by Radclyffe
She watched another of the young cowboys who had been passing by all morning cross the street to the blacksmith's opposite her. She was coming to recognize the same purposeful gait and easy carriage that all the men seemed to have. Following the tall, lanky form clad in rough denim toward the corral, she was struck by the unusual refinement of the deeply tanned features. As he swept off his hat to wipe a sleeve across his brow, she caught sight of the thick, blond hair held back with a dark tie.
"Oh! My goodness," she cried in a startled voice, "that's a woman!"
"Huh?" John asked, rousing from his reverie. He had been nearly asleep beside her in the warm sun. "Who?"
Kate pointed in astonishment, quite forgetting that it was rude. "Right over there."
"Oh - that's just Jessie," John said dismissively. "Her mare threw a shoe this morning and she's coming to get her, I reckon." He finished, as if that settled things.
Kate stared openly at the woman who was leaning one booted foot on the lower board of the railing fronting the corral, deep in conversation with the blacksmith. What startled Kate even more than her attire was the sidearm holstered neatly against her muscular thigh.
"But she's wearing a gun!" Kate cried, amazed. She should have been scandalized, she supposed, but she was simply too surprised to be anything but curious.
"Why, I guess she'd better, riding into town alone, what with the way things are out on the range," John said matter-of-factly. "Settlers are fighting mad about expeditions crossing over their lands on the way to the Oregon gold fields, and my father says the miners are violating the treaties with the Indians, too. People are starting to get riled and the marshal can't be expected to be everywhere, you know," he proclaimed with authority, clearly still echoing the words of his father.
"Yes, but-- well, I mean, -- who is she?"
John turned to her, confused. "I told you. Name's Jessie Forbes. She has a ranch a few miles out of town. Does right well, too, so everybody says. She doesn't seem to have any trouble selling her horses. I wish I could get one of hers," he finished wistfully.
Kate turned to him, eyes full of wonder. "You mean she owns it?"
"Well, I guess so, since her father died a ways back and she's the only one left. I guess she owns it."
Kate stared at the woman whose features were shadowed now by the wide-brimmed Stetson that she wore. Now that Kate looked carefully, she could see that the body was not that of a young man. Jessie Forbes was lean and muscular to be sure, but there was a subtle curve to the hip and slenderness in the arms that betrayed her sex. And under the worn denim of her shirt, sweat-dampened in the back, there was a suggestive swell of breasts. Never in her life had Kate seen a woman wear pants, even in the confines of her own home. She continued to stare until she realized that the woman was heading straight toward them, leading a beautiful chestnut mare. Kate quickly averted her gaze despite the fact that she desperately wanted to see Jessie up close. The woman would think she had no manners at all, staring at her like a schoolboy!
Kate heard the jangle of spurs growing louder, until suddenly it stopped right in front of them. She looked down at the dusty toes of two very well worn boots.
Jessie threw the reins over the railing and took the two stairs up to the porch in one long stride.
"Howdy, Jessie," John said amiably.
"Afternoon, John," she answered as she stepped into the dry goods store.
Kate was surprised at the deep but melodious timbre of her voice. She glanced then at the horse standing quietly before them, taking in the well-ridden but still beautiful saddle engraved with an elegantly tooled JF. Her eyes widened slightly as she noticed the rifle tucked into a case on the right side. She turned to John with another question but stopped when she heard the spurs behind them again.
"Say, John, you can tell your dad I've got that colt down from the high country if he wants to ride out and see him sometime," Jessie said as she came through the door on her way out of the store. "Oh, sorry-- I didn't mean to be interrupting," she said when she saw that Kate had been about to speak.
Kate looked up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Her glance traveled quickly from the sun bleached hair beneath the brim of the cowboy hat and over the strong cheekbones to a generous mouth and square chin. She dropped her gaze when she saw Jessie color slightly and felt her own face flame. What had gotten into her!
"Oh, it's okay, Jessie! You're not interrupting," John began, warming to his role as guide. "This here is Miss Catherine Beecher, and she's just come from Boston. Her dad and mine are going to run the paper together now."
Jessie reached up with a slim, long-fingered hand, browned from the sun, and quickly removed her hat. She looked down from what seemed to Kate to be a great height and said softly, "I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Beecher. I'm Jessie Forbes. You picked the right time of year to arrive in Montana. Spring and summer are mighty fine seasons." She smiled then, and her eyes flashed a gentle welcome.
Kate smiled back and held out her hand. "I believe it is easily the most beautiful country that I have ever seen, Miss Forbes."
Jessie took her hand in a firm but careful grip and replied, "Please call me Jessie." She held Kate's hand for an instant and then stepped back self-consciously. "Well John, you give your dad that message. I'd better be getting along."
"Sure, Jessie. See you at the sale."
Kate followed the trim line of Jessie's back as she went quickly down the stairs and grasped the reins of her horse. Effortlessly, she swung one long leg over the saddle and looked down at Kate almost shyly from her mount.
"Good luck to you, Miss Beecher."
"Thank you, Jessie. My name is Kate."
Jessie smiled easily and tipped her hat once again.
"Good afternoon then, John. Miss Kate." And with that she swung her horse away and spurred her into an easy canter out of town.
John didn't notice Kate's quiet concentration as they walked slowly back to the house.
"0h my, but what would they think of her back in Boston," she thought to herself, unable to forget the odd encounter. Kate had imagined all manner of new discoveries on the frontier, but she had never dreamed of anything as intriguing as Jessie Forbes.
CHAPTER THREE
JESSIE TURNED SLOWLY onto her back and gingerly shook each arm and then each leg. All intact, and no thanks to anything but good fortune. Her hat lay several feet away, where it had fallen when she landed on her face.
"Well, you won that round," she muttered good-naturedly as she looked up at the horse standing quietly over her. She got stiffly to her feet, dusted the dirt from her slightly tender backside, and stroked his long, sensitive nose.
"How can any horse as friendly as you be so hard to ride?"
She had acquired the roan stallion in trade several weeks before, and after letting him settle in for a few days, she had saddled him up for the first time. He accepted the saddle and bridle amiably enough, but Jessie was no sooner seated than Rory neatly deposited her on the ground. After the shock had passed, she had laughed heartily, thinking that the rancher who had left with two of her mares might have gotten the better part of the bargain. She would have to remember to invite him to the next big card game so she could even the score.
As the days passed it became apparent that Rory would indeed be a challenge. He greeted her each time she approached with a friendly shake of his head and nuzzled her shoulder, looking for sugar or apples, but he would not let her ride him. This afternoon she had walked him, fully saddled, for almost an hour. He was well mannered and obedient. As casually as possible she pulled him up and mounted him effortlessly. To her great amazement he responded instantly to her touch and walked easily about the corral. She leaned forward to pat his neck and compliment him, which was when he kicked his hind legs and catapulted her over his head.
"That was a nice fall you took there, Jess."
She turned to see her foreman leaning against the fence, watching her with just the hint of a smile. Jed Har
per was rawboned and weather beaten, with the ageless face of someone who had lived all his life in the open.
"I'm glad it was you saw that, and not one of the men," she grinned ruefully. "He's a smart one, this Rory."
Had it been anyone other than Jed who had witnessed her most recent defeat, Jessie would have been embarrassed. Jed, however, had been around as long as she could remember, and she had nothing to hide from him. She was no longer certain whether it had been Jed or her father who had taught her to ride, break horses, and shoot a gun. In the years since her father's death, Jessie had become an able businesswoman and a just boss, but she depended greatly on Jed's common sense and easy way of handling the men who worked on her ranch. Jessie took an active hand in the actual physical running of the ranch, and her presence at roundups, brandings, and auctions was accepted without question. Most of the day-to-day affairs, however, she left to Jed, whom she trusted completely. Jed in turn couldn't have been more proud of his own child.
"I've seen them like that before, Jess. Stubborn streak a mile wide. He'll make you a great horse if you can win him."
Laughing, Jessie led the stallion toward the barn. "I guess my stubborn streak can stand up to his!"
It was cool in the dark barn and the smell of fresh hay was clean and sweet. Jessie removed the tack and gave Rory a brisk rubdown. There was dirt caked on her face and clothes, and a deep scratch across her right cheek. She would ache later when the bruised muscles began to stiffen.
Her blond hair was collar length, thick and rich, and she wore it pulled back at her neck with a wide dark ribbon. She was not vain about her physical appearance, in fact she rarely considered it, and she wore her hair shorter than was fashionable because it was practical. She couldn't very well work with it always in her way.
"I was hoping to bring you into town for the roundup to show you off," she admonished him as she worked the dust from his coat with a stiff wire brush. "You'll make a great stud and father fine foals, if you don't turn out to be too wild. People don't want horses they can't ride, you know."
Her voice belied her criticism. She admired his spirit, and she wouldn't break him down if she couldn't eventually tame him with her persistence.
"You'll have to sit this one out."
For almost a week, New Hope would be the center of a huge auction where she would put her animals up against those of the best ranches in the territory to buy, sell and trade. It was always an exciting time, and she would be working day and night to improve her stock and collect her profits. Doing well at the roundup was a necessity if her ranch was to survive. She, Jed, and most of the hands would drive the horses down early on the first morning for weighing and registering. Then Jessie would be free to look over the other stock being offered and make arrangements with fellow ranchers for sales or stud services.
Jessie had been a part of this process for as long as she could remember. Most of the ranchers had grown used to seeing little Jessie at Tom Forbes' side every year at roundup, and after Tom was killed, it was natural for Jessie to continue. She had earned a reputation as a good breeder and an honest trader. The fact that she was a woman was somehow never an issue, perhaps because she had always been there. Men who wouldn't let their daughters ride astride found nothing unusual in Jessie Forbes riding herd on her own stock or striking a business deal. Jessie was just Jessie.
Jessie straightened up slowly and grimaced at the ache in her lower back. She stretched her long, slender trunk and slapped the horse's rump.
"Go on, get in there. You can eat now. I'd better get moving or I'll be too stiff to ride in the morning."
Slowly she made her way across the yard toward the sprawling wood and stone house that had always been her home. Her father had built it to last when he had first staked his claim, well before she was born. It was of simple design, with a kitchen, pantry, parlor, and sitting room downstairs. They never entertained anyone other than men who came to do business, and the sitting room had become her father's office. This was the room that Jessie preferred.
The heavy leather chairs, gun racks and shelves of books were strangely restful. A sitting room with lace-covered couches and fine glassware would only have made her nervous. She often read for a few hours at night before the fire in her library, choosing from the collection of books that had been her father's. When she made her semi-annual trip into Bannack, the territorial capital, for the supplies she could not get closer to home, she always tried to find something new to add. Her days were full and she was rarely lonely. On the infrequent evenings when a strange melancholy stole over her, she had only to stand on the porch, looking out on the land that sustained her, and she would find her peace.
* * *
"Mr. Schroeder," Kate asked as her father and his friend joined the women in the parlor following an after-dinner cigar out on the porch, "tell us about the roundup tomorrow."
After only a month in her new home, Kate felt as if she had always lived there. She still had much to learn about everyday life without the comforts that she had been used to, but she viewed each new challenge as a test of her own ability. She looked happy, and she was.
"Humph. Just an excuse for those cowboys to come into town and tear the place up," Hannah grumbled as she reached for her sewing.
Thaddeus laughed, casting his wife an affectionate glance. "Don't you go listening to Hannah, now, Kate. The spring roundup is one of the biggest events in this town. Ranchers and drovers come from hundreds of miles and the place fills up to be sure. The hotel can't handle 'em all, and the saloon, well---" he glanced at his wife. "I guess things do get a little wild at times, but they're a good-natured bunch."
"Heavens, is it safe to go out?" Martha asked with concern. She pictured hordes of men riding roughshod through the streets.
"Now, Martha," Martin began, aware that his wife still found the rough western ways unsettling.
"It's not like it used to be, Martha," Thaddeus replied kindly. "The whole town gets involved. There'll be a big celebration the last day of the auction, over at the church. Most of the women prepare food and there's a dance. My Hannah is known for her pies over the whole territory!"
Hannah blushed and shushed him.
"I am so looking forward to it," Kate said with real enthusiasm. This certainly sounded much more interesting than the afternoons she recalled, sitting in a somber parlor discussing topics of no consequence with would-be suitors who didn't appear to care what her thoughts might be. She was relieved to have left that behind, if only temporarily.
"Will all the ranchers be there?" Kate continued, thinking about one rancher in particular. As different as the young women of New Hope might be from Kate's friends in Boston, in one way they were very much the same. They still spent their lives learning to be wives. Kate appreciated the way these women toiled so their families might survive in a harsh, unforgiving land, but, as she dutifully spent time with Hannah Schroeder learning how to preserve meat without ice or the best way to fashion pillow slips from old dresses, she thought about Jessie Forbes. Jessie owned property and went about town doing business unescorted, a possibility Kate had never even conceived of. The quiet, self-possessed rancher was unlike any other woman Kate had ever met, and she wanted to see her again.
"Every rancher in the territory will be here," Thaddeus Schroeder confirmed.
Kate looked to her father. "I'd like to watch the auction tomorrow. Where will it be?"
"I guess it's safe enough, isn't it?" Martin asked of Thaddeus.
Thaddeus nodded. "Why of course, Kate. I'll have John Emory take you over in the morning to see where the stock will be corralled. Some of the nearby ranchers will be here by then."
Kate smiled slightly. "That's just what I was hoping."
CHAPTER FOUR
JOHN GRUNTED SLIGHTLY as he shifted the heavy cases he carried in both hands.
"Father didn't say you'd be wanting to tote half the house out here with us," he grumbled good-humoredly. It was a common sight to see young
John Schroeder escorting the pretty Beecher girl about town.
Kate laughed and looked up at him fondly. "Oh John! How could I miss this opportunity to make photographs?"
He had seen traveling photographers, and his father had several examples of their craft hanging in the newspaper office, but he had never seen one made. He had also never seen a woman do anything of the kind. Secretly he was astonished that Kate could make those pictures he had seen at the Beecher house. Kate tried to explain the process to him, saying it was quite simple, but he could not grasp it. The mystery of it only served to elevate Kate in his eyes.
"Are you sure about all this?" he asked a bit suspiciously. In one of the cases he could hear liquid sloshing.
"Yes," she assured him. "This was my father's equipment, and I've helped him make photographs since I was a little girl. He grew tired of it, but I never have. It was the one thing I would not leave behind!" She looked around her at the sharply rising hills and the expanse of endless sky, and thought that she had never seen country more beautiful. "I can't wait to capture just a little of this on the plates."
"Humph. Just a roundup, like all the others," he complained, but he thought himself the most fortunate man in town and would gladly have carried the damn cases all day. "Say, why don't we go over under those trees. You can see the auction stand and the corrals across the yard."
