“For my dry-land claim,” she said hotly.
“Sell it to me, if that’s how you feel,” he said, “and go find one with water.”
“Don’t start that again.”
He stood up and started taking what he needed from the bags. “Then stop complaining about not coming out of the Run empty-handed.”
“I’m not!”
“Sounds like whining to me.”
He left the gelding ground-tied and went to the pitiful little bunch of belongings she’d managed to wrestle out of the wagon, chose a cask of about the right height, and carried it over to prop up the wagon’s box.
“Look,” she said, wearily wiping the sweat from her face with her sleeve, “maybe I’m not strong enough to do what you’re doing. But I want you to know that I’ll pay you, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Fine,” he said. “Bring me those pumpkins you promised.”
“No! I mean now. Money. I have a small amount left …”
He frowned at her. “You’re more worried about obligations than anybody I ever saw.”
“Owing someone a debt gives that person power over me. I won’t have that, ever again.”
Her tone held a dozen feelings all mixed together, with only one of them clear: experience. She had suffered from someone’s power over her, that much was sure.
Nickajack stole a sharp look at her, wondering. Was that love he’d heard in her voice when she’d said Vance’s name? Could her husband have been heavy-handed and overbearing with her?
“I don’t want power over you,” he said. “Don’t get all wire-edged over that.”
“You said you weren’t going to take care of me.”
Frustration at that truth prickled along his nerves as he dropped down and began pulling off the wheel.
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m just trying to get you off my land.”
“And out of the country,” she said. “You want to fix my wheel thinking that then I’ll be so grateful or so beholden that I’ll do what you say.”
Damn. The woman would raise the temper in a sleeping baby.
“There’s as much chance of that as sunshine in a snowstorm,” she huffed.
She had an endless supply of grit, that was for sure.
“Well, if it’s to assuage your guilt about taking the best claim, forget it. It won’t work.”
That made him so mad he shot to his feet, whirled to look at her, and grabbed her by the arms, all in the same motion.
“What I feel guilty about is getting you any claim at all,” he said through clenched teeth. “You need to try to prove up a claim like a pig needs a hat.”
Her face paled with anger until the faint dusting of freckles stood out across her nose. He caught the light scent of flowers and powder beneath the dust and sweat.
“I can prove it up.” Her teeth were clenched, too. “And I’m not accepting help today or any other day. I will not be beholden to you, Mr. Smith, so you can climb right back up on your big, black high-horse—”
She tore loose from his grasp to turn and look at his mount.
“You’ve changed horses.”
“Yep.”
“This horse was nowhere in sight the first time I saw you,” she said. “Nor the saddle.”
He didn’t answer.
“Mr. Smith,” she said, in a voice filled with surprising authority, “where was this horse during the Run?”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “You sound like my teacher at the Dwight Mission Schoolhouse when I was seven years old.”
He sat on his haunches again and went back to work on the wheel.
“That’s because I am a teacher.”
He cocked his head and shot a glance at her. She’d pulled herself up to her full height and set her fists on her hips, looking for all the world like she was ready to challenge the big eighth-grade boys in the back of the one-room schoolhouse. Her dress was sweated through at the neck and down nearly to the waist in a vee-shape between her high, beautiful breasts. The big boys would be forgetting what they were in trouble about, right about now.
Desire knifed through him, even stronger than the anger had been. What was happening to him? He was losing his grip. No other human being had so much as nearly touched any of his emotions for many moons now. Yet he was letting the Widow Sloane jerk him from one end of the row to the other. This had to stop.
“Hm,” he said, pulling the wheel off into his hands, “a teacher. Where’s your school?”
“It’ll be built next spring, or we’ll hold it in my house. I can make it through the winter without a salary.”
That last didn’t sound quite as sure as the first.
“Maybe not after you pay me back for fixing your wheel.”
She startled a little at that, but covered it nicely.
“Don’t try to change the subject on me,” she said. “Where’d you have that horse and saddle stashed?”
Then it really hit her.
“And those tools!”
She went to his horse and lifted one of the saddle bags.
“You’ve got ten pounds of hardware in here and ten more there on the ground,” she said. “Don’t even try to tell me you made the Run with all that slowing you down. You’re a Sooner, aren’t you?”
He stood up and went to get the wheel rim. “Do you think I’d admit to that? And if I did, what would you do? Challenge my claim at the Land Office?”
She narrowed her big green eyes and stared at him from between thick rows of curling auburn lashes that hid her thoughts as well as a mask would’ve. It was her eyes that always betrayed her deep feelings. That face, with its turned-up nose and lush, strong mouth, could belong to a champion poker player, that was certain sure.
“That’d be right ungrateful of me, now, wouldn’t it?” she said. “That’s probably your reason for being such a Helpful Henry. I just now realized it.”
“Hey, little lady,” he said, leaning the rim and wheel against the side of the wagon, “you’re the one always trying not to be obligated. I haven’t asked for any payment.”
She gave him an even harder look.
“Don’t be calling me ‘little lady’. My name is Callie. Or … Mrs. Sloane, if you prefer.”
“Callie.”
“Yes. Short for Calladonia.”
“I’m Nick.”
“Well,” she said sarcastically, “Nick’s not quite so run-of-the-mill. I was expecting Tom or Joe or Bill or Jim, Mr. Smith.”
“The Smith’s real.”
“Well, then, what am I going to owe you when you get my wheel fixed, Mr. Nick Smith?”
A kiss. One kiss from those lush red lips …
He slapped that thought away.
“You can pay me back tonight,” he said.
Her eyes opened wide. She must’ve mind-read his first, unspoken answer.
“Tonight?”
“We need to watch each other’s backs tonight, here on the border between our land. There’ll be plenty of claim-jumpers prowling around.”
“All night?”
He nodded. “I doubt they’ll have any rules about what time they can backshoot a man … uh, a person.”
“But that certainly wouldn’t be proper,” she said. “I’m a … I have no husband. You’re … unmarried, I assume.”
“That’s right. But hard times make strange bedfellows, I’ve always heard.”
There it was again—that flicker of shocked surprise in her big, green eyes.
“I hardly think we’ll be bedfellows”
She was using her teacher voice again, prim and proper.
He couldn’t resist teasing her a little.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, “we’re liable to doze off along about mornin’, after such a hard day as we’ve had.”
“I do know. We will not.”
Nickajack chuckled and gavé a little shrug.
“We’ll see.”
Her fists went back to her hips, then she took a step
toward him.
“Now, Mr. Smith, I intend to be the schoolteacher for this part of the country, and I can’t have it said that …”
He held up a hand to hush her.
“Don’t come unwound on me, Callie. Nobody knows us tonight. Nobody’ll know where well sleep or whether we will. Nobody cares. Besides, there’ll be plenty of neighbors camped on their common borders tonight.”
He took a step toward her and looked her straight in the eye.
“If you aim to prove up a claim like a man, then there’s times you have to forget you’re a woman,” he said. “You’re a homesteader now.”
As always, she didn’t miss the implication.
“So you’ve given up on trying to buy me out? You realize that I’m going to hold down this claim no matter what may happen?”
Such gratitude, such a … vindication, appeared in her eyes that he couldn’t help but bask in it. For some reason, his opinion meant something to her. A whole new warmth moved through him.
He couldn’t summon the strength to contradict her.
“Baxter and his kind’ll multiply in the dark, since nobody’s claim is registered yet,” he said.
She put one hand to her throat.
“I hate to admit it, but Baxter did throw a fright into me,” she said. “He … well, he’s too wild-eyed. He may not be quite right in the head.”
“Could be. He didn’t scare much.” He felt his lips curve in a grin. “But then, neither did you.”
She grinned back and it was a wonderful sight, with her wide, luscious mouth. Her smile was bright as sun on a signal mirror.
“And I’m not sure if I’m right in the head, agreeing to turn my back on you in the dark.”
Her voice held a teasing tone that drew him like a warm fire in winter. He teased her back.
“You said I was no gentleman, but do you take me for a man with no honor at all?”
“We-e-ll, that remains to be seen. My main worry is not my virtue but my breath, since you want me gone so badly,” she said, with a little grin. “Or at least, you did. What if you’re only pretending to accept me as your neighbor?”
“The black marks on my reputation have never included shooting a woman in the back,” he said, smiling, holding her gaze. “I’ll even furnish you with a gun that works, so we’ll be on level ground.”
That made her laugh out loud. She had a hearty laugh that surprised him, since there was sadness deep in her eyes.
“Level ground is exactly right,” she said, glancing around her at the prairie. “I’ve never seen such level ground.”
Some of the sadness had crept into her voice. He felt an urgent need to cheer her, to hold onto the warmth of their jesting.
“Anyhow, I’m the one who ought to be worried about turning my back,” he said. “You’re the one who’s already taken a shot at me.”
She narrowed her eyes and threw his own words back at him in a fair imitation of his own voice.
“Damn straight I’m mean, and don’t you forget it.”
That made him laugh, too. She was a good mimic.
When she was being playful, she was beautiful. Not beautiful in that tall, sleek, dark-haired, majestic way that Matilda had been beautiful, but beautiful in her spirit. She was as different from Matilda as a honeysuckle blossom from a rose. A blood-red rose, as it happened.
They stopped laughing at the same moment because he tensed and turned to look to the south. He’d heard hoofbeats.
“What? What is it?”
He shook his head and held up his hand for quiet.
“Riders coming,” he said, when he was sure. “Two horses.”
Amazement in her eyes, she stared at him.
“I don’t hear anything but the wind.”
“You’ll have to learn to hear if you stay.”
A flash of hurt and then anger crossed her face.
“I’m staying. You can count on that, Nick Smith. Before I’m done with the Cherokee Strip, every pig you see will be wearing a hat.”
That made him laugh again. He might as well laugh as cry or throw rocks, because this woman plainly intended to stick here. At least for now. She and the two riding toward them, and hundreds of others besides.
He spoke to her straight.
“If these riders stop here,” he said, “don’t breathe a word about water.”
He went to his horse, drew the long gun from its saddle scabbard, and stood in the shade of the wagon to wait. Callie walked to her stack of belongings and pulled out a cast-iron skillet. He tried, but he couldn’t keep from smiling a little.
“Your new weapon?”
“Don’t laugh,” she said. “Unlike the gun, I know this will work.”
“You’d have to get mighty close to a man to hit him with it.”
“That’s your job,” she said. “You distract him. Or them, if this is Baxter and his brother.”
He shook his head at the determined look on her face. God help her, out here by herself.
“I can see right now I’ll have to get you a gun.”
He held up his hand for silence when she opened her mouth.
“No obligation. A loan, only a loan. You can cook my supper tonight for payment.”
The visitors proved to be a man and a woman on separate horses, with a child up in front of the woman. They rode in a straight line toward Callie’s wagon, so they obviously did intend to stop.
“A woman!” Callie said. “Oh, I hope they’re our neighbors.”
Nick’s gut tightened. She’d better not be telling the other woman everything she knew.
“Remember not to mention my spring.”
She cut her eyes at him as her only answer before she laid her skillet down and walked out to meet the new people. Damn his flapping tongue! It had been totally unlike him to let slip his source of water to her in the first place.
“Hello, there, Sir, Missus,” the man called. “We’re your neighbors to the south. Our name is Peck.”
He had a mellow voice with an educated tone to it. In that way, at least, he was not another lout like Baxter. And as any man with any manners would do, he was looking at Nick, politely speaking to the man of the place instead of to a woman he’d never met. Miss Callie, however, took it upon herself to reply.
“Welcome, neighbors, come on in and get down.”
Damn! She didn’t have to say that!
The Pecks immediately accepted both invitations.
“Cool a bit and rest awhile,” she babbled on, as if this were her place instead of his. “I’m Callie Sloane, and this is Nick Smith.”
If only she’d keep quiet about the water, all this hospitality would be fine.
“I’m Jacob Peck,” the man said, going to the other horse and lifting the child to the ground, then helping the woman dismount. “This is my wife, Sophronia, and our little girl, Hope.”
Callie instantly engaged the woman and child in conversation while Peck strode purposefully to Nick with his hand outstretched.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Smith,” he boomed.
He had a firm handshake and a direct, honest look in his eye which, under other circumstances, would have caused Nick to like him well enough. Now he wished the man right back where he came from.
“So you’re one of the lucky ones,” he said, nearly choking on the words. “You got a claim.”
“Well, I suppose it remains to be seen whether that’s lucky or not,” Jacob Peck said heartily.
Nick smiled a bit in spite of himself.
“That’s a common sense remark.”
“Common sense and the good Lord will carry us through,” Peck said. “And good neighbors. That’s why we’re here.”
Oh, great. A regular social animal.
“I was just taking off this wagon wheel,” Nick said, gesturing toward the wagon, hoping to discourage a long visit.
Peck evidently was a generous man, too. He turned and looked at the work.
“Need a hand?” he asked. “I’d be gla
d to give you some help with it.”
“No. Thanks anyway.”
“Do you have enough water to soak it to get the rim back on?”
What a busybody! And what a loudmouth! He’d spoken loud enough to stop the women’s conversation. Nick held his breath at what Callie might say.
“Mr. Smith is being good enough to help me,” she said, strolling over to join them with Mrs. Peck and the child in tow. “This is his claim right here, where my rig broke down, and that next quarter-section over to the east is mine.”
Nick’s gut tightened. That was what came of having the world full of people—feeling the need to explain things which were nobody else’s business.
Mr. Peck turned, smiled at her and tipped his hat.
“Will your husband be joining you soon, ma’am?”
“I’m a widow, sir,” she said.
“Well, we wish you all the best with proving up your claim, ma’am,” he said. “Please don’t hesitate to send to us if you need help. Our claim is the one directly south of yours.”
Mrs. Peck was beaming at Callie.
“I’m so glad you’ll be near us, Mrs. Sloane,” she said. “It’s so nice to have another woman in visiting distance.”
“Come by any time,” Mr. Peck said. “Our latchstring is always out.”
“And mine,” Callie said eagerly. “Please don’t pass by without stopping.”
Foolish girl. She didn’t know the first thing about these people.
Nick threw her a sharp glance. She’d better not try to include him in this neighborhood social club, and none of them had better be dropping by his cabin.
“Mama,” the little girl piped up, “where’s the water?”
“We don’t know yet, dear.”
“I’m thirsty.”
Nick stared hard at Callie’s profile, willing her to look at him. Stubbornly, she wouldn’t.
“Papa has the canteen on his horse. Come with me and I’ll give you a drink.”
Thank goodness, these people really did have common sense. But Callie couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie.
“Oh, no,” she said, “you may need your water on the way back. This heat is so fierce.”
He set his jaw and waited, helpless. The only thing worse than this makeshift, neighborly homesteaders social would be dozens of them camped at his spring.
The Renegades: Nick Page 4