Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family) (8 page)

“It was a terrible drive year.” Maverick shook his head. “All these thousands of cattle coming into Kansas, more than could be sold.”

She looked over at him, appreciating the outline of his wide-shouldered frame. “So what’d you do with them if you couldn’t sell them? Drive them back to Texas?”

“Take coals to Newcastle?” He laughed.

When his big gray eyes crinkled with laughter, it transformed his face, made him so much more handsome.

He said, “All the trail crews kept them grazing around town, hoping the market would pick up, but it didn’t.”

“My stars! What happened?”

Maverick tipped his hat back. “There were fifty thousand unsold cattle grazing up all the grass around town and we couldn’t sell them. Then when the grass ran out, the blizzards moved in.”

“And the cattle starved and died.” She suddenly remembered her neighboring ranchers talking about that year.

“That’s right,” Maverick nodded grimly. “Poor devils could have survived the winter, maybe, if there’d been enough grass. Fifty thousand dead cattle. Now it’s Durango policy to keep the herd far enough out that we could graze them a long time on the open range if we don’t sell them.”

“I guess the drives will go on as long as there’s open range, maybe forever.”

“No, Cayenne,” he shook his head regretfully. “Somehow I feel the days of these cattle drives are numbered, that someone’s going to invent some kind of cheap fencing—

“Cheap fencing?” she scoffed, shaking her hair back, enjoying the creak of the saddle, the pleasant smell of the sweating horse. “There’s no such thing! The range will always be open because of the cost of stones and rails.”

He looked over at her. “Don’t count on it, Cee Cee. Someone will figure out a cheap way to fence off fields, keep the cattle in, the buffalo out. Then if they can find a way to get water to their fields, the homesteaders will move in with their plows and start farming. »

“Maybe the cattle drive is doomed anyway,” she admitted, “with trains beginning to lay track everywhere. Sooner or later, it’ll be cheaper to ship the cattle by train out of Texas rather than walk them all the way to Kansas.”

“The Indians must know that, too,” he said softly. “With trains bringing in settlers, fields fenced, and hunters killing off the buffalo, no wonder they’re fighting, determined to save their civilization.”

She saw the sympathy in the gray eyes. “I thought you hated Indians.”

“I hate Comanche,” he said, and his eyes turned as cold and hard as gray granite. “Because of what happened to Annie.” He started, as if he’d said something he’d never meant to say, never meant to share with her. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

She wanted to ask but saw the hostility, the closed expression of his rugged face. Someday she would get inside his shell, get him to open up and share his pain with her. Until then she could only guess at his past, some wall between them. What secrets did he hide? It was a long way to the Lazy M Ranch. She’d know Maverick inside out in the weeks it took to ride there.

In Wichita, Maverick reined up, shouting at her over the bawling cattle. “I’ve got to get this beef to the railroad pens so they can be shipped east. Then I’ll go over to the Red Garter, have one last drink with the crew.”

She nodded, shouting back, “That’s fine. I want to go see some of the children from my school, tell them good-bye. When and where shall we meet?”

He hesitated, reining in his snorting horse. “Cayenne, are you sure you want to do this? With all the Indian trouble, maybe you should rethink—”

“My stars! Must we cover that ground again? I’m going home, Maverick. Now if you’ve changed your mind, I’ll find some other cowboy to take me.”

He scowled blackly at her. “You’re still innocent as a Sunday school! You’d pick some
hombre
who’d get you just far enough out of town to tear your clothes off—”

“As I recall, that’s just what did happen,” she snapped acidly. “But if you bow out, my future’s no concern of yours, now, is it?”

“By damn!” he swore. “If I ever met a girl who needed her bottom blistered for being so headsrong—

“When you get ready to spank me, cowboy, you’d better bring your dinner, because it may take a while!” She smiled back in smug satisfaction.

He shrugged. “Okay, have it your way. Meet me out in front of the general store.” He glanced up at the sun. “Let’s say about eleven.”

Cayenne nodded, waved to old Sanchez, and rode away. First she visited some of her favorite little children and told them good-bye. At one of the homes, she took a bath in a tin washtub, put on a clean blue gingham dress, brushed her hair, and dabbed a little vanilla behind each ear before eyeing herself critically in a cracked mirror.

She wasn’t sure whether she should hate that Yankee sympathizer or love him. But she wanted him to think her pretty, desirable. Otherwise, he might back out on accompanying her on this dangerous trip. Cayenne frowned. There might be even more danger for him at the end of it.

But she must not think about that, she told her troubled conscience. After all, Papa and the kids were more important to her than that trail boss. Weren’t they?

She should let her family know she’d gotten the letter and was on her way home. She’d go down to the telegraph office and . . . No, she’d better not do it that way. Cayenne shook her head, remembering the unpleasant little telegrapher gossiping peoples’ business all over Wichita. Besides, it would cost more than a letter and she had so little money.

She found a piece of paper and pencil stub. How could she word it so as not to arouse suspicion if the mail should fall into the wrong hands? Maybe if she addressed it to her nine-year-old sister, the gunslingers wouldn’t think it was important if they managed to get the mail first. After a moment, she wrote:
Dear Lynnie: You’ll be glad to hear I’ve found the man who can help us.

No, that wouldn’t do. Slade might get curious and open it. It had to sound very innocent.

She erased part of the sentence and began rewriting. Finally Cayenne paused, her tongue in the corner of her mouth. Had she given enough double meanings so that serious, smart Lynnie would understand big sister was bringing help? Did it sound casual, trivial enough?

Cayenne hesitated again. If anyone else picked up the mail, opened it, would they think she meant wedding plans? She must not let on she’d gotten a warning letter. What she really should do was contact the army or the Texas Rangers.

She shook her head. The new governor, Coke, was trying to deal with the Yankee carpetbaggers who’d taken over the state at war’s end. But since she’d been gone, she didn’t know whether he’d been successful or not. And the Yankees had disbanded the Rangers, feeling. the Texans were a threat to their regime.

She’d done the best she could do. With a little prayer for luck, she put it in an envelope, addressing it to her sister in care of the general store where the Lazy M picked up its mail. Cayenne paused before she wrote the name of the tiny town, beaming proudly. Up until Papa’s heroic deed eight months ago, it had been a nameless community of gentle, religious folk. But the settlers were as proud of Papa as Cayenne had been. Underneath
Billing’s General Store
, she wrote the town and state:
McBride, Texas.

She mailed the letter at the small post office and rode over to the general store. The unpleasant little telegraph operator came by, heading to his post.

“Good day, Miss Cayenne.” He tipped his green eyeshade at her and she nodded politely as he passed, wishing she could like Wilbur. Nobody in town seemed to think much of the scrawny, humpbacked little man. She decided it was because of Wilbur’s habit of never looking you in the eye when he talked to you. And he did have the most annoying habit of gossiping about all the messages that came through his hands. Probably it made him feel important.

Judging by the hot June sun, it must be at least eleven. Over across the bridge at the Red Garter’s hitching post, more than a dozen Triple D horses stood dozing. The big gray was one of them. Strawberry whinnied in greeting to the stallion.

Cayenne smiled to herself. Even the dainty mare had an eye for a good-looking male.

She waited. And waited. And waited. The sun overhead told her it must be at least high noon. Mr. Winston came out of his store. “Is something the matter, Miss McBride?”

She tried not to seem as hot and furious as she felt. “Do you happen to have a watch, sir?”

He nodded, pulling out a big pocket watch. “12:15,” he announced importantly. “I’m going home for dinner.”

Now just what was keeping that cowboy? 12:15. She watched the old storekeeper amble down the sidewalk, listened to the laughter and singing echoing from the Red Garter. Well, she’d just have to go in and get him!

Upstairs in Molly’s room, Maverick leaned back in the tin washtub. He sighed with pleasure at the girl in the scarlet dress. “Thanks, Molly, for loaning me your bathtub. I was filthy and the hotel is full up—”

“Think nothin’ of it, handsome,” she smirked at him as she poured liquor from the decanter on the dresser. “Bourbon and branch, right?”

He nodded agreeably, soaping his muscular chest. “I could use some more hot water.”

“I told the maid when she came to bring your clean clothes.” Molly came over, handed him the drink. “She’ll be right up with more water.” The whore looked down at him. “And after you get out of that tub, maybe you got time for me.”

He laughed easily. “Sorry, no can do. Got to meet someone. What time is it, anyway?”

“Oh, early yet,” she said, coming over to the tub. “Can I wash your back?”

He nodded and she knelt behind him. “I think I let time get away from me downstairs. You know how it is when men get to drinkin’ and gamblin’.”

“I know how it is.” He heard her pick up a washcloth and he sighed with pleasure as she scrubbed his back. “Damn! You got the best-lookin’ body of any man I ever met, Maverick. How long we known each other, anyway?”

He sighed, sipping the whiskey and enjoying the feel of her scrubbing his sore muscles. “Hell, I don’t know, Molly. Who remembers something like that?”

“I remember,” she said almost wistfully. “Maybe because it meant something to me. It was just ten years ago this coming September at a birthday party for the old Don on the patio of the Triple D ranch house. It was just before the big Indian Outbreak.”

Maverick laughed gently. “I was just a half-grown boy. I don’t remember you. ..”

“I was one of Miss Fancy’s girls then, you know, in San Antone, and everyone in the county was invited. I remember thinking then someday when you was a grown man, women would be loco over you. Never dreamed it’d be me.”

He felt suddenly sorry for her, even though he couldn’t love her. He handed her his empty glass. “Aw, Molly, you don’t mean that. All you want is fun, a good time. You wouldn’t leave this life just to scrub clothes, raise kids.”

“I do like a good time,” she admitted. She put the glass down and rubbed the soapy rag across his shoulders. “That’s why I ran off with a worthless tinhorn named Slade when I was only fifteen. He had a partner I would have given it all up for just like I’d give it up for you now, handsome.”

Maverick laughed. “Sorry, Molly. I got other plans and I’m runnin’ late, got to hurry. Scrub a little to the left. Ah . . . that’s it.”

Downstairs, Cayenne marched through the swinging doors of the Red Garter. Immediately, the music stopped in mid-note. All the cowboys hushed talking, the painted women quit laughing. The crowd stared at her.

She looked around the saloon. No Maverick. “All right! Where is he?”

The bald bartender groaned. “Oh, no, not again! Look, miss, I just got that buffalo hunter, Buck, on his feet and back out with his partners late last night, and now you come in here again ready to get another fight started.”

Old Sanchez fumbled with his hat.
Dios! Senorita,
you don’t belong in a place like this! Go back outside and wait. I’ll find him and send him out.”

“No, I’ve waited for that Yankee-lovin’ saddle bum long enough! ” She was furious, hands on hips. “Now just where is he?”

Nobody answered but she saw their eyes turn toward the stairway. She was speechless with anger, hurt, and shock. After making love with her, Maverick was upstairs with that dark-haired girl? That pretty older one with the fancy pearl combs?

“Never mind!” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ll just go up and get him myself! ” Before anyone could move to stop her, she marched toward the stairs, red hair bouncing on her neck.

“Miss, you can’t go up there!” The bartender twisted his hands in his grimy apron. “It ain’t a fit place for a lady! You can’t go up there!”

“You just watch me!” And she marched up the stairs, glancing back to see the horrified expressions of the openmouthed men below.

Upstairs, she wasn’t sure which door. Then she heard that pretty dark-haired whore laugh somewhere down the hall.

A black girl brushed past her carrying a bucket of steaming water.

Cayenne grabbed her arm. “Where’s that cowboy called Maverick?”

The girl hesitated, obviously as shocked as the cowboys to see a lady on the second floor. She gestured. “He’s in Miss Molly’s room takin’ a bath, dat’s whare he be. But you can’t go in there, Missus!”

“Just watch me ! ” Cayenne said again. “That water for his bath? ”

The girl only nodded dumbly, and Cayenne took the bucket away from her, marched to the door the maid had indicated, and rapped sharply.

“Bring it on in, LuLu,” said a woman’s voice.

Cayenne swung the door wide. There he sat in a tub of sudsy water, the pretty brunette scrubbing his back. “Well!” Cayenne said. “No wonder you couldn’t meet me!”

The two stared at her in openmouthed horror.

Maverick half rose from the tub. “What the hell you doin’ here? This is no place for a lady!”

“But it is a place for a two-timing cowboy! I don’t suppose you were expecting me,” Cayenne snapped, “but I thought I’d help your friend there with your bath!” Before either of them could make another move, she marched across the room and threw the bucket of warm water all over the two of them.