Gage Coulter’s eyes shifted from gray to pure ice. “I know you got here first, but you lived in the hills. You didn’t build nuthin’.”
“A man don’t always have to change the land. He can find a way to fit in.”
“He can or he can put his mark on it, which is what I did. I blasted rocks to widen the trail. I drove cattle over a thousand miles on land no white man had ever trod. I had wolves at my heels, and outlaws were the worst varmints of all. Go look at that river, Mrs. Tucker.”
“I’ve seen the river plenty of times.”
“Have you noticed that there are spreader dams on it? I dug ’em myself. They water fifty acres of grass. All that grass was wasteland, thick with underbrush and scrub pine when I first came to this country. Now there’s a wide, lush meadow on the east side of the water that’ll feed a herd of cattle for months, and you’re runnin’ a dozen sheep on it. I did the same for the smaller pasture on the west side. None of that was there before I came. I built up the ford you take every time you cross the river, too. You think those big stones just happened to fall in a line like that?”
Shannon had thought they were conveniently located.
“I’ve done work in dozens of places, all to turn my land into a place that’ll support a herd. Your sheep are gettin’ fat on land I cleared. You say this homestead is yours? Your pa says you’ve come to build an empire? Well, you’re walking in and setting up your empire after I’ve done years of hard work to make that easy.”
All the things he’d listed were a big part of the reason she’d homesteaded here. And she hadn’t noticed that the water feeding her grass didn’t flow there naturally. But just from Coulter saying it did, she recognized the truth of it.
“It’s not easy to tear civilization out of wilderness, Shannon.”
“It’s not always good, either,” Tucker interjected. “I like the mountains the way they are. Shannon hasn’t taken that much from you. Her sheep run on her homestead and drink from a stream, but there’s still plenty of land left for you.”
“You know that stream turns into the Slaughter River a few miles away, right?”
“I know the waterways, Coulter,” Tucker said.
“Then you know this stretch right here is the only place for miles where the banks are low enough for animals to go up and drink. Finding water like this isn’t that easy out here. And the good land is disappearing at the rate folks are homesteading. I’ve been to town and I’ve bought up every acre I can. I own every water hole that’s left, but homesteaders poured in this spring before I knew they’d even opened this area up. They’ve claimed up so many springs and ponds and grasslands my cattle are suffering, but they’ve left the wasteland, the mountainsides. They’ve come like locusts to skim off the good and leave slim pickings for me. What’s more, I’ve ridden by a lot of the homesteads, and these folks don’t know what they’re doing. They’re tilling up rocky soil, and it’s blowing away in the harsh winds. All the dirt that made good grazing land isn’t right for farmland, yet they’re plowing it up anyway. And the grass was the only thing holding it. The dirt’s blowin’ all the way to Nebraska.”
“If the land isn’t right for farmers, these folks will figure that out and move on,” Tucker said. “And you’ll get your ranch back.”
“Maybe, but by then the land will be ruined. I’ll have my water holes back, but they’ll be silted in with dirt washed off the land. The grasslands won’t come back on soil that’s no longer good for growing. And thousands of acres of beautiful mountain meadows and hillsides will have been destroyed. I’m surprised it doesn’t bother you to see it happen, Tucker. This isn’t Kansas and it isn’t for farming. None of these homesteaders want to admit it. At least you, Mrs. Tucker, aren’t plowing it up and trying to grow corn in a country where the growing season is two months too short for it to ripen.” The disgust in Coulter’s voice echoed in the little cabin. “But sheep are going to do damage, too.”
“My sheep won’t hurt a thing.”
“Not if you keep running a dozen of them, they won’t. But don’t let your herd grow. Sheep eat the grass down too short, while cows don’t cut the grass so close to the ground when they graze. A sheep, though, will nibble it all the way to the dirt, and then it doesn’t grow back as fast. If there are too many sheep on the land, they eat it so short sometimes the grass doesn’t grow back at all.”
Shannon wanted to hate him. She wanted to throw the arrogant man out of her cabin. Trouble with that was, he was probably right about almost everything. “If I let you water your cattle here, they’ll overrun my meadow and I’ll have nothing left for my sheep.”
“Sheep!” Coulter growled. “They’re about the stupidest critters God ever put on the face of the earth.”
“Jesus was a shepherd,” Shannon countered.
“Honest, Shannon,” Tucker said, “Jesus was a carpenter, not a shepherd. And sheep really are stupid. Now, we can figure something out, can’t we?”
Since Shannon pretty much had to carry each sheep into the barn every night to keep them from staying out where they’d be eaten by wolves, she had to admit they weren’t the world’s brightest animal. And now that the wolves were starting to run in packs with the coming cold weather, it was downright witless of them. But she really loved them, and she didn’t mind the work it took to keep them alive.
“Tucker, I am not letting Gage Coulter have my land.”
“No, you’re not. I agree.”
That took the starch out of her. “Then what do you mean by ‘figure something out’?”
Tucker rubbed his chin. “You’ve got a dozen sheep and a meadow that’ll feed about two hundred cattle. Could we . . . I don’t know, rent Gage access to the water and maybe put up a fence that’d keep the sheep and cattle separate?”
It annoyed Shannon that her husband was being so reasonable. And that’s when she knew she was being unreasonable, which made her feel like just as much of an arrogant land baron as she was accusing Gage of being—except of course she had one hundred sixty acres and he had about twenty or thirty thousand. Despite that disparity, she didn’t want a cow to die of thirst.
“Rent for how much?” Coulter sounded suspicious.
“What sounds fair to you?” Tucker asked.
Shannon had no idea what land and water rented for. It seemed like renting air, for heaven’s sake. Of course, she owned the land and water, but renting it seemed wrong, sinful somehow.
Gage named a price higher than Shannon would have dared ask, and she got past the sin of it instantly. There was no commandment against accepting rent after all.
“Sounds fair.” Tucker turned to her. “Is it all right with you, honey?”
He liked to act like this was her land, but he’d sure taken over the dickering as if he owned the place . . . which he did.
“Can I think about it?” She was careful not to let a big smile break out on her face. They could really use the cash. Money was short, and Bailey had been nagging her to sell the male lambs born this spring. No one wanted a male and female, a breeding pair. They just wanted food.
Tucker gave Gage a hard look. “You’d have to build the fence. Make it nice and solid and make sure the sheep have access to the water, too.”
“I’d be glad to handle the fence. I have another week or two of grazing where my herd is now. I can get a fence up by the time the cattle need to move on.” Gage stood from the table and picked up his hat. “I’ll make that fence tight enough to protect every one of your sheep, Mrs. Tucker, and give them plenty of grazing.”
There he stood, the biggest rancher in the area, hat in hand, being as helpful as a man could be. And a little cash money would come in mighty handy. She’d hoped to earn enough to buy a milk cow by selling wool, though she hadn’t quite managed it. Gage’s money would be more than enough. It was such a simple solution, it made Shannon want to kick somebody.
Tucker turned to his wife. “What do you say, Shannon?”
She’d asked for t
ime to think about it, but she was just trying to annoy them and they probably knew it. “Fine. If I believe my sheep are safe, you can rent access to my river and the meadow.”
She stood and showed Gage to the door, swinging it open, making it very easy for the man to leave.
“I’m obliged.” Gage slapped his Stetson on his head and was gone fast, as if he didn’t want to give them time to change their minds.
“There’s only one good thing I can think of about allowing Gage Coulter to use my water and land.” Shannon crossed her arms and glared at the man as he galloped away.
“The money?” Tucker asked.
“No. But the money is nice.”
“Helping out a neighbor?”
Shannon snorted in a way that could only be described as unladylike, and since she was wearing britches, she didn’t see how that came as any surprise.
“It’s kind to his suffering animals?”
“It is that, but that isn’t the main reason.”
Tucker came up behind her, let his crutches drop to the floor, and wrapped his arms around her in an embrace. She slapped at him, but he didn’t let go. In fact, he drew her back tight against him. She didn’t hit him harder and told herself it was because she didn’t want to knock the poor injured man over, even as she nestled closer.
“Then what?” He spoke into her ear, and his warm breath sent shivers, pleasant shivers, down her neck and arms and backbone.
She folded her arms over the top of his and looked back over her shoulder and grinned at him. “It’s knowing that it is going to make my pa so mad he might never speak to me again.”
Tucker kissed her on the side of the neck. “Would it be okay to tell him it was my idea?”
Shannon laughed and turned in her husband’s arms to kiss him properly.
17
Tucker had crutched his way out to the fence Coulter’s men had built over the last week. He got along with one crutch these days and could make pretty good time.
Coulter would be bringing his cattle over soon to start grazing on the lush grass on Shannon’s homestead.
It was nearing sunset. Aaron and Nev had come over, as they did most days to help round up these stupid sheep and lock them in the barn so the wolves wouldn’t eat them overnight.
The sheep were in their own little corral, and there was plenty of grazing and water. The wolves started to run in a pack this time of year and howled at night, so you’d think the sheep would know their being inside was a good thing. But they must have as much wool inside their heads as outside, because the critters always fought getting locked up.
Shannon was inside having coffee with Kylie and Sunrise, leaving the nightly roundup to the men, which meant it would be a rodeo because the sheep liked her and hated everybody else.
Sunrise had moved her teepee from Aaron’s house to Tucker’s. She lived in the woods, out of sight. She had a knack for being around when she was needed and vanishing when she wasn’t, and since Shannon wouldn’t cook Tucker any food with meat in it, Tucker needed Sunrise a lot.
As for the sheep, as much as Shannon loved them, she seemed to enjoy leaving them to do the nightly roundup, something Tucker took as a good sign—that she was leaving men’s work to the men. Except he knew good and well the only reason she’d abandon her sheep was a perverse desire to make everyone’s life harder. She was still cranky about Coulter’s fence and the thought of his cattle coming over, even though she’d agreed to it.
Coulter was grouchy, too. He was getting the grass and water he wanted, but what he was really after was to own it all, not rent. Since everyone was about equally mad at him, Tucker figured that meant he’d handled this problem with the wisdom of Solomon. Only trouble was, he didn’t give a hoot how Gage Coulter felt, and he’d really been hoping Shannon would start thinking wifely thoughts about him by now.
Solomon had himself seven hundred wives. How in the world did he manage, even smart as he was supposed to be? If he’d been really smart, surely he’d have married a lot less often. One wife was more than Tucker was up to handling.
In fact, the one was so irritating that Tucker needed to take his irritation out on someone, so he didn’t bother being polite—not even to the man carrying an ornery sheep while Tucker leaned on the fence and coddled his stupid broken leg. “You don’t need to stick around, Masterson. I know you want to head for New York.”
“Virginia, actually.”
“All that land back east seems like New York to me.” Tucker folded his arms on the top rail of Coulter’s fence and glared at the ram that’d just kicked Nev Bassett in the gut. “Why does a man need thousands of cows? He can live on the meat of a deer for weeks, and these mountains are full of deer.”
“We’ll wait until the cast comes off.” Aaron seemed to know Tucker’s griping had nothing to do with cows. “Kylie’s in no hurry to leave her family.”
Tucker wanted to fight. Stupid as it was, he wished Masterson would stop being so blasted reasonable and patient. “Some animals will gnaw their foot off to get out of a trap, and if this cast doesn’t come off my leg soon, I’m gonna hack it off myself.”
Aaron chuckled. “The cast or your foot?”
“It’s almost six weeks now, Tucker.” Nev sounded patient and reasonable. And Tucker considered the man to be the next thing to insane. “I might be able to cut it off in two weeks, but it probably oughta stay on four because you’re not going to be careful when you get the plaster off.”
“If you leave this thing on me one day longer than two weeks, I’ll rip it off myself and beat you to death with the cast.” Tucker doubted Solomon would’ve said that any better.
And he doubted Solomon would have lain next to one of his wives night after night, feeling her warm beside him, feeling full of spit and vinegar and doing nothing.
It probably helped to be king.
Tucker wished he had any idea in the world how to go about making her be more friendly. And barring that, he wished he could burn off some of this energy by going for a long hike in the woods, hunting down an elk, packing it back home, skinning it, tanning the hide, smoking the meat, storing the food for the winter, and making himself a new outfit of sturdy elk hide instead of these strange flimsy cotton things he was wearing.
He reckoned Dr. Nev wouldn’t count that as being careful.
“I didn’t feed your mare, Tucker.” Aaron came out of the barn. “She wants to kill anyone who gets within ten feet of her. You’ll have to feed her yourself. I did manage to swing the stall shut and lock it.”
“She can unlock it and she feeds herself.”
“There’s a latch on the stall and another on the oats bin.”
Tucker shrugged. “I know. Why do you think we put that new hasp on the outside of the barn? Nothing much stops my grulla.”
“Strange horse.”
“Grew is the best horse a man ever had.” Truth was, Tucker felt fine. And with Shannon watching him like a hawk, quick to nag him if he tried to do one lick of work, he’d been careful of his leg and it didn’t hurt a bit anymore.
Having the boundless energy steaming and boiling inside him, and being unable to use it because of this confounded cast and his eagle-eyed wife—all of that was bad enough. But mixed together with the way Shannon felt held close in his arms, Tucker was about to lose his mind.
Maybe if he told her how restless he felt. If he made it sound like behaving toward him in a wifely manner would be helping him, would speed up his healing? She liked to think of herself as the doctoring type.
Of course if he did it wrong, he might end up with a plaster cast getting slammed over his head. He remembered well enough the words she’d whispered to him right before they’d taken their vows.
“We may speak vows now that are forever, but you’ll not have the rights of a husband until we know each other much better than we do now.”
Oh, he remembered every single word. He remembered agreeing to it, too. But how well exactly did they have to know each ot
her? And who got to decide when they finally were well enough acquainted for their vows to switch over to being real? Tucker worked that question over in his mind about as many times a day as Solomon had wives.
Nev emerged from the barn, the last of the sheep locked away. Saved from the wolves for one more night. And what exactly were they saving them for anyway? To Tucker’s way of thinking, those sheep should have been finding their way onto his plate. Which reminded him of one more thing.
“Did you know Shannon only believes in eating vegetables?”
“What?” Nev and Aaron both turned at the same instant and stared at him, their eyes wide with horror.
“Well, she says milk and eggs are okay, except we have neither chickens nor a milk cow. So if it was up to her, we’d be living on vegetables. Lucky for me, Ma keeps bringing me food or I’d have gotten so skinny the cast would have just fallen right off my leg by now.”
“Vegetables? What vegetables?” Nev looked around, and his eyes landed on the cursed plot of land Shannon took such joy in cultivating.
“Beet and potato season right now. We eat whatever’s growing. As much of it as she can harvest, less whatever she puts in the root cellar so we can eat it all winter, too.”
“I like potatoes.” Nev scratched his chin. “I don’t recall ever having a beet.”
“They’re mighty red.” Tucker glared at the garden and tried to mentally talk his wife around to deciding she knew him well enough. Or at least convince her that she oughta feed him some mutton. “I’m about to start using beets for target practice.”
Dusk had settled, and it was time for his friends to head for home, which left him to face another night of restlessness with his unfriendly wife.
Then Coulter rode into the yard at a fast clip. As much as Tucker found the man a bigger nuisance than his cast, he was a welcome distraction.
“I’ve been looking for you, Masterson. I’ve got trouble. I’d heard you were quitting the country. Glad to see you’re still here.”
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