Miss Walker failed to lift her glass in return but she did give a curt nod. “Do you have any questions regarding ranching?”
Kate set her glass down and hesitated. Dare she push her luck? “I haven’t had a day off since my arrival.”
“You want a day off? Goodness, girl, this is a cattle ranch—not a girls’ school. This is our busiest month. No one gets time off except to go to church and even that’s hardly possible during calving season.”
“I won’t be long. I just need to purchase some toiletries.”
Before Miss Walker could reply, O.T. entered the dining room. He glanced at Kate before turning his attention to Miss Walker. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I need to have a word with you. It’s most urgent.”
Miss Walker pushed her chair back and stood. “Of course it’s urgent. I wouldn’t expect you to enter the house wearing spurs unless it was urgent.” To Kate she said, “When I come back we’ll have dessert.”
With that she ushered O.T. out of the dining room and into her office, closing the door.
Curious, Kate stared at the door and yawned. Whatever the urgent business was, she hoped it didn’t take long. All she wanted to do was climb into bed and go to sleep.
The flickering light of the candle only added to her drowsiness. Muffled voices carried into the dining room from behind the closed door of Miss Walker’s office, but Kate couldn’t make out what was said. She yawned and shook her head in an effort to stay awake. Maybe if she laid her head down for just a moment . . .
He carried her upstairs in his arms and laid her gently on the bed, covering her with a blanket. “Sleep tight, my love,” he whispered. “Sleep tight.”
Even in her dreamlike state she knew it wasn’t Brandon. The man who filled the pages of her books and occupied her dreams now had another man’s face.
Chapter 13
Eleanor leaned against her desk, arms crossed. “Are you sure about this?”
O.T. nodded. “That’s a big drop from the number of calves branded last year.”
Yes, she had noticed that, no question. Her ranch averaged sixty new calves per hundred cattle. If what O.T. said was true, this year the same number of cattle would produce closer to forty calves and that meant a big drop financially when it came marketing time.
“We had less rain this year than last.” Less rain meant less grass. Though it wasn’t just lack of water that was the problem. There was a limit to the number of cattle the land could support, but some ranchers insisted upon overstocking the range. Even the Tombstone Stock Growers had called for a halt in importing more cattle.
“We’ve still managed to maintain the herd’s weight,” O.T. argued. “Drillin’ that new well on the south side helped. Besides, the count doesn’t match up.”
“So what do you think the problem is?” Eleanor asked.
“I doubt there’re any less calves. I think someone already branded them. Our men only counted the unbranded ones.”
Eleanor touched her forehead. “Not again.” Five years ago a quarter of their calves had been rustled from beneath their very noses.
“Sorry, ma’am, but I think the Dunne gang is back.”
Eleanor grimaced. The gang had a unique way of operating, which is why it took so long to nail them. They hair-branded calves with the Last Chance brand to prevent them from being counted. Since the iron burned through the hair and not the hide, the rustlers could afford to wait until the calves were weaned before cutting them out of the herd. By then, the hair had grown out and the unbranded calves were easy to spot. No one had been the wiser—at least not at first.
Now, O.T. made it his business to count pregnant cattle and record the number along with live births. If he said the Dunne gang was back, Eleanor had every reason to believe he was right.
“So how do you wish to handle this?” she asked.
“We need to inform the marshal. We’ve got some time before the calves are weaned, but the sooner he knows the better. I just hate having to give up one of my hands to ride into town right now.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll send Miss Tenney instead.” The girl wanted a day off and now she would get it.
“That’ll be a help,” O.T. said. “Sorry to bother you during supper, but I thought you’d want to know.” He turned to leave.
“O.T.” Hand on the doorknob, he looked back at her. “Be careful out there,” she said. “Don’t try to take the law into your own hands.”
He nodded. “I sure won’t, ma’am.”
After he left, Eleanor remained where she was. Calving season always came with a new set of challenges, but cattle rustling was the worst. It had caused more headaches through the years than all that Indian trouble put together.
The Texas Cattlemen’s Association had clamped down on cattle rustling in the Lone Star State. Unfortunately, all that did was drive the rustlers out of Texas and into New Mexico and Arizona territories.
Arizona had its own cattle association, of course, but it was neither as strong nor as organized as the one in Texas. She blamed that partly on the marshal. Morris had been in town for three years and crime had gone up, not down. Outlaws like Cactus Joe pretty much had the run of the town. Informing the marshal of this latest threat was the right thing to do, but she had little faith it would do any good.
Recalling with a start that she had left Kate waiting in the dining room, she sighed. The girl had spirit and tenacity, but none of that would do a bit of good if she didn’t learn the ranching business.
Twenty-nine. The girl was twenty-nine years old. Not much older than Eleanor’s daughter would have been had she lived. Rebecca had been blonde and blue-eyed too. Was that why Eleanor had been more accepting of Kate’s lack of horsemanship? Shown her more tolerance than she’d given the others? Because of the resemblance to her long-dead daughter?
If that were true, then either Kate Tenney was the answer to a prayer—or a cruel twist of fate.
“What better way to celebrate a birth?”
Hmmm. Well, why not? The cat’s out of the bag, as they say. May as well make the most of it.
She turned off the fringed parlor lamp in her office and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Bo Spencer, the cook, was putting the finishing touches on one of his marvelous angel cakes. He stood six feet tall, had black kinky hair and skin the color of dark oak.
A former slave, Bo had been with the ranch for ten years now, after she found him trying to steal a horse. He claimed he was returning it after it wandered off, but she didn’t believe him. When she ordered him off her property at gunpoint, he sneaked into the ranch house kitchen instead and prepared the best meal she’d ever tasted. No one cooked a steak or roast beef as good as he did.
“Do you still believe I’m guilty?” he’d asked at the time.
What cooking had to do with his guilt or innocence she couldn’t imagine, but she liked his gall. The whole thing was so ridiculous she laughed and hired him on the spot, and never once had she regretted it. Not even when he introduced her to grits, which tasted like mushy cornbread.
Now he looked up. “Ready for dessert, Miz Walker?”
“Yes, we are.” She turned to leave but thought of something. “Bo, would you mind putting a candle on the cake?”
Bo’s syrupy brown eyes regarded her from beneath his floppy white hat. “A candle?”
“Yes. A lit one.”
“It someone’s birthday?” he asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact it is. Miss Tenney helped deliver her first calf today.”
She walked from the kitchen to the dining room and stopped in the doorway. Kate was sound asleep, her blond head resting on the table.
Eleanor stepped back into the kitchen, surprised and irritated at the disappointment that washed over her. “Never mind, Bo. Forget the dessert. I’m going to bed.”
Chapter 14
She was ruined! Her character had suffered a blemish. Never again would Brandon believe she had purity of soul.
Kat
e was horrified. How could she have fallen asleep at the table? How rude. How humiliating. How absolutely inexcusable.
She might have slept in the dining room all night had Rosita not wakened her. Oh, what must Miss Walker think?
That morning she hurriedly dressed and rushed downstairs at a little after 4:00 a.m. to apologize, but she never got a chance. Miss Walker’s place setting was cleared, which meant she’d already left the house. According to José it had something to do with the calf count.
Kate slapped her hand on her forehead and groaned. Four a.m. and already she was late. What was wrong with these people?
She shook her fist. “Would the world end if we slept in until, say, five o’clock? Do they not know that the early worm gets eaten?” That would be the first thing she’d change when she took over the ranch.
Sensing she wasn’t alone, she turned. Rosita stood in the doorway staring at her with rounded eyes.
“Miss Walker said to give this to you.” Rosita hurried across the room and thrust a single sheet of paper into Kate’s hand. She then quickly ran from the room before Kate could thank her for waking her the night before.
She scanned the bold handwriting. It read, You are to drive into town and inform the marshal that the Dunne gang has returned and are up to their old tricks. It was signed Eleanor Walker.
A fluttery feeling shot through her. It would do her a world of good to spend a day in town and give her sore body much-needed time to recover.
Anticipating the hours ahead, she joined Ruckus and the other men for morning prayer at exactly 5:00 a.m. Today, there was none of the usual jostling and bantering between the men, just silence and somber faces. Even Upbeat wasn’t his usual cheerful self.
“Let’s pray,” Ruckus said. “Dear heavenly Father, hear our prayer. Send rain and help us catch those connivin’ scoundrels. Amen.”
She kept her head lowered but her eyes open. Conniving scoundrels? She marveled at how Ruckus talked to God much like he might talk to a friend. And who was this gang that seemed to have everyone up in arms? Outlaws, no doubt. Whatever dastardly deed they were guilty of must be bad for Miss Walker to send her into town.
While O.T. gave the men their instructions for the day, she hastened toward the barn to check on the calf she’d helped deliver.
“Hey, little fella,” Kate said, kneeling in the hay. The calf’s hair was dry and fluffed out and it was definitely steadier on its feet.
The mother cow bawled and started toward her. Kate scrambled backward spiderlike. Heart pounding, she jumped up and slammed the gate closed, locking mother and baby inside the cow stall. She always thought of cattle as placid but this one looked fierce. Even now the cow seemed to glare at her.
“Just ’cause she’s a mother is no reason to think she’s a lady,” Ruckus said from behind her.
“She tried to attack me,” Kate said, shuddering. “She could have injured me. Maimed me. She could have broken my bones or . . . or even killed me.”
Ruckus shrugged. “The last thing you want to do is get in the way of a cow protectin’ its young.”
She brushed the hay off her divided skirt. Protecting its young. The words rattled inside her head like marbles in a bag. An animal knew instinctively to protect its young? How was that possible? Why wasn’t the same true of humans? Why hadn’t Mama known to protect her? The unbidden thought shook her to the core and a lump rose in her throat.
“A mother can pick her calf out of a whole herd,” Ruckus continued, shaking his head. “And they say cattle are dumb.”
The cow nuzzled her young, seeming to push it away from the two of them.
Ruckus grinned. “The Good Book says God cares for us folks like a mama cares for her babe.”
Kate glanced at his profile. The man seemed to know a Bible verse for every occasion. This one, however, was ill chosen. If God’s care was anywhere near like her mama’s, Kate wanted no part of it.
Keeping her thoughts to herself she asked, “May I name him?”
Ruckus made a face. “Never name an animal you plan to eat.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I’m not planning—”
“Maybe not, but someone is. Come on,” Ruckus said impatiently, as if suddenly realizing the time. “The boss lady said you’re goin’ into town. While you’re there, I need you to take a broken windmill part to the smithy for repairs.”
She hadn’t planned on stopping at the blacksmith shop and was unprepared for the odd combination of anticipation and dread that assailed her. It made no sense. Confused, she lowered her gaze to hide her reddened cheeks.
“Also, I need you to stop at the post office. I’m expectin’ a letter from my son.”
“I’d be happy to, Ruckus.”
He gave a nod. “We’ll get some riding in before you leave.”
Kate groaned. Ruckus insisted she learn to ride a cutting horse, and that was a whole different experience than riding Decker. She was still sore from her workout three days earlier.
“Next week we start roundup and you plumb better stay in the saddle ’cause you’re gonna be dealin’ with a whole bunch of protective mothers.”
She followed him outside to the horses he’d already saddled. “Tell me about the Dunne gang.”
“There ain’t much to tell. They’re a bunch of no-good cattle rustlers. They hair-brand our heifers before we get to them.”
“What’s a hair brand?” she asked.
“The brandin’ iron only burns through the hair. It looks real enough from a distance. We figure we already branded it, so it don’t get counted. Unless you’re a-lookin’ for it you might not notice. The brand soon grows out. That makes it easy for the culprits to cut the calves out of the herd and take off with ’em.”
He checked her saddle, then stepped aside. “Come on. You’re gonna have to leave for town soon. We best not waste any more time.”
The horse’s name was Bullet, which did nothing for Kate’s confidence. Bullets were fast and deadly. Nevertheless, she shoved her booted foot in the stirrup and mounted.
“Now that you know how to fall off your horse, you’re gonna learn how to ride him.”
“I do know how to ride him,” she said. “I only fell off once last time.”
“Congratulations. You’re the only one I know able to fall off a standin’ horse. You ain’t gonna be much help if you can’t ride faster than a lame cow.” He blew out his breath. “Okay, remember what I told you. Your horse is trained to make sudden stops and hard turns. Relax. Let your horse do the work. Otherwise he’ll unseat you sure as shootin’.” Without another word he mounted his own horse and galloped off.
Kate braced herself and held the reins tight. “All right now, you and I have an understanding. Remember?” The horse’s ears twitched and his tail swished. “Good boy.” She mounted and pressed her heels gently into the horse’s sides. “Giddi-up!”
With the speed of a bullet, her horse took off running, leaving her in the dust.
Chapter 15
She raced along the dark, dismal road with great urgency, her horse’s hooves thundering through the cold, still night. Brandon would know how to handle the villains, if only she could reach him in time . . .
The ride to Cactus Patch was uneventful and monotonous with no sign of the outlaws—and for that Kate was grateful. The sky was clear blue with not a cloud in sight, for all the good Ruckus and his praying did.
Still sore from her early morning spill, she wasn’t enjoying the rutted dirt road. Dressed in her own clothes—a blue skirt and white shirtwaist trimmed with lace and tied at the neck with a blue ribbon—she’d decided against wearing her fussy feathered hat that offered little if any protection from the sun. Instead, she wore the wide-brimmed felt hat provided for her, and of which she had grown quite fond.
It was after ten by the time she reached town, but already Main Street bustled with horses, carts, and wagons. It looked and felt entirely different from the day she first stepped off the train. She slowed as she
neared Luke's shop. The metal sign hanging over the door creaked as it swayed in the breeze. The sign read Adams Blacksmith Shop. The smaller print beneath a metal horseshoe promised Quality Workmanship.
Though she didn’t see the owner, her pulse quickened and her sun-heated face grew another notch warmer. She sucked in her breath. All right, so he was amiable, attractive, and had a devastating smile—so what? Her mama often said those were the most dangerous kind. Now Kate knew why. No matter. Her future was the ranch and she had no intention of letting herself get sidetracked.
She drove right by the blacksmith shop with little more than a glance and pulled up in front of the marshal’s office.
Deputy Marshal Morris looked up from behind his desk when she walked through the door. A craggy-faced man with scraggly black hair and mustache, he sat back in his chair, hands interlocked on his rounded belly, and frowned.
“My name is Kate Tenney and—”
He stopped her with the palm of his hand. “I know who you are.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re the new Walker girl. The one who let Cactus Joe get away.”
She was momentarily speechless. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course, but the bluntness of his tone and manner surprised her more than his accusation. Would she ever get used to such plain talk?
Obviously the marshal didn’t fully understand the circumstances. “He had a gun. I could have been shot or kidnapped or . . . or . . .”
He waved both hands at her. “Cactus Joe couldn’t shoot a chicken coop if he was standin’ inside.”
“He shot my trunk,” she said. “My clothes and books could have been ruined.”
“That’ll teach you to go barreling through town when I’m trying to uphold the law. I’da had him if it wasn’t for your meddlin’.”
Kate bristled. Meddling? Meddling! The nerve of him. “First of all, I had just set foot in town and had no way of knowing a robbery was in progress.” She leveled an indignant glare at him. “I certainly was not meddling.”
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