High Desert Haven (The Shepherd's Heart) (2 page)

“A drink, Mama,” Nicki said lovingly. “Would you like one as well?” She pushed herself up from the wall.

Mama’s voice turned tender. “What would I do without you, child?”

Nicki chuckled. She was hardly the child her mother kept insisting she was. At seventeen she more than carried her weight, but Mama didn’t like to see her children grow up. Nicki remembered Mama calling Roberto “my little man” on the day of his wedding! Those had been happier times, Nicki thought as she walked to the well. The rains had been good in those years, and debt had not hung over the little adobe hut and its occupants.

As Nicki cranked the lever that would pull the bucket up from the depths of the well, she scanned the horizon and stiffened. “Papa.” Her tone held a soft warning. Someone was coming on the trail.

Papa rose and stood by her side. Nicki pulled the bucket toward her, filling the dipper with cool water. If the creditors had come to take her papa away, he would go having just drunk his fill from the chilled water of his own well. She handed the dipper to her father. He drank, never taking his eyes off the rider heading their way, then handed the dipper back. Nicki filled it and moved toward her mother, who still sat in the shade, tears filling her eyes.

“They said not until next week.” Mama’s words stabbed a knife of pain through Nicki’s heart. Whatever happened, Nicki knew Mama would die a slow death once Papa was taken. Not from starvation, but because the love of her life would be gone.

Fierce determination filled Nicki as she marched with the empty dipper back toward the well. Tossing back a gulp of water, she wiped the droplets from her chin and pivoted to glare at the man coming into the yard.

She froze. He was not the man who worked for the bank.

“Howdy.” The man tipped back his dusty, black hat and smiled down at Carlos. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze flicked past Papa and came to rest on Nicki. Considerable interest flamed in their depths. He nodded to her, the smile now reaching his eyes, and touched the brim of his hat in a one-fingered salute. “Ma’am.” He ignored Papa and spoke directly to her. “I was thinking how nice a cool drink of water would be. I’d sure be appreciating it if I could light a spell.”

Carlos stepped between Nicki and the newcomer, effectively blocking his view. “Draw fresh water, Dominique.” He stretched his hand toward the man, indicating he could dismount. “Welcome.”

But Nicki could hear an edge in his voice. This man could mean trouble.

“Obliged.” He nodded and swung from his saddle. The man was tall, had graying hair, steely blue eyes, and a wad of chewing tobacco stuffed in his cheek. He stretched his hand toward Carlos as Nicki pulled up a fresh bucket. “Name’s John Trent.”

Papa took his hand. “Carlos Vasquez.”

Mr. Trent studied her over the dipper as he drank his fill. Nicki averted her eyes but held the bucket for his next dipperful. She had received more than her share of such looks and knew what he was thinking. For although this man would say nothing to her in front of her father, the men down at the cantina showed no such qualms whenever Mama found it necessary to send her there. The thought of their suggestive remarks burned a blush across her cheeks. John Trent lifted the dipper again and raised his eyebrows in amusement.

Papa made small talk about the long hot spell as Nicki pulled buckets of water from the well for the man’s horse, but Nicki didn’t miss the looks John Trent kept throwing her way.

When he mounted up to ride out, Mama, still seated in the shade, gave an audible sigh. Nicki couldn’t deny she felt plenty relieved as well.

Just as he arrived at the crest of the trail, the man paused, and Nicki stiffened. John Trent rubbed a hand across his face and said something to himself, then swung his horse once again toward their adobe. His eyes raked her more boldly this time as he pulled to a stop in their sun-baked yard.

Leaning his arms casually on the horn of his saddle, he spat a stream of tobacco into the dust, turned toward Papa, and brazenly asked, “How much for the girl?”

Nicki and Mama gasped in unison.

The bucket in Nicki’s hands crashed to the ground, splashing water over her feet. Quickly she bent and picked it up. She spun on her heel and marched toward the well to return the bucket to its hook.
The audacity!

Papa spoke with authority. “The
señorita
is
not
for sale.”

John Trent’s eyes scanned the small house and the scraggly field beyond, then traveled pointedly to seven of Nicki’s brothers and sisters who had gathered in a little clump to watch the goings-on. Then he stared into Papa’s face before spitting another stream of brown sludge. “I think everything’s for sale as long as the price is right.”

“My daughter is
not
for sale,
Señor
. I have to ask you to leave us now.”

Ignoring him, Trent reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a coin. He tossed it to the ground near Papa’s feet.

A twenty dollar gold piece!
Nicki had not seen Mama move, but the audible click of a cocking shotgun cracked into the afternoon stillness. All eyes turned toward the door of the house to see her there, the gun aimed squarely at John Trent’s chest.

Nicki’s eyes dropped to the money on the ground. That little piece of gold could save Papa’s life. It would get him out of debt and even give them enough to start over somewhere. Remembering her earlier prayer, she started to step forward.

But Papa beat her to it. Picking up the offensive gold, he threw it toward John Trent as if it were too hot to touch. “She is not for sale!”

Trent deftly caught the coin, pulled two more pieces just like it from his pocket, and tossed all three on the ground. “I want that girl. Now I am trying to go about this in a civilized manner, but if I have to, I will take her by force.” He sat up straight and casually rested a hand on his thigh near his gun.

Nicki felt dizzy from the sheer shock of this proposition. Her eyes flashed from Mama, bravely holding an unloaded gun on the man insulting her daughter, to Papa, stooping to pick up the offensive coins, to the hand of John Trent inching toward his holster. She surprised even herself by what happened next.

“Papa, wait!” She stepped forward.
Sixty dollars!
“I will go with him.” Her hands trembled as she smoothed the material of her skirt.

“Nicki, NO!” Mama screamed.

“Mama,
por favor!
The money! You will be free from all this trouble! I will be all right. God, He will go with me,
sí?”
“

Dominique, don’t do this.” Papa’s words were thick with restrained emotion. “We will work something out with the bank. You take too much on yourself for one so young.”

“Papa.” Nicki wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are the one who taught me to be strong,
sí
? Take care of Mama and make Rosa help her now.” Nicki pulled back, gazing deeply into his dark eyes, so much like her own, and rested a hand on his stubbly cheek. “She would have died without you, Papa.”

She spun toward her mother, throwing herself into her arms, before the threatening tears could overflow. “Mama,
te amo!”
The choked words were all she could squeeze past her constricting throat. Would she ever see her beloved mama again?

Nicki hugged her brothers and sisters in turn, giving them each a piece of advice on how to be helpful to Mama and Papa, drying their tears with her skirt and promising she would see them again someday. Going into the house, she ran her fingers across the baby-soft cheek of little Manuel, the only member of the household still sleeping through all the commotion.

And then, head held high, she walked out into the searing sun and allowed herself to be pulled up onto the horse behind John Trent’s saddle.

“Wait!” Mama ran toward her, carrying the family Bible. She pressed it into Nicki’s hands, making the sign of the cross and blessing her daughter one more time, as she had done every day since her birth.

Nicki didn’t let her family see her cry, but as she rode away from the only home she had ever known, part of her felt like it died. She allowed herself the small luxury of quiet tears.

They rode north for several days. Nicki was thankful that John Trent seemed to be a kind man. A justice of the peace married them in his dusty office in a small, one-street town that Nicki didn’t even know the name of. By evening, they were moving north again.

They had been traveling for more than two weeks, making mostly dry camps at night, when Nicki heard her husband utter an oath of awe. It was mid-afternoon and Nicki, her forehead pressed into John’s back, was almost asleep when she heard his exclamation. Lifting her head, she blinked into the sunlight, almost unable to believe the sight before her.

A lush valley stretched before them. A small creek meandered through its center, merging with the Deschutes River at one end. The Deschutes was normally inaccessible due to its steep canyon walls, but here the descent to the river was simply a long, smooth slope. Here and there a cluster of evergreen trees could be seen, but the verdant meadow was what had drawn John’s eye.

It was like a vivid oasis dropped in the middle of the high-desert sagebrush they had been traveling through for the last week. The swaying grass was belly high to a good-sized horse.

At that moment, Nicki knew she was looking at her new home. The valley was a rancher’s paradise, and John had talked of nothing else since their journey began. He wanted to become a rancher. A rich rancher. And this was where he would make his start.

They made camp early, and Nicki sighed in satisfaction as she waded into the creek for her first bath in a week. She rolled her head from side to side, rubbing her neck, working out the kinks of knotted muscle.

John waded in as well, and she stiffened as he slid his arms around her waist from behind, pressing a kiss to her neck.

Apparently sensing her tension, he sighed. “I’m gonna make you a good husband. You’ll see, Dominique. We’re gonna have one fine spread across this valley. One day you’ll wake up and realize what a good life we’ve had, and you’ll no longer regret the day you first met me.”

Nicki bit her lower lip, hoping he was right. She didn’t think she’d be able to live with this dreadful despair all her life. She closed her eyes, missing Mama and the family. Willing herself not to cry, she stepped out of his arms and turned to give him a tentative smile, but her heart did not lighten.

They found the soddy later that evening. There was also a run-down barn, a partially erected bunkhouse, and a corral all clustered on the lee side of a knoll just tall enough for the soddy. But the spread had long since been abandoned. The windowless house was dark, and when they lit John’s lantern, Nicki saw the spiders scurrying to escape the light. She shivered and went in search of some brush to use as a broom. Soon the room was cobweb-free, and they made a bed on the floor for the night.

It was still dark the next morning when she heard John saddling the horse. She roused herself and set about making coffee. He only took the time for one cup before he rode out with a terse, “I’ll be back soon as I can.”

He was gone for two weeks. When he came back, he informed her they would be staying.

1

Shilo, Oregon, in the Willamette Valley

January 1887

The tepid January sun struggled to warm the day, but this winter had been one of the Northwest’s worst in a number of years. The temperatures barely reached the teens.

At the knock on the door, Brooke Jordan rose from scrubbing the kitchen floor and dried her hands on a towel. Pressing a hand to her aching lower back and resting one hand protectively on her rounded belly, she moved to see who it was.

“Who do you suppose would be knocking on our door at this time of day?” she asked the unborn child.

It had become her practice to talk to the baby during the day to ease the loneliness of Sky’s absence. Since they had moved back to Sky’s childhood home from the Idaho territory where they had met, Sky had gone to work as a deputy sheriff for his father and was gone most of the day. She missed him terribly but couldn’t bring herself to tell him, knowing how much he loved his new job, even though it kept him away from home for hours at a time.

Swinging the door wide, Brooke gasped. “Jason!” She pulled the blond man, almost the spitting image of her husband, into her cumbersome embrace. “Come in! Sky and I were just talking about you last night, wondering where you might have gotten to.”

Jason smiled as his eyes dropped to her midsection. “I see I’ve missed some news of my own while I’ve been gone.”

Brooke’s grin broadened. “This isn’t the only news you’ve missed. Just let me send the neighbor boy to call Sky, and I’ll be right in. Make yourself at home.”

Brooke waved him inside and headed for the house next door.

Jason entered the little house, noting the bucket on the kitchen floor and the line delineating the clean side from the dirty. Hanging his black Stetson on the back of a chair, he bent down and took over where Brooke had left off.

“Oh, Jason,” Brooke said as she came back into the house, “get up off that floor and sit down!”

He grinned at her. “Not on your life. You just plant yourself in that chair right there,” he pointed toward the dining table, “and start filling me in on all the news I’ve missed.”

Brooke sank into the indicated chair. “First I want to know all about what you’ve been doing. My, you’ve lost a lot of weight.”

Jason hated the heat he felt wash his face. “Most of my weight was due to the fact I drank too much. Now that I’ve given that up, I can’t seem to keep the pounds on.”

Brooke smiled tenderly. “We are so proud of you, Jason.”

He nodded but did not look up. His life had changed because of his relationship with the Lord, not because he was so great a person. There was no reason for Brooke to be proud of him, but knowing she hadn’t really meant the words exactly as they sounded, he kept this thought to himself.