The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo

  She shook her head sadly. “No, there’s no one. Ma’s parents died years ago, and Pa was an orphan. There’s only an uncle, and he’s the one who cheated us.” She bit her lip, fighting tears. “I have to do something, Doc. I’m the only one who can. Please put in a word for me with the ranchers. I can cook for them, you know I can.”

  He sighed. “Well, if the rest of your cooking matches these biscuits, those men’ll be glad to have you along. And Rosa would be there…” He mulled the words over, obviously contemplating the prospect of Suzanne on a cattle drive.

  “Doc, will you talk the ranchers into letting me come along? Please!”

  She hated begging, but she would swallow her pride and do anything to help her father. He was all she had.

  “Who’ll take care of your horses?”

  “Did I hear you say it was only a two-day trip?”

  He nodded, stroking his chin. “Pedro owes me a favor. He’s a bit slow but honest and dependable. He’s been laid up at my place. Maybe I’ll send him over here to see to things while you and Hank are away. We’re talking four days at the most.”

  Suzanne grabbed his sleeve. “Doc, if you’ll help me with this, I’ll never forget it. God bless you!” She leaned up to plant a kiss on his cheek.

  Doc Browning grinned down at the pretty young woman, who was about as desperate for help as anyone he’d encountered. How could he refuse? “All right, missy. But you don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for.” He smiled tenderly. “Guess it wouldn’t matter. You’re about as stubborn as Hank!”

  CHAPTER 11

  It had taken both Mattie and Suzanne pleading, arguing, then resorting to threats, before Hank finally realized he was outnumbered and overpowered and gave in. Suzanne suspected it was Mattie’s promise of lively conversation with cowboys and stage hands that had finally won him over.

  Now, as she stood in the kitchen at Trails End, helping Rosa box up supplies, she felt a sense of relief… and adventure. She’d been stuck at the ranch for so long, she’d forgotten how excited she could get over a trip, even though this one was a bit different.

  She grabbed a box and headed out the back door to the chuck wagon, humming softly. Just as she rounded a corner of the house, she almost collided with a tall cowboy with blazing blue eyes. She gasped, losing hold of the box. She would have spilled everything there in the dust, if he hadn’t reached out to recover the tilting box.

  “What are you doing here?” Luke stormed at her.

  All the frustration that had been gathering since his departure erupted from her lips. “That’s none of your business. Anyone who would run out in the middle of the night, without so much as a good-bye—” She broke off, realizing that she was betraying her emotions. She took a firm grip on the box and sidestepped him.

  “Wait a minute.” He caught up, grabbing her arm. “I didn’t run out. I left a note. Besides, I told you I would be leaving.”

  “Miss Waters!” Art Parkinson’s voice echoed from the opposite side of the yard. He was waving frantically.

  She acknowledged him with a nod, smiling blankly.

  Luke took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I couldn’t take advantage of your hospitality any longer. I needed money. When you mentioned cowhands were being hired for this drive—”

  “You’re going, too?” she gasped, then tried to steady her voice. “Well, what you do is your business. You can pick up your wedding ring when we return.” Her eyes sliced over his face. “I’ve never needed money badly enough to sell someone’s wedding ring. But then,” she added bitingly, “perhaps I have more respect for wedding vows than you do.”

  His dark brows shot up; then his blue eyes clamped into a scowl. She sensed she had gone too far, and now that she had vented her temper, her nerve was deserting her.

  “If you’ll step aside,” she spoke calmly, “I have to get this to the wagon.”

  A bewildered look settled over Luke’s features. “Did you take a job here?” he asked, falling in step beside her.

  “I’m going on the cattle drive. I’ll be helping Rosa cook.”

  His mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious.”

  Again, Suzanne was struggling to keep her temper in tow. “Of course I’m serious! And from now on, I’d appreciate it if you’d do your job and let me do mine.” She slid the box into the wagon while he stared at her. “Excuse me,” she said, sidestepping him as she turned back up the path to the kitchen.

  She was practically running by the time she reached the kitchen door. Luke Thomason! Of all times and places!

  It occurred to her that she had never been so rude to anyone in her life, but she couldn’t worry about that now, and she couldn’t think about him. She had a job to do.

  Rosa stood at the kitchen sink, scrubbing an iron kettle. She was a large Latin woman with warm brown eyes, an abundance of black hair, and a friendly, toothless smile.

  Suzanne took a deep breath and smiled at Rosa. “Rosa, what’s to go in the wagon next?” she asked, staring at the kettle while seeing Luke’s blazing blue eyes.

  Arthur Parkinson stood at the wagon, staring up at Rosa and Suzanne. Rosa gripped the reins with confidence, her ample body planted firmly on the wooden seat, one booted foot resting on the brake. Beneath her wide hat, Rosa smiled at Mr. Parkinson, assuring him they were ready.

  So why does he look so worried? Suzanne pondered as he lingered, glancing once more at Suzanne. She felt a stab of guilt, knowing Mr. Parkinson didn’t want her along. It had been the badgering of Doc, and probably Art Jr., that had forced him to give in.

  He drew a breath and began to explain the hazards of their trip: dust, the threat of bad weather, even the possibility of rustlers along the way. He reminded the ladies they were solely in charge of the food wagon, preparing the meals and cleaning up afterward. With over a thousand head of cattle, the men had all they could do to keep the temperamental cattle watered, grazed, and moving in the right direction. They couldn’t be worrying about the womenfolk.

  Suzanne listened politely, watching the lines deepen in Mr. Parkinson’s face as he detailed the problems. When finally he wound down, Suzanne gave him a reassuring smile.

  “We’ll do our part,” she promised, remembering the generous salary they had agreed upon. It would be enough to get her and Hank to Colorado Springs for a doctor and medicine. “And don’t concern yourself with me. I’ll be just fine,” she added.

  Mr. Parkinson stared at her for a moment, looking unconvinced. Then he turned his attention to the wagon, checking over the supplies. Suzanne shifted on the seat and peered back into the wagon bed, literally a kitchen on wheels; tools, ropes, and a water barrel were attached to the outside. She couldn’t imagine one more item being crammed aboard.

  “See you up the trail,” he concluded, climbing on his big horse, wheeling around, and cantering back to his men.

  As Rosa clucked to the team, Suzanne clutched the edge of the seat and the wagon rocked from side to side, moving them out ahead of the herd. They were supposed to get a head start to ensure arrival at the campsite in time to set up for the meal.

  As the wagon swung past the cowboys lined up at the corral waiting to herd the cattle, Suzanne spotted Luke in the rear. He was wearing leather chaps, spurs, and range clothes. His blue eyes watched from the narrow space between the low brim of his hat and the bandanna he was pulling over the lower half of his face.

  She glanced at the other cowboys. They, too, had covered their faces to ward off the dust they would be eating along the trail.

  “Be careful, Miss Waters,” Art called to her. He had just arrived, tugging on a hat that looked too wide for his head.

  “I will,” she called, turning her attention to the road.

  Everyone had a bandanna, she noticed, even Rosa. She took a deep breath, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it. Well, she would manage, she vowed, watching the brown dust swirl up around the wagon wheels.

  They stopped just past noon for a quick lunch
while the cattle grazed and drank from a stream. She passed out the egg sandwiches that she and Rosa had packed, along with apples and tea cakes.

  The cowboys had seemed self-conscious around her at first, but now they were eyeing her more boldly when Mr. Parkinson’s back was turned. Art was clearly irritated by their impudence, and he glared at one, then the other, as he strode through the group to catch up with Suzanne.

  “Miss Waters!”

  Suzanne turned.

  Art’s long, gangly legs ate up the distance between them. “I thought you might need this.” He proudly extended a clean bandanna.

  “Why, Art, how thoughtful of you.”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t think of that,” he said with a laugh, setting his Adam’s apple in motion.

  “Thank you…” Her voice trailed as Luke stood before her, his hand outstretched for his lunch.

  His blue eyes held a look of irritation, as if he was angry with her again. But then she saw that his eyes were sliding toward Art, who was jauntily walking back to his horse.

  She dropped the wrapped sandwich into his broad palm, her hand accidentally brushing his. She felt a nervous jolt. Averting her eyes, she moved on, distributing the remaining lunches.

  She scarcely had time to gulp down her own sandwich before Rosa motioned for her to help repack the wagon. Suzanne quickly complied, and soon they were back on the trail again.

  Far in the distance behind them came the herd, spreading across the plains like a giant brown wave, kicking up clods of dust that seemed to float forward, reaching Rosa and Suzanne. She glanced down at her clothes and saw that they were now rumpled and layered with dust.

  Suzanne glanced again at the enormous herd that bawled and bellowed and kicked up enough dust to fill a canyon. She realized at once that she’d taken on an even greater challenge than trying to run the ranch while her father was laid up. But lunch had been a snap; she would eat dust for two days, if that’s what it took. She was thankful that Rosa was her companion now, for the woman kept up a lively conversation as she guided the horses. Her words were a mix of Spanish and English, and at times, Suzanne had to guess at what she meant. Still, she enjoyed hearing stories of Mexico City, Rosa’s hometown.

  By midafternoon, even Rosa was too weary to talk, and they lapsed into silence as each woman fixed gritty eyes on the horizon.

  A shout grew closer and Suzanne leaned out to peer around the back of the wagon. Mr. Parkinson was waving his hat in a circle around his head. She tapped Rosa on the shoulder and motioned for her to look back.

  “Stopping for the night,” Rosa interpreted, pointing to a grassy valley just ahead.

  After their wagon had clattered to a halt in the pasture, Suzanne hopped down, then almost fell flat on her face. She had been sitting for so long that her legs were cramped and stiff; she could hardly walk.

  She removed her hat and scratched the crown of her damp head while she squinted back toward the approaching herd. The riders had fanned out, giving the cattle more room as they moved into the far end of the valley. Her eyes scanned the group of cowboys until she spotted Luke, who was intent on keeping the yearlings in line and discouraging strays. He was holding his left arm close to his chest. She wondered if his shoulder was hurting. Well, she couldn’t be worrying about him. She had her pa to think about.

  Suzanne wandered to the nearest shade tree and dropped down, pressing her weary back against its trunk. They had left Morning Mountain far behind, and she found herself missing that special place that seemed to anchor her at all times. It was a comforting presence to her; as Pa said, it was a place to rest weary eyes and hearts.

  Rosa waddled over and sank down in the grass, stretching her large body into a full recline. Suzanne bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She probably had the right idea, Suzanne decided, wishing she had the courage to plop down like that and think nothing of it. Then, as she spotted Mr. Parkinson cantering up, she was glad that she was seated properly against the tree.

  “You ladies can rest a bit. We’ll need to get water for ourselves and the herd.” He looked at Rosa. “Can we eat in an hour?”

  Her wide hat bobbed a nod.

  “Miss Waters, you see where the stream is, don’t you? Over there where the cottonwoods form a line,” he said, pointing to the trees. “Help yourself to a fresh drink.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, dragging herself to her feet. She was even more thirsty than tired, if that were possible, for she and Rosa had drained the canteen two hours earlier.

  She stumbled through the thick meadow grass to the line of trees, where a stream wound down the valley like a silver thread. She tossed her hat down and stretched out on the bank, lowering her hands into the chattering stream. She cupped her hands to scoop up the cool water, bringing it quickly to her parched lips. She slurped the water greedily, relishing its chill on her tongue.

  Luke was aching from head to toe, but the ache in his body and the grit on his tongue did not compare to the mounting frustration he suffered watching the gangly Parkinson kid make a fool of himself. He was still wet behind the ears and about as subtle as a bull.

  Surely Suzanne wasn’t serious about him. But if she wasn’t, why was she so friendly with him? Why did she smile and flirt?

  He dragged down from Smoky, trying not to grimace from the throbbing pain in his shoulder. Nobody had guessed he was injured, much less lying unconscious and close to death, only a week ago. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to ask Suzanne to keep it quiet. But he had a hunch she would anyway.

  Thinking of his own health brought his worries back to what he had heard about Hank Waters on the long dusty stretch of road from Trails End. A twinge of guilt hit him and he began to walk toward the chuck wagon, parked farther up in the meadow. This was free time; most of the guys were doing as they pleased. There was no reason he couldn’t have a word with Suzanne. Only there was no such thing as just a word with her. Each conversation seemed to end up in an argument.

  He knew most of the time it was his fault. He had a bad attitude, but he was trying to change. He frowned. When had he started trying? Soon after he’d met Suzanne. He realized why as he spotted her walking toward the trees. Her blond hair glinted in the afternoon sunlight, and from the way she was hobbling across the meadow, he guessed she was as tired as he. Yet, she was the bravest woman he had ever known—except perhaps his mother. In many ways, Suzanne reminded him of her. Perhaps sometime he’d get around to telling her that, and he’d tell her exactly why.

  Suzanne drank her fill and lay exhausted for a moment. Something moved beside her, prompting her to roll her head in the grass and look up. She saw a pair of dusty black boots. Slowly, ever so slowly, her eyes traveled from the pointed toes of the boots, up the leather chaps and silver belt—she noted the silver buckle; it appeared to be a rodeo trophy—and on to the collarless cotton shirt. Luke Thomason stood over her. He had removed the bandanna, along with his hat, and now his thick hair was damp and curling on the ends. Suzanne stared at his head, thinking most women would envy that kind of hair.

  “How’s the water?” he asked.

  “Wonderful.” She scrambled for her hat and was trying to work her stiff muscles into standing when his gloved hand touched her arm.

  “Wait just a minute, please.”

  She stiffened, wondering what he was going to say. Well, she was in no hurry, and besides, she had been feeling pretty guilty for bawling him out so badly back at the ranch.

  She turned and scanned the lush meadow, now a beehive of activity with bawling cattle, irritable shouts from weary cowboys, and the unpleasant smells associated with the beasts.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to say anything about your… injury. I doubt that you told them the condition your shoulder was in.”

  She watched his eyes drop and she knew her guess had been right.

  “It’s up to you if you want to abuse your body,” she said. “I have enough to worry about without being a gossip or worrying about you.”<
br />
  “I came to speak with you about your father,” he said, looking back at her.

  At those words, and the gentle manner in which he spoke them, Suzanne relaxed her tense shoulders and looked away. Turning back, she stared into Luke’s blue eyes as he dropped down beside her, puzzled by his change of attitude.

  “Mr. Parkinson told us you had come on this drive to earn money for your father—that he needed to see a doctor in Colorado Springs about his heart. He never mentioned a heart condition to me.”

  Suzanne’s eyes dropped to her hands, nervously bunching the meadow grass. “We just found out the morning you left. Doc Browning came and checked him over. He said Pa’s heart was beating too fast.”

  “If I had known…” his voice trailed as he stared at the western sun, a red ball of fire on the horizon.

  “I guess there was nothing you could do,” Suzanne replied. “It’s just that I had grown to depend on you and I had no right to do that.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m sorry I spoke sharply to you this morning.”

  “You did have a right,” he said, looking thoughtful. “You saved my life. I figure you’re entitled to something in return.”

  She tilted her head to search his face. “You’ve repaid the debt by helping out for a few days. And you delivered the colt! We were getting spoiled by you; that’s why we hated for you to leave.” Her expression changed from sadness to concern. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “I’m fine.” His chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath and slowly released it.

  His eyes drifted slowly over her face, and Suzanne felt her heart skip a beat. What did he really think of her? What was he thinking now? She liked him, even more than she wished to admit to herself. She just didn’t know what to do about it.

  “After I rode off, I felt guilty,” he said. “I should have said good-bye properly, but…”