The Courageous Brides Collection

by Johnnie Alexander, Michelle Griep, Eileen Key, Debby Lee, Rose Allen McCauley, Donita Kathleen Paul, Jennifer Uhlarik, Jenness Walker, Renee Yancy

Ronnie’s throat had closed up at Seth’s words. She’d never been anyone’s sweetheart—certainly not to her hardworking dad or her crusty old aunt. Pretty much the sum total of her social life. The tone of his words stung. She shoveled the pie onto the cracked plate and choked each bite down. After the confusion, she ate every morsel. And it was amazingly good.

  Mrs. Goodman topped off coffee cups then plopped in the chair at the end of the table. “You said you’d be heading out on Tuesday?” She raised a brow in Seth’s direction.

  Seth chewed another bite and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He patted his lips with a napkin. “Tomorrow morning we load up, and I get the count. Have to move before fourteen waddies and a passel of cows get too restless.”

  “Waddies?” Ronnie glanced his way.

  “Trail hands, cowboys. Youngsters, most of ’em.” Seth sipped his coffee then smiled. “With a new cook on hand, thanks to you, Mrs. G., at least they’ll eat good.”

  Ronnie toyed with the napkin in her lap. He was leaving for Fort Worth. What if—

  “Mr. McKenzie, your cook could use a hand, and I need passage to Fort Worth. If I rode with you—for free, of course—I’d work alongside him and be of no trouble.” She shifted in her chair to face him and found the hazel eyes flashed more green than gray this time. A bit disconcerting. Still she pressed on. “I can hold my own.” She twisted the napkin tighter and held her breath. “Promise.”

  Seth watched the rangy gal broach the topic of traveling with him and choked back a laugh. Her wide green eyes begged, but he was not stupid. A woman traveling for days on the trail? Someone else to look after?

  “Miss Fergus, I am sorry, but that will not work.” He dropped his napkin on the table and stood. “Mrs. G., I’m sorry you turned down the chance to ride north, because this pie would make fine eatin’ as we ride—”

  “I can cook. Fried apples, vinegar lemonade, johnnycakes, biscuits fluffier than a cloud.” She counted off each item on a finger and beamed at him, eyes pleading.

  He lowered his gaze and toyed with a crumb on the tablecloth. “I’m sure that’s true, Miss Fer—”

  “My daddy loved my cooking, and when we were on the range, he showed me many a trick.” She pushed her chair back and stood, almost eye to eye, she was that tall. She gripped his forearm. “I can ride and rope and shoot. I am not a town girl—I was ranch bred.” She drew her shoulders back. “And I want to go home.”

  The last words were delivered in a whisper. She tucked her hands back into her waist and did that draw-into-herself thing. She might be ranch bred, but at the moment she looked like a drooping flower. He had the desire to tuck a stray dark curl behind her ear. She had one of those widow’s peaks, where her hair grew into a point, and mighty fine skin in spite of those freckles. He tipped his head. Or maybe the freckles just painted a pretty picture.

  She cleared her throat, and the tips of Seth’s ears burned. He’d been staring. She’d quit talking, and he’d kept gawking.

  “Miss, I hope you do get home.” He shoved his chair under the table. “But it won’t be with me.” Ernie and two of his riders stood by the door. He nodded and Ernie stepped outside. “Mrs. Goodman, the boys and I thank you for a great meal. Probably the best we’ll see for a long time.” He nodded in the girl’s direction, “Nice to meet you.” He proceeded outside.

  Trey laughed. “Thought we was getting us a tagalong, Boss.” He slapped Seth on the shoulder.

  Seth’s shoulder stung. But no more than his conscience.

  Journal

  March 30, Sunday

  Rested. Good food in belly from Mrs. G. Funny lunch conversing with lady from church.

  Chapter Four

  Ronnie shook off Sunday’s memories and stomped across the kitchen to finish chores. She washed up breakfast dishes and grabbed the dishpan. The water would help the remainder of her aunt’s garden to flourish. Maybe she’d get an early vegetable or two. She used her elbow to lift the back-door latch and flung the dirty water out the door—smack into a youngster’s face. He sputtered and backed up, indiscernible words flowing from his mouth.

  “Oh my.” Ronnie bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. The young man’s hat drooped at the brim and water streamed from the brow. She stifled a chuckle, until he looked at her with big brown eyes. She could contain it no longer. A fit of giggles overcame her, and she dropped the dishpan to grab a towel. “I’m so sorry.” She tried to stop laughing but couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

  And it felt so good to let go.

  The lanky boy swiped water from his face and drew in a breath. “Mighty fine bath, Miss Fergus. I’m thanking you.” He swatted his hat against his leg and tugged his wet shirt from a skinny chest. “I’m Trey Walker. We met yesterday.” His eyes searched her face.

  “Yes, I remember.” She hiccupped. Ronnie pressed fingertips to her chest. Oh no. Not this. A bout of laughter often produced hiccups.

  Trey grinned and ducked his head. “Wonder if I might trouble you for a cup of coffee?”

  A hiccup escaped, Ronnie nodded and ushered the boy indoors. She poured them both a cup and sat at the table. “What might I do—hic—for you?”

  Trey blushed and ran a finger around the edge of the cup. “Nothing much.” The rosy cheeks turned scarlet. “Before we hit the trail, I thought we might could visit.” His brown eyes darted to look at her then back into the cup. “Gets lonesome out there. I grew up with sisters and my mom, and miss fellowship. Cowboys never talk.” He sighed. “They don’t even sing much, ’cept to calm those cows.”

  Ronnie watched the boy spill out his misery. She placed a hand on his. “How old are you, Trey?”

  He drew back his shoulders. “Be sixteen my next birthday come June. Only two-and-a-half months.” He straightened. “Plan on finishing the drive and taking my earnings home. My mama and sisters can bake me a real cake.” His glassy eyes were full of unshed tears. “Wish you were coming with us, Miss Fergus. Would make it much funner.”

  A hiccup escaped. She smiled. “Don’t think Mr. McKenzie agrees.”

  Trey sunk lower in his seat. “Yeah. I heard him at dinner yesterday.” He gazed at her face for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. “Want to know how I hired on?” He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “I hid away.”

  Ronnie stared at the boy. “A stowaway?” She swiped at a crumb on the table. “And he kept you on? Didn’t send you back?”

  Trey shook his head. “Nope.” A slow grin spread across his face. “I can tell you where I hid, too, if getting to Fort Worth is that important.”

  Ronnie leaned back in her chair. What an interesting idea. She surveyed the kitchen and sparsely furnished front room. She could send for anything she couldn’t carry. Didn’t need much just to get home. Had all she needed on the homestead. Would that crazy idea work? She searched the boy’s face then stared out the window.

  And what if it didn’t? Mr. Seth McKenzie couldn’t hurt her. He’d send her home and be done with her. A stab of loneliness pricked at that thought. He seemed educated as well as ranch smart. He’d carried the conversation at the dinner table, and she’d followed with rapt attention, her day feeling brighter than any she’d had in recent months. If she were sent back, if he rejected her on the trail, that brightness would fade. A lump formed in her throat. She scanned the kitchen once more. And she’d be right back here in Aunt Susan’s home. Not hers.

  “Would you like a biscuit to go with your coffee, Trey?” She would press the boy for details and decide. Maybe the plan was foolhardy, or maybe it would work.

  What did she have to lose other than a cowboy she’d just met?

  At daylight on Tuesday, Ranger side-stepped, eager to get moving. Seth tugged at the reins. “Whoa. We aren’t ready yet.” Pulling the paper from his shirt pocket, he read the numbers once again. Almost a thousand cows to move and seventeen horses. And fourteen men. Well, some of them boys. He stuck the paper into his pocket, drooped the reins over the saddle horn, and lifted his hat to com
b through his hair. He scratched his head and surveyed the scene.

  Loaded supply wagon, herd, cowboys. Why did he feel he was missing something? Rusty was gone. He had pulled the chuck wagon ahead to scout a spot for a rest.

  The image of a lovely, freckle-faced lady drifted through his mind. “Ha. Not her.” He clapped his hat back on. “McKenzie, this is not the time to daydream.” He tapped Ranger on the side and loped toward his crew.

  “Y’all ready?” he hollered. He was answered with yips and shouts. “Ernie, set’em up.” He was blessed to have this experienced cowhand along on the drive and didn’t mind letting him pass out assignments. Seth rubbed his thigh. Truth be told, trailing cattle had lost its luster, and sitting in the saddle was tiring. Time to set aside his daydreams from a pretty face and focus on a small corner of the earth to call his own. He’d pull down close to two hundred on this contract and had a fair amount saved up. He shook his head. “Time for thinking later.” Time to begin droving.

  Ranger snorted. “Let’s ride, boy.” He circled the horse and whistled at Ernie. They’d meet up with Rusty for beans and corn bread by sunset. He would ride drag for now to see how each waddie worked. “Lord, let them be ambitious and conscientious. Keep us safe. Thank You. Amen.” He jerked a kerchief over his nose and rode.

  Hours later he rolled his head to get the cricks out of his neck. He’d done that so often it was surprising it was still attached. Seth’s back ached the first few days of a ride nowadays. He’d been soft on himself, staying at that hotel in town. Getting old in the saddle was proving hard. So when he spotted the chuck wagon and a fire, he whistled softly. “Good sight to see.”

  He trotted into camp, dismounted, and tied Ranger onto one of the wagon wheels. He noted the wagon’s tongue was pointed north, ready for the following day. “Arbuckle’s axle grease, Rusty. Fast.” He shoved his hat back on his head, slipped off his thick work gloves, and tucked them in his back pocket, flexing his fingers.

  Rusty laughed and lifted the coffee can. “What other coffee besides Arbuckle? Hot, strong, and black coming up, Boss.” He lifted the pot and poured a cup. “How was the ride?”

  Seth sipped the hot brew carefully, his parched throat welcoming the strong liquid. “Hot. Dusty.” He pursed his lips against the coffee cup. “Successful so far.”

  “Only seven hours in and no trouble. Pretty good.” Rusty pointed at Seth’s back pocket. “Might need to jot those words down in your journal.”

  “Man at the pot.” Ernie’s voice split the air.

  Seth nodded at the familiar greeting. When a cowboy spotted a fire, coffee, and someone to pour, he hollered.

  Rusty held a cup high in the air then leaned to fill it. “Ready when you ride in. First day out, pot’s filled and vittles ready.” He poked the fire. “Know we’ll feast on bacon and beans pretty much, so when my sister offered up some of her fried chicken, I didn’t turn it down. She must like you, Boss, because there’s a heap.” He grinned. “And bless her heart if she didn’t include a few pies.”

  Seth sighed. “If your sister wasn’t already married, I think I’d turn back to grab her up, even though it’s a far piece to ride and would slow the drive.” He nodded at Ernie, who crouched beside him. “Whatcha think, pal? Think we need a lady on the trail?” His thoughts flickered to freckles.

  “Boss, if she can cook like Mrs. G, I’d say haul her in.”

  Rusty laughed. “My sister or that gal she spoke of?”

  Seth leveled a stare at the cook. Rusty turned back to the chuck wagon and dinner preparations, the grin never leaving his face.

  Lovely Veronica Fergus said she could cook. Seth shook his head and settled on the ground, dropping his hat in his lap. He rolled his head to the side again, blew on the coffee, and sipped, eyes closed.

  Best think on buying property, not on a pretty face.

  Chapter Five

  Ronnie wasn’t sure she’d ever been this miserable. No, come to think of it, she was sure. Coiled in a ball, jostling over rough terrain with a measly saddle blanket for cover, her teeth rattling, and straining to stifle the urge to find the nearest bush was becoming unbearable. And now the smell of coffee teased her nose.

  Trey had hollowed out a spot late in the night in the supply wagon, tucked in her saddle and a carpet bag, then given her a leg up just before sunrise. “Don’t get up for as long as you can, Miss Ronnie.” The boy smiled. “You get down the road, and he ain’t coming back. You’ll be home to Fort Worth before long.” His encouragement had given Ronnie confidence.

  By daylight, she’d slipped into her spot, adding Pa’s holster and pistol to the stash. And now, hours later, she’d sipped the last of her water, chewed on jerky, and defied stretching her legs by curling her toes for exercise. But the call of nature—

  Voices drifted in and out. The supply wagon had pulled in behind the chuck wagon and she could hear Rusty set up the campfire in front, on the far side from her. If she were to slip out the back and the drovers were busy with eating or cattle prodding, she could relieve herself and slip back in. The water supply…well, she’d think on that in a bit.

  She raised up and lifted the canvas covering the wagon. Spotting no one, she looped the small canteen about her neck and began to slide toward the end of the wagon. Getting over the tailgate wouldn’t be easy, but she’d managed so far. Twisting and turning, she drew the back of her skirt in between her legs and tucked it in her waistband so it wouldn’t catch on the wooden slats when she climbed. She threw her left leg over the edge, her toes gaining purchase on a slat, then began her ascent. Up, over—she collapsed on the ground with a groan. “Oh my.” Pain shot up her sleeping legs, prickling and stinging. She slid into the wagon’s shadows, clapped her hand over her mouth, and swayed back and forth, attempting to restore circulation. A minute or two later, she scrambled out and into nearby bushes. Relief came and brought tears to her eyes. How many days would she be able play out this scenario? And how would she fill her canteen?

  Despair trickled in. What a foolish thing she’d done. Once more, she’d jumped before she thought things through, before she’d even thought to ask God His plan.

  Here you are, Ronnie. Nothing to do now but make the best of things.

  She rose, arranged her skirts to make movement easier, and scuttled toward the wagon and a dinner of beef jerky. She yanked the canvas away from the wagon, scrambled up the side. Drawing her left leg over, she ducked under the canopy and—

  “What is going on?”

  Ronnie closed her eyes, and her heart raced. A hand clamped on her right ankle and pulled. She shivered. Blinking away tears, she backed out from under the canvas. Arms grabbed her waist and swung her around to face Mr. McKenzie. “Hello.”

  He dropped his hold on her and stepped back, his mouth forming a perfect O. “Miss Fergus.” His dark eyes studied her, his jaw working back and forth.

  Ronnie smoothed her skirts. “Good evening.” Words wouldn’t form in her brain. How could she justify this scheme? Blame it on Trey? She held out a hand. “Let me explain—”

  Mr. McKenzie drew in a deep breath. “I’m sure there is a logical explanation why you, an uninvited guest, are in our supply wagon.” He jerked off his hat and slapped it against his leg. “Do you have a ticket? Is that it?” His eyes blazed, and his voice rose with each word. “Maybe an invitation issued by the ranch I contract with?” He turned around, muffled words spilling from his mouth.

  Ronnie clutched her hands and pressed against her stomach. She was tired, achy, and hungry. Not in the mood to be railed at. Yet she knew she deserved his ire.

  “Sir.” She stepped closer to Mr. McKenzie and touched his elbow.

  Mr. McKenzie swung around so fast her hand slapped his arm. She stumbled. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Steady.” He clapped his hat on and propped his hands on his hips. His eyes bore a hole in her. “Miss Fergus, would you please explain your presence at this time?”

  Seth couldn’t believe his eyes. V
eronica Fergus stood before him, her calico dress rumpled, her dark hair trailing over one shoulder, and eyes filled with tears. He’d turned away to keep from hugging her close. She could’ve been injured jostling around in a wagon beside the crates. He drew in a ragged breath and tipped his head. “I’m listening.”

  “Sir.” She drew her shoulders back, soldier style. Seth almost laughed. Whatever she was, she had spunk.

  She cleared her throat. “I want to return to my own ranch outside Fort Worth. I do not have enough funds to travel any other way. My aunt’s horse didn’t seem sturdy enough—”

  Yeah, she’d lost her aunt. Maybe bereavement had made her crazy. Great. I have one thousand cattle and a lunatic on hand.

  Veronica leaned toward him. “Sir, I know I’ve taken great liberties here—”

  Seth barked a laugh. “You can say that again, lady.” He noticed they had an audience. “You men get back to work. We will settle this.” The cowboys slunk away, tossing looks over their shoulders and muttering.

  “Yes, I’m imposing.” She gulped. “I’m asking for your mercy, sir.” She posed her clasped hands under her chin childlike, as though in prayer. “I will not be a burden. I will cook and help in any way possible if you will allow me to continue. I will not complain. I will eat a small amount to keep your supplies fresh.” She sniffled, shook her head, and a tear spilled over where she hastily brushed it away. She glanced up at him and whispered, “Please let me go home.”

  “Lady, do you know what kind of danger lies ahead?” He stomped a boot, his voice hard. He’d have to send her back. No telling—

  Veronica stiffened. “Mr. McKenzie, you don’t know anything about me. I helped my pa build our ranch. I’ve battled a lot more than a bunch of cows meandering through the meadows on their way—”

  “Meandering?” Seth drew in a breath. “Meandering?” Words failed him. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Miss Fergus, we do not meander. We do not wander. We have a fixed destination and have the job of moving this herd”—he motioned toward the cows—“to Fort Worth. The trail is often full of danger.” He leaned in closer. A hint of lavender tickled his nose. He choked out words. “And I can’t promise you’ll be safe.”