by Norah Hess
"There won't be no waitin' this time. I've learned that all I have to do is slap her mother around a few times. The girl will do whatever I want her to do as long as I leave my sickly wife alone.
"But I sure would like to know who helped Willow run away. There had to have been some thought to it, some plannin'." A hard glint came into Otto's eyes. "And I've got a pretty good notion that sweet Ruth and that damn Smitty are at the bottom of it."
Otto climbed onto his mount's back. "I'll come over to your place later, Buck." His lips curled in a leer before adding, "Make sure you've got that squaw all nicely tied up. Eight now I'm gonna go home and start doin' some questioning."
The cousins watched him ride away, Buck practically rubbing his hands together at the prospect of finally making Willow his wife. And if he didn't find her still virgin, she would pay dearly for sleeping with another man.
Joe Becker cleared his voice and asked, "You still got the same woman at your place, Buck?"
"Naw. I wore that one out. Besides, I put a baby in her belly. I sent her back to her people. I've got a new one now. Had her for a couple weeks."
"Do you mind if I take a crack at her? I ain't had a woman in months."
"Go ahead. But don't wear her out. You heard Otto. He'll want to use her when he gets here."
It was nearing sundown and Ruth was sitting on the porch, hoping to catch a cool breeze as she rested her tired body. She had been working since sunup, mucking out stables and spreading fresh hay on the floors. That was just one of the many jobs she had to do these days. Everything that her daughter had done once, her husband demanded that she do now.
Ruth rested her head on the chair back with a tired sigh. She couldn't have done a third of the work without the help of Smitty and the stable hands. As soon as Otto rode away in the mornings, they made her sit down while they did what was necessary.
A spasm of pain flickered across Ruth's face when she began to cough. It was summer, but the cold she had caught last spring lingered. Her health was failing rapidly, she knew, and she longed to see her daughter once more. But that was out of the question. Willow was safe from her father and Buck Axel, and in order for her to see her again, her lovely girl would have to come home. And that must never happen.
Ruth's body stiffened when she saw her husband striding toward the house, his face dark with anger. She gripped her hands tightly together. She saw the threat in Otto's tightly coiled body.
She let out a yelp of pain when he jumped up on the porch, grabbed her by a thin arm, and jerked her out of the chair.
"What's wrong, Otto?" she begged as he dragged her, stumbling, down the porch steps. "Where are you taking me?"
"I'm takin' you to the cookhouse. Me and you and that sneakin' cook are gonna have a little talk."
"What in the hell is goin' on?" Smitty burst through the cookhouse door when Otto gave Ruth a jerk that brought her to her knees.
"I'll tell you what's goin' on." Otto shoved Smitty away when he would have helped Ruth to her feet. "I've just learned where that selfish daughter of mine is, and I'm damn well gonna find out who helped her run away. The sooner the two of you admit to helping her, the less you'll feel of my fists."
Still on her knees, Ruth began to whimper her fear and distress.
Smitty looked down at the pale face of the woman he had silently loved for so long. Throwing back his shoulders and looking into the eyes of the man he hated, he said, "I helped the girl. Ruth had nothing to do with it."
"I doubt that." Otto drew back a foot to kick his wife. "It was all her idea."
"Damn you!" Smitty's voice rose. "You kick her and I'll blow your brains out!"
"Oh, you will, will you, you old stove-up bag of bones," Otto yelled, his hand hovering over the pistol at his side. He gave Ruth a sharp kick in the side.
Ruth tried to hold back a cry of pain, but it escaped her, and at the sound of the muffled utterance Smitty pulled a gun from his apron pocket and thumbed back the hammer. At the same time Otto snatched his pistol free and two shots rang out almost simultaneously.
Smitty's shot kicked up dirt at his boss's feet, while the rancher's bullet hit the elderly man in the chest. He stood an instant; then his head sagged forward and he crumpled down into the dust. His body twitched once, and then grew still.
"Smitty!" Ruth screamed and struggled to her feet. But when she would have gone to her old friend, Otto grabbed her arm and held her back. "Get your butt back to the house," he growled. "I'll tend to you later."
Her fist in her mouth to hold back her sobs, Ruth stumbled into the house and on into her bedroom. Throwing herself onto the bed, she let the tears flow, weeping for the man who had tried to defend her, and for the beloved daughter who would be dragged back into a life of misery.
Outside, Otto pinned his men with a threatening glower as he said, "All right, you stable hands, you saw what happened. You saw Smitty draw first. I had to shoot him in self-defense."
The men nodded reluctantly. The old fellow had drawn first, but Otto had deviled him into doing it by kicking Miss Ruth. The boss had known that Smitty's arthritic fingers would slow him down.
"One of you men ride to town and bring back the sheriff," Otto ordered; then he stomped off to the barn.
An hour later Ruth stood at her bedroom window watching the sheriff ride away with Smitty's limp body strapped across his horse. "Good-bye, old friend," she whispered and collapsed onto her bed.
When it was nearing supper time, Otto knew better than to force Ruth to cook for the hands. The men were already sullen-faced about Smitty's death, and just one wrong step from him might make them all ride away. He thought for a minute, then ordered one of his beeves slaughtered. He spent the next hour frying steaks for the men.
Otto sat off by himself as he ate his meat, not once thinking to bring his wife anything. Later, when he saddled his horse and rode away, the men spoke of this.
"One of us must bring Miss Ruth something to eat," one of them said.
"I'll make her something," said a dark and brooding man, dressed entirely in buckskins.
No one knew the half-breed's full name. He had given only the name Logan when he was hired to break horses. Otto bragged that he had the best tamer of horses in all of Texas.
Logan didn't pack a gun, but wore a wicked-looking knife at his waist. He had an unerring aim, making the men fear and respect him. But he held himself aloof from them, so none called him friend.
Logan entered the house, and in the semi-darkness felt his way to the table. Striking a match on his thumbnail, he lit the lamp sitting there. He laid a leather pouch and a piece of beef wrapped up in a neckerchief on the table and then lit a fire in the range. After placing a kettle of water to heat, he washed the piece of meat and set it aside on a plate.
When steam escaped from the cast-iron pot he took a mug from a cupboard and opened up the pouch. It contained atole, a mixture of wheat and brown sugar ground together. A small quantity mixed with hot water made a pleasant and nutritious drink. It would feel good in Ruth's stomach until he could make her a proper meal.
With the mug in hand, Logan opened doors until he found Ruth's bedroom. She lay on the bed in a stupor, limp and motionless. "Miss Ruth, are you all right?" He laid a hand on her shoulder, genuine concern in his voice.
Ruth stirred and turned over on her back. "It's you, Logan." She smiled in relief "I was afraid it might be Otto."
"He's gone. Probably won't be back tonight."
"But sooner or later he'll return." Ruth shivered.
"He won't lay a hand on you when he does."
"Oh, Logan, what's to keep him from it?" Ruth said, her voice breaking.
"The bar I intend to put on your door. All you have to do is stay in here until he leaves on the cattle drive."
"But that's only delaying things for a while. He'll be back later."
"But you won't be here when he returns." Ruth flashed him a confused look. "Where will I be, if not here?"
"You'll be in Texas with your daughter."
"You know where Willow is?" Ruth sat up.
"Yes, Smitty told me. He wanted me to know in case something happened to him. Now, I want you to sip this while I tell you about my plans to get you out of here."
Ruth sipped the atole and listened eagerly to Logan.
"When Otto heads out on the drive, we'll wait an hour or so before taking off ourselves in a wagon. I'll make you a pallet out of hay and place it in the wagon bed for you to rest and sleep on. You'll do just fine."
"Oh, Logan, you're making me feel fine already. I was so low in spirits, I wanted to die."
"I'm only too happy to do something for you, Miss Ruth, to return some of the kindness you have shown me. While you finish your drink, I'm going to fry you a steak and make some beef broth that will put strength back in you. We've got a day and a half to get you feeling better before we start out."
"Logan, would you please put the bar on my door first?"
Logan looked down at her, his eyes surprisingly soft in a face so harsh and unyielding. "I'll get to it right now."
Ruth had finished her drink and sat waiting anxiously for Logan to return. She couldn't rest easy until the bar was up. Otto could return any minute. She gave a startled jerk and held her breath when she heard the kitchen door open and then close. But it was no heavy thumping of boots that came toward her door, only the soft whisper of moccasins.
Logan entered the room, carrying in his arms a long, two-inch-thick bar of wood and two heavy iron braces to hold it. "My"—Ruth smiled her relief—"you made that fast."
"I didn't have to make it." Logan's eyes had a devilish twinkle. "I took it off the barn door. I told myself that you were more important than a bunch of horses."
"I'm sure Otto would disagree with you," Ruth said, sadness in her voice.
"Otto Ames is an idiot," Logan said as he took nails and hammer to the wood that would keep Ruth safe from all intruders.
That night, after a meal of tender steak, stewed squash and sliced tomatoes, washed down with long sips of beef broth, Ruth Ames had the best sleep she'd had in a long time behind her barred door.
Twice, late in the night, Otto banged on the door, demanding that Ruth let him in. Each time, with an indifferent twitch of her shoulder, she turned over and went back to sleep. She was safe. Logan had even nailed the window shut and closed the shutters.
Chapter Ten
The morning the cattle drive began, Logan stood in the open barn door watching the last of the herd disappear over the range. "When he saw the rolling dust disappear, he climbed into the wagon and drove the team up to the house, his stallion tied to the tailgate.
Ruth waited for him on the porch, a carpet bag lying at her feet. She wore a dress of blue sprigged calico, with a slatted bonnet on her head. A mixture of apprehension and excitement looked out of her brown eyes. She couldn't wait to see her daughter, but would Jules Asher frown at her arrival? Maybe he would think she was being forward, arriving without an invitation. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize Willow's housekeeping job. She knew that if the rancher refused to let her stay in his home, Willow would leave with her. And if that happened, how would they make a living?
When Logan came to help her into the wagon, she looked at him with anxious eyes. "Are you sure I'm doing the right thing, going to Willow? What if I cause her to lose her job?"
"Asher is not going to fire her, Miss Ruth."
"But look at me, frail and ailing, no good to anyone."
"Come on, let me help you into the wagon. You're not going to be ailing the rest of your life. By the time we reach his ranch, you'll have roses in your cheeks and be as spry as a young colt."
"Oh, Logan, I do hope you're right." Ruth sighed as the broad-shouldered man lifted her up and set her on the wagon seat.
"You're going to be all right," he said, climbing up beside Ruth and picking up the reins. "You're not to worry about anything." He looked down at her after the team pulled out and said with twinkling dark eyes, "If worse comes to worst, you've always got me to look after you."
"I couldn't ask for anything better than that." Ruth smiled up at Logan.
Ruth did improve some as the wagon rolled toward El Paso. But she still fatigued easily and spent most of the time resting on her pallet. But each night Logan prepared her a supper of wild game he shot as they rolled along, and she grew a little stronger each day. She slept well on her comfortable pallet, with Logan asleep on his bedroll under the wagon.
The morning of the day they were to arrive at the Asher ranch, it began to rain, a slow, soaking drizzle.
Logan unfolded the tarp he had brought along and made a tent-like structure to keep the rain off Ruth.
Nevertheless the rain seeped into the hay mattress and dampened the sheet and blanket that Ruth lay on. By the time they reached El Paso and inquired the way to the Asher ranch, Ruth was coughing and running a fever.
Finally, the trail-weary cowboys had herded the longhorns into the holding pens a few miles outside of Wichita. A wide smile on his face, Jules swung Willow off the wagon seat. "Have Sammy saddle you a horse so that you can ride on into town and get us a room at the Gold Crown Hotel. I'll be a while meeting with cattle buyers and haggling price."
"What about the chuck wagon? Will it be all right?"
"Don't worry about it. It will be Jimmy's concern from now on. He'll be driving it home." He ran a finger down her throat and into her cleavage. "You and I will be going home by horseback. We'll have all the privacy we want."
"And don't forget tonight in our hotel room," Willow reminded him with a look that caused a tightening in his loins.
Willow entered the lobby of the Gold Crown Hotel and felt out of place as she walked across the thick carpet to the desk directly across from the big double doors. A young man sat there, balding and bespectacled, reading a newspaper. She was conscious of how she must look, her shirt and trousers trail worn, her hat and boots gray with dust. And her face must look a fright. She'd had no way of washing it before leaving camp. The water barrel had been empty, as well as her canteen.
After one glance at her, the man in the high-collared, starched white shirt and string tie went back to reading his newspaper, completely ignoring her. Willow let a full minute go by, anger growing inside her, then she slapped her hand down on the shiny dark wood.
The clerk jumped at the sharp sound, and giving her a contemptuous look, said loftily, "We have no vacancies. Maybe you can find a room at the other end of town. You'd be more comfortable there with your own kind."
Remembering Smitty's response to similar treatment, Willow pulled her pistol from her waistaband and laid it on the desk. "Look, you poor excuse for a man, I'll give you five minutes to find me a room."
She didn't think it was possible that the young man's face could become whiter, but it now looked the color of death as he turned the ledger toward her for her to sign. She thought a minute, and then with a flourish, penned Jules's name.
It was her turn to give a curl of her lips when the clerk recognized the name of the biggest rancher in Texas. "I'll give you the room Mr. Asher always uses when he's in town." He fumbled a key off a board behind him. He snapped his fingers at a pimply-faced youth, ordering, "Escort the lady to room fifteen."
"And send up some hot water for a bath," Willow called back as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. When the door was opened for her and her battered saddlebags were placed on the floor, Willow smiled and said, "Mr. Asher will take care of you later."
While she waited for the water to arrive, Willow inspected the lush, well-appointed room. How different it was from the Palace in El Paso. She paid close attention to the big bed, where she and Jules would make love tonight. A warmth spread through her body just thinking about it. When she opened up a tall wardrobe, she stared at the sheer robes and gowns hanging there. Jealousy gripped her chest. How many women had entertained Jules in this room? she asked herself, sitting down on the edge
of the bed.
She suspected that there had been many women in Jules's life besides Nina. Would he tire of her after a while, and go back to looking at other women with lust in his eyes?
She told herself not to think about it, that things would be different with her. They would be married and Willow Asher would keep her husband so well loved, he'd never think of another woman.
In a short time the young man who had shown her to the room returned, carrying a pail of steaming water in each hand. When he left, closing the door quietly behind him, Willow examined several bottles of bath salts and bars of scented soap on a shelf above a stack of soft towels and washcloths. Choosing one of each, she sprinkled the salts in the water. As a floral aroma filled the room, she got out of her dusty, sweat-stained clothes and stepped into the tub.
She attacked her hair first, lathering and rinsing it twice before wrapping a towel around the wet tresses. She then began a slow, lazy soaping of her body.
When the water began to cool, she stepped out onto the floor and briskly dried herself with a towel, then wrapped another one around her body. Utterly relaxed now from the long soaking in the tub, she yawned widely. The big bed looked very inviting. She stretched out on the soft mattress and in seconds she was sound asleep.
An early darkness had descended because of the rain, and Jess lit a couple of lamps in the family room. She sat down in her favorite rocker and was about to strike a match to her pipe when she heard a thud on the kitchen door. It sounded like someone had kicked it.
She rose, took the pipe from her mouth and reached down the rifle that hung over the mantel. She walked through the kitchen, pulled aside the curtain and peered outside. She made out the shadowy figure of a man with a woman in his arms. Jess saw no threat in them and lifted the bar on the door.
When she opened the door partly, the handsome breed standing there asked, "Ma'am, does Miss Willow Ames work here?"
"Yes, she does. But she's not here right now. What do you want with Willow?"
