Suddenly, a memory floated to him of a church picnic where pies had been auctioned off to raise money for new hymnals. Eller had bought Banner Payne’s strawberry pie and had shared it with him. It had been the sweetest, tastiest . . . his mouth watered just thinking about it.
“I’ll come by tomorrow morning to take a look at your place,” Callum said.
Startled, her golden brown eyes widened. “I-I . . . tomorrow? Very well.”
“I can’t buy it,” he said, not wanting to give her false hope. “But maybe I can figure out something to help you.”
Her lips softened and the hint of a smile teased one corner of her mouth, making a dimple appear in her cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re going over there for what?” Seth asked, clearly aggravated.
Callum stepped back and touched his fingers to his hat brim. “I’ll be around shortly after sunup, if that’s okay.”
“Yes. Fine. Good day.” She flicked the reins and set the wagon in motion.
“What in the hell are you thinking?” Seth groused, temper rising like red flags in his cheeks.
Callum watched the wagon bump along the land, secretly amused by Banner Payne’s quick getaway. High-tailin’ it before he could change his mind.
“You hear me?” Seth demanded. “I asked you a question, son.”
Callum swung around to him. “I’m thinking that Mossy Springs would serve us better than it would some Yankee carpetbaggers looking to steal good cattle land. Our biggest drawback is our lack of a good water source.” He jabbed a finger at the departing wagon. “She could solve that problem for us.”
“And what are you going to give her in return? We don’t have money to spend on land and you damn well know it!”
“Won’t hurt to take a look at her place. I haven’t set foot on Payne land since I was a boy.”
“Big waste of your time, if you ask me.”
“My time to waste,” Callum murmured as he gathered Butter’s reins and led her toward the barn. Yep, that pie had been larruping. That girl could cook. And he’d liked the way she hadn’t backed down when his father had growled at her. She had spunk. A risky plan began to form in his mind. A crazy plan. But, hell, times were crazy and she just might go for it. If she did, a couple of his biggest headaches would be eased. Considerably eased.
As he walked to the stables, he reached out automatically and his fingers drifted down over the carved letters in the facing and sadness bled into him.
MAXWELL
CALLUM
HARRISON
The three brothers – now down to just him.
Trudging to the wall where he kept tools, he removed a shovel from its hook. He still had a well to dig and the spade he’d been using needed a finer edge put on it. Still had some daylight left, so he might actually get done before night. He turned and a memory of Max guffawing as he watched Callum trying to teach Harrison how to dance flooded his mind. He could almost hear the laughter . . .
“Goddamn it,” he bit out, his anger spiking as he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the memory. “Damn it to hell and back!” But, what good did it do to cuss and slam your fists into whatever or whoever happened to be near? Just busted up your knuckles and sometimes landed you in jail for the night. Didn’t make the pain go away or bring back his brothers. Goddamn war. Southern Independence, hell! All that blood and destruction, for what? Graves and broken spirits. Hollowed out people wandering the south, full of despair and hatred.
Just like him. Empty, except for the never-ending, gut-twisting sorrow of having his whole life blown to bits. All he had were pieces of it. Useless, lifeless shards of a world that used to be filled with gaiety and love. His brothers. His mother. His joys in life. All gone.
Leaving the stables, he paused in the wide entrance and his gaze was drawn inexorably to the carved names, sending his mind back to the day they’d etched those letters into the wood to show how tall each stood. Growing boys. Ornery, grinning, guffawing, wrestling, tussling boys.
Emotion thickened in his throat and he jerked his gaze away from the names and that tenderfoot time when none of them had heard the boom of a cannon or the screams of dying men. With grim resolve, he faced the life he had now. A life that was as hollow as he felt.
###
The sun had just cleared the horizon when the Payne house and barn came into Callum’s view. She was right. The house was a sorry sight with a sagging roof, sagging front steps, and a front door hanging on by one hinge. Callum thought she’d be waiting for him, probably out on the porch, but she was nowhere in sight as he reined Butter under an old spreading elm tree. Hens fluttered and squawked. Several ducked under the house.
“Miss Payne?” Callum sat astride his horse and waited. He surveyed the place, listening for sounds of human life, but heard and saw nothing. A movement out by the barn drew his attention. A stoop-shouldered man with corn silk hair emerged from the dark interior and stepped out into a pool of sunlight. Three black-and-white herding dogs circled him, yipping for his attention. “Hey there, Hollis. Is your sis around here?”
“She told me you were coming, but I didn’t believe it.” Hollis crossed the dirt yard with long, lanky strides, shooing the dogs in his path. “Why would Cal Latimer lower himself to ride his fine Palomino horse onto Payne land, I asked her. Sure, it would be neighborly and all, but the Latimers have never been good neighbors. More like they spit on us if we get too close to them.” The speech was delivered matter-of-factly and without rancor.
“Times change.” Callum held the man’s gaze, refusing to let him spark his ire. “And I’ve never spit on a Payne in my whole damned life.”
Hollis squinted hard at Callum, and then bobbed his hunched shoulders. Life had stamped lines on his lean face, making him look more like forty than thirty. “She’s coming. She got cow kicked yesterday and she’s moving slow this morning.”
“Cow kicked? Is she—?” Then he spied her. She came limping around the corner of the house, one arm cradling a basket against her hip and the other waving over her head at him.
“Good morning! I was gathering eggs.” The dogs switched their allegiance to her. She patted the hounds’ heads with her free hand.
“Are you okay?” He swung out of the saddle. Stupid question, he thought, noting the pinch of pain at the corners of her eyes and mouth. He’d been kicked a hundred times or more by ornery cows and it never was okay. “Where’d it get you?”
Her gaze flashed to her brother in an instant of irritation. “In the side.” She attempted a light-hearted laugh. “Serves me right. I know better than to stand too near the business end of a cow that’s flailing around trying to free herself from a mudhole.”
“You break anything?”
“No, no.” She smiled and gave a careless wave. “It’s nothing. Won’t you come in for a cup of coffee?”
He studied her another moment, ensnared by her mettle, before he came back to his purpose. “Thanks, but I don’t have the time. I mainly wanted to have a look at your place.”
“Oh.” She looked a little crestfallen.
He wasn’t here to trade howdy-dos with her, so he turned toward Hollis. “Could you saddle up and show me around? Maybe take me to look at your herd?”
“I can do that,” Banner said. “Just give me a minute to—”
“No, don’t trouble yourself.” He realized he’d spoken too quickly by her frown of exasperation. “You probably need to take it easy today,” he added, attempting to smooth her ruffled feathers. It didn’t work. If anything, her scowl deepened. He shrugged. Let her get riled at him. Might be the first time, but it sure as shootin’ wouldn’t be the last.
“I can ride,” she insisted.
“Hollis said you’re sore.”
“Hollis should let me speak for myself.”
“Yeah, yeah, I ain’t much for standing around jawing when there’s work to be done and livestock to feed. Come on.” Hollis motioned to him. “My horse is in the barn already saddle
d. I was getting ready to ride out anyways.” He held up a hand when Banner started to say something. “We’ll be back soon. Have breakfast ready, why don’t you?”
Eyeing first her brother and then Callum, she finally puffed out a breath, turned on her boot heels, and limped to the house. Callum watched her take the three porch steps slowly, gingerly, and shook his head at her stubborn pride.
“She’s got a goose egg bump on her thigh turning all kinds of colors,” Hollis said. “Nothing’s broken, though. She’ll mend. She’s tough.” He was already walking back to the barn.
Callum swung back up into the saddle. Maybe he was crazy to think that this stubborn slip of a girl would be able to spend any time under the same roof with his cantankerous bear of a father without one or the other doing bodily harm. Instead of solving problems, he could be stirring up a hornet’s nest, but he had to do something, even if it was wrong.
Chapter 2
Popping the last bite of sausage-gravy-soaked biscuit into his mouth, Callum sat back in the kitchen chair and savored the best breakfast he’d consumed since before he’d marched off to war. Damn, the girl could cook!
“Who taught you how to prepare a meal this good?” he asked, surprising himself with his forthrightness. “Your mama?” The minute it was out, he knew he was wrong, but it was too late.
Banner blinked at him from across the small table and a blush tinged her freckle-dusted cheeks. “My mother died when I was barely two.”
“Right. I forgot. Pardon.” He glanced around the neat kitchen. The house, from what he could see, was swept clean and the surfaces were dirt-free.
“Gotta get.” Hollis wedged his hat onto his white-blond hair and stood. He left them without a backward glance.
“See you around,” Callum called after him, getting no response.
“Uncle Tater.”
“Pardon?” Callum whipped his gaze back to Banner.
“That’s who taught me to cook. He wasn’t really my uncle, but that’s what we all called him. He manned our chuck wagon and cooked for all of us when he was here.”
“You were a fine student.” Student . . . a memory of her in pigtails flitted across his mind. “You were in school with my brother Harrison, weren’t you?”
She nodded. “I was a year younger than him. I remember you, too, even though you’re four years my senior. My first weeks in the schoolhouse . . . I recollect how you and the other big boys sat at the back of the school room. I was scared of y’all.”
Callum stacked the plates to have something to do rather than acknowledge her unspoken accusations. The Payne clan had been shunned and made fun of at every turn. Seth Latimer had built the schoolhouse on the farthest southern edge of his ranch, near the main public road, for his children mainly, but also for any others who wanted to make use of it. They’d all been surprised when the Paynes – Jefferson, Louie, Hollis, and Banner – had filed in. After that, they had hardly ever missed a day and each one stayed into their teen years.
“I hope Hollis was hospitable and showed you what you needed to see,” she said, rising slowly to gather the rest of the dishes. “Depending on the day, he can be cordial or close-mouthed.”
“He says you have about eight hundred head out there. You could be running twice that many or more.”
“I know. I told you, we’ve had a bad year.”
He let that paltry statement hang between them while she cleared the table. She limped to the counter and stacked the dishes in the wash tub. Making her way back, she seemed to be trying not to show any discomfort, but couldn’t keep from wincing when she took her seat again.
“Do you know who’s stealing your cattle?”
Her gaze flashed up to his. Her eyes were dark amber this morning with flecks of gold. “We’ve had a lot of loss. Wolves, coyotes.” She gave a little shrug. “I don’t have enough hands to keep them—”
“And thieves,” he interrupted. “Don’t forget the thieves. That’s what’s happened to most of them, don’t you figure?”
Her eyes grew stony, but then she blinked and they softened in an instant. “As I was saying, times are hard. We don’t have enough hands to watch the herd, so they’re being picked off. We’ve found carcasses, so I know some of them were taken by predators.”
“But not a few hundred of them. Unless you have some mighty big wolves and coyotes roaming around Mossy Creek.” He attempted a smile, but could feel the failure of it on his lips. Smiling used to be so easy. Not so much anymore.
“I’m hopeless at ranching.” She sighed and closed her expressive eyes for a few moments. Her lashes were dark brown and long, curling slightly at the tips. “I wish I’d paid more attention to the cattle growing up, but Pa kept me busy in the house. I’ve tried. I’ve really tried – and so has Hollis. But this ranch has gotten the best of me.”
He sat back, hooking his thumbs under his suspenders. “You have about three thousand acres, right?”
“Three thousand two hundred.”
He nodded, mentally calculating the number of cattle he could run on the land, the cost of extra hands, and how much the herd could bring at market. The numbers were stacked in his favor. “Tell you what . . . I have a proposition for you.” He liked the lights that danced in her eyes and the eagerness of her expression. “I’ll work your land and bring on more cowhands to help with it –-” He raised a hand to halt the words he knew she was about to utter. “I’ll pay them and I’ll make sure your cattle get to market and negotiate a good price for them. We’ll split the profit sixty-forty.” He wasn’t surprised when her eagerness changed to wariness. “You’ll get sixty. I’ll take forty.”
Shock tensed her features and then she narrowed one eye at him in a show of distrust. “I get sixty percent?”
“That’s right.” He pointed a finger at her. “And you’ll earn it.”
She linked and unlinked her fingers, drawing his attention to the cuts and bruises on her hands. “I must warn you that I’m a novice at cattle ranching. I can ride all day and I’m getting better at roping, but I have a lot to learn.”
“If you accept my deal, your riding and roping days are over for a spell.”
“Oh?” Suspicion arched her sable brows. “And why is that? You don’t approve of a woman riding the range?”
He studied her haughty expression for a few moments, thinking how she’d pegged him all wrong. He didn’t give a damn if a female wanted to herd cattle. If she could keep up and do her job, let her. All that “he” and “she” division of chores seemed pointless after watching women load weapons and fire them at the enemy, ride all night to deliver messages to outposts, and work all day digging graves. “I want a cook, housekeeper, and someone to tend to my pa.”
She tipped her head to one side. “I thought Mary Killdeer was doing that for you.”
“She is . . . was. The thing is, Mary is a good soul. I think highly of her. But her idea of housekeeping and cooking are worlds apart from mine or my pa’s. She’s not too keen on keeping things picked up and her cooking is . . . well, her family eats Kiowa and Comanche food.”
She gathered her mouth into a pink bud and he thought it was to keep from grinning at him. “Their food is different from what we just ate, I take it?”
“She cooks meat until it’s as tough as boot leather and boils everything else until it’s mush. She fries her bread and it tastes like greasy cow chips.” He shook his head, finding the whole ritual perplexing. “Pa can hardly stomach it and, I swear, sometimes I’d rather tie on a feed bag than partake of it.”
The gold lights in her eyes danced for him.
“Why does your pa need tending? Has he not recovered from the spill he took last year?”
“You heard about that?”
“Some people in church were talking about it. He fell off his horse during a stampede What spooked the herd?”
He bobbed his shoulders. “Only the cattle know why they stampeded and, as usual, they aren’t talking.”
Her l
ilting laugh brought his head up and he relished the sound and the amusement on her face. It had been ages since he’d made a pretty gal laugh and it caused him to be a mite giddy. Realizing he was staring at her, wide-eyed, he cleared his throat and pondered the remains of the coffee in the mug before him instead of the dimples winking in her freckled cheeks when she’d laughed.
“Anyway, he’s lucky he lived through it. He broke some big bones. His shoulder and hip. The doc said he’d heal, but he’s all stove up. He can’t walk without using canes and even then it’s slow going. If he trips and falls, he can’t right himself without help. And he has a dickens of a time getting out of bed every morning.”
“Joint bones,” she murmured and seemed lost in thought for a minute.
He took that time to take stock of her again. She’d piled her hair up onto her head and tendrils curled along her temples and nape. She wore simple clothes – a long-sleeved shirtfront dress of deep rose with a gathered skirt. Her shirt cuffs weren’t fastened because the buttons were missing and the fabric was badly frayed. Earlier, when she’d limped toward him out in the yard, he’d been surprised to see that she was wearing old, scuffed boots. Had she ever worn store-bought clothes or pretty party dresses? He couldn’t rightly recall . . .
“I would come to your place daily to cook, clean, and watch over your pa? Would I cook just for him?”
“Yes . . . uh, no.” He shook his head. “That is, you’d come every day. I reckon not on Sunday. And no, you wouldn’t just cook for him, but for everyone working on both ranches.”
“Oh!” She swallowed hard. “How many would that be?”
“Twenty? No, wait. Twelve or fifteen. Mary, Ki, and their sons would probably take their meals at home.”
“And how many meals a day? Two or three?”
“Two. Breakfast and the noonday meal. We generally eat whatever is left for a light supper.”
Solitary Horseman Page 2
