Blue Bonnet

by Risner, Fay

  The Blue Bonnet

  Fay Risner

  Cover Art

  Fay Risner

  All rights reserved 12/2014

  Published by Fay Risner at Smashwords

  Copyright (c) 12/2014

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to the actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals are entirely coincidental. Excerpts from this book cannot be used without written permission from the author.

  Booksby fay Publisher

  author, editor and publisher Fay Risner

  fayrisner@netins.net

  In chapters two and three of this book, the story originated from a short story I submitted in contests titled Indian Attack. In 2006, from White County Creative Writers contests, I received first honorable mention in the Western Short Story category.

  In 2009, I submitted the short story The Blue Bonnet in the Arkansas Writers' Conference contests in the Arkansas Pioneer Branch NLAPW Prose Award category. I was awarded second place.

  Fay Risner's books at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, kindle and nook

  Nurse Hal Among The Amish Series

  A Promise Is A Promise Emma's Gossamer Dreams

  The Rainbow’s End The Courting Buggy

  Hal’s Worldly Temptations Doubting Thomas

  As Her Name Is So Is Redbird

  Amazing Gracie Historical Mystery Series

  Neighbor Watchers Poor Defenseless Addie

  Specious Nephew

  The Country Seat Killer

  The Chance Of A Sparrow

  Moser Mansion Ghosts

  Locked Rock, Iowa Hatchet Murders

  Westerns

  Stringbean Hooper Westerns Tread Lightly Sibby

  The Dark Wind Howls Over Mary The Blue Bonnet

  Small Feet’s Many Moon Journey

  Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia-Civil War

  Christmas books

  Christmas Traditions - An Amish Love Story

  Christmas With Hover Hill

  Leona’s Christmas Bucket List

  Children Books

  Spooks In Claiborne Mansion Mr. Quacker

  My Children Are More Precious Than Gold

  Nonfiction about Alzheimer’s disease

  Open A Window - Caregiver Handbook

  Hello Alzheimer’s Goodbye Dad-author’s true story

  Cookbook

  Midwest Favorite Lamb Recipes

  Books published by Booksbyfay Publisher

  Romance

  Sunset Til Sunrise On Buttercup Lane by Connie Risner

  Military Nonfiction Vietnam War

  Redcatcher MP by Mickey Bright

  Chapter One

  Life had been good on the Bar BK ranch for many years. Back in the old days, Bat Kayhill had almost everything he could ask for. A ranch worth fighting for when fighting was required, and a beautiful wife to enjoy the wealth with.

  He often gave thought to his one regret, but he never said it out loud to his wife. Hannah didn't give him a son to turn the ranch over to after he was too old to run it. He wouldn't for the world have brought that up with her. She gave him two daughters, and he loved both of them dearly though they tended to get on his nerves after they grew up.

  He grinned, thinking about the fact that not having a son wasn't for the lack of Hannah and his trying. That was just one of those things that wasn't meant to be.

  After Bat laid his wife to rest on the hill above the ranch house two years back, he couldn't stand living in their home alone. Too many memories of Hannah in that place. His daughters invited him to move in with them in Dead Horse, Oklahoma fifteen miles from the ranch. So he took them up on their invitation, thinking it was time he made a change in his life.

  Short, plain Ethel, an old maid, had made spinsterhood a badge of honor. Wasn't a man around would take on that bossy girl after he associated with her for a few minutes.

  Fussy Tessie was widowed three years after she married. Her husband caught typhoid fever during the epidemic a few years back. The woman kept her house so spotless Bat was afraid to move anything out of its place. That included what he had in his own bedroom.

  Tessie lectured Ethel and him on the virtue of neatness as though not being neat was a sin. Bat smiled. He could think of a lot worse things to call a sin, but he wasn't about to mention a list of them to Tessie. She didn't have a sense of humor.

  As much as he loved his daughters, he finally decided he wasn't as lonely now, after this much time had passed. At least, not as down in the dumps as he was right after Hannah died. He was ready to move out and get away from his possessive daughters.

  It took a couple years of living with his daughters for him to finally come to that decision. Of course, the first year, he'd been so numb from missing Hannah he'd paid little attention to his girls or their opinions. He did whatever they wanted like a puppy being trained.

  Since then he'd livened up. He realized he needed to go on living. That probably had something to do with the fact he finally figured out his daughters were driving him crazy. Living on the ranch had to beat living with his girls except for one thing.

  Though Bat concluded he wanted to go home, he decided moving back to the ranch wouldn't do him any good if he didn't have a wife. He'd still be just as lonesome as when he moved to town.

  He owned a good house on his ranch. That was half of what he needed to be happy. The other half was the right woman.

  For the last two years, he had only been in the ranch house long enough to make sure no one bothered it. Not that he needed to worry with a bunkhouse full of cowhands nearby, watching everything for him.

  Mainly, checking the house was just an excuse to get himself to go inside and face the memories of Hannah. Usually, he came out of the house saddened and lonely. It always took him awhile to get over those feelings, before he worked up the nerve to check on the house again.

  Early one morning in the spring, Bat told his daughters he'd be at the ranch all day. He buckled on his holster and carried his rife to Avery Milhouse's livery stable down the street where he kept his horse. It didn't take him but a few minutes to saddle the horse, slip his rifle in the saddle boot and ride out of town toward his Bar BK ranch.

  Once Bat was out of town, Blaze, a red quarter horse with a white stripe on his face, showed he was feeling his oats. The horse did a side stepping dance. He even tried a few bucking hops, trying to ditch his rider. That feisty horse sure needed more exercise than he'd been getting.

  Bat kicked the horse in the sides. It felt good racing across the prairie with the wind rushing around his face. Ever so often, he had to tap his cowboy hat tighter on his head to keep it from blowing off while he let Blaze have his head.

  Bat rode under the Bar BK Ranch sign over the cattle guard and headed his horse toward the north range. He halted when he topped a short hill to gaze at his land.

  With his right leg hiked over the saddle horn, Bat rolled a smoke and studied the lay of the land. He was always awed by the beauty of his wide sweeping range. He felt pride at what he had accomplished over the years with Hannah's help.

  Bat spotted his foreman, Hunker Jones leading the cattle herd, strung out for a mile. That was the man to talk with about his ranch business. Hunker had pretty much taken
over when Bat didn't have the gumption to pay attention to the ranch.

  Old Hunker stretched his lanky frame taller in the saddle and waved as Bat galloped to meet him. His right cheek pushed out, as if he had the mumps, with a chaw of chewing tobacco stuffed in it. He pushed his battered, dusty cowboy hat up from his forehead and off his large, floppy ears. As he waited for his boss to get to him, he slowed his black and white paint to a walk and rested his left hand on his gun belt. When Bat was close enough, Hunker's wrinkled, weather leathered face broke into a smile. “Mornin', Boss.”

  Bat pulled his horse along side Hunker and rested one leg over his saddle, ready to jaw awhile. “Mornin' to ya, Hunker. How's the roundup comin?”

  “Mighty fine, Boss. Ever'thin' is goin' as smooth as I've ever seed it. Mainly, cause we had a mite of luck with this string of good days. The weather in our favor always helps.” Hunker thumbed over his shoulder. “The herd's almost to here. Once we get them settled in, we'll start the brandin'.” He leaned over to the far side and spit a string of amber at a tumbleweed.

  A large plumb of red dust boiled up and drifted in the breeze as the herd moved closer. The cowhands spread out around the longhorns to keep them moving.

  The herd ranged closer to the ranch buildings in the winter and while the cattle calved. That made it easier on the cowhands to work with them during cold, snowy days and in calving season.

  Now the cowhands were on their way with the herd to the north pasture. That pasture held plenty of spring grass, thick and deep. The cowboys would round up the spring calves in a log corral and brand them with the Bar BK running irons. After that, the hands turned the calves back with the cows. They had some more nursing and growing to do before fall weaning.

  “Well, I reckon I'm done jawing. Sounds to me like ya have everything under control. I'll leave ya to it. I thought I might go check on the house while I'm out this way,” Bat said causally.

  “Last I noticed, the house is still there,” Hunker joked.

  “Yip, I figured as much.” Bat rubbed his chin thoughtfully and decided to tell the foreman his plans. “Hunker, I been thinking maybe one of these days I just might move back in that house.”

  Surprised, Hunker's fuzzy, gray eyebrows lifted, and he grinned wide, showing his stained uneven teeth. “No kiddin', Boss. That sounds like a right fine idea to me. We sure have missed ya workin' with us. The boys will be right glad to hear that news. I know I surely am.”

  “Well, shucks, that's the problem. I kind a do miss living out here in the fresh air on my ranch. There's something doin' out here all the time. I never was cut out for quiet city life, and I'm beginnin' to see that now,” Bat admitted.

  As Hunker rode back to the herd, Bat headed for the house. He stopped within sight of the building site to take in what he had walked away from. The low, sprawling house, with a long front porch, was backed by a grove of oaks, cedar, cottonwood and walnuts. The trees hid Sidewinder Creek where they used to go for water. It sure made things a heap easier when he dug the well between the house and the barn.

  Not far from the house was the log cabin the cowhands use for their bunkhouse. That was Hannah and his first house. The large barn and several three-sided sheds with corrals made up the other buildings.

  Bat moseyed to the house, dismounted and tied Blaze to the hitch rack. In the silence, his boots sounded loud as he thudded up the hollow, wooden steps. He took the rod off the sill and hit the meal triangle a couple times to hear the clamoring noise before he went through the door.

  He twisted slowly in a circle, surveying the kitchen and remembering the way it used to be. He imagined Hannah at the stove, telling him before almost every meal he was too early to eat. He'd just have to sit down, have a cup of coffee and wait on his food. She'd end by saying that was all there was to it which meant her word was final. He might as well not try to object. She never figured out he came off the range early on purpose so he could spend some time with her.

  A skittering noise caught his attention. Bat put his hand on his pistol butt. He relaxed as a mouse raced across the work counter and disappeared behind it. He heard the plunk when the mouse hit the floor. He wondered how many more relatives of that little varmint were nesting among his possessions.

  Bat walked down the hallway and looked into the bedroom he shared with Hannah. The fancy velvet and satin crazy quilt she made and was so proud of decorated the bed.

  His thoughts ran to Hannah stretched out in that bed under her quilt, pale and barely breathing. He sat for days, holding her hand and talking non stop just so Hannah could hear his voice and know he was with her.

  Billie took care of them both, feeding him and tending to Hannah. The morning Hannah took her last breath was the moment his heart lost feeling for anyone or anything for a long time. He hadn't slept in that bed since.

  Hannah's dresses, every day and Sunday best, hung on the wall pegs right where she left them the day she quit wearing them. Now the clothes were worse looking after having been neglected on the pegs for so long. All of them were dust coated with cobwebs stringing them together.

  If he moved back into this house, Bat didn't think he had the gumption to sleep in this bedroom. He closed the door and walked across the hall to the room meant to be used for a nursery. The room was left empty after the girls didn't need it. He might as well use it for an office once he moved a desk and safe in to it.

  He checked the bedroom on the left at the end of the hall. That had been Billie's room until she married. She'd made a couple quilts for the bed and left them on it when she moved. She joked she might need that bed again some day if her marriage didn't work out. Bat didn't want to take her room. It might be his sister would need it again.

  The guest room on the right had windows facing the east. It was the first room to catch the morning sun and roomy enough for two beds. His daughters slept there until they left home.

  Hannah had made the quilts on those beds, too. Large nine patch squares from scarps, ordinary enough, but they would serve their purpose to keep him warm during the winter. He'd sleep in this room. It didn't hold any memories, bad or good. If he had any over night company, they would have to sleep in Hannah's room.

  Chapter Two

  Bat saved looking in the parlor for last. That room always bothered him the most. Cobwebs hit him in the face when he went through the parlor doorway. He swiped his lean hand across his face to get rid of the stray hair feel.

  Hannah did a good job of decorating the spacious and cool room with a red and white Navaho area rug on the floor. Dust was thick. He ran a finger over the walnut lamp table between his and Hannah's rockers. He left a trail on the wood. Same with the red and white tanned cowhide settee's carved walnut arms.

  Bat studied the smiling, painted portrait of his pretty, red headed wife, in a dark green dress with gathered white lace at the neck, that hung above the rock fireplace. The thought popped in his head, What would Hannah say if she saw the pitiful shape her house was in?

  She'd be sure to blame him so he might as well apologize right off. Bat took his hat off and smiled at the large likeness of his wife. “Mornin', Hannah. I sure have been neglectful of yer house, and I am right sorry for that.” His voice was remorseful as he talked to the painting. “If I hadn't been missin' ya so bad, I'd have paid more attention to the mess this place is in.

  I know ya would say that isn't a very good excuse for lettin' a fine house like yers go to pot. I promise here and now, I'm goin' to do something about the way your house looks. Ya ain't goin' to have to put up with this mess anymore. I figure a good cleanin' is what the whole place needs, and I'm seein' it gets done as soon as possible.

  I'm comin' home, Hannah. I'm movin' back in with ya where I belong. I miss ya, and love ya a whole bunch.”

  Before he stayed in the house again, Bat had to find a woman or two to come out from town and clean the place. Hannah might not be able to enjoy the house anymore, but he sure could if it was cleaned.

  He kn
ew how Hannah felt about living on the ranch. This was her home. She loved it here. He could hear her voice now. She'd be putting a heavy hand to her broom and scolding him, “Cleanliness is next to godliness, Bat Kayhill. Remember that next time ya forget to scrape yer boots off in the yard.”

  In the old days, she fought just as hard as he did to keep the ranch from being destroyed when Indians and Comancheros raided. Side by side, they fired Winchesters stuck out the shutter holes as fast as they could jack another shell into the chambers.

  It got so that Indians and Comancheros gave the ranch a wide berth. Word passed in a hurry that Kayhill was a tough hombre with a fast draw. The red headed woman living with him was too good a shot to pull anything on unless they were smart enough to stay out of rifle range.

  Bat sat down in one of the two rocker in front of the fireplace. As he studied Hannah smiling at him, he contemplated what it had been like in the old days, living in this house with his wife.

  Hannah had always been full of Irish fire and feisty fierceness. That disposition was what made her so well suited to live in this wild land. That's part of why he loved her so much.

  Bat remembered some of Hannah's traits he wasn't so fond about. When Hannah set her head to something, there was no changing her mind. Wooee, was she the most stubborn woman he had ever met. That temper of hers seemed down right dangerous sometimes. He tried awful hard not to get her dander up. She was a Texas twister when she was mad.

  On the other hand, she was the bravest woman he'd ever seen. She didn't have a drop of fear in her bones. Probably because she was such a good shot, she saw no reason to be fearful of anything or anyone. She was good at defending herself and was confident she could take care of herself.

  Bat laid his head back against the rocker and tried to remember all the details of one of the times early on when Indian territory was a wild place in Oklahoma. It was the story Hannah told when anyone asked how she managed to stay alive in this dangerous place all those years ago.