My family traveled here when I was seven.”

  “So many of us came out here after the war,” the woman said with authority. “It was a place of new beginnings, although not as grand as it is now, before the Indians were removed from the land. You and the army did a fine job, Matthew.”

  Molly stilled. The U.S. Army, and Matt, had been responsible for uprooting the existence of the Comanche, indirectly forcing their path toward the reservation. She could no longer deny the trace of affection she held for the Kwahadi. It had been a hard life, and some members of the tribe had not been kind, but Bull Runner had shown fairness and concern when dealing with her. While Sits On Ground had struggled with normal sisterly competition, Running Water had become quite attached to her. She wondered if the young girl still remembered her, possibly even missed her.

  “It was a reluctant job.” Matt glanced in Molly’s direction. “Both sides had valid reasons behind what they did. Nothing was ever clear cut.”

  “On the contrary,” Mrs. McAllister argued. “They were barbarians, living like animals, breeding among whites to contaminate us fr
om within.”

  “Elizabeth, I think that’s enough,” Susanna said sharply.

  Molly wasn’t hungry anymore. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take a few apples to Pecos.” Rising, she left swiftly, making haste through the kitchen but once she got to the stables, she realized she’d forgotten Pecos’ treat.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Matt found Molly in Pecos’ stall again, although thankfully she was awake this time. Standing near the animal’s neck, she rested her head against the friendly mare, crooning softly to her. Matt stopped before them.

  Spying him, Molly said, “You look exhausted. You really ought to get some rest this afternoon.”

  “I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right. Look, Molly, about Mrs. McAllister…”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “That woman has always been bigger than her britches and prejudiced beyond belief. Don’t ever get her started on the issue of slavery.” He held his hand out to Pecos, and the horse’s wet snout coated his palm. “Don’t let her get to you.”

  “But there’s some truth in what she said. I’ve never really thought about it until now, but I think a part of me will always be Comanche. A part of me will never forget.”

  “No one’s asking you to.”

  “But people like Mrs. McAllister will never accept me, will they? Is the sentiment the same with everyone in these parts?”

  Matt paused. “I can’t say for certain, but memories are long and the Comanche terrorized this area for some time. People aren’t likely to forget that.” He pushed his hat back. “Molly, I didn’t say this before, but maybe now’s the time. It’s probably best if you don’t talk much about where you’ve been the past ten years. Some folks just won’t understand.”

  Molly’s stricken expression made him feel lower than dirt.

  She recovered quickly, however, and nodded. “You can get on back to the house now,” she said thickly, “I’ll be all right. I think I might ride Pecos a bit. She needs to stretch her legs.”

  “One of the ranch hands can ride her.” He didn’t want to leave just yet.

  Molly shook her head. “I think I need to stretch my legs, too.”

  “Will you play a game of chess with me tonight?” he asked in a vain hope to engage her company later.

  Molly opened the stall door, forcing Matt to move aside as she led Pecos out of the stables. “I’ve been living with barbarians. When would I have learned to play chess?” she asked bitterly.

  “I’ll teach you,” he said behind her.

  “I’ll think about it.” She efficiently saddled her horse and was gone before Matt could catch her.

  Damn his injured foot.

  * * *

  Molly stayed away for several hours, the freedom and solitude a balm to her spirit. The whisper of the wind, the all-encompassing blue sky, and the endless plains brought her back to her life with the Kwahadi, a life that had taken her from childhood to the beginnings of womanhood.

  It had been a life of hardship—bitterly cold winters, hungry nights when food was scarce, the constant togetherness of living in a crowded teepee with Bull Runner’s family. But there had also been sweet summer days, buffalo hunts in which the women often accompanied the warriors, games and mayhem, funny stories and gossip from the older women while they ground, cut and dried the food they gathered and hunted nearly every day of their life. There had been joyous births and sad deaths. It had been a life, and the Kwahadi had been no better or worse than any other people. They loved, they laughed, they feared as much as any other. They were human, and Molly could never think of them otherwise.

  The sun beat down as she rode, and after a time she couldn’t resist the urge she’d been trying to ignore since she and Pecos had set out. Stripping out of the calico gown, she tied the blouse around her waist. The chemise undergarment still covered her upper body. Pulling the saddle from Pecos she dropped it to the ground, leaving only the blanket on the mare’s back.

  Casting off the remainder of her dress, she sprang onto Pecos. The action pleased her, and the memory of doing it countless times before reminded her the past belonged to her. It couldn’t be erased. She was Molly, but she was also Cactus Bird. Two different lives, existing within the same person.

  As one, girl and horse rode, streaking across the earth, flying as if they were a bird hovering above the ground. Together, they soared like a wren seeking its home.

  * * *

  Molly finally returned to the SR at dusk. Wearing her dress again, she approached the dining room, and supper, with a certain amount of dread. She really didn’t want to dine with Mrs. McAllister again, but to her great relief the woman had left that afternoon to return home.

  “I think it was time for her to get back to her ranch,” Susanna said. “You’ll have to forgive her, Molly. Some people will never change, I’m afraid.”

  Molly sat next to Matt again; across the table were Logan and Dawson, and Jonathan sat across from his wife.

  “How was your ride?” Matt asked, leaning close.

  Molly smiled, noticing the silver flecks in his blue-green gaze. “Long overdue.”

  Once she spoke, it dawned on her the words might hold another meaning.

  Clearly Matt thought so, too, if his intense gaze was any indication.

  Rosita entered and began serving dinner—a mouth-watering beef stew filled with potatoes, carrots, onions and peppers, alongside blue corn muffins and apple pie for dessert. The upcoming roundup dominated the conversation. The men discussed how many beeves they would need for market, supplies coming and going, and the general state of the ranch.

  Molly remained silent and simply listened, aware of Matt’s easy presence beside her. His movements, his voice, every aspect of him resonated within her, calling to her. He was achingly familiar and yet completely unfamiliar. The man he had become was a new and dangerous creature, utterly compelling. And utterly terrifying? Not Matt himself. But she couldn’t deny that what could be between them filled her with unease. It was such completely new territory for her.

  When dinner ended, Matt silently guided her into the parlor and to the small table in the corner that held a chess game. A fire crackled in the hearth while a strong wind howled outside. Susanna went to the kitchen with Rosita while Jonathan, Logan and Dawson went into the study across the hall.

  “You don’t have to sit with me,” Molly said. “If you’d like to join your pa and the others, it’s fine with me.”

  Matt settled himself into the ornately carved wooden chair—there were actually longhorn cattle patterns along the side she noticed—and sighed. “They’re just gonna smoke cigars and have a shot or two of whiskey. Then, there’ll be more ranch talk. I’m not missing anything.”

  Molly stared at the chessboard and settled farther into the soft cushion of her chair. Her papa had played when she was a child, so she was acquainted with the game, but she had never really learned to play. “You really dislike ranch life?” she asked.

  “No, that’s not it. It’s just always seemed so permanent. So many people rely on my pa.”

  “What’s wrong with that? In the army and the Rangers, didn’t your men rely on you?”

  Matt agreed with a nod of his head. “Of course.”

  “But permanence scares you, is that it? Permanence would be a nice change of pace for me.”

  Matt’s eyes held a gleam of amusement. “Are you ready for a basic lesson in chess?”

  Molly assented, glad for the diversion. Except she wasn’t sure what the distraction was—the chess game or Matt.

  * * *

  Matt played chess with Molly for over two hours. She was perceptive and quick—traits she’d possessed as a child—and he was hard pressed to beat her during their three games. In the soft glow of the firelight, he enjoyed watching her face as she focused on the game, her blue eyes shrewdly examining the board, her dark brows drawing together in concentration. Her hair was down and glistened in the muted light of the room, and while s
he calculated her next move, she’d bite her lower lip and rest her chin in a graceful hand.

  Matt couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply enjoyed sitting with a woman. Observing her, he appreciated the sparks of intelligence as she grew more and more accustomed to the game.

  As the third round ended, she said, “I think you should get some rest.”

  He leaned back in his chair. He was weary—there was no doubt of that—but he was reluctant to leave.

  “Do you need some help back to your room?” she asked.

  “I think I can manage. Molly, what will you do eventually? Have you thought about where you’ll go?”

  “I imagine to Mary, or my Aunt Catherine and Emma, if they’ll have me.”

  He expected such an answer. Still, it bothered him. Her leaving. His departure too, at some point. “What about your family’s land?”

  Male voices interrupted them as his pa and brother entered the room, followed by his ma.

  “What’d you say, Matt?” his pa said. “Were you asking about the Harts’ land?”

  He nodded. The elderly man sat on the couch while Logan tended the fire. His ma snuggled next to her husband. Molly turned in her chair to listen.

  “Well, by golly, I should’ve told you sooner, Molly. Upon your folks’ death, the land was put into a trust for you and your sisters. When Mary married that fella Simms, I wrote to her and asked if she wanted it, but her husband was dead set on the territories—Arizona that is. So I was just waitin’ on Emma. Now that you’re here, though, I guess you should consider if you want it. I’d be happy to make a decent offer on it if you girls decide to move on.”

  “You mean I own the land now?” she asked.

  “Well, not exactly,” his pa answered. “It can only be owned by your husband. It’s the same for Mary and Emma. As soon as you’re married, the land can be deeded over straightaway.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is there any way around that?” Hope filled Matt that Molly might stay near.

  “What on earth for?” his ma questioned. “Molly shouldn’t live out there all by herself. If it comes down to that, you can just stay here with us, dear.”