Mary Connealy (41 page)

“Helena’s the closest place with cattle buyers looking for a whole herd.” Belle still hadn’t told them the really awful part.

Sarah’s green eyes formed perfect circles. “I’ve been with you up and down that trail, Ma. Can we punch five hundred head of cattle over those narrow passes?”

Up and down was right. And side to side and over rock slides and alongside cliffs. A more treacherous trail hardly existed in the whole country.

“More like a thousand, Sarah. We’ve got to thin this herd down here, too, because we don’t have the grass we thought we had. I’ve got three thousand head of cattle, and we need to run a third of them to market.”

Lindsay squared her shoulders. “We can manage that, Ma.”

“We’ve got a hard week of work to do to cut out the cattle we want to drive and brand them. Some of those year-old animals in the highlands are thousand-pound longhorn bulls,” Belle warned. “We’ll take as many as possible from down here, just to skip as much branding as we can.”

Emma gave a shrug. “We’ve had hard weeks before.”

Belle liked the calm way her girls were reacting. She’d have done the same, except for the worst of it. Th at was making her edgy. “We need to get the cattle we want to sell penned into that canyon with the low pass toward Helena.”

Slapping her gloves in one hand, Belle thought of that long stretch that needed fencing. Hours of backbreaking work, and Belle was no carpenter. She’d be lucky to build a fence that would hold cows. But the grass was still good in that canyon and the water plentiful. She’d kept the cattle out of there so she could move them in come winter. The cattle wouldn’t take much persuading to stay put in there.

Sarah turned back to her stew. “We cleared the rocks off the pass a few years back. That’s not so hard to drive the cattle that way.”

It was a razor-sharp climb and twisted as a Rocky Mountain rattlesnake. But yes, they could do that.

“It’s a big job, Ma.” Lindsay started setting the tin plates around the table. “And the drive will be tough, but there’s nothing you’ve told us to get worked up about. You seem pretty upset.”

“I’ve waited till last to give you the worst of it.”

All three girls turned back to face her. Even Betsy, still strapped on Belle’s back, seemed to tense.

“We can’t handle this drive alone, girls.”

“We can do anything, Ma,” Emma said defensively.

Belle shook her head. “Not this time.”

“So we just give up? We let our cattle starve?”

“Nope. Worse that that.”

“Worse than starving our herd, Ma? What could be worse than that? Unless…you think
we’re
gonna starve?” Sarah’s lip trembled.

“No, we’ll live. But there is something worse than all of that.”

“What is it, Ma?” Lindsay asked, her eyes frightened.

Well, good. She should be afraid. Very afraid. “I’m going to have to bring home …” Belle shuddered, but she forced herself to go on. “Men.”

The rest of the dinner was sadder than the day they’d buried Anthony.

By a Rocky Mountain mile.

“Before I fetch them, I want to tell you one more time what low-down, worthless skunks men are. You can’t trust nothin’ a man makes you feel, especially if the men are good-lookin’ and too ready with a smile.”

Her girls listened closely while they ate.

Belle had said it all before. But she’d never say it enough.

She wished she knew a way to thin the herd of men.

Silas was so hungry for a meal not fixed by his own hand that he couldn’t think of much else.

When he saw Libby’s Diner scrawled on the side of a clapboard building in Divide, Montana, he practically ran in, following his nose. He sank down on a bench at one of only two long, roughly built tables.

A bustling woman with a pleasant smile brought him coffee and a plate of stew without asking him what he wanted.

That was exactly what he wanted. Besides, it was most likely all Libby had. So a lot of time was spared.

Libby laid down the food, and Silas waved at the bench across from him. “I haven’t heard another voice in an age. I’d be right pleased if you’d set a spell and talk to me while I eat.”

Libby was agreeable and fetched her own cup of coffee and settled in on the bench across from Silas. They’d only covered half the town when a woman walked in, ringing the bell that hung over the door.

Now, Silas knew two kinds of women. In fact, to his knowledge until this moment, he’d’ve told anyone that there were only two kinds.

There were the dance-hall girls, all frilled up and doused with cheap perfume, with come-hither smiles that didn’t cover the hardness behind their eyes. Their conversations were heated and direct, and their hands were always reaching for men’s wallets.

And there were good girls, sorta like Libby here, though Libby was old enough to be Silas’s mother, so she hardly qualified as a girl. Good girls wore calico and bonnets. They kept their eyes down—only glancing up once in a blue moon with their own version of come-hither—versions that were just as potent if a man wasn’t careful. Their dresses were carefully loose to conceal their curves, although that didn’t work well, a man’s imagination being a powerful thing. Their conversations were discreet and shy. The funny thing about good girls was, just like the dance-hall girls, the good girls were also reaching for men’s wallets. It was a longer reach, though, because a good girl got to a man’s wallet with a side trip past a preacher.

The woman who strode into Libby’s Diner was neither kind.

Her skin was tanned until she almost looked part Indian, but her light brown eyes made Silas believe she wasn’t. She wore a fringed buckskin jacket with some of the fringe missing, the way a working-man’s jacket was, because one of the points of having the fringe was to have a piggin’ string available at all times. She had on a split riding skirt made of softly tanned doeskin that hugged her hips and flared loose around her ankles, and chaps over the skirt. None of it concealed her curves, even though every inch of her was covered.

She had on worn-out boots with spurs that jingled when she walked. A faded blue calico blouse showed under her jacket, with several buttons open that kept it from covering her throat as a decent dress ought. It looked like it was done for comfort, not for come-hither. A kerchief was tied at her neck the way a cowboy wore one, so it could be jerked up to filter dirt on a cattle drive. She wore leather gloves and a wide-brimmed, flat-topped black hat, and a six-gun in a holster on her neat little hip.

More unusual than that, she walked with a strong stride and looked Libby directly in the eye, even as she sat herself down next to Silas on the bench. She glanced at him with eyes that were neither hard nor demure, and no come-hither to be seen anywhere.

Even more interesting, Libby looked at her and spoke as she had to Silas, no giggles and hugs, none of the frilly manners one woman had with another. “Howdy, Belle. Eatin’ today?”

“Anything you got is fine. I’ve had a hard ride in and got another one ahead of me to get home.”

Libby got up and gave Belle the same service she’d given Silas.

Belle looked Silas straight in the eye but didn’t linger over looking. Still, he had the sense that she’d taken in everything there was to see about him. There was nothing flirtatious in her glance, and it occurred to Silas that a woman often looked twice at him. He’d gotten used to women being interested.

Belle wasn’t.

She turned back to Libby and took the coffee. “Obliged, Lib.” She drank it two-fisted, like a man did who had gotten used to savoring the heat on cold nights on the range.

After she’d gotten some of the boiling hot, ink black coffee into her, she turned to Libby. “I’m huntin’ hands. Anybody in town need work?” Her voice was deep for a woman. Businesslike. Somber. It tugged on something deep inside of Silas like sometimes beautiful music did.

Libby shook her head. “Cain’t think of no one right off hand, Belle, but I can ask around. Most everyone huntin’ work signed on with a herd heading for Oregon a month ago. My boys are off hauling freight, or they might help you out. It’s late in the season.”

“I hadn’t heard about the other drive. I haven’t been to town in a long time.”

Although she kept her voice steady, Silas heard her underlying frustration and knew she needed help.

Libby said uncertainly, “I reckon there’s a couple of loafers in the Golden Butte Saloon who might need the money bad enough to work for it.”

Belle set her tin cup down with a hard
clink
and pulled her plate of stew closer, plunking her elbows on the table and surrounding the food as if afraid someone would take it from her. “I’ll go check, but I don’t want anyone who needs babysittin’. I’d rather do it alone.”

“How many you need?”

“I want six. A month’s work driving a thousand head to Helena.”

“You’re finally culling your herd that deep? Never thought I’d see the day.” Libby poured another cup of coffee for Silas and topped off her own cup.

Nodding, Belle chewed thoughtfully. “I haven’t sold more’n ten or twenty head in my life. Always trying to build. But I’m using up my range too fast this year. Had a calf crop I can’t believe and didn’t count close enough until about a week ago.”

Libby refilled Belle’s cup. “Uh…is your husband in charge then?”

Belle sat quiet for so long that Silas couldn’t figure what about that question had stumped her so badly.

He sipped his coffee, watching this new kind of woman closely.

Finally, with a quick glance at Silas and an unreadable look, she said, “Anthony won’t be makin’ the drive. I’ll be in charge.”

Silas spit coffee across the table and started choking. Lucky Belle was beside him and Libby straight across from Belle.

Libby jumped up and grabbed a cloth.

Belle gave him a couple of thumps on the back, apparently thinking he’d swallowed his coffee wrong.

Mopping the table, Libby glanced at Silas and didn’t quite conceal a smile.

Silas wiped his mouth and shirtfront. A woman in charge of a cattle drive? It sounded like Silas’s very own worst nightmare!

Libby’s reaction shocked him again. “You’ll have more luck getting hands if’n they know Anthony’s out, Belle.”

Silas decided then not to drink any more coffee until Belle left, because he had no idea what she or Libby would say to surprise him next.

Belle quit beating on him and took her hand back to her coffee, nodding silently.

“Name’s Silas Harden. I’ve punched my share of cows, and I could use a month’s work.” Silas heard the words come out of his mouth, and he had his third shock in the space of a single minute. He couldn’t think of a worse fate than taking orders from a female, a particularly male kind of female at that. What had made his tongue slip loose with that offer?

“I’m Belle Tanner. Thanks for the offer.” She angled her body a bit to face him then reached her hand out to shake, like a man would have.

Silas took her hand and felt the tough calluses. It made Silas want to punch somebody that this pretty little woman was running a cattle drive and had been doing hard physical labor for years, judging by her leather-tough hand.

Anthony seemed like a good place to start.

She pulled loose from his grip quickly, but not too quickly. Just right. Again like a man.

That irritated Silas for some reason.

“I’ve never heard of you, Silas. You from around here?”

“No, I just drifted into town today. I’m from New Mexico mainly.”

“No offense, but I’ll be using folks I know or who can be recommended by folks I know.” Belle went to scooping up stew with her fork, brushing aside his offer as if he were crumbs she’d found on her shirt.

Silas should have breathed a sigh of relief at his lucky escape. Instead, her rejection bit a fair-sized chunk out of his pride. “It figures a crew run by a woman would be afraid of strangers.” Again Silas should have just kept his mouth shut. And challenging her…what kind of stupid way was that to talk to a woman? “I’ve hired on to a dozen outfits in my day with nothing but my word and an understanding that if I couldn’t pull my weight I’d be sent down the road. A man’s used to proving himself in the West. When you’re dealing with women, I suppose it’s all about whatever fancy notion she takes in her pretty little head.”

Belle looked up from her stew and stared directly into his eyes. No quick, dismissive glance this time.

Silas thought, if he checked later, there’d be singe marks on his skin where her eyes burned a hole through him.

Finally, without taking her eyes off of him, she asked, “Libby, whatta ya think? Has he got the stuff to go with that mouth?”

Silas’s eyes shifted to Libby, and she studied him, too. He sat still, being judged by two women, and not for what a woman usually judged him for. He fought the urge to squirm like a schoolboy caught hiding a garter snake in the teacher’s desk.

“I think he’d do to ride the river with, Belle.” Libby sipped at her coffee. “He’s right. You can always show him the trail.”

Silas looked back at Belle to tell her he wouldn’t work for her even if she decided he measured up.

Before he could cut her down to size, she was talking again. “Well, I reckon I should take your word for it, Lib. Whatever else I am, I am the worst judge of men who ever walked the earth.”