A Cowboy at Heart

by Lori Copeland

  “I’ll fix it up for him,” volunteered a high-pitched voice.

  With a final rub on Rex’s muzzle, Jesse gave the horse a gentle shove and turned his attention to the boy standing nearby. Butch was around nine or ten and tall for his age, all skinny arms and legs. It looked as though he’d grown since getting those britches, for they fell short of his boots by a couple of inches, even though the fabric bunched where he’d cinched a rope around his waist to keep them from falling down. Bony wrists peeked from below his shirt sleeves. The eyes fixed on Jesse were filled with shadows but also with an eagerness that bordered on hunger.

  “Butch has taken good care of your horse since he arrived.” Katie bestowed a kind smile on the boy. “He feeds and brushes him every day.”

  “And helps with chores as well.” Jonas ducked his head at the boy, his expression approving, and he then took a backward step. “I must finish with the hogs now.”

  With a quick glance that did not quite meet Jesse’s eyes, he left the porch and headed toward the barn with the manner of what might be called an escape. Jesse watched his retreating back, sorrow and irritation warring inside him. Jonas had made a point to stick his head into the sick room to check on Jesse several times a day, but only when Katie or Maummi Switzer was present. Not a coincidence, Jesse figured. Jonas knew he’d be pressed to explain his decision to let Littlefield get away with his thieving, and he didn’t relish the discussion.

  Jesse tore his gaze from Jonas and returned his attention to the boy. “I owe you one for taking care of Rex. This isn’t the first time he’s saved my hide. He’s a special horse.”

  “Yes, sir, he is. Real smart too.”

  “You know, he used to do tricks in a traveling show. I’ve seen him toss an apple into a basket from four feet away, and he can dance better than me. The man who owned him before could stand barefoot on his back and shoot at a target while Rex galloped smoother than a stone skimming over a pond.” He caught a glimpse of Katie’s alarmed expression behind the boy’s head. “Don’t try that, though,” he cautioned.

  Butch shook his head. “I won’t.”

  Jesse didn’t think he would. If this boy ever had a streak of mischief in him, it had been buried by the avalanche of sorrow he’d suffered in his short life. “If you could mix up a mash of oats and honey for him, though, I’d consider it a personal favor.”

  The boy looked at Katie, as if for permission.

  “I saw a full jar of honey in the kitchen.” A smile touched her lips. “I think Maummi Switzer will not mind sparing some for a horse that does tricks.”

  Butch nodded again, though his forehead did not lose the ever-present crease between his eyebrows.

  “Tell you what,” Jesse told the boy. “You can do me a big favor, if you’ve a mind. Have you ever ridden before?”

  “Yes, sir. My pa taught me when I was little, before…” His throat moved with a swallow. “I ride Preacher Maddox’s horse whenever he lets me.”

  “Good. It’ll be a few days before I can climb back in the saddle.” Katie opened her mouth to protest his estimate of a “few days,” judging by her aggrieved expression. Jesse continued before she could say anything. “I don’t want Rex to get fat and lazy. What he needs is somebody to ride him every day to give him a bit of exercise.”

  Hope dawned on Butch’s face as he realized what was being asked of him. “You want me to ride him?”

  “If you’re of a mind to, and if you can spare the time from your chores around here.”

  “I’ll get up before the sun comes up.” The child’s back straightened, and he turned wide eyes on Katie. “I’ll take him out before watering the cows in the morning?” He said it as a question, as though asking her permission to accept the offer.

  She appeared to consider and then gave a nod. “I will inform Jonas and Maummi Switzer of your new responsibility.”

  The first smile Jesse had ever seen on Butch’s face ignited a light in his eyes. Something stirred in Jesse’s heart to witness the excitement that made the boy rise up on the toes of his boots.

  “I’ll exercise him real good, sir. He won’t get fat, I promise.”

  “That’ll be fine.” A thought occurred to him. Katie had said that Littlefield’s men had been seen riding along the fence every day. That might only be a show of bluster intended to intimidate Jonas and the women, but if those blackhearted villans would shoot him in the back, what would they do to a child alone? “Do me a favor, though. Ride him that way.” He pointed toward the road that marked the southern boundary of Jonas’s property, in the opposite direction of the fence. “And don’t go too far, all right?”

  “Yes, sir. C’mon, Rex. Let’s go see about those oats.”

  He whirled on his boot heel and with a cluck toward Rex, he took off toward the barn at a run. Rex regarded Jesse with one liquid dark eye. Though Jesse knew horses didn’t laugh, he could have sworn Rex was chuckling.

  “Go on, boy. And watch out for him, okay?”

  His head bounced up and down twice as though replying in the affirmative before he turned and trotted off after Butch.

  Katie’s jaw dropped as she watched the horse disappear into the barn. “I almost believe he understands.”

  “Of course he does.” Jesse settled back in the rocker, fidgeting gingerly until he found a comfortable position for his injured back. Overhead the sun blazed in a cloudless sky of deep Kansas blue, but the covered porch provided pleasant shade. “I think I’ll spend the afternoon out here. It’s a far sight more pleasant than lying around in bed, don’t you think?”

  She studied him a moment, eyes narrowed. Then she disappeared into the house without a word. A moment later she returned carrying a wooden straight-back chair with a basket resting on the seat. When the chair was in place by his side, she seated herself and leaned over to pick up a piece of fabric from the basket. He watched her thread a needle with a quick, expert motion and then go to work on the fabric.

  Was that where she learned how to sew? He gingerly pressed a finger along the scab on his head and indulged in a cautious breath, enjoying the earthy smell carried to him on the breeze. A few days ago he couldn’t have done that. He could barely get enough air in his lungs to keep himself alive. Katie had told him what Doc Sorensen said, that the bullet had lodged in the lining of his lung. Another quarter of an inch and it would have ripped a hole in his lung, an injury from which he would not have recovered, more than likely. The constant headache and occasional dizzy spell let him know he hadn’t fully healed from cracking his skull, but mostly the pain in his head was easy to ignore. Many a time in years gone by he’d risen early and put in a full day’s work with a pounding head left over from a night of drinking.

  No, what bothered him most was the weakness in his right arm. Nearly a week and still he could barely lift it without searing pain in his back and shoulder. Worry niggled at his mind. What if Littlefield’s boys returned and he needed to hold a gun? He’d never been good at shooting left handed.

  He became aware that she was watching him.

  “Wie geht’s?”

  “What?”

  A quick apologetic smile flashed onto her face. “I am sorry. I forget sometimes to speak English. I asked how you were.”

  “I’m good. I can actually get a decent breath now.” He inhaled again to prove it. “Uh, did the doc say how long it would be before my arm stops feeling like it’s being ripped off every time I use it?”

  She shook her head, her attention on her stitching. “He did not say, but the muscle in your shoulder was injured. Muscle takes time to heal.”

  Her offhand manner comforted him a bit. At least she seemed to think he would recover in time. He lifted his right arm experimentally, setting his jaw against the resulting pain. Was it not quite as sharp as before? Maybe he’d better practice shooting with this other hand.

  “What are you making there?” He nodded toward the fabric in her lap.

  In answer, she picked it up with both hands
and held it up for his inspection. A tiny garment, with little sleeves and a long skirt.

  “Baby clothes?”

  “Ja. A gown for Rebecca’s little one. See here?” She held the garment toward him. “An M to stand for his last name.”

  “His?”

  A shrug. “I think the child will be a boy.”

  Tiny white flowers surrounded the letter and circled the loose collar of the gown. Jesse had no idea about women things like stitching, but even he could admire the beauty of the intricate work. “That’s real pretty.” He raised a boyish grin toward her. “Maybe the next time I crack my skull you could sew JM into my scalp.”

  That elicited a laugh, a sound Jesse enjoyed immensely. Though Katie frequently wore a shy smile, he’d rarely heard her laugh. He found himself trying to think of ways to make her laugh again.

  “I hope Rebecca does not mind the design.”

  “Doesn’t mind?” Jesse shook his head. “Why would she mind?”

  Her expression grew serious. “It is far too fancy for an Amish baby, but Rebecca is no longer Amish. I have seen fancy stitching on her Englisch dresses, so perhaps she will be pleased.”

  Though Jesse knew more about the Amish now than he had when he first met the Switzers, he realized he knew little of their beliefs. He was aware of the obvious, that they dressed only in black and white, and the men shaved their mustaches but not their beards, while the women hid their hair beneath those starchy kapps. But why?

  “Is there some sort of law in the Bible against fancy stitching?” He pressed his toe on the boards beneath his boots, and the chair rocked gently.

  Katie returned to her work, her gaze focused on her hands as the needle wove in and out of the fabric. “Not die Bibel, but the Ordnung cautions against anything that may lead to pride. Instead we choose to model Christ in simplicity of dress and lifestyle.”

  “Huh?” Jesse didn’t follow. “I admit I don’t know much about the Bible, but I don’t think Christ wore black trousers and suspenders.”

  He snapped his mouth shut. She might think he was poking fun and take offense. Instead, her smile deepened and he breathed easier.

  “Neh, Christ did not wear trousers and braces,” she glanced up at him as she spoke the word, “but He was a simple man, without conceit or vanity in any form. To live like Him, Amish avoid opportunities for vanity. We dress alike so no one has cause to take pride in their garments.”

  “Really?” Actually, the explanation made sense. He’d seen some pretty prideful women strutting around the streets of town in their fancy getups. “Is that why you all drive the same kind of buggies too?”

  “Ja. They differ only in size.” She tugged at her needle to tighten a stitch and then raised her work to bite off the thread.

  “So why black? Why not brown or something else?”

  “Black is a modest color.” She leaned toward him and spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone. “I have heard that some districts in the East allow gray and even blue dresses. And shirts for the men as well.” She turned the garment around and began plying her needle to one tiny sleeve.

  Ah, sleeves. “And why long sleeves, even in summer?”

  “To bare our skin to the view of others would be improper.” A faint peachy stain colored her cheeks. “There are some sights a woman reserves only for her husband.” She bent forward over her work, presenting him with a view of the top of her kapp.

  Jesse turned his head, sorry to have embarrassed her. He’d never given much thought to the reason behind the funny clothing Jonas and the other Amish wore, but now that she’d explained, it made sense. A cowboy on the trail learned quick to hide any possession he took pride in or it would get stolen by some jealous cowpoke or other. He once saw a man get shot over a pair of high-priced boots that a trigger-happy bandit admired. There was something to be said for not having anything different than the fellow who bedded down next to you.

  He would have asked more questions, but a movement on the road caught his eye. A man on horseback topped the hill. By instinct, his right hand inched toward his side, but not only was he not wearing his holster, the slight movement produced a sharp reminder in his shoulder that he wanted to use care before he did that again.

  “We have company.”

  Katie’s head rose, concern apparent on her face. In the next moment, her rigid posture relaxed. “And also an Amish visitor.”

  Sure enough, a buggy came into view. They followed the horse and rider, who Jesse noted was maintaining an unhurried pace, obviously traveling with the buggy. When they neared, he recognized the man.

  “It’s Luke.” He sank back in the rocker. “I wondered when he’d manage to get back over this way.”

  She folded the little gown and laid it in her basket before rising to her feet. Gazing at the buggy, a smile broke free on her face. “It is also Amos and Sarah Beiler. The children too. I will tell Maummi Switzer.”

  The door slammed shut behind her as she hurried into the house. Jesse watched the little troop’s arrival at the front yard. On the buggy’s front bench sat Amos, his round-brimmed straw hat perched on the top of his head, his black-and-white-clad wife seated beside him. With a flick of the reins he guided the horse toward the shade of the huge tree that dominated the Switzers’ yard. Before the wheels had stopped moving, a boy leaped from the rear bench to the ground, where he landed in a crouch.

  The woman half rose, her expression alarmed. When the child bounced to his feet, her shoulders deflated. “Karl Beiler, how many times have I told you not to do that? You’re gonna break a leg one day.”

  “I am sorry, Mamm.” Though the words were contrite, Karl looked anything but. Mischief glinted in the close-set eyes that, like his father, looked slightly crossed.

  Luke guided his horse beside the buggy and jumped down from the saddle with an ease that Jesse envied. While Amos climbed down and then turned to help his wife, Luke lifted the two Beiler daughters to the ground. Pretty little girls, they looked like miniature adults in their matching Amish dresses and white kapps.

  Luke crossed the grass toward the house with a huge smile plastered on his face. “That’s more like it. You look almost normal again.” He hopped up the steps onto the porch and covered the distance to the rocking chair in two long strides. “Don’t bother getting up.”

  “Wasn’t planning to.” Jesse turned a grin upward and rocked. “Decide to see if I’d kicked the bucket yet?”

  “Something like that.” Luke leaned against the railing, his long legs stretched out before him. He took his cowboy hat off and smoothed his hair down. “Emma sends her best.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Pretty as ever.”

  Jonas had apparently heard their arrival, for he rounded the corner of the barn at the same time Butch emerged from inside. Then the door to the house opened, and Katie and Maummi Switzer came out to greet their guests.

  The Beilers arrived on the porch, each carrying a bundle. Amos offered an arm to his wife, who leaned heavily on it while she climbed the two stairs. Her round belly bulged beneath the black dress, and Jesse glimpsed a swollen ankle when she stepped onto the porch. Unless he missed his mark, she was closer to dropping her baby than Rebecca. She looked plumb tuckered out, her face red and slightly damp. A mass of blond curls had escaped the confines of her kapp and were performing wild gyrations around her face in the wind. Jesse’s instinct was to jump up and offer her the rocking chair, and he rocked forward, ready to haul himself to unsteady legs.

  “Don’t you dare.” Sarah pointed at him and speared him with a look every bit as forceful as Maummi Switzer’s. “You just set yourself down there and stay still.”

  Luke raised an eyebrow in mock alarm. “You’d better listen to her. I heard she once wrestled a two-hundred-pound outlaw to the floor of the saloon and held him there until Colin arrived to haul him off to jail.”

  Dimples creased her cheeks. “Aw, go on with you. That was Sassy who done that, not me.”

 
; Her gaze flickered toward Amos, who did not seem at all upset at the reminder that Sarah, his Amish wife, had once been an Englisch barroom singer named Sassy. Instead, the tender look he bestowed on her kindled a flicker of envy in Jesse.

  “This is for you.” Sarah thrust the basket she held into Maummi Switzer’s hands. “They’re crunchy sugar cakes. Don’t mind the burned edges. Amos says he likes them that way.”

  Amos’s gaze dropped to the floorboards, giving Jesse the impression that he didn’t like the treat quite as much as she claimed, while Maummi Switzer took the gift with a gracious nod. “Danki.”

  “Gern gschehne.” Sarah’s wide grin spoke of her pride in knowing the proper response. “And there’s more too. Girls.” She motioned for the girls to deliver the parcels they carried. “A loaf of cornbread I fixed just this morning, and snitz pie, and a jar of apple butter we put up in the fall. The girls did most of the work,” she admitted. “Better’n me, truth be told.”

  “Come inside.” Maummi Switzer turned toward the door. “A fine snack we will fix for the men.”

  “Oh, goodie.” Sarah clapped her hands together. “And we can visit while we’re fixin’.”

  Jesse watched the women file into the house, Katie holding the door open until the others had passed inside. A bemused smile hovered around her mouth as she looked after Sarah. Jesse couldn’t imagine two more opposite women than Katie Miller and Sarah Beiler. As different in temperament as looks too. Sarah boasted a boisterous, rowdy personality that matched her untamable blond curls and buxom figure that no amount of black Amish garb could hide. By comparison, Katie was quiet to the point of almost being shy. No, that wasn’t right. Not shy. Serene. Her unassuming manner seemed to exude peace. And as for her looks, she was quite simply the loveliest girl Jesse had ever known.

  Before she started for the inside, her glance slid toward him. Caught staring at her, Jesse’s face warmed. He started to look away but found himself unable to turn from her beautiful eyes. Thick lashes fluttered modestly downward before she disappeared into the house.