Remington 1894
Page 30
“Yeah, I know, and I plan to be a long way from here by the time you finish. Don’t try and jump me when we’re both back in the bunkhouse tonight, either.”
“You’re gonna be sorry you ever met me, mister.”
“I already am,” Dan said.
He picked up his hat, slapped it against his thigh to knock some of the dust off it, and swung up into the saddle. He turned his horse and rode off, leaving Jube Connolly sitting there carefully picking cactus needles out of his palms.
Anger and disgust filled Dan, and a good chunk of those emotions was directed at himself. He was mad at Abel Dempsey for sending Connolly to give him a thrashing, and he was mad at Connolly for following that order so eagerly. But a lot of the trouble was his own fault because he should have known better than to come here to the Tonto Basin, to the Box D, where Abel Dempsey lived with his beautiful young wife.
Dan shoved those thoughts out of his head. Despite everything that had happened, he still had work to do, so he set about scouring the rangeland for those strays.
He found the wandering cattle, but working alone, it took him most of the day to do it. It was late afternoon before he was satisfied he had located all the missing stock and started driving the jag back toward the higher pastures.
His muscles were stiff and sore from the fight with Connolly, and his belly growled. He’d had a couple of biscuits left over from breakfast wrapped up in a cloth in one of his saddlebags, along with some jerky, so he’d made a midday meal out of that and washed it down with water from his canteen. He was looking forward to getting back to the bunkhouse and putting himself on the outside of some real grub as well as a few cups of coffee.
When Dan reached the higher pastures, he turned the cattle over to Hamp Jones and Charley Bartlett, the cowboys who were staying in the line shack up here.
“Don’t lose ’em this time,” Dan told them with a smile that took any sting out of the words.
“We’ll try not to, but you know how damn muleheaded these critters can be,” Hamp said.
“They’re cows,” Charley pointed out. “I don’t see how they can be muleheaded.”
“Yeah, well, cowheaded ain’t a word, as far as I know,” Hamp responded.
Dan left them to their good-hearted wrangling and headed for the ranch headquarters.
Night had fallen by the time he got there. By now supper was over, but he knew the stove-up old cowboy turned cook Willie Hill would have saved him some. He rode into the barn and started to unsaddle his horse in the dark, not needing a light to carry out a task he had performed thousands of times.
He wondered as he did so how Jube Connolly had explained the scores of little puncture wounds on his hands and face. Any seasoned range rider could guess that Connolly had landed in some cactus, but he wouldn’t know the reason why.
Dan had just slung his saddle on one of the stands when he heard a soft step behind him. He turned quickly, his hand going to his gun, in case Connolly was about to try settling that score.
Instead he heard a gasp in the darkness of the barn and knew it wasn’t Connolly sneaking up on him.
“Dan, don’t . . . It’s me . . .”
A lantern was burning on the front porch of the main house. Dan saw her silhouetted against the glow from it as she moved deeper into the barn.
“Hello, Mrs. Dempsey,” he said stiffly.
“You don’t have to be like that,” Laura said. “Not now.”
As if he hadn’t heard her, he said, “You probably shouldn’t be wandering around out here in the dark. There might be a rattler—”
“You’re not worried about snakes. You’re worried that somebody might see us.” She was close enough now that he could smell the faint scent of lilac water that clung to her. “But it’s all right. No one’s around. I made sure of that. Abel is in his office, going over the books. He won’t come out for hours. Lew has gone to his cabin, Willie is in the cook shack, and all the other hands are in the bunkhouse. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Damn it, Laura . . .” The name came out of his mouth before he could stop it. “It was a mistake me ever coming here. We both know that. If I had a lick of sense, I’d put that saddle back on my horse, ride out, and never look back.”
She reached out with her right hand, rested the fingertips on his chest, and whispered, “Is that what you’re going to do, Dan?”
“You know good and well it’s not,” he rasped, then he closed his hands around her upper arms, pulled her tight against him, and brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss with enough hunger in it to jolthim more than Jube Connolly’s fists ever could.