“Back your horse to me.” It was Jackson’s low steady voice that offered sanctuary. One slow step at a time brought her even with Jackson. He was holding up a rifle.
Without thought, she pulled hers from the casing and rested it against her shoulder. It was two against three now. This was doable.
Lungs filled with sweet air. She might live to see home again. The three dark warriors stared at them.
“Go on to the wagon. I’ll follow you.”
Gulping down a few breaths so she could find her lost vocals, she cleared her throat. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”
He growled. She held her weapon firm and steady despite the trembling of her heart. She couldn’t help but think her father and brother would be proud.
Her mother? Horrified.
“Start backing straight out, keeping them in your sight.” He lowered his gun, resting it across the saddle. She mimicked his action.
With a slight nod to the men across the water hole, he moved his horse back. She did the same.
The three painted horses stepped to the water and started drinking. With Jackson by her side, she breathed a little easier. A quick glance, and she saw his jaw flex. Other than that small tick, his posture was relaxed.
“We are going to turn to the direction of the wagon, nice and easy. I need to tell the boys to keep an eye out. They might grab a steer or two.”
“What do we do to stop them?”
“Nothing. Consider it cost of business. The one thing we don’t want is a full-on attack. They take a couple of cows to their people, and we move on to the border.”
“So we’re just going to let them steal our cattle?”
He sighed. “Yes. You need to keep the mules in their harness tonight. They are more valuable than anything else we have here.”
She looked over her shoulder. The warriors were gone. “Where did they go?” Chills ran down her spine as she scanned the hills. “Are they watching us?”
“Probably.” He slid his rifle back into its leather scabbard.
“What do we do?” Forcing herself to look straight ahead was hard to do when her skin felt tight from the unseen men studying her movements.
“Nothing. Three don’t travel far on their own. Stay close to the wagon and make it hard for them to get to the mules. Once we join Cook, I’ll go warn the others. Stay vigilant.”
With a nod, she looked over her shoulder again. “How long will they follow us?”
“A day or two. We don’t want to make it easy for them to get into the camp.” He looked over his shoulder. “If we allow them to take a couple of the steers, and make sure we have the wagon and horses covered, they should move on.”
Nodding toward her rifle, his eyes narrowed. “You know how to use that? Ever shot a living thing?”
“Yes. My father taught me to shoot what I was aiming for. I never missed my target. Even the moving ones.”
He chuckled and looked at her. She couldn’t tell if the spark in his eyes was amusement or admiration.
“Good. I tell you what—you are one strange woman, and for once I’m very happy about that. Tie your horse to the wagon and sit with Cook. You can ride shotgun.”
The pounding of her heart seemed to have changed directions. Instead of fear, something else jolted it.
A different kind of anxiety. Jackson trusted her to protect the wagon. She sat straighter. “I can do that. Thank you for trusting me.”
“What’s your real name?” A grim line replaced any smile he might have had.
“I thought we agreed I would be Tiago so there was no confusion.” Was he going to get all manly and protective on her? Riding with Cook might not be about her protecting the wagon, but keeping her locked away.
She glared at him, trying to figure out his motive.
“You know I can help. You don’t have to keep me in a safe place.” She didn’t want to admit that her heart had soared with relief when he had joined her.
“When I saw you across from the warriors, I wanted your real name. What if something does happen? My first thought was...if I have to bury her, I won’t know the name to carve into the marker.” There was an angry clip to the edge of his voice. “I want to know the real you. Not the fake name.”
“I am Santiago. If I die on the trail, that is who you will bury.” Pushing her hat lower, her hands trembled.
He reached across his horse. Under his large hand, hers disappeared. “I will not be burying you on this trail.”
Chapter Eight
Sofia wrapped the colorful blanket tighter. Weak and tired, her body still refused to go to sleep. There were saddle sores on top of saddle sores.
Images of Rosita in the kitchen making tortillas appeared like a fantasy, a dream from a fairy tale that didn’t really happen.
Now she ate more dust than chow. Unable to sleep, she studied the colors in the woven patterns.
It would be easier to think about the parts of her body that didn’t hurt, maybe her head. That was it. Everything below her jaw ached. She thought she had worked hard before, but she had been a sheltered baby.
The woman who returned to her father would be different from the woman she was before she left.
A quick glace to the loaded rifle laying within reach was evidence of the change. She glanced at the mules, making sure they were still safe.
Still in the harness, they lay on the ground a few yards away from her. She scanned the edge of darkness for any threats.
Today, she had faced the possibility of her own death. She had survived without much of an incident other than going numb with fear.
She hated that she hadn’t known what to do. That Jackson had come to her rescue. Would she have made it back to the wagon if he hadn’t shown up?
Sometime during the week, she started waking up looking forward to seeing him. The chores were done in fast order, and she got the wagon moving quickly so she could ride out and find him.
He sat a horse better than any man she had ever seen, but it was more than that. He was more than a good-looking man that knew how to ride well. At his core, deep in his eyes, he not only understood her, but he needed someone to understand him.
Not that it was where her mind should go. Rubbing her face, she hoped to scrub the thoughts of the quiet talking Kentucky man from her brain.
The sounds of campfire companionship drifted over the night. The men still sat around the low fire, laughing and playing music. The songs were all foreign, not the kind she was used to.
Jackson warned her to keep as much distance as possible from the cowboys. She never felt so alone around other people.
She licked her lips. That was a mistake. So, she hurt above her jaw, too. They had never been so dry and cracked before. The taste of dirt and dust came with every painful breath she took.
She dreamed of riding alongside the longhorns, but instead most of her days were spent sitting next to Cook or going into the wagon and doing prep work for him. The one time she rode off, she got in trouble.
She coughed again. All the dust was never going to clear her lungs.
“Here, drink this.” Jackson stood above her and handed her a metal cup. He tossed something on the ground behind her, but she was more intrigued with the content of his gift. It looked like tea. It smelled like tea.
A small sip confirmed her guess. She sighed as the warm liquid slid down her sore throat.
She moaned. Tea. “Where did you get this? I would trade my kingdom for another cup.”
He just smiled at her, then stared off into the velvet night sky.
“It’s pure bliss.” She closed her eyes and groaned again as she took a slow sip. It was bad manners, but she didn’t care.
Digging in his vest pocket, he pulled out a small tin before lowering his long bod
y on the ground next to her. He draped one arm over his knee and with the other offered the small box. “Here, coat your lips with this. It tastes bitter, but it’ll soothe the skin.”
Too tired to ask questions, she smothered the damaged skin.
Relief. Closing her eyes, she sighed and leaned against the large wagon wheel. “Thank you.” She handed it back to him. As much as she wanted to stash it away, she didn’t want to appear weak and needy.
“You keep it. I always bring two, and if you keep a light layer on during the day, you won’t need as much at night. You should also cover your face. The sun will eat your skin right off your bones.”
“Right now my bones are so sore they wouldn’t notice.” There was a heat to her skin she’d never experienced before. Another pesky insect made a buzzing noise before landing on her face. She slapped at it and got it, leaving a splatter of blood on her hand. Gross.
Taking her hand, he used a bandanna to wipe the bright red stain away. “I hear the closer we get to Louisiana the bigger the mosquitoes get. Soon enough we’ll be able to saddle them and fly over the herd.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Now that would be a sight. Driving the herd from the air.” She groaned. “Maybe we could even breathe some fresh air that isn’t heavy with dust. I really don’t know how the bugs are even finding my skin.”
“Cook says we’ll be getting rain soon, which will create a new mess of troubles.”
A star fell from the sky, leaving a trail. “Did you see that?” She pointed. “A falling star. It looks different out here than it does from a porch.”
Scooting down, she lay flat on the ground and studied the endless sky. “Do you think our loved ones are looking down on us?”
“Never really thought about it that way.” A few feet away he stretched out on his back, his hands behind his bare head.
He sighed. Silence lingered between them. The music from the cowboys softened as some moved out to watch the herd. Cook rambled around in the wagon.
“Do you have family back in Kentucky?”
“Not anymore.”
The gruff reply reminded her about the code she had learned earlier today.
Man, she was a slow learner. “Oh look, Leo is out.” Maybe he’d let her blunder slide if she changed the subject. Scanning the sky like her father taught her, she found the Big Dipper. “Ursa Major is really clear tonight. You can see all seven hunters.”
“You know the constellations?”
“Not as well as my brother. No matter how hard I tried, he always found more and could remember all their names. He would even beat our father.”
“You have a brother?”
The stars blurred, and moisture hovered over her bottom eyelashes. “I had a brother. I lost him when I lost my mother.”
“So you’re completely alone in the world?”
Her father came to mind. “What happened to the rule of not asking about someone’s past?” Today she thought of her father as the three fierce warriors had stared at her. Somehow Papi had become a stranger who wouldn’t even talk to her or listen. Had he found her braid and her letter yet? Guilt burned her insides. “Is there a way to get a telegram to someone? I’ve never sent one before.”
“You’re pretty educated to know about sending telegrams. Little Tiago, there seems to be a great deal you haven’t told me. The code does not apply to you because you lied to me. And you’re a woman. The code is a man’s code.” He turned and leaned on his left arm. “Who do you want to send a message to?”
“That’s not fair. But then again that wouldn’t surprise me. Women have always had to deal with uneven scales.” With a shrug, she tried to keep it uneventful. “It’s no big deal. Just someone back at the ranch who might be worried. What about you? Is there someone waiting for you?”
The silence settled hard and heavy. She glanced at his profile. The shadow of his beard lined a strong jaw. A jaw that flexed with tension. Much like her father’s when she tried to talk about her mother and brother. She could take a hint. Jackson could question her, but his life was not on the table.
There was so much she needed to learn. Lessons about dealing with men was something her mother would be teaching her. She wiped her nose. She didn’t want to think about her mother right now. “Do you know the story of the Big Bear?”
As he turned his head to look at her, she was struck by the greenness of his eyes. She smiled to let him know it was okay not to talk if he didn’t want to. The idea that her question upset him laid more guilt at her door.
“The Big Bear?” His low voice sounded raw.
The sky was less dangerous to look at. She pointed to Ursa Major in the center of the velvet backdrop. “In the spring, a giant bear comes out of her den. Seven hunters follow her. As the weather cools, four of the hunters fall away, leaving only three.” As the words filled the empty space between them, she pointed at the stars.
“See those three?” He moved closer to her as his gaze followed her pointing finger. With a nod from him, she continued.
“Chickadee is carrying the pot they’ll use to cook the bear. As the winds come in from the north, Robin shoots his arrow and wounds the now standing bear. Blood sprays across the sky and covers the trees, turning them red.”
He chuckled. “That’s a clever story.”
She tilted her head and smiled at him. “That’s not the end.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“Nope.” Looking back to the sky, she raised her hands. “The bear is eaten by the hunters and travels across the sky as a skeleton until spring. Another bear leaves the den and the hunt is on again. That’s the story my father told me anyway.”
“Emily would have liked that story.”
Jealousy snapped at her. No reason for that, so she pushed it away. “Emily?”
It didn’t seem he was going to tell her who Emily was. He rubbed his face. “My daughter. Every night she wanted one more story. At six, she was already able to read. Her ma was having a hard time keeping her busy with work. She was so clever.”
He had a wife and daughter? “Where is she now?”
The muscle in his jaw flexed. He had told her he didn’t have any... “Oh Jackson. I’m sor—” His family was dead. He had lost them all.
“Don’t.” He stood and dusted the dirt and grass from his pants.
Standing, she pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders. “I hate those words, too. But people say them because there are no words to make things better. So, I am sorry.”
The mules stirred close by. In order to protect them, they still wore the heavy harnesses. It was the same thing Jackson was doing with her.
It had been one of the best nights she had since losing her mother and brother. Now she managed to ruin it.
“Jackson.” She reached out and placed a hand on his arm. The need to comfort him was strong. She wanted to hold him close and tell him that it was going to be all right, even if it wasn’t true. “Please forgive me. I can’t even imagine...”
He pulled away from her. “Nothing to forgive. I just don’t talk about them.” He shook his head. “Good night. See you in the morning.”
Moving to the back of the wagon, she watched him walk past the smoldering campfire and disappear into the night.
Where was her brain? She was here to prove she could do the work of a man, not fall in love with a rough rider.
“Mija.”
Cook’s voice made her jump. Then she realized he had called her mija, not mijo. He knew she was a woman? “No—”
“Shh. I’ve known since you joined us, but you work harder and faster than any boy I’ve had on the trip, so what’s it to me if you want to run around acting as if you are a boy? I have eight daughters and know how strong they are.” He shrugged his round shoulders. “But you need to be car
eful. As a father of daughters, I also know how easily they give their hearts.”
“My heart is not going to anyone.” She crossed her arms. Once they got back, Jackson would be taking his horses and starting his own place. Staying on her family ranch was all she wanted.
“Many good girls lost their way with much less. And I don’t think you want the others to look too closely.”
“No. I’ll be keeping my distance.” What would happen if the other men found out? “The hard work I’ve done should be enough to earn their respect.”
He shook his head. “The world is not a fair place. You might want to guard the way you look at our boss. Could cause you both problems.” He pulled himself back into the wagon. “It’s late and you need to be asleep. No more stargazing with jefe, or we’ll all regret it.”
As he vanished behind the canvas, the last of the light went out. Alone, she stood there. Just the thought of sleeping on the ground again made her body ache. A blanket she had never seen was draped over the wagon wheel. She squinted into the darkness that Jackson had vanished into. He must have left it.
Moving closer, she scanned the area where the cowboys slept. Still no sign of Jackson. He must have joined the herd.
Returning to the wagon, she rolled out the blanket and ran her hand over the material. It was thicker and softer than her own blanket. Lying down and snuggling between them, she smiled.
Who would have ever guessed that an old trail blanket would be the most glorious gift she had ever received? Cook was right. Her heart was in danger.
Chapter Nine
An explosive crash caused Sofia to bolt straight up and reach for her rifle. A flash of light blinded her. In quick succession, it repeated the dance across the sky.
Standing, her heart racing, she tried to get her bearings. In the distance, the cowboys were yelling at each other. The mules were up. Cook poked his head out of the wagon. “Was that thunder?”
“Yes.” She shouted above the ruckus. Everyone knew a lightning storm was dangerous on a cattle drive. For several reasons.
She ran to the other side of the wagon to see if the herd was calm.
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