Every Cowgirl's Dream

by Arlene James

  She yawned behind a fist and reached up to ruffle her bangs, asking sleepily, “What time is it?”

  “Time to be up,” he said tartly.

  He watched the memory of what had happened the evening before come back to her, her smile fading, her blue gaze clouding and skittering away. He realized unhappily that some part of him was glad. He wanted her to suffer as much as he did, infantile as that was, and it shamed him. She sat up and tossed back the side of the sleeping bag, reaching for her boots. He strode off toward the water truck to wash as Dayna set up a folding camp table, announcing, “Breakfast in ten minutes.”

  He hung his hat on the sideview mirror as he scrubbed his hands and face, brushed his teeth and scraped back his hair. He didn’t feel like shaving. This wasn’t Sunday-go-to-meeting time, and he didn’t think the cows would be offended by the day’s growth on his face. He stood in line for his coffee and a plate of sweet rolls put up by Angelina the day before. They were tall and light, filled with plump raisins and cinnamon, dripping with milky icing, and they tasted like ash in Rye’s mouth. He choked them down while going over the list clamped to the top of his clipboard.

  Half an hour later he was kicking sand, angry with the world. Nothing was going as it should. All his careful plans seemed like so much nonsense as problem after problem cropped up. He felt like one of the Keystone Cops, running from one crisis to the next. Dean turned his ankle first thing. While putting together an ice pack, Pogo and an oddly flustered Dayna got into an argument. George, meanwhile, couldn’t tear himself away from a long conversation on the phone with his sweetheart, and Champ disappeared, only to turn up with Oboe as a frantic Rye was mounting up to go look for him. Rye shouted the boy into tears, then regretted it and spent some time repairing the damage with explanations about parental worries and mutual responsibilities, reminding Champ of the conversation they had days earlier. Somehow Shoes, Bord and Kara remained calm enough to do what had to be done, and almost before Rye knew what was happening, he was swinging into the saddle and giving the order to open the holding pens and drive out the cattle.

  The motley beasts immediately bolted in five differrent directions with cowboys who ought to know better by now riding hell-bent for leather after them. Rye sank back into his saddle in disbelief. Kara stood her horse beside his, staring openmouthed at the chaos playing out around them. Rye groaned and bowed his head, wishing devoutly that he could go back and do it all again, beginning with that kiss the day before. The only problem was that he honestly didn’t know what he’d do differently: walk away before he could get his hands on her or strip her and finish what they’d started. He very much feared that it would be the latter.

  Kara sighed dramatically and plopped down into her saddle, shaking her head. Then she began to laugh, a chuckle first, then a sputter, followed by a building titter that had him smiling before it erupted into full-fledged belly laughs that sent the horses sidestepping. He looked at her for a long moment, amazed by this woman unlike any other. Then he looked around him with a fresh perspective.

  Dean had mounted up with one bare foot sticking straight out, his empty stirrup flopping against the belly of his horse as he chased a running cow. Dayna was throwing tin cups at two confused head that had run into camp and were frantically careening around looking for a way out, turning over everything in sight and trampling it for good measure. Pogo charged to her rescue and got beaned for his efforts. George, riding high, circled a loop around his head with no apparent idea in which direction to throw it, while Bord chased on foot after a horse that had broken free in the confusion and Champ jumped up and down, clapping his hands in glee, Oboe at his side barking at everything and everyone. Only Shoes, assuming his guise of mysterious Indian, rode calmly through the chaos toward them.

  He drew up, pushed back the brim of his black hat, leaned a forearm on his saddle horn, his eyes shaded by mirrored glasses and waited for them to calm, thumbing tears of hysterical laughter from their eyes. “What you want to do now?”

  Rye took off his own shades, wiped his face dry on his sleeve and looked at Kara. “Well?”

  Kara rubbed her fingertips over her eyes beneath her glasses, sucked air and said with a shrug, “Round ’em up.”

  Rye picked up his reins, saying to Shoes, “You heard her.” He touched his mount’s flanks with his spurs and cantered off after the main body of the escaping herd, Shoes and Kara falling in behind him.

  It was noon before they had the tagged cattle rounded up again and the culls they’d gathered in along the way cut out once more, but at least by then they were working like a real unit instead of half a dozen lunatics on horseback for the first time. They had lunch on horseback, Dayna mounting up to deliver sandwiches, fruit and soft drinks, then collect the refuse. Impatiently Rye positioned his people and had them hold the herd. The cattle milled restlessly, looking for a leader. Rye pointed out the rangy old cow he and Kara had used for leading on that day they had come to think of as the day of the slaughter, and Kara dropped a loop on her, dragging her in the general direction they needed to go. One by one, others fell in behind. For the second time that day, Rye stood in his stirrups, shouting, “Let’s move ’em!”

  Shaking out his loop, he used the end of the rope to flick the rump of a big, bawling calf. It bolted after its mother. Soon the herd as a whole surged after Kara’s leader, the hands riding flank to keep them bunched. Rye rode fast to catch up with her. “Keep ’em at a walk. I’ll see the camp moved out and catch up with you.”

  “No problem.”

  He trotted back to camp. “I need everybody mounted this morning,” he said to Dayna and Bord. “Let’s leapfrog the vehicles for now. Wait for us at the first crossing.”

  “That would be the Detmeyer-Canders fence line,” Dayna commented for clarity’s sake.

  “That’s right,” Rye acknowledged, climbing down from the saddle and beginning to loosen his girth.

  “But that’s only about eight or nine miles,” Bord pointed out.

  “Seven,” Rye said unhappily, “but I’m betting it’ll take us the rest of the day to get ’em that far. They’re as new to this stuff as we are, you know. If we have daylight left when we get there, I’ll cut loose Shoes and Dean to help you drive.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Dayna said. “We’ll manage.”

  “I’m counting on that,” he admitted. “Bord, bring me a fresh mount. This soldier’s done a day’s work already, and I have rough riding to do today.” Bord went off to do as told. Dayna picked up a lead rope and slid it into place, quickly stripping the horse of bit and bridle. “You don’t have to do that,” Rye said, lifting off the saddle.

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “I’ve done this more times than I can count.”

  Bord led a big bay gelding up to Rye and tossed a fresh blanket onto its back, then went to work with a grooming brush on the other horse while Rye set the saddle. A few moments later, Rye swung up into the saddle once more. “See you at the crossing.”

  “Take care!” Dayna called after him.

  He doffed his hat and spurred the horse into a run. The herd had already left the flat, swarming down the hillside and spilling out into the valley. The crew was trying to bunch them again, sometimes working at odds to one another. Rye rode into the middle of it, shouting orders from the drag position and bringing in stragglers. Eventually, they got them all headed in the right direction again, but the herd was strung out over a mile or more. Rye rode back and forth at a gallop, giving orders and flailing with his rope in a futile effort to bunch them.

  Finally he raced to the front and had Kara turn and hold the herd in place, which involved circling them so they wouldn’t get restless and take off on their own again. Meanwhile, he raced back to the drag to bring up the others. By the time they had them sufficiently bunched, Kara had circled back and caught up with him. Essentially, they had backtracked. Rye tamped down his impatience and had her lead them out again. It would do no good to rant and rave.
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br />   At least Dayna had camp set up, so the weary, frustrated drovers were greeted with the welcome sight of creature comforts. It was amazing how welcome little things like folding lawn chairs, a campfire and a huge jug of iced tea could be. But before they could dismount and relax, they had to put the herd to bed. That meant guiding the cows through a watering hole before driving them into a grassy corner where the barbwire fencing intersected so they could graze, while pickets were driven and a single strand, marked with strips of fabric, was stretched across them, effectively creating a triangular pen. The heady aroma of beef stew was wafting on the twilight air by the time they were finished, and Pogo volunteered to ride guard while the others ate dinner.

  Rye climbed down from the saddle with as many groans and hisses as the rest of them. He couldn’t ever remember being so tired. Or hungry. Or frustrated. Or satisfied. They’d done it. They’d moved a herd of three hundred and thirty-one wild-eyed cows from holding pens on the eastern flat of the Detmeyer ranch to a makeshift camp on the edge of the property near the Green River State Park.

  Tomorrow they would cross onto the Canders Ranch, and if they’d learned anything useful, the next day would find them crossing the Hoffman property. And after that, the Nacker place, followed by the Ender, and the Monticello and on and on until they reached his family’s place outside Durango, Colorado.

  Beyond that, he wasn’t ready to think.

  Hell, he was too tired to think, but somehow after dinner he had to pick a new campsite for tomorrow and call Canders to let him know they’d be crossing and take a second look at the watch list and handle three dozen other details before he could shower, say hello to his son and unroll his sleeping bag. He wondered if he’d last that long.

  It turned out that he didn’t have to.

  When he emerged from a less-than-satisfactory cold shower, performed beneath the shelter of a tarp thrown over the top of the truck, he found Kara waiting for him, a map clipped to the top of her clipboard. Other than tossing him his shirt, she seemed oblivious to the fact that he wore little more than a pair of jeans. While he shrugged into the shirt and they walked back to the center of camp, she talked.

  “Mom and Pogo are taking first watch, then Bord and George. I don’t think Dean can manage it. His ankle’s big as a barrel right now. He’s got an ice pack on it and says it doesn’t hurt, but I don’t want to take any chances, so I’m going out with Shoes later. We all agree that you did the work of three men today, and you’ll probably have to do it again tomorrow, so you sleep this night. No argument. Now, about tomorrow’s campsite. Take a look at this.”

  She pushed the clipboard under his nose. “The original site has better water and real holding pens, but even if we make the kind of mileage we hope to, it’s a day and half away. Fact is, we aren’t going to get there tomorrow evening. This one has a meadow that butts a cliff on one side and is undercut on another with a cavern, creating a natural barrier not even cows are stupid enough to go over. I’ve seen it, so I can tell you that we’ll have to string pickets in two places, but together they probably won’t involve much more than we did tonight. What do you think?”

  “What’s me mileage?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “About eight miles, not much more than we did today.”

  He tugged his earlobe thoughtfully. “Okay, so we take it easy tomorrow, give everyone a chance to settle in, and day after we push it hard.”

  “We can make it within spitting distance of Moab day after tomorrow, I know we can.”

  “My thought, too. Okay, we’ve got that nailed. Now I’ve got to call Walt Canders and let him know—”

  “I’ve talked to him already,” she cut in, drawing to a halt. “He says anything we want to do is fine with him. I promised we’d call when we hit camp tomorrow evening. He wants to come out and take a look around at the operation, so I invited him to dinner.”

  Rye put his hands to his hips and looked at her. The woman was a marvel. “Okay. Anything else I ought to know?”

  She rattled off nearly everything on his list and a couple items he hadn’t thought of, winding up with, “And I think Dean should drive tomorrow. That ankle may not hurt, but it looks like hell, and I don’t think he ought to be riding. God willing, it’ll be a short day, so we can make it without him, I’m sure of it.”

  “All right. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Thanks. I thought it might sound better coming from you.”

  “I’m the one who ought to be thanking you,” he said. “You seem to have thought of everything.”

  “Well, you were looking a little used up,” she told him, “and I figured I might have had something to do with it. That may sound egotistical—”

  “It’s not.”

  “But I figure if I was shaken up by what happened yesterday you probably were, too.”

  He felt a thrill of satisfaction that was immediately purged by sheer terror. “Damn, Kara, don’t you hold anything back?”

  She ducked her head. “Guess not. Just isn’t my way. Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but—”

  “I didn’t say that,” he interrupted, softening his voice. He was keenly aware of everything that was going on around them, the many eyes and ears that could tune in at any moment to the small drama unfolding right in their midst, and he still had to jam his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out for her. “I admire your honesty,” he went on in a near whisper. “So I’m going to return the compliment and be honest with you. What happened has had me on edge ever since. For both our sakes, I wish it hadn’t happened.” She winced, and he hurried on. “But it did, and now we’ve got to put it behind us. Deal?”

  She nodded without looking at him.

  He swallowed and went on, wondering why this was so hard when it was so obviously the best thing for everyone. “I appreciate your understanding and everything you’ve done today. We couldn’t have done it without you. I couldn’t have done it without you. I don’t even want to try. So let’s call it friends and be done with the other.” He stuck out his hand. For a long moment it looked as though she wasn’t going to take it, but she stuck the pencil behind her ear and laid her palm against his, still without meeting his gaze. He hoped she didn’t. The warmth of her hand in his was about all he could take. He couldn’t even make himself shake it. After a moment she yanked it back, flashed him a weak smile and muttered something about having to speak to her mother.

  He watched her walk away, feeling empty and alone. So alone. Then his son’s bright laughter reminded him that he didn’t have to be, and he let it pull him toward the only human being in the world who loved him without reservation, the only one whom he trusted himself to love in like manner. That ought to be enough. When had it stopped being enough?

  Chapter Eight

  The camp came awake with groans and even a few outright yowls of pain. Pogo and Rye fared better than the others, but only slightly. No one in this day and age spent full days in the saddle, not doing the kind of work they were doing yesterday. Muscles complained vociferously, and their owners gave them voice. Amid the grumbles, Kara got up, hissing and groaning like the others, but then she lifted her arms high over her head, filled her lungs with air and slowly bent forward until she could touch her toes. Carefully, she “walked” her hands forward, alternately flexing her knees to stretch the long muscles in her legs. The relief was immediate.

  It was Champ who giggled and asked, “What’s she doing?”

  “What I want to know is how she’s doing it?” Pogo groaned.

  Kara turned her head first one way and then the other. “I’m stretching. And I’m doing it very slowly.”

  “You’re a better man than me,” George quipped.

  The crack didn’t sting as badly as it might have. After all, if a man like Rye was aware of her as a woman, she couldn’t be too manly. Nevertheless, the joke irritated. She went to one knee, then up to her feet. She put her hand to her waist and gave George a cool look. “Oh, I don’t think so. You c
an manage. So let’s see you do it.”

  He chuckled. “No way.”

  She caught him with a level look. “It wasn’t a request.”

  He stared at her, anger and desperation growing on his face. The anger took precedent “I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are,” Rye said offhandedly. “We all are.” Kara turned to find him standing in the middle of his bedroll. For an instant she considered telling him to mind his own business. She didn’t need his help to enforce her authority. But then she took a look at the incredulous, clearly resentful expression on Champ’s face as he stared at his father, and she decided that she’d made enough of a scene for one morning. “Show us again,” Rye said blandly, swinging his arms to work out the kinks there.

  Nodding, Kara took up her position. “Dean, you stay put I don’t want you putting any weight on that ankle. We’ll work out your stiffness another way. The rest of you, listen up.” She demonstrated as she spoke. “Arms high. Lift that rib cage. Deep breath. Take it very, very slow. Forward at the waist, back straight. Bend your knees slightly. And walk out your hands—not too far. Now, right knee first And the left. Keep going.”

  To her satisfaction, the groans and grumbles dwindled as the stiffness worked away. She talked them back up and gave a few instructions for stretching the muscles without getting down on the ground and rolling around. Cowboys hated that, she knew. By the time Dayna warned that breakfast was about to be served, everyone was moving much more easily. Spirits even seemed to have lifted somewhat, for all except one of them. Kara listened unapologetically when she overheard Champ complaining to his father as they washed up on the opposite side of the truck from her.