Letter to a Lonesome Cowboy

by Jackie Merritt

  “Thank you,” she said. Nodding, J.D. started to go. “Wait! What about George? Do you know how badly he was injured?”

  “The paramedics said his right leg is broken and there’s something wrong with his back. That’s all I know.”

  “All right, thank you.”

  The man left. Suzanne bit down hard on her lower lip. She would like to let Mack know she was here, but she had no idea of the sleeping arrangements upstairs, and looking for her brother among a bunch of strange men could prove to be extremely embarrassing, to say nothing of their reactions to getting disturbed.

  No, she would wait and see Mack in the morning. Sleepy-eyed and yawning, Suzanne made the bed with the clean sheets and blankets. All she had the strength to do was wash her face and brush her teeth; she would shower in the morning. Her last ounce of energy was used to get out of her clothes and into a pair of pajamas. Once in bed, however, the fury of the storm outside kept her awake for some time.

  It was a logical reason to worry, she realized uneasily. After all, if it snowed all night, would she be able to leave in the morning?

  Five

  Rand waited at the hospital with George through X rays and examinations from several different doctors. Finally Rand got a diagnosis out of them. George had a broken leg and a severely sprained back. He would be in the hospital for at least a week, possibly longer.

  Rand talked to him before he left. “George, I don’t want you worrying about things at the ranch while you’re here. Just take it easy, obey the doctors’ orders and get well.”

  George had just been given a sedative for the pain—at long last—and it hadn’t yet taken effect. “That’s easy to say, Rand, but there’s a payroll to get out and bills to pay.”

  “I’ll write checks for the men, so put that out of your mind.”

  George closed his eyes. His leg had been set but not yet cast. His face was pasty because of the pain he’d been suffering, but the doctors had been firm about no sedatives until they’d reached a diagnosis on his injuries.

  “I feel like a dolt,” he mumbled thickly, indicating to Rand that the sedative was beginning to dull his senses. “Falling down like a kid and causing everyone so much trouble. And I was trying to be careful, too. I must be getting old.”

  “Younger men than you have taken a serious tumble, George.”

  “Daisy,” George mumbled.

  “I’ll see that she’s fed, don’t worry about that.” Rand could tell that George was going under. He patted the older man’s arm. “Get some rest.”

  Leaving the hospital, Rand stopped in his tracks. The blizzard had reached a new level of intensity. It was entirely possible that the road to the ranch was closed.

  But he had to get back. With Handy, George and himself gone, there would be no one with any authority whatsoever on the ranch, and all hell could break loose.

  Grimly Rand got into his rig and started the engine. It was going to be one very treacherous drive, but his vehicle was a four-wheeler and he’d put chains on the tires while the paramedics had been seeing to George.

  He’d make it. He had to make it. Putting the shifting lever into low gear, he began the perilous drive home. He passed a snowplow before reaching the edge of town. Whitehorn would be plowed out long before the rural areas. The ranch could be completely cut off from the rest of the world for days, if this storm kept up. Even at that they would manage as long as the electricity held. If a power line snapped and the ranch was without electricity, surviving this storm wouldn’t exactly be accomplished in comfort.

  Rand frowned over that visual, but not for long. He was plowing snow with the front of his rig, barely creeping along, and the windshield kept fogging up no matter how high he turned up the defroster. Plus, the wipers weren’t able to keep so much blowing snow from sticking to the windshield, and every so often Rand had to stop, get out of his rig and wipe the snow from the glass. This was, without a doubt, the worst blizzard he’d ever seen, and he had seen many in his thirty-two years. If the power lines did hold, it would be a miracle.

  There was so much to worry about right now that his mind kept jumping from one thing to another in no apparent pattern—George’s disability, Handy’s absence, that box of dynamite and whoever had ordered it, the misery of having to feed the cattle and horses in this kind of weather and, last but certainly not least, the Paxtons being at the ranch.

  What in hell kind of people were they? Why was Suzanne the person to come after her brother? Weren’t there any men in the Paxton family? Didn’t anyone care what Mack did? Imagine a kid pulling the kind of stunt he had. Rand shook his head in utter disgust. Suzanne seemed like a nice woman—pretty, too—but Mack needed a swift kick in the seat of his pants. He might not be the one to administer it, but make no mistake, that kid was going to behave as long as he was on Kincaid land!

  Rand thought about how Mack had dogged his footsteps all afternoon, while he’d searched every building on the place for that case of dynamite. The boy had never stopped asking questions. “What ‘cha looking for, Rand?” “What’s this thing, Rand?” “What d’ya use this for?” “Will you teach me to ride?” “Would you show me how to use a lasso?” “Do you like western movies, Rand?” “How come your folks named you Rand? I never heard that name before.”

  On and on, Rand thought now. He’d answered only a few of Mack’s incessant questions, because his mind had been totally focused on finding that dynamite. Then the men had started riding in, and Rand hadn’t wanted them to know what he’d been doing and had stopped poking into every nook and cranny of the buildings. Mack had gotten so excited about the cowboys’ return that he’d left Rand alone and hung onto the corral fence as the men unsaddled their horses.

  Walking to the bunkhouse, Rand had chuckled, because Mack was now questioning the hands. “What’s your horse’s name?” “How long have you been a cowboy?” “Are you gonna wipe your horse down?” “What’s that you’re feeding him?” “Is that one a stallion?”

  Just before going in, Rand heard J.D. drawl, “Hey, kid, are you any relation to Dale Carson? He’s just full of questions, too.”

  Thinking of that now, Rand saw it from a different perspective than he had at the time. Mack was honestly curious about everything on the ranch. Was it possible he’d answered that ad in his sister’s name hoping that Suzanne and Rand would click and he and his sister would move to Montana?

  But if that was the case, he didn’t know his sister very well, did he? Mack might be wild about the west, but Suzanne sure wasn’t. At the very least she didn’t understand western hospitality. Why, she wouldn’t even take off her coat to drink a cup of coffee.

  Still, she must have received quite a shock upon learning what Mack had done. Imagining that scenario caused Rand to snort out a laugh. Suzanne would probably never see the humor in it, but now that he thought of it, it seemed pretty darned funny.

  A three-foot-deep snowdrift across the road took Rand’s mind off everything but his driving for several minutes, and he was glad to see the other side of it. That had been the worst drift so far, and it gave him a pretty good idea of what he’d find at the ranch. If the storm blew itself out by morning, he would plow them out tomorrow and everything would get back to normal.

  But, if anything, the storm seemed to be gaining fury with every passing hour, and he feared they were in for a hell of a few days.

  The ranch’s long driveway was the worst of all. If Rand hadn’t known it so well, he never would have been able to stay on the roadway, as it was completely drifted over. Thank God for four-wheel-drive, he thought as he peered through the windshield praying to see some lights. If he didn’t, that meant the electricity was out, and it wasn’t as if everyone could hop into four-wheelers and get off the ranch while they still could. They had to stay to feed the animals. In this kind of weather the cattle and horses needed lots of feed to keep their body temperature up. It wasn’t impossible for cattle to freeze to death in storms like this one, and they would def
initely be in jeopardy without food.

  An enormous sigh of relief lifted Rand’s shoulders when he spotted lights ahead, blurred though they were through the heavy snow coming down. He came to a grinding halt in a bank of snow and turned off the engine. That was when he let the exhaustion he’d been fighting overcome him. It took every ounce of energy he could muster to haul himself out of his rig and trudge through the snow to the bunkhouse.

  He went in and turned right in the hall, fully intending to immediately fall into bed. But a voice behind him stopped him.

  “Rand?”

  He turned and saw J.D. “Hi,” was all he could get out of his mouth.

  “You look beat.”

  “I am.”

  “Is George all right?”

  “He has a broken leg and a badly sprained back.” Rand couldn’t keep from yawning. “Sorry. I can’t even see straight anymore. The roads are damned near impassable, even with a four-wheeler.”

  “I’m surprised you made it back at all. Rand, I told Slim to go to bed. It’s so bad out there I doubt if anyone’s going to try any sabotage tonight. I plan to stay up, though, and if anyone comes down those stairs, I’ll know it.”

  “Thanks, J.D. Appreciate it. Good night.” Rand turned away and headed for his bedroom. He passed the door to the room in which Suzanne Paxton slept, but he never even thought of her.

  In truth, he wasn’t thinking of anything but closing his eyes and getting some sleep as he entered his bedroom.

  Even before Suzanne’s eyes opened the next morning she knew where she was—the wind-driven snow hitting the bunkhouse was evidence enough. Her spirits spiraled downward; the storm was raging.

  Huddled under her blankets she recalled hearing noises in the night—voices, footsteps, the closing of doors. The memory wasn’t vivid or clear as she had only just barely come awake at the sounds and had immediately gone back to sleep.

  But it was logical to think that Rand Harding had returned at some point during the night, and it was him coming in that she’d heard. Lying there pondering her situation, she wondered if she could make some sort of arrangement with Mr. Harding. He had obviously driven to Whitehorn and back in spite of the storm, and maybe he would agree to driving the distance again, to take her and Mack to town where she could possibly make further arrangements to be driven to Billings and the airport.

  Of course there was her rental car to consider. If Rand did agree to take her and Mack to Whitehorn, then he would also have to see that her car was returned to the Billings airport when the storm broke. It was a lot to ask of anyone.

  But, dammit, his stupid ad had started this whole fiasco! she thought with a sudden burst of fiery temper. It was impossible to say at this point who she was most angry with, Rand Harding or Mack. Her timidity last night while explaining herself to Rand infuriated her this morning. What did she have to be meekly apologetic for, anyhow?

  Her anger propelled her out of bed and into the small, adjoining bathroom for a shower. She thought of George’s injury last night—poor man. Her ardent hope that he was all right took the focus off her problems. But she soon felt them all again, acutely and with the added issue of the raging blizzard outside.

  It took twenty-five minutes from her shower to being fully dressed and ready to face the day. She’d put on the warmest clothing she’d brought with her, a pair of navy slacks, a blue-and-white striped shirt and a navy pullover sweater.

  Quickly she made the bed, put her cosmetics and blow-dryer back into her suitcase, then opened the door of the bedroom and stepped into the hall. She realized at once that there wasn’t even the slightest sound coming from anywhere in the building.

  Pulling the door shut, she walked toward the kitchen, peering into the office and up the stairs as she passed them. At the kitchen doorway, she stopped cold. There were dirty plates, bowls, pots and pans everywhere, frying pans with congealed grease on the stove and crumbs, spills and eggshells on the counters.

  “Good heavens,” she whispered, recalling the pristine condition of this room only last night. What on earth had hit it, a minitornado?

  Continuing on to the dining room, she saw coffee mugs and more dirty dishes on the tables. Frowning, she noticed the windows without drapes or blinds and hurried over to them.

  “Oh, no,” she moaned at her first good look outside. There were mountains of snow and it was still coming down. In fact it was snowing so hard and so densely, she could just barely make out the dark shape of a building in the distance. Where were the men? Where was Mack?

  “Still upstairs in bed,” she muttered, turning to dash to the staircase and unhesitantly climb to the second floor. This morning and under these dire circumstances, she was not in the least concerned about propriety. If the other men were still in their beds and she disturbed them, tough!

  But there wasn’t a soul up there. She opened door after door and saw only empty bedrooms and bathrooms. In one of the rooms she spied Mack’s royal blue backpack on top of a bureau. The bed was neatly made, the room tidy. The backpack indicated that Mack had slept here last night, but since when had he started making his bed?

  Annoyed that he would tidy his room on this ranch when he was such a slob at home, Suzanne closed the door inordinately hard and returned to the first floor. Going to the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee, she tried to figure out the situation.

  Who had made this awful mess and then left it? Who was going to clean it up? Didn’t the ranch have a cook, or was he outside with the other men, doing only God knew what in this terrible weather?

  Poking among the debris on the counter, she was thrilled to find a large, electric coffeepot filled with hot coffee. Pouring herself a cup, she took it to the stool she had used last night and sat down. Did Mack even know she was here? she wondered angrily. Had Harding bothered to tell him?

  She stewed through that first cup of coffee, then got up for a refill. Realizing she was hungry, she found the bread and dropped a slice into the large toaster. Looking for some jelly, she opened the door of the refrigerator and was amazed at the amount and variety of food it contained. The side-by-side freezer was full, too. Curious suddenly, she began opening cabinet doors. There was enough food in this kitchen to feed a small army for weeks!

  With her piece of toast on a small plate and second cup of coffee, she again perched on the stool. Well, damn, she thought irately. Where were the men, and what could they possibly be doing in so much snow? Mack was with them, obviously, but why? If she had the clothes to conquer the snow and cold outside, she would go looking for him. She was furious with him and ached to tell him so. A second later she began worrying about his clothes, and if he was dressed warmly enough to survive such bitter weather.

  After a while Suzanne heaved a long-suffering sigh. She might never be able to completely forgive Mack for putting her through this, but he was still her brother and some part of her would always love him whatever shenanigans he pulled.

  As for herself, she couldn’t just sit there and stare at that filthy kitchen while she waited for Mack to come in. Leaving her perch, she began cleaning up. Rinsing dirty dishes from both the kitchen and dining room, she stacked them in the huge dishwasher. She put away bread and pancake mix, and she filled one of the sinks with soapy water and washed the greasy pans by hand. She even mopped the floor, as she had located a broom closet that contained mops, brooms and a vacuum cleaner.

  It all took more than an hour, but finally the kitchen looked as it had last night. Maybe someone would thank her, maybe not. It didn’t matter. She had killed some time and worked off some nervous energy. And although she felt absolutely no obligation to do anything that might benefit Rand Harding, she was proud of the result of her work.

  Rand and the men were hauling hay with teams of horses and sleds. There was no way even a four-wheeler could get through the amount of snow covering the fields, and it was cold, miserable, backbreaking work. There was plenty of grousing among the men, but it was mostly aimed at the weather. T
hey had put blankets on the horses before harnessing them, but the snow was soft, and the heavy animals’ every step was an effort. The sleds even sank some with their loads of hay, but the cattle were belly-deep in snow and bawling for food.

  Feeding in a blizzard was a form of organized chaos. Some of the men drove the teams, the others dropped hay. They went back and forth from the ricks of hay near the compound to the fields, again and again. Water was another problem. Rand put two men to work chopping through the ice covering the drinking ponds.

  By noon everyone was exhausted and ravenously hungry. Remembering the mess he’d left in the kitchen after cooking breakfast, Rand’s lips thinned. But he’d somehow wade through it to heat some soup, make sandwiches and more coffee. The men had to be fed as well as the animals.

  They filed into the dining room and began shedding heavy jackets, caps, gloves and mufflers. “Mack, how about giving me a hand in the kitchen,” Rand said.

  “Sure,” the boy agreed. His cheeks were red as apples. He’d done the work of a man this morning, and Rand was feeling a good deal of respect for Mack Paxton. He hadn’t yet told him about his sister being on the ranch, but now was probably a good time to do so, he figured. Leaving his own outdoor gear near the door of the dining room with the other men’s, he headed for the kitchen with Mack on his heels.

  “Whoa,” he exclaimed when he saw the clean room. There was only one person who could have done this, and he turned to face Mack. “There’s something I have to tell you. Your sister is here.”

  Mack’s face fell. “Aw, heck.”

  Rand couldn’t help grinning. “You mean you’re not thrilled?”