by DeWanna Pace
Just ahead, the stream pooled between two gentle slopes of the prairie, forming the lake where the cold beverages had chilled. Above the slope on the opposite side of the lake, she saw Gage Newcomb’s tall dark figure standing near the headstones and wooden crosses that made up the fenced-in family cemetery.
Wearing his hat and burnt-at-the-edges-but-clean duster, he slapped a lariat against his right leg as if he were counting her footsteps. His legs were braced apart, his back to the rising sun. From the slight breeze that drifted her way, she noticed his hobbled horse indulging himself in a patch of some kind of greenery that smelled like mint.
She couldn’t see Gage’s eyes, nor could she read his expression, but his stance hinted he might have a word or two to say about her being late. She might as well get her apology over with.
Willow hurriedly passed the horse. “Sorry,” she said, sweeping beyond Gage to place her journal and pencils on a bench that offered mourners a place to sit and rest. “I overslept.”
“You didn’t bring a rope? Or a horse?” Disapproval echoed in his voice.
“I figured you would have the rope.” She wished now she’d followed her first instinct and ridden here. She probably would have remembered to grab a rope. “I didn’t know I’d need a horse. You told me what I did wrong with mine yesterday. I thought we could move on from that.”
“So you just want to know how to rope from a ground position. Not while riding?”
He surprised her with that question. She supposed there was a difference in how it was done in motion. But not wanting to admit she hadn’t even considered both ways, Willow simply said, “I’ll see how well I do standing still. Then we’ll figure out whether or not I need to know more.”
She definitely needed to be more specific in the future about what and how much she wanted him to teach her about a subject.
He quit tapping the lariat against his thigh. “Your choice.”
Willow glanced around and wondered why he chose this particular location. “I don’t see a stump to practice on.”
“You won’t find one around here. Well, maybe a lightning-struck one,” he amended. “Trees are precious commodity in the Panhandle. We either grow ’em full crowned for shade or to act as wind barriers. If they’re not good any longer, we pull ’em up by the root and burn ’em for fuel. You’re gonna have to rope other things today, like maybe one of these headstones or the bench. Thought I’d try you out with this stone marker. Or maybe a fence picket will do.”
Willow hesitated. The thought of roping a headstone had never entered her mind. Given her talent for knocking things over, what if she pulled the rope too taut and yanked the stone out of place? That would cause her nightmares for weeks. “I’m game for a picket. Let me try that first.”
“All right, show me what you know.” He offered her the lariat.
“You’re supposed to show me, remember? You’re the teacher. I’m the student.” She didn’t grab the rope and instead waited for him to start the lesson.
“So I take it your grandfather never showed you how to do this?”
“I watched Grandfather plenty of times, but seeing how it’s done and doing it are separate matters altogether.”
Gage faced the fence and began slipping the rope through the small loop he made at the end of the lariat. “This little end is called a honda. Form a noose about a foot or two wide.”
She admired the dexterity of Gage’s long fingers as they worked.
“You’re right-handed,” he said.
The fact that he’d noticed that about her pleased Willow. But why shouldn’t he notice? A good teacher should become aware of his student’s preferences.
“If you were left-handed, you would do this directly opposite what I’m gonna show you now,” he said. “Hold the loop lightly in your right hand a foot or so from the honda and coil the rest of the lariat in your left hand. Leave enough rope between the noose and the coil so it doesn’t kink. Say about five or six feet.”
Willow watched, wishing she had her journal in her hands right about now. She would have been writing madly to get this all down. But she didn’t want to stop him to go pick it up.
Gage nodded toward the fence. “Plant yourself in front of the target. Relax your wrist, then slowly swing the rope over your head, right to left. It should look like a rawhide wagon wheel revolving horizontally over your head.”
He had a way with description she could use in her story.
Her breathing sped up to keep time with the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of the rope cutting the air.
“Now you’ve got to swing your arm forward and bring your wrist down to shoulder level, then extend your arm. After you’ve done that, you’ll open your palm and cast the loop toward your target. Let me show you.”
The power of his arm and wrist kept a steady rhythm as the rope revolved and extended toward the fence picket. Willow was amazed at how he didn’t miss a beat with his wrist as he talked. So calm. So collected. So persistent.
“The force you used to thrust the loop forward determines how far the lariat goes.” His words of instruction matched rhythm with each flick of his wrist. “Don’t worry if you don’t rope it the first time. Practice helps you learn how to reach your target or not overthrow.”
“I doubt I’ll ever overthrow,” she confessed, imagining what kind of strength it must take just to be accurate, much less too powerful.
She watched him blink, then squint hard seconds before his wrist and arm suddenly stopped revolving. The rope landed and Gage pulled the length of the lariat coiled in his left hand, tightening the loop around the picket. Perfect!
“You ready to give it a try?” He walked over and unfastened the loop, then recoiled the rope to its original position.
Willow shook her head and finally grabbed her writing instruments, taking a seat on the bench. “I want to write it all down so I can remember it later.”
She opened her journal and began recording the images so vivid in her mind.
“Like I said, practice is the way to make yourself good at it.” He turned around and built his loop again, then threw it a second time, only to miss.
She looked up from her scribbling. “Why did you miss?”
“The truth?”
“Always.” She stared and wondered why he’d even considered being anything but honest with her.
“You distracted me.”
She usually messed herself up and didn’t mind taking the blame if she was truly guilty of causing trouble for someone else, but she’d been nowhere near his target. “How did I do that?”
Gage retrieved his rope and strolled over to sit beside her on the bench.
“I let you. I was paying more attention to your hair than I was the picket.”
“My hair?” Her hand dropped the pencil and immediately shot up to feel the top of her head. Had her ribbon shifted? The tail drooped? Was there still a nest of curls she hadn’t managed to untangle with the brush?
Embarrassment heated Willow’s cheeks. “I had to hurry with it since I was late getting here. I usually brush it better than this.”
Gage reached and stopped her from patting her head to check for disarray. When her arm slowly returned to her side, he ran his fingers through the cascade of curls hanging down her back.
“Settle down,” he said softly. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve just never seen the sun shine so strong in a woman’s hair. I thought I was only imagining the streaks that look like copper running through it. Then I found myself wondering if it would be as warm and welcoming to the touch as it looked.” He leaned a little closer, his breath brushing her temple as he whispered, “It is.”
A shiver of attraction ran through Willow while he explored the texture of a curl between his fingers.
She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted that he felt at liberty to be this honest. If this was what he’d meant earlier at the livery in asking for payment after each lesson, she would certainly have a say about it. As soo
n as she could find the good sense to speak again.
“Come on. Set down the book or journal or whatever that is,” he said. “Let’s see how well you build a loop.”
Gage rose, ending her quandary about his being so near. She laid the journal down and accepted the lariat he insisted she take.
“Which picket do you choose?” He took up a place directly behind her.
She pointed. “The one just above the gate latch.”
“Show me what you thought you saw me do.”
Though he stood far enough back to give her room to navigate the rope, Willow sensed the power of his eyes focusing on her every movement, studying, weighing, judging her ability to find accuracy.
She hesitated. It had looked so easy. Taking a deep breath, she did her best to remember each step. Her arm was getting tired twisting that wagon wheel over and over above her.
“Trust yourself.” His words jolted her as she cast the loop to reach her target.
It landed dead center.
“Did you see that?” she exclaimed. “I did it the first time!”
“You’re gonna be good at it. Now try it again.”
His compliment thrilled Willow and gave her courage to try again. Several more attempts met with the same effect and her arm felt as if it was loosening up more.
“You’ve got good eyes and quick timing with your wrist. That’s half the battle. Keep after it until you’ve lassoed a dozen pickets or more.” Gage pointed to the bench. “Try something bigger now, keeping in mind how large to build the noose.”
Willow did as he instructed but missed when she made the attempt, the force of the rope slinging her journal and pencils off the bench.
She hurried to try again, only to stop short an inch away from grabbing the rope. There, crawling across her journal and too close to the noose she’d thrown, was a spiky creature with a round body and blunt nose. Horns extended from its gray-and-yellow-tinted head. She shrieked and moved backward.
Gage came to her rescue, picking up the lizard-like reptile and opening his palm to show it now lying on its back, completely limp and playing dead. “It won’t hurt you. Just a little old horned lizard. Probably unburied itself from the sand to sun itself or head over to one of those ant hills for some breakfast.”
She shuddered and grabbed the rope, her journal and pencils while she could. “I say how about we help it on its way?”
Gage chuckled and set the creature down. The lizard darted away. “You know she could teach you a thing or two about hitting your target.”
“She?” Willow wondered how he’d made that determination so quickly.
“She’s about four and a half inches long. The males are usually two and a half to three.” Gage took the rope from Willow and started recoiling it. “Probably making her way over to bring breakfast back to her babies.”
Curiosity urged Willow to ask, “How could she teach me anything?”
“Though she wouldn’t have bitten you, if she felt threatened at all, she might have squirted a stream of blood from the corner of her eye, deliberately aiming it at you. I’ve seen one hit a coyote four or five feet away.”
His nose wrinkled. “The blood is foul smelling and must sting something fierce, as loud as that coyote howled. I’d say it’s a pretty effective defense to scare someone or something off. I’ve never seen one miss when it’s fighting for its life. A little sure shot, you might say. Aim and mean where you throw it. That’s what she could teach you.”
Gage motioned toward his horse as he took the rope from her. “That’s enough roping for now. What do you say we head on in and see what we can get into back at the barn? Maybe show you how to replace a shoe if your horse ever throws one when you’re afield. That’s knowledge that’ll serve you well anytime.”
“I could use something to eat soon,” she admitted. “Didn’t have time to have breakfast before I came.” Willow saw an opportunity to learn more about Gage than he’d revealed. Falling in step beside him, she remembered the spider at the livery, the lizard and now his mention of the horseshoe. “You seem to have a good knowledge of God’s beasts. Are you a horse doctor or something?”
“Never stayed anywhere long enough to do that.” When they reached his mount, he undid the hobble and offered her a hand up.
She shook her head. That wouldn’t be fair to him. “I’ll walk.”
Gage chose to do the same and took the horse’s reins, leading it toward the lake and the stream that would guide them back to the main house. His stride matched Willow’s as they ambled at a steady pace.
“Lived most of my life outdoors,” he finally continued. “It’s inevitable to learn a few things about those of us who share the wide-open spaces.”
“Surely you don’t just roam around and live life hand to mouth like the mountain men used to do, do you?” As a person who had a goal to achieve and a desire for a measure of success, Willow couldn’t imagine finding happiness living life purely by the moment and, more important, all alone. “Don’t you like company?”
He took a long time to answer. “Hard to miss it when you’ve never had much.”
That confession revealed more than if he’d gone on with endless conversation. As they followed the stream, he said no more and she wondered what he was thinking.
He seemed perfectly content with his own thoughts, where she, on the other hand, decided to continue rattling on at the mouth about how she liked being with people even when it took a little while for the appreciation to become mutual.
Her mind ran amok with a handful of questions she would have gladly asked if he’d been in a more talkative mood.
Did he prefer being such a loner? Was he the kind of man her grandfather had told her about who supposedly found joy in riding the long trail? Did he ride alone or prefer to work in a company of men? Grandfather’s tales of the first Rangers said the job required men willing to give up all to protect and serve others. Like an apostle of sorts. Was Gage that type of man?
The desire to ask him if he was or had ever been a Ranger kept building every time she was near Gage. That she couldn’t let it go bothered her, but she knew the day she would outright ask him wasn’t long in coming. She’d never been able to keep her curiosity in rein or her mouth shut for that long!
Willow stole a glance at him, thinking he sure fit the bill of what she thought a Ranger might be. Tall, rugged, strong...and not very talkative, she had to admit grudgingly. Cowboy code insisted that if you’re hurting, hide it, according to Grandfather.
What concerned her most was, even if Gage was a Ranger, why would he want to hide that fact from her? It wasn’t as if she would tell anyone else but her boss. Biven would be pleased she’d gotten such a reliable source to confirm the facts she used in her story for the paper.
She could even see the possibility of having to tell Snow about his profession if he stayed around the place for much longer. Her sister would want to know he was a lawful man they could trust.
Having a possible Ranger teach her was wise, wasn’t it? That was the real issue here.
The longer Willow mulled the question, the more Gage’s keeping his counsel bothered her. “Ollie and Thad finally settled in close to midnight,” she blurted, hoping that mentioning the children would spur his gift of gab. “They won’t be wanting any ice cream for a while.”
“Glad they’re better.”
She waited for him to say something more. He didn’t. Well, that had gone over about as well as the preacher passing the collection plate an extra time around.
Willow felt increasingly uncomfortable as her thoughts returned to all she’d been considering. Might it ultimately prove a big mistake to count on Gage in the event he was actually a member of Ketchum’s profession? Was she setting herself up for failure and hadn’t even realized it?
A man who was Ranger smart would figure out the reason behind her actions soon enough. Would he walk away thinking she’d used him? Or mocked him?
She didn’t think of Gage in
that way. He was simply research. She truly admired and respected what she knew of him so far. The only real aggravation she had with him was his bent toward keeping his thoughts to himself. Speak up, man! she screamed silently in her impatience.
“What would you like to concentrate on next?” he suddenly asked. “Shooting, shoeing or campfire cooking?”
He’d spoken. “Campfire cooking on the next day I don’t have the children to watch,” she said. “Maybe show me how to braid a rope on a day they’re with me.”
“Whatever you say.”
He’d had her there a second, cast her a line and hooked her, then threw her back into the deepness of her thoughts. He closed himself off as quickly as he had offered an opening. It showed he had little practice in being good company.
She’d considered him friendly enough up until now. He didn’t try to boss her around anywhere near as much as Snow had. And even when he’d made her temper flare, they’d both gotten over it pretty quickly. No one got along perfectly, did they? Especially if one of them wasn’t the sort to want to talk things out. It pestered Willow to no end that he was perfectly fine with holding his tongue.
As her character did sometimes. Sat there in her mind’s eye looking as though a gag had been stuffed in his mouth, refusing to give her a clue as to how she could discover his story or anything about him.
Was that what Gage was doing? Gagging himself so he wouldn’t reveal any more of his past?
Stubborn pride wouldn’t let her leave it alone and just enjoy the walk home. She aimed to find out more about him, but she didn’t want to anger Gage. He might eventually discover how she’d messed up her fictional Ranger’s worth. In fact, she expected him to live up to a Ranger’s creed and would be disappointed in him if he proved anything less.
