by Tim Washburn
Consuelo stepped through the front door, ready to start breakfast. “You are back,” she said when she saw Rachel sitting at the table. Consuelo lived in a small room that had been added to the back of the bunkhouse.
“What makes you think I left?” Rachel asked.
Consuelo stopped on her way by and stood, hovering over Rachel. “Señora Rachel, my eyes are old, but they still see.”
Rachel nodded as she traced a deep scar on the table with her finger while her mind continued to whirl through an avalanche of conflicting emotions. “I figured.”
Consuelo sighed, pulled out a chair, and sat. “Now you have mess to clean up, no?”
Rachel’s only response was to nod.
“You are not the only woman who . . . who . . .”
“Cheated on my husband?”
“Sí,” Consuelo said. “Sometimes we go where heart leads.”
“And the after?” Rachel asked.
“The hardest part.”
“I know.”
The two women sat in silence for a long time, until Consuelo nudged it along. “Señor Amos is good man.”
“He is,” Rachel said. “But he’s also not sleeping in your bed.”
“No, he is not. I have not had man in bed for long time.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Sí. Es más que sexo.”
“More than the sex?”
“Sí,” Consuelo said, nodding. “Mucho más.”
Rachel sighed, her eyes still drifting across the table. “And I assume your ears are working, too, and heard the argument between me and my mother last night?”
“Sí. Hard not to.” Consuelo stood and said, “I make biscuits tu amante puede tener para rastro.”
“Please, Consuelo, I’m too exhausted to think in Spanish.”
Consuelo put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “I make biscuits your lover can have for trail.”
“Thank you.”
Consuelo made her way into the kitchen, where she put on a pot of coffee before starting in on breakfast.
Rachel glanced at the clock on the mantel and saw she had only about half an hour before dawn. She stood from the table and made her way out to the porch, where she took a seat in one of the rockers. It was already hot, though she didn’t give much thought to the weather. As she rocked, she worked through the pros and cons again in her mind. When she was finished the pros came up a tad short, with the only two items being love and happiness. The second column, cons, had more items than she could remember. How much weight should I give love or happiness? She thought about that for a long few minutes, but decided probably not much, despite how she felt. She and Amos had been together for a long time and, if it wasn’t love anymore, it was a life. And it wasn’t all bad. He was good with the kids—most of the time—and he got along well with her family. There is something to be said about that, right?
She glanced at the guest cottage and saw a lantern flare to life. She pushed out of the rocker and walked over, feeling as if she were wearing lead shoes. In her mind she thought what she was doing was the right thing, but her heart and loins were still protesting. When she reached the door, she gave it a light tap and pushed it open to see Leander getting dressed. He stepped around the bed and wrapped her in his arms and her heart overrode her mind and she broke into sobs.
Leander held her until the sobs subsided and then he stepped back and thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “You’re a special woman, Rachel.”
“And you’re a . . . special . . . special man.”
“I don’t know about that, but no more cryin’, now, you hear?”
Rachel nodded as she wiped her eyes. Leander kissed her on the forehead and continued dressing. When he finished, he asked Rachel if she wanted to walk to the barn with him while he saddled his horse and she agreed. They walked in silence, each with their own thoughts. When they reached the barn, a few of the hands were up and about and they greeted both Rachel and Leander. Rachel didn’t have the energy and offered a simple wave in greeting.
It didn’t take long for Leander to saddle his horse and as he and Rachel exited the barn with the horse in tow, the sky to the east was brightening. “Consuelo made some fresh biscuits for you to take,” Rachel said.
Leander nodded. He reached down and took Rachel’s hand as they led the horse over to her house. “How do I get in touch with you?” Rachel asked.
“You sure that’s wise?” Leander asked.
“I don’t give a damn whether it’s wise or not.”
Leander chuckled. “You can send me a telegram to the Ranger post in San Antonio. Probably won’t be back that way for a while, though.”
“Okay.” When they reached the house, Rachel went inside and retrieved the bundle of biscuits Consuelo had made and returned outside. She handed them to Leander, and he placed them gingerly into his saddlebags. “Ain’t too hungry right now,” he said, “but they’ll keep.” He turned around and Rachel stepped over for another long hug. And despite all the pros and cons, the lists, the recriminations, she couldn’t help herself, and she whispered a suggestion and Leander nodded. They broke their embrace, and Leander walked around his horse and mounted up. He smiled at Rachel, turned his horse, and rode off the ranch.
CHAPTER 55
Frances had slept fitfully and had finally given up and climbed out of bed well before sunrise. She glanced out the bedroom window and saw lanterns lit at Rachel’s house, indicating she wasn’t the only one who had trouble sleeping. She felt a small twinge of regret for her actions last night, but not enough to rescind her ultimatum. After pulling on a robe, she shuffled into the kitchen, stoked the stove, and put on a pot of water for coffee. Percy’s children were still asleep, and she was doing her best not to wake them. She needed some quiet time to think.
Sitting down at the table while the water heated, she wondered if her family was falling apart. Mary was dead, Seth was an emotional wreck, Rachel was acting like a harlot, and Emma was in the clutches of the savages who were known for terrorizing their captives. It was almost too much to think about. But those weren’t the only things weighing heavy on her mind this morning. There were financial issues, too. If they missed making a cattle drive to the railhead in Kansas this year, their finances were going to be squeezed. That was not necessarily a new phenomenon. Money had been tight since Texas sided with the Confederacy and had only gotten worse when the carpetbaggers arrived from up north to wring out their pound of flesh. The Ridgeways had never owned slaves and did not choose a side in the war, but they were paying for it all the same. Frances sighed and stood, shuffling wearily into the kitchen. She dumped some coffee into the pot of boiling water and nudged it off the burner to steep.
Her right hip ached something fierce. And that, too, was not a new phenomenon. She now had so many aches and pains that it was hard to keep track of all of them. While the coffee steeped, she limped to the back of the house for another peek out the window. The lanterns were still lit in Rachel’s house and she noticed that a light was now glowing inside the guest cottage. She wondered if her daughter was in there giving the Ranger a raunchy send-off. She wouldn’t put it past Rachel and the thought flared her anger anew. Turning away in disgust, she limped back to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and limped out to the front porch, where she sagged into a rocking chair. After taking a sip from her cup, her mind returned to Rachel. Frances couldn’t put her finger on what it was that angered her so much about Rachel’s dalliance with the Ranger, but she supposed it had more to do with Amos than her daughter’s behavior. Amos was a good man and a good father. Yes, Amos was somewhat dull and extremely quiet, but he was still Rachel’s husband—the one she’d vowed to love and support forever.
Frances did have to admit, though, that Rachel had been the happiest she’d been in a long time. But she knew that was often the case for any new relationship. It was only later when the problems and incompatibilities wormed their way into the romance that the initial giddiness faded into the bac
kground. And for a moment, she wondered if she’d made a mistake in ordering the Ranger off the property. Maybe it would have been better if he’d stayed around long enough for them to experience a period of hardship that might have reframed their thoughts about each other. As it was, Rachel would have only pleasant, satiated memories of her time with him and Frances knew, as time passed and the distance between them grew, those thoughts would magnify greatly in her daughter’s mind.
But all of this thinking, Frances thought, was being undertaken with the assumption that Rachel would stay behind when the Ranger left. It was something she hadn’t really considered because of the children. Lordy, her plate was already full looking after Percy’s children and she couldn’t fathom the possibility of taking care of three more children who would be utterly shattered if their mother left. She knew Rachel could be persnickety and temperamental, but she didn’t believe, in her heart, that her daughter was capable of leaving her children behind while she ran off with another man. However, Frances also knew the allure of a new relationship—a new life—could have enormous pull. Deciding she needed to get a better handle on the situation, she pushed out of her chair and limped around the side of the house, to do a little spying.
She didn’t want to confront Rachel and she knew another fight would erupt if she nosed into her daughter’s business again. They would eventually patch things up even if it took a while. And once she deduced Rachel’s intentions from afar, Frances planned to slip back home and allow Rachel a couple of days to cool off and to come to grips with her decision—as long as that decision was the correct one. If not, Frances aimed to set her straight and was mentally preparing for another fight that might escalate well beyond the knock-down, drag-out they’d had yesterday.
At the back corner of her house, she paused to listen. Hearing voices coming from inside the barn, she limped that way. When she arrived, she hugged the side and inched her way closer to the large rolling door. To her dismay, it had been pushed open only far enough for a person to enter, limiting her ability to see much of anything inside, even with several lanterns burning. She heard Rachel’s voice and assumed she was talking to the Ranger although she couldn’t hear what was being said.
After several moments, Rachel’s voice grew closer and Frances scrambled backward, hoping she didn’t trip over anything and blow her cover. A moment later, the door opened wider and Rachel and the Ranger exited. Frances held her breath and exhaled a few seconds later when she saw only one horse saddled and ready to ride. Waiting until they arrived at Rachel’s house, Frances turned and crept back home.
Inside, she poured another cup of coffee and took a seat at the table. She would need to start breakfast soon, but she wanted to reexamine Rachel’s situation to see if she’d overlooked anything. Of course, it was possible that Rachel and the Ranger had picked a spot where they could meet up later and then take off for parts unknown, but that didn’t seem likely to Frances. She just didn’t think Rachel had it in her to leave her children behind. However, she would not be surprised to discover that her daughter and the Ranger had preselected a location where they could rendezvous later for nefarious purposes. And, after a little more consideration, Frances thought she might be okay with that as long as they were discreet, they picked a location far from the ranch, and they ceased the moment Amos arrived back home. The only problem she could see with that scenario, other than her probable inability to enforce such rules, was Rachel’s safety as she traveled to and from. But, Frances thought, that could also act as a deterrent to the frequency of their liaisons and maybe, just maybe, drive a wedge into their relationship. It was something to hope for. She pushed out of her chair and limped into the kitchen to start breakfast.
CHAPTER 56
Abigail stood near the back window of her house, watching her sister and the Ranger in the dim light that washed out of Rachel’s house. A saddled horse was nearby, and Abby assumed the Ranger was off to track down the nearest outlaw. Any other time in her life she might have been jealous, but since Emma’s capture her emotional range had been stunted and now hovered somewhere between despondency and disheartenment. Her feelings of sadness were sharper than at any point in her life, including the burials of her two children who died much too soon. Emma had been a part of Abby’s life for more than thirteen years and there had been much joy during that span and some sadness, too. But nothing like she felt now. The unknown ate at her constantly and her reservoir of tears had run dry long ago. In some ways, Abby thought, Emma’s dying would have been preferable to the lingering uncertainty that was inescapable. At least with death, the outcome was determined.
Abby sighed, stepped away from the window, and shuffled into the kitchen. After pulling a cup down from the shelf over the stove, she filled it with yesterday’s coffee she’d reheated and plodded out to the front porch. Tired of sitting, she leaned against a support post and stared out into the darkness. Rachel’s house was out of sight so she couldn’t spy on her sister, not that she really wanted to anyway. And that was the problem—she didn’t really want to do anything other than curl up in a ball and deny her existence. But that was an impossibility with two other children to care for.
It had now been a month since Emma’s kidnapping, and it felt like an eternity. Isaac had predicted before they left that they’d be gone a couple of months, but Abby knew that was a guesstimate at best and not anything she could plan for. She’d heard stories about families that had spent years searching for captured loved ones and she didn’t know how they had coped day after day, year after year. A month had felt like a decade and Abby couldn’t wrap her mind around Emma being gone for months, much less years.
Abby couldn’t stand to think about it anymore. For all she knew, Emma was now with her father. She didn’t really believe that but thought if she kept telling herself that it might soon be true. To take her mind off Emma, she stepped off the porch and walked around the side of the house, marginally curious to know what was happening with Rachel and the Ranger. She didn’t have proof that anything was going on between the two although she had her suspicions. Rachel had always been impulsive, and Abby suspected they had been in the sack within an hour of his arrival.
Abby hadn’t spent any time with Leander Hays although she did meet him shortly after he arrived and liked his looks. Tall and handsome with broad shoulders and a well-groomed mustache, Abby had thought if it had been any other time, she might have given Rachel a run for her money.
When she reached the back of the house, she discovered Rachel’s porch empty and the horse gone. With no energy to cook, she decided to walk over to ask Consuelo if she would cook up some extra biscuits for her kids. She didn’t make a habit of doing that but would if she had an argument with her sister because it pissed Rachel off mightily. She wasn’t feeling spiteful this morning, just exhausted.
The roosters started crowing when she stepped up on Rachel’s porch. She knocked on the door and pushed it open before anyone could answer. Rachel was sitting at the table, her head buried in her hands, weeping. Abby thought about turning around and leaving but instead, stepped over, pulled out a chair, and sat. She shot a look at Consuelo in the kitchen and shrugged a shoulder. Consuelo waved her hands at Rachel’s back, suggesting Abby handle it.
“Leander off to apprehend some criminals?” Abby asked, making conversation.
Her sister lifted her head and wiped the moisture off her cheeks. “No. Ma ran him off.”
“Do what?” Abby asked, momentarily taken aback.
Rachel ran her finger under her nose. “You heard me.”
“How and why did Ma run him off?”
“She told him she’d shoot him if she ever saw him on the ranch again.”
“Ma?” Abby asked, her voice incredulous.
“Yes, Ma,” Rachel said.
“Why would she say something like that?”
“Why do you think?”
Abby rolled that around in her mind, trying to find the best approach that wouldn’t
appear confrontational. “Well, I suppose you could have been a little subtler about it.”
“Why should it matter to her who I sleep with?”
“I don’t know, but it obviously does.”
“It’s not like we were out screwing in the yard.”
“I realize that. But how much thought did you give to the overall situation?”
Rachel cocked her head to the side. “What does that mean?”
“Well, you are married.”
“Oh, so you’re going to sit in judgment?”
“No, I was just making a point.”
“No, you weren’t. You want to know about my marriage? Huh? It’s a piece of shit. How’s yours?”
“This is not about me and Isaac.” Abby could sense that Rachel was on the verge of exploding and who knew what would come out of her mouth if that happened? “Look, you’re a grown woman capable of making your own decisions.”
“You’re damn right I am. Go tell that to your mother.”
“She’s your mother, too. Did you really think she would shoot Leander?”
Rachel shrugged. “She was hot enough last night that you could have lit a cigarette off her.”
Now the picture was becoming clearer. “So, you two had one those type of arguments, huh?”
Rachel shrugged again. “She started it.”
“Sounds like she ended it, too. Where did he go?”
Rachel turned to stare at something on the far wall. “I don’t know. Home, I guess.”
Abby didn’t think that likely with Amos still away, but she didn’t say anything, knowing her sister’s short fuse. “Which is where?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere down south on the Brazos.”
Abby couldn’t help herself. “Huh. So, you two spend a couple of weeks in the sack and then say That was great, see you down the trail?”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“It’s not like you to give up so easily.”
“Yeah, well, there wasn’t much easy about any of it.”