Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter (8 page)

The flap to Maria's tent snapped back, and she emerged—her hair streaming down her back, her eyes narrowed in fury. “What the devil is going on out here?” The question was directed at Turnbull. “Well?” she demanded when Turnbull did not answer her in the split second that passed.

“Now, Miss Maria, don't go getting all—”

“He just sent Hunt packing,” Bunker reported.

“Oh no, he did not,” Maria said. “You must have misunderstood, isn't that right, Roger? I mean, think about it, Seymour—we're already shorthanded, so why would Mr. Turnbull—”

“It was my doing, ma'am,” Chet said. “I made a comment I shouldn't have, and the boss rightly took offense. Then my dog got into it and…” He turned to the foreman. “I'd like to apologize.” He offered Turnbull a handshake.

All the men froze, waiting to see what would happen, half of them no doubt expecting Turnbull to take another swing at him. But instead, the foreman spit on his own palm and then clasped Chet's hand, squeezing with such force that Chet was pretty sure he'd have some bruised if not broken fingers.

“Better,” Maria said. “Now could we all get some sleep please? And, Mr. Turnbull, tomorrow you and Chet should ride out and have a look at that water flow farther upstream.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Chet said.

“Maria?” Roger's voice was gentle—the voice of a sweetheart pleading with his lady.

Maria ignored him, and as Roger brushed past Chet, this time he was the one to murmur, “Watch your back, Hunter.”

Once Turnbull reached the makeshift corral that held the horses, the other men moved closer to Chet. “I warned you,” Bunker muttered as he and the others went back to their bedrolls laid out around the campfire.

* * *

The rain started just after midnight. Maria was awakened by the plop of large raindrops on the canvas of the tent. She lay very still, willing each plop to bring more and more until there was a true downpour. When it happened, she grinned, then laughed out loud and shook Trey. “Wake up,” she said. “It's finally raining.”

From outside the tent, she heard first grumbles and then shouts of pure joy as the men came awake and realized that they and their belongings were soaked. Trey sat up and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. Then, as he became aware of the sounds of the rain and the men's shouts, he grinned. “Can I go?” he asked.

“We both will,” Maria said, tossing him his boots before pulling on hers. She lifted the flap and followed Trey outside. In seconds, they were both drenched, and she had to laugh when she saw Happy, Bunker, and Slim dancing around what had been the campfire. Even Roger was smiling, and when he saw her, he came to her at once and bowed. “May I have this dance, Miss Maria?”

Deciding it was time to put aside her irritation with Roger and his jealousy, she took hold of his hand as they joined the cowboys circling the fire pit. She looked for Chet and saw him standing off to the side, his face turned up to the sky and the balm of the falling rain.

“Come on, Trey,” she called and broke the circle to grasp her brother's hand. Trey pulled Chet into the circle as well.

“And promenade,” Bunker shouted and began weaving his way along the circle, nodding to each man he passed until he reached Maria. “And swing your partner,” he bellowed as he practically lifted Maria off her feet and swung her around. She basked in the swirl of faces spinning past and laughed. “Put me down, Seymour,” she ordered, but she wasn't serious. The truth was that she could have stayed that way all night—her face pelted with rain, the air already beginning to cool, and the promise of new growth on the range something she could practically taste.

Bunker set her on her feet and instructed the others to bow to their partners as he was bowing to her, his grizzly beard sopping wet. As she promenaded with Bunker down the line, she felt a lightness and joy that she had not known in months. The rain and the cadence the men kept to substitute for music made her feel as if just maybe everything would be all right after all. These men were like family, and together they would find their way.

“Change partners,” Bunker shouted and spun her away and straight into the arms of Chet Hunter.

All at once, the world went still.

He held her as if she were something fragile and precious, and yet she could feel the warmth of his hand spanning her waist and see the silhouette of his rock-solid muscles beneath the soaked fabric of his shirt. He locked his gaze on her face—and as he guided her through the dance, she found that she could not look away. No, it was more like she did not
want
to look away.

Then a flash of lightning lit the night sky, spooking the horses, and as suddenly as the celebration had begun, it was over. The men ran to calm the horses, leaving her standing next to the dead campfire. But before he left her, Chet leaned in close and said, “Best find cover, Miss Maria. Looks like this might be some storm.” He hooked an errant curl behind her ear. “Go,” he said, and his voice was husky—intimate.

She did not move, not even when he glanced back at her. She thought she saw the hint of a smile cross his lips, but then he was lost in the blackness of the night. As she hurried back to the tent she shared with Trey, she tried to remind herself that the moment they had just shared was nothing more than a mutual celebration. Would he be any different when he saw her? Of course not. Chet Hunter was a good and kind man—who worked for her, who had made it clear that in time he would be moving on.

She was the one who was going to feel awkward when she saw him next. She was the one acting like a love-struck girl experiencing her first real crush. She was the one who could not seem to think about anything except how his arm had felt when he danced with her and how those lips had quirked into that half smile…and how very much she wondered what it might be like to kiss the handsome drifter.

* * *

Morning came too soon. An hour before first light, with the rain still falling, the men were roused. “Rustlers.” The word spread quickly as they saddled up and rode off into the darkness. The herd was restless, a sure indication that something was up. Chet and the others communicated with hand signals and now and then a low birdcall—a trick they had learned from Indians. He had to give it to Turnbull—the man knew how to put the men in position quickly and quietly.

The rustlers were trying to cut the unbranded calves away from their mothers and the rest of the herd. They were working the area close to the fence. The day before, Chet had seen one place along the Tipton property where the post had been loosened but put back in its hole, and the wire had been cut but strung to seem as if it were tight. He'd been about to repair the gap in the fencing when the call went out for everyone to head in. He'd planned to finish the job today.

Now Chet would be willing to bet that the post and wire had both been rolled back to provide an opening for the rustlers to use. The plan was probably to spirit the calves through the hole, where more Tipton men waited, and then move on to another part of the herd. Who knew how many calves they'd already taken? They really didn't even have to check if the calf had been branded. Truth of the matter was that the Clear Springs mark was close enough to what the Tiptons now used that changing it would be easy.

Turnbull came alongside him and pointed in the direction of the Tipton boundary. Chet nodded and turned his horse away from the herd as he worked his way slowly along the fence. The rustlers would know that there would be night riders watching the herd. They also no doubt knew they were shorthanded. Word would have spread quickly about Joker leaving and that the others who had left with Turnbull had not returned. It occurred to him that one or more of the rustlers might have worked for the Porterfields before joining up with Tipton.
Not
Joker
, he thought.

A calf bleated, and Chet signaled Cracker to stay put as he eased his rifle from its holster. Sure enough, through the curtain of steady rainfall, he could just make out two men tugging the calf toward the hole. The little guy was resisting with all its might, not wanting to be separated from its ma. Chet waited, watching as one of the men pushed back the post and wire to make a wider opening.

“Going somewhere, boys?” he asked, leveling the gun at them.

They dropped the rope tied round the calf's neck and took off running. Chet slid off his saddle, eased off the noose, and patted the calf on its rump. “Go find your ma,” he said softly and watched as Cracker herded the little guy back into the thick of the herd. In the distance, he heard shouting and knew that Turnbull and the others had surprised the rest of the gang. He saw three riders headed for the fence and a couple more on foot, chased by Rico and another hand. The rustlers fired their guns, and the cowboys from Clear Springs and the other ranches had to abandon the chase to keep the herd from stampeding, giving the rustlers the time they needed to make a clean getaway. Chet moved his horse into position to help calm the herd and saw that Cracker was already hard at work keeping the stock from scattering.

The whole thing was over before what would have been sunrise. “How many?” Maria asked as she and Trey waited with Eduardo for the men to return and get their breakfast.

“Can't tell yet,” Turnbull said. “But they won't be back, so you and Eduardo can head on back to the ranch as planned.”

Chet watched Maria as she stared out at the herd and then let her gaze drift to the endless span of barbed wire that ran like a scar across the land. “You're sure they were Tipton's men?”

“We don't know that, Maria.”

“But it's a pretty good bet,” Bunker muttered.

Turnbull shot him a warning look.

“Okay, let's get the herd moved to higher ground today, as far away from that fence as you can move them.”

“That means crossing Turkey Creek, and that thing will be running deep and fast with this rain,” Turnbull told her.

“Just do whatever you have to do to get as far away from Tipton's land as possible and get me a full count of how many are missing. Trey, you ride with Mr. Turnbull until I get back.”

“But…” Trey glanced at Chet and then back at his sister. It was clear that she was in no mood for a debate. “All right,” he grumbled. “When you coming back?”

“I'm not sure. I want to check on Mama, and I have some business in town to attend to. Could be a couple of weeks.” Chet saw her eyes soften as she brushed her younger brother's wet hair away from his cheeks. “Soon as I can,” she added. “I promise.”

Eduardo clanged a bell, signaling breakfast was ready. Chet and the others grabbed a soggy, cold biscuit and some hardtack and filled their tin cups with coffee. They ate standing up, ready to head out to relieve the night riders even though their own sleep had been interrupted to deal with the rustlers. As he rode off with the other men, Chet saw Maria and Eduardo ride off in the opposite direction, back toward the ranch. He couldn't help but think he was going to miss her…and the days ahead would be a little longer without her around.

Maria was determined to put a stop to the raids on the herd—not that she could prove the brothers had any involvement, but there was no denying that since her father's death, more stock had gone missing than ever before. It was as if once her father died, the Clear Springs ranch became a target, and in the months since her father's passing, whoever was behind the raids and other mischief had become more brazen. They would never have dared such tactics when her father ran the ranch. She doubted they would have been so bold if Jess had been the one in charge. No, because she was a woman, they thought they could do as they pleased.

She had tried several things—hiring extra men when she could afford them, having the regular cowhands drive the herd to grazing land as far as possible from Tipton land—but these days she couldn't afford the payroll for the regulars and good grazing land was harder to find. She didn't know how she was going to stop them, but if she and the other small ranchers didn't do something, they would lose their ranches for sure. In her case, the rustlers were not only stealing unbranded calves but also steers that carried the Clear Springs brand because it was easily altered to match the Tipton brand. Chet's suspicions about the water flow might be a place to start. She would talk to a couple of the neighboring ranchers and then go see Marshal Tucker.

“You thinking about going to town and stirring up trouble, Maria?” Eduardo asked later that evening as the two of them sat next to the campfire he'd built. They were eating their supper of cold tortillas filled with black beans and salsa.

She started to deny it, but understood that the man who knew her at least as well as her father had would not be fooled. “I'm not the one who has stirred up anything,” she replied. “If the Tipton brothers would keep their men under control and leave us alone, there wouldn't be any trouble.”

“Maybe.” Eduardo scraped the bottom of a tin of beans with his fingers and licked them clean. “But Marshal Tucker can't help you. He's just a town marshal. It's the federal government that's in charge of things out here.”

“Well, then I'll go see Colonel Ashwood at the fort. Ever since Papa worked out that deal for us to supply cheese, eggs, and beef to the fort, he's been most friendly.”

Eduardo made no comment.

“I mean, what am I supposed to do? Just let the Tiptons march in and take over like they did with the Buchanans and the Kellers?”

“Now you know as well as I do that both those families came West for the wrong reasons and neither one was cut out for the life here. Keller's wife hightailed it back East almost before he could get a house built, and Buchanan knew about as much about handling a herd as young Trey does.”

“Trey was sick and has some catching up to do.”

“He's also fourteen and learning—not a grown-up man like Buchanan.” Eduardo flung the dregs of his coffee on the ground and stood up to stretch.

“So what do you think I should do? What do you think Papa would do?” she asked softly.

Eduardo was quiet for so long that she thought maybe he hadn't heard her. Then he squatted down and picked up a stick to stir the fire. “I think you've got a hired manager, Maria, and dealing with the Tiptons is his job. Let him do it. As for your pa? He's not here. If he was, he could take care of things, but you aren't him. Like it or not, you'll not get very far going up against men like Jasper and Buck Tipton, and you'll not like me saying this, but the other ranchers aren't all that likely to listen to you either—you being a
mujer
and all. You want my advice? Let
Senor
Turnbull handle the Tiptons.”

She knew he was right. And yet the truth was she didn't entirely trust Roger to take care of the matter. After all, he had urged her to sell out and had even left to go work for the land company. Of course, he had explained all that the day he'd followed her out to her father's office.

“Maria, you have this way of making me do the darnedest things,” he'd said. “I swear, honey, you can drive a smart man to stupid.”

“Like running off to work for Tipton?” she'd asked.

He'd smiled sheepishly and put his arms loosely around her waist. “Exactly. I was mad, and I did the one thing I thought would make you see what you might be losing if I left.”

“It didn't work.” She had firmly but gently pushed him away and turned back to her father's desk.

“No. I see that now. Take me back, Maria. Let's put things back the way they used to be between us. I promise you won't regret it.”

And because she saw no other option and she truly wanted to believe in Roger's loyalty to her family, she had agreed. “No more talk of me selling out?” she had asked.

“Nope. I learned that lesson, honey.” He had taken a step closer, but she had stopped his embrace by sticking out her hand and shaking his as firmly as any man would have—as firmly as her father would have—to seal their bargain.

Yet in spite of that, she still had doubts. Her relationship with Roger confused her now that she had stepped into the position of running the ranch. The truth was that sometimes it was so nice to lay down that burden of responsibility. On the other hand, there had been a time when she, like pretty much everyone else, had thought she and Roger would marry. If she wanted to marry at all, he was certainly the most likely candidate. But lately she realized she had begun to question Roger's intentions—for her and the ranch. She'd never really been in a position to observe him at work, and what she had seen over the last several weeks disturbed her. His hair-trigger temper was a problem. She certainly did not recall him ever acting the way he did with her when her father was alive. The way he'd gone storming off that day after she'd refused to even consider selling out was typical. He'd come back of course, and he'd kept his word about saying no more about her selling out, but things were not the same between them. He still did as he pleased without consulting her.

“Do you trust Roger?” she asked Eduardo.

“He's good at his job,” he replied.

“That's not an answer. Do you trust him to do what's best for us?”

Eduardo shrugged. “Do we have a choice?” He laid out his bedroll and settled in for the night. “You take first watch,” he said, passing her his rifle. “Wake me in an hour and I'll take watch till morning.”

“You need sleep too.”

Eduardo grinned. “I'll have plenty of sleep tomorrow as we ride. You see, I long ago learned the fine art of dozing on my horse.” He winked at her and then turned his back to the campfire and let out a sigh of pure exhaustion.

Maria sat staring at the fire, oblivious to the way the hot coals only added to the heat that had built throughout the day in spite of the rain the night before. Her tin coffee cup was cradled in her hands. The coffee was cold now, but she paid no mind to it. She thought about what Eduardo had said about having no choice but to trust Roger.
We
do
have
a
choice,
she decided.
I
can
trust
myself
. By the time she woke Eduardo, she knew exactly what she was going to do once they got back to the ranch.

But the following evening, as they rode up to the ranch house, Amanda came running to meet them. “Thank heavens,” she shouted. “You have to do something, Maria.”

“Is Mama—”

“Mama is fine, or as fine as she ever gets these days. It's me that's going crazy. Nita has me working from sunup to sundown. And even when I'm not working, there is nothing to do. I even miss Trey.”

Maria smiled as she dismounted and tied the reins of her horse in a half hitch knot around the corral fence. “Well, I have to go into town tomorrow. Would you like to come with me? We could do some shopping and—”

Amanda threw herself into Maria's arms. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Arm in arm, the sisters walked into the courtyard, where their mother was sitting, her eyes closed, her face lifted to the setting sun.

“Hello, Mama.” Maria kissed her mother's cheek.

“Ah, Maria, did you have a nice ride?” She touched Maria's hand.

“Yes, Mama.” She glanced at Amanda, wondering if perhaps at last their mother realized that Maria had been away.

“That young man wasn't with you, was he?”

“What young man, Mama?”

“That Roger. Your father tells me the two of you—”

“Mama, I was out with the herd. We're late with the branding and need everyone working.”

Her mother frowned. “I forgot. Trey was with you?”

“That's right. He's doing a wonderful job, Mama. The men have all taken to him like he's one of them.”

“Branding time?”

“Yes, Mama.”

She smiled. “Then comes market time and that means party time. We need to start planning. Once the herd is taken to market and the men and your father return…”

“I don't know, Mama. Maybe this year we should—”

“I'll help you write letters to the other wives, Mama,” Amanda said before Maria could say more. “Maria and I are going into town tomorrow, and she's going to see the other ranchers, so it's the perfect time to get them to take your letter home to their wives. We could have them come for lunch one day and plan the whole thing just like always.” She looked pleadingly up at Maria. “Isn't that right, Maria?”

Maria ignored her. “A party is a lot of work, Mama, and you haven't been feeling well. Maybe just for this year the other ranchers' wives could—”

“They'll all pitch in and do their parts, of course, but the party has always been here, Maria. What would your father think if he learned we were not hosting this year's celebration?” She stood up and walked with surprising vigor into the house. “Well, come along, Amanda. Let's get started on those letters. Perhaps we can speed things along by suggesting assignments—after all, everyone pretty much does the same thing every year. Of course…” She began ticking off a list of tasks, matching them with the person she thought best capable of delivering.

Among the names she gave were the Kellers and Buchanans. Both families had been gone since at least a year before Isaac Porterfield died. It was hard for Maria not to envy her mother's fantasy world—life had been so much simpler then.

* * *

The town of Whitman Falls was small but bustling. In spite of the fact that the railroad had bypassed the town, it was still the thriving place it had been when Maria was a child coming into town with her parents. Of course there were telltale signs that all was not as it had once been—a couple of empty storefronts, open businesses where the owners had given up trying to fight the dust, and more than the usual number of men sitting outside the saloon whittling on a stick or just staring out at the street.

When Maria and Amanda pulled their wagon up to the general mercantile store, Eliza McNew was sweeping the boardwalk—a useless task since it would be covered in more gritty dirt not half an hour after she finished. It was pretty obvious that the rain they had celebrated out in the valley had not reached town.

“Good morning, Eliza,” Maria called as she set the brake on the buckboard and climbed down.

“Mornin',” Eliza replied, leaning on her broom. “Another perfect day in Whitman Falls,” she added as she squinted up at the cloudless sky.

“You could sure use some not so perfect days,” Maria replied. Amanda hugged Eliza before rushing into the store.

“Where's the fire?” Eliza asked, nodding toward the door.

Maria sighed. “Mama wants to have a party, and of course Amanda is all for that since she assumes it means new clothes and such.”

“Constance is better then?”

“Not really.”

Eliza wrapped her arm around Maria's shoulders as they walked into the store. “Anything I can do?” Eliza and Maria's mother were lifelong friends, having grown up together, gone through school together, and attended each other at weddings, births, and most recently the funeral of Isaac Porterfield.

“Keep coming to visit when you can, I guess. That's all anybody outside the family can do.”

“Maybe the party is a good idea. It might just bring her back to us,” Eliza said as she and Maria entered the cool shade of the store.

“It's the perfect idea,” Amanda announced, already standing before the store's full-length mirror, draping herself in a beautiful satin damask fabric she'd unwound from its bolt. Three more bolts of fabric were stacked on the glass-topped counter next to her. “Lavender has never been my color.” She sighed. “But it's perfect for you, Maria.”

Maria held up her hands to stop her sister's advance. “I have to meet with the association, and I want to speak with Marshal Tucker. After that, I have an appointment with Mr. Cardwell at the bank,” she reminded Amanda. “Wait for me here, and we'll have lunch at the hotel before we start back. I won't be long.”

“Take your time, and don't forget to hand out the letters for the wives. Eliza and I have so much to do—pick out fabrics and patterns for dresses for you, Mama, and me…” She glanced around and focused on a Stetson displayed behind the counter. “Maybe a new hat for Trey to celebrate that he's one of the hands now?”

“Maybe. Let's not spend us the rest of the way into bankruptcy,” Maria said, glancing at Eliza, who nodded, signaling that she would keep Amanda's shopping spree under control. Reassured, Maria left the store, nodding to two men on their way into the store who had stepped aside to allow her to pass as they tipped their hats.

The meeting with her father's fellow ranchers went about the way Eduardo had predicted. They listened politely to her impassioned call for the need to take a united stand against the Tipton outfit. Then they thanked her for coming and turned back to their conversation about the drought and whether or not moving their stock to higher ground where there was more shade and cooler temperatures would be enough. It was as if she were invisible. After the meeting finally broke up, she saw Marshal Tucker and called out to him. He might not have jurisdiction outside of town, but maybe he would have some ideas about how she might go about finding out what happened to Oscar.