Unbridled Dreams (8 page)
Daddy parked the buggy. As he prepared to help Momma and Irma down, Irma glanced toward the far corral where a crowd was already gathering to watch a couple of wranglers saddle a dancing pinto. Daddy glanced that way and said, “That must be the horse Charlie thinks will be the new star bronco. They’ve named him Outlaw.”
Irma glanced toward the house, where someone had built a shelter of upright poles supporting a frame topped with brush. There, Irma knew, the “real ladies” would hold court in the shade, sharing news about this family or that and talking over the upcoming social season and the new opera house in town. There, Momma would revel in announcing that her daughter had been accepted at Brownell, and Irma would be expected to sit primly and pretend to be pleased. She was formulating a way to escape when Momma spoke up.
“I can see the wheels spinning, Irmagard,” she said. “Pay your respects to the ladies, and then I won’t keep you tied down.”
Daddy winked at Irma as he offered an arm to each woman. They crossed to the shelter. As always, Irma was proud to be on the arm of Otto Friedrich, Buffalo Bill’s friend, founder of the First Bank in North Platte, leading citizen, and all around likeable gentleman. Daddy had accomplished a lot since the days when North Platte was little more than the end of the line for the Union Pacific track being laid west. He had, in fact, built himself, if not an empire like Buffalo Bill’s, at least a respectable part of one. Daddy worked hard to provide Momma with the kind of life she expected.
“Irmagard?” Daddy patted her hand.
What had she missed this time?
“You’ll have to excuse our daughter. She’s preoccupied with the opportunity to meet so many famous people today.” Daddy smiled at her. “I was trying to remember the name of the sharpshooter who’s scheduled to appear at the opera house this week.”
“Lillian Smith,” Irma reminded him.
“Ah, yes. The California Girl,” one of the mavens said with obvious distaste.
“Bill said she makes him look like a novice when it comes to target shooting,” Daddy said.
“I wouldn’t know about that. But I hear . . .” The old woman went on to express her personal opinion about the kind of woman who engaged in “that sort of thing.”
“Well, well,” Daddy said. “You’ll excuse me if I respectfully disagree with judging a young lady based on gossip.” He bowed, then kissed Momma on the cheek and excused Irma and himself.
“Daddy,” Irma huffed, trotting alongside, “I’m going to need those infernal smelling salts if you don’t . . . slow . . . down.”
Daddy stopped midstep and apologized, then shook his head. “I can’t abide those old hens and their peck-peck-peck at anything or anyone who doesn’t toe the line they’ve drawn about what’s proper and what’s not. How can they possibly know anything about any of the women Bill’s adding to his Wild West when they haven’t so much as—” he broke off, chuckling. “My, my, who do I sound like now?”
“Me,” Irma laughed. “And I’m glad to see at least one of my parents isn’t horrified by what they witnessed in Uncle Charlie’s corral yesterday.” She hurried on before Daddy could backpedal. “I know, I know. It was foolish of me not to consider that you and Momma might arrive earlier than planned. And it was downright wrong of me to refuse to apologize when I’d frightened her. And running off like that and not coming back for most of the night—”
“Yes. I’ve been meaning to discuss that with you. Your mother said you got lost?”
Irma sighed. “Embarrassing as that is to admit, it’s the truth.” She looked past Daddy and scanned the group of cowboys watching as a potential rider approached the pinto bronc christened Outlaw. “I didn’t tell Momma, but I met someone here this morning—a greenhorn, in fact—and I promised to help him understand what would be going on today.” She tugged her father’s arm. “I’ll tell you all about it later.” She pointed to the cowboy in the corral. “Isn’t that Monte? Let’s hurry!”
“Here you go,” Uncle Charlie said and waved Irma to a spot in front of him even as he said to Daddy, “Wait ’til you see this. I was right about that pinto. It’s taken them half an hour to get a saddle on him. Cody’s going to want him for sure, and I bet he pays me top dollar.”
“Where
is
Bill?” Daddy said, craning his neck.
“Socializing. Monte said Cody gave Shep Sterling the go-ahead to check out the broncs and riders this morning.”
Irma didn’t have time to find Sterling in the crowd, because at that moment Monte finally got one toe in a stirrup and the wranglers who’d been holding Outlaw’s head let go and dove for the fence, scrambling under the lowest rail as the pinto exploded into a frenzy of bucking. The bronc was good, all right, but Monte wasn’t giving up easily. Even when the horse sunfished, sending a cloud of dust toward the side of the corral where Irma and the rest of the Mason family stood, even when he left the ground with all fours and landed with a jarring thud that made Irma wince, even then, Monte stuck in the saddle.
Finally, a nasty spin sent Monte’s hat flying in one direction and Monte in the other. When he didn’t move for a moment, Irma’s hand went to her mouth and her heartbeat quickened. After what seemed at least part of an eternity Monte opened his eyes and scrambled to his feet. Irma joined the crowd in applauding with relief.
A few feet away, a tall cowboy ducked between the corral poles and retrieved Monte’s hat, then walked toward him. Clapping his hand on Monte’s shoulder, he said something that made Monte shout with joy and look over to where the Mason family, Daddy, and Irma were standing. He gave the thumbs-up, and the Mason girls and Irma cheered. Aunt Laura smiled and waved her approval.
Irma put her gloved hand on Uncle Charlie’s arm and pointed. “Is that—”
Uncle Charlie nodded. “Must be. Shep Sterling in the flesh.”
He was handsome. Broad shoulders. Nice eyes. Scruffy beard. Irma couldn’t tell if he was still wearing the new boots or not, but the ridiculously large buckle was evident. Watching Hank Mortimer— who apparently really was Shep Sterling—saunter back to his spot just outside the corral, Irma wondered if he still smelled of bay rum cologne. And she blushed.
L
OVE IS PATIENT, LOVE IS KIND, AND IS NOT
JEALOUS; LOVE DOES NOT BRAG AND IS NOT
ARROGANT, DOES NOT ACT UNBECOMINGLY
;
IT DOES NOT SEEK ITS OWN
. . .
I Corinthians 13:4–5
NASB
Shouts and whistles sounded in the distance as part of Buffalo Bill’s crowd of guests, the Mason girls among them, watched the ongoing action. Daddy, Uncle Charlie, and a half dozen other guests were among those challenging fifteen-year-old sharpshooter Lillian Smith at the shooting range. Irma and Monte watched for a few minutes before ducking through the crowd and making their way toward a smaller corral behind the bunkhouse. As they approached, Irma— who had misplaced her parasol hours ago—shaded her eyes with one hand to watch the small herd biting, snorting, half-rearing, and kicking its way through the equine ritual that would eventually decide the pecking order by which the herd would function.
“Looks like the chestnut with the blaze is vying with that roan to be lead mare,” Irma said as they neared the corral fence.
Monte nodded “She’s a feisty one. The roan doesn’t stand a chance.”
Irma gripped the top pole of the corral fence with her gloved hands and watched the horses mill about. After a few minutes she wondered aloud, “Isn’t she just about the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
“I do believe she is.”
Irma started at the sound of the voice behind them. She didn’t have to look to know who it was. She’d been trying to avoid Shep Sterling for most of the day. First of all, she was embarrassed that she’d refused to believe him when he’d introduced himself after finding her asleep in the barn. And second, if Momma ever learned that Irma had been alone with a stranger in Bill Cody’s barn . . . Whew.
Sterling spoke over her head to Monte. “Aren’t you gonna introduce your little lady?”
“Sure,” Monte said with a grin and nodded toward the mare. “Go get your rope and we’ll reel her in.”
“I don’t believe in using a rope, pardner,” Shep said, grinning down at Irma. “At least not until we’ve been properly introduced.”
“Shep Sterling,” Monte held out a hand toward Irma, “Irmagard Friedrich. Irmagard—”he motioned toward Sterling—“Shep.”
“
Friedrich?
” Sterling repeated, cocking his head as he looked down at Irma. “As in Otto Friedrich—the banker from North Platte?”
“As in,” Monte nodded. “He’s my uncle. Irma’s my cousin. My
favorite
cousin, as she so often reminds me. Also my
only
cousin.”
How does Shep Sterling know about Daddy? And when, exactly, did
he and Monte get to be on such friendly terms?
Irma didn’t remember Monte saying all that much about the cowboy, even though Sterling and a few of the wranglers from the Wild West had participated in the spring roundup last year before the show season started. Monte had said almost nothing about the event—mostly, she thought, because he’d known how badly she wanted to be part of it and just how insistent Momma had been to prevent it. But if Monte and Sterling were friends—Irma could just hear the teasing she’d have to endure if he learned about this morning. And Monte wasn’t above blackmail, either.
Irma met Sterling’s gaze with a silent plea.
Please . . . please . . .
please don’t say anything about this morning.
Sterling smiled a conspiratorial smile even as his gaze followed the line of lace spilling out of her jacket down to her waist and back up again. Irma could feel her cheeks growing warm.
There was a decided twinkle in the man’s eyes as he touched the brim of his hat before asking, “Could we possibly have met before, Miss Friedrich? You look somewhat familiar.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Irma said. “My father and Bill Cody have been friends for years. Although I can’t say that I recall our being introduced before.” It wasn’t a lie. They hadn’t been introduced by anyone else. She did what she could to intensify the unspoken plea in her expression.
Sterling nodded. He was clearly enjoying her discomfort, and it made Irma want to— Well, she didn’t quite know what she wanted other than to catch her breath and change the subject. She cleared her throat and nodded toward the horses. “Monte brought me over to see the chestnut mare with the blaze. He’s been talking about her ever since he and my Uncle Charlie sorted some of the prime stock out.”
Finally.
Finally the man stopped staring at her and looked at the horses. “I don’t know when I’ve seen movement like that. She’s going to be something special.”
“She’s nice,” Sterling agreed. “Although I usually reserve my judgments until after I’ve ridden ’em. Sometimes they look like silk and ride like a sack of rocks.”
“Irma’s got an uncanny way about her with horses,” Monte said. “I’ll wager the mare glides like a rocking chair.”
Irma smiled at him. “Why, Monte Mason, I do believe you’re
my
favorite cousin, too.”
Monte nudged her. “Aw, you’re just saying that because I think your parents ought to back off and let you ‘Wild West’ all you want.”
“This is
that
cousin?” Sterling asked, looking at Irma with feigned surprise. “The one you told me about during roundup?”
“Yep,” Monte said.
Shep swept his hat off and bowed.
What on earth had Monte said about her? Sterling must have barely managed not to laugh in her face this morning while she went on about being Liberty Belle.
“I don’t quite recall,” Sterling said with a little smile. “What was it Monte said you were working up as an act?”
He was enjoying this way too much. Well, he wasn’t the only one who could pretend. Irma decided to give Shep Sterling/Henry-Hank Mortimer a dose of his own medicine. “Oh, nothing that would impress someone like you,” she simpered. “I mean—you being a headliner for Buffalo Bill and all. I’m just a little old country girl with a lot to learn.”
“You don’t say?” Sterling looked past her to Monte and then back again. “You didn’t sound like some ‘country girl with a lot to learn’ this morning in Bill’s barn.”
Irma let out a protest just as Sterling ducked between the corral poles and, retrieving a rope looped over a fence post a few feet away, tied a knot to form a noose as he walked toward the horses.
Monte looked down at her. “Did he just say ‘this morning in Bill’s barn’
?
”
Irma shook her head.
“Yes,” Monte insisted. “He did.” He turned his back on the corral and folded both arms. “Is there something you forgot to tell me about your little adventure getting lost out on the big wide prairie. . . .
cousin
?”
Annoyance sounded in her voice as Irma confessed. “Oh, all right.” She pointed toward Sterling. “
He
found me sleeping in one of the empty stalls. Said his name was
Henry Mortimer.
The varmint.” She groaned. “He actually told me his name was Shep Sterling at first. But I didn’t believe him. I called him a drugstore cowboy.”
