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

  “No one but God can do that, Mr. McKenzie.” The girl’s eyes flashed.

  That statement took the wind out of him. Logic began to give way to emotion. Seth gritted his teeth, yet he could feel the fissure begin in his heart. He stared beyond her into the twilight and watched the herd begin to settle in for the night. Seth didn’t have much to offer someone, but this he could do. He could allow her to travel with them. He shook his head, inhaled sharply, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “All right, Miss Fergus—”

  “Ronnie,” she whispered.

  “Ronnie?”

  She nodded. “I’m Veronica Fergus, but my pa called me Ronnie when we were working. And I plan to work.” She gestured toward the chuck wagon. “I’ll work for room and board.”

  Seth surveyed the scene. “Not much in the way of room.”

  Ronnie’s lips tilted up. “Don’t ask for much. I’ve got my bedding in the back.” She sighed. “But I would be grateful for a cup of coffee.”

  “Axle grease coming up,” Rusty called out.

  Ronnie lifted a brow and looked toward the cook then back at Seth.

  “On the trail, it’s hot, black, and strong. A lot like axle grease.”

  She nodded. “Sounds heavenly.”

  Seth barked a laugh. “Not sure about that, but it’s wet.” He sighed. Logic or emotion? With one hand he motioned toward the campfire. “After you, Ronnie.” She stepped around him, and he watched her walk away, silhouetted against the sky. This was a first. “Well, Lord.” He looked heavenward. “Going to trust in Your plans, Your timing. This is not of my doing.”

  No, sir, not of my doing. I’ll be shed of her as soon as possible.

  Ronnie stood beside the campfire, shadows playing across her face as she smiled and talked with Rusty, her hair trailing along her cheek.

  Longing stirred in Seth. He sucked in a deep breath.

  Fort Worth looked farther and farther away.

  Journal

  April 1, Tuesday

  Insanity to let a woman travel with us. Rusty will work her.

  Drove as far as creek. Good grazing, herd trailed fine.

  Chapter Six

  The wagon’s jolt yanked Ronnie from sleep in her new spot. Rusty had shoved crates to one side and placed a couple in the other wagon, giving Ronnie a space in the center of the chuck wagon as they moved on. He’d pulled on the trail not long after she’d cleared supper dishes from the dishwater in the wreck pan. She’d moved her bedroll and saddle blanket into her tiny room and had a few hours of sleep.

  She yawned, leaned on an elbow, and peeked from under the canvas cover. Stars sprinkled across the inky black sky, creating a beautiful picture. She inhaled the fragrance of early morning, enjoying the prairie’s fragrance with less dust. Riding with the cook would have her moving before the herd. She closed her eyes. With Seth McKenzie trailing behind.

  Ronnie slumped against her bedroll, one arm over her forehead, a picture of Seth playing through her mind—his broad shoulders, which she’d bumped during church, and those changing hazel-gray eyes. His red-blond hair brushing his collar, skin tanned from the weather. She heaved a sigh. In her twenty years, she’d not come across a man who’d interested her like Seth McKenzie.

  And he held her in little regard.

  “You up, missy?” Rusty banged on the tailgate. “Got to get them beans started.” He’d dumped red beans in the pot before they pulled out hours before. Life on the trail kept Cookie Rusty busy.

  Ronnie rose on a knee and folded her blankets. “I’m up.” She shoved the pot of beans toward the tailgate with one foot. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  Rusty flipped the latch, and the tailgate dropped. “Let’s get started.”

  With those words, Ronnie’s day began. By daylight, the bacon was frying and the fragrance of coffee drifted through the air. Ronnie rolled out biscuit dough and cut pieces big enough for a rider to tuck in bacon and hit the saddle. Her hair strayed over her forehead, the day already getting sticky.

  “Arbuckle.” Ernie rode in and swung down from his saddle. Rusty handed him a cup of coffee. Ernie blew on the brew and sipped. He surveyed the area. “Good pickings. Grass, creek over yonder.” He chucked Rusty on the shoulder. “Done good, Cookie. Cows will be happy here for a spell, and Boss will be happier.” He nodded at Ronnie. “Morning, Miss Fergus.”

  Ronnie smiled at the older man. Wiry and brown as a nut, Ernie was a proven cowboy. He rode and roped as fast as her daddy. He’d make a fine ranch foreman. She bit her lip. When she got to her ranch, would there be enough to build up again? To even need a foreman?

  “Herd’s ’bout a mile back.” Ernie snagged a tiny piece of dough and popped it in his mouth.

  “Hey there.” Ronnie reared back in mock indignation.

  “Mama used to clap my fingers when I done that.” He laughed full out. “Couldn’t resist.” He tossed his cup to Rusty and mounted. “Boys will be in shortly, and they’re mighty hungry.”

  “When are they not?” Rusty chuckled and waved with a ladle. “Breakfast will be ready. Stirring gravy now.”

  Ernie turned his horse and trotted off. Ronnie looked at Rusty. Despite the early hour and hard work ahead, this trip was proving to be an adventure. She cut another biscuit. Soon Seth would appear. A tiny shiver ran down her back. What a foreman he would make.

  “Don’t let dreams die, girl. Life’s hard work, but the good Lord will provide.”

  Her daddy’s words reverberated through her. Seth McKenzie was a dream. Her waiting ranch was not.

  Ronnie stood beside the chuck wagon, flour dotting her face and her black hair stringing down her cheek. Seth covered his mouth to hold back a laugh. She’d signed on for this trip, so she would get the full measure of work. He reined in Ranger and watched her. She and Cookie had a system it seemed: he barking orders and she jumping to task.

  Seth nodded. That would work. She would soon discover her desire to travel with the herd would prove an arduous task. He dismounted and looped the reins over the rope strung between trees. He lifted his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, set it back on his head, and strode into camp.

  “Boss.” Rusty held out a cup.

  “Thanks.” Seth slipped a glove off and took the cup. He tipped his hat at Ronnie. “Ma’am.” Spotting a large rock, he shoved it over with his boot and parked on it. “Chose a good spot for a stop.” He watched Ronnie.

  “Seems like it.” Rusty spilled more water into the bean pot. “We’ll get on ahead and have these ready for supper.” He grinned. “Miss Ronnie’s got another secret recipe for us. She’s gonna add—”

  “Shhh.” Ronnie held a finger to her lips. “Don’t spoil the surprise.”

  Seth chuckled. “Surprises are fine—just don’t spoil the beans.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “I’m not prone to ruining beans, Mr. McKenzie. If my daddy taught me one thing, it was how to ranch cook.” She turned her back to him with a sniff.

  “Well, your daddy isn’t here now, and Cookie is in charge.” Seth bit out the words.

  Ronnie swung back around, her skirts flapping against her long legs. She could almost meet him eye to eye, Seth had noted. “Mr. McKenzie, I would appreciate it if you’d give me the benefit of the doubt. I’m quite capable of following his orders”—she jerked a thumb in Rusty’s direction—“and using my memory to aid him. So drop it.” She turned around again.

  Seth’s eyebrows rose. He swallowed hard and sipped more coffee. The girl had spirit. He liked that. A lot. Her attitude stung, though. Seth pushed up from the ground, tossed his cup into the pan, and paused beside her. “Just be sure you do follow his directions. We don’t have supplies to waste.” He stomped off to Ranger. Let her be like that. He didn’t need to think about Veronica Fergus while he was working. Dangerous to let his mind wander.

  Especially to beautiful women.

  He jerked the reins, and Ranger pulled back. “Sorry, old boy. Didn’t mean to take it out o
n you.” With a nudge to the horse’s sides, Seth headed back to the herd. Where he was needed. Not where he was ignored.

  Journal

  April 2, Wednesday

  Moved about seven miles, no hard weather, cows settling in to trail. Only bad-temper is woman.

  Chapter Seven

  Nine days and hundreds of hours and cups of coffee and beans and cowboys and cattle calling left Ronnie weary. She puffed a breath to blow away a stray greasy curl, longing for a bath. Every bit of her was caked in dirt. No telling what her hair looked like under her bonnet.

  She stirred a hunk of lard into the dutch oven. More beans awaited the drovers, but she’d mix up these fried cakes and sprinkle a pinch of sugar on for a treat. She had tried to provide things that her papa had taught her would spark up meals and show Mr. McKenzie her worth. Rusty let her use slivers of butter and canned peaches last night for a cobbler. Wasn’t even anything left to scrape off the pan when the last man finished. He’d licked up the syrupy remains with a finger and a grin.

  Ronnie wiped sweat from her brow with her forearm, her bonnet tipping off. The sun broke through the clouds and warmed her clear through. She stood, braced her back with one hand, and pulled the bonnet back on. She’d freckle and burn. Aunt Susan’s scolding rang in her ears. “Total ruination of yourself, Veronica. All leathered up.” Her aunt would’ve pulled the bonnet strings tighter under Ronnie’s chin and frowned. “Total ruination.”

  “Guess I’m totally ruined by now, Auntie.” Ronnie lifted her arms and stretched.

  Just beyond a small rise was a creek where the herd drifted, water and fresh grass calling to them. At least the dust cleared as they settled in.

  “ ’Bout finished over that fire, missy?” Rusty sidled up closer.

  Ronnie nodded. “Almost have this melted. Then I’ll stir in the rest and fry up batter.” She lifted the coffeepot and shook it. “Probably need more.”

  “Let me.” A cowboy stepped around her and reached for the pot with a crooked smile.

  “Thank you. …” Ronnie wrinkled her brow.

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Wally, ma’am.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you, Wally.” Ronnie stifled a chuckle. The eager boys tumbled over themselves at the campfire trying to please her. Like puppies. “I’d appreciate it. Mr. McKenzie said a creek was just behind—”

  “Those trees.” Wally lumbered away.

  “Can’t do enough for you, but let me ask ’em for something, and they run.” Rusty shouted at the retreating boy then laughed. “Course I ain’t near as pretty and sweet smelling.”

  Ronnie swatted at the rotund cook’s arm. “Stop it. They’re just homesick boys. Doesn’t mean a thing.” At the sound of a horse approaching camp, she swung around. Seth McKenzie dismounted, looped the reins over the rope strung between two cottonwoods, and strode toward her. He didn’t look homesick. With a tight jaw and eyes blazing, he just looked—mad.

  Fury burned in Seth’s belly. “Wally!” he shouted. His gaze roved across the camp, past Rusty, past Ronnie, and landed on the youngster, coffeepot in hand, standing stock-still on the rise.

  “Get over here.”

  The boy scampered to Ronnie, handed her the pot and tipped his head, then rushed to stand in front of Seth, his gloved hands fidgeting with his belt buckle.

  Seth bit his lip against harsh words ready to lash the boy to ribbons. He’d had enough of those in his lifetime. He needed to get control—

  “Boss.” The boy quivered, his face pale. “Boss?”

  Heaving a sigh, Seth gripped the boy’s shoulder with one hand and measured out words. “Wally. Where are you to be right now? In camp?”

  Wally’s head drooped. “No, sir.”

  “Then why are you here?” Seth resisted the urge to swat the kid on the head, a move he was oh so familiar with.

  “Canteen was empty, Boss, and I rode toward the creek. Then I smelled the fire and saw Miss Ronnie needed to make coffee—” Words tumbled from the boy’s mouth, his eyes darting to and fro.

  “Miss Ronnie asked you to help?” Seth glared at the cook’s helper, who placed the coffeepot on the wagon. She glared back, hands propped on her hips. Shapely hips, he noted. That thought caused his anger to rise. “You’re not here to help Miss Ronnie.” His words sounded sarcastic to his own ears. “You’re here to ride herd. And you’re on drag.” He gave the boy a shake. “Now get to it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Wally raced to his horse, slapped the reins over his head, and leaped into the saddle. Dust swirled as the horse and rider headed toward the rear of the herd.

  Seth stomped toward the cooks. “In the future, please ask Rusty for help, Miss Fergus. Our drovers don’t need their attention drawn from their duties.”

  Flashing eyes bored into his. “I assure you, Mr. McKenzie”—she stiffened and spat the words—“I asked for no help from Wally. Rusty and I have all well in hand.” She turned away.

  Her skirts swayed, and her bonnet couldn’t hold a curl trickling down her back. Seth rubbed his chin whiskers, wishing he hadn’t shaved days ago. By now a full beard would be a good thing to pull on and keep his thoughts from wandering. Rusty held out a cup, and Seth accepted the cold water.

  “Everything all right out there?” Rusty said.

  “All right.” He gulped the remaining water and dropped the cup in the wreck pan to wash. “Just seems a few white-faced are missing. Ernie’s riding through to spot ’em. But they’d been hanging back the whole time.” He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Doesn’t figure.”

  “They’s just mixed up in the bunch, Boss.” Rusty swished the cup through the murky dishwater and slapped it against his apron to dry. “No rustling Indians out this way.” He tossed the cup into a box. “Thank God.”

  “Thank God is right.” Seth nodded to the man and eyed Ronnie’s back, her shoulders rigid. He drew in a deep breath and let it out in slow measure. “Sorry I jumped to conclusions, Ronnie.”

  She swung around and fixed him with a level stare. “Apology accepted.”

  Words froze in his throat, and he realized he was waiting for a sparring comment. He’d come to enjoy the frenzy of words passing back and forth between them as they debated everything from grass to glory.

  She tipped her head. “Anything else, Boss?”

  The last word was laced with acid, and Seth knew he deserved it. “No.” He turned on a heel and made for Ranger. He’d be late to supper tonight, might even keep company with cows instead of drawing near the lady by the fire.

  Journal

  April 10, Thursday

  Moved cattle as far as creek, drag cows on one side, lead on other. Water a bit muddy.

  Plenty of grass to graze. Staying night to spell boys. Ernie can’t spot heifers.

  Lady keeps kids jumping to look at her. Can’t say I blame them.

  Chapter Eight

  A rumble awakened Ronnie, and she lay still, ears attuned to the prairie sounds. Thunder. A trace of fear ran its fingers up her spine. Thunder and lightning. A rancher’s enemies. She slung the saddle blanket from her legs, hitched her skirts, and climbed from the wagon. Raindrops the size of nickels began to pelt the ground. She felt the sting on her shoulders. She reached back, grabbed her shawl and bonnet, and covered up. The rain began in earnest.

  Rusty scrambled toward the fire and motioned her way. “Grab this oven. Get it into the bed.” He slung pots and pans into the wagon and jerked the tripod from over the fire. “Going to hitch up.” He slapped water from his hat and face. “Drover’s getting other wagon ready to roll, too. With this storm, we might have to move.”

  Ronnie glanced back at the store wagon. Two mules stood in their traces, ready to be harnessed. She stumbled to follow Rusty’s commands then headed to the back of the wagon.

  A flash of lightning illuminated the scene. Seth had bunched the herd out from the creek, and she could see them rise, a huge mound of beef drawing up like the ground, rising with a roar, rattling horns, bel
lowing their fear as the thunder increased. Riders circled the herd, lariats flapping and voices hollering to keep the cattle in a tight circle. Ernie signaled directions to other riders, his hat waving in the wind gusts. Piercing whistles. Total cacophony. Ronnie wanted to drop into the wagon and cover her ears.

  “Miss Ronnie.” A cry echoed from the night. She came around the tailgate, and Trey barreled into her. He clutched his right arm against his belly, his hand dangling. “Got throwed.” His eyes were wide, and his mouth drew in a tight line.

  Ronnie wiped water from his cheeks. “What can I do?”

  “Need a sling.” His eyes dropped toward her skirt. “My mama used her skirts for ties. Reckon you can?” His eyes shone with unshed tears. “I gotta get back to the herd but can’t ride with my arm hanging down.”

  Ronnie carefully removed his coat. She tugged the canvas back on the wagon’s end and reached for her carpetbag. She drew out a chemise, bit one end in her teeth and pulled. The fabric tore, along with a tiny piece of her heart. She had precious few things of her aunt’s. Creating long strips, Ronnie fashioned a sling and strung it around Trey’s neck.

  He stumbled against her and sniffled. “Thank you, ma’am.” He closed his eyes and swayed. “Gotta ride—”

  Ronnie pushed the boy against the tailgate. “You’re not riding.”

  He shoved against her hand. “You see this storm?”

  The absurd question almost made Ronnie laugh. Instead she ushered him to the wagon wheel. “Trey, you can be thrown and trampled. I won’t let you ride. I can take up your position.” She pointed at the wagon. “Get in back.”

  “You can’t,” he wailed. “Mr. McKenzie will have my hide.” Trey turned toward her and clacked his elbow against the wagon. He quivered, a shock of pain crossing his face.