Pioneer Passion (2 page)

“Hello!” he shouted. The torn screen door
squeaked as he opened it. Shaking his head sadly, he hollered,
“Hello! Is anyone around?” The place seemed deserted. Guy scanned
the large room that looked like a combination kitchen and parlor.
The kitchen had a rusted wood-burning stove. A large pot sat on it
simmering. He inhaled the aroma. Stew? Someone did live here, but
who? he mused. Did the old man leave a wife? Damn! He hoped not,
not wanting to be the one to break the sad news to her. With
further inspection he noticed that in the middle of the kitchen
area sat a worm-eaten table and three weather-beaten chairs that
looked like they would collapse under the lightest weight. The sun
beamed through windows with no panes but someone had bothered to
hang up curtains. They were faded but clean; definitely a woman’s
touch. A long, worm-eaten bench sat at the other end of the room
where a cold fireplace, missing a few bricks, stood. Amazed at the
poor condition of the place, inside and out, he shook his head
again.

The aroma of the simmering pot made Guy’s
stomach rumble. He had eaten nothing but dried meat and beans on
the trail. He called out again before noticing a door towards the
back of the cabin. He knocked sharply. No answer, so he peeked
inside. It was a bedroom no bigger than a large closet with a small
bed and dresser tightly squeezed into it. Again there were many
panes missing from the window but like the one in the kitchen, it
was adorned with curtains.

Shrugging, he returned to the main room and
decided to help himself to the stew. Guy found a tin plate, took a
mean share and sat, surprised the chair held his weight. But his
knees rubbed the bottom of the small table when he slid into the
chair. The stew was very tasty considering it held no meat. After
eating his fill he pushed the chair back, rested his dirty boots on
the one opposite, covered his face with his dusty hat and took a
nap.

Chapter Two

Rusty Crawford patted her mule on its course
hide looked up at the San Joaquin Valley’s blue sky and shouted,
“If it doesn’t rain soon there’ll be no orange crop and no profit
this year. Without crops and money, the farm will be lost!” She
sighed thinking how things had been steadily deteriorating since
her mother died. Wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her
hand, she fanned herself with her father’s old hat, squinted west
towards the Coast Range and grumbled sadly. Putting the hat back on
her head to cover her tightly braided hair, she felt older than she
really was. Loneliness and she were becoming good friends she
thought. Snapping the whip lightly on the old mule’s hide, Rusty
scolded herself as well as the stubborn animal.

“C’mon, Biscuit, we’ve got to get moving.
Can’t stand here daydreaming, wishing for things we can’t control;
like my lazy brother.” These words brought to mind Scott who she
had sent into town for the few supplies she could afford. Small
amounts of flour and some dried beans to hold them over. Thank
goodness she had planted her garden again, but the water from the
well would soon dry up if it didn’t rain. If it didn’t rain soon,
they wouldn’t even have that.

Then how would she keep her garden green?
Vegetable stew and fish from the nearby pond is all that kept them
from starving.

The plowing finished, she led Biscuit into
the barn. Feeling tension across the back of her shoulders, once
inside she rubbed the small of her back, stretched and groaned.
Rusty didn’t mind hard work, but wished Scott would take more of an
interest in the place. She hated to send him into town for
supplies, but she’d had no other choice. This was her livelihood
and with any luck, this year’s crops would yield her enough of a
profit to survive until her new saplings matured in three years.
Feeling as if the world was on her small shoulders, she dragged
herself to the pond to see if she had netted any fish. She found to
her dismay, the patched net was empty.

“These fish are getting too smart or there
aren’t too many left,” she laughed aloud. But the thought of eating
vegetable stew again quickly wiped the smile from her countenance.
Rusty splashed cool water on her face. She then stretched and heard
a rip on her shoulder and wondered how much longer the thin shirt
would hold up. As it was, she had to bind her breasts tightly to
fit into her brother’s hand-me-downs. But her pa often reminded
her, it was safer to hide her womanly charms. Ha! She snorted not
feeling like laughing because her breasts were more of a nuisance
than an asset. They were not doing her any good since she had to
pretend she was a boy.

Rusty emerged from the woods carrying a
bucket of water and heard the whinny of a horse before she saw the
animal. Being cautious, she stopped short, spilling some of the
pail’s contents. She listened again but again no sound reached her
ears. Drawing her six-shooter from its holster, Rusty cocked the
gun. Thanks to her pa, she had become a good shot at the age of
twelve. She crept forward hoping Scott had returned from town and
hastened her pace. She came to a complete stop when she saw nothing
but the big white beast. Holding her breath, she leaned against the
house and quickly removed her worn-out boots. The screen door
opened with a slight squeak and she waited a moment before letting
the wind out of her lungs. She had never been faced with the
problem of a stranger in her home before and her throat went dry.
She swallowed, at least she tried and her stomach clenched tight as
the gun in her hand shook. Rusty pondered who she’d find in her
home.

She advanced through the open door and held
it behind her to prevent it from banging. After switching the gun
to her left hand to wipe the sweat from her right palm against her
thigh, Rusty then replaced it into her shooting hand. With both
hands, she grasped it more firmly and took a deep breath to swallow
the lump that now congealed in her throat. She crept into the room
eyeing the stranger. The man’s broad back was to her and she could
see he was big. He didn’t move and she wondered if maybe he was
hurt, but she couldn’t take any chances. And then she noticed the
empty plate on the table and she fumed, knowing that he had helped
himself to food she couldn’t afford to spare.

“One false move, mister, and you’re dead!”
She lowered her voice hoping to sound like a boy. She wavered
slightly when the stranger’s head shot up, toppling his hat to the
floor.

Rusty remembered to keep her voice deep. “Who
are you, mister?” And don’t move!” she snapped, the blood running
cold through her veins. “Just answer my question,” she poked the
gun in his back, fighting to remain calm. This caused the annoyed
man to hiss through his teeth, frightening her more. She gulped,
hoping her voice wouldn’t crack and snarled, “I’m waiting.” Again
she nudged his back with her weapon.

“Guy Strong,” he informed her hoarsely.
“Don’t shoot, dammit! I’m not here to harm you!” The stranger
chaffed impatiently, half turning and lifted his hands slowly. “Is
this the Crawford farm?” he asked.

Rusty removed the gun from his back noting
the aggravation in his voice but still kept it

pointed at him. Though she came up to his
shoulders, she was no match for his big build. Panic flooded
through her and she wavered slightly praying he would not see
through her disguise.

“Who are you lookin’ for?” she asked hoping
to cover up her anxiety. “And who do you think you are, inviting
yourself into this place and eating my food?” she spat out the
angry words, hoping if she kept her temper up, maybe he wouldn’t
notice her fear. She then heard the stranger let his breath out
with a snort.

“Look, my arms are getting mighty tired, kid.
Like I said, I’m not here to hurt anyone. Is this the Crawford
place or not?” he drawled. “I’ll not answer any more questions
until I can put my hands down and see who I’m talking to. Look,
I’ll put my gun on the table.”

She watched him move his hands slowly.

“Wait!” she yelled.

“What?” he groused, and she knew he was
losing his temper.

“Take your gun out of your holster with your
left hand and keep your right hand over your head.” Rusty tried to
keep the nervousness out of her voice, but his towering height
intimidated her. Feigning calmness, she steadied her nerves; she
couldn’t let him see how uneasy he made her feel. She heard the
exasperated sigh, but he did as told. “Lay your weapon on the table
and step away,” she commanded him, her voice still deep. “Okay, now
turn slowly, very slowly.” He did as instructed. She looked up at
the handsomest face she had ever seen. Rusty held her breath as the
stranger sharply gazed at her. He seemed to be peering at her
intently. Would he see she wasn’t a boy?

The cowboy was clean shaven with sensuously
full lips. A square, hard-set jaw, black hair with bluish
highlights and slate blue eyes that gave her the impression he was
able to look into her soul. Bronzed and rugged from days in the
sun, his darkened skin made his blue eyes striking. She felt warm
all over and her bewilderment caused her to frown. This stranger
captivated her and he was doing funny things to her insides. She
felt as if there were butterflies trying to get out of her belly,
but Rusty told herself it was just nerves and the way he was
scrutinizing her. Squaring her shoulders, she swallowed hard and
stood her ground. She brought her chin up a few notches, and waved
the gun under his nose.

Though her big hat shadowed most of her face,
she still feared that he might see that she wasn’t a boy. He
mumbled something to the fact that he must be getting old to let a
mere child get the best of him! She felt some relief hearing him
admit that he was out-smarted. But the look in his eyes told her
that he was itching to clobber her.

He groused, “Well, kid you’re smart and I’ve
no one to blame but myself for this. And, look, could you stop
waving that thing around?” He folded his arms and shook his head,
so completely irked that he balled his hands into fists. “You’re
making me very nervous. That gun might go off accidentally and I
don’t want to be a victim of a misunderstanding.”

Rusty gave him a cold stare and she pulled
her mouth into a tight line, and spat, “I can handle this
six-shooter, mister. I don’t shoot anything I don’t have a mind
to.”

The stranger’s face kept its strong
expression but Rusty saw a flicker of amusement in those deep blue
eyes that made a chill run up her spine. Was he mocking her? What
nerve! For one dizzy moment she wasn’t sure whether to touch or
slap that arrogant face. Instead, she blinked away her jumbled
emotions. “What do you want here?” She hoped it was only a meal but
she’d never know unless she got some answers and her arms were
beginning to cramp from holding the gun so tightly. Perspiration
trickled down her back and her mouth was mighty dry. Where were her
men when she needed them? Up to now, she had believed she could
handle any intruder but this was no ordinary man. “How about
answering m-my question?” She heard her voice crack and she felt
herself pale. Squaring her shoulders, trying to shift the tension
in them, she was determined not to let the arrogant man lure her
into letting her guard down.

The cowboy shook his head at her. “You’re the
most thick-headed kid I’ve ever met!” he declared in a downright
mean voice. This only added to her anger and she took offense. That
man insulted her in her own home. What Nerve! And she definitely
was in no mood for this cowboy’s opinion and advanced on him,
waving the gun.

“Okay, okay,” he held up his hands. “If this
is the Crawford spread then I’m the new owner.”

Rusty blinked at his words and swayed with
shock, feeling her face drain. The man took advantage of her weak
moment and grabbed the weapon, swinging her arm to the side.
Luckily, her senses returned quickly and she fought back. Her mind
reeled at the disturbing news that maybe this stranger ambushed her
father and stole the deed. And though he said he wasn’t there to
harm her, that could be a damn lie! She struggled with rage,
wanting to shoot him. She would not give up her home or maybe her
life without a fight! When he squeezed her hand, the gun went off;
a stray bullet hit the far wall, splintering the wood.

Gun powder assaulted her lungs making her
cough. She could’ve groaned out loud knowing that he had gotten the
upper hand. Still dazed, Rusty held fast to her weapon, but the man
proved to be too strong for her. He wrestled with her and pried the
six-shooter from her gripping fingers before she had a chance to
fully come to her senses. With a moan of distress, she yielded to
defeat, for now!

Her adversary drew in his large frame and
ordered, “Sit down, kid!” His harsh command was enough to clear her
head and anger filled her veins. She eyed him scornfully, mad at
herself for letting him take her gun away. Rusty sat with a huff,
her eyes glued to him. Her lungs began to burn and she found she
was having difficult time breathing.

That damn man rounded the table, stood across
from her and placed the weapon on the table. Feeling hate fill her
body she eyed the gun. “Don’t even think of it, boy! Now, if you
simmer down, I’ll explain it all to you,” he ordered sharply and
she bit her bottom lip.

Her heart beating unevenly, Rusty listened to
him explain about the card game and her father’s heart attack.
“Sorry son, but your pa gambled with the deed to this homestead. He
lost. I won. Simple!” She sucked in a painful breath. That bastard
sounded so crass, and she felt so empty inside as if her innards
had fallen out of her body. Confusion and then doubt swept through
her.

“You’re lying!” she cried. A hot sting
threatened behind her eyelids and she blinked back tears, feeling
the burning in her throat. She couldn’t cry in front of this man,
he would know she wasn’t a boy. Being alone with this stranger
until Scott returned, it was important to keep her identity a
secret, more than ever. She curled her lips in disgust but her gut
told her that he might be telling the truth. She always thought
she’d live here forever.