A Hopeful Heart (26 page)

Tressa called over her shoulder, “I’ll be careful!” Fifteen minutes later, she was heading down the lane astride Spotty’s broad back. The Double H sat behind Abel Samms’ ranch, and to reach it she would need to travel past the Lazy S and then turn north. She could shorten the distance if she cut along the property line between the Lazy S and the Flying W. Abel Samms’ barbed wire fence would lead her directly to Hammond land. Then she could cross the Hammonds’ pasture. For a moment she nibbled her lip, wondering about the wisdom of such a choice. Traveling by road would take longer, but it would be safer.

Glancing skyward at the sun’s position, she realized the afternoon was slipping by quickly. A shorter route would ensure she could reach the Hammonds’ ranch and return to the Flying W in time to set the table. The decision made, she gave the reins a tug. Spotty snorted in protest, but he obediently trotted out into open pasture.

26

After a half hour of riding beneath the sun, Tressa regretted her impulsive decision to cut across the Lazy S and invite Gage Hammond to supper. Perspiration dribbled down her forehead, stinging her eyes. Her dress stuck to her skin. Strands of hair, worked loose during her bouncing journey on Spotty’s back, clung to her cheeks and neck. Why hadn’t she waited and invited Gage to Sunday dinner after church, rather than making this unpleasant trip by herself? He’d certainly be less than impressed by her disheveled appearance when she finally arrived at the Double H.

A burbling creek’s melody reached her ears, and her mouth seemed to turn to cotton in response to the cheerful song of the water. The horse nodded his great head, releasing little snorts, and she laughed. Apparently Spotty wanted a drink, too.

“All right, big boy. Let’s stop for a minute or two.” She pulled back on the reins and slid down from the saddle. The horse trotted eagerly toward the water with Tressa holding tight to his reins. He lowered his head and slurped noisily.

Tressa tossed the reins over Spotty’s neck, then sat on her haunches and scooped up the sparkling water with her hands. The cold liquid trickled down her wrists and chin when she drank, but she didn’t mind. Her dress would dry, and the moisture refreshed her. She drank until her thirst was quenched.

Spotty submerged his nose in the water and then snorted, spewing little drops on the side of Tressa’s head. With a giggle, she leaped to her feet and stepped backward. “Now you stop that!” She gave his reins a gentle pull. He dug in his front hooves and refused to move, so she turned stern and gave a mighty yank. With a snort of protest, he allowed himself to be led away from the creek.

Suddenly Tressa realized she’d made a mistake by getting down from the horse’s back. The stirrups hung high to accommodate her shorter leg length when sitting in the saddle—too high for her foot to reach when standing on the ground. She had always climbed a fence and slid directly into the seat, but no sturdy wooden fence was available to her now. How would she remount Spotty?

Catching hold of the saddle horn with one hand and the cantle with the other, she tried lifting her foot high enough to place her toe into the stirrup. Spotty shifted, and she hopped twice on one foot before losing her grip.

“Spotty, stand still!” She tried again, but her skirts prevented her from seeing her foot, and she continually missed the stirrup. However, she bumped Spotty’s ribs with her knee, and he whinnied, rolling his nose toward her as if to tell her to stop bothering him.

She stomped her foot in frustration. “Oh! I suppose I’ll have to the walk the rest of the way. Unless . . .” She tapped her lips thoughtfully. The barbed wire fence appeared flimsy, but if the wire was strong enough to hold back cattle, perhaps it would support her weight. If so, she could climb on the wires and get into the saddle.

“Come here, Spotty.” She tied his reins to the top wire to keep him from scooting away from her, then she slipped between the horse and the fence. Holding on to the saddle horn, she placed her foot on the lowest wire and lifted herself. Her sole slipped on the thin wire, and her dress caught in the barbs.
Rip!
Tressa gasped when she saw the large tear in her skirt. For a moment her resolve wavered, but she had no other choice. Either climb the fence or walk the remaining distance to the Hammonds’ ranch.

Taking in a deep breath, she made a second attempt to climb the barbed strings. Her legs quivered with the effort of balancing on the narrow wire, but she made it to the second line. She poised to heave herself into the saddle, but once again her foot slipped. Arms flailing, she landed flat on her bottom. The fall forced the air from her lungs with a
whoosh
.

Spotty whickered and shifted his hindquarters away from her. She lay on her back, her chest heaving as her lungs tried to regain the lost air. Eventually her breathing calmed, and she sat up. Her back throbbed, but she managed to get to her feet. Hobbling forward, she untied Spotty.

She held the reins for a moment, looking north and then west. Should she continue on to the Double H or simply return to Aunt Hattie’s? The desire to go home, to wash the sweat and dust from her face, and to change into a fresh dress overrode inviting Gage Hammond to eat chicken and noodles.

“I will invite Gage Hammond to dinner tomorrow after church,” she told the horse. “But for now, we are going home.”

At the word “home,” Spotty perked up his ears and nickered. Tressa held Spotty’s reins as she limped back toward the road. Pain stabbed her back with every step, and she was hot and sweaty, but somehow the beauty of the landscape crept into her soul, chasing away her frustration. A stout breeze encouraged the tips of the tall grass to dance and sway, as if the blades were whispering secrets. Scrubby trees, their branches bowed from the force of a persistent north wind, waved their leaf-dotted boughs in welcome. The clear blue sky stretched from the horizon, dazzling in its immeasurable expanse.

Her face aimed toward the sky, Tressa said, “You truly have created a beautiful world, God. When one moves quickly, she misses the glorious details. Thank You for the opportunity to slow down and see the prairie in all of its splendor.” The simple prayer revived her even more than the drink of cool water had.

Tressa’s gaze roved over every inch of the open country as she made her plodding progress. Speckles of blue amidst the grass caught her eye, and she hurried her feet to a patch of tiny, pale blue flowers. One hand pressed to her lower back, she stooped over to pick a few of the delicate blooms, and something else captured her attention— evidence of a recent campfire.

“Stay here, Spotty.” She tossed his reins over the top line of barbed wire and moved forward to explore. The cleared patch rested just on the opposite side of the fence. In its center, rocks circled a jumble of charred wood, and a branding iron rested inside the circle of rocks.

Tressa crinkled her brow. Aunt Hattie brought her calves into a pen to brand them. Did Abel have his men brand their cattle out on the range? She pressed her memory and recalled an enclosure between Abel’s barn and the bunkhouse with a similar fire pit for branding. Did they brand in two locations?

Careful to avoid the barbs in the wire, she leaned in as far as she could. Tipping her head, she looked again at the branding iron, and then she jolted backward, releasing the wire so quickly it twanged.

Instead of an S lying on its side—the Lazy S brand—this iron possessed two H’s, the second one slightly higher than the other and sharing a center stem—the Hammonds’ brand for the Double H.

Why was a Double H brand lying at the edge of Abel’s pasture?

Heart pounding, she glanced up and down the fence line. She limped back and forth as quickly as her aching back would allow, examining each post, and she found several places where the wire had been restrung. The fence had been cut and repaired—possibly more than once. An ugly picture began to form in her mind.

“Spotty, we need to hurry home. I need to tell Aunt Hattie what I found.” As she reached for the horse’s reins, a pop similar to a firecracker sounded in the distance, then a high-pitched
zing
whizzed by her ears. She froze, her skin tingling with awareness. Spotty neighed, dancing with his front feet and tossing his head. His reins slipped from the wire.

Tressa looked around, seeking the source of the sound, and a second
pop
-
ziiiiing
came. Spotty screamed. A ribbon of red formed on the horse’s neck. Realization struck Tressa, followed by terror. Someone had fired a gun at them!

Spotty whirled and took off across the pasture, his reins bouncing at his knees. Tressa took two stumbling steps after him, and a third shot rang. With a screech of fear, she dove facedown in the grass. Curling her arms over her head, she begged God to protect her.

Hattie dipped water from the reservoir to cover the snapped green beans. The aroma of chicken rose from the pot on the stove, and she licked her lips in anticipation of supper. Chicken and noodles was hardly the fare of kings, but Jed had always loved it—said it stuck to a man’s ribs. Hattie chuckled as she stirred pieces of bacon and chopped onion into the green beans. Her Jed had never been one to complain, no matter what she put on the table. Pleasured a woman to cook for a man like that.

Her hand stilled. Brewster had said his cook would stay on and see to the kitchen chores should Hattie choose to marry him. What would she do all day if she didn’t cook and clean and garden? All her life, her hands had been busy. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” her ma had preached, and Hattie had kept the devil at bay by working, working, working. . . .

She set the spoon aside and crossed to the kitchen window. Paralee and Mabelle, back from their excursion into Barnett, were hanging towels on the line and chatting, their laughter carrying through the open window. Upstairs, Luella was remaking all the beds with fresh sheets. A smile of satisfaction tugged at Hattie’s lips. The girls had become true ranching women. They’d all be fine wives for Barnett’s ranchers.

A pang of regret nicked her heart when she thought of Sallie. She wished she’d paid better attention to the girl’s melancholy—maybe she could’ve kept her from running off like she did. But she couldn’t do anything about it now. Sallie was gone, and soon Mabelle, Paralee, and Luella would marry and move to their own ranches.

The lid rattled on the chicken pot, and Hattie scurried over to turn the damper and reduce the heat. She didn’t want broth boiling over across the stove. Tressa wouldn’t appreciate having to clean up such a mess. Another pang struck as she considered Tressa’s future. No peace filled her heart when she thought of Tressa marrying up with Gage Hammond. Brewster was finally taking a firm hand with his son, and that was certain to bring some change, but Hattie suspected Gage would always be more interested in what pleased him than in pleasing somebody else. Tressa deserved better than that.

Despite all her prayers for the girls to find their God-chosen matches, the only one who’d stepped up to court Tressa was Gage Hammond. Hattie snorted. “God, I’ve spent my life believin’ You know best, but I sure have to wonder about Gage an’ Tressa. Don’t seem right to me.” She picked up the wooden spoon to give the beans another stir.

A
bang-bang-bang
on the back door nearly scared her into throwing the spoon across the kitchen. She yanked the door open and glared at Clyde, who stood on the little stoop. “What’n thunder are you tryin’ to do—knock the door down?”

He pointed to the yard, where Spotty stood near the corral fence, his neck lathery and sides heaving. She scowled. Tressa knew better than to ride a horse hard enough to make him lather. And why hadn’t the girl unsaddled him and put him in the barn instead of leaving him out in the sun?

“Miz Wyatt, Spotty just come gallopin’ into the yard, an’ from the looks of ’im, somebody winged him with a bullet.”

Hattie’s heart skipped a beat. “What?” She barreled across the ground to the horse. Pink lather showed where the animal’s neck had been bleeding. “Tressa wasn’t ridin’ ’im?”

“No, ma’am. He came just like this.”

Hattie spun and headed for the barn, calling orders over her shoulder. “Tell the girls to see to supper. Tend to the horse. I’m ridin’ to the Hammonds’.” Looking skyward, she added, “Dear Lord, wrap Your arms o’ protection around that girl. Please don’t let nothin’ bad happen to my Tressa!”

Tressa had no idea how long she lay in the grass. Her heart pounded so hard her chest hurt. Her muscles ached from holding herself stiff and still. She longed to rise and run home to Aunt Hattie. To feel safe within the confines of the Flying W. No shots had followed the third one, but what if the person were still out there, waiting for her lift up her head? He might not miss the next time.

So she remained flat on her belly, her face pressed to the ground, listening for any clues that her attacker could be drawing near. The whisper of the grass, soothing earlier, made her quake in fear that it covered the sound of footsteps. The wide open sky, so beautiful, now mocked her with its inability to hide her. She repeated a verse from Psalms again and again—“ ‘What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee’ ”—but still fear paralyzed her.