Romance Rides the Range

by Reece, Colleen L.

  That afternoon Matt rested his hands on the top rail of the corral and watched Sarah lead Pandora out of the barn for their usual afternoon ride. Chase was already saddled and waiting. Matt started toward Sarah, but his three youngest cowboys—all just a little older than Seth—beat him to it. Matt frowned. What were Curly, Bud, and Slim up to?

  The trio doffed their Stetsons, then Curly respectfully asked, “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss Sarah, but has the boss slapped his brand on you?”

  Sarah stared at him as if unable to comprehend. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Before Matt could bellow at the boys, Bud added, “The reason Curly’s askin’ is, if the answer’s no, then we’d like to carry you to the big doin’s in town this weekend.”

  “Yeah,” Slim chimed in, “there’s a rodeo an’ a square dance an—”

  Matt gritted his teeth, but Sarah said, “Carry me? What do you mean?”

  Curly whacked his hat against his leg. “Don’t pay Bud no mind. He’s from Virginny. They talk funny back there. If he were better eddicated, he’da said, take you. Or es-cort you. That’s more high-toned.”

  Matt saw Sarah’s lips twitch. In spite of his annoyance, he also wanted to laugh. What would the lovable but unpredictable boys do next? More importantly, what would Sarah do?

  “Am I to understand all three of you want to escort me?” she demanded.

  Astonishment swept over all three faces. Curly—evidently elected spokesman for the group—said, “Why, shore. We’re gonna be the three most important fellers there. I’m the best rider and aim to give the boss a run for his money in the men’s race. Bud’s sure to win either the calf ropin’ or the bull ridin’.”

  Sarah let out a silvery peal of laughter. “What about Slim?”

  “He’s the modest kind. Don’t like to brag, but he’s the best square dancer in the outfit,” Curly explained. “So, Miss Sarah, are you free to accept our ’nvitation?”

  Matt found his tongue. “She is not. Seth and I’ll do any es-corting there is to do.”

  Bud stood his ground. “Aw, Boss, we’d be mighty proud to carry her,” he protested. “ ’Course, if it’s hornin’ in on you, just say so.”

  Matt felt trapped between a rock and a hard place. If he said the cowboys were horning in, it would embarrass Sarah. Keeping silent would put her in a tough position. Inspiration hit him. “It’s like this, boys. If Sarah comes sashaying in with the three of you, it will get her in bad with the other girls, especially those who came all by their lonesome. We don’t want that to happen, now do we?” The crestfallen escorts looked at each other and shuffled their feet. “Reckon we never thought of that,” Curly admitted. A smile broke through the sudden gloom. “Can we at least dance with her?”

  Matt laughed. “That is up to the lady.”

  Three pairs of hopeful eyes turned toward Sarah. She blushed, mounted Pandora, and rode off, but she called back over her shoulder, “The lady says yes.”

  “Yippee-ki-ay! The Diamond S is gonna ride high, wide, and handsome come Saturday,” Curly shouted. “Say, Boss, Miss Sarah stays in that saddle as if she’d been born there. Why’n’t you get her to ride in the ladies’ race? Since the outfit’s bent on winnin’ all the rodeo prizes, we might as well get one more.”

  “Good idea, Curly.” Matt swung into the saddle and headed in the direction Sarah had taken.

  ❧

  Later that afternoon, Sarah persuaded her brother into taking a walk with her on the pretense she needed to consult him about something. When they stopped beneath a tall cottonwood, she gleefully related her invitation to the “big doin’s.”

  Seth thought it was hilarious. “Those three are my favorites of the outfit, except for Brett Owen. They’re such pardners they should have been triplets!” He laughed but quickly sobered. His keen gaze bored into her. “They weren’t disrespectful, were they?”

  “Oh no! They were polite, funny, and very determined to find out if I was wearing Matt’s brand. What does that mean, Seth?”

  “Out here, an engagement ring stands for a brand—a mark that a girl or young woman is spoken for. Kind of like a No Trespassing sign.” Seth hesitated. “Sarah, I don’t want to pry, but is Matt going to someday be my real brother?”

  “Would you like that?” Sarah held her breath.

  “He’s the only man I’ve ever known who is good enough for you. And,” he loyally added, “I’ll bet my bedroll you’re the only woman good enough for him.” His face darkened. “Be careful, though, Sarah. Lydia Hensley did a lot of damage to Matt’s pride. He thinks a powerful lot of you, and the last thing he needs is to be let down a second time.” Seth patted her hand. “Just take your time and be sure.” He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “I figured that Gus and Tice would follow you. Wonder why they haven’t?”

  Sarah shook her head. The fear that lay hidden within her and was sometimes temporarily forgotten flared up like a brush fire. “I don’t know.”

  “If they do come, it probably won’t be until spring,” Seth comforted. Mischief sprang to his eyes. “Who knows? By then you may have a husband as well as a brother to protect you. What Matt did to Red Fallon isn’t a patch on what he’d do to anyone who really tried to hurt you.”

  Sarah grimaced but she kept her thoughts to herself.

  ❧

  Sarah had never been to a rodeo and had no idea what to expect. As usual she sought out Solita. “I know what horse racing is, and calf roping must mean the cowboys are going to rope calves, but why would anyone want to ride a bull?”

  Solita’s merry laugh bounced off the ceiling of the large, cool kitchen. “You have much to learn if you are to be a rancher’s wife, senorita!” The housekeeper’s laughter died, and she rolled her expressive dark eyes. “Vaqueros, they are all alike. They ride anything they can straddle, especially bulls. The meaner the better. It is dangerous, very dangerous.”

  Sarah’s mouth dried. She ignored Solita’s comment about being a rancher’s wife and asked, “Does Matthew do that?”

  Solita shook her head. “He only rides in the horse races, and usually he wins.”

  Sarah sagged with relief. The thought of Matt being trampled by an enraged bull was more than she could bear. She shuddered. “Curly said Bud would either win the calf roping or the bull riding.”

  “Si. He has won before.” Solita patted Sarah’s shoulder. “Do not worry, querida. We will pray for Senor Bud’s safety.”

  “Matt and Seth want me to enter the ladies’ race. Should I? They say Pandora is fast enough to beat almost any horse that runs, but surely there are western girls who ride better than I do.”

  Solita shrugged. “Perhaps, but you will have fun.” She laughed again. “Our Dori won the ladies race when she was fourteen. You will look beautiful in her riding clothes.”

  Sarah capitulated when she saw the outfit. The expensive riding skirt and vest, high boots, blue silk blouse, and white Stetson fit as if they had been designed for her. And the way Matt looked when he saw her made Sarah feel beautiful.

  The rodeo brought out everyone’s brightest clothing. The cowboys donned fancy shirts and highly colored neckerchiefs. They polished their boots until they shone, regardless of the fact they would soon be dusty from the events. The ladies decked themselves out in their best gowns. Some carried parasols.

  Sarah was delighted to discover her friend Abby from the Yosemite Hotel was going to ride in the ladies’ race. “It is so good to see you,” the attractive young woman said. “Everyone is glad to know Seth is much better.” She cast a furtive glance both ways then leaned close to whisper, “Keep your ears open and your eyes peeled. I heard Red Fallon plans to be here today. He never misses a rodeo.”

  Sarah gasped. “Surely he wouldn’t come after everything he’s done!”

  “You don’t know Red Fallon,” Abby warned. “He’s likely to turn up anywhere. Besides, even though folks suspect him of shooting your brother, there’s no proof.” She sighed. “I just wish Sheri
ff Meade would get some positive evidence that would send Red to the penitentiary!”

  The disturbing news cast a cloud over Sarah’s day. She alerted Matt and Seth to what she’d learned, but Red didn’t appear until the calf roping. To Sarah’s disgust he leaped from the saddle of his black stallion, expertly roped and tied the calf, then jumped up with a smirk and threw his hands into the air. A few minutes later, however, Sarah clapped until her hands stung. Bud’s time was a few seconds less than Red’s. The swaggering cowboy sullenly had to accept second place.

  To Sarah’s relief Bud didn’t enter the bull-riding event. “Stove up my ankle when I hit the ground durin’ the calf ropin’,” he growled.

  “You beat Red,” she reminded.

  “Yeah.” A triumphant gleam shot across Bud’s disconsolate face. “Now either Curly or the boss needs to win the men’s race. If you win the ladies’ race, it’ll be frostin’ on the cake.”

  “I’ll try,” she promised and mounted Pandora for the race. When the horses took off, Sarah bent low over the gelding’s neck and screamed encouragement into his ear. Never had he galloped faster. Wind burned Sarah’s face and sent her hat flying, along with the hairpins which secured her braids. Her red gold hair streamed behind her like a flame, and the roar of the excited crowd dinned in her ears. On the homestretch Abby’s palomino mare kept pace with Pandora. A few yards from the finish line, they surged ahead just enough to win.

  “No hard feelings?” Abby asked when they slowed their horses.

  “Oh no!” Sarah attempted to smooth her disheveled hair. “That was exciting. But I challenge you to another race sometime.”

  Abby laughed and held out a gloved hand. “You’re on. You’re not bad for a tenderfoot. Let’s go get our prizes. It’s almost time for the men’s race.”

  Nineteen

  It was not Red Fallon’s day. He and his black made a strong showing but only placed third in the men’s race. Top honors went to Matt Sterling on Chase and Curly on his favorite buckskin. They were neck and neck all the way and crossed the finish line at the exact same moment.

  Red yanked at his horse’s reins and gave the winning pair a menacing look that frightened Sarah. So far the Diamond S outfit had studiously avoided him like the plague, but could it last? What if Red showed up at the square dance? There was no telling what might happen.

  To Sarah’s great relief, Red didn’t come. Curly, Bud, and Slim got their turns dancing with her, but most of the time Matt fended off would-be partners by whirling her away. Yet all through the happy evening, a bad feeling niggled at Sarah. Red Fallon was not out of the picture. As the cowboys would say, “Not by a long shot.”

  ❧

  One beautiful evening shortly after the rodeo Matt told Sarah there would be no school the next day. Everyone was needed to prepare for a special fiesta in honor of Seth’s miraculous recovery.

  “What can I do to help?” she inquired.

  “Nothing.” Matt grinned, the maddening expression that always left her feeling unsettled and wondering what he was thinking. “Why don’t you take tomorrow off and do something you really want to do?” He gave her a mock glare. “That does not mean helping Solita!”

  Instead of sticking to her guns and reminding Matt she was there to work, as she often did, Sarah obediently said, “All right,” then laughed at his look of surprise. She stared west toward a spectacular sunset. Crimson, scarlet, gold, and purple set the skies on fire. “The Bible says red sky in the evening means a fair tomorrow. If it’s all right, I will borrow a horse and buggy and go to Madera. I’ve been wanting to tell Abby and the other girls at the Yosemite Hotel how good God was to spare Seth. There was no chance for a serious talk when I saw them at the rodeo.”

  Matt looked regretful. “Sorry I can’t take you, and Seth’s nursing a bum ankle. But one of the boys will be glad to drive for you.” Mischief sparkled in his teasing blue eyes. “All of them are more than willing, especially Curly, Bud, and Slim. Of course, choosing one over the others means we will probably have a range war on our hands.”

  Sarah just laughed and waved away his suggestion, but her pulse quickened.

  “Actually I was teasing,” Matt said. “One of the men will escort you to town. Just because your stepfather and that gambler haven’t showed up yet is no reason to believe they won’t—sooner or later.”

  The next morning, Sarah dressed in her best, blue-checked gingham dress, donned a wide-brimmed hat, and climbed into the buggy Matt had ready and waiting. Curly, clad in a blinding plaid shirt and neckerchief, beamed at her from the driver’s seat. “My pards and I tossed a coin to see who got to drive you. I won,” he bragged. Sarah couldn’t help laughing at his triumphant expression—and at the obviously disgruntled Slim and Bud, who stood nearby.

  “Take good care of her, Curly,” Matt called when they started off. “Vaya con Dios. Sarah, and hurry home.”

  Go with God. Hurry home. What a beautiful blessing! “We should be home early in the afternoon,” Sarah promised. “Don’t eat up all the tamales and enchiladas at dinner.” She waved, and they drove away.

  Matthew’s blessing perched on Sarah’s shoulder on her trip to Madera. An occasional lazy hawk circled in the Indian summer sky. A few long-eared jackrabbits with bulging eyes peered at her from beside the road. After Curly made a few unsuccessful attempts to start a conversation, he gave up. It provided the perfect opportunity for Sarah to think and silently talk with her heavenly Father.

  Who would have thought the frightened girl who fled from St. Louis would be teaching school on a cattle ranch in California a few months later?

  Sarah smiled to herself. Her original ten students had grown to sixteen. After the first few sessions, Carmelita’s mother had shyly asked Senor Mateo if “the good Senorita Sarah, who so kindly teaches the muchachos, will also teach the senoras English?” Sarah was aghast. Teaching children was one thing. Teaching their mothers was a different story. Yet the eagerness in the brown-skinned faces awaiting her answer went straight to Sarah’s tender heart. These Mexican women were God’s children, too. How could she deny them the joy of learning?

  She swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded. “Si.” All the electric lights that glowed in St. Louis couldn’t match the brightness in the women’s faces—but the greater reward was Sarah’s. The scripture from Luke 6 rang in her ears each time she saw the women struggling to master English and saw their toil-worn fingers painstakingly copying words on the extra slates Matt provided: “Give, and it shall be given unto you. . . . For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.”

  When she mentioned it to Matt, he quietly said, “We can never out give God, Sarah.” He smiled with such obvious approval and love that Sarah felt warmed through and through.

  Now as the buggy neared Madera, she silently prayed, Lord, I am so glad I was able to sow seeds of Christianity during the time I worked at the Yosemite Hotel. I pray they will begin to bear good fruit in the lives of my new friends. She reflected on how much she had learned to love the country and how much Matt had come to mean in her life. A small smile crept up from her heart. Thank You, God, for bringing me to California. She turned to Curly with a bright remark, and they visited the rest of the way to Madera.

  Once there, Sarah could hardly wait to see her friends. They left the buggy in a shady grove at the edge of town and agreed to start home around noon.

  ❧

  The din of the metal bar drumming on the triangle announcing the midday meal sounded shortly after Matt rode in from several hours of checking fences.

  “About time,” Seth complained. “My stomach feels so empty it thinks my throat’s been cut.”

  “Good sign.” Matt slapped his dusty Stetson against his boot tops. “If I don’t get cleaned up before dinner, Solita will clean my clock.” He strode up the wide steps. “Sarah back yet?”

  “Naw.” Seth raised one eyebrow. “She probably couldn’t get away from the girls at the Yosemite Hot
el.”

  “Probably,” Matt agreed. But when two o’clock came, he lounged on the shady porch and stared at the road to Madera, nervous as a Mexican jumping bean. Seth had long since settled down for an afternoon siesta, obviously untroubled by his sister’s absence.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Matt told himself. “Nothing can happen to Sarah when Curly’s with her.” It didn’t help. And when a lathered horse and wild-eyed rider charged into the yard, Matt cleared the porch steps in one leap.

  “Doc Brown says you gotta come quick!” Freckle-faced Johnny Foster gasped for breath. “Curly’s hurt bad. He was found knocked out cold in an alley. Nobody knows how long he’d been there.”

  Heart thundering, Matt grabbed Johnny’s shoulder. “What about Sarah?”

  “Seth’s sister?” Johnny looked surprised. “I don’t know anything about her.”

  In the time it took to saddle Chase and a fresh horse for Johnny, something inside Matt died.

  Every pound of the horses’ hooves on the way to Madera echoed the beat of his worried heart. “Lord,” he prayed, low enough that Johnny couldn’t hear, “You know my life will be meaningless without Sarah. Please be with her, wherever she is.”

  It seemed like a century before they reached Madera and Doc Brown. Curly had just regained consciousness, face pale beneath a heavy bandage around his head.

  “Where’s Sarah?” Matt challenged.

  “Sarah?” Curly groggily shook his head and winced. “Probably still at the hotel. I remember starting to meet her before noon. I passed an alley and woke up here in Doc’s office. . . .”

  Matt was already rushing for the door, heart in his throat. God, is Sarah at the hotel? If so, surely she would have heard about Curly and gotten word to me! Fortunately Abby was on duty.