Emma squeezed her legs tight around Sugarfoot, her muscles protesting the abuse of an extended period in an unfamiliar position. Herding the cows on foot this morning was far easier than this. How did Luke stand this day in and day out for months at a time? She shifted and squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position, to no avail. Carefully, she set her feet securely in the stirrups, grabbed hold of the pommel, and rose ever so slightly out of the saddle. Blood rushed into her uncomfortably numb backside, bringing simultaneous rushes of pain and relief.
Sugarfoot veered sideways during her canter, and Emma nearly lost her balance. She dropped back into the saddle, and almost cried out at the impact.
Though ahead of her, Luke must have sensed her distress. He turned his head, slowed his horse, and fell alongside her. Vic, a quiet man with swarthy skin and intense dark eyes, kept up the pace and soon pulled ahead of them.
“You need to take a break?” Luke asked, his gaze searching her face.
“I’m fine.” She forced a brave smile. “We haven’t found any cows yet.”
“We’re getting close. This trail is fairly fresh.”
Trail? For the first time, Emma observed the ground beneath her horse’s hooves. She’d been so focused on her discomfort, and on staying near Luke, that she had missed the obvious signs of the recent passing of cattle. A fair number of them, judging by the wide swath of trampled grass.
Up ahead, Vic slowed when he approached a swell in the land. His horse climbed toward the crest of the hill, but before he reached the top, Vic’s arm shot high into the air, his fingers splayed. With a jerk on the reins, he whirled the horse around and galloped back toward them. Luke and Emma slowed to a halt when he approached.
“We found them.” The man’s voice held a barely checked excitement, his eyes alight as he jerked his head backward, toward the hill. “Their camp’s over yonder.”
“The rustlers?” Luke asked.
“And our cattle.” Vic’s voice went hard. “Plus some.”
Emma rose in her saddle again, straining her eyes toward the hill.
“Let me take a look.” Luke swung his leg over Bo and hopped to the ground. Tossing the reins toward Vic, he strode forward.
The men who had stolen their things and scattered Luke’s herd were right on the other side of that hill? Emma wanted to see. She mimicked Luke and swung her leg over Sugarfoot’s back. But her stiff muscles protested the sudden movement, and the distance between the stirrup and the ground was greater than she thought. A moment later she found herself on her backside, staring up at a purple-streaked sky.
“Emma!” Luke doubled back to her as Vic jumped out of his saddle to rush to her side.
Heat rose from her collarbone up her neck, and she was sure her burning face shone bright enough to rival the late afternoon sun.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, but she couldn’t meet Luke’s gaze. What a clumsy oaf. What must he think of someone who couldn’t even get off a horse by herself?
“Here, let us help you up.”
Luke slipped a hand beneath one arm, and Vic did the same on her other side. The men lifted her to a standing position. Her feet felt unsteady, her legs trembled beneath the weight of her body, and she couldn’t even enjoy the feel of Luke’s steadying hand holding tightly to her arm. She clutched at him, afraid that if she tried to take a step she’d find herself back on the ground.
“The saddle can be hard on the legs when you’re not used to it.” Vic’s voice held a wagonload of sympathy.
Miserably embarrassed, she nodded and concentrated on forcing her legs to support her weight. Setting her teeth together, she managed a step away from Luke.
“Good. You’ll be fine. Stay here while I take a look over that hill,” he said.
“I’m going with you. I want to see too.” Though it was hard to sound firm and unyielding while hobbling like a babe taking her first steps, Emma tilted her chin in the air and hardened her jaw.
After studying her a second, Luke shrugged. “Keep quiet, that’s all.”
He held out his crooked arm as though offering to escort her to a fancy dinner. Emma took it gratefully, not at all confident that she could walk the short distance on her own, though the feeling was starting to creep back into her legs.
When they neared the crest of the hill, he crouched and then dropped to his knees to crawl the last few feet. Emma followed suit, and side by side they climbed the rise and peeked over the top.
Before them lay a small valley, ringed on three sides by swells in the land such as the one they knelt upon. Cattle filled the bowl, their number impossible to count but probably close to half the size of Luke’s herd.
“That’s them, all right.” Luke spoke quietly, his gaze fixed on the northeast corner of the valley, where a break in the hills formed a wide opening in the natural barrier.
She strained to see across the distance. “How can you be sure? I can’t see their brands from here.”
“First off, there are half a dozen different breeds down there. A cattle drive can take more than one breed from more than one owner, but there would be a bigger number of each. Second, there’s no chuck wagon. Just them.”
Luke jerked his head toward the open valley to the northeast. Emma caught sight of a trio of men, dismounted and talking to each other. It was impossible to identify them at this distance. They were nothing more than featureless figures.
“And third, don’t you recognize the oxen?”
She looked where he pointed, and sure enough, a pair of oxen milled with the cattle nearest to their position. Though one ox looked the same as another to her, they were probably Papa’s stolen animals.
“My guess is this crew have been rustling cattle for some time, a few here and there, trying to build up a decent-sized herd. They must have a buyer somewhere.”
“Where’s the fourth one?”
Luke studied them as he answered. “Probably hasn’t caught up with them yet. He’s around, though.”
The words sent a chill sliding down Emma’s spine.
After another long moment, Luke whispered, “Come on.”
They crawled backward to the bottom of the hill, and then Luke helped her to her feet. She was glad to be able to cover the distance to where Vic waited with a more-or-less normal gait.
“What are we going to do, boss?” Vic asked when they approached.
“We’re heading back to camp.” Luke went to Sugarfoot’s side and entwined his fingers to form a step for Emma’s foot.
Rather than mounting, Emma stared at him. “We aren’t going to get our cows back?”
Another blush threatened at her subconscious use of the pronoun. She meant his cows, of course, but after rescuing forty of them this morning and learning to herd them this afternoon, she’d begun to feel a personal stake in their well-being.
“No, we’re not.” Luke’s tone offered no room for argument. “We’re going to Hays as planned, and we’ll report this to the sheriff. They’ll send a posse to find the rustlers and recover the cattle.”
“Hays is a good day and a half away if we run ’em on the hoof,” Vic said, swinging up into his saddle. “The rustlers might move out before the law makes it back.”
“If they do, they do. There’s nothing we can do about it shorthanded.” He held his joined hands toward Emma again in a silent invitation that was more like a command.
She didn’t move at first. Griff had said earlier that if Luke showed up in Hays missing so many of his cows, he would never get a job as a trail boss again. They might be short-handed, but the men in Luke’s command still outnumbered the cattle rustlers two-to-one, even without Papa and Jesse. No, the real reason he was willing to leave his stolen cows went unspoken, but she knew it anyway. She’d seen his pain clearly on his face during the funeral, and his determination afterward, when he looked toward her as he spoke with Papa. He wasn’t willing to put anyone else in danger—not his remaining men, and especially not her and her family. He was willing to leave the stolen
cattle behind in order to keep them all safe.
Though he may not realize it, his was an extremely Amish approach to the situation.
The mood around the campfire that night was somber. Even Rebecca had lost her bubbly enthusiasm, and Emma understood why. After hours in the saddle, the ground seemed far harder and more unyielding tonight than ever before. They both preferred to stand as they ate their supper.
“I think we could take ’em, boss,” Charlie said between mouthfuls of beans. “We can turn their own stunt back on them and surprise them at daybreak when the cattle are starting to stir.”
“Maybe.” Luke didn’t look up from his tin plate. “Maybe not. I’m not willing to risk it.”
Jesse, whose injured leg had swollen despite the tight binding, picked at his food and grumbled loud enough to be heard by everyone, “A week ago we wouldn’t have let a handful of desperados get away with rustling our herd.”
Though he didn’t look in Emma’s direction, she felt the weight of his unspoken accusation. Jesse knew, like everyone else, that the Switzers—primarily she—were the reason behind Luke’s decision.
Maummi got up out of her chair and crossed to Jesse’s pallet to inspect his plate. She pointed an accusing finger at his huge portion of beans. “Eat! A foolish man refuses food, and wastes his doctor’s skills.”
Jesse’s grumble became a grunt. With an upward glare, he took a huge bite and chewed with determined purpose.
“You’d better eat what she gave you, son.” Griff climbed to his feet and grabbed the ladle from the pot of beans hanging over the campfire. “There aren’t going to be any left tonight. Best beans I’ve ever eaten.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Vic joined him at the pot and refilled his own plate. “What’d you do different, McCann?”
“Same beans as always,” the cook insisted as he scraped the last of the thick soup into his mouth with a piece of flatbread.
“Well, they’re the best you ever made,” Charlie agreed.
McCann froze in the act of popping the bread in his mouth. He turned a suspicious glare toward Maummi, who had returned to her rocking chair and picked up her sewing. “Did you do something to my beans?”
There was no hesitation in her rocking or a pause in her mending as she answered. “Such a fuss over a pinch of salt.”
“You salted my beans?” McCann jumped to his feet, looking ready to explode. “Salt in my wounds, madam, that’s what you are. Salt in my wounds!” He stomped off and disappeared into the chuck wagon.
Emma exchanged a quiet grin with Rebecca while Maummi continued to rock, unconcerned.
When Luke had finished his supper, he set his plate in the grass and spoke to those gathered around the campfire. “Everybody needs to get some shut-eye tonight. I plan to leave at daybreak, and we’re going to push this herd harder than we have since we left El Paso. That means I’ll be pushing you harder too.” The stare that circled the campfire was grim. “We may show up in Hays light, but we’re not going to show up late. Griff, you and Vic take first watch, McCann and I will take second, and Charlie and Morris can pick up the third.” He turned his head and shouted over his shoulder. “You hear that, McCann?”
McCann’s voice growled from within the chuck wagon. “I hear you. I’ll be with you right after I hide the salt.”
Papa, who had been even quieter than usual this evening, spoke up. “I will take a watch too.”
Luke shook his head. “I’m sure you would, Jonas, but not tonight. You and Emma and Rebecca have worked hard today, and I know how difficult it is to spend a day in the saddle when you’re not used to it. You get some sleep so you’re fresh in the morning.” He smiled toward Maummi. “You too, ma’am. You’ve had the hardest job of all, I think, riding herd over that mule-headed cowboy over there.”
Jesse scowled but didn’t answer. Maummi simply nodded and continued to rock and sew.
When supper was over the men wandered away, either to their pallets or to the remuda to retrieve their night horses. McCann emerged from his wagon, grabbed the dishpan, and, with a scowl in Maummi’s direction, headed for a nearby stream to wash up the supper dishes.
“I’ll bet there’s not a speck of salt to be found,” Emma whispered to Rebecca, and the young girl grinned.
Emma decided to join the cook. There were hard feelings to soothe. She caught up with him at the stream’s edge and knelt by the bank beside him. Together they plunged their hands into the cold water.
“That grandma of yours is a piece of work.” The man didn’t look at her but focused on his chore.
Emma scrubbed at a stubborn speck of food. “She means well. She sees us helping and wants to do her part.” Beneath the gruff exterior, Emma was fairly certain that was the reason for Maummi’s meddling, though she did tend to take uninvited charge of all community meals back in Apple Grove. “She would not be much good on a horse.”
His shoulders heaved in a laugh. “I’d pay good money to see her give it a try.” When his chuckle ended, he lowered his voice. “Those were the best beans I ever ate, and it wasn’t because of a little salt. I’d give a month’s pay to know what she put in them.”
“She loves to cook. She’ll tell you if you ask her nicely.” Emma set the clean dish on the stack beside her and reached for another dirty one.
“Hmm.”
They finished their chore in companionable silence and then headed back for camp. Rebecca and Maummi had already disappeared behind their wagon, where they had set up their sleep pallets. Papa sat by the fire alone, his hat resting on the ground beside him. He looked up when Emma approached, a faint smile inviting her to sit with him.
Emma retrieved her sewing bag from the back of the wagon. She’d decided what to do with Katie Beachy’s gift. She’d considered making something for Katie’s wedding, but yesterday she had changed her mind. The fire was starting to burn low, but there was enough light left to select thread and begin.
Papa watched her silently for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “Think you, daughter, that you could be happy with Amos Beiler?”
The question so startled her that she almost dropped her needle. “Papa, I—” The words stuck in her throat. Never had the topic of marriage come up between her and Papa. Maummi, yes. Rebecca, all the time. But Papa? He could be counted on to answer questions about anything from Christian beliefs to understanding the signs of the seasons in order to ascertain the best time for planting, but about marriage he had always remained mute. Emma assumed the subject was painful for him because he had loved Mama so dearly.
She made three stitches before answering. “No, Papa. Amos is a fine man, but he is not for me.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the flames. “I thought so.”
Emma waited for him to go on, to offer an explanation for his question. The overheard conversation between him and Maummi replayed itself in her mind. Would he mention Luke’s name to her? And if he did, how would she answer? Could she truthfully assure him that she felt no attraction for the handsome trail boss? Of course not. Her resolve to forget him had gone by the wayside the moment she saw those cows running toward them this morning.
Her fingers stitched almost of their own accord while Emma formed her thoughts into words, waiting to answer Papa’s next question. Would she leave her church in order to chase after an Englisch cowboy? No, but maybe she didn’t have to. Luke was a man of faith. Why could he not become Amish?
Finally, when the idea was about to burst from her mouth, Papa broke the silence with a loud sigh. He climbed to his feet and stooped to pick up his hat.
“Good night, daughter.”
Emma sat beside the fire, her sewing forgotten in her lap as she watched him disappear in the direction of the row of men’s bedrolls.
EIGHTEEN
Luke had managed to fall into a dreamless sleep when Vic nudged him awake with a rough hand on his shoulder.
“You’re up for watch.” Exhaustion dragged at the man’s voice.
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Luke stirred and saw that Griff had already roused McCann, who stumbled toward the remuda with an unsteady step.
“I’m up,” he said. “Go to bed.”
“G’night, boss.” Vic stumbled off and collapsed, clothes and all, onto his bedroll.
Luke tried to shake off sleep, and when he failed, walked on unsteady feet toward the campfire. McCann had left a row of clean tin mugs on the grass outside the fire ring, and the coffee pot rested on a flat rock set near enough to keep the contents warm. He poured himself a generous swig and downed it. The heat scalded his throat, and he took in draughts of cool air as he awaited the caffeine jolt.
Night lay quiet over the herd. He scanned the sleeping cattle for any signs of restless movement and found none. They had drawn close together before bedding down for the night, which would make his job easier in the morning. They would rise as one and be ready to hit the trail probably sooner than his tired men wanted.
Men and women. Luke glanced toward the Switzers’ wagon, where the women lay bedded down beyond. Emma had not been far from his thoughts tonight, even in sleep. The sight of her last evening, stumbling on legs numb from hours in the saddle with a determined set to her jaw, stirred emotions deep inside him. He was right to give the order to move forward without recovering the rustled strays from his herd. Her safety, and the safety of her family, were far more important than a few hundred head of cattle or any future job he may or may not land.
The horses in the remuda pranced nervously when he ducked under the rope Vic had strung to keep them contained.
“Whoa, there you go. It’s all right.”
He pitched his voice low as he made his way toward his favorite night horse. Bo had worked hard the past few days, and he deserved a full night’s rest as much as the men. With an outstretched hand Luke approached Whitey, whose name described him perfectly, murmuring words of comfort. Whitey was fresh, fully rested, and eager to escape the confines of the corral. Luke swung the saddle over his back and cinched the girth snugly.
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