“That’s the King’s Walk herd over there,” he said anyway, jerking his head toward the dust cloud a couple of miles to the west. The boys were taking the beeves onto the bedding ground. “If you want to come in and share a meal, have that cut doctored, you’re welcome to share our fire.” At this point he didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one.
After casting a covetous glance at the three longhorn cows, he turned his horse into the sunset and rode toward the herd, keeping his eyes peeled for the old red with the muddy blaze. About a quarter mile from the bedding ground, he spotted the mossback heading toward the herd and cursed himself for wasting several hours. At least he hadn’t lost another one.
This was a good time of day. With the herd grazing peacefully, supper only minutes away, they’d covered eighteen miles, and he had the same number of beeves as he’d started with this morning. He was ready for a cup of thick scalding coffee, ready to let the day’s tensions drain out of his chest and shoulders.
When he heard hooves, he looked behind and saw the cows and the naked man loping across the range. Indians could run at that fluid pace, but Dal had never seen a white man who had the stamina for it. Interested, he watched the man run past him and guide his cows into the herd on the bedding ground. And he did something not many men would have done. He followed the cows in among the long-horned steers, which seemed a risky thing for a naked man to do. To Dal’s surprise, his presence didn’t spook the steers. He walked through the grazing cattle and was waiting on the west side when Dal circled the herd and rode up to him.
“Couldn’t resist the supper invitation?” Dal asked. The man didn’t answer, but clearly he understood English. Dal rode past him to the remuda and gave Grady the reins to the buckskin.
“Them cows he brought in could have the King’s Walk brand on them in about thirty minutes. We got irons in the wagon,” Grady commented after hearing the story.
“I don’t think he intends them as a gift.” Dal walked to the chuck wagon and beckoned the man forward. “I hope you have extra fixings,” he said to Alex. “We have a guest. I suspect he’s hungry and he needs a little doctoring.”
She looked up from the wreck pan and pushed a wave of blond hair off her forehead leaving a smear of soap suds. “He’s naked,” she said, gripping her crutch and averting her eyes.
Dal grinned. “He doesn’t talk much either. Hasn’t said a word so far.”
When he glanced over his shoulder, the man was standing at the edge of the light cast by the lanterns, staring at Alex as if reminding himself what a woman looked like.
Alex straightened her shoulders and drew a deep breath, then she opened the bin containing her medical supplies and called toward the shadows. “Come into the light and we’ll see what needs to be done.”
As with every medical incident, her heart sank and she prayed she would be up to the task. So far, common sense and her book of home remedies had pulled her through, but each time she had to play doctor, she had to battle squeamishness and a profound urge to flee.
“I’ll doctor you, sir,” she said, pride making her sound more confident than she felt. “But I won’t feed a naked man. If you want supper, you’ll have to get dressed.”
Dal smiled and shrugged. “A wise man doesn’t argue with his cook.”
“I have standards,” Alex explained stiffly. “Which include civilized behavior.” She set her medical supplies on the edge of the wagon worktable, then groped behind her skirts, seeking her wheelchair.
“I’ll find you a shirt and some trousers,” Dal said, grinning. Alex would be Alex. She didn’t allow the boys to swear in her presence, insisted on napkins, and woe be to the cowboy who relieved himself within her line of sight.
The man watched Alex settle herself in the wheelchair and snap her crutch into the brackets Dal had installed on the chair. She moved the medical supplies to her lap, then lifted her head with an expectant expression. “Please. Come into the light.”
The man hesitated, then he came forward and lifted an arm so she could examine the cut on his rib cage.
Dal watched her clean the gash, then he asked the boys which of them could spare a shirt and a pair of trousers.
It bothered him to notice that Freddy had followed Les to the observers’ camp, where she was talking to Jack Caldwell. A flash of jealousy blackened his heart, and he wanted to stride over there, punch Caldwell, and carry his woman back where she belonged.
Instead, he took a shirt and pants to the chuck wagon, then filled his supper plate and sat with the boys, his back to the observers’ camp.
Chapter 16
The man’s skin was taut and warm beneath Alex’s fingertips. She doctored the cut on his rib cage, then treated a half dozen smaller cuts and scratches, noticing how lean he was, but muscled and well formed. Magnificent, really. A blush tinted her cheeks, and she ducked her head, concentrating on a scratch across his belly and trying not to peek at his loincloth.
“There’s a scrape on your collarbone,” she murmured, fumbling for her crutch so she could stand to reach the abrasion. When the man understood, he dropped to his knees in front of her wheelchair. “Thank you,” she said, surprised and pleased by his consideration. Except now he was at eye level, and his continued intense scrutiny made her feel self-conscious.
As she worked, she stole occasional glances at him. The lantern shone directly into his face, revealing a thin nose, broad cheekbones, and thick-lashed grey eyes beneath heavy brows. If Alex had been asked to guess, she would have said he was probably in his middle thirties. And she suspected a handsome man was hiding beneath the long hair and unkempt beard.
Lowering her gaze to his chest, she extended a finger and gently touched an old scar. “A gunshot wound?” she asked, not looking up because he continued to stare at her face.
There was nothing menacing or threatening about his stare, but his interest and attention made her actuely self-conscious. She returned to his collarbone and applied a soothing paste. “My name is Mrs. Mills, but we’re being informal on this drive so everyone calls me Alex. What should we call you?’ When he didn’t answer, she met his gaze then blushed. “Oh. Dal said you couldn’t or wouldn’t talk. I’m sorry.”
Vividly aware that he hadn’t looked away from her, she resisted an irritating urge to pat her hair and wet her lips. When she finished treating him, she closed the lid on her medical box and moved a half roll back. “I’ll fix you a supper plate.”
Lightly, he placed his fingertips on her shoulder indicating she should stay seated. Surprised, she watched to see what he would do next and smiled when he pulled on the shirt and pants Dal had brought him. “If you had a hair cut and a beard trim, you’d be quite presentable,” she said, instantly appalled that she’d uttered such a personal remark.
Sinking to the ground in front of her chair, he folded his legs Indian fashion. Then he touched the scraggly ends of his beard and lifted a lock of long hair, his meaning plain.
Later, Alex couldn’t imagine what had possessed her to speak so familiarly or to perform such an intimate service. She could have handed him the shears, but that’s not what she did. As he turned in front of her chair to accommodate her, she cut his hair then trimmed his beard close to his jaw. By the time she reached his lips, her hand was trembling slightly. Blinking, she placed the shears in his hand and fished in the medical box for the mirror she kept there.
“I might nick you,” she murmured, feeling a need for some kind of explanation.
Taking the mirror from her hand, he gazed into it as if he hadn’t seen himself in a very long time. Finally, he took up the shears, revealing a full lower lip and a well-shaped upper lip. When he finished, he stood and looked down at her, a question in his grey eyes.
“You may have your supper now,” she said, smiling. Dressed, with his hair cut and beard trimmed close to his jaw, he was as unnervingly handsome as she had guessed he would be.
Again, he placed his hand gently on her shoulder, telling her not
to rise, and helped himself to a ladle of stew and two biscuits. Instead of joining the men around the fire, he returned to Alex and sat on the ground beside her.
She should have finished washing the dishes in the wreck pan, should have laid out the items she would need for breakfast tomorrow. Instead, she sat quietly beside the man and observed him from the corners of her eyes.
He’d taken a napkin, which surprised her, as she always had to remind the drovers. And he handled his knife and fork like a gentleman. He didn’t slump. Everything about him intrigued her.
When he finished eating, he slipped his plate and flatware into the wreck pan, then bowed before he sat beside her again, now taking some interest in the campsite. He studied the men sitting around the fire, then looked toward the fire burning at the observers’ campsite. Turning to her, he lifted an eyebrow, which she interpreted as a question.
After a brief hesitation, she explained Joe’s will and the conditions, wondering as she did so why she was revealing personal matters to a stranger. Maybe it was because she felt a secret outpouring of gratitude for his obvious interest. She’d never expected a man to show this kind of interest in her ever again. Or maybe it was recognizing that tonight, with him beside her, she didn’t experience the aching loneliness that usually made her feel so hollow inside.
“If you didn’t want to talk to me,” Jack Caldwell said, gazing down into Freddy’s face, “then why did you come over to our camp?” A knowing smile opened beneath his gold mustache.
“Coming here had nothing to do with you. Les asked me to accompany her,” Freddy said, noticing that Les and Ward had disappeared. Probably they had ducked out of sight to exchange a few kisses. They were pledged to be married, after all. But it irritated her that Les had left her alone with Jack. She peered into the deep shadows between Luther’s wagon and Ward’s, wondering if they were hiding there.
“I think about you all the time, Fancy. I see you over there, watch you singing with the boys after supper.” When she didn’t say anything, he added in a low voice. “I miss you.”
“You’ll have the company of your future bride the day after tomorrow.” That’s when they would reach Fort Worth. And that’s when she would have to deal with Dal’s proposition. Pride told her to stick her nose in the air and refuse to go to a hotel with him. But her traitorous body yearned to discover if there was more to the mystery than what she’d experienced.
“You know, I’ve been thinking.” Lifting a hand, Jack touched her hair. “I sure hate to imagine you coming out of this drive with nothing to show for it. I can fix that for you.”
She jerked away and her eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“If I were you, I’d be planning how I could get something no matter how many cattle make it to Abilene.”
“We’re going to win!”
He grinned. “No, you aren’t. But you don’t have to come out of this with nothing.”
“Damn it, if you have something to say, just say it.”
“Suppose you let some of those stragglers get lost along the way, or overlook finding a few strays after the next stampede. Maybe you aren’t as careful as you might be at the next river crossing and a few steers get washed away. If you agree to help out a little, I’m authorized to promise you enough money to set yourself up in a nice cozy theater in San Francisco.”
Heat flooded her face, and her hand dropped to the pistol on her hip. “You bastard. I ought to shoot you where you stand!”
“I’m just thinking of you,” he said in a low persuasive voice. “Agree to lose a few steers, and your worries are over. You get what you want no matter how many cattle you deliver.”
Fury shook her body. He was asking her to betray her sisters and all the effort they had put into preparing for this ordeal and all the hardships they had endured since. “I tried so hard to see something good in you,” she said in a low furious voice. “I wanted to like and respect you.”
Irritation flickered across his expression. “I have to back the winner. No reason you can’t do the same. We can make this a no-lose deal for you, Fancy honey. Think about it.”
She didn’t have a chance to tell him to go to hell. Too many things happened at once.
A light caught her eye and she looked toward the space between Luther’s and Ward’s wagons. Dimly she registered Luther standing at the end of the wagons holding a lantern. But what fixed her attention was the scene between the wagons.
Les sagged against the side of one of the wagons, silent tears running down her cheeks. Ward stood over her, his face twisted in anger. Horrified, Freddy gasped as his hand descended and he slapped her sister hard enough to snap Les’s head to one side.
Luther dropped the lantern and ran into the space between the wagons. Fire spewed out of the shattered lantern and ignited a patch of dry grass. Screaming for help, Freddy raced around the wagons, and stamped on fingers of rapidly spreading flame. In less than a minute, the drovers were there, lifting the tongue of the wagon in greatest peril, pulling in front, pushing behind, moving the wooden wagon bed away from the flames. Grady and a man she’d never seen before arrived with buckets of water. They doused the flames and ran toward the barrel for more water.
Everything happened so swiftly that the fire was extinguished just as Dal pulled Luther and Ward apart. Les had crawled away from the flames and the fighting men and sat on the grass, wiping her eyes. When Alex rolled up beside her, she turned and put her head in Alex’s lap.
Freddy had never seen Luther so furious or even imagined that he might be combative or willing to settle something with his fists. Spitting with rage, he struggled to shove past Dal and reach Ward, who already had a bloody nose and a cracked lip.
Luther shouted, “You miserable bastard… if you ever raise a hand to her again—”
Dal pushed him back. “What the hell happened here?”
With everyone listening, Luther explained what he had seen.
Dal turned a stare on Ward. “Is that true? You hit a woman?”
Dark color rushed into Ward’s face, and he glanced at the silent ring of people watching him, condemnation glittering in their eyes. He glared at Dal. “This is between my fiancé and me and none of your concern.”
Dal pushed his face next to Ward’s. “Everything that happens on this drive is my business.” The expression on his face suggested that a lot of things were falling into place in his mind. As they were for Freddy. Ward was beating her sister.
She watched Les lift her head from Alex’s lap and look at Ward. Pain, embarrassment, and exhaustion pinched her face. A nasty bruise had already begun to form on her cheek.
“She’s going to be my wife. Les is my property,” Ward said belligerently.
Freddy lowered her head and swore.
Dal snarled. “You son of a bitch!” He pushed Ward hard enough that he stumbled and almost fell. Then he turned and strode back to the campfire. The drovers stared at Ward, then followed.
“He’ll do it again,” Freddy said bluntly when she reached Alex and Les. “Get rid of him.”
“Freddy’s right,” Alex said softly, smoothing a lock of hair off of Les’s forehead. “You don’t have to take that kind of treatment. You shouldn’t take it.”
Anguish filled Les’s eyes. “Ward sold the store at a loss to come with us,” she whispered.
“You don’t owe him a damn thing.” Freddy sat down on the grass and wrapped her arms around her knees. She wished Luther had broken Ward’s nose instead of only bloodying it. “He’s hit you. He criticizes you constantly. He’s demanding and tyrannical. And he almost killed you, making you work when you were feverish and out of your head.”
Alex nodded. “We begged him to let you withdraw. We told him that we would give you a full third of the inheritance even if he pulled you out of the drive as we wanted him to do.”
Les’s eyes widened and filled with tears. “The two of you would have done that for me?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
Freddy asked in disgust.
Les peered at the observers’ camp. “He told me that he saved our share.”
Freddy struck the ground with her fist. “Damn it, Les. It isn’t our share. It’s your share.”
“I just… I… What am I going to do?”
“You know what you need to do,” Freddy snapped.
“I… just can’t.”
They sat in silence in the shadowy patch between the two campfires. “Well, we can’t force you to do something you don’t want to do,” Alex said finally.
Freddy shook her head. “Before this drive began, I would have sworn you couldn’t do anything worth doing. But I was wrong. You should feel proud of yourself, Les. You’re working as hard and as well as anyone here. You don’t have to bow your head to anyone. Especially not to Ward. Think about that.” Standing, she stretched and yawned, wishing she’d told Jack to go to hell. “I’ve got an early watch tonight.”
“I still have to lay out the breakfast things,” Alex said, releasing the brake on her chair.
Freddy gripped the handles of the chair and pushed Alex forward. “Who’s the man I saw helping Grady and the boys put out the fire?” She waited for a minute then called, “Les? Are you coming? I swear, if you go to him now, I’ll smack you myself. Get over here.”
The three of them had never worked together as a unit, but it seemed natural to help Alex finish cleaning up from supper while she told them about the guest who was visiting their camp.
Freddy listened, but she noticed they were all distracted. Les kept looking toward the observers’ camp and Ward. Freddy’s gaze continually strayed to Dal. And Alex positioned herself in such a way that she could see the bearded man who sat silently drinking coffee with Dal.
The men looked back at them.
Alex packed away the breakfast utensils, covered a large bowl of dough that needed to rise before noon, then she slid her crutch under the driver’s seat of the wagon. She was preparing to crawl up when she felt strong hands on her waist, assisting her. Once on the seat, she looked into the steady grey eyes gazing back at her.
The Best Man Page 23
