Texas Lucky

by Maggie James

  Tess was overwhelmed by his kindness and generosity. When she tried to tell him that and ask how she could ever begin to repay him, he waved away her gratitude and repeated how at last he felt useful.

  He had also insisted on hiring two wranglers to round up what cattle she had left.

  And while another man might have expected sexual favors in return, she felt she knew Wendell well enough to believe such a thing would never enter his mind. He was just a good person, kind and benevolent, but she knew she could not keep taking what she considered to be charity.

  But what did anything matter if Perry could not be found? Wendell could have the ranch and cattle for remuneration, because she just couldn’t make herself care anymore. It had been her dream, true, but more than that she had wanted to share it with her brother.

  She supposed she could always sell out to Curt in hopes of having money left over after paying Wendell, but knew spite would keep her from it. And though she tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with jealousy over the Mexican girl, she could not deny how it burned to think of another woman in his arms.

  Adding to her resentment was that she had heard nothing from him. For, despite the vastness of the area, word had spread, and everyone knew about her brother being abducted by Indians. Curt not coming by as so many other neighbors, far and wide, had done to offer condolences was, in her mind, reprehensible.

  Wendell had gone with the latest search party, promising to get word back to her should they have any news, so when she heard riders coming in, Tess leaped from the rail and hurried to meet them.

  But hope faded when she saw it was only Nick and Granger, the help Wendell had hired for her.

  “All done, Miz Tess,” Granger said, reining in his horse.

  Nick merely stared at her. In the weeks she had known him, she had probably heard him utter only half a dozen words, so Granger did all the talking.

  “Got the new calves branded, too.”

  Tess would have liked to ride with them but had not dared venture far from the house lest a message come from Wendell.

  “Ain’t heard nothing?” Granger asked as he dismounted.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Nick got off his horse and took him inside the barn, but Granger hung back like he had something on his mind, so Tess prodded, “Is there something you want?”

  “Well, I was thinking about something I heard when me and Nick was at Gilley’s saloon a while back that might make you feel better about them Apaches takin’ your brother.”

  “Please tell me, then,” she urged.

  “Well, I got a story to tell you first.” He took a worn tobacco pouch from his vest pocket and began to roll a cigarette as he talked. “You see, there was this white woman—Cynthia Parker, her name was—who was taken by the Apaches back in ’36 in northern Texas when they raided her home and killed her folks. It was many years before they found her, and—”

  Tess felt a twinge of encouragement. “Then captives can be found. Was she all right when they rescued her? I mean, I can’t helping being afraid they’ll hurt Perry.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am, she was fine, ’cept for how she looked, of course. You can imagine after all them years of livin’ with savages she didn’t look like no white woman. Her skin was dark from the sun, and her hair was dirty and greasy.”

  “How long did it take them to find her?”

  “Twenty-five years.”

  Tess gulped, swallowed. “Oh, dear God.”

  “Kinda happened by accident, too. You see, she won’t but nine when they took her, and when she was growed up, a chief took her for his wife. She had three younguns—two boys and a girl.

  “As the tale goes,” he continued, “Her tribe was attacked at their camp on Peace River by the cavalry, Texas Rangers, Tonkawa scouts, and even civilians. The chief escaped with their sons, and Cynthia was about to be shot by one of the soldiers on account of she was wearing a buffalo robe and had short hair and looked like a man, only she held up a baby to let him know she was a woman. Then he saw she had blue eyes and realized she was white. So that’s how she got rescued.”

  “And her sons?”

  “She tried to get back to ’em. She’d steal horses and light out lookin’ for ’em. Folks tried to welcome her back to civilization, but she never was happy, and when her daughter took fever and died four years after she was rescued, she just laid down and died, too.”

  He explained, “What I heard at Gilley’s made me think of her and how one day your brother might be found, ’cause the Indians wouldn’t hurt him…specially him bein’ a young boy.”

  Tess dreaded asking but knew she had to: “What would they do with him, Granger? Why would they even want to take a boy like that?”

  “Same reason they took Cynthia Parker when she won’t but nine years old. They can raise younguns the way they want, making slaves out of the girls and warriors out of the boys.

  “As for what they’ll do with your brother,” he went on, “they’ll start trainin’ him right away. I don’t think you have to worry about him bein’ mistreated. Course, he won’t live a good life, neither. It’ll be hard on him. Real hard.”

  Tess winced to think, then remembered what he had said about Gilley’s. “So what did you hear that reminded you of poor Cynthia Parker?”

  “It was about Quanah, one of her sons. He’s Chief Quanah now and leads the most raids on whites in Texas. And somebody said it’s believed now that it was his band that attacked Alamedo. And if that’s so, then he’ll keep your brother to make him into a warrior for sure. They say he likes stealin’ white younguns to take revenge for how he felt his mother was stolen from him.”

  “It also means he’ll try harder to prevent him from ever being rescued,” she said with a heavy heart.

  “Him and his pa probably tried to keep Cynthia Parker from being rescued, too,” he pointed out, “but they failed. You gotta keep hopin’, Miss Tess.”

  “I know, but—”

  They both heard it at the same time—a horse coming in hard.

  “It’s Mr. Thorpe,” Granger said.

  But Tess was already running to meet him, pulse pounding and praying all the while he had good news. No one was with him, and, of course, she’d dared hope to see Perry riding on the horse behind him. But perhaps he had word Perry had been sighted, and the cavalry was sending in a big regiment to rescue him, and…

  She slowed as her heart sank into her boots to see the expression on Wendell’s face as he drew closer.

  If he had news, it was not good.

  He swung down off the horse and held his arms open, and Tess stepped into his embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, giving her a hug. “There’s still no trace of him.

  “We can talk inside,” he said, taking her hand and walking toward the cabin. “I brought some brandy, and I think we could both use a sip.”

  He paused a moment to speak with Granger about the roundup.

  Tess was only vaguely listening, but when she heard Wendell tell Granger to turn the steers back onto the range after branding the calves, she protested, “No. Don’t do that. I’ve got to get them to market.”

  With a patronizing smile, Wendell gently said, “Not this year, my dear. With such a small herd it’s best to let them graze and fatten and reproduce. Next spring it will be a different story, I promise.”

  She waited till they were inside, knowing whatever Granger overheard he would repeat at Gilley’s, and she did not like others knowing her business.

  She turned on Wendell as soon as the door was closed. “You have to tell him not to turn the herd back to the range. I need what money they’ll bring. It won’t be much, but it’s something. They’re all I have, don’t you see?”

  “Tess, I understand how you feel.” He found two glasses and filled both with brandy. “This is a terrible time for you. Winter wiped out much of your herd, and now you’ve got this horrible worry over your brother. But the worst thing you could do is sell off
all your herd, because you’d hardly have enough to start another and certainly not enough for feed to see you through next winter.”

  She took the glass he handed her and lifted it to her lips.

  The brandy burned her throat a bit but slid warmly down to miraculously ease the knot in her stomach.

  She took another sip, then attempted reason. “Wendell, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me…everything you’re doing…but I’m not sure how much longer I can hang onto any of this, because I can’t keep taking your charity.”

  “It’s not charity. It’s friendship.”

  “But you don’t even know me. I’m a stranger to you.”

  “Not anymore. We’ve shared so many things, Tess. I feel as though I’ve known you all my life. In fact,” he confided in a reverent tone, “My sainted wife is the only other person I’ve ever felt so close to.”

  She was flattered but still unnerved. She emptied her glass and endeavored once more to make him understand. “I want to sell my stock and pay you back for all you’ve done. And then, if I have to, I’ll try to sell my land and go elsewhere.”

  His smile was indulgent, as though she were a daydreaming child. “And do what?”

  “I can cook. The men who helped build my cabin and barn said I could always find work as a chuckwagon cook. Hundreds and hundreds of cattle drives will be starting soon. I can put word out that I want a job, and—”

  “And do you realize how hard the work would be, Tess?” He refilled her glass. “Obviously you don’t understand all that would entail.”

  At the risk of sounding impudent, she pointed out, “Well, I doubt that you do, either, Wendell…your being an easterner like me.”

  He let the remark slide, instead saying, “I also find it difficult to believe a rancher would hire a woman, especially one as lovely as you, to travel hundreds and hundreds of miles with rough and rowdy drovers. Don’t you see the problems it would cause…the fighting among the men vying for your favor?”

  He had a point. Having the respect of the hands on her own spread was one thing, but being in the company of strange men out in the wilds for months was another.

  They were sitting at the table, and Wendell reached to clasp her hand. “Let me help you.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. You’ve done too much. And you have to stop worrying about me and my problems. I hate to say it, but finding Perry looks hopeless.”

  “I’m afraid the Army agrees with you. They’ve been looking for Chief Quanah’s camp for quite a while, and—”

  “So it was his warriors.” She quickly recounted Granger’s story and how he believed Perry, though enduring hardships, would not be harmed.

  “I heard the same thing from the soldiers,” Wendell said. “And since it seems useless to send out any more search parties, I decided to try posting a reward—one thousand dollars for the whereabouts of Quanah’s camp; two thousand for the boy’s safe return.”

  Tess’s hand flew to her mouth. “You did that?”

  He nodded proudly. “I did.”

  “But that’s so much money, and Perry is nothing to you.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  His eyes were sad, the corners of his mouth turned down, and suddenly it dawned on Tess that he seemed to age a little more as he said, “He does mean something to me, Tess…because you do.”

  She was deeply moved. “Thank you, Wendell, and I don’t know how I can ever repay you for what you’re doing.”

  “You don’t have to. I want to do it.”

  “I understand, but it’s not right for you to spend your money on me and my problems, Wendell.”

  He refilled their glasses.

  Tess blinked. Her eyelids felt heavy. How many glasses had she had? She could not remember and she could not tell from the bottle because Wendell had been drinking from it, too, and it was over half-empty.

  “I don’t think I should drink any more,” she said as he handed the glass to her.

  “How much have you slept lately?” he asked suddenly.

  “I don’t know. Not much, I suppose. I keep dreaming I hear someone riding in with news about Perry, and I wake up and run to look out. Then I lay awake for a long time.”

  “Maybe the brandy will help you sleep.”

  She hoped so and decided to have one more sip.

  “Or perhaps I can.”

  She looked at him over the rim of her glass.

  Surely she had not heard right, she told herself as a creeping chill assaulted her spine.

  Surely he was not going to ask her to go to bed with him…not after she had convinced herself he had no motives in helping her except sincere compassion.

  With shaking fingers she set the glass on the table, further unnerved by how he was looking at her with eyes shining expectantly.

  “I think,” she said when she could trust herself to speak around the anger that had begun to choke her, “that you had best leave now. And I assure you I will find a way to pay you for what you have spent on me.”

  Stiffly, she rose, intending to show him to the door, but he was on his feet to rush around the table and grasp her by her shoulders.

  As she glared up at him, she saw his eyes were no longer shining but were clouded with alarm. “Oh, dear God, Tess, I’ve offended you. I never meant—”

  She struggled to free herself. “I asked you to leave. Don’t make me scream and bring Granger and Nick running.”

  “No,” he all but shouted, and then the words tumbled out in a rush. “I can’t allow you to think I was suggesting anything improper. I was trying to be humorous to hide my nervousness, because I’m so terribly afraid you’ll say no.”

  He paused, then whispered, “I want to marry you, Tess. I want you to be my wife.”

  She swayed in his arms, stunned, for it was the last thing she had expected to hear. Still, through the great roaring in her ears she felt a wave of relief to realize he had not been suggesting something untoward after all.

  “Wendell, I…I…” she stammered, unsure of what she wanted to say right then, but knowing he expected an answer.

  His hands dropped away, and she dizzily passed a hand in front of her face as she sat back down.

  The brandy was making her fuzzy-headed, and she wanted to choose her words carefully, did not want to offend him or hurt him, because she could not accept his proposal.

  “Tess, listen to me.” He dropped to one knee before her, grabbed both her hands, and held on tightly. “I know what you’re thinking—I’m too old for you, and you don’t love me. But that doesn’t matter. I don’t really love you, either.”

  “You…you don’t?” She was even more confused.

  “I could never love anyone but Leona.”

  “Then why…”

  “Because I’m lonely”—his voice broke—“and I need someone to care for…someone to care for me. You don’t have anyone else, and neither do I. We could care for each other, don’t you see?

  “Remember when we were talking on the way to Alamedo?” he rushed on without giving her a chance to speak, “I was about to tell you that I wanted to invest in your ranch if you’d let me, only right at that moment we heard the dreadful news about Perry, and there hasn’t been a proper time to bring it up since. I do want to invest, Tess. I want to make your ranch prosper and grow. I want to build a big, fine home for you, barns, a stable, anything you want, and all I ask in return is that you marry me and make me feel like I belong somewhere…to someone.

  “And when we find Perry,” he added with a hopeful smile as he stood and drew her up with him, “we’ll be a real family, because I won’t stop trying to find him, I promise.”

  “Wendell, I don’t love you.”

  It was all she could think of to say.

  “And I told you it doesn’t matter. I don’t expect you to. Just say yes, please. You need me, and I’ll be good to you, I swear it.”

  Her head was spinning and she asked herself, wasn’t ma
rriage the reason she had come west in the first place?

  Marriage to a man she did not love?

  A stranger?

  Only this was different.

  Wendell was not a stranger.

  He was her friend.

  “Please,” he urged. “Say you’ll marry me.”

  And finally, though the brandy haze and because in that crystallized moment she did not feel there was another living soul who cared what happened to her, she whispered, “Yes, Wendell. I will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The mare Curt had bought from Richard King had thrown a shoe on the way back from Santa Gertrudis in south Texas. Not taking any chances on her going lame, he got busy shodding her as soon as he got home.

  She had cost more than he had planned to spend but was prime stock. If he could find a quality stud to breed her when she was ready, he knew he was on his way to raising his own choice quarterhorses.

  He didn’t see any of the hands around and figured they were finishing roundup and getting ready for the drive to Sedalia.

  Curt had heard that infernal Apache, Quanah Parker, had been leading raids in the territory north of Dallas, which meant they were going to have to be extra cautious. Indians, especially the Apaches, loved to sneak up at night and rustle off steers. And sometimes just for the hell of it they would kill a few by riddling them with arrows.

  “You’re back.” Caleb walked in carrying a bucket. “How was the trip? I need some turpentine for one of the boys. He fell off his horse and gashed his leg, and—”

  He saw the mare and, dropping the bucket, he rushed to run his hand down the strong, smooth lines from her neck to her rump. “God almighty, boss. This is some horse.”

  “That she is,” Curt said proudly, then asked, “Are we ready to start the drive tomorrow?”

  Caleb explained why they would need to wait one more day. “The boys are all excited about the shivaree over at the Partridge ranch tonight, and they ain’t gonna be in no shape to start a cattle drive at dawn after raisin’ hell all night.”

  Curt was hammering the last nail in the shoe, but his hand froze in midair. “What did you say?”