by Vivi Holt
Why had he spoken that way to Lotte?
The question made him sigh, and he slowed Hans to a trot. He’d spoken the truth, but now he regretted it. She’d lost her husband, her family, been attacked repeatedly, had everything taken from her, and he suspected she’d suffered before all that as well. She was alone and vulnerable and she trusted him, relied on him to take care of her until she could stand on her own two feet again. It wouldn’t help for him to make her feel uncomfortable, and he was certain he had. She saw him as a friend, a protector. He needed to remember that.
What had he expected would happen – she’d fall into his arms? And did he want that? He was still in mourning himself, and some days he didn’t even feel fully alive. He just passed through those days like a ghost, his eyes half shut. What could he give a woman like Lotte in the state he was in?
Less than she deserved – Antonio was certain of that.
By the time he returned to the grove of black walnut trees, Lotte had scavenged enough kindling to build a fire. The grove ran along the bank of a narrow creek, and she was washing in it when he arrived. He held up by the ears the hare he’d shot and smiled. “I brought supper!”
She laughed and ran a hand over her wet hair. “Erg goed!”
He unsaddled Hans, groomed him, picketed him by Elmo, who was grazing eagerly on the tall yellow grasses, then began skinning the hare. Lotte dried off, dressed quickly and began preparing potatoes, onions and tortillas to go with it. He smiled as she mixed the flour with water. She’d learned well – her tortillas were better than his, and her frijoles just as good. He couldn’t wait to share other, better recipes with her when they were finally off the road.
He frowned. When would they be off the road? Where was he taking her? He knew his ultimate destination – Paradise Valley was home to him, and now that he’d learned his family’s fate he couldn’t get there fast enough. He missed it – the valley, the ranch and his adopted family there. But what about Lotte?
Perhaps he should take her there. His plan to leave her in Mason hadn’t turned out. Now they were alone on a prairie in Indian Territory, with no towns nearby that’d make a good home for a beautiful young Dutch woman on her own. And she did keep asking about Montana Territory and the ranch and the people there.
He put the hare into a pot of boiling water he’d set over the fire and rubbed his mustache. “Would you like to come with me to Paradise Ranch?”
She startled and her eyes widened. “Yes! Oh yes, I would!”
He frowned. “Are you sure? It is a long way from here. I could take you somewhere else if you would prefer it. Anywhere, just tell me.”
She smiled, seeming confused. “But I want to go with you. Where else would I go?”
He sat on the grass and leaned against his saddle, lacing his fingers together behind his head as his heart pounded at her words. “Well. Then that is where I will take you.”
She grinned and pushed the sliced vegetables into a pot. “Wonderful! I cannot wait to see it. How you described it, it sounds beautiful. And I look forward to meeting your friends.”
Truth be told, he couldn’t wait to introduce her to them. He knew they’d love her. But what would they think of him? He’d gone riding off to find his wife and daughter and was returning with a different woman by his side. He frowned. Whatever they thought, he’d just have to deal with it. After all, Lotte was … what was she to him? A friend, or something more? He couldn’t say. And he sure couldn’t put it into words for anyone else, should they ask.
They had a delicious meal of hare with gravy, stamppot and tortillas, sitting across from each other and staring into the embers of the fire as they ate. When they were done, Lotte collected the plates and carried them down to the creek to wash. Antonio stayed behind, mesmerized by the fire, thinking over the events of the day as his full stomach made him sleepy.
When Lotte returned, she put everything away, then sat beside him with a sigh. He shifted to one side to give her space to rest her back against the saddle as well, but she nestled close to his side. “You know what you said earlier …”
He glanced her way, his cheeks warming. “Hm?”
“I feel the same way.” She half-smiled, her eyes glowing with a reflected moonlight.
His breath caught in his throat and his heart shuddered in his chest. “Uh …”
“I do not know what I would do without you, Antonio. I do not.”
Antonio straightened and ran a hand through his hair. His heart pounded and his thoughts whirled. Then before he could talk himself out of it, he swiveled to face her and cupped her cheeks in his hands. When their lips met, it was like lightning coursing through his veins. She went limp in his arms, and he wrapped them around her and pulled her close.
Lotte tugged her shawl around her shoulders and shivered. Autumn was on its way and the morning air was chilly on her skin. She gave Elmo the reins and he plodded along, his head bobbing with each step.
They’d traveled quite a way already that morning. Antonio had woken her early and suggested they get moving right away. After a cold breakfast they’d set out across the seemingly unbroken prairie, each mile the same as the last.
Around noon, Lotte saw movement on the horizon. “What’s that?”
Antonio squinted. “Looks like the cattle drive we have been trailing.”
They urged their horses into a trot and soon caught up with the group. The cattle moved in a line in ones and twos, nose to tail. Behind them rode two cowpokes on stock horses, ahead of a chuck wagon that rolled and jolted down the trail. They pulled up alongside the chuck wagon and Antonio waved to the driver. He saluted them with a frown. “Where ya headed?” he called.
“Montana Territory!” shouted Antonio above the creaking and groaning of the wagon.
“Same with us. How ‘bout that?” The man flashed a toothless grin.
One of the cowboys spied them and rode back to greet them. He had ginger hair under a tan Stetson, and his two front teeth poked out beneath chapped lips and a wispy mustache. “Howdy, folks.”
“Howdy.” Antonio tipped his hat. “How many longhorns do you have?”
“’Bout five hundred. I’m Clive Buckland, and these are my cattle.”
“Antonio Sanchez, and this is … my wife, Lotte.” He glanced at Lotte, and she nodded.
“Pleasure to meetcha. We had eight hundred head when we started out, but …” Clive took his hat off, slapped it against his hip and replaced it with a sigh. “… well, we’ve lost a few along the way.”
“Where did you set out from?” asked Lotte.
Clive smiled, and Lotte noticed bright red spots on his cheeks. “Started out in San Antone. I gotta homestead in Montana Territory, not far from Bozeman.”
“We would ride with you awhile, if you do not mind,” said Antonio.
Clive nodded. “Fine with me. Ya can camp with us tonight if ya’d like. The cowhands ain’t the best mannered in the evenings, and now that we’re down a few … well, let’s just say I could use some well-behaved company.”
Antonio raised an eyebrow. “You’re down a few cowpunchers?”
Clive nodded with a frown. “Just can’t seem to get men who’ll stick it out.”
“I am looking for work. I have been on many a cattle drive – I rode one all the way to Montana Territory a few years ago. My boss Thomas O’Reilly has a ranch up near Bozeman – that is where we are headed, going home. But I could use a paycheck along the way. And if you need the help …”
Clive’s eyes widened. “Thomas O’Reilly, you say? I heard of him. He’s somethin’ of a legend in Texas – the man who drove three thousand head of longhorns into the unknown. Must be quite a fella.”
Antonio grinned proudly. “He is.”
“Well, Sanchez, ya got yerself a job. I could use a good cowpuncher, ‘specially one who knows the way. These other men … well, I just don’t know what to say about ‘em. They sure ain’t livin’ up to my expectations, and I dunno what in tarnation to do
about it.” He reached across the withers of his horse and shook Antonio’s hand.
“Thank you, Señor Buckland. I’ll do my best.”
Clive rode off and Lotte smiled. “Well – now you have a job.”
Antonio nodded. “Si, but I am worried about this drive.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“What the cook said about losing cattle, and what Señor Buckland said about the men … it sounds like they are in trouble. But I guess we will find out soon enough.”
That night the men gathered around the fire, setting up bedrolls and talking over plates of salt pork, crackers and beans. Lotte watched from a distance, preferring to camp a little further from the circle since she wasn’t comfortable with the men yet. They were a rowdy lot, and had shot her a few glances that made her uneasy.
She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and stared into the leaping flames. Antonio had worked hard all day long while she rode along beside the chuck wagon. He’d returned only a few minutes earlier, dust-covered and weary, barely saying a word before rushing off to wash for supper. He now sat by the fire, a plate on one knee, eating in silence.
Lotte took another bite of beans and scrunched up her nose. They didn’t taste nearly as good as Antonio’s. The rest of the meal wasn’t much better – the salt pork was soggy rather than crispy, the crackers had sat too long and soaked up the pork drippings, and the beans were cold and tasteless.
The cook, a Virginian named Giuseppe Santorini, seemed unwell to Lotte’s eyes – his cheeks were flushed, his eyes glazed. And though his stomach protruded through the buttons of his untucked shirt, he didn’t seem to notice or care. He stumbled around the campsite muttering under his breath and dishing out spoonfuls of food to whoever requested it.
Clive the owner joined the fire circle. “We’re headin’ north through Indian Territory for the next couple weeks ‘til we get into Kansas. Now, from what I’ve heard the tribes here are mostly peaceable, but we’d best keep our wits about us. I don’t want any more cattle lost …”
One of the men interrupted with a burp, then chuckled. The rest of the men burst into laughter and went back to their conversations, drowning Clive out. He frowned and set his hands on his hips, then meandered away, rubbing his eyes. Antonio glanced at Lotte with raised eyebrows, and she shook her head in wonderment. What was going on? The men seemed to have no respect for their employer and he hadn’t done a thing about it.
Before long, Antonio and Lotte turned in for the night. He played the part of the doting husband and pulled his bedroll up beside hers. It looked like rain, so he cut some saplings for a frame and built a lean-to with their slickers to protect them in their bedrolls. But the rest of the men showed no signs of concern. As soon as supper ended and Giuseppe collected their plates to wash, they tugged bottles of whiskey and moonshine from their saddlebags and played cards until they were drunk. Then they took turns throwing buffalo chips in the air and firing at them with their pistols.
Antonio rolled back and forth in his bedroll, his face growing increasingly grim. Lotte’s heart pounded and her throat felt dry. “How long will they keep this up?” she whispered.
He shook his head and scowled. “They will spook the cattle. Now I understand how they have lost almost half the stock.” He glanced around the campsite. “Who is watching the herd, I wonder?”
“I think it is Adam,” she replied. “The young boy with the mop of brown hair?”
He grunted. “All on his own? That is the most foolish thing I ever heard. I would go and help him, but I am afraid to leave you alone with these idiotas.”
She smiled and put her hands behind her head. “Thank you. I would not want to be alone with them.”
He chuckled, then grimaced as another shot rang out, followed by the bellowing of cattle and the unmistakable tramping of hooves on the hard ground. He sat up on his bedroll. “I am tempted to …”
Lotte laid a hand on his arm. “Please do not – we do not know these men well enough. If something should happen to you …” She didn’t have to finish the thought.
He glanced at her, his expression troubled. “I know.” Then he sighed and lay down again. “But if they so much as make a move this way, my Colt is loaded and ready to go.”
Lotte caught his gaze. “And my Derringer.”
Antonio grinned.
10
The next morning, Lotte woke early with a headache. She hadn’t slept well with all the noise the cowboys made until the wee hours of the night. The sun had just risen and the darkness hadn’t fully fled across the prairie when she emerged shivering from her warm bedroll. It had rained just before dawn, a short drenching downpour, but the slicker had done the job of keeping her dry nicely. She glanced at Antonio with an affectionate half-smile, and saw he was still asleep.
They’d set up camp so late the previous day that she hadn’t had a chance to bathe, so she thought she’d do it before the rest of the group woke. Given their drunken states the previous evening, she doubted that would be anytime soon. Thankfully they were beside a stream, hidden by the undulating curves of the prairie. She tugged her shawl around her shoulders, found a washcloth and a bar of soap in her saddlebag, and walked along the stream bank until she could no longer see the camp, then squatted to wash her face.
Her hair really needed a good scrub, but she didn’t intend to do that by a stream in the middle of Indian Territory. Perhaps they’d find a town in Kansas and she could spend a night in a hotel with some of the money they’d found. That thought warmed her, and she shut her eyes to imagine a warm bed and a hearty meal in a restaurant with Antonio seated across from her. But when she opened her eyes, she was still in the middle of nowhere. She sighed deeply, plunged her washcloth into the water, squeezed it out and rubbed it over her face.
A rustling in the grass behind her made her jump. She stood and spun around with a gasp, just as a large rough hand clamped over her mouth. She screamed against it, her pulse racing.
One of the cowboys leered at her with a wide grin and bloodshot eyes. “Good mornin’ there, lovely,” he whispered. His other arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her close. “Now don’t you scream or you’ll regret it, you hear me?” She nodded, and he slowly pulled his hand away from her mouth. When she still didn’t make a sound, he grinned. “That’s better. Now we can have some fun.”
Her eyes narrowed, but he was too busy fiddling with her bodice laces to notice. She drew her hand back and jabbed him as hard as she could in the throat. He stumbled back, clutching his throat and gasping for air.
“You think you are so big, you can just treat me however you like?” Lotte yelled. “I have had enough of being pushed around. No more!” She walked behind the man and kicked him hard in the rear, sending him face first into the stream with an enormous splash. When he stood, still gagging, he was soaked to the bone. On the bank, she started laughing and couldn’t stop. She bent double at the waist and almost fell over guffawing, but managed to grab her things and make her way back to camp unhindered.
Antonio met her halfway, curiosity on his face. “Madre de Dios, what is going on? The sun is barely up – why are you laughing so loud?”
She pointed over her shoulder, still cackling. “He … fell in,” she managed.
He looked past her to where the cowpoke stood, his hands on his knees, water streaming from his clothing. He cocked his head to one side, his eyebrows arched.
“It was … funnier than it sounds,” she said, walking past him to get back to the campfire. One of the men had lit it and she planned on boiling some oatmeal. If Giuseppe’s attempt at breakfast was half as bad as his supper, she’d rather make her own.
Lotte fingered the Henry rifle, running her fingers over the intricate design carved into the steel. It had been the lieutenant’s gun and, according to Antonio, was a repeating, breech-loading, tubular magazine rifle with a lever action. She wasn’t sure what any of that meant, but it held sixteen bullets and she was fairly certain th
at with that many chances she was bound to hit something.
Everyone else was busy. The cattle lumbered northward along the Chisholm Trail, Giuseppe driving the chuck wagon behind them. She was left on her own to do as she wished. She could easily keep up with the cattle drive on Elmo, though he seemed to have grown bored with walking at such a steady pace for days on end and had begun skipping sideways, seeming eager for a gallop. She knew just how he felt – anything to break the monotony.
Ever since she’d kicked the cowpoke into the stream, she’d felt strong and alive, as if she could do anything. What she wanted to do right now was hunt – she was tired of beans and bread, salt pork and biscuits. She wanted fresh meat and gravy with stamppot for supper. She licked her lips, shot a glance at the rear of the chuck wagon and dug her heels into Elmo’s sides. The horse leaped forward and set off at a gallop across the flatlands.
The grasses swayed in the afternoon breeze and a grin sprung onto Lotte’s face. It felt good to be alive, to be free, to feel the wind in her face on Elmo’s strong supple back. When he let loose, he fairly flew, and she whooped into the wind, yanking off her hat and shaking her hair free from the chignon she’d looped it into that morning. It blew in the breeze and she shoved her hat back on, then leaned forward over the bay’s big back, her eyes narrowed.
Antonio stretched his legs in front of him, a coffee cup in his hands. He lifted it to his mouth and sipped slowly, savoring the thick black brew as it slid down his throat. It had been a long day, and it felt good to sit by the fire and rest. Several cattle had gotten stuck in a bog and had to be pulled free with ropes. Another had broken its leg in a gopher hole and had to be put down, which at least meant there would be plenty of steak for supper and fresh beef jerky in their future.