Wayward Lady

by Nan Ryan

  Suzette didn’t understand Austin’s behavior. After a day in the Echo office, a day of helping out as though he were the employee, a day of closeness and shared interests and laughter, he’d pull on his fine frock coat and say good evening; she might not see him again for a week. Even stranger were the times he’d spend at his desk, saying nothing, a wistful look on his handsome face. Each time she looked up, he was staring at her. It flustered her and made her uneasy. She wondered what was going through his mind.

  And then it was time for him to leave again for Abilene. When Suzette told him good-bye, she ventured, “I suppose you’ll be going to New York again this year?”

  Austin grinned. “Will you miss me if I do?”

  “No,” she answered flippantly.

  “In that case, I don’t believe I’ll go this year. Take care, Suzette. I’ll see you this fall.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said and flounced away.

  It was an unusually dry summer; by September the prairie was scorched. On a night so hot that Suzette lay covered with a film of perspiration, she awoke and blinked. Her bedroom was lit up. Then she could hear the roar. Prairie fire! Terror gripping her, she jumped from her bed and ran to the open window. Sheets of flame were sweeping up the hillside, heading straight toward the house.

  By the time Suzette got to the front door, there were men in the yard. The red glare illuminated the faces of ranchers and friends. Stunned, Suzette watched them fill buckets from the creek and fight the blaze; she looked on as others with wet rags tied to sticks and hoes battled the raging fire. Still others grabbed grain sacks from the barn and beat at the roaring, advancing monster.

  Finally moved to act, Suzette headed for the barn and her mare, Glory. By the time she got there, a man was leading the terrified horses from their stalls just ahead of the crackling inferno. Clouds of heavy smoke choked them and the intense heat made their eyes water and sting. Suzette, her tangled hair sticking to her face, struck at the flames with a dampened sack, her chest aching, her face smarting. She raised an arm high, then staggered as the sack was caught from behind. She uttered a cry of protest and whirled, then released the sack gratefully.

  Austin Brand tossed the sack aside, picked her up and carried her across the yard into the house. It was not until he sat her down gently on the worn settee that Suzette realized she hadn’t put her shoes on. Her feet were bruised and scratched.

  “Darlin’, the fire’s about out. The house and barn are no longer in danger. Don’t you move.” He left her looking after him, fighting back the tears. When he returned, he carried a pan of water and went about the task of bathing her feet. He crouched down in front of her, tenderly sponging away the blood and dirt while he spoke quietly. “Sweetheart, I got back late last night. I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk around the square. I saw the glow on the horizon. By the time I’d reached the livery stables and saddled up, the others were headed out here. Thank God we made it in time. Are you all right, Suzette?”

  “Yes, Austin, you don’t need to…here, let me finish with this.” She tried to pull her foot from his knee.

  He clasped her slender ankle firmly. “Don’t, Suzette. Stop squirming.”

  The sun was up when the last fires had been extinguished. Suzette thanked the men and offered to cook breakfast for them. Declining her invitation, they assured her they were happy to help out and departed. Only Austin remained. He drank coffee as he straddled a straight-backed chair in the kitchen.

  “Honey,” he drawled, “why don’t you stay home today? Your feet are tender, I’m sure. I’ll tell Mr. Keach you’re taking the day off.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” she said. “I’m going to the Echo office today.”

  Austin set his coffee cup aside and stood up. “Fine.” He scratched his cheek. “Me, I’m going to stretch out on your couch and go to sleep.” He started for the parlor.

  “No, Austin, you can’t do that.” Suzette frowned.

  Austin sat down and pulled off his tall black boots. “Be kind to me, Suzette, I’ve not been to bed yet.” He yawned and stretched out on his back, hands under his head. “Wake me when you get home this afternoon.” His eyes closed.

  Suzette shook her head, pulled a coverlet from the closet, and draped it over his large frame. “Austin,” she whispered, leaning close.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m glad you’re back.”

  Austin smiled without opening his eyes. “Me too.”

  Throughout the day the thought that Austin Brand was asleep at her home brought a faint smile to her lips. At day’s end she hurriedly put away her things, said a hasty goodnight to Mr. Keach, and went to the stables for her horse. Excitement made her stomach churn as she galloped homeward, planning what she would cook for Austin’s supper. But her excitement was quickly replaced with disappointment. Austin wasn’t there when she arrived. On the table was a note:

  Thanks for the use of the settee. Forgive me for imposing.

  Austin.

  Austin didn’t remain in Jacksboro. By the first frost, he’d headed east once again. Suzette missed him more than she had the year before, just as Austin planned. When he returned in the spring, he didn’t come directly to her ranch, nor did he drop by the Echo office. In fact, he made no attempt to see her, and she was hurt and confused, though she had no intention of letting him know it.

  More than ten days had passed since his return. Suzette lay wide awake in her moonlight-streaked bedroom and wondered why a man who professed to be her best friend didn’t bother to call on her after being away for six months. Sighing, she turned onto her stomach.

  She was dozing off when she heard a noise. She lifted her head from her pillow and heard it again.

  Whatever it was, it was very faint. Like little bells ringing. Suzette froze. It could be only one thing. The Comanches wore moccasins with bells sewn on to the ties.

  Quickly, she got out of bed and tiptoed to the window. Just as quickly she jerked her head back and flattened herself against the wall, her breath coming in shallow gulps. Immediately beyond the yard, three half-naked Indians were dismounting.

  When her heart finally slowed a little, she moved across the room. She could hear nothing but the little bells as she edged toward the parlor. Once inside the larger room she dropped to the floor, afraid she would be seen. She crawled to the guncase, fumbled with the lock, and somehow got the Winchester out. Then she realized she had no ammunition. Stifling a cry, she stood with the gun in her hand and watched helplessly as the three lithe braves stole into the barn and out again, leading her beloved Glory. The other two horses she owned whinnied and followed the big mare. A slender warrior remounted his paint horse and led the others.

  The two remaining braves spoke to each other briefly, then one mounted up and the other started toward the house. Suzette’s hand flew to her mouth and she bit her knuckles, drawing blood. He was in the yard, his mahogany body gleaming in the bright moonlight. The other brave watched. The first would be at the back door in seconds. Suzette raised the empty gun and prayed.

  A single shot pierced the still night air and Suzette screamed. She saw the tall brave running away, out of the yard. He was on his horse in one swift leap and the two were racing away. Baffled, she looked at the rifle she held. She hadn’t fired. She heard other shots as the Comanches thundered away.

  She stood rooted to the spot, trembling, the gun clutched tightly. From out of the shadows she saw a man approaching, a rifle in his hand. She didn’t know whether to throw open the door and embrace him or run.

  “Miss Foxworth,” the man called in a soft drawl, “it’s Dale Jackson, ma’am. I work for Austin Brand. Are you all right?”

  Sobbing with relief, Suzette flew to the door and unlatched it.

  Dale Jackson took the heavy gun from Suzette gently and leaned it against the door. Then took her elbow carefully and led her to the table.

  “Mr. Jackson, I…I was so…” Suzette stammered, relief mingling with the terror she
still felt.

  “Ma’am, you’re safe now. You just sit there and I’ll make us some coffee.”

  “But…I don’t understand. What are you doing here? How did you know?”

  Dale Jackson sighed. “Miss Foxworth, Austin Brand hired me to guard you at night. You weren’t supposed to know about it. He’s going to be powerful mad at me. In fact, I imagine I’ll be on my way out of Jack County come sunup.”

  “You mean you’ve been watching my ranch every night?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I let Austin down tonight. I must have dozed. I didn’t know the savages were on the place until it was too late. I’m awful sorry about the horses.”

  “Mr. Jackson, I’m very grateful to you. You’ve no reason to apologize. You saved my life and I shall tell Mr. Brand as much.”

  When morning came, Suzette rode into town with Dale Jackson. Austin Brand, dapper in a custom-made suit, lounged outside the Echo office. When he saw the mounted pair, his sun-bronzed face lost some color.

  “I’m in for it,” Dale Jackson muttered. He reined in his mount as Austin stepped off the sidewalk. Scowling darkly, Austin reached for Suzette.

  Suzette put her hands on Austin’s broad shoulders as he lifted her from the horse, then smiled prettily at him. “Austin, how nice to see you. I heard you were back in town.”

  Austin held her arm and pushed her in front of him. “Get down from your horse,” he said coldly to Dale Jackson.

  “Yes, sir,” mumbled the cowboy.

  “Austin Brand.” Suzette grabbed his lapels. “Before you make a spectacle of yourself and me, let me explain.”

  “I want Dale to explain,” Austin said roughly.

  “For heaven’s sake, people are staring!” Suzette hissed.

  “To hell with ’em!” Austin shouted.

  Suzette managed to get both men into the newspaper office, where explanations were given. Austin calmed down quickly when he realized the cowboy was responsible for saving Suzette’s life.

  “Dale,” Austin finally smiled, “no need to leave Jack County. I’ll hire another man to keep you company at night. That way you won’t get so sleepy.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Brand.” The cowboy twisted his hat brim in his hands. “If I may be excused now, sir.”

  “Yes, go on home.” Austin waved him away, then turned to Suzette.

  “Austin Brand,” Suzette said, her eyes flashing as he led her into his office, “what makes you think you can have hired men watch my house? Why, you have no right to…”

  “I’m glad to see you, too, darlin’,” Austin smiled and touched her soft cheek with the back of his hand.

  Austin was growing more and more anxious to have Suzette. He felt precious years were being wasted. Though he stayed as busy as possible and fought the overwhelming desire to sweep her into his arms and tell her that he could wait no longer, he wanted her for his own and he intended to have her. He knew in his heart she’d eventually turn to him, that it was best to wait, but the fever in his blood made the waiting agony for the big rancher, who desired no other woman but the pretty, strong-willed Suzette Foxworth.

  Austin bought more land and more prized cattle. He went on the trail drive again, and again he visited New York. In February 1877 he met with Oliver Loving and other ranchers in Graham, Texas, and helped organize the Cattle Raisers’ Association of North West Texas.

  He was becoming more rich and powerful each year, and though Suzette would never know it, a great deal of his success was the direct result of his love for her. Because he was determined not to rush her, he buried himself in his work. If Suzette were his already, he’d probably have spent less time in the pursuit of business, more on taking pleasure with her. At times Austin convinced himself he was actually lucky she’d not yet come around; it made it possible for him to build an empire for their future.

  Suzette struggled on. She refused a gift horse from Austin, insisting that she pay him a little each month for the big, gentle chestnut mare she chose from his large remuda. She paid no attention to the twitching of his full lips when she told him she would not accept charity from him.

  The summer of ’77 brought with it a bountiful garden for Suzette. Tomatoes hung heavy from the vines, and black-eyed peas, okra, potatoes, onions, and snap beans abounded. In the fruit orchard, juicy pears, peaches, apples, and plums filled the air with their sweet fragrances, while blackberries grew just in sight of the grape arbor.

  Suzette smiled happily as she walked to the house with a pan of ripe peaches. It was a hot Sunday afternoon, a lazy, peaceful day. Yawning, she set the peaches on a cabinet and took off her sunbonnet. Debating whether to make a peach cobbler or take a nap, she soon opted for the nap; the heat was making her drowsy.

  She awoke to a sound unlike any she’d ever heard. It was a deafening roar. Bright sunlight no longer streamed in the window by her bed. As in Indian summer, the sun was veiled and a haze hung in the air. Suzette jumped up and ran for the front door.

  Swarms of grasshoppers obscured the summer sky. They swooped down on Suzette’s glorious garden. Screaming, she grabbed a dishrag and ran across the yard, swatting and stomping as she went. “No, I will not let you have my garden!” she shouted desperately.

  By nightfall there was nothing left. The grasshoppers were energetically digging into the fertile earth for the potatoes and turnips now. Suzette dropped to her knees and sobbed. All her hard work had been for nought.

  The worst was yet to come. The bugs moved from the garden to the fruit orchard, quickly devouring all the fruit, even the green leaves. Suzette could do nothing but watch in helpless frustration. When the orchard had been stripped, the grasshoppers invaded her home, eating the linen curtains from the windows and the clothes in her closet. As they crawled onto her bed, she fought them with brooms. She beat on a tin pan to drive them away. She tried poison. Nothing helped. They stayed until everything was gone. Then they departed.

  Suzette sat on her front porch and wondered if it might not be wise to leave Texas, as some of her neighbors had chosen to do. They’d given up living in this wild, untamable frontier. Perhaps she should, too. Maybe she should sell her ranch to Austin Brand and with the money go to New Orleans. She had cousins there. Perhaps she could report for a city newspaper.

  For a long while Suzette rocked back and forth and considered leaving. Then she shook her head, dismissing the notion.

  She would stay.

  12

  It was mid-afternoon on a day in the bitter January of 1878 when a very pale, apologetic Mr. Keach came to Suzette’s desk and cleared his throat. Suzette looked up and knew immediately that he was feeling worse. He’d been ill all morning, and now he looked as if he might have a bit of fever.

  “Good heavens, Mr. Keach, you must go home at once—or, better yet, to Dr. Woods’s office.” She hurried around her desk and pressed her palm to his forehead.

  “Now, Miss Foxworth, I’m not sick enough to see the doctor, but I was wondering if you’d mind too much if I left early.” The thin man’s teeth were chattering.

  “Mind?” Suzette pulled him along to the coat rack. “I insist you go home! You’re going to have pneumonia—if you don’t already.” She was grabbing his heavy coat and holding it out for him.

  “Please don’t fuss so, Miss Foxworth. I’ll be fine if I just go home and lie down for a while.” With shaky fingers he tried to button his coat.

  Brushing his hands away, Suzette did it for him. “Shall I step out and see if any of the men in town are in carriages? Perhaps one could give you a ride home. Dear me, any other time Austin would be around. He’s in Graham today, and we don’t expect him back until tomorrow.”

  “Please.” The editor tried to smile. “It’s not that far to my home. I’ll be there in a matter of minutes.”

  “Then be off, Mr. Keach. When you get home, you get right to bed and have Mrs. Keach fix you a hot lemonade mixed with whiskey. That’ll set you straight.”

  “I will.” He shoved his hat down on hi
s head and went out into the cold wind. Suzette stood on the wooden sidewalk and hugged herself. The sky was bleak and leaden with that dismal wintry look that made one long for one’s own hearth and a hot drink.

  “Brrr!” she said to no one in particular. She watched until Ben Keach had disappeared around the corner and then went back inside. She was still there hours later when the heavy sky turned to black velvet. Suzette didn’t realize it had grown so dark until she stood to stretch her legs and rub her tired eyes. The room was shadowy, the lamp on her desk the only illumination. She turned to glance at the clock behind her and grimaced. It was after seven P.M.

  “I should have left hours ago,” she moaned. Dreading the cold ride home and the empty house waiting for her, Suzette slowly began to gather up her things. She put the half dozen wooden pencils back into a box and neatly sorted and stacked papers. She took her woolen gloves from the middle drawer, along with her small handbag. From the coat rack came the only coat she owned. It was warm and that was about all. But tonight the plain brown wool looked good to Suzette. As she pulled it on, she looked about for her bonnet and stamped her foot when she remembered she’d not worn one. Of all the nights to be out without her head covered! The wind seemed to be whistling louder as if to remind her. “Oh, well,” she said aloud, “at least it isn’t raining or snowing.”

  When she stepped outside, a blast of frigid air took her breath away. The town square was almost deserted. Only the Longhorn Saloon, two doors down, showed any life.

  Austin had warned Suzette about being on the streets after dark. He’d told her it wasn’t safe for a lady, especially a young and pretty one, to go about unescorted. She thought he was exaggerating, but now she saw what he meant. Cold though it was, the good-time drinkers were spilling out of the saloon onto the sidewalks. Several drunks loitered around the swinging doors.