She stopped as she neared the doors, her heart racing in her chest. For a moment she considered leaving. Why was she exposing herself to the disappointment she would feel if Clay didn’t come, to the agony if he did? It was futile unless she could convince him to change his mind. And she didn’t see much hope there.
She commanded her feet to move, and she advanced on shaky legs. When she reached the opened door, she let her gaze wander around the crowd. When her gaze lit on Clay, every muscle stilled in her body. He was talking to Luke and Caleb Reiley and had not spotted her yet. She was transported back to that day in the spring when she had seen him for the first time. He was every bit as handsome to her now as he was then, but now she possessed a solid knowledge of him as a person. She no longer saw him as sport, but as the man who held her heart.
He turned and saw her then. Her knees nearly buckled. A sad grin tugged at the corner of his lips, and he gave a small wave. Her own fingers fluttered in response. She was torn at what to do next but was saved from the decision by Sara McClain.
“You look beautiful, Mara.” Sara hugged her.
Mara was momentarily stunned. She had never been hugged by another woman, save her own mother and Sadie. She decided she liked a friend’s hug. “Thank you.” They pulled apart, and Mara noticed the intricate stitching on the bodice of Sara’s gown. That led to a long conversation on sewing.
Even while they talked, Mara kept glancing at Clay, but he wasn’t looking at her. Daniel and several others approached her, asking to dance, but Mara politely turned them down.
Beth came over awhile later. “Miss Lawton!” She threw her arms around Mara in a big hug.
“I’ve missed you, Darling. Have you been practicing your good manners?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Aunt Martha is plum tickled about it.”
Beth chatted about the new school year with her and Sara and mentioned that Clay would be leaving soon for roundup. Mara wondered how long he would be gone. Beth said a whole passel of men would be going to round up the cattle before the cold set in.
When a slow tune began, Sara’s husband spirited her to the dance floor. Mara turned to look at Clay. Both Luke and Caleb escorted their wives to the floor, leaving Clay alone.
He turned to look at her, and her feet began the walk toward him. She walked around bales of hay and clusters of friends, her gaze fastened on Clay. He watched her approach, and his torso straightened. He glanced around, and Mara knew he was searching for her mother.
“She’s not here,” Mara said over the music.
His gaze returned to her face, and she watched him touch each feature like a caress. “We still shouldn’t—”
His words cut off, though she knew what he was going to say. “Just one dance.”
His jaw worked, and he looked away.
“Please, Clay, I’ve missed you so.”
When he remained silent, she reached out and took his hand. He looked at her then, and she wondered if her heart were in her eyes.
He led her a few steps away and turned, keeping her one hand in his and putting the other at her waist.
Her heart soared at his touch. They moved slowly, keeping a respectable distance between them. She wanted to ask him how he’d been, how Beth was doing. She wanted to ask if he’d missed her, but her throat closed up.
He looked everywhere but at her, and she felt the tension in his arms, in the way he held her. She wished the song would go on forever. At least he’d agreed to the dance.
“Thank you,” she said.
He glanced at her, his eyes laced with pain. “This is madness,” he whispered.
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. If only he would change his mind. They could see one another without her parents’ knowledge. She smothered the twinge of guilt. “We could meet somewhere—”
He looked away. “It would be wrong.”
“I’m a grown woman.”
His gaze returned to her, pleading. “Don’t make it any harder than it already is.”
She wanted to drown in his eyes, melt into him, and never be separated. Perhaps he did not feel as strongly as she. The thought brought a surge of pain. But when she studied him, studied his eyes, she knew it was not so.
The music ended, and the group applauded the players. Clay pulled away, and she released him, suddenly feeling very empty.
“I need to get home,” he said.
He was leaving because of her, and they both knew it. Her throat clogged with tears. “Good-bye.”
With one last look he turned and left, collecting Beth on the way.
Later that night, as she lay in bed, Mara finally let the tears fall. Tonight had only given her a taste of what she was missing. It was like being on the brink of paradise and being denied entrance. Why couldn’t her mother accept him?
She wiped her face with her imported coverlet. She had to think of a way to be with him again. He wouldn’t meet with her secretly, so she would have to set it up herself somehow. But, she remembered, he was going to be rounding up cattle and would be gone for days.
Beth’s words echoed in her mind. A whole passel of men would go with him.
An idea began to grow. Before Mara went to sleep, she knew precisely what she would do, and the smile that formed on her face remained until she was sound asleep.
Nineteen
Three days later Mara slipped out of the house before dawn and saddled up one of her father’s horses. The cowboy duds she’d borrowed from Daniel Parnell’s fourteen-year-old brother felt strange on her. If her mother saw her dressed as she was she’d have a fit of apoplexy! She felt a moment of guilt at the thought. She had told her parents she was taking the stage to Wichita to visit Sadie for a couple of weeks. Though her mother had complained about having to do all the chores, she eventually relented, knowing how Mara had missed their cook. By the time her parents awoke, they would assume she was on her way to Wichita. A bit of doubt wormed through her, but she pressed it firmly away. It was her parents who were wrong. Why should she feel guilty?
Since several of the local ranchers were participating in the roundup, Mara knew she could blend in with the many cowpokes. She only hoped she could perform her job well enough to fool them until they were far enough away that Clay wouldn’t send her home.
She would have nearly two weeks with Clay, perhaps enough time to convince him to thwart her parents’ authority. When she reached the Stedman ranch, there was already a buzz of activity. Cowboys were waiting astride their saddled horses, talking and laughing in the early morning light.
No one spoke to her when she rode up, and when Clay walked past, she ducked her head, letting the brim of the hat hide her face. She was much smaller than the others, but she hoped they would assume she was an adolescent.
Before long they were off, and Mara smiled to herself. This was going to be easier than she thought. Clay was riding at the front of the group some fifty men ahead of her. When they reached the valley, they met up with the men from the other ranches. The owners caught up with Clay and rode alongside him. Mara watched the sun rise from her saddle, content and eager to put some miles behind her.
It didn’t take long to figure out that riding at the back had its disadvantages. The dirt stirred up by the cowpokes and cattle was heavy and thick, and she had neglected to bring a handkerchief like the ones she saw the others wearing around their noses and mouths. It felt as if her mouth and lungs were coated with dust.
As the day wore on, she learned what to do from watching the others. They were gathering any cattle they found and driving them into a herd. They looked behind every boulder, thicket, and tree. Several times one of the leaders would motion her off to look behind some tree, and she banged on a tin can to scare the cow out into the open as she’d seen the others do. She was relieved she hadn’t had to use her rope yet. The others whipped it through the air with the ease of someone who had done it all their lives. Mara had never tried to rope anything.
It was nigh on noon when they stopped for
a meal. Mara followed the others as they gathered around the chuck wagon. She was famished, and her backside was more than a little sore.
By the time she had a plate of food, she didn’t care that it was only beef jerky or that the potatoes had no salt or spice. A boy of about fifteen, Matthew, had a seat beside her and talked to her while they ate. She tried to lower her voice to sound masculine, and it must have worked.
After their noon meal the day wore on. The job was hard, and being in a saddle all day had made her whole back ache. She would be doubly sore tomorrow.
Late in the afternoon, a leader named Finigan sent her toward some boulders and thickets to check for cattle. Confident she’d nearly made it through the day, Mara rounded the foliage to find a cow stuck in the briar patch. She knew what she was supposed to do: whirl her lariat over her head and send it sailing onto the cow’s head. But it was easier said than done. She made four attempts and was about to get off her mount and lead the cow out when her dinner mate trotted up on his horse. Unfortunately she knew he’d had to witness her pathetic attempts at roping.
“Need a hand?”
Mara smiled in relief. “Sure, uh, never could get the hang of this roping.”
Matthew twirled the loop and sent it flying straight over the cow’s head. When the cow pulled away, the rope went taut, pulling the loop tight around its neck. Seeing he had it under control, Mara nodded her thanks and rode off.
By the time the sun was slipping over the horizon, the group finally stopped for the night. Mara’s body ached so much that she didn’t know if she could stand upright. How could a body sit all day and wind up so sore? She was bone weary enough to skip supper, but doing so would be suspect. Already Matthew was casting suspicious glances at her. She had managed to avoid Clay so far, and no one else paid her any mind.
When they reached a site near a shallow creek, they all gathered around the chuck wagon. After leading their horses to the creek, some of the men removed tin cups from their saddlebags while others used their hats to scoop water to their mouths. Mara hadn’t thought to bring a cup, and she surely couldn’t remove her hat and expose the lengths of hair she’d secured to her head. Her mouth tasted of dust and was just as dry. She cupped her hands and drank from the creek, aware that she was drinking from the same source as dozens of horses. She was too thirsty to care.
After she drank, she washed the thick layer of dust from her forearms and face. She only wished she could do something about the filthy clothes she wore. She’d brought another set of clothing, but she wondered when she would be able to sneak off and change. She would have to wait until the others changed, though, in order to fit in. She wrinkled her nose. She could smell them from here, and they didn’t seem at all concerned about it.
Supper that night was something called frijoles, which looked and tasted like plain old dried beans. It was accompanied by more biscuits and finished with pudding. Mara didn’t have to force herself to eat heartily. Regardless of the bland food, her stomach begged for more.
As the darkness fell, she noticed Matthew across the fire from her. The firelight cast a golden glow on his face, and a frown flickered between his brows. The cool evening air brushed over the hairs on her arms, raising chill bumps along the way. She averted her eyes. He knew something was awry. She had to hide her identity for at least a couple of more days.
As poker games and music broke out, she couldn’t keep her focus off Clay. Though most of the men said things that made her face heat up, Clay kept his language fit for a lady’s ears.
She spread out her bedroll and lay back on it, resting her head on her saddlebag. The ground felt as hard as wood, and her lumpy bag was no pillow. Regardless, her eyelids closed to the lively harmonica tunes, and then she was oblivious to anything at all.
❧
“Rise and shine! Come a-runnin’, boys!”
If the shout hadn’t awakened Mara, the ruckus of pots and pans surely would have. She stirred in her bedroll. Oh, how her body ached! She couldn’t move without every muscle screaming with pain.
The man closest to her was already up and moving. “Grub pile, Son—up and at ’em.”
It took a moment for her to realize she was the son he was speaking to. She sat up gingerly, biting her lip at the pain. The man next to her must have noticed. “Feelin’ a bit sore, are you? You needs to get yourself up and moving ’bout.”
Mara didn’t know if she could even walk. She rubbed her eyes. She felt as if she needed several hours more of sleep, but the hunger that roared in her stomach would only be assuaged if she could make it over to the fire. The smell of fried bacon beckoned her.
She climbed out of her bedroll, standing slowly. The pain took her breath away. And she thought she had been sore after her first days at the Stedman ranch!
She tried to walk without limping and must have succeeded since no one said anything. When she had filled her plate, she found a seat far away from Clay and Matthew.
As she spooned food into her mouth, she realized that even her fingers hurt. How would she make it another day in the saddle? And yet she had to if she wanted Clay to let her stay when she revealed her identity to him.
Already some of the men were finished eating and had begun to saddle up. Her backside protested. The sun was not yet up, and they were prepared to work.
The thought of getting in the saddle again made her want to scream. Her body ached, she was filthy, and she wanted to sleep! The fact that none of the others seemed uncomfortable or unhappy only made her more frustrated.
Putting the saddle up on the horse was an effort that attracted teasing laughs from the cowboys around her. Only her frustration gave her the strength she needed to hoist the saddle on.
She was sent out with others to round up the cattle in the area. She was glad to be doing something familiar but hoped she wouldn’t have to use her lariat in front of anyone else. She imitated the men, smacking the backside of wandering cows and hawing with a loud voice.
“You there!” one of the leaders shouted at her. “Bogged cow!” He pointed past her to a cow that was stuck in the mud at the edge of the creek.
Dread set in. She had seen a seasoned cowpoke yesterday trying to get a cow out of mud. Not only had he used his lariat, but he’d worked at it for a long time before succeeding.
She headed toward the cow, hoping no one would notice the difficulties she was sure to have.
She tied the end of the rope to the horn of her saddle and tried spinning it over her head. She hurled the loop—and missed. Not just the head, but the entire cow. She glanced around, relieved no one had seen.
She tried again—and again—and again. Finally, gritting her teeth, she dismounted and walked over to the cow. Despite her frustration she talked softly so as not to startle the animal. As she neared, the mud sucked at her boots, which were several sizes too big. One of her boots stuck, while her foot came out. She teetered precariously on one foot before grabbing the hide of the cow. The animal flinched away, and she lost her hold.
A moment later she was in the mud. She heard laughter and turned to look. Three cowboys on their mounts had stopped what they were doing to watch.
“Looks like we got ourselves a mail-order cowboy,” one of them said.
Another one spit. “As greenhorn as they come. Couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”
Her stomach churned. It was bad enough making a fool of herself, but it was worse worrying they would find out who she was. A woman alone with three rugged men was a recipe for disaster. Mara pulled herself up, the mud clinging to her clothes. Before she could slip the loop over the cow’s head, a looped rope came sailing over her head and landed smartly around the cow’s neck.
She retrieved her boot and slid her foot inside before they could see how small it was. The mud pulled at her boots as she made her way back to her horse, but she was determined not to lose one. Finally she was on her mount, leaving the other cowboy to handle the cow.
As she rode away, she heard the
sniggering and crude comments they exchanged. There were three additional men she needed to avoid.
Their herd grew larger by the hour and became more difficult to keep in line. Mara avoided any bogged cattle, knowing she hadn’t the experience to extract them from the mud. She pretended not to see them. She was thankful most of the cows moved along at a whistle or a swat on the hide.
She would tell Clay tomorrow night. She simply couldn’t stand this work any longer than that, and surely they would be far enough along that he wouldn’t send her home. That thought was the only thing that kept her going all morning.
When she moved in toward the herd, one of the trail bosses glanced at her. “We need a drag rider.” He gestured to the back of the herd.
She nodded once. What was a drag rider? She’d learned that her job the day before was called outrider, but that did her little good when she had a different job today.
A young man of about fifteen slowed his mount. “Drag rider?” he asked.
She nodded, wondering what it could be.
“Name’s Josh,” he stopped his horse as the herd rode past.
She nodded. “Wynn.” It was her middle name.
They waited side by side until the entire outfit passed except for a few straggling cows; then he nudged his horse. Mara followed. Well, now she knew a drag rider rode at the end of the herd, but she still didn’t know what she should do.
Josh slapped the rumps of the laggards, and Mara followed. It didn’t take long to see they were responsible for nudging the slowpokes, mainly calves and ill cattle, with some of them quite scrawny. It was a challenge to move some of them and downright frustrating when some of the beasts had to be nudged every step of the way.
And the dust! She thought she’d caught some dirt yesterday, but it was nothing compared to riding at the tail end of the herd! She didn’t even have a canteen of water to wet her mouth. Josh had a handkerchief over his mouth, but she had nothing to filter the dust.
She was not very adept at the job, and she felt Josh’s displeasure in the looks he gave her. She was doing her best—couldn’t he see that? She thought she was doing very well for someone who was new to this work. Of course, he didn’t know that.
Bittersweet Bride Page 13
