by Janet Dailey
“Can we ride our horses now?” Beau asked.
Rose glanced at Bernice for approval. Bernice nodded. “Just make sure not to go too far. And you boys, remember that Rose is in charge. When she says it’s time to go back, you don’t argue. And no fighting, or the ride’s over right then. Understand?”
The boys nodded, excused themselves, and dashed out the back door. Rose got up to follow them.
“Are you sure they’ll be all right?” she asked Bernice.
“They’ll be fine, honey. They’re good boys, but they can be headstrong. Don’t be afraid to let them know who’s boss.”
“Thanks.” Rose hurried out the door. Headstrong? Of course they were. They were Bull Tyler’s sons. Why should she expect anything else?
When she got to the stable, the boys were already saddling up. Even Beau, young as he was, had no trouble putting the downsized saddle and bridle on his brown pony. Will’s red-and-white pinto was bigger but still not a full-sized horse. He handled the animal with the skill of a seasoned cowboy. Somebody—probably Jasper, since she couldn’t imagine Bull having the patience—had taught the boys well.
“You can ride Belle.” Will pointed out a docile-looking bay mare in a nearby stall. “Can you saddle her by yourself? I can help if you don’t know how.”
“I can manage.” Rose found the gear she needed in the tack room. She’d suspected the boys might trick her with an unruly mount, and she was ready. But Belle was a sweetheart. She stood calmly while Rose slipped on the bridle and laid the pad and saddle on her back. Only when she bent to fasten the strap and the cinch did she notice the mare’s bulging belly.
“Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed. “She’s—”
“She’s pregnant,” Will said. “That’s why she’s not on the roundup. But Jasper says it’s okay to ride her around the ranch.”
“He says the exercise is good for her,” Beau added. “ ’Specially since she’d not due for another six weeks or so.”
“She’s a great little cutting horse, but the roundup can be rough, and this is her first foal,” Will said. “She was bred with a champion stud, so we don’t want anything to go wrong.”
Rose had to smile. These two boys, not even out of elementary school, talked like the cowboys they’d grown up with. At least she hadn’t heard either of them curse.
She eased into the saddle, taking time to settle her weight. “I promise to treat her gently,” she said.
With Will leading the way, they set out across the greening lower pastures and onto the open flatland. The afternoon sun was bright and warm, the landscape dotted with clumps of mesquite and ablaze with bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, and firewheel. Humming bees pillaged the blossoms. White butterflies rose in clouds where the horses passed.
The boys had told her they were headed for a small box canyon in the escarpment. A cliff face was there with pictographs of horses on it. The canyon was on Rimrock land and not too far for an easy ride. Even for a lone woman and two young boys it sounded safe enough.
Saying little, they rode at a slow pace set by Beau’s short-legged pony. Where the land rose, they picked up a faint trail that wound through the foothills. Here sagebrush and rabbit brush grew in clumps among the mesquite. A jackrabbit, bounding across their path, startled Will’s pony. He calmed it with the skill of a seasoned rider.
Rose was bringing up the rear when she noticed cattle tracks in the loosened dirt along the trail—not just one or two sets of tracks, but many of them, all going the same direction. “Whoa.” She stopped the boys. “Take a look. Does your dad run cattle out here?”
“Not usually. The grazing’s not that good. And since Ferg Prescott dammed that little creek in the canyon, there’s no water.” Will slid off his pony, dropped the reins, and crouched to examine the tracks. “These haven’t been here long. Less than a day, I’d say.”
“I heard Dad say he was missing some cows.” Beau had stayed on his pony. “Maybe this is where they went.”
“He’d be happy if we found them,” Will said, mounting up. “Let’s follow the tracks and see where they go.”
Bull’s son was taking over. So far, Rose couldn’t see any harm in it. But it still made sense to be careful. “All right,” she said. “But if there’s any sign of trouble, and I say turn back, we do it. Hear?”
Will didn’t answer. He was pushing ahead, his eyes fixed on the trail the cattle had left.
They were getting closer to the escarpment now. Amid the russet stone cliffs and hoodoos that rose above the foothills, Rose could make out a shadowed cleft that she assumed to be the canyon. The tracks were leading in that direction.
Intent on trailing the cattle, Will was lengthening his lead. Soon he’d be out of sight, lost among the stands of mesquite that were higher than his head. “Slow down, Will!” Rose shouted. “Stay with us!”
Will kept on as if he hadn’t heard.
Knowing she couldn’t leave Beau behind, Rose did her best to hurry him. But the stubborn little pony was getting tired. Even with Beau kicking his flanks, he refused to move.
At her wits’ end, Rose dismounted and strode forward. “Come on, Beau, you’ll have to ride with me until we catch up with Will.”
“What about Brownie?” He climbed off the pony and allowed her to drop the reins and boost him onto the mare.
“He’ll be all right. We can catch him again on our way back.” Which would be soon if she had her way. Will’s disobedience had already crossed the line.
Rose was about to climb up behind Beau when she glanced down at the tracks and noticed something else next to the trail. Among the cattle tracks were the prints of a shod horse’s hooves, too big to have been made by Will’s pony and too far ahead to be the mare’s.
The cattle hadn’t just been wandering. Someone on horseback had been driving them.
Somebody who could still be around.
“Will! Come back here!” Rose kept her voice low. By now Will, set on finding his father’s missing stock, had disappeared behind a thick stand of mesquite. Warning Beau to be still and keep his head down, she led the mare forward. There was only one reason for men to drive cattle to a place like this—to steal them.
A moment later, she came upon Will’s pony, tied to a sturdy branch of mesquite. Her heart crept into her throat. Will had gone ahead on foot. He must have noticed the riders’ tracks and wanted to get close to the cows without being seen. By now he could be anywhere, and she didn’t dare leave Beau alone to follow him. All she could do was stay out of sight and pray for Will to come back safely.
Knowing Beau would be safer on the ground, she hoisted him out of the saddle to crouch beside her. Fear gnawed at her gut as the time crawled past and Will didn’t return. Why hadn’t she thought to bring her pistol? At least then, if they were caught, she would have had a way to defend the boys and herself.
Her anxiety mounted with each second. Should she go after him? Or would that only increase the likelihood of their being seen? Not that it mattered. She couldn’t take Beau with her, and she couldn’t leave him behind. Heart in her throat, she waited. Over the distant bawling of the cows, she could hear the hammering of her heart.
What if something had happened to the boy? It would kill Bull to lose his son, and she would be to blame for letting him go. Why hadn’t she found a way to stop him?
At long last, the bushes rustled, and Will appeared, scratched and dirty but unhurt. Sick with relief, Rose fought the urge to seize the boy’s shoulders and give him a good shaking. “Didn’t you hear me telling you to come back? Anything could have happened. . .”
Her words trailed off as she saw his expression. Will’s face was pale, his blue eyes wide with shock and fear.
“What is it? What happened?” she demanded.
“I saw a man on the ground.” Will’s voice was a shaky whisper. “His horse was by him. He looked like he was dead.”
“You’re sure?”
“I didn’t get close. I’ve never seen a
dead person before. Not even my mom. Dad wouldn’t let me see her.” Will’s manly bravado had vanished. He looked like the scared child he was.
“Did you see anybody else?”
Will shook his head. “Just cows. They were in the canyon, with a rope strung across the rocks so they couldn’t get out. But two of them came far enough for me to see their brands. Our brand is a rocking R, for Rimrock. These cows were branded with a bar-P. They were Prescott cows, not ours. We need to go find Dad and tell him.”
“What about the man?” Beau asked. “What if he isn’t dead? What if he’s just hurt?”
“What if he’s a rustler?” Will countered. “What if he stole those cows?”
Rose sighed. She couldn’t leave a wounded man to suffer a lingering death in the desert. But her first concern had to be the safety of Bull’s sons.
“Right now you boys have got to get out of here,” she said. “Take Chief, go back to where we left Brownie, and wait while I check on the man. If I’m not back in five minutes, start down to the ranch without me. I’ll catch up.”
“What if something happens?” Beau asked. “What if you don’t come back?”
“Then you just keep going. Get home as fast as you can and tell somebody what happened. Understand?”
The brothers nodded, both of them looking worried.
“Good. Now get going!”
The sturdy pinto had no trouble carrying two young boys. Rose watched them until they rounded the biggest mesquite clump and disappeared. They’ll be all right, she told herself. Will knew the way home. And she didn’t plan to be here long. If the man Will had found was dead, she could take his horse and have someone at the ranch call the law. But what would she do if he turned out to be wounded and dangerous?
Rose cast around for a makeshift weapon. All she could find was a solid leg bone from what appeared to be a deer or a sheep. Bleached clean and probably dragged here by a coyote, it wouldn’t hold up in a serious fight. But it was all she had.
Leaving the mare, she crept forward. A thorny branch scratched a stinging trail across her cheek, drawing blood. A scorpion skittered across her boot and vanished into the underbrush. Rose ignored it and kept moving. Ahead, the bulky outline of a horse loomed through a screen of mesquite. Sensing her approach, the animal snorted. “Easy, boy,” she whispered, hoping the big dun wouldn’t startle and bolt. “I won’t hurt you.”
In a sandy clearing, she found the man. His rangy body, vaguely familiar, lay sprawled facedown on the sand, as if he’d been shot off his horse. A streak above his temple was crusted with blood that had seeped into his dark hair. Two circling dots in the sky became vultures, keeping a grim death watch.
Dropping the bone, Rose crouched over the man’s body and slid a hand beneath the back of his leather vest. Through the sweat-drenched cotton shirt, she felt the subtle rise and fall of his rib cage. He was alive—and the wound, she realized, was no more than a crease where a bullet had grazed his scalp. But unless she could bring him around and get some water down him, he might not be alive for long.
A canteen hung from a strap on the horse’s saddle. Rose was about to move away and get it when she noticed the butt of a holstered revolver jutting from beneath his hip. The weapon lay partway under his body, but the grip was within easy reach.
Moving with care, Rose closed her shaking fingers around the grip and gave it a tug. The gun didn’t move. Either it was a tight fit in the holster or it was wedged beneath his body. She tugged harder. The man shuddered and groaned. Then, in a lighting move his hand flashed out and clamped around her wrist.
Dazed but still powerful, he twisted like a cat, yanking her arm as he righted himself and sat up. “What do you think you’re . . .” His voice broke off. He stared at her, a half-muffled string of curses purpling the air. Only now, as she saw his face, did Rose recognize Ferg Prescott’s man, Tanner McCade.
Releasing her hand, he shoved her backward and jerked the pistol out of its holster. “You’ve got about five seconds to explain what you’re doing here, lady. If I don’t like what I hear, I’ll be taking you in and turning you over to the law.”
Rose pushed herself to her knees, glaring into his bloodshot eyes. “Turning me over for what?” she demanded.
“For cattle rustling—or at least as an accessory. Hear those cows? They belong to the Prescott Ranch. And they’ve been herded onto Rimrock property. That’s rustling in anybody’s book. And here you . . . are.”
He blinked and lowered the gun, his body slumping. One hand went to the wound on his head. He winced as his fingers touched the blood-encrusted crease. “My head hurts like hell.... Good Lord, have I been shot?”
“Shot, but just winged from the looks of it. Hold on, I’ll get you some water.” Rose stood, strode to the horse, and retrieved the canteen. It was heavy with the cool weight of the water inside. When she glanced up at the sky, she saw that the buzzards were gone.
“As for my being a rustler, you’re out of your mind. All I’m doing here is trying to save your life.” As she spoke, she twisted the lid off the canteen and thrust it toward him. “Drink up. There’s plenty, and it’ll make you feel better. Then I’ll sponge off that wound, just to pretty you up a little. You’re lucky to be alive.”
He drank long and deeply, wiping his mouth as he lowered the canteen. “So if you aren’t a rustler, as you say, what the hell are you doing out here?” he asked.
“I was out riding with Bull’s two sons. We came across the tracks and thought they might be some missing Rimrock cows, so we followed them. We got this far and found you.”
He glanced around. “So where are the two boys?”
“I sent them back the way we came. As soon as I get you on your feet, I’ll be going after them. They’re just kids. They shouldn’t be out here alone. Do you have a clean handkerchief?”
He fished in his shirt pocket and came up with a folded square of white cotton. She poured water on it and began dabbing at the wound, not opening the bullet crease but cleaning up around it. His hair was thick and clean, just beginning to gray at the temples, and the skin of his face had weathered to a patina like fine leather. Even under these crazy conditions, Rose was aware that she enjoyed touching him. But maybe that was because he was no longer a threat.
“I suppose I should ask what you were doing out here,” she said.
“Prescott sent me to check out the tracks leading from one of his pastures. I followed them this far, heard the cows, and saw somebody up in the rocks. Then everything went black. Judging from where the sun is now, that would’ve been at least an hour ago. Did you see anybody when you came along with the boys?”
“Not a soul. If the rustlers are still with the cows, they’re not showing themselves.” She rinsed the bloodstained handkerchief, untied his red bandanna from around his neck, and rolled it into a makeshift bandage. “I’ve got to catch up with the boys,” she said, tying it around his head. “Do you think you can ride?”
“I’ll be fine.” Grimacing with effort, Tanner pushed himself to his feet and took a few steps. He swayed as he walked, but he kept going, his teeth clenched against the pain. Rose stayed at his side to steady him as he crossed the clearing to his horse. As if to prove he didn’t need her help, he clasped the saddle horn, lifted a boot to the stirrup, and swung his body into place.
“What are you going to tell your boss?” She reached up to hand him the canteen.
“The truth.” His eyes were laced with pain. “He’ll be grateful that you came along and helped me. Where’s your horse?”
“Back there in the brush.” She glanced over her shoulder, the way she’d come. “Hang on, you’ll want this.” She fetched his hat, which had caught on a nearby bush.
He took it and placed it on his head, working it gingerly over the top edge of the bandanna. “Almost forgot . . . I’ve been saving something for you.” He reached under his vest, groped in his shirt pocket, and came up with a crumpled black ribbon. “I found it in the truck,�
� he said.
“Thanks.” She took it. “It might not look like much, but it holds a memory of someone I cared about. I thought it was gone for good.” She tucked it into her pocket, aware of the warmth that lingered from his body.
“Maybe we’ll see each other again, Rose,” he said.
His words, innocent on the surface, raised her protective barriers. He was a man, after all, and she knew almost nothing about him. She forced herself to speak. “Under the circumstances, it might be better if we didn’t. Right now, as long as you’re all right, I’ve got to catch up with the boys.”
“I’m fine. Go on.”
To Rose, he still looked unsteady, but she’d already left Bull’s sons on their own too long. Leaving Tanner, she raced back the way she’d come, found the mare, and sprang into the saddle.
A few minutes later, crossing the brushy flat, she caught up with the boys. Beau was riding Brownie again, the little pony trotting eagerly toward home.
“Was the man dead?” Beau seemed more curious than worried.
“No. He was unconscious, but I woke him up and gave him some water. He’s going to be all right.”
“Was he a rustler?” Will asked.
“He was just a cowboy looking for Mr. Prescott’s missing cattle.” Rose knew better than to tell them more. “Right now, we need to find your father and tell him about those cows.”
“I know where to find him,” Will said. “I’ll go with you and show you the way.”
Rose gave him a stern look. “I’ll find him myself, Will. You’re in trouble for disobeying me. You and Beau are going home and putting away your ponies. Then, when I tell Bernice what you did, you’re probably going to your room.”
* * *
Rose’s truck bounced over ruts and holes as she tore up the winding dirt road to the Rimrock’s canyon pasture. Bernice, who’d taken charge of the boys, had told her where to find Bull. Driven by urgency, she’d broken all sensible speed limits getting to him. Any way you looked at it, finding stolen Prescott cattle on Rimrock property was serious trouble.
