The Cattleman Meets His Match

by Sherri Shackelford

  Moira glanced down at the torn hem of her dress where the calf’s hoof had shredded the material, and nearly wept. She didn’t exactly have a warm bath and a change of clothing waiting for her back at camp.

  She lifted her skirts and discovered the hole in her dress revealed her leg clear up past the knee. She dropped the material. “I didn’t need help. I got the calf free all by myself.”

  The cowboy seemed singularly unimpressed by her accomplishment.

  He grasped the reins of his mount and turned away. “And nearly got trampled in the process. You die, I gotta dig a hole for you.”

  His implacable expression was unnerving and her lips parted in shock.

  “All right, maybe I’m taking this too far.” The cowboy rolled his shoulders. “I’m used to giving this speech to men and the rules are different. Men respond to death and dismemberment and all that. I can see I’ll have to take another approach.”

  Moira wrapped her arms around her body. “Dismemberment?”

  “Forget that,” John continued. “How about this? If you don’t care about your own neck, think of those girls. They look up to you. They’re counting on you. If you go and get yourself killed, I’ll have a bunch of bawling girls back at camp.”

  Moira flushed but remained silent.

  His mouth worked and he fisted his hand on his thigh. “Okay, I guess that wasn’t much better either. Don’t get yourself killed on my watch, all right? I’ll feel bad.”

  “All right.”

  “Good. Then we’re in agreement. Now finish drying off and take up the drag. We’ve still got a whole day ahead of us and this was your idea in the first place.”

  He dismounted and approached her horse. Moira made a face at his stiff back. There was no need to overact. Dig a hole for her. Indeed. He whipped around and she quickly resumed an implacable expression.

  He led her horse nearer and she grasped the reins. Leaning down, he cupped his hands for her to step in. “Where is your boot?”

  “In the river.”

  He glanced at her stocking feet. “Where is your other boot?”

  “In the mud.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  He boosted her onto her mount and wiped his muddy hands against his pants. Moira adjusted her skirts and avoided his glower.

  Together they set off for the herd in uneasy silence. Her leg throbbed and despite his dry slicker, she felt the cold seeping into bones. After his stern lecture on death and dismemberment, she wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of showing her discomfort.

  The herd appeared before them, the cattle back in line, the stream of bodies snaking over the horizon. Tony’s hat bobbed along near the lead.

  John slowed his horse. “Look, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. When I came back to check and didn’t see you, I guess I got a little scared. Might have pushed my temper.”

  “Thank you for the apology.”

  His head tilted upright. “It wasn’t an apology. It was an explanation. And next time, ask for help.”

  Moira gaped at his retreating back. That infernal man had her all tied up in knots. One minute he was drying her hair and cradling her in his arms, the next minute he was shouting and carrying on.

  John Elder sure made it difficult to like him sometimes. Which was probably a good thing. For a minute there, she’d been liking him a little too much.

  The cowboy was a distraction she didn’t need. Not now. Not ever.

  Chapter Nine

  John pushed the girls relentlessly. Better they realize the difficulties of the trail before they strayed too far from Fool’s End. They’d realize soon enough the task they’d undertaken was easier said than done, and then he’d be finished with this crazy cattle drive. Keeping eight hundred head of cattle moving in one direction against the elements and the girls’ inexperience wasn’t a task for the weak at heart.

  He cast a surreptitious glance at Moira. Of all the girls, she’d suffered the most that day. She’d been doused and muddied. She hadn’t worn the gloves he’d lent her and her palms had already blistered. He’d resolved to treat them like men, and then he’d cradled her in his arms. Not the way he treated his men at all.

  John impatiently drew his drifting thoughts away from Miss O’Mara and her troubles. The sooner he ended this debacle the better. His young crew was green and untried. As long as everything went well, they were fine. They weren’t prepared for a disaster.

  A form in the distance caught his attention and relief flooded his veins. They’d caught up with the chuck wagon and it appeared Pops already had a cook fire blazing. John’s stomach rumbled in anticipation.

  The girls had been on their horses for six hours and counting. By now they should be sore, hungry and ready to call it quits on the cattle drive. For good.

  He dismounted and followed Moira as she limped before him. Not the weary gait of someone who’d spent too long in the saddle, she walked as though favoring one leg.

  He jogged until he caught up with her and grasped her arm. “You okay? What happened to your leg?”

  “It’s nothing. It’s been a long day, that’s all.”

  With a tip of his head, he motioned toward the chuck wagon. “Why don’t you sit? I’ll take care of your horse.”

  She threw back her shoulders. “I carry my weight.”

  His steps slowed. “Suit yourself.”

  Sarah slid off her mount and her knees buckled briefly before she righted herself. She arched her back and rubbed her backside. “How can sitting all day hurt so much?”

  “Because you’re not sitting,” Tony stated proudly. “You’re riding.”

  “Well, I just discovered some muscles I never knew I had,” Sarah said. “And those muscles are hurting.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable. We’ve got to divvy up the watch.”

  Darcy hobbled into the campsite clutching the reins of her horse. “I don’t know who’s got the first watch, but it ain’t me. I’m hungry, I’m tired, my back aches, the balls of my feet are sore, I’m sick of flies, and I’m sick of smelling cows.”

  “Well, ain’t you just a ray of sunshine after a long, hard day.” Tony chucked her on the shoulder. “A little hard work never killed anyone.”

  “If you don’t shut your yapper I’m going to shut it for you.”

  Tony raised her arms. “Somebody got off on the wrong side of the horse today.”

  John stifled a grin. “We’ll take two hour shifts. First shift will start right after dinner. Everyone else will stay behind and help set up camp. Any volunteers?”

  “Not me,” Darcy reaffirmed.

  The others glanced around. Everyone was too tired or too nervous to speak up.

  Tony snorted. “It’s all right, I got this. Schoolhouse rules. Everyone put in a shoe and we’ll figure this out fair and square.”

  As though on cue, the girls crowded around her, the tips of their boots touching. Tony motioned for Moira. “You too.”

  Moira touched her chest. Tony nodded. She hobbled toward the group and glanced around, and added her bootless foot to the press of pointed toes.

  “First one out is the last one on watch and we go in order from there.” Tony knelt and placed her fingers on the toe of her own boot. “One, two, the cow said moo.”

  She spoke in a singsong voice, and with each word in the rhyme, she touched the next shoe in the circle. “Three, four, the lions roar. Five, six, the monkey does a trick. Seven, eight, he’s swinging on a gate. Nine, ten, big fat hen.”

  The word “hen” landed her on Sarah’s foot.

  Tony flapped her wrist. “Sarah’s out. She takes the last watch.” Tony rested her hand on the next one in line, Moira’s stocking foot. “Apples, peaches, pears and plums. Tell me when your birthday comes.”


  The last word landed on Moira’s toe once more.

  “June,” she replied.

  “J-U-N-E spells June and you are not it. Darcy is out.”

  Darcy heaved a sigh of relief and flopped on the ground. She tipped up her chin and let the setting sun warm her face.

  “One potato, two potato, three potato, four. Five potato, six potato, seven potato more. I’m out.” Tony sat back on her heels. “That means you take the first watch, Moira.”

  John waded through the seated girls. “Dinner first. Then watch.”

  Moira’s shoulders slumped. “Food sounds wonderful.”

  “Hey,” Darcy dug her heels in the dirt. “When is his watch?” She jerked her thumb in John’s direction. “Ain’t he the trail boss and all?”

  “I’m the boss, all right, and I’ll have you mind your tone.” The sooner Darcy accepted his authority, the better. There might come a time when he needed a quick response from her, and he didn’t want her constantly questioning his every move. “Pops and I will take midnight to two and two to four. We’re used to the schedule and we’ll stay awake.”

  Tony stuck out her chin. “We’ll do our part. Same as the men.”

  “I know you will.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “I’ve made my decision and I give the orders. My word is first, last and most binding.”

  “All right, boss. That puts Moira from six to eight, me from eight to ten, Darcy from ten to twelve. You and Pops have midnight to four which leaves Sarah from four to six.”

  Darcy grunted. “I should have taken the first watch. Six to eight sounds better than ten to twelve. I’m bushed.”

  “Yeah,” Tony said. “You should have. But you didn’t. Now let’s eat.”

  As she walked past, John stuck out an elbow and lightly tapped her upper arm. “Good work doling out the watch assignments.”

  “That’s how we decided who ‘it’ is in hide-and-seek. I figured it would work for this, too.”

  “Fair and unbiased. I like your style.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Thanks, boss. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  She’d puffed beneath his meager praise and he made a mental note to offer more words of encouragement throughout the day. His men usually preferred good-natured insults and the occasional ribbing. Dealing with girls required a whole new set of skills.

  John halted. He didn’t need any new skills. This was the end of the line. No use planning for a future that was never coming around.

  As he moved toward the wagon and dinner, an enticing aroma wafted through the air, a scent he didn’t usually associate with a trail ride.

  Pops appeared with a tin plate in his hand.

  John peered over his shoulder. “What’s that?” He caught sight of two-tone chunks of meat stirred through the beans. “Is that bacon in the beans?”

  “Sure is. Sarah came up with the idea. Since the girls don’t eat as much as the boys do in the morning, we figured we could spruce up the beans a bit with the bacon. Added some mustard and brown sugar. Mighty tasty, if I don’t say so myself.”

  “Brown sugar? Mustard? This isn’t some fancy hotel. This is a cattle drive.” John’s voice had taken on alarmingly high pitch. “How can we convince them to quit if you’re serving them gourmet grub?”

  “It ain’t me serving them, it’s Sarah.” Pops scooped a forkful of doctored beans into his mouth and grinned. He chomped and swallowed, appearing as though he’d dug into a porterhouse steak and not a can of tinned beans with some flecks of fatted bacon. “I’m here to eat. Iff’in you want them to quit, that’s your problem.”

  John’s left eye ticked. The backboard of the chuck wagon had been flipped out into a makeshift buffet. A white handkerchief with embroidered pink roses and greenery at the corner had been folded into a triangle. A tin cup overflowing with wildflowers anchored the napkin in place.

  John grunted. First bacon then black-eyed Susans. What was next?

  He scooped the mouthwatering beans onto his plate and reached for a biscuit. His fingers sank into the soft bread.

  “What’s this?” He sniffed the unusually pleasant aroma and bit into the golden brown, flaky crust. A delicate tang infused the moist-textured grub. “If that’s buttermilk I taste, I’m firing you on the spot. What happened to the hardtack? Where are the weevils?”

  Sarah took a hesitant step forward. “Don’t you like them? Pops had some buttermilk left from his supply trip into Fool’s End.”

  Her crestfallen expression tugged at something in his chest.

  He swallowed the delightful concoction. For a moment he feared his eyes would roll back in his head at the blissful flavor. “It’s fine. Not bad at all. Just not what I’m used to.”

  Sarah beamed.

  John stomped toward the fire. She needn’t act as though he’d doled out some hefty praise. It was just a little buttermilk and some fatback.

  He lifted his boot and hopped back. The girls had laid out a blanket and reclined on the surface.

  He skirted the covering and plopped onto the prickly grass.

  Pops held the handle of his Dutch oven and lifted the heavy cookware aloft. “Save room for peach cobbler.”

  “Are you pulling my leg?” John held his plate away from his body. “Peach cobbler? This is a cattle drive. No one serves peach cobbler on a cattle drive.”

  “Then I guess you won’t be having any.”

  The cook meandered past and lifted the lid. A plume of steam drifted toward John. He held his breath and averted his gaze. Pops circled back around. The old coot wasn’t playing fair. John exhaled his breath in noisy frustration and caught a hint of the succulent aroma. His mouth watered.

  Sarah watched his reaction and plucked at the blanket. “Hazel helped make that special.”

  John suppressed the low growl in the back of his throat. He’d look surly if he didn’t partake. “Well, um, if Hazel took all the time...I wouldn’t want to be rude.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Pops rolled his eyes. “Quite the thoughtful fellow all of a sudden, ain’t ya?”

  John lifted his fork and Hazel cleared her throat.

  He paused.

  She glanced pointedly at his hands. “Did you wash?”

  “Did I wash what?”

  “Your hands.”

  “Uh.” Heat crept up cheeks beneath her watchful stare. “I forgot.”

  Hazel tsked. “There’s water in the wreck pan.”

  He dutifully stood, crossed to the wagon, and rinsed his hands in the wreck pan of sudsy water. Upon sitting down, Hazel cleared her throat once more.

  John tilted his head. “What did I do now?”

  “You haven’t said grace.”

  He mentally added another item to the list of things girls did differently than boys on a cattle drive. He supposed some of the changes weren’t that bad.

  After dropping his plate on the grass at his left, John folded his hands and bent his head. “Dear Lord, thank You for our safe crossing of the Snake River, thank You for this bountiful feast. Please continue to watch over us. Protect us from harm. And if there’s any chance there’s a stagecoach full of cattle hands just over the rise, tell ’em I can switch out with a bunch of girls.”

  Tony elbowed him in the gut.

  John grinned.

  As he reached for his discarded plate, a grasshopper leapt into his beans. He grimaced and flicked the insect off with his thumb.

  Sarah raised an eyebrow. “The grasshoppers are as thick as cold porridge around here. That’s why we’re sitting on the blanket.”

  She smoothed her hand over the insect-free surface.

  He gulped down another forkful of beans. “A little grasshopper never hurt anything.”

  Life on the trail was tough. Cattle drives we
ren’t about cherry or peach cobbler and bacon baked beans. They were hard work and adversity. Throwing down a blanket and adding a little buttermilk to the biscuits didn’t change the facts.

  Keeping his head low, he stood and crossed back over to the chuck wagon. Pops had set out the peach cobbler and an additional set of tin plates. John filled his cup of coffee before scooping a dollop, then resumed his seat on the prickly scrub grass.

  Each bite melted onto his tongue with the flavors melding in perfect harmony. Engrossed in the tasty dessert, he barely registered Moira rising and placing her dishes in the wreck pan.

  He glanced up as she walked past, noting that same hitch in her gait.

  She wore a pair of battered boots and he realized Tony was in her stocking feet.

  “You sure you’re all right?” he asked. “Looks like you’re limping.”

  Her spine straightened. “I’m fine. Tony’s feet are smaller than mine. There’s nothing wrong.”

  John scraped his plate with tine edge of his fork. “You let me know. Pops has a kit for cuts and scrapes. You have to be careful out here. A wound can go septic real fast if it’s not tended.”

  Tony perked up. “It’s true. Back when I lived on the ranch, one of the cattle hands only had one leg. Said he lost it in the war. He got gangrene in his big toe and they cut off his leg below the knee.”

  Sarah’s pale skin grew even whiter. “Because of his toe?”

  “I know, right? I mean, can you imagine if it had been in his ankle. They probably would have sawed off his leg at the thigh.” She chopped the edge of her hand against a spot high on her leg. “That bone is huge. I wouldn’t want anybody sawing through that.”

  Sarah abandoned her plate of cobbler on the blanket. “Could we talk about something else?”

  “Yes, let’s talk about something else.” John stood and dusted his pant legs. “Nobody is getting anything chopped, hacked or severed on my watch.”

  Sarah pressed her fingers against her mouth and heaved.