Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter (6 page)

“And Hunter?”

She sighed. Experience had taught her that Roger was a jealous man, perceiving every new man as a potential threat. “The men have accepted him. Why can't you?”

“Maybe it's because I know that any man who is that far from home with no sign of having a plan is a man with something to hide. He's trouble, Maria, and even your father would have doubts about such a man.”

He was right. For all his generosity and kindness to men like Chet, by now her father would have expected to know a good deal more, and he certainly never would have offered a complete stranger the foreman's job. Nor would he have allowed such a man to witness firsthand his wife's fragile state, as Chet already had twice. But something about this particular drifter told Maria that whatever his past, whatever his secret might be, it had nothing to do with his ability to do the job. “He's a good hand, Roger, and right now, I can't afford to let that pass.”

“Suit yourself, Maria. Just be prepared to wake up one morning and find him long gone, and maybe your best horse with him.” He started to walk away but stopped, not looking back at her. “I need to know, Maria. Who's in charge?”

She knew what he was asking. She also knew that it would be a mistake to choose. “I am. Tomorrow we move the herd.”

“Turnbull's had another run-in with Miss Maria—best stay clear,” Bunker warned all the men that evening. “You especially, Hunt. That man is a powder keg sitting next to a campfire if you ask me. Real strange the way he keeps taking off for town, and the way he just hightailed it out of here that morning a couple weeks ago and then came crawling back.”

“Got no plans to be in his company unless it can't be helped. You gonna deal those cards or sit there shuffling them till they give you the hand you need?”

“Just keep on acting like you don't understand a fair warning, Hunt. You don't know this man and you do not want to cross him.” Bunker started doling out the cards. A few of the other men—including Rico—nodded.

“Got no reason to know him or cross him. On the other hand, if he's got some bone to pick with me, I expect sooner or later, we're gonna need to have a conversation.” Chet discarded a couple of cards and waited for Bunker to replace them. “What is it you think he wants?”

“He wants you gone,” Happy muttered, pushing three matchsticks into the pile in the center of the table.

Chet smiled as he waited for the rest of the group to place their bets or fold and then laid out his hand—three tens. “Then he's got nothin' to worry about.”

“You figuring on leavin' us already?” Bunker thundered, slamming his cards on the table as Chet collected his matchsticks.

“Didn't say nothin' about when.”

“Miss Maria's not goin' to like that,” a small, bow-legged man called Joker said, shaking his head as he stood up and stretched. “She's not goin' to like that one little bit.”

Chet noticed that all the men agreed, and yet at the same time he realized they all understood. Life as a ranch hand was like that. A man stayed awhile—a good long while if he was lucky—but most moved on eventually. These men would not blame Chet. Still, he felt he owed them an explanation. “I'm heading for California,” he said. “Hope to buy a little place there and settle down. From what I hear, it's a lot like Florida. I might grow me some oranges and strawberries and…”

As he shared his hope for the future, around the table, he saw the men nod. They understood a dream like his. At one time or another, every one of them had probably had the same dream. No doubt one or two of them still hoped the day might come when they'd have that place of their own.

* * *

After weeks of riding the range, it hadn't taken long for Chet to form an opinion of the Tipton Brothers outfit. With their land surrounding the smaller ranches—at least the ones they hadn't been able to buy—it was not unusual for him to pass one of their hands working the other side of the fence. Now, as he passed close to the fence separating the properties, he acknowledged the other man's presence with a nod. The Tipton man scowled at him and then turned his horse and galloped off. Half an hour later, he was back with another man who looked as if he'd just as soon shoot a man as look at him.

“You there,” the second man shouted, and Chet turned in the saddle to look back at him. “You're riding awfully close to private property, cowboy.” The Tipton man came alongside him now with only the fence between them.

“Well now, the way I see it, you and your friend there are riding just a close to this private property,” Chet replied.

“A smart aleck,” the larger man sneered.

“Nope. Just making an observation.”

“Well, here's an ob-ser-VA-tion for you, cowboy: Stay well away from this boundary, got it?”

“Or?”

“Or you might just find yourself in trouble.” He tipped his hat back and spit as he scanned the territory surrounding them. “Yup, could take days for somebody to find a man in trouble out here—ain't that the truth, Shorty?”

“Be a gol-darned shame,” Shorty replied, but he was grinning up at his partner.

“Is that why you rode off like something was chasing you to get your friend here, Shorty?” Chet saw the man go for his pistol, but he was quicker, having wrapped his hand around the butt of his whip and released it from the saddle horn. The crack of the whip startled the men and their horses. The horses bucked against their reins, and once the men let the reins go slack, the horses took off with their riders flailing wildly as they tried to regain control. “Nice talkin' to you,” Chet called out, and he couldn't help but grin as he watched the Tipton men ride away.

That night, when he relayed the story in the bunkhouse, the other men did not laugh as he would have expected. They just kept playing cards, glancing nervously at each other. As usual, it was Bunker who finally spoke up. “You got a death wish, Hunt? 'Cause unless you do, you'd best watch yourself out there. Those boys mean what they say. You don't want to be stirring them up none.”

Chet frowned as he studied his cards. “You're sayin' this was nothing new?”

There were snorts of disbelief from the other men. “You cannot be that dumb,” Joker said. “Tipton's men would not think twice about shooting you and claiming you was trying to steal their stock.”

“And what happens if they steal from Miss Maria or her neighbors?”

Once again the room went absolutely still.

“It wouldn't be the first time,” Rico muttered as he discarded a single card.

“Back before Miss Maria's father died?” Chet asked, tossing Rico another card.

“And since,” the older hand said. “She don't know it though.”

“Is it a good idea to keep such information from her?” Chet asked.

Joker shrugged. “There's a lot that Miss Maria and her family don't know.” He paused and glanced around, then leaned in as if about to share a secret. “Thing is, there's a lot more going on here than most know for sure. You're a stranger here, and maybe you can get closer to the whole mess without raising suspicion, the way I can't. Look, we've been keeping our traps closed because of—”

Bunker cleared his throat loudly, interrupting whatever Joker had been about to say just as Turnbull walked in.

“Because of what, Joker?” the foreman asked in a voice that was far too quiet to be friendly.

Joker gave him a nervous grin, immediately pulling back. He almost looked scared. “Because we didn't want her getting upset after losin' her pa and all, ain't that right, boss?”

“That's exactly right.” Turnbull focused his attention on Chet. “Got any more questions?”

“Not right now.”

“Good.” Turnbull pulled a three-legged stool up to the table. “How about dealing me in then?”

The next morning, as they got ready to ride out for their shift, Chet noticed Joker was missing.

“He left,” Bunker said.

“On his own?”

“Stay out of it, Hunt,” Bunker advised. He jerked his head toward the house. Turnbull was talking to Maria—or rather, she was talking to him, gesturing toward the corral before planting her hands on her hips and apparently waiting for Turnbull to speak. Instead the foreman shrugged and strode toward them.

“Mount up and get going,” he bellowed as he snatched the reins for his horse from Eduardo's hands, mounted the animal, and dug in his spurs, sending the horse galloping off toward town while the rest of the men headed in the opposite direction.

“Chet!”

All the men turned to glance back at Maria. Chet waved them on before turning back toward the house. “Something you need, Miss Maria?” he asked.

She shot a look at the dust Turnbull was leaving in his wake and then looked back at Chet. “What happened with Joker?” she asked. It was a question that Chet was fairly certain she had just asked Turnbull. He didn't like being put on the spot, and he definitely didn't want any part of saying something that might make Turnbull more determined than ever to have him gone.

So he shrugged and, not wanting to meet her gaze, stared at a point on the horizon where he could see the other men winding their way along the trail. “You know how it is, Miss Maria. A man gets an itch to move on and then up and goes without a word.”

“Did something happen with Roger?” she pressed.

“Maybe that's a talk you'd best have with Turnbull.”

“I did. Now I'm having that conversation with you. I just learned that yet another of my hands has left the ranch. I'm not sure what's going on here, but I do know that we can't handle getting stock to market unless we have the men to drive them. Now for the last time, Chet, what happened to Joker—because that man was devoted to my father and would never have left unless—”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Maria, but Joker might not be as devoted to you as he was to your pa.”

She bristled. Chet couldn't help thinking that if she had a porcupine's quills, they would be splayed out, ready to take on all challengers. He fought back a smile at the thought. It wouldn't do for her to think he might be smiling at her expense.

She narrowed her eyes, studying him closely. “Are you suggesting that these men are leaving the ranch because of me?”

“No. I'm just speculatin' about Joker, but I do know one thing, Miss Maria.”

“And what is that?”

“I know it's a fact that you're shorthanded and yet you're keeping me here jawin' instead of letting me go out there where I'm needed.”

She bit her lower lip and stared out over the land that surrounded them. “I just want to know what happened.”

“And what good would that do you? Joker has gone. What does it matter why?”

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, starting to say something, then rejecting each idea. “Oh, go do your job,” she finally said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She turned away from him, but he saw that her fists were clinched. Chet figured that was about as close as she would ever come to admitting that he'd been right—that whatever had driven Joker away didn't much matter now that he was gone.

“Miss Maria?”

She looked back at him.

“The men are bound to wonder why Turnbull rode off toward town again without really giving us any direction.”

“I am wondering the same thing.” Once again, she glanced down the road. Then she seemed to gather herself. “Move the herd to higher ground. Also, the Tipton fencing needs checking,” she said. “We've lost half a dozen calves in the last few weeks.”

So she knew more than the others gave her credit for. “And if we find holes?”

“Close them up.”

“But…”

“I don't care if that's Tipton property. The rest of us have the right to protect our property, and since we have repeatedly asked them nicely to patrol the fences they insisted on installing, and they have not, then I will take matters into my own hands. Repair the fences before we lose any more unbranded calves.”

“We could brand the stock,” he suggested.

“Don't treat me like some novice, Chet. Branding was to finish up weeks ago as you well know, but with all the setbacks—Papa's death, the men leaving, and now Joker gone—we need to reconsider our schedule. Joker is the best iron man this side of the Mississippi and losing him is like losing two men. I aim to get to the bottom of this and, with any luck at all, get him to come back. So we will check the fencing, close the holes, and brand the stock in that order, understood?”

“Yes, ma'am.” This time he made no attempt at smothering the grin. He tipped his hat to her. “Be seein' you in a few weeks then.” The amount of work spread over miles of territory meant the men would camp out on the range rather than returning to the bunkhouse each night.

“You'll be seeing me and my younger brother, Trey, by tomorrow,” she replied. She must have noticed the way Chet couldn't keep his jaw from dropping in surprise because it was her turn to smile. “We're shorthanded, remember?” She walked into the courtyard. “Trey Porterfield,” Chet heard her shout. “Stop whatever you're doing and get down here now.”

Shorthanded without a doubt, but if she thought she and that boy could make up for a man like Joker…well, she was not as smart as Chet had thought.

* * *

“I'm not asking you to make ranching your life's work, Trey,” Maria said. “It's just that we all have to pitch in. Papa always said you were ready. Maybe Mama didn't agree, but if Papa thought you were well enough to start doing your part, that's good enough for me. We're coming up on our busiest time and—”

“I'll go,” Amanda volunteered. “Anything to escape this,” she added as she held up her hands covered in soapy water.

Juanita handed Amanda a scrub brush and motioned to the shirt draped over the washboard. “Just keep working that stain,
mi
hija
. You got no business out there alone with a bunch of cowboys. A body shudders to think what might come of that.”

Maria wiped a scattering of soap bubbles from her sister's cheek. “I need someone to watch Mama,” she said, “and we won't be gone long.”

“You're going?” Amanda looked back at Juanita. “How come she can go and you don't say a word?”

“She isn't likely to throw herself at that good-looking drifter, and more to the point, she is the boss. I got no way of stopping her, but you, little one, are another story.”

“Can I take my sketchbook?” Trey asked, interrupting the women.

“Yes, as long as I don't see you drawing in it when you're supposed to be keeping watch or doing some other chore.”

Sensing that he was dealing from a position of power, Trey pressed on, “And my books?”

“One book. Now go change and meet me at the corral in fifteen minutes.”

“We're going now?”

Maria sighed. “No, I thought we would wait for the next lunar eclipse,” she said, giving vent to her frustration. “Yes, now, Trey—so go.”

When he had headed down the hall, she turned back to Amanda. “Now remember Mama—”