Indigo Lake

by Jodi Thomas

  The wagons were a day behind him, but he couldn’t wait. He had to see what was his. As the cattle and wagons circled miles north so they did not have to cross the deep part of the canyon, he set up camp on the spot where he would build his house.

  James Randall Kirkland could see it all in his mind. His headquarters, spread out like a small town. The main house. The barns. A bunkhouse. A smoke shack. Millie would probably want a hen cage, too, and a big garden just like Mrs. Harris had back in Fort Worth. Packed away with her few belongings were bags of seeds that would do well in the fall. Potatoes, pumpkins and beans.

  The dream that got him through the dark nights during the war and the lonely years of drifting was finally happening. He’d never touched his small inheritance or any of the money he’d deposited after cattle drives, anticipating the day he found the perfect land so he would have money for a real start. Here he’d watch the sun rise and set every day for the rest of his life.

  The memory of an arrow landing inches from his boot one night on the trail flashed through his thoughts. James decided he might want to build a little place for Andy, maybe over in the cottonwoods. The idea of sleeping in the same house with the wild boy bothered him. They had been traveling together for a month, and the boy had not said a word to him but he carried his bow and full quiver strapped to his saddle.

  Andy usually glared at him with that wish-I-could-kill-you look in his eyes. The arrow that night had simply been a reminder that one day he’d finish the job.

  James pushed dark thoughts from his mind. He focused instead on the wide porch he would build on the house, and someday he might buy Millie and him rocking chairs to use in their old age. If she would have him... He had asked her to wait. Surely she knew that as soon as he had the ranch up and running he planned to ask her to marry him. The idea had settled in slowly, and he would not say more before he had a real home to offer her.

  At twilight a lone figure rode up from the canyon and waved.

  James laughed. “I figured you’d hear us coming, Two Fingers.”

  The hardened ex-slave slid off his horse and walked toward the campfire. “I knew you’d be back, Kirkland. I was camped down in the canyon near where we traded for that mud woman when I got word. Took me two days to ride here. Passed that wagon train of supplies you got coming in.” He looked around. “See you got rid of the crazy woman.”

  “Yeah, she’s gone.” James grinned to himself.

  Two Fingers smiled. “Run off, did she? You’re lucky she didn’t kill you first. I tried to tell you, once they go mad they never come back.”

  James didn’t want to talk about Millie. “How’d you know I was near?”

  “Trappers stopped by and said you were heading toward where the canyon snakes north.” Two Fingers rocked on his boots for a few seconds as if debating with himself. “Word is, raiders are planning to hit you as soon as you settle.”

  “Apache or white?” James figured he would have to fight off one attack, maybe more, before he convinced outlaws he wasn’t worth bothering. Every cowhand he’d hired knew how to fight.

  Two Fingers shrugged. “They’re a new gang that’s been roaming this area for a few months. Got a little of everything in their mix. Mexicans who’ve been cattle rustling over in the Badlands, Apache too bloodthirsty to live with any tribe, a few rebels still mad about the war and a couple of outlaws willing to kill for a dime. They’re like a pack of wild dogs, so mean they’ll eventually turn on each other.”

  James watched the horizon. “How long before they hit?”

  Two Fingers’s grin was missing even more teeth than last time James had seen him. “A month, maybe two,” he said. “They might let you settle in, then come after the cattle. If they’re smart, they’ll leave you alone and just take the stock. Then, they could come back in a year or six months and hit your place again.”

  “Are they smart?”

  Two Fingers shook his head. “My guess is they’ll take everything they can sell and kill the rest. This land is settling all around. Their kind will die off soon. If Mackenzie ever stops Quanah in the Palo Duro Canyon north of here, this part of Texas might calm down. When that happens, I’m moving on.”

  James had worked most of the day marking off where each wagon coming in would unload. Now all he wanted to do was to sleep, but the ex-slave’s words would keep him awake. Quanah was said to be a great Comanche chief and Colonel Mackenzie never backed down. The Palo Duro would run red with blood before the battle was over.

  “You’re welcome to share my meal. I got beans and biscuits.”

  “I’ll do that.” Two Fingers pulled off his saddle. “I’ll share your fire, too, if you’ve no objection. The canyon’s not a safe place to be after dark.”

  “I’ll be glad for the company,” James lied. In truth the old scout smelled so bad he would need to be a mile away before the air cleared.

  They drank the coffeepot dry and talked about the past before Two Fingers drifted off to sleep midsentence.

  At dawn the next morning James stood waiting for his life to begin. All the years of having nothing slipped from his shoulders. He was a rancher now. He would carve his place right here. He’d build something to be proud to pass down. Something that would last for generations.

  Finally the wagons appeared on the horizon.

  Two Fingers crawled from under the buffalo hide he’d slept in all night and stood beside James. “Holly hell, Kirkland. You’ve hauled the whole damn town up here.”

  James laughed. “Tell the raiders, when you see them, that we’ll be waiting. If they ride onto my land, they won’t be riding off.”

  Two Fingers watched as wagon after wagon came into view. “This is too many people. I think I’ll be moving on.”

  “You’re welcome at my table anytime,” James said as the old trapper loaded up.

  “A man so settled he’s got a table is too settled for me, but I might ride by and check on you now and again, Kirkland. See if you still got that pretty lady driving one of the wagons in.” He shaded his eyes for a better look. “I’ll bet it cost you plenty to talk her into coming out here.”

  “A small fortune,” James admitted. “One broken pocket watch.”

  Two Fingers shook his head. “No. Impossible. That’s the Mud Woman?”

  “Afraid so. I told you she was of great value.” James glanced to the east. “Too beautiful for the likes of me.”

  “True,” Two Fingers said. “Maybe I should go over and introduce myself. I was told a few years back that I’d be quite a catch.”

  “You can try, but the lady drives a hard bargain. It’s marriage or nothing, I’m afraid.”

  Laughing, the old tracker saddled up. “Too high a price. But if she’s heading this way, she’s already won, my friend. You’re just too mule-headed to know it.”

  James slapped the tracker’s horse and waved as he galloped off.

  * * *

  THE WORK BEGAN. Most days James was up and dressed an hour before dawn and worked until long after dark. He saw Andy sometimes riding with the other cowhands but he rarely saw Millie.

  One night he felt a longing just to say her name. He knew the ranch needed far more work before he talked to her, but he wanted to know she was all right. As he stood around the campfire eating a hearty chili with hunks of sweet corn bread crumbled in it, James asked one of the carpenters named Patty if he’d seen Millie.

  “You mean, Miss Millie? She’s right fine, she is.” Patty blushed to the top of his bald head as if he had said too much.

  “Go on,” James encouraged. “How is she getting on out here all alone?”

  “Oh, she ain’t alone, Captain. The two women in those wagons work with her most days. She’s teaching them to quilt and they’ve been helping her with the garden. Mrs. Sands drops over to her place, too. I think they hav
e tea together. Funny, out here in this wild country women work hard, but they still do their visiting.”

  “She’s working?” James asked. He’d never told her to do anything but fix the house up the way she wanted it.

  Patty nodded. “She helped us frame up the house the first week. Swung a hammer as well as most men I’ve seen.”

  When James stood silent, waiting, the carpenter continued. “When Old Man Sands had to quit cooking ’cause his wife got down in her back for a few days, Miss Millie did a far better job than the old couple together ever did. You ask me, Sands should go back to preaching. His wife helps when she can but Miss Millie told Sands to help build the barn and she’d cook. You’ll not find a carpenter or a cowhand complaining.”

  “I’ve never noticed her by the chuck wagon.” James always rode in dead-tired, but surely he would have seen Millie if she moved among the campfires.

  “Oh, you won’t. After she gets the meal ready, Sands takes over serving and cleans up. He claims she’s too fine a lady to hear the rough talk around the campfires.”

  James nodded. “Good point.” When he glanced toward the house where Millie stayed, the carpenter vanished into the shadows. James didn’t care. He had learned what he’d needed to know. Millie was all right.

  Slowly, one change a day, the headquarters took shape. By the time the carpenters left a month later with their wagons empty, James felt as though his dream was materializing.

  He slept around the campfire most nights, knowing that if he stepped inside the house, he’d want Millie. He needed her so badly in the stillness of night he couldn’t sleep. When he finally saw her a few evenings later, she looked tired and sad. The work was wearing on her, he thought. He’d told her to slow down, but he could see she wasn’t listening.

  For some reason she was turning away, going to that place where he couldn’t reach her. Even the old woman said that the pretty lady rarely spoke. Maybe this life wasn’t right for Millie. Maybe it was too hard for her out here. She used to laugh when she’d lived with Mrs. Harris; he had not heard her laughter since they’d left Fort Worth. The last time he’d held her, she’d cried in his arms.

  At night James walked toward the house and watched her moving in the kitchen. What would he do if she wanted to leave? Was he strong enough to hold her? Could he be strong enough to let her go?

  Finally, when the first hint of fall whispered in the air, the memory of the day he’d traded for her at Ransom Canyon wouldn’t leave his thoughts. That evening he walked to the house wanting to thank her for all she’d done to help. His men were well fed thanks to her cooking, and the garden she had put in when they’d arrived looked as though it would feed them well all winter.

  “Millie,” he called as he neared the porch he had finished off while she’d cooked one morning. “Millie?”

  She stepped out onto the porch but didn’t say a word. Her hair was down, brushing her shoulders, and her big blue eyes warmed his heart. “Missing her” was not powerful enough to express how he felt.

  “I think it’s about time we had a talk.” He made it two more steps before one of his men rode between him and the house.

  “Captain Kirkland, we got trouble in the north pasture. Looks like someone shot one of our cows.” The cowhand added, “Rustlers moon tonight.”

  James turned away from Millie and started yelling orders to his men. He’d seen a few signs of someone camped just beyond the border of his land. He knew Two Fingers was right: a raid would come one day.

  As he swung onto his horse, James glanced back at the house. Millie wasn’t there. She must have gone inside. Like a shot firing through his heart, he realized how afraid she must be. She had been in a raid. She’d seen her mother die. She knew the terror of being captured.

  He wanted to comfort her. To pull her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be fine; that he wouldn’t let anything hurt her. He had prepared for this. But there was no time to hold her. He had to ride. He had to protect the ranch. He had to protect her.

  His men knew their jobs. Some would go with him; a few would take lookout posts in the loft of the barn and around the perimeter where they wouldn’t be easily spotted. They would protect the headquarters while he and his best hands would make sure outlaws never came near.

  As he circled the men riding, he spotted Andy among them. He carried a long bow and arrows filled the quiver strapped to his back. The kid had grown a few inches since James had reunited him with Millie. He was more of a man now, but not enough to join this fight. James would not insult Andy tonight. Not in front of the men he fought so hard to ride equal with.

  James shouted as he rode near, doubting the kid would listen to any order. “Stay at the headquarters, Andy!” James yelled over the thunder of hooves. “I trust you to protect your sister. Do whatever you have to, but keep her safe.”

  The kid didn’t look happy, but he nodded and dropped back.

  If James had a minute, he would have told Andy that Millie would never speak to him again if he got her brother hurt...

  Andy hated him, but now wasn’t the time to worry about it.

  James and his men rode hard toward the north pasture. Cattle were on that section, not enough to risk a life to steal, but maybe enough to draw men to a fight. As he cut across his land, he planned. No matter how many years had passed, part of him would always be a soldier.

  By the time they reached the north pasture, the last light of the sun allowed him to see across his land. One calf lay dead. Two wolves were twisted and bleeding beside it.

  One man, walking his horse, moved toward James. The horse had no saddle.

  James raised his rifle. “I’d stop right there, stranger, if you want to live.”

  The man raised his hands. “No trouble, mister.”

  The trespasser’s voice was laced with a thick German accent. James nudged his horse closer but didn’t lower his rifle. “Want to tell me why you’re on my land?”

  The stranger didn’t look armed and even in the shadows James could see that he wasn’t dressed like a cowboy. His was big, though. Well over six feet with a broad chest and big, beefy hands.

  “I come for work. Heard a big outfit come to this place. Do I talk now to Mr. Kirkland?”

  “You are,” James said as he stopped his mount five feet away. “Who are you? And what do you know about that dead calf?”

  “Name is Wagner.” He pronounced it Vahgner. “I carpenter by trade. The wolves kill calf. I kill them with ax, then think I have to come tell you even if it means no job.”

  “You alone?” James didn’t trust a man who waited until dark to show up.

  “Nein. I have wife and children with me. We travel from Fredericksburg to Fort Worth. Ranger named Drew Price told us to find you. He said if I say his name you give me job.”

  James lowered his rifle and dismounted. “Why didn’t you ride into headquarters?”

  “I plan to tomorrow. Die wife, she want to wash clothes first. Tonight I walk to the peak and try to see your camp.”

  James waved the other men in. Any man who could kill two wolves with an ax would be good to have around.

  He offered his hand to Wagner. “Welcome to the ranch, Wagner. We’ll talk about your job in the morning, but if Drew Price sent you I’m guessing I’ll be lucky to have you.”

  James called out to the cowhands as they neared, “Help Mr. Wagner and his family get back to headquarters. Make sure they have supper and get bedded down in the barn.”

  The big man smiled. “I try to shoot wolves before they kill cow, but I not a good shot so I run to them with my ax.”

  “Can you make rocking chairs?” James thought of the man’s first project.

  Wagner’s chest swelled even bigger. “Best in state.”

  “How many children you got?” James liked the idea
of children running around.

  “Seven,” Wagner whispered. “All girls, maybe boy for next time.”

  A few of the men laughed and then stepped forward to shake hands.

  James climbed back on his horse and nodded once at Wagner before he turned back to find Millie.

  He wanted to be the first to tell her that everything was all right. Tonight he would try to put into words how much she meant to him.

  She filled his thoughts as he rode home, but when he got to the house, not a single lamp burned. He searched the campsite thinking she might have thought she’d be safer somewhere else like the barn where men stood guard, or the smokehouse buried halfway in the ground.

  When he didn’t find her there, James checked the barn.

  The boy was gone, too. When he asked about her, no one, not even the men who’d been on guard, had seen Millie or her brother.

  Storming through the house, he searched every room. All was neat, every towel folded, every dish clean. It was as if no one lived there. As if the house had been readied but not lived in.

  Slowly he circled one last time. Fear set in as the thought that someone might have taken her settled over his panic.

  Finally he remembered what wasn’t in the house that should have been. Her trunk that she’d used to pack her few dresses and the seeds for her garden. The rolltop box with a sewing machine inside. The quilt she and Mrs. Harris had made those last few days they were in Fort Worth.

  Anger and heartache ripped through his chest. She’d left him.

  He had said he would let her go, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t live without her. She was his. He had paid her ransom. She was his. And he loved her.

  James stood on the porch where he imagined they would grow old together and realized one fact. She wasn’t his.

  He was hers.

  CHAPTER TEN

  JAMES CIRCLED THE HEADQUARTERS looking for any sign of Millie or her brother. Nothing made sense. How could they have disappeared?

  As the men settled in around the campfire, James grabbed a lantern and continued to search. The Wagner family were all tucked in the hayloft. As he walked through the barn, he heard Wagner’s wife singing the baby to sleep and two of the girls giggling.