by Vivi Holt
Angela couldn’t help giggling along with him, even as she took the baby into her arms and comforted him. Ost always knew how to make her laugh. She studied him through narrowed eyes, then leaned forward to kiss him. “Hank Oster, you rascal, I sure do love you.”
He chuckled, then kissed her back, pulling her close. “Angela Oster, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
THE END
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LOST IN LAREDO
Read on for an excerpt from another book in the series, Lost in Laredo. Or, buy it here.
REVIEW
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READING ORDER
Paradise Valley
Of Peaks and Prairies
Winds of Paradise
Lost in Laredo
Cheyenne Reckoning
Forgotten Trails
Excerpt: Lost in Laredo
Chapter One
The clip-clop of the buckskin mare’s hooves on the hard ground was the only sound. Its rhythmic monotony made Antonio Sanchez’s eyes drift shut. Slouched in the saddle, the cowboy chewed absently on a pinch of beech-nut tobacco in his cheek. He spat a stream of black juice to one side, then stood in his stirrups to stretch his aching legs. Checking the boundary was something he generally enjoyed doing, but not today.
It had been over a year since he’d received the last letter from his wife Maria and daughter Consuela. They’d departed Santa Fe, Mexico and crossed the border in January of ‘69 at Laredo, on their way to join him in Montana Territory. For the first time in his adult life, he had steady work and a place to lay his head every night. He’d sent his family enough money to get them up here, and some to spare in case of trouble. At first their journey had gone according to plan, but then the letters stopped coming. And with every month that passed, his anxiety grew.
Adelita the mare stumbled over a thick tussock of grass, throwing Antonio forward in the saddle. He grunted and grasped the saddle horn, then slid back into place. “Bueno?” he murmured, patting the mare’s neck, then sent another stream of tobacco juice out the corner of his mouth.
There was no use denying it any longer, to himself or anyone else – something must have happened to them. If they were unhurt, Maria would’ve found a way to contact him. She’d have known how worried he’d be, and somehow let him know they were delayed but still on their way.
He tugged off his brown Stetson and scratched at the red-and-orange bandana wrapped tightly around his crown. He’d given up wearing a sombrero as soon as he’d arrived in Texas years ago, but he hadn’t been able to forgo his bandana – riding without it made him feel naked somehow.
Antonio’s mind filled with images of his wife and daughter. How tall would she be now – up to his chest, maybe even his shoulder? He added up the years on his fingers. She’d be thirteen by now. He shook his head – how had time passed by so fast? It didn’t seem like more than a year or two since he’d left Santa Fe in search of a better life for them.
He’d promised it wouldn’t take long, that he’d send for them soon. But then there had been five years of cowpunching, losses, mishaps, accidents, living on the road and sleeping on hard ground. Five hard years until he met Thomas O’Reilly and everything changed. Tom gave him a job on his cattle drive, and a week later they left Fort Worth, Texas for Montana Territory with three thousand head of longhorns.
He sighed and ran a hand over his black mustache, his lips twitching. His eyes glimmered and he swallowed hard around the tightness in his throat.
Adelita stepped gingerly onto a patch of snow wetting the muddy ground between shoots of new grass. Remnants of snow still iced the hollows, but it wouldn’t be long before the last sign of winter was gone from Paradise Valley. He, for one, would be glad of it – he still wasn’t accustomed to Montana winters with their snowdrifts, blizzards, and icy winds that bit through his coat and made him shiver even under a thick wool serape.
The ground fell away in front of him, and the buckskin stepped daintily downhill toward a narrow valley between two rolling hills. The cold crept up to meet him and he shivered. He heard a cow bellow and cocked his head to listen. The sound came again, and he spurred Adelita forward with a click of the tongue. She leaped into a high-stepping trot, and he leaned forward in the saddle, surveying the partially thawed landscape.
Soon he spotted the cow, lolling on its side next to a thimbleberry bush. It called out mournfully again as he arrived, and he dismounted, making a soft shushing sound. “Hello there, mama – what’s going on?” he murmured, creeping toward her with one arm outstretched.
The cow stared up at him with wide eyes, the whites showing as she shook her horns at him. He stopped still and his eyes narrowed. She was in labor! He spat again, this time sending the wad of tobacco flying, and crept forward another step. “I will just take a look, see how you are doing.”
Her eyes rolled back in her head and she huffed loudly, snorting clear fluid from her nostrils, then lay her head on the ground, her distended stomach protruding like an anthill on the new patches of wheatgrass pushing eagerly through the melting snow.
Antonio examined the cow and found the calf had begun to make an appearance – feet first. He sighed and set his hat carefully on the ground, rubbed his hands over his face and grimaced. It looked like she’d been there a while and the labor wasn’t progressing. He’d have to intervene.
But an hour later, a wet calf lay in a tangle of gangly legs by his feet. Antonio, breathing hard, set his hands on his hips to watch the animal squirm onto its side. He smiled. Already its blue-tinged nose had begun to turn pink and its wide brown eyes flicked open and shut.
The cow stood slowly to her feet, stumbling forward. She snorted and sniffed at the calf, then turned and wandered off, leaving the newborn behind.
Antonio frowned and scratched his head. He found his hat and slapped it back on, still watching the cow, who hadn’t looked back once at her baby. Finally he jogged after her and waved his arms to turn her around.
She snorted again and shook her horns at him, but lurched back toward her calf. She found the newborn making its first attempt to stand and nudged it with her nose, sending it sprawling. Antonio chuckled, then grunted in approval as the cow began to lick her calf clean. The cow’s hide was a lovely brown all over, but her calf had a sprinkling of white spots.
When Antonio had seen enough, he whistled. Adelita, grazing nearby, lifted her head and trotted to his side with ears pricked. He climbed onto her back and studied the horizon, knowing what he had to do. Even though it wasn’t likely he’d find them, he had to look for his family. He only wished he’d left for Texas six months earlier, but at the time he’d still hoped they’d find their way to Bozeman. Then, once winter fell, there was no point in trying to head south through the thick snow.
Now hope was nothing but a glimmer on the edge of his thoughts. He knew the chances of finding them weren’t good. Too much time had passed.
With a click of his tongue and a nudge of his spurs, Antonio sent Adelita forward. Whatever he’d done wrong in the past was behind him now. He knew that it was time to go south if he was to have any hope of seeing them again.
Thomas O’Reilly stared out the barn door at the snow-capped peaks that ran the length of Paradise Valley. Blues and grays peeked out from beneath the white that still blanketed the highest reaches of the mountain range, as long rays of sunlight shot across the landscape like golden fingers. He smiled and shifted the weight of the saddle on his hip with work-hardened hands. He’d been out riding to check on the herd and found the cattle enjoying the first weeks of thaw after a hard winter.
Most of them still milled close to the barns where they’d huddled during blizzards and storms, but some had strayed further afield, quite a few of
those ready to give birth. They often liked to find somewhere quiet away from the rest of the group to birth their calves, and he couldn’t say he blamed them. The yearlings were full of life and mischief after a winter cooped up or trudging through deep snow. They wanted to frolic and leap around, and a small calf would only get in the way of that and likely get hurt. Not to mention the chance of predators hanging around the fringes of the herd, waiting for a glimpse of a newborn or straggler.
He trudged to the side of the barn and slid the saddle onto a railing that already held four others. He pushed his tanned Stetson back and scratched his head. Paradise Ranch had grown so much since he’d arrived with his herd of Texas longhorns, it was almost unrecognizable. The barns were weathered now and the herd had grown, as had his own family. He smiled at the thought and walked out into the afternoon sun.
Antonio Sanchez – Vaquero, as they called him – galloped into view on the same buckskin mare he’d brought with him from Fort Worth all those months ago. She looked glad to have a chance to stretch her legs too, but he wondered what had brought his friend back home so early in the day. There were still a couple of hours before sunset, and he knew Vaquero wasn’t one to cut a workday short unless there was a reason. “Howdy, Vaquero – what’s goin’ on?” he called, hands on his hips as the cowpuncher dismounted.
“Hey, boss,” he said, his voice deep and soft. He took a long slow breath. “You know how I worry about Maria and Consuela. I think I should go look for them.”
Thomas arched an eyebrow, squinting against the sunlight. “Oh?”
“Si. I have not heard from Maria in over a year, and I have given up waiting. I do not think they are coming. Her last letter to me was from Laredo, on the border with Mexico, so I will start there. Maybe someone will remember her. I know it is not likely I find them. But I have to try.”
Thomas’ eyes widened. Vaquero didn’t usually talk much, at least not all at once. He hadn’t even told them his full name until they’d known him over a year. But he’d proven his loyalty and dedication in the time they’d known him. And if he was to head south to look for his family, Thomas had no doubt he’d find them. “I think that’s a fine idea.”
Vaquero nodded and began to unbuckle the saddle’s girth strap.
“It’s a long way to Texas,” Thomas continued, pursing his lips. “I guess you’ll be gone a while.”
Vaquero bowed his head. “We will say adios.”
Thomas chewed his lower lip. He hated to see his friend leave that way, not knowing if they’d see him again. He was a good worker, and those were hard to come by in a remote place like Paradise Valley. “Well, when you’re done lookin’, you’re welcome back here. If you wanna come back, that is. We’ll be here waitin’ for you. And let us know how you’re doin’ every now and then.”
Vaquero raised his eyes to meet Thomas’ and smiled. “Si, boss, I will. Gracias.”
June 1870
Lotte Velden smiled as she mashed the stamppot with a fork in the bottom of the cast-iron pot, mixing the potatoes with sauerkraut, carrots, onions and diced salt pork to make a colorful and creamy side dish. She spooned the mixture onto four tin plates, then reached for the frying pan where it sat balanced on a makeshift frame over the glowing fire Oom Gust had fashioned from green sticks. Slices of salted sow belly sizzled in hot pork grease in the fry pan.
Using the fork again, she scooped the sow belly onto the plates, added a little flour to the drippings left behind, sprinkled in salt and stirred it quickly before drizzling the gravy over each heaped plate.
“That smells delicious,” said Marcus behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders, massaging her tired muscles with gentle fingers.
She smiled and leaned back to kiss him. “I hope it will be. Sorry it’s stamppot again.”
He chuckled. “I could eat your stamppot every single day and never grow tired of it.”
“Just as well, my dear Mr. Velden,” she said with a smile as she handed him a plate. “Otherwise you’d starve.”
He lifted the plate and sniffed it once. “Mmmm …”
She laughed. “Supper is ready!” she called.
Oom Gust sat on a blanket they’d laid out beside the fire. Tante Annika stood and smoothed her skirts over her ample hips, then reached for their plates with a warm smile. “Dank je, Lotte.” Annika handed her husband a plate and fetched tin forks from the provisions bag in the dust by Lotte’s feet, then lowered herself onto the blanket beside Gust with a grunt.
Lotte watched them, her concern growing. She’d known the journey west would be uncomfortable for them, but their joints had stiffened a lot in recent days and she knew they’d struggle once the weather cooled. She was glad they’d finally made it and found a parcel of land that both Oom Gust and Marcus could agree to homestead on.
She sat beside Marcus and tucked her feet beneath her skirt, resting the plate on her lap. She took a bite of sow belly and chewed thoughtfully, glancing over at the newly-built cabin beside them, the rough-hewn wood glowing golden in the evening light. It made her heart swell with pride to see how far they’d come – all the way from Maastricht in Holland to the coast, across the Atlantic on a steam liner, then from New York to Texas with only a canvas-covered schooner between them and the wide-open plains. “How long do you think it’ll be before we can cook in the new house?”
Marcus drew a long, slow breath and grinned. “I can build the chimney tomorrow if that suits.”
She nodded. “That would be wonderful. The sooner we can get Oom Gust and Tante Annika inside, up off the hard ground and in front of a roaring fire, the better. It’ll be autumn before we know it.”
He grunted in assent and stared up at the sky.
Lotte did as well. The first stars twinkled overhead and a light breeze ruffled the frill of her apron. She shivered, though the night was warm. It felt strange to eat beneath that enormous firmament. It seemed so much larger and wilder than the sky back home, and she’d yet to grow accustomed to it.
The fire sparked and snapped in the hearth, and Lotte stood admiring it with her hands on her hips. She smiled as she felt its warmth against her face. Marcus had pulled some stumps into the cabin, and Oom Gust and Tante Annika sat on them against the wall, grinning from ear to ear as they stared into the fire.
“It’s a goot fire, Marcus,” said Gust. He slapped his nephew on the back, then returned his attention to the blaze before him. He and his wife both laid their heads back against the wall. He put his hand in hers and they exchanged a contented glance and a smile.
Lotte knew just how they felt. After so many months traveling, a fire in a fireplace felt right. It made the cabin seem like home – at least more like home than anywhere they’d been since they left Maastricht.
Marcus had worked hard, building the chimney out of stones, mud and sticks against the side of the cabin the day before, then today making a bed for his aunt and uncle. Lotte had fashioned a mattress out of fabric they’d purchased in Fort Worth the previous week and spent the rest of the day stuffing it with dry grasses. It was a good bed and she knew Gust and Annika were looking forward to sleeping on it that night.
But first, they’d wanted to try out the fireplace. They didn’t need to, really, since the weather was still so warm and they could cook outdoors for months yet. But it was new, and it felt good to be indoors with flames leaping in the hearth and warming their new home.
“You did a goot job, Marcus,” said Annika with a sigh. Her eyes drifted shut and she smiled.
“Dank je, Tante Annika.”
Lotte sat on her own stump beside her husband, her hand on the crook of his arm. He closed his hand around hers and cradled it, then leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “We’re home,” she murmured, her eyes still fixed on the fire.
“Ja, thuis,” he agreed. They’d all agreed to speak in English to each other whenever they could, since they needed the practice, but so far they’d had few chances to interact with the locals other than to buy sup
plies. So sometimes they fell back into more comfortable habits.
“I’m going to check on the horses,” said Lotte as she stood and took off her apron.
Marcus smiled, and she knew he understood. Their mare Jan had given birth to a foal only days earlier, and Lotte couldn’t get enough of the darling creature. It was a bay with a long white blaze down the center of its tiny forehead and black fluff where a forelock and mane would someday grow long and sleek.
She hung her apron on a peg in the wall near where a kitchen table would one day stand, but now only their provisions bag and a stack of pots, pans and cans sat in the dirt. She bustled outside with a handful of carrot and turnip peelings for Jan. They didn’t have a barn yet, so the horses and burro they’d bought for the journey west grazed at the end of a long tether held fast by a stake in the ground.
As she walked out to where the animals stood beneath the glow of a half moon, she wondered what the future would hold for the four of them. Oom Gust and Marcus had been brewers back in Maastricht, making beer that was known by name all over the country for its full-bodied flavor. But the two men had spoken of adventure and the American frontier for so long, it had only been a matter of time until they decided to go.
She sighed and rubbed her hands up and down her sleeves slowly. She hadn’t wanted to come, but Marcus had his heart set on it. Think of the opportunity! Prachtig! He’d said it as though it meant the world to him. So she’d given in. Not that the decision was hers to make – Marcus always did what he wanted. He was determined, his mama would say – vastbesloten. But Marcus wanted her to be happy, and so she chose to be, even when everything within her cried out to stay home, close to her sister, her parents and the town where she’d spent her entire life.
