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

  “See what I mean?” Ronnie bent low and shouted at him. “Now get in there.” She tossed her shawl and bonnet inside, grabbed his hat and pushed him gently.

  A sob tore from the boy’s chest. “Gonna mean my job.” He threw one leg over the edge of the wagon. “Mr. McKenzie’s going to kill me.”

  Ronnie pulled the canvas cover tight and tied it on the side. “Better yelled at than being trampled.” She bent over and grabbed the back of her skirts, drew them between her legs and tucked them into her waistband. “Might need me some britches before long.” She pulled on Trey’s coat and hat. Her stockings and shoes were caked with mud, and she slipped as she stomped toward the string of horses. Trey’s brown horse look tired, his head drooped.

  “Sorry to rouse you, boy, but we need to ride.” Ronnie mounted, tugged the hat down on her head, and swung toward the herd, watching for Ernie and his hand signals when the sky lit.

  It felt good to be in the saddle.

  The rain let up, and Seth hoped the worst of the storm was over. His thighs tightened against Ranger’s sides as he trotted from side to side, trailing cattle back into the circle. Ernie directed the waddies and kept cows from straying. They stumbled and walked about, but none had struck out in a run. If he could keep them milling, things would be fine. Like stirring soup. He watched for strays and the front-runners. Would they follow the lead and settle in?

  Ranger snorted and lifted his head. Trey headed in their direction, his coat pulled tight and his hat drawn low. “Whoa.” He leaned forward in the saddle and watched the boy.

  A split of lightning flashed and Seth jolted, causing Ranger to jump.

  What—that was not Trey in the saddle. Mouth agape, Seth watched Ronnie urge a cow to turn, leaning low in the saddle and talking. Talking. Not hollering. Just talking. His breath caught in his throat at the sight.

  “Probably singing some lullaby.” Ranger stepped forward, and Seth gave him his head. He surely didn’t seem to have his on. He surely was seeing things. Veronica Fergus could not possibly be herding cattle in the middle of a storm. Where was Trey?

  With that thought, fear stabbed Seth’s middle. Where was Trey? He angled toward the rider. She was astride Trey’s horse. He breathed a sigh of relief then drew in one of exasperation. Crazy woman.

  “Miss Fergus?” he bellowed over the roll of thunder. A cow grazed his leg. He ducked his head to look at the animal, grateful it didn’t have horns to catch him or his horse while he was not paying attention. Crazy woman causing trouble.

  Trey’s horse drew alongside Ranger, and both animals paused. Another lightning flicker allowed Seth to see her clearly. Ronnie smiled and tipped her head, rain drizzling down the back brim of her hat. Her wet hair strung down her back like a thick black cord.

  “Mr. McKenzie.” She patted the horse’s neck, a splatter of mud from the dirty horse dotting her nose. “Nice night for a ride.”

  “Trey?” Concern tinged his words, and she drew up.

  “Broke his arm.” She sighed and wiped the mud from her face. “I put him in the wagon. He can’t ride until it’s splinted. I’m taking his place.” She reached out a hand and shook a finger in Seth’s face. “Do not tell me to go back, because I’m not. I know you need help in a storm.” She met his gaze for a moment then tapped her heels against the horse’s sides.

  When they moved away, Seth watched in wonder as she continued around the edge of the milling herd, a calm, steady voice calling out low. Heat rushed to his face.

  He only hoped the cattle didn’t experience the rush of emotions he felt as he heard her drone.

  Journal

  April 11, Friday

  Storm last night, not much loss. Rider down. And woman up. Must say she pulled her weight.

  Chapter Nine

  Mud seemed the word for the day. Ronnie poked a toe into the dark rushing water of the creek, rinsed the caked dirt from her shoe, and stomped her foot. She turned to watch the sun rise. Leaves sparkled after the drenching rain, the grass greener having been washed free from dirt. If only she could bathe, too. She filled a bucket and set it on a rock beside a towel and bar of soap. She’d do the best she could. She plopped on the rock and scrubbed her face and hands. When the rain had begun to let up, she had removed her hat and let the water flow through her hair. She wrung it out and coiled it into a bun before replacing Trey’s battered hat.

  The boy hunkered into the wagon, sleeping, his face etched with pain. Ronnie didn’t envy the person who would set the child’s arm. She smiled and shook her head. Not a child now. A fifteen-year-old man.

  Ronnie leaned back on her elbows, face to the sun. Her backside ached from the saddle, but she’d had such—fun. She chuckled. When was the last time she’d used that word? Riding a horse had always been pure pleasure, and working cattle a chore she knew well. Her daddy had put her in the saddle by the time she could walk. Her roping skills might need brushing up, but—

  “Miss Fergus?”

  Ronnie jerked around. “Mr. McKenzie.” She straightened.

  Seth side-stepped down the slope and squatted in front of her, sliding his hat to one knee. “Haven’t had a chance to speak to you this morning.” He tugged a blade of grass from the ground and put it between his teeth. Worry wrinkled his brow. “Gave me a scare last night.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” Ronnie settled her damp skirt over her knees, ignoring the butterflies in her chest and the flush creeping up her neck.

  “Appreciate your help, but I don’t plan for you—”

  Ronnie clasped her arms about her knees to still her hands. If only she could reach over and brush his hair from his forehead. She cleared her throat. “Trey won’t be able to ride for a few days. When the weather is dry and my chores are done, I’d enjoy trailing.” She tipped her head. “If you don’t mind, Boss.”

  His mouth pinched in a line. “Boss?” In the bright morning light, his ever-changing eyes scrutinized her. “Cookie will keep you plenty busy.” He grew quiet and stared just over her shoulder.

  A bird call broke the silence. Ronnie gave a little shake and stood. “Yes. He probably will.” She tossed out the wash water, dropped her soap and towel in the bucket, and turned on one heel.

  “Wait.”

  Ronnie spun around. “Yes?”

  Seth rose, slapped his hat on, and dusted his britches. “Going to need some help splinting the boy’s arm. Reckon you’re up to it?” He reached for the bucket, his fingers brushing her hand.

  A tingle ran up Ronnie’s arm, and she released the handle. “I’ve never—” She bit her lip and thought of the sleeping boy. “Of course.” Queasiness assaulted her stomach. “You tell me what to do, and I’ll help.”

  Trey leaned against the bedroll in the storage wagon, his face white, sweat covering his brow. Rusty had poured him a strong dose of whiskey against the pain. Seth wished he’d had some, too. Nothing ever prepared him for the task of physically hurting anyone. He’d had more than one broken bone in his life and knew the misery.

  “Just rest.” Ronnie wiped a damp cloth over the boy’s forehead, her low croon soothing and relaxing the muscles in Trey’s face.

  Seth realized his shoulders had drooped in tune with her voice. Her very presence washed peace over him. He gave the boy a reassuring smile. “Miss Ronnie’s right, boy. You will need to rest up.”

  “But I gotta ride—”

  “We’ve got it covered, Trey.” Seth patted the boy’s knee. “Don’t worry yourself. Why, your nurse rode so well through the storm, we might put her in the rotation.” And he wouldn’t mind riding alongside her at all. Seth poked his fingers in his pockets and mentally nudged that feeling to one side. He didn’t have time for sentimentality. And he certainly didn’t need to concentrate on anything besides cattle.

  Ronnie walked in step beside him to the chuck wagon, stood on tiptoe to reach inside for her bonnet, and lost her balance. Seth grabbed her by the shoulders. “Steady, cowgirl.” He resisted the urge to give her a squeeze,
instead lifting the canvas and handing her bonnet to her. “Need the wrap?”

  She shook her head, the black ponytail that had snaked from under the hat still damp and slapping her shoulders. Curls had worked their way loose from the band and framed her face. A few more freckles. Seth cleared his throat. “I’m grateful for your help, Ronnie. Both with the herd during the storm and Trey just now.”

  “You did a fine job splinting that arm.” She slid the bonnet on and tied the strings under her chin, squinting at him against the brightening day. “Must’ve had practice.”

  “Had my fair share, that’s right.” Seth rubbed his shoulder. “And been fixed up a time or two myself. Part of ranch life.”

  “True, true.” Ronnie sighed. “Lost my mama after her bad break.”

  “What?” Seth stared at her. “How could she—”

  “Broke her leg in two places and was stove up for a long while.” Ronnie shuddered. “She caught pneumonia, and even though I tended to her, she died.”

  Seth’s heart swelled. “I’m so sorry.” He touched her elbow and turned her a bit toward him. “How old were you?”

  Eyes bright with unshed tears, she stared at him. “Eight.” She pressed fingers to her lips for a moment. “And yes, I know I was young, but that doesn’t make the hurt go away.”

  She held up one hand. “Prayed and prayed, but no answer came. Daddy was gone.” She sniffled. “Long time ago. But it still brings bad memories.” She stiffened. “Bet Cookie is looking for me. Thanks for your help.” She tugged a bonnet string.

  Seth smiled. “Thank you for yours.” He lowered the canvas flap and watched her retreating form. What an unusual woman.

  Journal

  Set in for the day today. Plenty of grass and water. Moving out in morning. Cookie will leave at dawn. And take her. Might let her ride. Might be nice.

  Chapter Ten

  The early morning mist began to clear by the time Rusty and Ronnie had camp set up. “How far back is the herd, do you suppose?”

  Rusty groaned and lifted the pot of beans, settling it into a circle of coals. “Reckon we’ve moved six, seven miles this morning. Maybe more.” He lifted the lid, stirred the contents, and slapped the lid back on. “They’ll catch up by about dark thirty.” He grinned. “And be powerful hungry. The jerky ain’t going to hold ’em too long.”

  Ronnie tucked a towel in her waistband and pulled a gallon of apple cider vinegar from the wagon bed. She’d start work on vinegar lemonade and store it to one side for thirsty throats. Then she’d chop pecans and dried apples to add to the cinnamon and other spices for a special treat. Mixed together and set aside, she could divide the mixture into strips of cloth. Each rider would have a sweet to toss in his saddlebag. She smiled. Bet they eat it before they hit the saddle. She always did when Mama passed it out.

  A heavy cloak settled on her shoulders as it usually did when thoughts of her mother danced through her mind. Mentioning Mama to Seth stirred up memories of a lonely little girl standing by a grave. Her daddy was kind but never loving and tender like her mother. Her throat grew tight. No use thinking on the past. Maybe she could find some wildflowers in the pasture and take them to Mama’s grave when she got home.

  Home. Excitement stirred her middle. Home. She was really going home. Her lips tipped up then immediately dropped. She wrinkled her brow. To what? Had Mr. Adamson kept watch on the place, or had he left it? What awaited her?

  Ronnie stirred the sweets and plopped the mixture in a flour sack to set. Worry would get her nowhere. She had faced hardships with her daddy, and nothing would keep her from moving on with her plan for home.

  If only Seth could come with me. She flushed and straightened her shoulders as though the action would toss aside the thought. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She swung toward Rusty. “What’s next?”

  Rusty held out a cup of coffee. “Axle grease?” His rotund belly shook a tad as he chuckled. “You talking to a flour sack? Or dreaming out loud?”

  “Talking out loud?” Ronnie grasped the cup and bit her lip. Had she spoken Seth’s name?

  “Just joshing. But you were heavy in thought.” The cook propped his hand on the wagon bed and watched her over the rim of his cup. “What you planning to do once you go home?”

  Ronnie sipped coffee, hiding behind the cup. Rusty the mind reader? “Settle in. Raise some cows. What else do I do?”

  “Marry. Get some kiddos.” Rusty’s eyes twinkled, and he tossed his cup in the wreck pan. “Need some water for dishes.” He tipped his head in her direction. “Best haul some from the barrel.” He stepped away and poked at the fire.

  Ronnie lifted the water jug and filled it. She dumped some into the pan, washed the dirty items, and dried them with the towel on her waistband.

  Married. Kids. She sighed. A dream.

  A picture of Seth swam before her. She could see him in Daddy’s big rocker by the fire with a boy on his knee. “And I suppose a hundred head of cows out back, Veronica Fergus?” She snorted. “Keep dreaming, girl. Keep dreaming.”

  Seth’s head bobbed, and he jerked upright, causing Ranger to dance a step or two. Falling asleep in the saddle wasn’t a smart idea. He rolled his aching shoulders. Sleep eluded him the night before, and he was weary.

  Ernie sidled up beside him. “Boss, can’t spot about thirteen more.”

  “What?” Seth swiveled about and pulled his horse to a halt. “How many does that make?”

  Creases formed across Ernie’s forehead as he gazed at the ground, making a count. “ ’Bout forty from what I can tell. The white-faced count I know. I watched them through the chute myself. By riding through, I can’t spot some of the others. I just rode drag and ain’t spotted any behind. Mike’s got the tail, and he said nothing strayed.” Ernie lifted his hat and scratched his head. He stood in the stirrups for a stretch. “No Indians.” He set his hat back on. “Got to figure rustlers.”

  Unease stabbed Seth’s middle. “Rustlers? Have you seen other riders?”

  “No, sir. Not yet.” Ernie gazed over Seth’s shoulder as though he could spot a band of outlaws. “Don’t mean they ain’t out there.”

  Seth nodded. “Keep watch. Spread the word.” He looked at the cows as they plodded by. “I will take drag for now and bring Mike up.”

  “Sure could use another rider.” Ernie lifted a hand at the store wagon. “Reckon Trey will ride soon?”

  Seth shook his head. “Not for a day or two. We can handle it.” He turned Ranger’s head toward the end of the trail. “Spread the word, and keep watch. Let me know every couple of hours.” He spurred the horse and rode.

  Rustlers? Danger? Is Ronnie safe? The thought nearly jolted him from Ranger’s back, and he had a desire to gallop to find the chuck wagon. He wheeled around and began a slow walk, tension stringing out his muscles. Ranger minced his obvious displeasure at Seth’s demeanor. “Sorry, fella. Can’t help but worry.” He patted the horse’s neck. “She’s a treasure that one is. I just know it.”

  A treasure he’d found. He chuckled. Found hidden in a wagon. So did the finders-keepers rule apply?

  Did he want to keep her?

  He watched cows. That’s what he needed to do. Watch over cows. No other thoughts for now. Just. Watch. Cows. He yawned. And stay awake.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ernie rode in to camp first, his grin widening as he spotted Ronnie. She lifted a hand and waved. “Good to see you made it.”

  Evening stars had begun to spring out before the lead cows wandered on the open ground to graze. They lowed their pleasure at the place Rusty had selected. Cowboys began to filter in, and Rusty passed out plates of beans and bacon. The smell teased Ronnie’s nose. She’d not eaten yet. She toed the ground with her shoe. Waiting for someone special to join me? Her ears tingled. Yes, she admitted to herself. She was.

  Wally straggled in and smiled at her. “Evening, Miss Ronnie.” He grabbed a cup of coffee and slurped it down. “Smells good.”

  Ronnie laughed. �
�Smells about the same every evening, doesn’t it, Wally?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Others coming now or later?”

  A grin crept across his tired face. “Boss is riding drag. He’s bound to be in later.” Wally nodded at the string of horses. “Course you wanna take an evening ride, Trey’s horse is saddled. We worked him today.”

  Ronnie brightened. “Yes. I’d love to do that.” She stepped forward, jolted to a stop, and whirled around. “Suppose it’s okay with the boss?”

  Wally nodded. “Bet he’d like the company, ma’am.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ll get someone to ride out with you.” He looked around to spot a cowboy.

  “I’ll be fine.” She shook her skirts free, grasped them in one hand, and stepped toward the end of the wagon. “Let me ready myself for a saddle.”

  “No, ma’am. You can meet up with the boss, but you ain’t riding out alone. Ain’t safe.” His brow furrowed. “Get fixed, and I’ll help you mount.”

  Ronnie watched the boy for a moment then shook her head. She slipped around the corner, tucked her skirts in her waistband, and walked toward Trey’s horse. Wally stood ready to give her a leg up. Mike slumped in his saddle—he’d ridden drag. She felt sorry for the tired boy, but surely it wasn’t a far ride out to meet Seth. A flurry of excitement dashed through her.

  “Let’s go.” She nudged the brown horse away from the others and turned toward the back of the herd.

  The stars popped out in clusters as the evening descended. Sweet smells of grass mixed with the odors of dust and manure. Ranch smells. The familiar routine stirred up a sense of pleasure, of blessing. Blessing? Ronnie smiled. At this moment, a sense of blessing described her mood. “Lord, let this feeling of well-being stick with me for a long time. Don’t know when I’ve felt such contentment.” She trotted beside straggling cows headed in the opposite direction. The brown horse twitched his desire to return to camp. She kept the reins tight and wouldn’t give him his head. “Mike, I’ve got it from here. Go on and eat.”