The approaching vehicle lumbered into view over the rise. It wasn’t Badger. It was McCutcheon’s pickup, but McCutcheon wasn’t driving. Pony? Guthrie reached up and touched his hat brim, keening his eyes and studying the slow approach.
No, not Pony.
His heart skipped a beat. Could it possibly be…?
“Jess!” he shouted, breaking into a run. He reached the truck just as it pulled to a stop and he wrenched the door open, feasting his eyes on the woman he loved.
“Hey, cowboy,” she said, smiling up at him. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you to kiss me. I had hoped to surprise you, but paralyzing you wasn’t my intention. I guess I should’ve called ahead.”
He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He pulled her into his arms and felt hers wrap tightly around him. He buried his face in the sweetness of her hair, kissed the tender, ticklish spot on the side of her neck, kissed her forehead, the crest of her high cheekbone, the corner of her mouth. He kissed her lips with the desperation of a soul starved for love, and he might have devoured her completely if he hadn’t become aware of five pairs of eyes watching.
Six, really. Absa was also staring at them.
“Why, hello,” Jessie said, breathless and flustered, her face flushed and her eyes alight as she looked around. “You must be the new ranch hands.”
“I CAME TO SEE the mustang, of course,” Jessie said at supper, helping herself to a fresh biscuit and casting a teasing glance in Guthrie’s direction. “After getting Guthrie’s letter, I was overcome with curiosity.”
Badger snorted. “You were overcome by something else entirely,” he said, passing the platter of ribs. “And I believe that mustang’s name is Guthrie Sloane.”
Pony listened to the friendly banter and cast shy glances at the young woman who sat next to Guthrie. The Jessie Weaver. She was beautiful and full of life, and she filled the room with her happy energy. The boys were enchanted by her stories of veterinary studies and her summer internship with the famous horse vet Dr. Rainey. Roon, especially. Halfway through her meal, Jessie jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around the cook. “Muchas gracias, Ramalda!” she said. “I haven’t had such good food since my last visit home.” The old woman’s face glowed with pleasure.
After the meal, Jessie and Pony helped with the dishes in spite of Ramalda’s protests. As they tidied up, Jessie asked about the buffalo.
“They are doing well,” Pony responded, feeling awkward.
“What about you? How’s the summer going for you and the boys? Do you like it here?”
“We like it here very much.” Pony took a plate from Jessie’s hand and met the young woman’s eyes. “It’s a very nice place to be.”
“Perhaps tomorrow the two of us can ride up to see the buffalo,” Jessie suggested. “Ramalda can pack us a lunch.”
Pony’s eyes flew to Jessie’s face. She tried to think of some reason why she couldn’t go, but her mind was a blank. Jessie read her expression and gave her a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fun. We can get to know each other.”
GUTHRIE COULD HARDLY WAIT to say good-night and whisk Jessie back to his cabin on Bear Creek. “I thought you’d never stop talking,” he grumbled as he opened the truck door for her and helped her in. He climbed behind the wheel and began the five-mile drive. “It must be near to midnight.”
“It’s only 9:00 p.m.,” Jessie said. “Tell me what’s wrong with Mr. McCutcheon. He hardly said a word during supper. He rarely even smiled. That’s not like him.”
“Maybe the boys are wearin’ him out,” Guthrie said, trying to avoid the subject.
“No,” Jessie mused aloud. “What’s ailing him has nothing to do with those five boys.” She trailed one of her hands out the truck window and sighed. “He and Pony seem to have the same symptoms.”
Guthrie hunched his shoulders. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
He felt her sharp gaze. “Is that a fact? You forget that you and I were suffering similar pains not that long ago.”
Guthrie shook his head in feigned ignorance. “Truth is, I haven’t been around them much lately. Me and Badger have been riding herd on the boys and working on ripping up the fence. I thought them boys would be a lot more trouble than they are, but they’re doing all right.”
“Good workers?”
“Hell, no. Badger swears he’s going to have a stroke just watching how slow they work. You never did see such a sluggish bunch. At the rate they’re going, we figure this job’ll take another ten or fifteen years. But at least they’re behaving themselves, and come evening, Pony gives them their school lessons.”
“She’s in love with Mr. McCutcheon.”
“You think so?” he asked. “Pete’s been hanging around pretty regular.”
“Pete might be hanging around, but I seriously doubt he’s in the running. I can read heart signs, Guthrie. It’s McCutcheon she loves, and he’s smitten with her, too.”
Guthrie downshifted as the truck dipped into a dry wash. “Maybe, or maybe he’s just working through some things. You know. His baseball career ended so abruptly, and now he’s struggling with the logistics of ranching…”
Jessie shook her head. “No way. This is about Pony. For some reason things aren’t going well at all between them.” Jessie sighed. “He’s such a good man, and she seems like such a nice person. I’m only here for a few days, but maybe there’s something I can do to help….”
PONY COULD SEE McCutcheon from the living-room window. Seated at the computer desk, her chin resting in her palm, she watched him walk up from the barn in the late-morning sunlight. He looked very somber. He had looked that way for some time now, and she wondered if the misery she felt was reflected in his countenance. She was in love with him and she’d believed he’d felt the same way about her. Yet something in his behavior toward her had changed. She’d thought at first that she had done something wrong, but when she asked him about it he looked at her with a puzzled expression and shook his head.
“Wrong? Not at all. Don’t mind me, I’m just a man of moods.”
But she knew that this was something more than mere moodiness. She had worked hard, hoping that her accomplishments might cheer him. She had entered nearly all the data into the computer, she’d over-seen the construction of the holding corrals and chutes, and was negotiating a price for the same contractor to dig the holes for the corner posts of the reinforced boundary fences. In her spare time she worked on the fence line with the boys and Badger and Guthrie, and helped with the haying when the timothy was ripe for cutting. The days were long and busy, and after supper she schooled the boys for about an hour.
The afternoon they spent together on Piney Creek…that day had marked the beginning of McCutcheon’s dark mood. They had spoken of many things in that cabin while the lightning flashed and the rain and hail drummed on the roof. She must have said something, done something that had turned him away. He had not looked at her in the same way since, and the ride they had shared together back to the ranch had been ominously quiet.
McCutcheon paused before climbing the porch steps and glanced behind. Pony shifted her gaze and spotted Jessie and Guthrie walking hand in hand from the creek. Guthrie was carrying a bunch of wild flowers. They looked so happy, so in love. Pony felt a painful twist and pushed away from the desk, standing abruptly and walking into the kitchen. Ramalda was busy preparing the noontime meal. She had already fixed a bag lunch for Jessie and Pony.
“There is plenty for you both,” Ramalda said as Pony came into the room. “You girls both too thin. You get sick if you don’t eat.”
Pony hefted the heavy sack. “Thank you, Ramalda. Gracias.”
When she stepped out onto the porch, McCutcheon glanced up at her. “I’ve saddled your horses,” he said. “Dobey and Billy are ready to roll. Have a good time.”
She wanted to thank him, to ask him to come, but couldn’t form the words. Instead she nodded, feeling perilously close to tears. She descended the steps and started for the
barn, answering Jessie’s wave and feeling worse than she had any right to.
Guthrie walked Jessie to the corral and watched as they readied themselves for the ride.
“You sure you pretty ladies don’t want an escort?” he asked hopefully, but Jessie shook her head.
“No, thanks. Girls only this trip,” she said, casting Pony a conspiratorial smile as she heeled Billy through the gate.
She bent to retrieve the bouquet from Guthrie’s hand and glanced over her shoulder as she straightened. “I hope you don’t mind a short side trip, Pony,” she said. “I’d like to put these flowers on my father’s grave.”
“I like to come to these burial grounds,” Pony said several minutes later as Jessie laid the flowers at the foot of her father’s headstone and knelt for a moment. “It’s so peaceful here.”
“Yes,” Jessie said, looking around. “I wonder who planted the forget-me-nots.”
“I transplanted some seedlings I found along the creek.”
Jessie glanced at her and smiled. “Thank you. That is a sacred place to me.”
“Mr. McCutcheon brought me up here shortly after I began working at the ranch. He told me all he knew about the people buried here. It became a sacred place for me, also.”
Several moments passed before the two women returned to their horses. Jessie reined Billy down the path. Pony followed on Dobey, and within minutes, traveling at an easy lope, they were climbing into the high country. The ride would have been exhilarating had Pony been in a better frame of mind.
“You look tired,” Jessie said when they stopped to rest their horses. “I’m sorry for going so quickly. I’ve missed this place. It feels like I’ve been gone forever.”
They rode to the line camp. Jessie dropped out of the saddle and let Billy’s rein trail on the ground. She pushed open the cabin door and let the sunshine stream in. “I’ve always loved this old cabin. It’s the perfect place for our honeymoon. Guthrie promised he’d run up the supplies we’ll need for the week we’ll be hiding out here. It’ll be even more beautiful in September, when all the aspen will be turning color and…” She glanced back at Pony. Her words trailed into silence and her happy expression was replaced by a frown. She walked up to Dobey’s shoulder and laid her hand on Pony’s knee. “Are you all right?”
Pony nodded, embarrassed that she’d let her misery show. “I’m fine.”
Jessie studied her skeptically. “Climb down. We’ll eat our lunch here. I’ll see to the horses, you sit and have a rest.”
“I’m all right.” Pony tended Dobey herself and then joined Jessie on the bench, leaning her back against the sun-warmed logs. She took the sandwich and the container of juice that Jessie handed her and cradled them in her lap. “The buffalo are probably nearby. It shouldn’t be difficult to find them.”
“Never mind about finding the buffalo,” Jessie said, startling her. “Let’s just sit here and soak up the sun. Enjoy the afternoon. It’s so good to be back.”
Pony glanced sidelong at her. “Does it feel different to you, now that you no longer own the ranch?”
Jessie smiled. “Yes and no. At first it was hard. Hard to let go, hard to think that I’d failed to keep the ranch afloat. But now I feel good about what I did. I owe your brother so much for finding a buyer for the place before the bank took it. Mr. McCutcheon is a wonderful man. He may be rich and famous, but he’s the most unassuming man I’ve ever met. When he was contemplating bringing the buffalo back to this valley, he called me at school to ask what I thought about the idea. He told me he wouldn’t do it unless I gave the project my blessing. Can you believe that?”
Pony looked down at her sandwich. “Yes,” she said. “Mr. McCutcheon thinks a great deal of you.”
“He’s one in a million.”
“He’s one of a kind,” Pony amended.
“One of a kind,” Jessie agreed. “And it’s plain he thinks a great deal of you, too,” Jessie said.
Pony felt her heart leap and she gave Jessie a hopeful look. “Do you think so?”
“Of course,” Jessie replied. “Pony, I’m worried about you. Something’s definitely wrong.”
“I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not, and neither is Mr. McCutcheon. Both of you are so miserable that even Badger mentioned it, and Badger never talks about stuff like that.”
Pony was completely taken aback by Jessie’s blunt words. As the two women regarded each other for a long, searching moment, Pony felt her reserve beginning to crumble. “I’m afraid that Mr. McCutcheon is unhappy with me,” she admitted.
It was Jessie’s turn to be surprised. “Why?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe I’m not doing all the things he expects me to do. When I ask him, he puts me off and says that nothing is wrong, but something definitely is.” She lifted her shoulders in a fatalistic shrug. “I’ve been thinking that maybe the boys and I should go back to the reservation.”
“No way!” Jessie reached out and gave Pony’s hand a comforting squeeze. “Were things always this awkward between the two of you?”
“No. Before this past week, everything was fine, but ever since the afternoon we got caught in the thunderstorm, he’s been acting…” Pony swallowed painfully. “It’s as if he doesn’t want to be around me anymore. We took shelter here, in this very cabin, to wait out the storm. We talked about a lot of things.”
“Romantic things?” Jessie said.
Pony flushed. “No. We talked about him wanting to be a real cowboy and about me trying to honor my Indian heritage.”
Jessie leaned back against the cabin wall. “Ah,” she said wryly. “Cowboys and Indians. The old story.”
“He’s acted like a stranger toward me ever since.”
“That must have been quite a conversation. You must have said something that scared him off.”
Pony stared down at the sandwich in her lap, not feeling the least bit hungry. “I told him that soon there would be no more Crow Indians because so many of us were marrying outside of our blood, and I told him that I thought it was important for the Crow to survive as a people.”
Jessie sat up. “Lordy,” she said. “You told him that?”
“It’s the truth. There are fewer and fewer full-bloods.” Pony looked at Jessie. “I’m sorry. I know you are part Indian. I didn’t mean—”
“No offense taken,” Jessie said. “It’s no secret that I’m about as mixed-up as they come. Crow, Blackfoot and white. I live in three worlds. I understand your feelings, but I don’t begrudge a single drop of my ancestral blood. Maybe it’s not so much our breeding that counts, but our spiritual beliefs, and preserving our native culture and traditions. The things that are important to us.”
“Maybe,” Pony conceded.
“The Bow and Arrow was founded by cowboys and Indians, and it was a good partnership.” Jessie leaned toward Pony. “Don’t you see? Caleb McCutcheon thinks you’ve drawn a line between the two worlds that neither one of you can cross without causing the extinction of a proud and noble people.”
Pony felt her stomach twist. “I didn’t mean for him to think that.”
“Well, what did you mean?”
“I meant it as a general statement, that’s all. I didn’t mean…I didn’t want…” She met Jessie’s gaze and felt her fingers tighten around the sandwich. “I was just telling him the way things were. Why would that drive him away?”
Jessie shook her head with an exasperated laugh. “Pony, for heaven’s sake, are you blind? The man is crazy about you. That’s why he’s been acting so strange. You broke his heart with your idealistic passion to preserve the Crow people.” She studied Pony a moment more and then said, “I guess the real question is, how do you feel about him?”
Pony blinked back the sting of tears. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone,” she whispered.
“Then tell him,” Jessie said. “For the love of all creation, tell him before it’s too late. It was almost too late for Guthrie and me because I was
so stubborn and foolish. Don’t make the same mistake I did. Tell that good man how you feel!”
Pony shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Jessie’s dark eyes were earnest. “Do you really believe your mission in life is to bear a Crow child?”
The pain knifed through her and she bent over herself. “No,” she whispered.
“Well, what then?”
“I can bear no children.” The words were a tight whisper, raw with pain. Pony closed her eyes and drew an anguished breath. “So you see how it is. A man like Caleb will want to father children of his own, and I can’t give him that.” Pony lifted her face and gazed at Jessie through the blur of tears. “I can give him nothing!”
Jessie’s voice softened with compassion. “Perhaps you should let Mr. McCutcheon decide what he wants, and what you can offer him. Isn’t happiness the greatest gift of all?”
Pony dropped her face into her hands and sat for a moment in rigid silence, then she shook her head. “Happiness is nothing but a dream. He wouldn’t want me if he knew of my past,” she whispered, trembling.
There was a corresponding silence from Jessie, and then Pony felt Jessie’s fingers gently stroking her hair, brushing it from the side of her face in the tender way a mother would touch a child. “Your brother Steven holds you in very high regard, and I hold your brother up there among the holy saints and the spirit of the wind. Whatever happened in your past can’t be that bad.”
“He doesn’t know. Steven doesn’t know!” Pony lifted her face out of her trembling hands. “What I did was terrible, and Steven must never, ever know. I can never forgive myself for what happened. How can I possibly expect anyone else to?”
Jessie regarded her somberly, her fingers continuing to gently stroke her hair. “Does this have something to do with Pete?”
Pony brushed away her tears and sat up straight. She stared for a moment across the high, windswept valley to where the mountains drew a bold line against the sky. She drew strength from the grandeur of the lofty peaks, and when she spoke, her voice had lost its wavering tremble.
Buffalo Summer Page 17
