Wicked Wyoming Nights (19 page)

“It floods in the spring, sometimes right bad.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter.”

Women, thought the agent, flipping his maps around with a jerk. “You’re going to have to give me some boundaries,” he said irritably. “You just can’t say you want land on the creek.”

“Could I see the map?” He spun it around again.

“Here is the piece you’re talking about,” he said pointing out a particularly twisting part of the creek.

“Does all that other land belong to Mr. Stedman.”

“Every acre.”

“Then give me that whole piece right there.”

“You still have to have boundaries.”

“Could you set them for me?” she asked smiling helplessly.

“I suppose. You could meet me there and show me what you want.”

Eliza began to fidget. “I’d rather nobody knew about this. You see, I want this to be a surprise to Mr. Stedman and if you and I were seen walking about with measuring rods, or whatever you use, that would spoil everything.”

I bet it would, the agent thought privately.

“Can’t you just put something down?”

“No, I can’t,” the little man said, raising his voice in exasperation. “I have to have exact measurements or landmarks. The United States government doesn’t deal in approximations.”

“But I can’t give you any measurement or landmarks. All I want to do is claim that land. Isn’t there some way you can give me all I’m supposed to have without me going out mere?”

The agent couldn’t resist the appeal of those huge brown eyes. “I
could
record the claim and do the measurements later. It’s not like the land is going to disappear.” He laughed at his own joke.

“I would appreciate it so much,” said Eliza, distracted by the sound of footsteps on the walk outside the land office. “I’m certain I can trust you to see it’s done properly.” The steps passed on and Eliza drew a long, slow breath, but her courage was gone.

“Stop,” the agent called out as she turned to leave. “You’ve got to sign the deeds.”

“Can’t I sign them some other time?”

“Would tomorrow suit?”

“No. How about early Saturday morning?”

“Nine o’clock?”

“Eight. And remember, not a word to anyone.” Eliza stuck her head out the door and looked up and down the sidewalk as she stepped out, but she saw no one she knew. She settled her bonnet low over her face, tilted her parasol over her eyes, and walked quickly toward the saloon.

“Billy hasn’t been fighting again, has he?” Susan asked anxiously as Eliza climbed down from the buckboard a week later.

“No. I just came to see how you were getting on, and to bring you some of Mrs. Baylis’s peach preserves. She has more than she can use, but no one could convince her to let the fruit drop.”

The two ladies were soon enjoying a cozy chat. Susan toasted some slices of the bread she’d made for supper and spread some of the peach preserves over it.

“Just look at me, and after telling Billy time and time again he couldn’t have anything to eat because it would ruin his dinner.”

“Surely he won’t hold it against you. Not just this once.”

“You have a lot to learn about children, Miss Smallwood, if you think they’ll allow adults even one mistake.”

“Please, call me Eliza.”

Susan looked rather teary-eyed. “Only if you’ll call me Susan. Every time someone calls me Mrs. Haughton, I feel like I’m about to be punished.”

Eliza smiled as a reflex, but her mind was wrestling with how to bring the conversation around to the reason for her visit “Have you and your husband come to any solution about leaving Wyoming?”

“We can’t. Not now with me expecting a baby. I don’t travel well.”

“What are your plans for the winter?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m afraid to ask. Sam grows more silent every day. There are times when I wish he
would
go to a saloon.”

“Do you really mean that?” Eliza asked eagerly, relieved to have the difficult subject broached for her.

“I certainly do. As much as I missed having him with me of evenings, I know it was a mistake to make him stay home. Besides, it gave him a chance to be with people, and that’s something he needs. It’s something
I
need as well, but I never realized it until you came last week.”

“There must be other women. …”

“Plenty of them, but they’re too busy with their own families to be paying social calls.”

“Most people come into town on Sunday. They often stay around and visit for a while, even have dinner. Maybe you and Sam would like to come.”

“I’ll think about it,” Susan promised, knowing they barely had the money to feed themselves as it was.

“I had wanted to talk to Sam.”

“What about?”

“You know my uncle owns a saloon, and he’s been looking for someone to help me.” Eliza blushed. “I sing there each night.”

“I know. Billy couldn’t wait to tell me his schoolteacher was the
Sage
lady.”

Eliza smiled reluctantly. “Well, I can’t sing very much—the school takes up an awful lot of time—and I was hoping Sam would agree to help out some, tell some of his stories and sing a few songs. You have no idea how hard it is to find anyone who can hold those cowboys’ interest for more than a few minutes. Do you think he would agree to give it a try? It would mean a lot to my uncle.”

“Give it a try!” squealed Susan. “He’ll probably be at the door before you get back. Can I tell him now? He’s out back splitting wood.” She paused, her happiness rigidly held in check. “Will he get paid for it?”

“Naturally. Of course he’ll be on trial at first—I couldn’t get my uncle to hire him without seeing if the men liked him—but he’ll get two dollars every night.”

“Two dollars a night!”

“I know it should to be more.”

“That’s more than enough,” Susan assured her, rushing to the door to call her husband. “You’re a good friend, Eliza.”

“The peach preserves were friendship,” Eliza told her, blushing furiously. “This is business. If Sam’s successful, I won’t have to sing so often.”

“Do you really dislike it? I should think it would be wonderful.”

“I don’t dislike it as much as I used to, but it still makes me very nervous.”

“But to have all those people applauding. It must be the most wonderful feeling in the world to make so many people happy.”

“I never looked at it like that,” Eliza confessed. “I always thought my teaching was the only worthwhile thing I did.”

“I don’t know what it was like in Kansas, but Wyoming is the biggest empty space in the world. It’s just like coming to the edge of the world and falling off into nowhere. Don’t let anyone talk you out of singing for those men. That’s as much a community service as teaching the young’ uns.” Eliza didn’t know quite what to say, but when Susan broke the news to her husband, she didn’t have time to think of anything except getting out of the cabin before she was overwhelmed by their gratitude.

“If you want me to start tonight,” Sam said, “give me a few minutes to wash up and I’ll come with you.”

“Eat your dinner,” Eliza said smiling. “Uncle wants you late.”

“I’ll be there, and I promise, Miss Smallwood, you won’t be sorry you did this.”

“I’m sure I won’t. Now don’t forget to help Billy with his lessons for tomorrow. His work is better, but his handwriting is still difficult to read.”

“You mean impossible,” sighed his mother. “I’ve had him copying out his letters every night and his father goes over his sums.”

“That’s more than enough. He can’t help but improve.” She waved goodbye and sent her horse back toward Buffalo at a quick trot.

Chapter 14

The hot afternoon sun beat down upon Cord, making it hard to stay awake. He was near the cabin of that stiff-necked, stubborn squatter Sam Haughton, and usually just thinking about a block of land in the middle of his range that didn’t belong to him would have been enough to rivet Cord’s attention, but today he could barely keep his eyes open, Too many nights in the saddle, he thought rather vaguely. He badly needed rest, but he hadn’t worked like a slave for five years to relax his guard just when the reward for his labors was in sight.

Beef prices had finally risen again and his first calf crop would go to market this year. For the first time he would be selling steers he hadn’t had to buy as yearlings or as two or three-year-olds, and his margin of profit would be twenty to thirty times greater. Homesteads in the middle of his grazing lands were a threat to the safety of his herds, and he couldn’t rest easy as long as the land was not in his control. Not that Haughton’s claim was worth much. Only a greenhorn would have picked it for a homestead.

A vision of Eliza rose to Cord’s mind and cut short his ruminating. He tried to make his mind return to Haughton, but it was no use. At least a dozen times a day he relived the moment when fear replaced the look of trust in Eliza’s eyes and his insides shriveled into a painful knot all over again. All the emotional energy had been wrung out of him days ago—could it really have been just over a week?—but still it continued to rob him of his sleep and destroy his peace of mind.

He cursed himself for thinking of nothing but his own needs. Hadn’t it been her innocence that had appealed to him in the first place? Hadn’t he known she was shy as a hummingbird around men? God only knew by what providence she had always been at ease with him, and he had so stupidly, selfishly, blindly ruined it all. She had trusted him to keep her safe, not expecting anything for herself, just accepting his love with a sense of wonder and a feeling of unworthiness. Now he didn’t know if she would ever feel comfortable around him again.

He hadn’t worked up the courage to face her. More than once he’d stopped himself in the act of getting ready to go to town; he was loathe to approach her again so soon because there was so much at stake. She was everything he ever wanted in a woman, and he couldn’t afford to make another wrong move. He couldn’t ask anybody for help either. He had to do this on his own, and he had to do it right.

Eliza allowed her horse to wend its way back toward town at a slow trot, her mind full of the Haughtons’ misfortunes. Not that there was as much to worry about now that Sam had a job at the Sweetwater, but it did help keep her mind off Cord.

She still didn’t have answers to all her questions, but she knew the final answer to every question was Cord himself. No matter what she decided on her own, it would all come down to him in the end. She had hoped he would come to see her before now, but even though he was the solution to her problems, he was still at the center of her difficulties and she didn’t know what she wanted to say.

The sight of Cord’s huge black gelding topping a nearby rise caused her to involuntarily pull back sharply on the reins. Her horse reared in protest, and that brought Cord to her side at a gallop.

“Are you meaning to rescue me again?” she asked. It felt so natural. She wasn’t nervous at all.

“Your horse could have bolted.”

“I’m afraid I’m not a very good driver.”

“All you need is someone to show you what to do.” He paused. “I’d be pleased to teach you, if you’d let me.” She was smiling like she used to, and Cord pressed ahead. “Maybe we could begin this Saturday?”

“I can’t” Eliza said, regretfully. “School started late this year and we’re using Saturday as a makeup day.”

But Cord met Eliza in town two days later, and was surprised to learn she had developed a sore throat.

“I’m taking a few days off from teaching,” she informed him. “Uncle Ira hired the postmaster’s wife to take over until I’m better.” Cord looked surprised. “I couldn’t believe it either, but he would have gone all the way to Cheyenne for a replacement when the doctor told him I might not be able to sing for weeks unless I had some rest.” So without offering much resistance, Eliza let Cord talk her into going for a drive two days later.

The day was hot and the sunshine blinding. Cord was coaching Eliza as she carefully guided the buckboard down a steep and rocky incline. “Pull up next to that thicket, and don’t let off on the brake or you’ll run over your horse.” He had spent the last two hours teaching her how to handle a buckboard, but it was time to eat, and the deep shade of the cottonwood thicket was a welcome sight. He unharnessed the horse so it could it graze, and then spread several blankets on the hard ground. Next he unloaded the wagon, and while Eliza set out the food, he headed down to the creek for some fresh water. For some reason he was feeling unusually warm.

The creek was high with the runoff from melting snow and summer rains, and its inviting, sparkling clearness made Cord think he would feel better if he splashed some water on his face. Then thinking better of that, he took a deep breath and plunged his whole head under water.

Cord had been so preoccupied with his own thoughts he had paid no attention to the tracks in the soft earth leading into the coolness of a canebrake, and he didn’t know he had disturbed a bull resting in the tall rushes. The animal thrust its head and shoulders out of the cane far enough to see Cord kneeling only a few yards away. He pawed the earth furiously, and when the human did not respond, he lowered his head and charged.