The Cattleman Meets His Match

by Sherri Shackelford

  John placed his gloved hand over hers. “I’m keeping you safe.”

  She felt the warmth of his fingers. His touch was firm and weighty, comforting. Her body swayed toward his strength. She snatched away her hand. There was no use growing accustomed to something fleeting.

  Swallowing hard against her potent feelings, she avoided his gaze. “Are you going to help us or not?”

  “The first sign of trouble and I’m putting a stop to this crazy stunt. Is that a deal?”

  Her lips parted in surprise. “I—”

  “Cover your ears.”

  Moira was still staring in confusion when he let out an earsplitting whistle. The cattle picked up their heads. The biggest, a dappled red bull who’d been staring her down all morning took a resigned step forward. The old moocher tossed a baleful glare over one enormous shoulder. Moira stuck out her tongue.

  Once their leader set off, the others soon followed. First, one ambled forward, then another and another. Soon, like a great rumbling train they formed a line, moving together three to five abreast. The flank swung toward Moira. John nudged his horse toward her and pointed.

  “Move ahead. They’re used to this. Don’t get too close. Stay within ten or twenty feet. That’s enough. Give the horse his head, he’ll do all the work for you. It’s his job. He’s been trained by the best.”

  A wicked grin tipped up the corner of his mouth.

  “Trained by the best, you say?” Moira noted his proud nod. “And who would that be? One of your older brothers?”

  His expression shuttered and she instantly regretted her teasing. He’d helped them out and she’d rewarded his assistance with an insult. She hadn’t meant...what did it matter? He’d taken her prodding the wrong way and she had only herself to blame.

  He tipped his hat. “Keep this pace. I’ll stick with you for a spell. Once you’re started, I’ll check on the others.”

  Moira let slack in the reins. The horse maintained a steady distance from the cattle. Their hooves kicked up dust, rumbling the ground beneath their feet.

  “They’re moving!” Moira shouted over the thunder of hoofbeats. “Can you see that? They’re actually moving. We did that.”

  He appeared completely oblivious to their remarkable accomplishment.

  She reached out and yanked on John’s sleeve. “We’re doing it, don’t you see? We’re actually making this happen!”

  Their gazes clashed and her breath lodged in her throat. The space between them sparked with emotion. The air crystallized around her, full of promise and renewal. For a moment anything seemed possible. More than that, everything seemed possible.

  He reached in his saddlebag and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. “Take these.”

  “Is that your only pair?”

  “The only extra.”

  “Thank you.”

  Moira reached across the distance and accepted the gloves. John held the halter of her horse as she awkwardly tugged the enormous gloves over her fingers. She’d give them to Tony first thing. She’d have asked John to pass them on, but she had a feeling her request would put him in an awkward situation. He couldn’t outfit them all and pointing out the shortfall only exposed their weaknesses.

  They’d scrounged up the bandannas that morning and managed hats for everyone save Moira.

  She set her chin in a stubborn line. They’d take care of themselves. “And thank you for coming back.”

  “You won’t be thanking me for long. This isn’t going to be easy.”

  “You think it’s been easy for those girls up to this point?”

  John tossed her a sharp glance. “I don’t suppose it has.”

  “I’m betting they’re tougher than they look.”

  “What about you, Miss Moira O’Mara? Are you up to the challenge?”

  Moira thought of the endless hours of rolling cigars. The pungent scent of tobacco that permeated her clothes and hair and leached its way beneath her very fingernails. The pads of her fingers had been perpetually darkened, perpetually calloused. The work was easy. Monotonous. And it gave her too much time for thinking. Too much time for thinking how nice it would be without the infernal tick, tick, tick of Mr. Gifford’s watch. He’d fill the presses with the completed cigars at each interval, and if a space remained empty, some punishment was meted out. Sometimes it was no break, sometimes no dinner.

  Moira shook off the memories. “I know a thing or two about hard work.”

  Her answer must have mollified him because he lapsed into the silence. A familiar silence that once again gave her too much time for thinking.

  When she’d gone to the Giffords’, she’d thought she was stepping into a dream. At first she’d thought their fortunes had improved. But it had all been a distortion. The Giffords were just another false facade. Once the doors closed, the beautiful picture had blackened. They were all pretending, pretending to be something they weren’t.

  It was exhausting keeping up appearances.

  Moira glanced around her. Out here everything was stripped away, elemental. There were no rocks, no trees to cower behind. There was just wind and brush and miles of nothing. She was dirtier than she’d ever been. Her hair needed a good washing and soon she was bound to attract as many flies as the cattle. The primitive conditions liberated her soul. No false fronts here. This was survival, pure and simple.

  John’s question hung in the air between them. Are you up to the challenge? Moira squinted into the distance. Tony waved and Moira sketched a hesitant wave in return. A sudden ache squeezed her heart. Developing a relationship with the girls wasn’t wise. Who knew what the future held for any of them? After they sold the cattle, they’d be scattered like spring blossoms in the wind. The closer they grew, the more difficult the parting. She’d use her age as a barrier and hold herself apart.

  John’s expression turned grim as he watched the play of emotions on her face. “Surviving in the city is still different than making it in the country.”

  “At least out here you know the enemy.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s easier to hide among people. Easier to put up a false front. Out here there’s no hiding.”

  “There’s nothing to hide behind, that’s for certain.” He swept his arm in a wide arc. “What about you? Are you hiding from something?”

  “Disappointment, I suppose.”

  He was far too perceptive for his own good. Moira recalled an advertisement seen in the St. Louis train station. A tableau featuring a handsome, suited father holding open a book while his equally perfect family gathered around him. Those folks only existed in pencil drawings. Back in that old cow town, in the bottom of her leather bag, she kept the picture she’d sketched from the advertisement. She couldn’t get the image out of her mind. She wanted that picture. She wanted those relaxed smiles. When she pictured Tommy, it was like picturing that perfect life. She’d have a dress that touched the floor and didn’t show any ankle. A dress she’d pick out herself for once. A dress that no one else had ever worn. A pair of boots that fit right and didn’t need papers stuck in the toe.

  “Hey,” the cowboy interrupted her thoughts. “Forget I said anything. We’re all disappointed in something. This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting either.”

  Moira forced an easy grin. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out for you.”

  She’d been shortsighted. Caught up in her own survival. She hadn’t given his predicament much thought and he’d lost as much as the rest of them. More even. More because he had more to lose. Since he had a home, she’d convinced herself he wasn’t suffering. A selfish oversight on her part. He deserved compassion and sympathy as much as any one of the girls.

  The cowboy rested his wrist on his saddle horn. “Nothing ever turns out the way we picture. Sometimes it’s better and someti
mes it’s worse. Right now I’m going to see it through.”

  “I guess that’s fair.”

  He halted his horse and caught her mount by the bridle. “I don’t regret the past twenty-four hours. No matter what happens, no matter what I said before. I’m glad it was me in that alley. It terrifies me when I think of all the ways that could have gone wrong.”

  Her head throbbed. She hadn’t known it until that moment, but she’d needed to hear his confession. He might resent the situation, but he didn’t resent them—the girls and Moira.

  “You’re good to say so.”

  “It’s true.”

  He released the bridle and her horse shied away. “If I’d have known how things were going to turn out, I’d have taken a bath before I left yesterday. I’d give anything to feel clean again,” she said.

  “You’re cleaner than Wendell, that’s for certain.”

  Moira gave a ruthless laugh. “His hair was held to his head with dirt and grease. I bet if he gave it a good washing, it’d all fall out.”

  “He’d probably look better.”

  Moira jerked her chin toward Tony. “You should check on the others.”

  “Sure. Keep the flank in line. Remember what I said, let your mount do the work. Signal if you have trouble.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t get too close. The horns are lethal.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And don’t—”

  “Enough,” Moira cried. “We’ll be in Canada before you finish this lecture.”

  Looking sheepish, John tipped his hat once more and kicked his horse into a canter. “I’ll be back around.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  She watched his progress, feeling the loss of his company. Sun sparked off the Snake River in the distance and Moira shivered. If she didn’t screw up her courage for the next test, the whole drive was doomed.

  She’d never found the right moment to admit that crossing the river terrified her.

  * * *

  “Well, Mr. Elder,” Tony said, lifting the brim of her leather hat. “Looks like we’ve reached our first test.”

  The ground sloped beneath his horse’s hooves, driving them inexorably downward toward the riverbed. “That sure didn’t take long.”

  John had circled around the herd, checking on each girl in turn. Despite his worst fears, they handled themselves well. All the while, he kept thinking of Moira’s obvious joy when they’d started the herd moving that morning. He’d never seen such elation from such a simple task. They hadn’t saved the world. They hadn’t done anything really. He’d whistled and the cattle had done what they’d been doing for the past several weeks. Champion nipped at their heels, spurring them into action, just as the animal had been trained. Nothing very special. The cattle responded by habit, following each other nose to tail.

  Yet the simple task had lit Moira’s face as though he’d given her a new pony on Christmas morning.

  She remained at the center of his attention, the enchanting freckles scattered like buckshot over her cheeks and nose.

  Near as he could tell, he’d gotten outwitted because he let her. At least that’s what he was telling himself. Sparring with Moira left him invigorated, rejuvenated.

  He fisted his left hand and braced his knuckles against his thigh. Over the past few weeks he’d forgotten how much he loved riding the trail, how much he relished the freedom and the untamed spaces. Not that he didn’t enjoy modern conveniences. He liked staying in town just as much as the next fellow. He was looking forward to having his own house. To building his own ranch.

  Once he had his own cowhands, he’d see things were done his way.

  Tony snapped her fingers. “Are you listening?”

  John started. “What were you saying?”

  She indicated a spot along the riverbank. “That’s the pile of rocks we left to mark the shallowest passage.”

  He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He’d get them all killed if he didn’t stay focused. “You already scouted the crossing?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll take the lead across with you. After the first half of the herd makes it, I’ll circle back around and check the flanks. If one of the cattle gets into trouble, don’t go near it. They’ll thrash about and you risk getting killed.”

  “Okay.”

  “Keep an eye out for strays. Even with the rain we had yesterday, the river is shallow. The cattle are accustomed to the routine by now, but one or two of them still might balk. Let me know if you run into trouble. Don’t push them, though. Let Champion and me handle that.”

  “Mr. Elder,” Tony said, her cheeks flush with excitement. “If you don’t quit talking, we’ll still be here come next spring.”

  John sheepishly tugged on his ear. “I’ll lead the way.”

  “This’ll be easier than roping a penned calf.”

  A half grin lifted the corner of his mouth. He’d expected a lot of things. He’d expected uncertainty and caution. He hadn’t expected the overwhelming excitement and enthusiasm. Their eager anticipation of the adventure reminded him of his first cattle drive. How long ago had that been? Seemed like forever since he’d been young.

  Tony kicked off beside him and together they splashed into the river. John’s horse slipped for the first few steps, then caught its footing. As the chill water gushed into his boots, he hissed in a breath. The nights were cooler up north, and the river’s chill temperature brought the tale. He hadn’t much time before the first frost.

  A splash sounded behind him and he followed the rumbling progress of his finest bull. A great beast of an animal with a mean temper and an insatiable appetite. If John made it as far as Cimarron Springs, this bull was his best asset. As the animal pushed ahead, unhampered by the rushing water, he tamped down his fears.

  Behind the bull, the first line of cattle followed without a hitch and John blew out a sigh of relief. Tony had positioned herself opposite him in the river, keeping the funnel of cattle narrow and contained. He pointed to an outcropping of brush trees in the distance. “Head toward that point. Sarah can take up your position. I’ll catch up with you once we’ve gotten the whole herd across.”

  Tony grinned. “Have we passed your test yet?”

  “Not hardly.”

  “I take that as a challenge.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  He rounded back and took note of Sarah’s position on the left flank. She’d reined her horse into the river where the water met the animal’s belly. A moment of pride flashed in his chest. She’d positioned herself perfectly, and without any direction from him. She’d done it on intuition.

  The right flank had bulged with the cattle wandering out of line. One particularly lazy beast had paused in the middle of river and lapped at the water.

  John and his mount fought their way against the tide and urged the beast into motion. Once corrected, the others followed. He kept watch on their progress for a few moments more, then searched for Moira.

  She remained on the bank. Champion danced around the legs of her horse, tracking the cattle, nipping at their heels and skirting away from their horns. For the next few minutes he marveled at how well everything was proceeding. The girls were green, but they had good instincts. Tony kept the lead cattle moving northeast and Sarah kept the water crossing manageable.

  With only a few dozen cattle on the opposite bank. Darcy, the drag man, appeared near the shore.

  John flagged her. “Move ahead and keep the right flank steady.”

  She offered a distracted nod in return.

  He caught Moira’s attention. “You and Darcy will be the last ones across. You want me to stay?”

  “No. We’re fine. You keep up with Tony.”

  A slight hit
ch in her voice caught his attention. “Are you certain?”

  “We’re plenty capable, Mr. Elder. It’s not like I’m afraid of a little water.”

  Chapter Eight

  Terrified was more like it.

  Moira glanced down and her whole body trembled. Her horse, sensing her unease, remained stock-still. Champion barked and nipped at the heels of the last remaining cattle on the shore.

  Moira pressed a hand against her roiling stomach. The cattle were crossing. Tony was a dot in the distance. Sarah and Mr. Elder moved up the line of cattle, letting their numbers increase to four and five abreast once they reached the top of the riverbank.

  Darcy lifted her head. “My feet are freezing from this water. It’s your turn. I’ll meet you on shore.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Darcy and her mount splashed through the water, emerging from the icy river on the far side.

  Her heart pounding, Moira kneed her mount deeper. The animal waded in until the water seeped through the seams of her boots. Moira sucked in a breath at the icy chill. No wonder Darcy had wanted dry land.

  Though the reins remained slack in her hands, her mount drove through the current. Moira kept her eyes plastered on the horizon. Rushing water pulled at her boots, sucking her skirts around the horse’s belly.

  White-hot terror shot through her veins. Her limbs paralyzed and she remained frozen. The horse paused. Moira squeezed her knees and dug her heels into its flanks. “Keep moving.”

  Her mount moved a few lengths forward and stopped once more.

  Moira groaned and glanced around her. John Elder had trained his horses well. Too well. The animal wasn’t budging until the last bull climbed out of the water. Unless she wanted to swim the distance, she was stuck.

  Champion nipped the final two heads of cattle into the water and splashed in beside them. Keeping its head above water, the dog surged past her toward the opposite shore.

  Even as the glacial chill invaded her limbs, Moira broke out in a cold sweat. It felt as though the river was pulling at her, desperately trying to tug her under.