Texas Lucky (32 page)

“Oh, Wendell…” she reached to pat his hands, and when he clasped hers once more, she did not pull away. “You can come to the ranch anytime you want without loaning me money. Please don’t feel you have to do that. Besides, maybe the bank was right. Maybe it would be too risky. Five hundred head of longhorns isn’t a drop in the bucket, and the profit if I do get them to market will be so minimal it won’t matter. And with plenty of land available, who’d want mine if I try to sell it?”

“You aren’t going to sell it,” he said firmly. “And maybe we can talk about your not even bothering to take your steers to market this spring. You could let them breed and build up the herd. Meanwhile, you could hire some hands, put up some fences…even start raising quarterhorses.

“Quite frankly,” he went on to say, “I think you are going to be a very worthwhile investment for me, Tess. I never had children, so forgive me if I start to love Perry as my own. As for you”—his eyes became misty—“for the first time since my sainted Leona left me, I don’t feel as though I am alone in this world, and—”

“Riders coming,” the guard called from above. “Looks like soldiers.”

Excited, Tess let go of Wendell’s hands and leaned over to peer out the window.

Sure enough, she could see men in blue uniforms on horseback riding toward them and said, “They’re coming from the direction we’re going. Maybe they’ve been to Alamedo and saw Perry there.”

The horses slowed, and the moment they stopped, Tess opened the door and leaped to the ground before anyone could move to assist her.

There were six of them, and Tess scanned their uniforms quickly to find the one wearing the insignia of a sergeant on his shoulder. “Have you been to Alamedo?” she asked, rushing to his side. “Did you see a boy of about fourteen at the way station? He’s my brother, and his hair is fair, like mine, and…”

She trailed to silence to see how he was looking at her…like
all
the soldiers were looking at her, with—what? Pity?

Her heart wrenched with terror, and she swayed against Wendell. He quickly put his arm around her shoulders.

“Please,” she urged. “Tell me. Did you see him—the boy I described?”

When the sergeant did not answer and instead exchanged uncomfortable glances with his men, Wendell took over to impatiently demand, “For the love of God, man, don’t keep us waiting any longer. Have you been to Alamedo, and did you see this lady’s brother?”

“Yes, sir, we come from there,” the sergeant said, “but we didn’t see him.”

Tess cried, “I don’t understand. He sent me a telegram—”

“He might have, ma’am,” he interrupted gently, “but the way station isn’t there anymore. Apaches burned it a day ago, as best as we can figure.”

“Oh, God.” She burrowed her face in Wendell’s shoulder.

“Did you talk to anyone?” Wendell asked at once. “Anyone who might have seen a young boy? Perhaps he fled for safety with the others. Surely someone knows something.”

The sergeant glanced at his men again, who were watching him with tight-set faces. Turning back to Wendell with regret etched in every line of his sun-weathered face, he said, “I’m sorry, sir, but nobody got away. The only one alive when we got there was the dispatcher, and he didn’t live long.”

Tess moaned and would have collapsed had Wendell not been supporting her.

Over her head, he timorously asked, “Did you find a boy’s body?”

“No, sir, we didn’t.”

Tess felt a sudden surge of hope and dared to pull from Wendell to cry, “Then he’s alive, and we can find him.”

“Ma’am…”

Her heart turned to stone as she heard his proclamation.

“He may be alive, but you probably won’t never find him. You see…” He looked to his men again, but this time they glanced away, not wanting to be a part of any of it.

Wendell roared, “Dammit, man. Out with it.”

Drawing a deep breath, and with a sympathetic shake of his head, the sergeant said, “According to what the agent managed to say before he died, the Indians took one captive—a young white boy who had been waiting for his sister.”

And for the second time in her life, Tess fainted.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tess was sitting on the top rail of the corral Buck had built next to the barn.

Absently chewing a piece of hay, she stared across the land, which was hers as far as she could see in any direction.

She remembered how proud she had been when she and Buck had ridden the lines…or tried to. There was rough terrain on some of the ringing hills and slopes that they had not wanted to challenge on horseback, but she had still been able to get a feel for what belonged to her.

She reminisced over how exciting it had been to build the cabin and barn. Buck had found laborers in Dallas, and she had pitched in to toil alongside them during the day and still found the energy to prepare the hearty meals their hard work demanded.

They had praised the food to high heaven, saying if she ever gave up on ranching she could always get a job as a cook and run a chuckwagon.

At the time, it had been a flattering joke. But now, with her world collapsing around her, it was no longer a laughing matter. If a miracle did not happen, and soon, she would have to give up the ranch and find work doing something…somewhere.

Worst of all, however, was the anguish over Perry. In the month since he had been taken captive by the Apaches, there had been no word or sign of him. It was as though he had vanished.

Wendell—God bless his soul—had doubtless spent a small fortune looking for him.

First he had persuaded the Army to send out patrols, and when they gave up, he had made up his own by hiring anyone willing to join the search.

Tess was overwhelmed by his kindness and generosity. When she tried to tell him that and ask how she could ever begin to repay him, he waved away her gratitude and repeated how at last he felt useful.

He had also insisted on hiring two wranglers to round up what cattle she had left.

And while another man might have expected sexual favors in return, she felt she knew Wendell well enough to believe such a thing would never enter his mind. He was just a good person, kind and benevolent, but she knew she could not keep taking what she considered to be charity.

But what did anything matter if Perry could not be found? Wendell could have the ranch and cattle for remuneration, because she just couldn’t make herself care anymore. It had been her dream, true, but more than that she had wanted to share it with her brother.

She supposed she could always sell out to Curt in hopes of having money left over after paying Wendell, but knew spite would keep her from it. And though she tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with jealousy over the Mexican girl, she could not deny how it burned to think of another woman in his arms.

Adding to her resentment was that she had heard nothing from him. For, despite the vastness of the area, word had spread, and everyone knew about her brother being abducted by Indians. Curt not coming by as so many other neighbors, far and wide, had done to offer condolences was, in her mind, reprehensible.

Wendell had gone with the latest search party, promising to get word back to her should they have any news, so when she heard riders coming in, Tess leaped from the rail and hurried to meet them.

But hope faded when she saw it was only Nick and Granger, the help Wendell had hired for her.

“All done, Miz Tess,” Granger said, reining in his horse.

Nick merely stared at her. In the weeks she had known him, she had probably heard him utter only half a dozen words, so Granger did all the talking.

“Got the new calves branded, too.”

Tess would have liked to ride with them but had not dared venture far from the house lest a message come from Wendell.

“Ain’t heard nothing?” Granger asked as he dismounted.

“I’m afraid not.”

Nick got off his horse and took him inside the barn, but Granger hung back like he had something on his mind, so Tess prodded, “Is there something you want?”

“Well, I was thinking about something I heard when me and Nick was at Gilley’s saloon a while back that might make you feel better about them Apaches takin’ your brother.”

“Please tell me, then,” she urged.

“Well, I got a story to tell you first.” He took a worn tobacco pouch from his vest pocket and began to roll a cigarette as he talked. “You see, there was this white woman—Cynthia Parker, her name was—who was taken by the Apaches back in ’36 in northern Texas when they raided her home and killed her folks. It was many years before they found her, and—”

Tess felt a twinge of encouragement. “Then captives can be found. Was she all right when they rescued her? I mean, I can’t helping being afraid they’ll hurt Perry.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, she was fine, ’cept for how she looked, of course. You can imagine after all them years of livin’ with savages she didn’t look like no white woman. Her skin was dark from the sun, and her hair was dirty and greasy.”

“How long did it take them to find her?”

“Twenty-five years.”

Tess gulped, swallowed. “Oh, dear God.”

“Kinda happened by accident, too. You see, she won’t but nine when they took her, and when she was growed up, a chief took her for his wife. She had three younguns—two boys and a girl.

“As the tale goes,” he continued, “Her tribe was attacked at their camp on Peace River by the cavalry, Texas Rangers, Tonkawa scouts, and even civilians. The chief escaped with their sons, and Cynthia was about to be shot by one of the soldiers on account of she was wearing a buffalo robe and had short hair and looked like a man, only she held up a baby to let him know she was a woman. Then he saw she had blue eyes and realized she was white. So that’s how she got rescued.”

“And her sons?”

“She tried to get back to ’em. She’d steal horses and light out lookin’ for ’em. Folks tried to welcome her back to civilization, but she never was happy, and when her daughter took fever and died four years after she was rescued, she just laid down and died, too.”

He explained, “What I heard at Gilley’s made me think of her and how one day your brother might be found, ’cause the Indians wouldn’t hurt him…specially him bein’ a young boy.”

Tess dreaded asking but knew she had to: “What would they do with him, Granger? Why would they even want to take a boy like that?”

“Same reason they took Cynthia Parker when she won’t but nine years old. They can raise younguns the way they want, making slaves out of the girls and warriors out of the boys.

“As for what they’ll do with your brother,” he went on, “they’ll start trainin’ him right away. I don’t think you have to worry about him bein’ mistreated. Course, he won’t live a good life, neither. It’ll be hard on him. Real hard.”

Tess winced to think, then remembered what he had said about Gilley’s. “So what did you hear that reminded you of poor Cynthia Parker?”

“It was about Quanah, one of her sons. He’s
Chief
Quanah now and leads the most raids on whites in Texas. And somebody said it’s believed now that it was his band that attacked Alamedo. And if that’s so, then he’ll keep your brother to make him into a warrior for sure. They say he likes stealin’ white younguns to take revenge for how he felt his mother was stolen from him.”

“It also means he’ll try harder to prevent him from ever being rescued,” she said with a heavy heart.

“Him and his pa probably tried to keep Cynthia Parker from being rescued, too,” he pointed out, “but they failed. You gotta keep hopin’, Miss Tess.”

“I know, but—”

They both heard it at the same time—a horse coming in hard.

“It’s Mr. Thorpe,” Granger said.

But Tess was already running to meet him, pulse pounding and praying all the while he had good news. No one was with him, and, of course, she’d dared hope to see Perry riding on the horse behind him. But perhaps he had word Perry had been sighted, and the cavalry was sending in a big regiment to rescue him, and…

She slowed as her heart sank into her boots to see the expression on Wendell’s face as he drew closer.

If he had news, it was not good.

He swung down off the horse and held his arms open, and Tess stepped into his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, giving her a hug. “There’s still no trace of him.

“We can talk inside,” he said, taking her hand and walking toward the cabin. “I brought some brandy, and I think we could both use a sip.”

He paused a moment to speak with Granger about the roundup.

Tess was only vaguely listening, but when she heard Wendell tell Granger to turn the steers back onto the range after branding the calves, she protested, “No. Don’t do that. I’ve got to get them to market.”

With a patronizing smile, Wendell gently said, “Not this year, my dear. With such a small herd it’s best to let them graze and fatten and reproduce. Next spring it will be a different story, I promise.”

She waited till they were inside, knowing whatever Granger overheard he would repeat at Gilley’s, and she did not like others knowing her business.

She turned on Wendell as soon as the door was closed. “You have to tell him not to turn the herd back to the range. I need what money they’ll bring. It won’t be much, but it’s something. They’re all I have, don’t you see?”