by Angie Dicken
If Cort’s stare could, it would burn the very fire that blazed between them. His look barreled through her. Was he angry? Why in the world would she turn away the only able person who’d help her willingly? She must preserve her hope and expectations. It was the only way she could stay strong enough to do this.
“Okay, Aubrey.” He leaned back on an elbow and crossed his feet on one side of the fire. “I’ve got my own sod house to build anyway. But of course, only if you say so, Miss Landowner.”
Warding off a rush of uncertainty, Aubrey pulled her shoulders back and spun around on her heel. She’d better get some rest if she wanted to be the first to borrow that neighbor’s steel plow she had her eye on.
“Good night, Mr. Stanton,” she said.
“Cort,” he retorted.
Goose bumps plucked her arms and she walked away.
Now to figure out where her house would go, and how many acres she should place between Cort Stanton and herself.
Chapter Four
The last of the embers died, snuffing out Cort’s view of Aubrey’s makeshift tent. He could just see the soles of her boots sticking out as she lay next to her brother.
Stubborn woman.
How could she expect to manage a plow and the task of building four walls of sod all by herself? Cort winced as he lay back and tucked his bag beneath his head. She would have had her brother’s help if it weren’t for him.
Wasn’t that just typical of Cort Stanton? To fight for something that wasn’t really his and hurt people in the process? He’d proved this back in Wyoming during the range war. He’d protected his boss’s land but ended up fighting against his own brother. Charles had joined the unlawful gunslingers, forcing Cort to choose between standing up for good and his own flesh and blood.
How many ill deeds had Cort witnessed because of his loyalty to Charles?
Cort slung his arm across his face and tried to calm his mind and get some sleep. Before he could even consider blinking away the image of Aubrey’s brown eyes from the backs of his eyelids, an unsettling groan drowned out a chorus of crickets.
“Ben, just stay still.” Aubrey’s voice rang out.
Another agonizing noise. Cort skittered to his feet and dug through his bag for his lantern and a match. By the time he made his way to Aubrey, she was frantically rummaging through her own belongings. Cort knelt down. The light shone bright upon Ben’s face as he gasped, squeezing his eyes tight.
“Don’t move, Ben.” Aubrey laid her hand on his forehead then swiped it downward along his cheek.
“It’s killin’ me.” Tears streamed down Ben’s cheeks.
“I know, brother.” She cast wide, questioning eyes in Cort’s direction. As if he had answers. He wished he did. But the only sure answer was that her brother’s hurt was all his fault.
“You spoke with a doctor?” Cort whispered.
She confirmed with a quick nod. “He’s coming tomorrow.”
“Good.”
Aubrey’s petite fingers clasped Cort’s hand tightly. He shot a look of confusion at her. She grabbed Ben’s hand and bowed her head.
“Heavenly Father, watch over Your child tonight. May Your healing hands lie upon Ben’s body and begin to mend whatever might be broken. Give the doctor wisdom tomorrow, and let Ben rest well tonight. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”
As quickly as she’d held his hand, she let go and turned completely toward her brother. The hair on Cort’s arms stood up on end. Her earnest prayer moved him.
Aubrey’s hum trickled into the night air, blessing any listener with its melody. The crickets’ lullaby met its match. He tried to forget the warmth from her touch and the aftermath of her prayer on his heart. She was wise to not attach herself to Cort’s promise to help. He wondered if he could follow through himself. A woman of such courage and tenderness would only be destroyed in the long run if he pursued her. He shouldn’t wait for the authorities to come looking. He should leave now while he had her complete confidence in his unreliability.
Then again, she may not know it, but she was a woman in need of immediate assistance. No woman, or man, could care for a brother with a broken limb and build a dwelling in good time. In the heat of this drought, Aubrey and Ben Huxley would not find much relief beneath a rudimentary tent for more than another day.
The only way he knew how to begin to make up for Ben’s circumstance was in a way that he’d always done well. He’d work.
Cort bade her good-night and headed back to his bag. He settled down again and managed to sleep on and off. Finally, at daybreak, he stretched his arms to the gray morning sky then headed to the creek.
After splashing his face with the lukewarm water, he clambered back up to higher ground. Aubrey was sleeping, curled up next to Ben. He fought the urge to peek in at her and, instead, explored the wide plains around them. In the near distance, their neighbors had already started on a soddie. While he’d stayed with Ben yesterday, it’d seemed that every time he glanced over that way, there was a growing stack of sod bricks.
A moan came from beneath the tent. Cort winced, remembering the gnawing pain of a broken bone. He was only eleven when he’d broken his wrist, but the undulating ache was seared in his memory. An urgency to ease Aubrey’s burdens swelled up inside. Mostly because Ben’s condition was his doing, and it was the only compensation he might offer. But there was something else, and no matter how much Cort tried to shove it away, it clung on like a cocoon in the shade of a broad leaf.
What were the chances that the very woman he’d prayed for back at camp would be the first woman he’d meet on this expanse of land?
Now they were tied to each other in a way. Their destinies were bound together because of a desperate bargain to work the land she longed to own. If only he could offer her a future based on more than a “maybe.”
Settling by his pack, he read a couple of Psalms while eating leftover corn cakes he’d carried from camp in his bag. Once he inspected the steep embankment of the creek bed, he decided he would at least make a dugout home for the Huxleys until they’d purchased or borrowed the supplies for a proper home. If he had time, he’d get started on his own down the creek a ways. No reason to live right next door.
“Good morning, Cort.” Aubrey startled him as he unstrapped his shovel from his pack. “Mind if I take your horse to the church service in Alva?”
He stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Of course not.”
Her face was pallid, a troublesome color compared to its usual creamy ivory. “Ben and I just ate. He’s trying his best to keep his leg still. Told him you were nearby if he needed anything.”
“I’ll keep my ears open.”
Weariness cloaked the woman. Her shoulders drooped, and her eyes were red. If he could gather her up in another embrace like yesterday, he’d beg her forgiveness for this mess. Forget any strength of his own. He clenched his teeth and pushed away his spiraling thoughts. He knew the woman beneath the worrisome shell. She was strong, adamant and not to be pitied. At least, that was what she would demand. It had only been a couple of days, and Cort was pretty sure his impression of Aubrey Huxley was correct.
So instead of an embrace, he helped her prepare his horse, saw her off, then got to work.
At first, the dry, packed earth resisted his shovel’s blade. Cort leaned his whole body against the handle. It was nothing like the moist soil of northern Wyoming. He fought against the memory, but his mind had already stumbled backward. He may as well have been digging post holes for the south fence along John Buford’s small cattle operation. John had been a good boss. One who had given Cort the chance to escape the Texas heat and the family name—or at least to live as a Stanton with no recognition by any townsmen in Buffalo, Wyoming.
Cort wiped away the sweat dripping down his nose with his sleeve and grunted at his n
ext plunge into the earth.
John Buford had spoken on salvation many times as they worked his cattle. Cort had even attended church with the Buford family. But it seemed like family loyalty had caught up with him just as he surrendered to the Gospel as truth.
He’d seen much adversity growing up in Texas and had played along when his brother wormed his way out of trouble time and again. Could Cort truly see the goodness in this life without being pinned down by his cumbersome roots? How did a redeemed man truly find forgiveness on this side of Heaven?
A faint rumble came from above as Cort stepped back and examined the four-foot-wide hole he’d dug. A couple more feet were needed on each side. And then there was the problem of a good front wall. He’d start cutting sod with his spade tomorrow. Aubrey could string up her quilt until then.
He left his shovel and climbed up the embankment. Aubrey had ridden up with a man on a black horse following behind. They tied the horses to the only two trees that seemed secure enough.
“Dr. Mills, this is Mr. Stanton, my tenant,” Aubrey said.
Cort tipped his hat then followed in step behind the doctor, praying that God would redeem this situation and at least take away this most recent guilt.
* * *
“You appear to have a fracture below the knee.” Dr. Mills looked over his spectacles at Ben, then turned to Aubrey. “Might take a couple months to heal.”
Her spirit dimmed. Shame swarmed her like fierce mosquitoes. She’d yelled for him to go fight for her land. She’d pushed him into it. Just like Pa dragged him into his schemes.
She was no better.
Aubrey fluttered her lashes to ward off tears. “Will he be able to walk normally again?” The thought knifed her. She knew what it meant to break a leg. Mama’s best friend, Maureen, was never the same after falling off a horse.
Ben’s eyes widened.
“I think he’ll be able to, eventually. But it will take time to heal. I’m going to give him a splint for now. Hoping to get some plaster in the next shipment so I can make him a cast.” Dr. Mills adjusted his hat and placed his spectacles in his front pocket. “The heat is unrelenting. I’m more worried about him dehydrating out here than dealing with a broken bone. It’s crucial to get him to shelter before another day of this heat.” He gave a quick glance to the pile of their recent shelter. They’d taken down the quilt for Ben’s examination.
“Yes, sir,” Aubrey mumbled, feeling as small as a mouse. There was no way she could build shelter that quickly. Cort gave her an assured nod. Even with his extra help, surely a shelter wouldn’t be possible so quickly.
Cort came up beside her, gently cupping her elbow. “Don’t you worry about shelter, Miss Huxley.”
Before Aubrey could question him, Ben growled, “What’s he still doing here?” He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, his brown eyes lit with anger.
“Ben, you need to calm down—”
“That’s the man who did this to me!” He curled his sweaty lip against white teeth and glared at Cort.
“Son, you must calm yourself.” The doctor rushed over, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Doc, wonder how my leg broke? That’s the cowboy who did it.” Ben’s knuckles bulged as he held them in tight fists. His glare remained fixed on Cort.
“I tried to stop you... I didn’t want any trouble.” Cort removed his hat, wiping his hands through dampened curls.
Aubrey placed a hand on Cort’s arm. “Let’s discuss this later.” She glared at Ben, who just narrowed his eyes. The doctor didn’t need to witness this dispute. Her skin crawled with the memory of every outburst she’d witnessed from the Huxley men over the years. Some men walked away from conflict and others, like the Huxley men, tended to barrel right into it without a thought. Just as Ben had taken Cort head-on the day of the race, he was now wanting to pick a fight even in his miserable state.
While Dr. Mills applied a splint, he advised, “You must keep your leg still. We’ll try to get a nice flat board to move you tomorrow. There’s supposed to be a railcar full of lumber delivered to Alva’s square. A stretcher would be best, but that’s one more day out here.” He peered up at the baking sky and lifted his brow in uncertainty.
“We’ll get to work on a better shelter right away.” Aubrey pulled her shoulders back and offered a hand for a shake. “Thank you, Dr. Mills. We may not have come as prepared as most, but thankfully we have a creek nearby for plenty of water.”
“Even the most prepared didn’t have the chance to hunker down out here. You’re blessed to have your quarter section and water. They’re selling it by the bucket in Alva. Just be careful of sunstroke. I’ve already seen plenty die of it during my stay at the camp.” He looked around the vast prairie sprawled out like a grassy cloth on earth’s barren table. “I’ll be back soon. Comfort him as best as you can. I gave him some laudanum. It will help ease the pain, but may make him sleepy. Be sure to drink plenty, son.” Ben nodded weakly.
Aubrey saw him off, then remembered that Cort had disappeared shortly after Ben’s accusation. His horse was grazing in the shade, so he hadn’t gone too far. A tremor of defeat threatened to crush her. How could she manage to build a home, care for her brother and find work to afford the expenses of starting a horse ranch?
Lord, show me Your will in all of this.
If she thought of Mama—how she worked as a seamstress, her fingers bleeding, how she had stashed away her money in the jar at the back of the pantry, and she’d poured out every ounce of her energy for this dream—then the least Aubrey could do was make it come true. Even if the jar had been raided often by greedy paws, and the dream was dashed by her father’s dishonest deeds. Aubrey’s own pay from the dress shop was her assurance that Pa would leave her be. At least she didn’t have to worry about that. She had come this far, and she must persevere regardless of what might stand in the way.
Dr. Mills disappeared beyond the mesquite trees. He had called Aubrey blessed for surviving the land run with something to show for it. She thanked God for the land and the creek. In town, pails and barrels of water were being sold for a price. Yesterday, she’d breathed in the black dust that hung over the newborn town of Alva, smelling the sweat of hundreds who had settled for a small plot in town instead of a homestead on the prairie. It was time Aubrey rekindled her determination.
No, she wouldn’t give up. She had dealt with the challenges of living under the same roof as Ed Huxley all these years, hadn’t she? Nursing a broken leg and building a ranch from scratch couldn’t be any worse than that, could it?
“Aubrey, why’s that man hanging around?” Ben called to her.
“I’ll talk with you soon, brother,” she said. He looked like he might get up and chase her down. “Don’t you move.” She didn’t want to face his anger yet. First things first. Take the good doctor’s advice and get some water.
Aubrey slid down the ridge to fill her canteen. A large mass of dirt was piled against the embankment to the east. The soft plodding of tossed soil alternated with labored breathing. She wormed her way around the pile that was close to damming up the very creek that she’d thanked God for. Cort’s back was to her, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows while he shoveled soil in a constant rhythm. The muscles along his tanned forearm flexed with each movement and his shirt clung to his skin with perspiration.
Aubrey filled her lungs with a jagged breath and glanced away. “Mr. Stanton?”
He stopped midshovel. When she managed to look his way again, she saw that earth smeared his glistening face.
Aubrey’s mouth went dry. Their eyes locked on each other. The freshly disturbed dirt scented the air just as it had done when she’d crawled through the night. Cort had crossed her mind more than once during that long venture. Now he was part of her new beginning. For how long, she didn’t know.
She cleared her th
roat. “I do wonder why you are digging on my land?”
Cort cocked his head but kept her in his sights from the corner of his eye. Was he trying to gauge if she jested? She did not. It seemed he was building himself shelter without even consulting her on its placement. It was a fine hole, though. Big enough that he could probably lie in its width or its depth with room to spare.
“Well, I figured if you owned land, you would need a shelter better than a quilt strung over a shovel.” He placed his finger on his upper lip as if trying to contain a smile.
Aubrey swallowed hard. “This is for me?”
“And Ben, I suppose. Dr. Mills seemed pretty adamant.”
“But I told you, I was going to build a sod house...” Her voice was barely audible. His work had stolen her boldness.
“This is temporary but necessary in this heat. A soddie will take time to build.” He released a broad, charming smile showcasing white teeth and his usual dimple.
“Oh.” Aubrey diverted her eyes. How could she stop the flood within her? Her emotions were at war. Gratitude leaped higher than her reservation. This man was stubborn in keeping his word to help, wasn’t he? A gentleman to a fault? How in the world could she protect herself from dependence when Cort Stanton kept on like this?
“That’s mighty nice of you, Mr. Stanton—”
“Cort. Using my first name is fine by me.”
“Okay, Cort. This is a fine shelter.”
“Thank you. I just can’t sit by and—”
“For you.”
Cort’s mouth hung open like he’d been snagged by her words.
“I’ll build my own, though.” She forced herself to appear unwavering, with a cool facade and a confident posture—even if her insides were melting by his gesture.
The cowboy’s brow pulled over his eyes like an angry storm cloud above broken land. All joy dissolved from his face, unveiling an undeniable defeat. He gathered up his shovel and approached her in such a deliberate move that she took a step back.
“Fine. If you’re so stuck on being self-sufficient, start digging.” He pushed the shovel toward her, the handle inches from her nose. As soon as her fingers wrapped around it, Cort slid between her and the dirt pile and stomped down the creek bed.
