Dorothy Garlock (30 page)

Logan’s eyes swept over the buckskin. The horse stood obediently, as if rooted to the ground, but the flesh along his flanks quivered and his nostrils were extended. He looked back at Cooper and nodded. “I should’ve noticed.” He pursed his lips and whistled.

Rosalee came toward them leading the foal. Cooper watched her approach with appraising, narrowed eyes. He had heard about Rosalee Spurlock. It was said she was not only pretty, but spunky and capable. What he’d heard was more than true about her being pretty. She glanced at him once, then settled her eyes on Horn. Cooper saw the look and recognized it. So, that’s the way the wind blew. She was in love with the Indian. Godamighty! Did she know what she was in for? He supposed so, he thought seconds later; she’d been to the Haywards to fetch her sister. He put his fingers to the brim of his hat in a polite greeting.

“Howdy, ladies.”

“Is Mrs. Parnell your ma?” Odell asked with a gap-toothed grin on her face. “I talked to her once at Mr. McCloud’s store. We talked a long time ’bout ribbons and dressgoods. We was there to sell Pa’s birds.”

“She told me,” Cooper said, and Rosalee silently thanked him for the warm smile he gave her sister. “She’s got a fondness for little girls. She said she was figuring on stealing you away and bringing you home, but your sister come back for you.”

Odell giggled happily. “She’s nice. She’s ’bout as nice as Mrs. Gregg. Do you know Mrs. Gregg? She lives in a pretty white house with flowers ’n a big hitchin’ rail in front.”

Rosalee flushed with embarrassment. Cooper’s eyes flicked to hers, then crinkled slightly at the corners.

“Sure do. Ma’ll be plum glad to hear you think she’s as nice as Mrs. Gregg.” He pulled his hat down, pinched the fire from his smoke, and flipped it onto the dirt. “Been to Haywards.” It wasn’t a question and there was a dryness to his tone.

Rosalee nodded. “My sister was there.” Her eyes sought Logan’s and Cooper didn’t miss the look that passed between them.

“My mother’d be pleased if you stopped in for a day or two. Our place is on the way to town.” His eyes bored into Logan’s with a silent message.

“We’re going to town to be married,” Rosalee said quietly, and smiled into the dark eyes that flashed to hers.

“Well, now. Ma likes nothing better than a wedding. I think they’re fine, too, as long as it’s not me being hitched,” he said between chuckles, and kneed his horse toward Logan’s. He stuck out his hand. “Congratulations, Horn. You’re a lucky son-of-a-gun.”

“Thank you. I realize that.”

Rosalee looked from one man to the other. Their eyes were locked with a silent understanding. She blessed Cooper Parnell with all her heart. His acceptance of her relationship with Logan made up, in a small way, for the treatment they’d received from the Haywards. She turned her eyes quickly lest he see the mistiness there.

“It’s a couple of hour’s ride to the ranch from here. We should make it by meal time. There’s a clear stream about a mile down the trail where the ladies can rest and get a cool drink.” Cooper swung his horse around, keeping him well back from the mare, as the stallion’s teeth were bared to nip her, and started back down the trail.

Rosalee longed to reach out and touch Logan’s hand as she passed him to take a place in the middle of the procession, but she smiled into his eyes instead and mouthed the words, “I love you.”

*  *  *

The Parnell ranch sat in a valley lush with vegetation and an inexhaustible water supply. The surrounding hills formed both a natural barrier against livestock’s straying and an impregnable defense in all quarters. Logan narrowed his eyes against the bright sunlight and surveyed the homestead with appreciation. The house, of stone and log construction, backed to the hills, a natural shelter from the cold north wind. Behind it was an array of pole corrals and several low, tin-roofed stone buildings. To one side was a high, stockade-type corral full of restless, milling horses, and beside that a smaller enclosure where a man was riding a bucking horse. Further on, where the hills widened out into a large oval meadow, a herd of horses stood in belly-high grass.

Logan’s high-strung mount suddenly emitted a piercing neigh and fidgeted around. A shiver racked the muscle-corded frame and he tossed his head, trying to remove the hateful bit in his mouth. Logan held the stallion in check, then moved up beside Cooper.

“You must have mares in season?”

Cooper laughed. “Your boy knows. Most of my mares have been serviced by Roscoe or a small mountain-bred stud. My aim is to breed a fast horse with heavy hind quarters. I’m still hoping to find me a good stallion among the wild horse herds. So far, no luck. I’d like to make a deal to put yours on some of my better mares.”

“How many?”

“Four good ones. You get your pick of the foals.”

“Fair enough. Are you breaking horses for the army?”

“The army or anybody else who’s got the need and the price.

“I’ll be needing work stock.”

“I can supply them.”

Cooper glanced over his shoulder. Rosalee and Odell were a good distance behind them, chattering away like a couple of blue jays. “I’ve got good news and bad. Which do you want first?” Smile lines fanned out from Cooper’s eyes when he looked at the man riding beside him.

“Give me the good news, I can use some.”

“While I was in Denver, I looked up your friend James Randolph. Your men, and a herd of about three thousand steers, are about a week out of Junction City.”

“The hell they are!” Logan’s swift laugh exploded and dissolved on the wind.

“The men were on their way when Randolph got your letter. He located them at Fort Collins. They were able to buy a small herd there and added to it when they bought out a widow over on the South Platte. He sent you a letter and I took it out to Mrs. Gregg before I went to Denver.”

“But . . . how the devil did they pay for the herd?”

Cooper laughed. “Your friend Randolph’s got more contacts than hairs on a mule’s tail. He sent the money with a detachment of cavalry going to the fort. I take it he’s got access to your bank account.”

“He does. He’s been handling some investments for me. He’s a damn good man. We owe each other plenty. He was my lieutenant during the war. Godamighty! It’ll be good to see those men again.”

“It seems they needed a few extra hands to handle the herd and hired on a few of the widow’s. Randolph said you’d owe them wages when they got here.”

“Is that the bad news?” Logan said, grinning broadly.

“No. The bad news is Clayhill.”

Almost imperceptibly, the look on Logan’s face altered, leaving it curiously devoid of expression. “What’s the bastard done now?” he muttered.

Cooper glanced out across the grassland that waved under the pressure of the wind. Goddamn! He liked this man, liked him and admired the guts it took to stand up in this territory and take what he wanted knowing he’d have an easier time of it back East where his Indian blood would be less of a problem. For the space of a minute Cooper regarded Logan in thoughtful silence, studying his powerful frame from boot to hairline, and back down to his high cheekboned face. He found the black, inscrutable eyes on him, and was struck by the power of the man’s steely composure. Goddamn, he thought with unaccountably clear reason, maybe old Clayhill had met his match!

“He’s had his men spreading it around that Miss Spurlock’s been whoring for them out at her place. There’s not a decent woman in town that’ll look at her twice.” There was no way to say it, Cooper thought, but straight out. “That’s not all . . . he’s brought in a bunch of riffraff, all wanting a piece of your ass for a bonus. There’ve been two killings at the saloon in a week, one of them a sixteen-year-old kid. Watch your back if you’re going to town.”

Logan’s head turned slowly. A cold mask moved up and over his features, covering the rage sweeping up from deep inside him. His eyes, looking out from between their thick fringe of lashes, were hard and flat and completely unreadable.

“There isn’t much I can do about the wrong he’s done to Rosalee but kill him. I made a promise not to do it unless it was his life or mine. It puts me between a rock and a damned hard place.”

“I reckon it does,” Cooper said, and spurred ahead to open a gate so they could pass into the ranch yard.

*  *  *

Sylvia Parnell stood on the porch wiping her hands on her apron. Rosalee had spoken with Cooper’s mother a time or two in town. Later, her liking for the woman grew when Mary Gregg confided to her that she and Sylvia were friends. However, the hostile treatment she and Logan had received at the Haywards had been so unexpected that, now, a sudden tension gripped her. She wanted desperately to look into Logan’s eyes and reassure him of her love, but he and Cooper were riding slightly ahead. As they came closer, Sylvia stepped off the porch, a smile of greeting on her face.

“Rosalee! What a pleasure to see you!”

“Hello, Mrs. Parnell.”

“Remember me? I’m Odell.” Rosalee smiled in spite of her anxiety. One never had to worry about conversation with Odell around, she thought with a warm spurt of affection for her little sister.

“I certainly do remember you.” Sylvia placed an arm around the child after Logan lifted her down. “How are you, Rosalee?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Horn. I didn’t expect Cooper back so soon. I told him to bring you for a visit if at all possible.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Logan put his fingers to his hat brim in a polite gesture.

Rosalee saw the tightness in the muscles of his face and felt the tension in his hands when he lifted her from the horse.

“Thank you, my love,” she murmured loud enough for all to hear and smiled sweetly into his eyes. He didn’t look at her. He was afraid, she thought intuitively. He was afraid she’d be embarrassed and hurt when Mrs. Parnell found out they were going to be married. Concern for his anxiety crowded all other thoughts from her mind. It would hurt, but only because he’d be hurt. It would make no difference! He was all that mattered to her now.

She clung to his arm and turned to face Sylvia Parnell with a confident smile on her lips. “We’re on our way to town to be married,” she announced proudly.

Sylvia glanced at Logan and saw the flicker of apprehension in his obsidian eyes. Holding his gaze, she smiled and saw him let out a slow breath. She held out her arms and Rosalee went into them.

“My dear! I’m happy for you,” Sylvia said and hugged her. She held her hand out to Logan. “You’re to be congratulated, Mr. Horn.”

“I’m aware of that, ma’am.” He took off his hat. His dark eyes gleamed in the bright sunlight and his smile chased the fierce look from his face.

Sylvia led the way to the door opening off the porch. Odell, chattering continuously, danced along beside her. Rosalee’s eyes followed Logan and Cooper as they led the horses to the corral. Logan turned to look back at her, and she lifted her hand before she went into the coolness of the house.

*  *  *

It wasn’t until she and Sylvia were cleaning up after the evening meal that included three ranch hands that Rosalee had a chance to speak to Mrs. Parnell alone. Cooper and Logan had gone to inspect the mares and look over Cooper’s latest herd of wild horses. Odell was playing with a litter of new puppies Cooper had brought from the barn and placed in a box beside the smokehouse.

“Mrs. Parnell . . .” Rosalee carefully wiped the china plate and set it on the shelf. “Odell was terribly confused after being with the Haywards. They’re of the opinion that because Logan has Indian blood I’m degrading myself by marrying him. I’m rather worried about taking her into town now. I’m afraid there will be . . . unpleasantness.”

“There will be unpleasantness, Rosalee. You must prepare yourself for it. People can be terribly hurtful at times.”

“I don’t mind for myself. I’ll endure anything to be with Logan. It’s Odell I’m worrying about. She’s a friendly child and she loves to be with people. I don’t want her hurt on my account.”

“You can leave her here with me for awhile. I’d love to have the company of a little girl.”

“Oh, please! I wasn’t hinting for her to stay here!” Rosalee said quickly. “I just don’t know what to say to her to make her understand that there are good people and bad people regardless of the color of their skin.”

“I’d say it’s almost impossible for a child her age to fully understand. As I see it, the Indians have been much more tolerant of us than we have been of them. They accept whites among them, intermarry, and love the half-breed children. I find it hard to blame them for raiding and scalping the white settlers after what Chivington did to them at Sand Creek.”

“Logan’s mother was one of the few who escaped the massacre. Her father was killed there. She and a brother went north to the Wind River country. That’s where Logan found her. He was bringing her back to her birthplace when she took sick. She was very ill when he knocked on our door and asked to bring her in out of the rain.”

Sylvia took the dishwater to the door and threw it out into the yard. “She must have been beautiful. Logan is a handsome man,” she said while hanging the pan on a nail beside the stove.

“Her name was Morning Sun. Her mother was a Spanish captive, but she came to love her Indian husband and refused to go back to her own people.” Rosalee hung the towel she’d used to dry the dishes on the back of a chair to dry and failed to notice the trembling in Sylvia’s hands as she smoothed the cloth covering the necessaries in the center of the table.

They went to the porch and sat on the bench. The mountain breeze was cool but refreshing after the heat of the cookstove. Rosalee looked out over the stretch of valley to the craggy peaks beyond and sighed. It was beautiful and peaceful here. It was also wonderful to be able to talk to another woman about her love. She turned to look at the quiet, calm woman beside her. Sylvia’s clear, blue eyes were watching her.

“It will not be easy, you know,” she said quietly, and reached out to clasp Rosalee’s hand. “Following your heart is sometimes the most difficult path a woman can take.”