by DeWanna Pace
She nodded but hurried to her horse instead of instantly sitting, pulled out her journal, then brought it back to hand to Gage. “If he looks out of the saloon, he’ll think we’re just talking writing.”
Gage accepted the journal and asked her, “Why don’t you trust him?”
“Take a look at the last seven or eight pages. You’ll see.”
Gage flipped through and found where the writing ended, then backed up eight pages. It seemed she’d been doing a character study on Shepard Hutton. The one statement that caught his attention first was the missing gold tooth and her speculation about it. “You never mentioned you knew the man had such a tooth.”
“I wanted to make sure I wasn’t mistaken before I told you about it, because I knew you would wonder why he kept that fact to himself when you described the horse thief.”
“Anything else particular bothering you about him?” Gage thought about Hutton’s ability with the bullwhip that day. It took a master of the craft to know exactly where to crack it without causing any harm.
She leaned over, giving him a whiff of how good she smelled. Gage closed his eyes for a second and savored the remembered scent.
“Turn the page and read that.” Willow did it for him. “I think he’s using boot polish to color his hair. I haven’t caught him at it to prove it, but when the man heats up, he sweats black. Didn’t you say your thief was redheaded?”
“Yeah, Hodge is redheaded. Maybe a few shades darker than yours. How do you know how Hutton sweats?”
She elbowed Gage in the ribs. “I work with him, fool. Keep your mind out of the wallow. Quick, thumb over to one of my poems and let me read it to you.”
Gage turned back until he spotted one, then slid the journal into her lap.
Hutton had emerged from behind the swinging doors of the Twisted Spur and was already halfway to them.
About the time he reached the steps that led to the mercantile, she started reading, although clearly not at the beginning of the poem. “...freshly broken sod. The man who never quit now had a heart-to-heart with God.”
Willow slammed her journal shut and complained, “See there, Gage. It sounds too simple. I can’t find the right words to create those images like you and Whitman do. It sounds so ordinary.”
He realized the game she was playing. Making sure Hutton didn’t catch wind of any conspiracy against him. “May I show you one more thing before you go?” he asked, then directed his attention to the wrangler. “Can you wait for a second or two, Hutton? This won’t take long.”
Hutton frowned. “We need to be on our way.”
“Show me.” Willow countered her employee’s impatience. “A few seconds won’t matter one way or the other.”
“Stand up.” Gage stood with her. “Hand that to me.” He accepted the journal and laid it on the bench.
“Now turn around and close your eyes.” When she did, Gage wrapped his arms around her and covered her eyes with his hands.
Her body stiffened a second.
“Don’t worry. I’ll only do this until your mind takes over for me. Now bring up the image of something you’ve seen or want to see.”
“All right.”
She didn’t relax as he’d hoped. Instead, she seemed to become more unsettled. “Tell me what you’re seeing, Willow.”
“Right now, a horse bucking me off.”
Gage knew what stirred that image and would have laughed had he not worried about the same thing happening if she went with Hutton to Rafford’s place. He needed to calm her. “Describe the horse.”
“Sixteen hands. Ready to hop and pitch and rear.”
“Not bad. Now dig a little deeper,” Gage encouraged.
“I told you that’s my problem.” She reached up to remove his hands and he obliged. “I can’t quite seem to get past the first layer. My descriptions just keep coming up full of sand. Nothing rock solid and certainly not hitting any kind of deep well.”
“Sometimes the first thought that comes to you is the right one. Simple can be better, but if you aren’t satisfied with it, dig deeper.” Gage brought up the image in his own mind. “How would it feel to be on that angry beast?”
“Like I was riding bucking thunder.” Her answer came quick.
She whooped with excitement, her eyes flashing open as she swung around to face him. “That’s it, Gage. That’s what I’ve been missing. I can make them see it, but I haven’t made them feel it yet. Letting someone experience it as if it were happening to them instead of the person in the poem. Showing, not telling.”
“Exactly.”
She grabbed her journal and hurried to unhitch the reins of her horse. Hutton had already mounted. After stuffing her journal into her saddlebag, Willow stuck a foot in the stirrups and threw her leg over. She reined her horse in the direction of her sister’s ranch.
“I can’t wait to get home and start writing,” she told them. “Thanks, Gage. You’ve been a big help.”
“You still going to Rafford’s with me?” Hutton nudged his horse in the opposite direction.
Willow shook her head. “I’ll probably just get in your way. Go on without me. I’ll send one of the other wranglers to Rafford’s so you’ll still have someone to help you. I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t be able to concentrate anyway. My mind’s on what I just learned. I want to let this sink in first before I learn something new.”
Without bothering to thumb his hat at Willow, he dug his spurs deep into the horse’s flank, making the beast bolt down the street.
Relief filled Gage. He was certain he’d somehow spared Willow from danger. The fact that she was willing to leave Hutton so easily was proof enough she had no part of whatever scheme he might be planning if he was the thief. Once she’d ridden safely out of sight, Gage decided to take a ride out to the Rafford place and see if there was anything more he could find out about the man in question.
One thing for sure. If Hutton and Hodge turned out to be the same person, he would regret taking up residence near a writer full of curiosity.
The second thing? Gage needed to pay a visit to the doctor again and see how much worse his eyes had become.
He shouldn’t have been so easily fooled.
Chapter Thirteen
Back at the ranch Willow chose one of the wranglers to substitute for her in helping Shepard. She didn’t want to delay what he had planned because of her change of mind. Rather than putting her horse away, she let her replacement take him so no time had to be used to saddle another. Good thing she was tall and the stirrups didn’t need to be adjusted for Shorty.
Eager to start writing, she hurried up the porch steps and into the house. “I’m home,” she hollered, heading upstairs to change out of her riding skirt and don a fresh blouse.
Willow got halfway to the landing and stopped. She’d left her journal in the saddlebag. By now the rider was probably a mile down the trail.
Her enthusiasm deflated like a child’s balloon that had just popped. Everything she included in her writing today would have to be by memory alone. Could she do it?
Trust yourself. Dig deeper, she could almost hear Gage’s voice encouraging her. Write the feeling, not just the sight.
Could she find that instinctive source of creativity within her and trust that it could be good enough to meet the challenge?
Okay. Because of you, I’ll try, Gage, she thought and continued up the stairs. He had become the one person she wanted to write for now. To meet his expectations. He believed in her. He was the only one who saw in her all that was possible below the layers of her insecurity. If she could reach that level of quality and satisfaction with her writing, then she knew she would become good enough to capture other readers’ interest and her boss’s approval.
She would finish her story this afternoon and feel confident enough to send it off to Biven and let it decide her fate with the newspaper.
“What are you doing home already? I thought you and Shepard would be gone a lot longer.”
Snow’s voice startled Willow. She’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t heard her sister come up the stairs behind her.
Once she reached the landing, Willow faced Snow and waited until her sister finished climbing the stairs. “I decided not to go with him after all. I sent one of the men to help him instead.”
“Why?”
Though she tried not to take any offense in the tone of Snow’s voice, the question sounded like yet another challenge between them. “I’m going to write instead. It’s my day to do what I want, isn’t it?”
She didn’t intend to stand there and have an argument about anything, so Willow headed toward her room and sat down on the bed to remove her riding boots.
“Yes, it’s your day.” A frown creased Snow’s forehead as she followed, pulling out the chair at the reading table to take a seat. “Besides, the children are fishing with Bear and Pigeon. I told them they could spend the afternoon with the Funderburgs.”
“So, I have most of the day off tomorrow, too?” That was good to know. Snow always found the need to mother her or be involved in scheduling her day.
Anticipation made Willow smile. The Lord had answered her prayer before it had even passed her lips. Having extra time was just what she needed. If she could get a fair amount of writing in the rest of the day, she could take Ollie and Thad to school in the morning and get her story mailed off in time to meet the stage.
Maybe she’d even look up Gage and tell him how he’d helped her. Maybe even see if she could convince him to visit the doctor about his eyes. What was the man’s name? She’d passed the plaque enough times hanging outside his office—she should have been able to recall it easily. Thomason, Thomas, Tomlin? One of those seemed right.
If she and Gage could get along enough to still be friends as they had this morning, then the least he could do was agree to let a friend take him to a doctor. That was what friends did for one another.
Willow glanced up from unlacing her boots, only to find her sister studying her closely, as if she had something else to say. “Yes?”
Snow triangled her hands together and the edges of her fingers touched her top lip. “I want to let you know I’m going to town with you tomorrow when you take the children to school.”
“No problem.” Well, there went the visit to the doctor with Gage. Willow hated the thought of putting that off.
She didn’t have to imagine the ride to and from town with Snow. She’d endured a similar one when she’d arrived in High Plains. Fifteen minutes of tension and stiff conversation if they talked at all. Maybe Ollie and Thad would have good things to say about their day at school on the way back. Thad might. Not so sure about Ollie.
“I thought maybe you and I could spend some time together. Have breakfast or lunch, whichever you prefer. Maybe even visit the hat maker.” Snow’s hands moved from her lips to grip the arms of the chair. “See what trouble we can get into together. Myrtle needs a day to herself and I thought we’d both get out of her hair.”
Willow dropped both boots to the floor with a loud thunk that echoed her disbelief. It was time to be honest. “I thought you didn’t like me. Didn’t want to be anywhere around me. Couldn’t stand that I’m not as perfect as you.”
Something deepened the color of her sister’s eyes for a moment before they darted away. The pain of truth she’d finally spoken aloud? Willow wondered. Well, let Snow know the same hurt she felt thinking Snow merely tolerated her because she was kin.
“You thought wrong, sis.” Snow stood and moved over to the bed, taking a seat beside her. “And I don’t want this bickering to go on with us any longer. I feel like it’s way past time for me to set things right between us.”
Willow shifted a few inches away, not trusting Snow’s softer tone or her seemingly sudden change of heart.
“I don’t just like you. I love you very much—” Snow touched Willow’s arm “—and I admire you even more for daring to pursue your dream. It takes a strong will to never give up on what you want in life. I’m proud of you every time I see you writing. I know someday you’re going to achieve what you’re working so hard for.”
The cold ice of her sister’s rejection, which had chilled Willow for so long, started to melt. “Really, you believe I can write?”
“I know you can. You have it in you.”
Willow faced her and allowed her sister’s fingers to thread into hers as they had when Snow used to walk her along the shoreline, playing in the surf.
Tears welled up from some deep pool of yearning Willow had thought dried up long ago. “I haven’t been the best sister,” she admitted. “I’m sorry I disappointed you so many times in the past.”
“You were the baby. Learning. I was your big sister.” Snow gently squeezed Willow’s hand. “It was my job to be an example for you. When Daisy married and moved to Texas, that left me to teach you how to grow up right. It wasn’t an easy thing to take her place.”
Imagining how hard it would be to replace Daisy in the scheme of life around here, Willow began to understand a little better some of her sister’s rigidness. “So all of this yelling at me and criticizing everything I did was because you wanted what was best for me?”
Snow nodded. “Sounds pretty harsh when you say it like that, but it is the truth. I’m sorry, sis. I hope you’ll forgive me and we can become better friends than we’ve been sisters for a lot of years.”
Express the feelings. Willow imagined what Gage might say. The depth of feelings inspires the truth. Willow let the tears she’d been holding back finally fall freely. “How about we forgive each other and start fresh from here?” she suggested and let go of Snow’s hand to hug her instead.
Willow held on when Snow started to pull back. The tears kept coming and she couldn’t stop them.
“There, there.” Snow patted her back. “Having a bossy sister might take a while to cry out. Take as long as you need.”
Willow sobbed, letting the emotion swell, then flood through her. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know wh-where this is coming from. I’m really very happy. Having one of the h-happiest days I’ve had in a long time, as a matter of fact.”
She leaned back and looked at her sister’s concerned expression. “Today I discovered exactly how to strengthen my writing. Now you like me again.” Willow half gulped, half giggled. “And Gage, well, he and I are finally talking again.”
Her laughter turned to a wail at the mention of his name and she threw her arms back around her sister and sobbed, “I couldn’t be hap-pi-er.”
Snow let her cry a few seconds longer, then gently pushed her back and thumbed Willow’s chin up so that their eyes met. “Look at me. Tell me what’s happened between you and Mr. Newcomb.”
Willow told her everything. About Atlanta. Each of them hiding secrets from the other that brought tension between them. About her and Gage’s quarrel and how they’d avoided each other until today. Even the kiss they’d shared. She told her everything except that she feared he was losing his sight.
“You’re falling for him, aren’t you?”
She should have been used to Snow’s directness by now, but Willow was startled by the answer that she had no hesitation in giving her sister. “Past tense. Fallen. I’ve fallen madly, deeply, don’t-want-to-lose-the-man in love. What am I going to do?”
Snow laughed and took one sleeve to wipe the tears from Willow’s face. “You never have a handkerchief around when you need one.”
Willow remembered the one she’d stored away to give Daisy. She’d give it to Snow now instead.
“You’re going to go after him,” Snow insisted. “That’s what you’ll do. Rather, I’m going to take you to him tomorrow morning and you’re going to show, not tell, Gage what he means to you.”
Determination filled Snow’s face. “Denying yourself of experiencing the sweetness of love will only make your face sour like mine.”
“What do you mean?” Willow asked.
“I won’t allow you to make the biggest
mistake I ever made.”
* * *
The sound of a bullwhip cracking and horses whinnying with fear carried a long way. Gage could hear it louder than the drum of his horse’s hooves pounding over the hard-packed road. Hutton was making a big mistake in using the leather strap that called attention to how well he handled it.
When he drew near the corral of Bull Rafford’s place, Gage noticed the size of the remuda gathered in the rancher’s stock pens. He did a quick count and studied as many flanks as his eyes allowed him to see clearly enough. Not many. What few were branded looked legitimate and not worked over. Most hadn’t yet endured the burn of angled iron into their flesh. Maybe Rafford had bought and traded for some of the horses in the past week or so, but the rancher had far fewer than this not long ago. Had he done some mavericking? Was that why Hutton was here?
Quality horseflesh for a cheap price? Or had Hutton played a role in the rustling?
Gage wanted to tread with caution here. Make sure he had the right man before he made a move.
Hutton hadn’t dismounted yet but was cracking his whip, stirring up and riling the horses. From the looks of things, he had no purpose for his whipping other than to show off for some thin woman sitting on the horse next to his and shading herself with a frilly parasol. From the back, Gage couldn’t see her face, but when she halfway turned, he realized he’d seen her before, but where? Even a blind man couldn’t forget such a prominent nose.
The wrangler sat in the saddle about the same height and depth as the horse thief. Gage tried to see anything else about him that might bring more recognition. Nothing.
His hair was black and he hadn’t started sweating enough for Gage to see if it would stay that color.
“Hey, boss,” one of the men yelled to be heard above the crack of the whip, “looks like we got more company. You expecting anybody else?”
“Nope.” Bull Rafford made the corral fence sway as he stepped down from its lower rung, where he’d been watching the horses. His enormous barrel of a chest was enough to strike fear in any opponent, but the remnants of a bruised jaw and chewed-off ear said he’d tangled with someone recently and met his match. He walked toward Gage. “State your business, partner.”
