Dorothy Garlock (4 page)

“How old is Charlie?”

“He’s a year younger than me. He’s big for his age. Anyhow Papa said his juices was up good and it was time he found him a woman.”

The words coming out of the girl’s mouth so matter-of-factly caused Willa’s mind to freeze with shock. Dear God. What kind of a man would speak so frankly to his children? Had he rescued her from the mob thinking she would be a replacement for Starr? Willa stared out the back of the wagon until she recovered from the worst of the shock she had felt on hearing Jo Bell’s words and the realization that she was out here in this vast emptiness with a man whose moral values were so lacking.

“Where did your father go?” she asked calmly while her fingers tried to bring order to her heavy hair. She twisted it
in a roll, gathered it in a loose knot on the back of her neck and pinned it with long, wire hairpins from Starr’s trunk.

“Yore hair’s awful long. I sure do wish it was red like Starr’s ’stead of that dry-grass color. I reckon it ain’t too ugly, but it wouldn’t melt no ice in no dancehall though.”

“I reckon it wouldn’t. Where did your father go?” Willa asked again.

“I don’t know.” Jo Bell shrugged. “He always goes off somewhere. He’ll be back by supper time. Always does.”

*  *  *

At sundown Charlie turned off the trail and stopped the wagon under a stand of ash trees and alongside a little branch that held a trickling of water. Jo Bell slid out the back of the wagon and Willa followed. Without a word to Willa or his sister, Charlie went about the business of unhitching the mules, watering and picketing them. He was a tall, slim, serious-faced boy and handled the animals as capably as a man would.

Jo Bell was small-boned and petite. From a distance she would easily pass for a child.

“Why do you dress like a little girl?” Willa asked.

“Papa wants folks to think I’m still little bitty. He says I’m so pretty that it’d take a army to keep the men away if they knowed I was full-grown.” She giggled happily and preened. “He’s savin’ me for a rich rancher with lots of land. He says I’m like money in the bank.”

There was nothing Willa could say to that. She merely shook her head in disbelief, a gesture totally lost on Jo Bell.

“Papa’ll want supper to be ready,” Jo Bell said, and lowered the front of a box attached to the side of the wagon. She pulled out a spider skillet, a wooden bowl and a coffeepot. “I hope ya make good biscuits. Papa sets quite a store by a woman what cooks good biscuits.”

Apprehension gripped Willa. Here she was in the middle of nowhere with this strange family and no means to protect herself. She didn’t remember anything about the man who had pulled her up into the wagon except that he had offered help when she needed it so badly. Deep in thought and ignoring both Jo Bell and Charlie, she walked behind a screen of bushes, relieved herself and went to the creek to wash. Life goes on, she thought dully. She would do what she had to do.

Charlie had started a fire and a slow finger of smoke was pointing upward. There was something so everlastingly normal about a campfire. Cooking in the open was nothing new to Willa.

Jo Bell sat on the end of the wagon swinging her legs.

“There ’tis,” she said. “Ya better get started.”

Jo Bell’s tone as well as her words irritated Willa. So this is the way it’s going to be, she thought. Well, not quite. She would do her share, but she’d not be relegated to the role of servant by this spoiled woman-child.

“I’ll make biscuits. If you want meat fried, you’ll fry it yourself.” She took a cloth-wrapped slab of bacon from the supply box and smelled it to see if it was spoiled.

“What?” The word exploded from Jo Bell’s pouting mouth. “Starr did
all
the cookin’.”

“I’m not Starr. Slice and fry the meat. I’ll make cream gravy. And, Jo Bell, go wash your hands before you handle the food.”

“Well . . . horse turds! Ya sure got bossy in a hurry and ya ain’t even slept with Papa yet.”

“I’m not going to be
sleeping
with your father,” Willa said sharply, pulling the flour tin toward her and peering inside. The flour looked to be free of weevils.

“He ain’t goin’ to like that none a’tall. What’a ya think he
pulled ya outta that crowd for?” Jo Bell tossed the words over her shoulder on her way to the creek.

Willa’s back hurt and her mind whirled in confusion and fear. She worked automatically. When the biscuit dough was made, she pinched it into shapes and filled the dutch oven. With a stick she scattered the hot coals and placed the pot among them.

Charlie filled the water barrel. He was a nice-looking boy with straight dark brows and hair that hung down over his ears. He wore a battered felt hat with a snake skin wrapped around the crown. He caught Willa looking at him and looked away. So far he hadn’t uttered a word. That was to change quickly, and she would learn that he had plenty to say when he thought there was something worth saying.

“Ma’am, your dog’s comin’.” The words were spoken to Willa’s back.

She turned quickly and looked back along the trail. Her eyes glazed with tears when she saw the brown dog limping toward them. He broke into a painful lope, and by the time he reached them, his head was hanging and his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth.

“Buddy! Buddy!” Willa ran to meet him, threw herself on her knees and encircled his big head with her arms. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. How did you find me?” The bushy tail, full of cockleburrs, wagged; a wet tongue licked her face. “Buddy, Buddy, I never thought I’d see you again.” She knelt there with her arms about the dog and cried unashamedly until Charlie touched her arm.

“He’s been hurt. Looky here. Somebody bashed him a good one.” The boy’s gentle fingers prodded the lump on the side of the dog’s head.

“Damn, damn them! That’s why he didn’t come to the house.”

“The cut’s still open. I can put some pine tar on it. It’s what we do for the mules.”

“Oh, Charlie, will you? I’d be so grateful.” In her joy of seeing her dog, she failed to register the fact that Buddy, who never allowed anyone but her and Papa Igor to touch him, was accepting the gentle caresses of the young boy.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s wore out and hungry. Just think, ma’am. He followed the wagon tracks all this way. I was hopin’ he would.”

“You knew he was my dog?”

“Yes, ma’am. I saw him with you back in Hublett.” He stroked the dog’s shaggy head. “I always did want me a dog. Had one once, but he just went off and didn’t come back.”

“Pa ain’t goin’ to like it one little bit.” Jo Bell came to stand with her hands on her hips.

Buddy looked at her and stiffened, instinctively knowing that the girl didn’t like him. He turned to lick Willa’s cheek.

“Are you hungry and thirsty, boy?” Willa asked.

“Pa ain’t goin’ to stand for ya givin’ him none of
our
grub.”

“Shut up, Jo Bell,” Charlie snarled. “Shut your lyin’ mouth.”

“I ain’t lyin’ ’n’ ya know it, Charlie Frank. Pa purely hates critters that ain’t useful.”

“He is too useful.” Charlie stood over the dog protectively.

“What’s he good for? Just what’s he good for, Mister Smarty?”

“He’d warn us if Indians or varmits come around.”

“Ha, ha, ha! He didn’t warn her. They hung that ugly, warty old man and fired the house right under her nose. That old dog didn’t let out a squeak.”

“He would’ve, but somebody knocked him in the head,” Charlie shouted angrily.

“See there. All a body has to do is give him a little old tap on the noggin. Charlie . . . stop that,” Jo Bell screeched when Charlie pushed her.

“Shut yore mouth about him.”

“I’ll tell Papa.” Jo Bell flounced away.

Willa realized there was a certain amount of rivalry between siblings, but these two seemed to have an intense dislike for each other. Charlie appeared to be more mature than his sister even though he was younger.

“Don’t pay her no mind, ma’am. Papa’s spoiled her rotten.
^”

“I can see that somebody has. Buddy won’t be any trouble, Charlie. He’ll hunt for his food. At the next town, I’ll have to find work.”

“Then what will you do, ma’am?”

“Well . . . I don’t know. I have friends I could write to, but it would take time for an answer and I . . . well . . . I just don’t know,” she said again.

“We’re going to my Uncle Oliver’s. He’s my mama’s brother. We’re goin’ to live with him on his ranch. Him and Mama come into some money. Uncle Oliver took his part and come west. He’d always had a hankerin’ to have a ranch.” Charlie’s serious young face creased with a smile. “Papa said he’s got horses and cattle. He said I could be a cowboy. Uncle Oliver ain’t got no boys that Pa knows of.”

“You’ll be a good cowboy. You have a way with animals. Buddy doesn’t let many people touch him. He seems to know that you like him and want to help him.”

“I like him a lot. I sure do wish he was my dog,” Charlie said wistfully.

“While we’re with you, I’d appreciate it if you’d help me look out for him. After he gets his strength back, he’ll be able to look out for himself.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll get the bucket we use for the mules and
get him some water. Look, ma’am, his paw is bleedin’. I’ll put tar on it too.”

“Thank you, Charlie.” Willa begin to feel a strong liking for the boy as well as dislike for his sister.

“Papa’s comin
’,”
Jo Bell yelled. “Papa’ll put a end to all this tomfoolery.”

Willa stood. Buddy leaned against her legs as if sensing her distress and not wanting to be parted from her. She straightened her shoulders and held her head erect. Although grief, frustration and weariness were tearing her apart, she was determined to keep what dignity she had left and to make it clear to this man that she was not, as his daughter had hinted, a replacement for Starr.

Furthermore, she thought irrationally, if Buddy was not allowed to travel with them, the two of them would strike out on their own.

3

T
he rider coming across the open prairie toward them rode a handsome sorrel horse and sat the saddle easily. He was a thin man and, according to the length of his stirrups, not very tall. He eyed Willa as he approached. When he stopped the horse within a few yards of her, she could see that he was not as old as she had expected. His eyes, so light a gray that they appeared to be almost colorless, studied her. Coal-black hair covered his ears. Dark sideburns framed his face and a neatly trimmed mustache drooped on either side of his mouth. He was smiling at her in open admiration.

Papa Igor would have called him a dandy. Willa did not like the smile on his face.

“Well, well, well—” he said and threw his leg over the saddle horn and continued his lazy inspection of her.

“My name is Willa Hammer. I want to thank you for helping me last night.”

“I know who you are.” Taking his time in an infuriating way, he ran his narrowed eyes over her face, down her slender figure and back up to the thick dark-blond hair that framed
her forehead and cheekbones. “Starr’s dress don’t suit ya at all.”

As his eyes roamed, Willa begin to stiffen with indignation. She controlled her temper, took a quick breath and eyed him coolly.

“Nevertheless, I appreciate the use of it. I’ll see that it is washed and mended when it’s returned.”

He laughed abruptly, showing a gold tooth that gleamed brightly beneath the black mustache.

“I knew it. I knew it.”

Willa gave him a puzzled look. When he continued to stare at her, she asked, “Knew what?”

“That ya was proud as a peacock. I seen ya in Hublett actin’ as if ya was a mile high above the common folks.”

“I never—
^”

“Yes, ya did. I like it. Yore just the woman I need to teach my little Jo Bell how to be ladylike. She’s got the looks, but she needs some polishin’ up.”

“I’ll not be with you long enough to teach Jo Bell anything, Mr. Frank.”

“Ya got book-learnin’ too,” he said, ignoring her words. “I watched ya. Ya walk with yore head high, a steppin’ along like yore really somebody.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Willa’s back stiffened even more and her temper took over, clouding her reason. “I am somebody. I’m a person with a reasonable amount of intelligence, equal to anyone.”