by Kim Redford
She glanced out her window at the view along Wildcat Road that had originally been known back in the late eighteen hundreds as Wildcat Trail. The rutted old wagon trail had been paved in the modern era and was now the major highway to and from Wildcat Bluff, unwinding its leisurely way through the prairie grasslands and rolling hills dotted with black and red cattle chewing their cud. Occasional thick stands of trees provided a little shade for the animals under the outspread canopies of pale-green leaves just unfurling in early spring.
When a pickup passed on the other side of the road, the driver raised a forefinger in acknowledgment and Kent returned the greeting. She’d forgotten how friendly everyone was in this county, but most likely they all knew each other. She relaxed into the comfort of familiarity.
“I doubt much has changed around here in the last thirteen years,” Kent said. “You remember the history, don’t you?”
“How could I forget our proud roots?” She smiled as she glanced at him, recalling the spiel they’d learned in school. They’d practically had to memorize a section of the local history book, and she’d never forget it. “Wildcat Bluff overlooks the Red River Valley. The Bluff was originally founded as a ferry terminus so folks could cross the Red River between Texas and Indian Territory, or Oklahoma now. Delaware Bend and Preston Bend were wild ferry towns, too, but they were flooded to make Lake Texoma, so they no longer exist except in memory and tall tales.”
“Good to know you haven’t forgotten the most important thing you learned in school.” He chuckled as he gave her a mischievous grin.
She joined his laughter at the shared memory. “I might be a little bit Connecticut now, but I’m still mostly Texan.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I’ve missed the Cross Timbers.” She gestured out the window at the land around them. They were traveling down the north-south corridor of prairie that spanned horizon to horizon and seemed to go on forever, although it was in actuality only about ten miles wide here. The Cross Timbers could narrow to three miles or roll out as wide as thirty miles. In Wildcat Bluff County, each side of the prairie was still densely bordered by stout post oak, flowering cedar elm, hard-as-nails bois d’arc, blossoming dogwood, Virginia creeper, and thorny blackberry. Unfortunately, the original old growth that had stretched from Kansas to Central Texas was now mostly gone—cut down to make way for pasture, farms, and housing developments.
“Don’t you mean the Comancheria?” Kent chuckled as he glanced over at her.
“You’re right. I’ve missed this little bit of Comanche Earth.” She smiled back at him, thinking of all the local folks who were descended from the Comanche whose empire had once ranged from central Kansas to Mexico. In the old days, there’d been a brush fire every year, and the tree line that made up the border of the Cross Timbers would grow back too dense to penetrate. Comanche warriors had used the prairie between the two tree lines as a secret passage so that enemies couldn’t see or attack them.
“We’re still protecting thousands of acres just like always, but we keep the wildfires under control now so the thicket line doesn’t grow as dense.”
“I remember that from school. And it’s so beautiful here.” She glanced at Kent’s strong profile that proclaimed his heritage. She could easily imagine him in a long line of colorful Comanche warriors on horseback wearing breechclouts and carrying bows and arrows as they rode down the prairie to protect their people and homeland.
“Special, too,” he added in a thoughtful tone.
“I can see that most of the original growth is still here.”
“You know how it is in this county. Nobody’s selling to strangers if they have kids around here. From one generation to the next we keep riding herd on the land.” He glanced over at her. “That includes your family. You’re a descendant of Republic of Texas pioneers.”
“But my parents left.”
“Hedy is still here.” He reached over and squeezed Lauren’s hand. “And you’re back.”
When he wrapped his fingers back around the steering wheel, she felt the loss much the way she’d felt it when she’d gone from Texas to Connecticut. She realized now just how much she’d missed Kent, as well as the Cross Timbers. Wildcat Bluff County was sandwiched between the dry West and the wet East, so they got the best of both worlds. And the timber kept rainwater deep in the soil.
Kent had gone quiet, so she turned her attention from the land to the man beside her. “Are you working Cougar Ranch now?”
He glanced at her, then back at the road. “Guess we’ve got a lot to catch up on, don’t we?”
She smiled, realizing that she suddenly hungered to know what he’d been doing with his life. “I don’t mean to pry, but—”
“That’s okay. I want to know about you, too.”
“Long or short version?”
“Long.”
“That’ll take time.”
“Let’s plan on making the time.”
She felt a little thrill at his words, but she tamped down on the feeling. They were just old friends catching up.
“As far as me,” he continued, “I’m working Cougar Ranch and I’m working with Cuz Trey on Wildcat Ranch next door so we get the best from all our herds. You remember the two Duval family ranches used to be one sprawling spread, don’t you?”
“Not really. I wasn’t too interested in business back then.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled, giving her a quick glance. “We all had our minds on more important matters, didn’t we?”
“Rodeo and—”
“Us.”
She didn’t want to go there, not in the close confines of the truck with his familiar scent and nearness setting off too many sensual memories. “Did you go on to Texas A&M in College Station like you planned to do?”
“Yep.” He tossed a grin her way. “If you like, you can call me Dr. Duval now.”
She gasped out loud and turned to face him. “You got a doctorate degree?”
“Thought I might as well while I was at it.”
“In what?”
He laughed as if he could hardly believe it himself. “Animal husbandry. What else? Not poetry.”
She joined his laughter. “Remember how we had to memorize Chaucer and recite sections in class?”
He groaned, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me. I can still speak those Old English words—with a Texas drawl.”
She laughed even harder. “One thing for a fact, Wildcat Bluff made sure we all got a good education.”
“And it helped me get through college.” He gestured at the cattle out in a pasture. “Nowadays, a smart rancher needs to know animal husbandry. Gotta make the most of our resources and take good care of our animals.”
“I can see your point. Is your family still raising buffalo?”
“Yes. Fact of the matter, Trey and I are looking for ways to increase our herds. There’s a lot of demand out there for bison meat now ’cause everybody wants to eat lean and stay healthy. Bison’s a superfood.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“True enough. Turns out the Comanche and other native nations knew how to eat right—buffalo, wild plants, and berries.” He gave her a mischievous look with his hazel eyes. “All this talk is makin’ me hungry.”
She nodded in agreement. “I just like to see those big, shaggy animals on the range. They’re so beautiful.”
“There used to be millions. It’s sad so few are left, but they’re making a comeback.”
“And you’re helping do it.”
“I’m doing my best.” He turned west onto U.S. Highway 82. “What about you? Didn’t you always want to help others?”
“I’m a physical therapist, but the hospital where I worked closed the PT department to cut costs.”
“Ouch. Bet that’s hard on folks.”
She clasped her hands toge
ther. “We’ll all find a way to make it. My friends are looking for work and our patients are finding other physical therapists.”
“Good.” He nodded in understanding. “So now you’re footloose and fancy-free?”
She smiled at the image. “That’s one way to put it. Actually, I’m taking advantage of the opportunity to see about Aunt Hedy and figure out if Hannah might like living here.”
“What about you? Don’t you want to be back in Wildcat Bluff?”
She hesitated, not quite sure how to answer him because she’d been putting herself last for a long time.
“You’ve got lots of old friends here.”
“I’m glad to be back. I guess I just don’t want to be disappointed if nothing is quite as good as it seems in hindsight.”
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “How about we make new memories even better than the old ones?”
She felt the familiar heat surge between them with just that single touch. She took a deep breath, not sure if she wanted to stop where her feelings were taking her. It’d been so long since she’d allowed her emotions free rein. Now was probably not the best time—and yet she felt a deep ache that belied her thoughts.
“How about it?” He squeezed her hand before he took hold of the steering wheel again.
She glanced over at his strong profile, shaking her head. He didn’t have to do anything except exist to set her on fire. She didn’t need to reach Sure-Shot to feel the heat of a blaze. Kent was creating one inside her right at this very moment, and she was losing her ability to resist.
He looked her way and their gazes caught, held, and merged in a building inferno. “Hell, you’ve got no idea how much I’ve missed you.” And he clenched the steering wheel with his fists.
She felt tears blur her eyes at his words, conjuring up those deepest emotions she thought she’d locked away forever. “Yes,” she heard herself say in a sultry voice not quite her own. “Let’s make new memories.”
Chapter 4
On the drive to Sure-Shot, Lauren turned her mind from Kent to the land around her. A touch of green here and there was beginning to sprout in the dry, golden grass of the prairie. She couldn’t help but contrast this area with the lush, almost tropical beauty of Houston, near the Gulf, which never experienced sharp contrasts in temperature.
She felt a special place in her heart for both parts of the Lone Star State, but she realized now that Wildcat Bluff County resonated deep within her. She glanced at Kent’s strong profile as he easily handled the big booster the way volunteer firefighters were trained to do. Perhaps she’d left more of her heart in the Cross Timbers than she’d realized, and not just in the land, but in the people as well.
Once more she determinedly turned her thoughts away from Kent to focus on her surroundings. She knew she’d traveled from cattle country to horse country when she saw the fence lines that stretched along both sides of the highway change from barbwire to white round pipe or four-slat wooden enclosures. She watched as one horse ranch after another flashed by, announcing their names—from whimsical to practical—in black sheet metal cutouts or burned into wood arches that towered over the entrances to sprawling houses, red barns, and metal corrals.
Thoroughbred horses with rich chestnut coats in a variety of shades grazed in some pastures, while in others, brown-and-white painted ponies sought shelter from the sun under the spreading limbs of green live oak trees.
Soon Kent turned south at a sign with Western-style letters that read, “Sure as Shootin’ You’re in Sure-Shot!” under the black-and-white silhouette of a smoking Colt .45 revolver.
Lauren had always liked the idea that Sure-Shot had been named for Annie Oakley, the famous sharpshooter and exhibition shooter who’d been called “Little Miss Sure Shot” on the Wild West show circuit.
No doubt about it, North Texas folks still gave Annie Oakley her due and took their horses, cattle, land, and safety a tad on the serious side. Everybody knew it and acted accordingly, so there wasn’t much trouble of any kind. That made the fire surprising, but the old wooden frame buildings had to be vulnerable to a stray spark or other fire hazard.
Kent followed the asphalt two-lane road that turned into Sure-Shot’s Main Street. The small town nestled at the once vital and vibrant intersection of an old cattle drive trail that ran north to south and the railway line that ran east to west.
Lauren had almost forgotten how Sure-Shot looked like the set of an Old West film. Old Town in Wildcat Bluff was built of brick and stone, while Sure-Shot had a classic wooden false front commercial district. A line of single-story businesses connected by a boardwalk, covered porticos, and tall facade parapets extending above the roofs were individually painted in green, blue, or yellow with white trim. Small clapboard houses with wide front porches and fancy double-wides fanned out around the downtown area.
Once upon a time, Sure-Shot had catered to cowboys on their cattle drives from Texas to Kansas and back again. Lively dance halls and noisy saloons, along with the mercantile, café, blacksmith shop, livery stable, bathhouse, bank, and freight depot had all done a brisk business just like the same type of stores had in Wildcat Bluff.
Lauren felt almost as if she’d stepped back in time. A few pickups and Jeeps were parked in front of the businesses, but a couple of saddle horses with their reins wrapped around the hitching post in front of the Bluebonnet Café switched their tails at flies in the afternoon heat. She bet their riders wore hats, boots, and spurs while they waited for takeout or sat down for an early supper inside the café. She chuckled at the idea of riding a horse to a restaurant for a meal in Houston. That simply wouldn’t happen—not anymore.
“Smoke!” Kent pointed toward the end of Main Street where black smoke spiraled upward from the back of a building.
“Bad?” She leaned forward as he sped up, and felt her heart accelerate with the booster. She was glad they were the only ones headed down the street—so unlike busy city traffic. She couldn’t see the fire, but she worried that it could easily spread to engulf the other structures.
“Hope not. I think we’re in time.”
As they drew close to the old Sinclair gas station, she could see the building was separated by several lots from the flammable downtown businesses. If the fire got out of control, that separation would help save the entire area. But she didn’t doubt for a moment that Wildcat Bluff Fire-Rescue—as in Kent Duval—would find a way to contain the blaze. And she’d help all she could to do it.
As he wheeled the booster to a stop in front of the station, she noticed two dusty pickups and a van with a handicap license plate had parked across the street. She felt a burst of excitement at the sight because that had to be Aunt Hedy’s hand-controlled van.
And then she saw her aunt sitting in her power wheelchair near the van, appearing so dearly familiar with her thick silver hair in a single, long plait lying over one shoulder of her turquoise pearl-snap shirt. A tall, lanky man wearing a cowboy hat and overalls stood beside a short, blond-haired woman dressed in faded jeans, a green shirt, and pointy-toe black boots. All three quickly started across the street.
Kent leaped out of the booster while Lauren set her purse aside, jerked off her flip-flops, and slipped on a pair of rubber boots. She stepped down from the vehicle and slammed the door behind her as she took off for her aunt. In the middle of the street, she threw wide her arms, laughing as Hedy gave a big whoop and holler when she caught sight of her niece. Lauren fell to her knees and hugged her aunt, feeling tears sting her eyes in happiness. Their separation had been way too long.
“Lauren!” Hedy gasped. “I’m so happy to see you. But what are you doing here?”
She leaned back, grinning as she took the low-key tack so typical of Texans to defuse highly charged situations. “Fighting a fire. What else is there to do out here in the sticks?”
Hedy laughed hard, following Lauren’s verbal
lead. “That’s right. Nothing at all to do out here in the boonies.” She motioned toward her friends, who were also laughing at Lauren’s obviously ridiculous—so particularly funny—statement. “Real quick, I’d like you to meet my friends, Tom Barker and Billye Jo Simmons. This is my niece, Lauren Sheridan, come all the way from Houston.”
“Pleased to meet you both.” Lauren quickly got to her feet and shook their work-worn hands, figuring they had to be horse people.
“Likewise,” Billye Jo said.
“Hey!” Kent called as he shut a booster door. “Think we could catch up on old times after we see to the fire?”
Lauren glanced over her shoulder. Kent stood with a big fire extinguisher hanging from a wide strap over each shoulder. He’d gone from old friend to firefighter ready for trouble in a matter of seconds.
“Kent’s right.” Hedy gave him a wave as she zipped across the street. “Folks, let’s get this show on the road!”
Lauren brought up the rear as they all headed toward Kent. Now that she had a moment to reflect, she felt a chill run up her spine. Ruby and Kent were exactly right. Hedy simply didn’t look her usual self. She had a paleness of skin and a lack of luster in her normally bright, brown eyes so like Lauren’s own eye color. Her aunt had always hugged with vim and vigor and solid upper body strength, but not today. Was age or illness catching up with Hedy? She hoped her aunt wasn’t hiding some terrible secret.
For now Lauren had to turn her mind to the more immediate problem of the fire, so she took a good look at the Sinclair gas station.
