The Cattleman Meets His Match

by Sherri Shackelford

  Her horse took a step forward and every muscle in her body tightened. Moira gripped the saddle horn with both hands and hunched her back. The water surged along her thighs. Fear pumped through her veins, blinding her vision.

  For a moment she worried she’d lose control, scream or cry or burst into a thousand pieces. She dug her heels into the horse’s flanks once more. If John Elder saw her now, he’d know her weakness, her fear. If he realized her terror, he’d have a weapon against her. A reason to call a halt to the cattle drive.

  She caught sight of Darcy waiting on the shore. She hadn’t much farther. As the water rose around her, a tangle of mane hair swirled around her fingers. As she came abreast of Darcy, the girl leaned over and adjusted her foot in her stirrup. Her hat tumbled from her head, landing in the shallow water near the shore.

  The cows rumbled past, stirring the water. Darcy reached out. A wave lapped at the brim, carrying the hat beneath the belly of an enormous bull.

  Darcy cried out. “Grab my hat. It’s going right past you!”

  Moira peeled her fingers from around the saddle horn. The brim bobbed along the water just out of reach. She leaned forward.

  Darcy huffed. “Reach for it! I haven’t got a spare.”

  Moira stretched out her hand and touched the brim. Her mount slipped in the muddy embankment. She shrieked and groped for the saddle horn. Her fingers, stiff with cold, missed their purchase. The rushing water reached her shoulders and drew her beneath the dark surface.

  Moira surged upward, gasping and sputtering. Her right leg slipped over the saddle while her left foot remained caught in the stirrup. Her stomach churned with terror and frustration. Reaching for her ankle, suffocating waves lapped over her head.

  Panic scattered her thoughts. She flailed her arms and arched her back. For a brief moment her face breached the surface. She caught Darcy’s horrified expression, the space between them separated by a dozen cattle, their lethal horns clicking together as they slipped up the embankment, falling to their knees and rising again in a powerful heave of muscles.

  There was no way for Darcy to reach her. Not before the water pulled her under once more.

  Moira kicked out and caught her horse’s right flank. The animal started into motion, dragging her toward the shore.

  Her boot slipped off and her foot sprang free. She thrashed her arms and felt for the bottom. The current snatched at her, dragging her into deeper water. She sucked in a mouthful of water. Gagging and coughing as her head bobbed.

  The water closed around her, blurring her vision. Her heart thumped erratically as though clinging to the last vestiges of life.

  She realized with a sudden clarity that she was going to die. She was going to drown before they even crossed the Snake River.

  * * *

  John had already started back when he heard the panicked shouts. Blood hammering in his ears, he kicked his horse into a gallop and found Darcy frantically pointing toward Moira’s riderless horse.

  “She’s over there!” Darcy shouted. “She went under.”

  He urged his horse toward the water’s edge and searched beneath the murky surface.

  A tangle of brilliant red hair floated on the water. He slid from his mount and struggled toward the beacon. Reaching beneath the surface, he caught hold of Moira’s limp body, then locked his arms around her waist and hauled her toward the embankment. She was heavier than when he’d held her before. The skirts of her waterlogged dress had nearly doubled her weight.

  He clumsily made his way over the muddy shore and laid her on dry ground. She whimpered and spread her arms akimbo like a carelessly tossed rag doll. Her eyes remained half-open, dull and unresponsive. Icy fear twisted around his heart.

  She coughed and gasped and her body spasmed. John sagged at the glorious sound. Crouching beside her, he slipped his hands behind her neck and turned her head aside, letting her expel the water she’d swallowed. When the retching calmed, he eased her head on his bent knee. Her mass of snarled red hair soaked his trousers.

  He brushed the sodden strands from her forehead and rested the back of his hand against her cool skin. Her face remained ashen. She moaned, her body trembling.

  Darcy hovered over them, her hand over her mouth.

  John searched the horizon. “Ride ahead and tell Tony what’s happened, then fetch the wagon. We’ll need a fire and warm blankets.”

  Darcy looked as though she might say something, then appeared to change her mind. She whirled and grasped the reins of her mount.

  Moira’s head lolled to one side and she puffed a weak breath. He lifted her into his embrace and she shivered violently.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she coughed. “I’m all right now.”

  “Then you can walk back?”

  She struggled partly upright and he pressed a gentle hand against her shoulder. “I was only teasing.”

  A bloom of color appeared on her cheeks. “I can’t swim.”

  “I gathered as much.”

  She tugged limply on the buttons of her borrowed coat, the material plastered against her body, swollen with moisture and uncooperative against her fingers, nearly blue with cold.

  He brushed her hands aside. “Let me help.”

  Together they worked her arms from the sodden sleeves. She sat upright and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her bent knees, her teeth chattering. He shrugged out of his slickers and draped the heavy material around her shoulders.

  She pulled one of the edges tighter together and trembled. “You were right, you know.”

  “About what?”

  “I didn’t even it make it twenty yards.”

  The woeful note in her voice tugged at something in his chest. “Actually, you managed about twenty-two yards.”

  She offered a weak chuckle.

  Searching for kindling, he scratched in the dirt beneath the scrub trees lining the bank. “You’re not the first person to fall in the river during a trail drive. My brother Matt once got his pant leg caught in some brush. Had to cut him out of his britches. Let me tell you, with six brothers, you never want to be caught in your drawers.”

  Moira rubbed her cheek against her bent knee. “I bet you never let him live that down.”

  “No. We did not.”

  He discovered the charred end of a log as big around as his leg. Considering this was the shallowest part of the river, it didn’t surprise him that others had crossed here before. Other folks had obviously rested and warmed themselves here before pushing onward.

  After gathering an armful of twigs and tinder, he removed a tin of matches from his breast pocket and struck a flame against the base. Some of the grass was partially green, sending up more smoke than flames. He got down on his hands and knees and blew at the spot till the embers glowed.

  Shivering, Moira scooted nearer the fire. Without asking he kneeled beside her and gathered her against his chest. At that moment warmth was more important than manners and propriety. He held her stiffly, shielding her from a bitter wind that had kicked up as the day progressed. She relaxed into his embrace and he savored the feel of her in his arms. Tipping her head against his shoulder, her breath whispered in a sigh. His heartbeat pitched.

  He chafed her upper arms and his fingers caught in a tangle of drenched hair. He wound the strands around his palm and wrung the moisture. With painstaking care he repeated the process on the rest of the soaking mass. Her eyes fluttered closed, her eyelashes casting soft shadows against her cheeks.

  His perusal drifted toward her lips. This close, he could count each uneven freckle dusting her face. He noted how they were darker on the delightfully rounded tip of her nose and lighter as they flared over the pink apples of her cheeks.

  He’d never been a man easily turned by a pretty face. He admired a beautiful woma
n as much as the next man, but he’d never felt the need to wax on like he’d heard other fellows. Studying Moira, he wished he had more words. More of the flowery descriptors he’d scoffed at in school.

  He knew if he tried to put his thoughts to paper with pen and ink, he’d never do her justice.

  A splash sounded, jerking him back to the present. Their horses had wandered nearer the river, snuffling along the bank and drinking the crisp water.

  John cleared his throat and leaned back, putting some space between them, breaking whatever hold she had on his wayward thoughts. He pushed off from his knee and stood, then reached out a hand. She grasped his fingers, her own icy cold. He clasped them tighter, offering what bit of comfort he could.

  “What happened to your gloves?”

  She tugged on her hand, but he held firm.

  “I lent them to Tony.” Her voice was husky from her ordeal. “She’s the only one of us who knows how to rope. She needed them more.”

  He flipped her palm over in his hand and rubbed his thumb along the raised marks, the skin abraded from working the reins. She curled her fingers into a fist.

  All of the doubts he harbored about the cattle drive and his unlikely crew came rushing back. “Your hands are too delicate.”

  “They’re not. They’re rough and chapped. Not a lady’s hands at all.”

  They both turned toward the sound of hoofbeats. Sarah reined her horse before them. “Is everything all right? Darcy said there’d been an accident.”

  Moira moved away from him, her steps halting. “I took a tumble into the water. It was my own fault.”

  John touched her elbow lightly, ensuring she was steady on her feet before putting some distance between them.

  Sarah wasn’t the best rider of the bunch. Not the worst, either. She appeared more comfortable in the saddle already. “Did you find the wagon?” Moira asked.

  “We’ve caught up with them. We’re having some trouble with the cattle, though. They scattered after crossing the river and we can’t get ’em all back together. They’ve separated into two groups.”

  Moira plucked at her limp skirts. “You ride on and help, Mr. Elder. I’ll stay here for a spell. See if I can dry out some more.”

  “I can’t. You know that. I can’t risk your safety. What if something happens?”

  “It’s only for a half an hour or so.”

  “In a half an hour you fell off your horse and nearly drowned in the river.”

  She tossed her head and gave an irritable tug at her damp hair. “It’s not like I’m going to run afoul of anyone. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  Leaving her all alone didn’t sit right with him. “You’ll get lost catching up.”

  “Really?” Moira gestured in a sweeping motion with one arm. “I can see halfway to Fort Preble. Don’t know how I’d get lost.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Then leave Champion. He’ll keep watch.”

  “What if you don’t put out the fire properly and you start a brushfire.”

  Moira lifted an eyebrow. “What? And ruin all this beautiful scenery?”

  John scowled.

  “It rained yesterday. It’s not like we’re in a drought.”

  She shivered and he realized she wasn’t moving until he agreed. “I will build up the fire and leave you for precisely—” He fished out his pocket watch. “One hour. If you’re not caught up, I’m sending someone back.”

  Moira’s gaze remained transfixed on the pocket watch. She swallowed convulsively and jerked her head in a curt nod. He tucked his watch away and she appeared to relax.

  The exchange was odd, leaving him uncertain. While he gathered more brush and stoked the flames, Moira removed her boot and stretched her stocking feet toward the heat. She wiggled her toes and leaned back on her elbows.

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m certain.”

  He glanced at her askance, relieved her earlier wariness hadn’t returned. “One hour.”

  “Yes, you mentioned that. One hour and you’re sending a search party.”

  She closed her eyes, effectively dismissing him. He gazed into the distance, content there wasn’t anything in sight except a few stray cattle and a couple of wild gobblers in the distance. He didn’t see how anyone, even Miss Moira O’Mara, could possibly stir up trouble in this desolate environment.

  * * *

  Moira scrunched her hem beneath her fingers, feeling only a slight dampness. They’d set the fire well away from the cattle, though she didn’t figure anything would spook those beasts. She heard the occasional whoops and hollers as the rest of the group rounded up the strays.

  Her stockings were suspended by a stick she’d rigged near the fire. They weren’t quite dry, but it appeared as though the rest of the team needed help gathering the herd once more. Champion’s perpetual barking drifted over the wind. The dog returned occasionally, as though assuring itself of her safety, then darted off again.

  The few cattle lingering near the river’s edge wore perpetual expressions of boredom, with only the occasional grunt of discontent.

  Darcy urged her horse into a trot and approached the fire, her expression glum. “I asked you to fetch my hat, not get yourself drowned.”

  “You’re welcome,” Moira replied with a wry grin. “Glad you appreciate the effort.”

  Darcy tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Are you dry yet? I’m tired of the drag. And there’s still a couple of strays by the river.”

  Moira had been huddled before the warming fire for a mere twenty minutes. Despite the cowboy’s gentle wringing, her hair dripped down her back and she had only one boot. She’d lost the other in the river.

  She glanced at Darcy’s sulky expression and back at the cheery flames. “I’m ready. I’ll take over.”

  “Good. I’m tired of taking your turn.” Darcy appeared almost triumphant as she galloped toward the line of cattle in the distance.

  “Seems like your head is big enough to keep your hat on tight,” Moira grumbled.

  She doused the fire with three canteens full of water and kicked additional dirt over the embers, then doused them again. Heaven forbid a brushfire ignite the fresh grass. The cowboy would never let her live that down. She grappled onto her horse and glanced behind her.

  A calf munched grass on the edge of the river. The animal was mottled a deep russet and red, with the darker color more pronounced around the head and shoulders haunches. Moira spurred her mount closer. Champion appeared once more and barked and bounced around the animal’s legs. After a disgruntled snort, the calf lumbered up the embankment.

  The calf labored and slipped, falling onto its forelegs with a bawl of distress.

  Moira squinted into the distance. By the time she asked for the help, the poor animal would only dig itself deeper.

  Champion splashed through the water, barking and nipping at the calf’s hind legs.

  The calf’s eyes grew large, the whites showing stark against the red fur around its face. The animal brayed and snorted.

  As the dog nipped at its hooves, the calf grew more agitated, thrashing from side to side. “Shoo,” Moira ordered. “Give her some space, Champion.”

  She slipped off her horse and stumbled down the embankment. Moira pressed her palm against the animal’s haunches and pushed. Though the calf was young, it still weighed several hundred pounds. Her feeble efforts were useless. “Easy there, big fellow. It’s going to be all right.”

  Another animal appeared on the horizon. An enormous cow towered on the bank, flipping its head up and down and shaking the folds along its neck. The animal bawled, a lonesome sound that sent a shiver down Moira’s spine.

  “Go on, get up there,” Moira urged the calf.

  The cow at the t
op of the embankment lowered its head and snuffed. One sharp hoof pawed at the loose red soil.

  A shot of fear skittered down Moira’s spine. “You must be Mama. Well, Mama, tell your baby not to worry. We’re going to get him out of here.”

  The mother threw back her head and bellowed.

  Moira slid farther down the muddy embankment. She fought through the muck and braced her hands against the calf’s backside.

  “Keep moving before your mama decides to come down and fetch you herself. Then you’ll both be stuck.”

  The animal thrashed, kicking up mud and spattering Moira’s already-damp dress. She brushed a smear of mud from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Thatta boy, keep it up.”

  Two things happened almost simultaneously. The calf pitched forward and Moira slipped on the slimy embankment. Her boot caught beneath the calf’s leg. The animal dug its sharpened hoof into her ankle and surged forward.

  Moira yelped.

  The mama cow on the embankment brayed.

  Champion barked.

  The calf caught its footing and skittered up the hill. Moira pushed herself into a standing position and attempted to follow. Her boot stuck in the mud. She yanked and her stocking foot slipped out of her boot.

  Moira groaned.

  She reached elbow-deep in the slimy mud and felt around. Nothing. She grimaced. Her boot had disappeared beneath a layer of mud. She took one step toward the stream and winced. Her tender ankle screamed in protest. Crouching, she rubbed the sore spot.

  The mama cow and her baby remained perched on the embankment, balefully watching her troubles.

  “Go on now!” Moira shouted.

  She limped up the hill and stumbled right into John Elder’s arms. He took one look at her mud-splattered dress and his brows drew downward into a frown. “Why didn’t you fetch help?”

  “I didn’t need help.”

  His gaze encompassed her disheveled appearance and exasperation coasted across his face. “Yep. Doesn’t look like you need any help at all.”

  He extended his hand and Moira grasped his fingers. He stretched out one leg and braced his foot against the embankment, then easily pulled her up the remaining distance. “You know,” he said. “Stubbornness is not a virtue. It wouldn’t kill you to ask for help once in a while.”