by Montana West
Margaret looked around at the three sets of eyes looking at her for her answer. After a moment, she sighed and shook her head. “Well, it looks as though my mind has been made up for me now, hasn’t it?” she conceded. “Alright, we’ll go see what those eastern folks think show riding is all about.”
CHEYENNE, WYOMING TERRITORY, August 1885
Between the arrival of the traveling show the night before and that morning, a massive candy-striped tent had been assembled just outside of Cheyenne. As the sun set to the west and the sky grew dark save for the light of the stars and the moon, the tent came alive with the warm glow of lanterns and the hustle and bustle of Cheyenne’s inhabitants crowding inside.
Within the tent was a massive ring where the performances would undoubtedly take place. The ring was flanked on all sides by scores of tiered wooden bench seats that were quickly filling to capacity.
Outside of the tent, Chase McAllister peeked through a tear in the fabric at the throngs of people coming together inside the tent. He felt nervous about performing in Cheyenne, but he had been taught that the show must go on, and he’d be blazed if he didn’t follow through.
Just relax, Chase, he told himself over and over again. It’s been a few years, odds are nobody even remembers you; and it’s not as if they could make the connection between who I was then with who I am now.
Despite his internal mantra, he remained unconvinced. Even worse, he and his team were usually scheduled as the final act so that the show could go out on a high note. That just meant the waiting and anxiety would be drawn out.
It’ll be all right, it’ll be all right, he continued to tell himself.
A hand suddenly landing on his shoulder nearly startled him straight out of his skin. He whirled around and came face to face with Benjamin “Bull” Beauregard, one of his fellow show riders. The lanky southerner gave him a toothy grin.
“Chase, you seem mighty worked up about something,” he drawled out in his Alabama twang. “What’s eatin’ at ya, boss?”
Chase pushed down the urge to berate his friend for nearly scaring him to death as he sighed. “Just some old history, Bull,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Nothing worth going into detail over.”
Bull hocked a glob of tobacco off to the side, his trademark move for when he knew someone wasn’t playing straight with him, but he let it slide and gave his friend another smile. “If you say so, boss, but don’t think the whole team don’t notice when you’re worked up. We worry ‘bout ya, s’all.”
The show rider gave his companion a smile, glad to know that he and the others cared. “Much obliged, Bull, but it’s really nothing. Are all the horses ready for the show?”
“Fed, saddled, and chompin’ at the bit to get runnin’, boss,” Bull answered. “All we need do now is wait for our turn.”
“And the waiting is always the hardest part, my friend,” Chase finished, turning his attention back to the hole in the tent.
“SO FAR THIS AIN’T A bad show at all,” Margaret said aloud, punctuating her statement by tossing a handful of peanuts into her mouth.
Leyla nodded her head in approval with her sister’s assessment, watching as a scantily clad woman with an armful of snakes danced sinuously around the ring, heedless of the danger the serpents posed.
“Sort of reminds me of a fella I saw in Chicago,” John quipped, reaching a hand into Margaret’s bag of peanuts. “He was able to make a rattler dance around with nothing but a flute.”
You can keep your snakes, Leyla thought. I want to see Chase McAllister.
Up to that moment, the show had been an entertaining myriad of performances, ranging from painted clowns performing western-themed vaudeville acts to knife-throwers and quick-draw gunslingers performing incredible feats with their preferred tools. There’d even been a man who rode a bull around the ring as if it were a trained horse, astounding many of the ranch hands in the crowd who knew how temperamental the beasts could be.
The serpent woman finished her performance and bowed before the cheers of the audience. She departed as fluidly as she had performed, striding away as her snakes followed behind her in a mass of writhing lines in the dirt.
The portly showman known as Professor Monro once more stepped out into the center of the ring, ready to introduce the next act.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF CHEYENNE,” he bellowed in his thunderous voice. “THOUGH IT WOUNDS ME GREATLY TO SAY SO, I FEAR WE HAVE REACHED THE END OF OUR PERFORMANCE THIS EVENING...”
A collective groan rose up from the audience, unhappy at such a grand performance being over.
“...BUT, BEFORE YOU LEAVE, ALLOW ME TO CAPTURE YOUR ATTENTION ONE LAST TIME WITH A PERFORMANCE FROM OUR TEAM OF SHOW RIDERS, UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE MASTERFUL CHASE MCALLISTER!”
As Professor Monro finished his introduction, a team of eight horsemen came blazing into the tent and began circling around the ring. They were dressed in cleaner and more colorful versions of the clothes typically worn by cowboys and ranchers, owing to their profession as showmen rather than working riders.
Leyla spied one rider wearing a white hat leading the pack, his long brown locks flailing out from beneath his brim. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him maneuver his white and roan-colored horse expertly around the ring.
I wonder if that’s him, she pondered, though her thoughts were soon scattered as she watched the rider pull up his legs and press them into the back of his mount before standing straight up.
The audience, including herself, Margaret and John were aghast. While most skilled riders could maybe pull off a crouch while on the back of a moving horse, standing straight up was a fool’s errand. And yet here was this man, standing on the back of his horse like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Doing that already had the audience’s attention, but when the man suddenly flew from the horse’s back, yet did not plummet to the ground, they were amazed further still.
Peering closely, Leyla could see that the man had grabbed hold of a rope that had been left dangling from one of the many lines connecting the interior supports of the tent. The inertia from the charging horse carried him outside of the ring while his mount continued on without him, keeping in formation with the other riders and horses.
As the rider reached the end of the rope’s arc and began his swing back toward the ring, the audience caught on to what he was going to do: he was going to try to land right back on his horse when it came around again.
Leyla watched with bated breath as he swung backward, a grin evident on his face even from where she was sitting. The audience gasped as he spread his legs to allow one of his comrades to pass beneath him without incident. He then released his grip on the rope and went sailing through the air to then land in the empty saddle of his own horse, albeit facing the opposite direction.
The crowd erupted in cheers at the display, completely amazed by the spectacle. Leyla couldn’t help but notice that even her sister was among those applauding the act.
As Leyla watched the rider reorient himself so that he was facing forward on the horse and the rest of his team began moving into a new maneuver, a single thought ran through her mind.
I have to meet that man.
“GOOD SHOW, EVERYBODY,” Chase cheered toward his fellow riders as they dismounted from their horses. All of them were drenched in sweat from the performance, but they wore the smiles of men who had accomplished something.
Of course, that didn’t mean that they didn’t want to get out of the damp clothes clinging to their skin right then and there.
Chase made sure that Cannonball was tied off before he pulled his brim from his head, placing it on his horse’s saddle and set about extracting the shirt off his body. The process was proving difficult as the material of the shirt was keeping tight to his toned torso.
Come on, by the blazes, he mentally cursed, managing to get the middle of the shirt over his head. That victory was short-lived as he soon found himself unable to ext
ricate his arms. He was also unaware that he was moving further away from the rest of the show riders and closer to the open area where he might be spotted by the audience members that were leaving the tent.
Almost...almost...GOT IT! He mentally cheered as he freed his head and arms, just in time to glimpse a shock of red hair before he collided with someone, sending them sprawling to the ground in a heap.
Chase quickly tossed the shirt aside and looked down to see who he had run into and felt his breath catch in his throat as he was presented with a beautiful red-haired woman now lying on the ground.
“My apologies, Miss!” he hastily said as he bent down and extended a hand to her, intent on making amends.
The woman opened her eyes, looking into his darker eyes and the two could only stare at one another in silence.
The woman broke the silence first. “Oh, it’s all right, Mister...”
“McAllister,” Chase replied swiftly, his hand still outstretched to her. “Chase McAllister, at your service, Miss...”
“McNeal,” she replied, grasping the offered hand and allowing him to help her up. “Leyla McNeal, Mister McAllister.”
Once she was standing upright, the two resumed staring into one another’s eyes, as though searching for something they had both glimpsed for but a second. However, Leyla’s gaze eventually traveled downward and her face burned red as she noticed something Chase had forgotten: he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“Oh, beg pardon, Miss McNeal!” he blurted and tried to wrap himself in some of the tent’s material. It worked somewhat well despite looking comical.
“N-no need for apologies, Mister McAllister,” Leyla replied, though her cheeks were still tinted with a lovely rose hue. “I just wanted to say that your show riding was extraordinary! A true inspiration!”
Inspiration? Chase thought curiously. He rarely ever heard that word used to describe his skills except from other show riders. Could this young lady be a show rider?
“Much obliged, Miss McNeal,” he answered. “Do you, uh, do any riding yourself?”
Leyla looked at the ground, shuffling with a touch of awkwardness. “I’m currently...that is to say,” she stuttered, “I’m training to be a show rider under my sister, but I was wondering if I might be able to learn a few things from you sometime...about show riding, that is.”
Something about the girl was drawing Chase deeper and deeper in, and without thinking he voiced his answer. “I’d be delighted to, Miss McNeal. Do you live hereabouts in Cheyenne?”
She shook her head “no” before continuing. “I live out on the McNeal Ranch, just outside of town. Lots of open space perfect for perfecting show-riding tricks. I’d be honored to have you visit. Maybe...maybe tomorrow?”
I think the show will survive one afternoon’s loss of practice, he thought dreamily.
“It would be a privilege, Miss McNeal,” he said genuinely.
Leyla’s face brightened up at that, making a far prettier sight than any Chase had seen before. She gave him directions to the ranch before bidding him farewell and bounding off, a delightful spring in her step.
Chase, still shirtless and wrapped up in the show tent, could only watch her figure as she retreated, having completely forgotten about the performance, the next day’s practice, and any thoughts of anxiety about his past.
Chapter II: Chase McAllister Visits the Ranch
MCNEAL RANCH LAND, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, August 1885
“I’m sorry, little sister, but could you please repeat what you just said?”
Margaret McNeal stuck her pinky finger into her ear and acted as though she were cleaning it out, as though the buildup of detritus within had somehow caused her to mishear what her younger sister had just stated.
Leyla stood her ground and returned her older sister’s intense stare with her own. “I said that Chase McAllister will be visiting the ranch tomorrow afternoon,” she said firmly.
The McNeals and John Baldwin had returned from the performance just moments earlier when Leyla declared offhand that she had invited Chase McAllister to visit the McNeal ranch the following afternoon. The declaration resulted in Margaret whipping around so fast that both John and Abigail thought her head would keep spinning from the force of it.
The two sisters continued glaring at one another for a moment longer before Margaret turned to her mother and John. “Mother,” she growled out slowly, “did Leyla inform you of this at all?”
Abigail had been quiet up to that moment, content to watch the confrontation play out in silence along with John. Unlike her older daughter, she did not appear to be angered by Leyla’s admission.
“I’m afraid that this is a revelation to me, Maggie,” she replied, her use of the diminutive form of Margaret’s name indicating that she was nowhere near as concerned as Margaret was. In fact, it almost seemed like she was pleased by this turn of events.
Margaret turned her venomous gaze to her beau who met it with his cool and calm gaze, having gotten used to the vitriol the woman he loved could dispense when riled.
“John,” she began slowly.
The Kentuckian held up his hands before she could continue. “I had no knowledge of this information before this moment, Maggie,” he stated openly. “You know I can’t keep a secret from you.”
Satisfied by their declarations of innocence, Margaret returned her gaze to her younger sister, still standing before her in all of her headstrong glory.
“No,” was all Margaret said after a moment.
Aside from a slight narrowing of her eyes, Leyla remained still as stone. “I recall stating his visit tomorrow as a fact, not a request for permission,” she quipped.
“That’s funny, considering the land you’re standing on is mine,” Margaret retorted. “I said no. When he arrives tomorrow you can send him right back where he came from.”
“Margaret,” Abigail said firmly, finally interjecting. “Your sister will do no such thing. Inviting a guest and then turning them away would be the height of inhospitable actions. You know as well as I do your father would turn over in his grave before letting an invited guest be turned away.”
“Mother,” Margaret growled out once more, “don’t tell me you approve of what Leyla did behind our backs?”
Abigail met her daughter’s glare evenly, unaffected by the heat in her eyes in the slightest. “I neither approve of it nor condemn it,” she stated. “What’s done is done and you will welcome Mister McAllister warmly and without disdain tomorrow.”
Mother and daughter remained locked in a staring contest for a few more moments following the statement. And, as always during their verbal and mental sparring matches, Margaret flinched first, her independent and tempestuous will still no match for the determination and patience of the woman who had brought her into the world.
Leyla grinned smugly for a moment before Abigail turned her steady gaze on her, the smile eroding as quickly as it arrived.
“Leyla McNeal, do not think for a moment that what you did will go unpunished,” Abigail declared resolutely. “Your sister is right that the ranch is hers and that you should have asked her permission first. We will discuss these consequences after Mister McAllister leaves tomorrow.”
The young redhead’s gaze dropped to the ground at the knowledge that there would be repercussions to what she did, but the fact that she would still be able to entertain Chase at the ranch meant that it was well worth it.
Sparing one last glace between her daughters, Abigail sighed with a shake of her head. “I believe that’s enough excitement for one night,” she said softly. Silently, the other three agreed with her.
IT HAD TAKEN SOME WHEELING and dealing on his part, but Chase McAllister had managed to convince Professor Monro to let him and the other show riders skip the next afternoon’s practice in order to engage in some rest and relaxation. As long as they were back with enough time to prepare for that night’s performance, then they could have the afternoon and early evening off.
The afternoon sun was high in the sky, beaming down on the Wyoming territory with all of its strength. Chase, dressed in more practical clothes suited for riding the trails, pulled his hat from his head in order to draw his forearm across his head, wiping the sweat away.
I’ve been in the east too long, he thought glumly. I used to be able to handle this heat like it wasn’t even here, and now I’m sweatin’ like a hog in a stockyard.
Thoughts about the August heat aside, Chase allowed himself to wonder for the umpteenth time just what he was doing riding out to some local girl’s ranch when he didn’t even know a thing about her.
Well, that’s not exactly true, he begrudgingly admitted. I remember the McNeal ranch was supposedly one of the most prosperous cattle ranches around here last time. And there were some whispers back east about a woman show rider and ranch owner named McNeal. Wonder if they’re related at all?
As Chase passed under a gate declaring that he had entered the land of the McNeal Ranch & Cattle Co., he began to suspect that there might be some relation after all, given that he could just make out the ranch’s homestead in the distance.
On top of that, there was something to Miss Leyla McNeal that had intrigued him, and not just the fact that she was prettier than a sunset in October. Something about her told him that she was a kindred spirit, someone who enjoyed show riding and was willing to push the boundaries of her own skills and abilities.
Still, no matter how intrigued he was by the potential of the day ahead with Leyla McNeal, he couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut that he shouldn’t press his luck with a prolonged stay in Cheyenne.
As though sensing his misgivings, Cannonball huffed in order to try and shake his rider from his disconcerting thoughts.