Wyoming Wildfire (3 page)

Sibyl said no more, but from the blazing eyes and compressed lips, Burch guessed she was holding back a flood of highly unflattering observations on men in general and cowboys in particular. He clucked to his horse and splashed noisily up to the back of the wagon. His gaze was met by a wall of trunks, boxes, valises, and small pieces of furniture.

“Good Lord, I’m surprised you haven’t broken an axle. What can you possibly want with so much junk?”

“This is not junk,” Sibyl declared, affronted. “That furniture is very valuable and the trunks contain all our clothes. Don’t cowboys know anything about antiques?”

“Rather than waste time throwing your tongue at me, you might help carry some of your precious antiques to shore.”

“I’d get soaked.”

“I didn’t suppose you could walk on the stuff,” retorted Burch, looking at the clear, rippling water.

“It’s all right, dear, the sun will soon dry us off,” Augusta pointed out soothingly.

“You needn’t get wet, ma’am,” Burch said. “Just put your arms around my neck and I’ll carry you to shore.”

Augusta flamed red and trembled with alarm. “I’d prefer to wade across, but thank you for the kind offer.”

Burch realized her large panic-stricken eyes were fixed, not on him, but on the huge frame of Old Blue. “He’s gentle as a kitten, ma’am, and it’ll only take a second.” Augusta was too terrified to move, so with one powerful arm, Burch lifted her out of the wagon and into the saddle before him. Augusta turned so white Burch wondered if her heart had stopped beating, but when he lowered her carefully into Ned’s waiting arms she managed a faint, “Thank you,” before sinking gratefully to the ground.

Sibyl followed Burch’s gallantry in high dudgeon, convinced he was laughing at her and that his exaggerated courtesy toward her aunt was a calculated attempt to annoy her. She was certain of it when he plunged back into the river, splashing noisily toward her with a broader grin than ever.

“I can walk by myself,” she said with a rudeness that made her aunt flinch. She pulled off her shoes, hitched up her skirt, and slipped into the water. She reached the shore without mishap, but her pleasure in thwarting him was spoiled by knowing it was impossible to obstruct his view of her shapely legs and ankles. She climbed out on the bank and dropped her skirts. “You may remove the trunks now” she said with barely controlled exasperation. “There’s nothing more to distract your attention.”

With a crack of laughter Burch climbed into the wagon and for the next twenty minutes he and Ned were busy with anything small enough to be carried ashore by one man. His exertions under the broiling sun caused him to become overheated and he removed his vest and shirt. The bulging muscles and sculpted torso drew Sibyl’s fascinated eye. She watched spellbound as the muscles rippled and played across his back.

“Sibyl, you should be ashamed of yourself,” declared her scandalized aunt.

“What for?”

“A young lady does not stare at a half-naked man.”

“Why? He’s not indecent.”

Augusta didn’t know why, precisely, but she knew she disapproved, and drew her reluctant niece away.

“If you hitch your horse to the wagon, I think we could pull it out,” Sibyl suggested when the wagon’s contents had been reduced by half. Burch did not answer until he had set a small bureau on the ground, but Sibyl knew she had said something that offended him.

“My horse is a highly trained cow pony. It would ruin him to hitch him to a wagon.”

“How much training can it take to carry a man across open country?” she asked in an offhand manner.

“I realize you can’t help your ignorance, miss, but if you talked less, people might not notice it so much. Now, if you think you can drive those oxen without overturning the wagon, get up in the seat. Ned and I will see if we can break the wheels loose.”

“If I were a man, I’d teach you not to talk to me like that,” raged Sibyl, hot fury flaming in her cheeks.

“Now that would be a terrible waste,” Burch said, grinning, his eyes boldly traveling over her with daunting warmth. Sibyl spun on her heel and waded into the now-muddy water. But when she took up the reins, she was careful not to communicate her agitation to the oxen. Burch was amused, but did not bait her further.

“Bring them up to their yokes, but don’t let them pull until I tell you.”

I know what to do,” she said sulfurously as he and Ned positioned themselves, one at each front wheel.

“Pity you didn’t know earlier,” he shot back and was rewarded by the sounds of stifled wrath. But when he gave the signal, Sibyl concentrated on her team. Burch strained at the wheel until Augusta expected to see his muscles burst through the skin, but the wagon wouldn’t budge. Twice more the men employed their combined strength against the muddy grip, but the wheel remained stuck fast.

“We’ll have to unload the rest” said Ned.

“Try turning the rear wheels,” Sibyl suggested. “That’s where the weight is.”

“If he thinks we ought to unload—” began Augusta.

“I was just about to suggest that,” drawled Burch, forestalling a passionate outburst from Sibyl.

“If that’s an example of Western honesty, then it’s just as well Wyoming is still a territory,” she said body.

“Sibyl, please,” begged her embarrassed aunt.

“No need to worry, Miss Hauxhurst. Cowboy’s hides are as thick as their heads.” Augusta turned away in chagrin, but Sibyl glared at him with brimstone in her eyes.

“Ready!” Burch shouted, getting a good grip on the rear wheel as Sibyl brought the oxen up to their yokes. “Pull!” The muscles stood out along his back and shoulders as he wrestled with the wheels and the wagon rolled a few inches from the deep rut.

“I told you so,” exulted Sibyl. “One more ought to do it.” Once again the men and oxen strained at their task and the wagon inched forward. The air rang from Sibyl’s whip and the wagon moved steadily toward the bank. Her delight was tempered only by a fear that the insolent stranger might leave her to reload the wagon by herself.

“Don’t let them stop,” Burch called out when the oxen found solid footing in the coarse gravel bank. Sibyl simmered with pent-up spleen but kept her attention on her work. The wagon paused when the smaller front wheels encountered the bank, but the oxen lowered their heads and with one bone-wrenching effort lifted the wheels out of the water. The rear wheels rose from the water without hesitation, and Sibyl brought the wagon to a stop next to their scattered paraphernalia.

Thank you,” Sibyl began with an effort, then stammered to a halt with ‘Burch placed his hands on his hips, looking like a god carved out of amber stone.

“Think nothing of it. We can’t have the wreckage of tenderfoot wagons littering the prairie, or their bones scaring our women.”

“We won’t detain you any longer.” she exploded wrathfully at the galling stranger who didn’t even have the courtesy to take off his hat so she could see what he looked like.

“I need to put Miss Hauxhurst’s things back. If some poor cowboy was to see a lobo wolf running across the prairie in lady’s undergarments, it might rattle his wits permanently.”

“You are the most insulting, ill-bred, appalling, mannerless wretch I’ve ever met,” she sputtered.

“You’d better learn to use little words if you expect anyone out here to understand you,” Burch said with a deliberately broad accent. “We don’t have many books nor much time to read ‘em. I hope you wasn’t expecting to meet a lot of educated folks.”

“Not any longer,” she replied, returning his volley.

Augusta picked up Burch’s shirt, intending to offer it to him along with her heartfelt thanks, and discovered the bullet hole. Mildly shocked, she interrupted them. “My heavens, there’s blood on your shirt.”

“It’s nothing, ma’am.”

“But how could it have happened when all you did was lift some boxes?”

“It wasn’t the boxes. Some careless fool was firing at a herd of antelope and nicked my arm.”

“It must be very painful,” said Sibyl.

“Not nearly as painful as your opinion of cowboys.”

“It must be cleaned and properly bandaged,” Sibyl said, ignoring his remark. “I have some medicine in one of the chests.” She climbed down and began going through the drawers of a small bureau.

“It’s nothing much, only a scratch.”

“Sit down,” she said with businesslike authority. “Next thing you know it’ll be infected and your wife will have no end of worry over it and all because of your stubborn pride.”

Burch gave himself up to her ministrations. “Is she always this sweet?” he asked Augusta, who was too flustered to answer. Sibyl wordlessly cleaned and bandaged the wound. “Thanks, miss, and I’m sure my wife would thank you as well.” He was laughing at her again. “Now, I’ve got things to do at home, so if you don’t mind, I’ll see to the loading up. I don’t have time to sit about chatting, even though it would be mighty pleasant.” Sibyl could stand no more and rose to her feet to heap enough condemnation upon his head to shame ten men, but her bare feet and damp skirts made her feel at such a disadvantage that she clamped her lips together and sat down in mute anguish.

The silence of the next twenty minutes was filled by Augusta’s persistent efforts to fill in the conversational void and to express her own overflowing gratitude. “I dare not think of what might have happened to us if you had not come along.”

“Ned would have managed somehow,” Burch said kindly. “Of course, you could have encouraged your niece to sit in the river instead of on that chest. Her temper might have boiled the water away and you could have crossed on dry land.”

Augusta fell into an anxiety, expecting her temperamental niece to fly at the bait. Mercifully, Sibyl’s unpredictable temper didn’t explode and they prepared to resume their journey with nothing more awful than some damp clothes and lowered pride.

“You’re well off the trail. Are you sure of your directions?” Burch asked as Ned took up the rains.

“We have very precise directions, thank you,” Sibyl snapped.

“I suppose you’re a mail-order bride for some rich California rancher,” he ventured. “If he refuses to marry you, come back to Wyoming. We can always use you to scare off the wolves and rustlers.”

“We’re not going to California,” snarled Sibyl, driven beyond the limits of restraint. “I own a ranch with my cousin less than three hours from here, and the first thing I’m going to ask him to do is finish the job that antelope-hunting fool began.”

“Are you sure your wound isn’t hurting you?” Augusta asked, troubled by the sudden change in Burch’s expression.

“What’s the name of your ranch?” he asked sharply.

“The Elkhorn, and my cousin’s name is Burch Randall.”

“Do you know him?” asked Augusta.

“Yes, ma’am. In fact, I’m heading in that direction myself.”

“Won’t you travel with us?” Augusta asked, hoping to retain the security of such a large male presence.

“I’m afraid I can’t, but you’ll find the ranch easy enough. Just keep about ten miles east of that ridge. There’s nothing more than a few piddling creeks to cross, probably dry,” he needled Sibyl, and was regarded with a molten glare. “The Elkhorn is the next stream of any size. Just follow it east for about five miles.”

“Ill be sure to tell Miss Cameron’s cousin how much help you’ve been,” Augusta promised. “You must call on him soon.”

“I most certainly will,” he replied in an odd voice, and then much to their surprise, he began to laugh. It started as a queer-sounding gurgle he tried to control, but then it gathered momentum until he seemed so helplessly in its grip, Sibyl expected to see him tumble from his saddle. “I’ll tell him, but it goes against the grain to be the bearer of bad news.” He galloped off with another shout of laughter.

“Well!” exploded Sibyl, “I have never met anyone so incredibly rude in all my life. Not even your abominable nephew behaves that badly.”

“You weren’t at all civil to him, and he did rescue us from the river.”

“I didn’t ask for his help.”

“But I did, and I’m sure we would still be in the river without it.”

“I’d have figured a way out.”

“You really
do
think you’re the equal of any man, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she declared vehemently. “I’ll never understand why a woman should be expected to bow before anyone’s will just because he’s a man.”

“That’s all beside the point,” Augusta gently pointed out. “I still say you did not treat that young man fairly. You didn’t even ask his name or thank him properly.” She regarded her niece with affection. “You can’t go on assuming things will be like they were in Virginia. Look around us. You must see that life here is frighteningly different. I’d be less than truthful if I said I was comfortable in my mind about the course we’ve taken. There is so much about this land we don’t understand, I feel as though we shall have to start all over again.”

“I shouldn’t have let you come,” Sibyl said guiltily.

“You couldn’t have stopped me. How could I face my own conscience if I allowed my sister’s only child to travel so far from her home alone? There’s not much an old maid can do, but I can keep you from getting lonely.”

Sibyl gave her aunt a hug. “I shall see that you have your own room and are waited on hand and foot. You shall have a fire every night and your dinner on a tray.”