Shelby's eyes searched through the sheltering stand of old cottonwood trees until she found the ranch house. As they drew nearer, she felt a great surge of relief, then joy.
A spacious veranda stretched across the front of the sturdy log house. She was immediately struck by its resemblance to the first home her father had built in Deadwood, a log structure that still stood and was used by Fox as his office. This ranch house had generous proportions and wide windows. To Shelby's astonishment, she found that the roof had even been made of real shingles. Both ends of the house were hugged by mammoth chimneys of river rock and there was a wide, shaded veranda across the front.
When the buckboard rolled to a stop, Ben Avery lifted his niece to the ground. In early April the weather was still chilly, although the sunshine and the trilling of birds promised that real spring was at hand. Proud of all that he and Titus had accomplished since summer, with the help of good hired men, Ben pointed out the stable, outbuildings, and the bunkhouse that were still going up. There were corrals filled with cattle and wild-looking horses. And, in a sunny area away from the trees, Ben had built a white picket fence around the garden that they would soon be able to till and plant.
"I know you can't cook to save your life, Shel, but you're gonna have to learn, and fast! Did Maddie give you lessons this winter like she promised me she would?" Ben ran a hand through his thick sandy hair and looked boyishly hopeful.
Shelby laughed. "Uncle Ben, you know that Mama can barely cook herself!"
His face fell. "But we were counting on you! I burn everything I touch, and we've got four hired hands to feed—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, what a pitiful sight you are, Uncle Ben." She gave him a dimpled smile and patted his wide back. "I can do anything I set my mind to, even cooking!"
And since that day, she had. Through the Sears, Roebuck & Co. catalogue, Ben had ordered a fancy nickel-plated, six-hole sterling steel range and a new oak icebox. They had also gotten every cooking gadget available, from the latest coffee grinder to a nickel-plated lid lifter. If Shelby had loved to cook as much as she loved to ride her horse, she would have been in a perpetual state of ecstasy. Still, she tried hard and made the best of it.
Now, as she threw back the covers and dressed in the violet light, Shelby realized that her first month in Wyoming was passing quickly. Soon it would be May. She was anxious for their first roundup, and she had so many plans for the ranch that she could scarcely contain her excitement. The only obstacles were Uncle Ben and Titus. If she could convince them to take a few risks, the Sunshine Ranch could achieve success beyond anyone's dreams, even those of her father.
Shelby paused before the oval mirror that hung over her washstand. Her clothes had been chosen for utility, but she couldn't help looking beautiful. Today she wore a union suit, shunning a corset, and a split skirt of chocolate broadcloth tucked into soft riding boots. Her ivory cotton blouse had a high neck and tapering long sleeves. She had fastened a gold bar pin to her collar, and her shining hair was swept up into the wide pompadour that the Gibson Girl had made so fashionable. On Shelby, the style was exquisite, emphasizing her stunning teal-blue eyes, the lines of her cheekbones and jaw, and her generous mouth.
She headed into the main part of the house, where the biggest wall was dominated by a giant bear skin. Shelby hated it but didn't want to injure her uncle's pride by taking it down too abruptly. The furnishings were plain but comfortable, and Ben had mounted a large tattered poster advertising "Buffalo Bill's Wild West and Congress of Rough Riders." The decade-old relic featured a map of Europe, colored drawings of Indians in Venetian gondolas, and the slogan: "From Prairie to Palace; Camping on Two Continents."
In the kitchen, Shelby began to hum, smiling, as she tied on her gingham apron and took eggs, ham, and butter from the icebox. She'd make pancakes, too, with warm maple syrup.
An half-hour later the men burst into the house, bringing the bracing clean chill of the dawn with them. The quartet of hired hands looked like brothers. Their legs were slightly bowed from long days in the saddle, their faces were deeply tanned, they wore big hats that obscured their faces and bright handkerchiefs knotted around their necks. Shelby liked the music of their jingling spurs and the sharp sound of boot heels on the wooden floor.
Everyone was talking at once, discussing the odds of another snowstorm so deep into April and how much work needed to be done before the roundup. When all six men were seated at the big drop-leaf table and Ben Avery had said grace, they ate and ate, nodding appreciatively at Shelby with their mouths full. She poured more coffee, passed full platters of pancakes, eggs, and ham, and watched as Titus and her uncle began to smile dreamily and loosen their belts.
"Well," Ben muttered at last with a sigh of pleasure, "I gotta admit that our little Shelby is learning to cook after all."
"Here, here!" Titus cried. Beaming, he lifted his coffee mug in a toast.
"Mighty fine, Miz Shelby," Cal said, eyes fixed on his empty plate. The other three cowboys ducked their heads and made sounds of agreement.
Shelby graced them all with a smile as radiant as the new morning sun. "Thank you all for the compliments."
As if on cue, the quartet of ranch hands pushed back their chairs and stood up. "Fences're waitin'," Lucius muttered.
"Wood t'chop," Jimmy chimed in.
"Yup," Marsh said.
"Hope I kin still get up in the saddle!" Cal joked.
After the four young men had filed out of the house, Shelby laughed. "Aren't they adorable? Have you two ever heard Marsh say anything besides 'yup'?"
Titus Pym chuckled, gave her a wink, and beamed when she winked right back.
"Shel, you gonna go over the books this morning?" Ben asked. "Seems like you're on a horse a whole lot more than you are at that desk! And speakin' of horses, I oughta go check on that mare that's due to foal soon." He pushed back his chair.
Shelby took a huge breath; suddenly her palms were moist. "Uncle Ben—wait, please! There's something I'd like to talk to you and Titus about."
"Can't this keep till—"
She stood up, fingertips spread on the tabletop. "No. We'll talk now." When she saw that both men were listening meekly, Shelby began her speech. "As you both know, Daddy gave me the authority to manage the Sunshine Ranch, but I suspect you thought those were just words." She gave her uncle a glance and was heartened to find him looking sheepish. "Well, I have plans, beyond improving my cooking and keeping the ledgers current and becoming the best horsewoman in the Bighorn Basin. My real plans are for the Sunshine Ranch!"
Ben was frowning now. He lifted the blue-enameled coffeepot, filled his mug, and said, "Since the day you were born, I watched you learn to walk and talk and wrap everybody in Deadwood around your pinkie finger. Nobody knows better than me how smart and stubborn you can be, but that doesn't mean you're qualified to run a ranch like this one! We're not playin' a game out here, y'know! This is—"
"Men's work?" Shelby cut in, leaning forward, eyes agleam. "You might as well say it because we both know what you mean! Well, I may be a woman, but I have a mind that's a match for yours any day!"
"You'd better watch yourself, young lady!"
Highly entertained, Titus smiled at the red-faced Ben Avery and remarked, "Let's hear her out, lad."
"Thank you, darling Mr. Pym!" Shelby's own color was high, but she calmed herself with an effort and sat down. "I've been reading, listening to the other ranchers I've met in Cody, and thinking. I am convinced that we need to expand. First of all, we should plant some crops—"
"That's crazy!" Ben cried. "We just started the ranch. We can't be trying to do everything the first year!"
"Uncle, please listen! I'm suggesting that we plant just enough to provide extra feed for the livestock in the event of a bad winter. It's happened before, and there's no point in taking chances out here where the grass is just scrub as it is. All we need to plant are a few acres of hay and grain, but we'll need equipment. We can buy a horse-dr
awn threshing machine in Billings—oh, and one of those big hay rakes, and a windmill. I'll show you a list before you go—"
"I think you've gone crazy!" Ben declared. "You think you can send me off to goldurned Billings to buy a bunch of farm equipment just like that? Titus, help me out here! What do you think about this half-baked scheme?"
"Well..." Pym pursed his lips, considering. "I think I probably ought to go with you to Billings. Shelby's in charge, whether you like it or not; her pa wrote a letter to me stating that plainly. If she botches it, then Fox may change his tune, but for now I'm taking my orders from your niece—and so are you."
Ben Avery's big body sank lower in the chair, and on the back of his head a cowlick rose like a flag. "I give up, boss."
Shelby wanted to clap her hands. "I mean to make a success of the Sunshine Ranch, boys! You'll see! I think you'd better head for Billings as soon as possible, so you'll have time to buy a dozen head of prize horseflesh while you're there. I want to do some breeding, too." Her eyes were sparkling, tilting up at the corners. "We haven't a lot of time before the roundup, and then the ground'll be warming and we can till the soil—"
"I feel like I'm on a runaway train," Ben muttered.
"Hold on and enjoy the ride," Titus advised. "What's the worst that can happen?"
The younger man gave him a dark look. "Did you have to ask that?"
"Well, I mean to make a miracle," Shelby declared.
"Do you have a lot of money in your bag of miracles? 'Cause I think that the funds from Fox are pretty much accounted for. And I seem to remember, too, that he told you that if we break even the first year, he'd consider upping the ante. Shel, do you know something I don't?" The look he gave her was sly and self-congratulatory. "I just can't believe a girl with a college education could forget that she's gotta pay for stuff like threshing machines and windmills...."
Titus intervened, extending a hand toward Ben. "No doubt our Shelby intends to take the high road and consult with her father about these plans. There's such a thing as a telegraph, you know—"
"No," Shelby said. "I won't ask Daddy. I intend to get the money on my own, without touching the savings we have to use for day-to-day expenses." Suddenly she was up, circling the table and gesturing with both hands as she spoke. "He won't know a thing about our crops or the extra horses, and then when we turn a profit at the end of our first year, he'll be simply... incredulous! Oh, gosh, we'll all be so proud." A ray of sunlight brightened the waves of Shelby's upswept hair as she held up a fist. "If you both lend me your support, we can share in the Sunshine's success!"
Scratching his head, Ben inquired, "You sure you wouldn't rather be a preacher? I feel pretty inspired, but there's still one detail missing. Where are you gonna get all this money?" He glanced over at Titus, whose misgivings were clearly reflected in his expression.
"I have the most wonderful plan—perfect in its simplicity!" Shelby stopped between their chairs and crouched down to drape an arm around each man's shoulder. "I'll win it playing poker at the Purcell Saloon!" Her incandescent smile widened even more, while her eyes twinkled with mischief. "There, you see, you needn't have worried! I know exactly what I'm doing. With schemes like these, we shall never have to go to Daddy for money!"
Ben and Titus were both too queasy at that moment to reply.
Chapter 3
When the buckboard gained the last crest of the valley road and Cody came into sight, Shelby, Titus, and Ben all sat up a little straighter. It was a particularly fine late-April afternoon, although still clear and cold. The sky was keenly blue, decorated with puffy clouds, and the trees were thick with leaf buds. Skylarks and robins sang to herald the greening of the land, and prairie roses were opening everywhere. It was a difficult time to be downcast, but Ben Avery managed.
"For Pete's sake, Shel, I think you've lost your mind!" he grumbled, squinting into the distance.
"So you've told me about a hundred times," she said. "You're just upset that I didn't abandon my plan when you announced that no proper female would be seen gambling in one of Cody's saloons. As usual, dear uncle, you underestimated me!"
Sitting between Ben and Titus on the splintery seat, she was clad in the cowboy getup she'd worn to shock her parents that last morning in Deadwood. This time, however, she carried the costume one step further, pinning her hair securely out of sight under the Stetson, thickening her eyebrows with a pencil, and gluing a false handlebar mustache to her delicate upper lip. It looked ludicrous, but Titus had made it from the mane of her favorite horse, a pinto pony she called Gadabout.
"I don't get it, Titus," Ben complained. "Why are you helping her? If I ever tried to do somethin' this crazy, you'd be all over me like flies on... sugar."
The old man averted his eyes. "I'm inclined to give Shelby her head for a time. Besides, I suspect that she'd go ahead with her schemes with or without us." He gave Ben a bemused smile. "I'd rather be present."
"You both must admit that this is a splendid adventure!" She giggled. "Look at me! What would Mama say?"
"I shudder to think," Titus remarked.
They drew up in front of Purcell's Saloon on Sheridan Avenue. It was one of many such establishments, but probably the best-known and the place where the most money was likely to be wagered.
"Don't forget, Uncle Ben, that I'm your cousin Matt."
Ben Avery scowled at his niece. She wore angora chaps, a holster, boots, fringed vest, orange kerchief, a ridiculous false mustache that they'd coaxed with wax to curl slightly on either side, and her giant white Stetson hat.
"I can't believe you want me to claim you as a cousin. Not one man in my family ever looked like that."
"Hush!" Shelby raised a gloved hand to Ben's mouth. "Just say I'm passing through from Iowa. Not that anyone will care. If they think I'm a little odd, they'll be more apt to bet a lot of money." Her shining smile appeared under the horsehair mustache. "Come on!"
Titus walked into the saloon next to Shelby while Ben lagged behind several paces. Weather-beaten cowboys glanced up from their card games, drinks, and smokes; the barest glimmer of disconcertion crossed their faces. When Ben went to the bar to order three beers and Shelby found a table and began shuffling a deck of cards, the glances from the other patrons became more curious.
"New in town, pilgrim?" asked a dusty, red-faced wrangler at the next table.
"Yeah, I'm passin' through from Sioux City," Shelby declared in the lowest, hoarsest voice she could muster. "Lookin' for a little entertainment."
Muffled laughter rippled through the saloon, and Ben, still standing at the bar, turned crimson. The man who had spoken to Shelby gave her a reptilian smile and leaned over to extend his hand. "My friends 'n' I'll be glad t'oblige you as soon as we're finished with this game. Name's Skinner."
Shelby put her cowhide-gloved hand in his and tried not to wince when he squeezed. "Pleased to meetcha," she growled. "They call me—Coyote Matt."
It took Titus Pym's last ounce of control to remain straight-faced. Amusement replaced his apprehension as he clapped Shelby on the back. "Yup, this fellow's trapped a passel of coyotes all right!"
"More'n four thousand," Shelby proclaimed recklessly.
His hat pulled low on his brow, Ben sidled up to the table and put down the mugs of beer. One of the other cowboys hailed him, calling, "Hey, Avery, you know this fella?"
Ben stared at the tabletop. "We're... distant cousins," he mumbled.
The trio drank some of their beer as they waited to see who would be the first to bet against Coyote Matt. Soon there were restless noises as bodies shifted in their chairs and heads turned to glance at the odd newcomer. Some of those present at Purcell's Saloon clearly smelled a pigeon.
"Any moment," Shelby whispered gleefully.
Ben sniffed the air, then his gaze settled on his niece's excited face. Beer froth clung to her mustache. Leaning closer, he sniffed again and grinned. "Geez, Shel, you smell like Gadabout when she's been rode wet."
* * *
Out on Sheridan Avenue a tumbleweed careened in front of Cody's newest arrivals.
"What's that?" Geoffrey Weston inquired of his gentleman's gentleman.
"A common enough sight in this part of the world, my lord," Manypenny intoned. "I believe they call it a tumbleweed."
"Ah."
The two men were beginning to attract attention. Immaculately dressed, they stood next to an assortment of expensive traveling trunks and pondered the future. It had been disconcerting enough, arriving at a train station located a good distance from town, and then they had suffered the indignity of paying for a ride into town in the most ramshackle wagon imaginable, driven by an equally broken-down fellow who appeared to shun the concept of bathing. The man had left them here, surrounded by their belongings, and Geoff had decided against soliciting advice from the driver regarding their next move.
"I sense that we are overdressed," Geoff remarked. His tailored tweed suit was set off by a vest of Prussian-blue cashmere, a round-collared shirt with charcoal pinstripes, a four-in-hand tie, and polished black oxfords. He wore no topcoat or hat, and the afternoon sun picked up the gleam of his plain gold signet ring and his ruffled hair. "Did we forget to pack my boots, chaps, and holster?"
"I fear so, my lord," Manypenny replied without expression.
Geoff's sculpted features relaxed into an appealing smile as he took in the sight of his manservant set against the backdrop of Cody, Wyoming. Manypenny was closer in height to seven feet than six, and he seemed to own an endless supply of dark suits, gray-striped vests, winged-collared shirts, and black ties. Today, in honor of his appearance outdoors, he had added a black wool overcoat and a black derby that looked as if it were squeezing his massive head.
"My lord," he said now, in a rare volunteered statement, "I hope that you will not forego your personal style of dressing, which is flawless, in deference to your surroundings. To replace your wardrobe with—" He grimaced. "—chaps would be nothing less than tragic."
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