High Desert Cowboy (High Sierra Book 2)

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High Desert Cowboy (High Sierra Book 2) Page 12

by G. L. Snodgrass


  As she turned to look north, she put a hand up to block the glare of the rising sun. Where was he? she wondered. Her stomach turned over with worry. Tom had told her that Dusty had decided to stay out on the range overnight.

  The man wasn’t outfitted for a night in the desert. He had nothing but his jacket and a bedroll. Yet, he’d probably curl up around a small fire and sleep out there all alone. She snorted, knowing him, he probably preferred it.

  When she had asked why Dusty hadn’t returned, the boy had simply shrugged, as if she were asking for him to explain the mysteries of the universe. Dinner had seemed empty without her foreman across from her at the table.

  What could be so important that he needed to stay out so long? Sighing heavily, she turned to go back inside when a distant movement caught her eye. Turning, she watched a horseman round a small hill. Her heart soared as she recognized Dusty coming towards her and the ranch.

  He was leading two other horses. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Nothing made sense. Sam Hopper stepped out of the bunkhouse and walked over to join her watch Dusty approach. She caught him frowning and shaking his head.

  Her heart jumped, something was wrong, she could tell. Then she saw it. Two bodies draped over the saddles.

  She immediately thought about her brother John, but neither men were John. He would never have dressed so … roughly.

  Biting her lip, she watched as Dusty led the horses into the yard. He looked tired, she realized. As did his horse, Big Red. As he swung down from the saddle, he kept his left arm up tight against his chest. That was when she saw the bloody bandanna tied around his upper arm.

  “Rustlers,” he said to Sam with a shake of his head as he handed over Red’s reins.

  Sam spat into the dirt and growled under his breath.

  “You’re hurt,” she said as she stepped up next to him and gently pried at the bandage on his arm. Her heart raced with fear as she tried to see how bad it was.

  He ignored her and said to Sam, “I brought ‘em back in case you or Tom might know them. Neither’s got any papers on ‘em. They probably couldn’t read ‘em if they did.”

  Sam pulled up each man’s head and examined them. Rebecca’s stomach turned over, then it hit her like a hammer to her stomach, Dusty had killed these men. Men who had been trying to steal her stock.

  “No,” Sam said after examining them. “But that don’t mean nothing. I ain’t exactly welcome in the kind of places these men would have spent their time.”

  Dusty nodded, “You and Tom dig a couple of graves up on the hill. Next to Bill Stevenson’s grave, above old Thompson’s. We’ll put up empty markers I guess.”

  “Rustler One, and Rustler Two,” Sam said with another spit into the dirt at his feet.

  Rebecca’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Don’t you have to take them to the sheriff?” Then she realized with surprise that the ranch had its own graveyard. Of course, it did. But still, shouldn’t the authorities deal with this?

  He shook his head as he loosened the cinch strap on Red’s saddle with one hand. “We’re in California. I ain’t riding over the mountains all the way to Sacramento to report that two rustlers got themselves killed. Besides, they’d stink to high heaven before we got there.”

  Her jaw dropped open. He had killed these men. Now he planned to bury them out here without any notification to the authorities. It seemed wrong. She was about to challenge him when she saw him weaving as if he were having problems staying upright.

  “Come with me,” she ordered as she took his uninjured arm and half led, half pulled him into the house. “They will take care of your horse.”

  His head sagged as he took a deep breath.

  “Consuela,” she yelled as she guided him to one of the dining room chairs.

  “Yes, Miss Rebecca?” the older woman said as she rounded the corner, then her eyes grew wide when she saw the injured man next to her.

  “Medicine, scissors, and bandages,” Rebecca told her without taking her eyes off of Dusty. His face looked pasty under his tan and his eyes were having difficulty remaining open. How much blood had he lost?

  Consuela returned with a small wicker basket overflowing with medicinal supplies. Of course, the ranch was well stocked with medical supplies, Rebecca realized. The nearest doctor was a day’s ride. One way! Consuela started to step towards Dusty when Rebecca interceded and removed the scissors from her hand. If anyone was going to care for this man it would be her. Every instinct told her it must be that way.

  “What happened?” she asked him as she gently began to unbutton his shirt.

  His eyes opened to glance down at her fingers undressing him then up at her. Something in those eyes made her insides curl into a knot.

  He licked his lips then sighed heavily. “They drove six head over onto Ladder S range. I caught them. They pulled their guns, I didn’t miss.”

  “Tad Johnson’s men?” she asked as a new fear filled her.

  “Don’t know,” he sighed. “The horses don’t have the Ladder S brand. So, there is no telling. They made their move before I could find out.”

  Rebecca bit her lip as she pulled his shirt from his belt and off his shoulders. Swallowing she tried to ignore his hard muscles and wide shoulders. But it was impossible. He was so fascinating, intriguing, so male. All angles and strength. Two old scars low on the right side caught her attention.

  Her fingers ached to touch them. To learn what had hurt him years ago. Glancing up, she caught him watching her. Their eyes locked and she could swear the man knew every thought dancing through her brain. Every unladylike thought.

  She quickly looked away and tried to focus on her task. Consuela watched every move, obviously thinking she could do it better, but Rebecca needed to do this. She needed to know that he was well and that it was her that had set him onto the way of healing.

  After cutting away the blood-soaked bandanna, she started to peel the shirt away and winced when she realized the blood had dried and caked so hard it was going to be difficult getting to the wound.

  Using the scissors, she cut away the sleeve from the rest of the shirt then soaked the remaining cloth enough so that she could pry it away from the skin. As she washed away the blood, she gasped. A four-inch gouge had taken out a long strip of flesh. Even now, blood oozed from the bottom of the wound. A hint of white bone peeked out from beneath the red.

  “You’ve lost a lot of blood haven’t you?” she asked him. Her stomach hardened. During the war there had been so many stories of men with minor wounds dying of infection and fever. Men who should have lived, lost for unknown reasons.

  He shrugged his shoulder then winced when she dabbed at the wound, trying to clean it out, Surly dirt and bloody cloth could not be good for it.

  Consuela opened a small brown pottery pot of a greasy salve and indicated she should put it on the wound.

  Rebecca lifted it to smell and winced, it smelled halfway between a rotten apple and a dead mouse.

  “What is in this?” she asked her.

  Consuela shrugged, “This and that. It is an old Indian medicine. My people have used it for years.”

  Dusty nodded, “Slather it on, I never knew an old Indian herb that didn’t work.”

  She rolled her eyes then held her breath as she used two fingers to scoop some out and globbed it into the wound.

  “Wow!” Dusty yelped as he backed away. “That’s worse than getting shot.”

  Rebecca smiled, “Good, maybe you will learn not to get shot. It’s not good for you.”

  He stared at her for a moment but had the good sense to keep quiet. She controlled the ointment and therefore should not be angered.

  “And let me guess,” she asked him. “You spent the night moving those six steers back to our herd?”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to leave them there. That would have sort of defeated the whole purpose.”

  She shook her head at him. Sometimes he could be so dense. Didn’t he realize that his health was m
ore important than a few stupid cows? Without him, her ranch would fail. But there was more, she realized. Without him, her life would become a failure.

  The sudden shock flashed through her. She had come to love him. A wandering cowboy with no future. A man as wild as the land around him. Unlettered, with the social skills of a cactus. Yet, she was in love. There was no doubt in her mind.

  It was different than with Robert. There it had been more of a mutual admiration agreement. An expected outcome. A business arrangement. This was different. So different. This was beyond her control.

  She bit her lip as she threaded a needle. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. This sudden realization of what she felt.

  There was no reason, no explanation. It just was. She loved this man. She admired him. Loved the way his mind worked and how he viewed this harsh world. Taking setback and obstacle in stride. Viewing them as things to be overcome. All while working with the land. Never against it.

  Taking a deep breath, a sadness filled her as she realized that nothing would ever come of this love. He was not the kind of man to settle down. Especially not with a woman like her. He saw her as frivolous, soft, unschooled in the proper ways of what was important.

  And she was not the kind of woman who could follow a man from town to town until he tired of her. She needed roots. Goals. A future.

  There was every chance that she would lose the ranch, and with it, any contact with Dusty. Any reason for him to be involved. Even if she was somehow able to save the ranch, he would never stay.

  When they got the herd in, he would leave her. He had warned her. This was temporary. This was but another job. A challenge to be achieved then forgotten.

  “This is going to hurt,” she told him as she pinched the wound closed. Biting back the anger building inside of her. How dare he leave as if she were not worth it.

  He nodded at her to go ahead then gritted his teeth.

  She took a deep breath. Was she doing it right? She glanced over at Consuela who nodded her approval. Taking a deep breath, she squinted as she pushed the needled through his skin.

  He didn’t pull away, instead looking down at her work. Her stomach turned over with worry and disgust, but she had to do this. If he was to heal, she needed to hurt him first.

  When the last stitch was pulled through, she leaned forward to bite if off as she tried to ignore the dizzy faintness flowing over her.

  He twisted his arm to examine her work then nodded with approval. “Thank you, I’ve seen battlefield surgeons who couldn’t do better.”

  Her heart ached as she wrapped the cleaned wound.

  “He needs water and food,” she told Consuela as she turned away to hide the tear threatening the corner of her eye.

  The older woman was looking at her strangely and for a moment she wondered if her thoughts had been obvious. Had Consuela divined that she was in love with Dusty Rhodes? The thought sent a burst of fear through her. The man must never know. He would laugh at her silliness and break her heart into a million pieces by doing so.

  “I’ll make up a spare room here in the house,” she told him.

  His brow furrowed, “I don’t …”

  “Be quiet,” she told him. “You need sleep, uninterrupted sleep. You may be in charge of ranch business, but I am in charge when it comes to wounds. I need to keep an eye on you for the next day or so and I’m not traipsing all the way out to the bunkhouse every hour.”

  She sat back and stared at him, letting him know this was a fight he could not win. As she did, she recognized that this man was shirtless. A strong, very virile man. The kind of man that could make a woman very aware of the female deep inside of her.

  The white bandage on his upper arm reminded her of how much she owed this man. A wound he had gotten protecting her interests. A wound he had suffered for her. Once again. her heart turned over with love.

  He had to do what she wanted. She wouldn’t be able to rest unless he was close.

  He sighed heavily then nodded slowly. He’s too tired to fight, she realized as a new worry filled her. He had pushed himself beyond the breaking point. Twenty-four hours in the saddle, the loss of blood. The high stress of battle. It was a miracle the man hadn’t collapsed hours ago.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rebecca sat on the pinto and silently thanked Jenny Tanner for recommending pants under her dress. She had borrowed a pair of John’s, cut them down to size and taken them in about the waist. It made things so much easier and no one need know.

  She took a deep breath and looked over the gathered herd stretched out along either side of the creek. Her stomach tightened into a small ball when she thought about the date fast approaching. Would they make it? The answer was not yet clear. And if so, would the price be high enough to cover the loan?

  “We don’t have the time to do another sweep,” Dusty said next to her, obviously trying to let her know they might not have enough.

  She glanced over. Her eyes instinctively examined the bandage bulge under his left sleeve for any sign of bleeding.

  Three days and it looked as if he would heal without serious infection. The man had the constitution of a stone pillar. Either that, or Consuela’s ointment was a miracle medicine. Her stomach turned over whenever she thought about him being hurt. Thankfully, he was still unaware of her feelings for him. It had taken every bit of control not to reach out and touch him every time he drew near.

  Her soul screamed for his arms to wrap themselves around her. Holding her. But no, she could not let him know, never. Instead, she must remain apart.

  The distance was killing her slowly inside, but it was the only way. If he knew and looked at her with pity, she would die inside.

  “It’s still not enough,” he said with a shake of his head. “We’re about a hundred steers short.”

  “Could they really have stolen that many?”

  He nodded. “Six or seven a month over the last year. Yeah.”

  She shook her head. Was it possible that Tad Johnson didn’t know? Before she could ask, Dusty called over Sam and Tom.

  “We’ll drive them down the creek to the meadows,” he said. Then turning to her he added. “An old beaver pond that’s silted over. Maybe twenty acres of good grass and fresh water.

  “After we get to the meadows,” he continued, “Tom, will head back up to help Jack bring his herd down. While he’s doing that, Sam and I will bunch up what we’ve got, spend a day or two sorting out any remaining cows we want to keep, then the four of us will take the combined herd down the trail to Reno.

  “The creek cuts north before joining up with the Truckee,” he continued as he looked down their path. “So we’ll have to leave it after the meadows and cut across a dry patch until we get to the river. After that, for two or three days it will be easy all the way to the stockyards.”

  Everyone nodded that they understood the plan.

  “If a cow breaks from the group, let her go,” he told her. “She’s obviously smart. Like I said, we’ll cut out the rest when we get to the meadows. If it’s a steer, push him back into the group. We’re going to need each and every one.”

  “I’ll take drag,” Rebecca said as she pulled up a bandana over her nose. Dusty raised an eyebrow then nodded. Her heart jumped with pride. He was letting her do the dirtiest job, riding at the tail end of a few hundred cattle. Treating her as if she had proven herself. There was nothing more joyful than knowing the man you loved approved of you. Except knowing that he loved her in return. But that would never happen, she thought as the sadness pushed aside her fleeting joy.

  She could imagine her friends in Philadelphia gasping in shock at the idea of Rebecca Carson herding cattle. But the knowledge that Dusty thought she could do it mattered more to her than anything else ever could.

  Of course, that would be all she would ever know from this man she thought with a sadness as she guided Bob behind the cattle and started waving her hands to get them moving.

  Sam and Tom raced off to
the sides to make sure none climbed up out of the ravine. Dusty joined her, pushing the cows. There were a lot of angry snorts and moans, but the animals finally started moving.

  For the remainder of the day, it was nothing but cutting back and forth trying to convince angry beast that it was smarter to walk away from good grass and good water to avoid the crazy person on the horse behind them.

  But eventually, they broke out of the narrow valley and into a large flat bowl between two distant ridges.

  “The meadows,” Dusty yelled to her just before turning Red on the spot and jumping after a steer trying to break away.

  Rebecca pulled back and let the cattle spread out over the grounds in front of her as she sighed. Every muscle ached with a dull pain. But she had done it.

  “We’ll camp up on that bench for the night,” Dusty said as he stopped next to her to look over the herd. “We’ll keep ‘em bunched through the night so none wander off. Every one of them is too critical.

  She nodded as her body rebelled at the thought of spending half the night in the saddle.

  “Which watch do you want me to take?” she asked.

  His jaw dropped as he shook his head, “Miss Carson,” he began and she knew it was bad. He only addressed her formally when he was upset. “Under no circumstances are you spending the night in a cow camp.”

  “Mr. Rhodes…” she began.

  “No,” he said forcibly. “We don’t have wagons, or tents. We’ll be huddled up around the fire. There is no need for you to stay. Especially not with a warm bed a few miles away.”

  “Dusty,” she began pleaded. “I assure you…”

  He sighed heavily. “Rebecca, please. It will just make it harder on the men. Having you in camp will mean they can’t cuss and complain. They’ll spend the night worrying about offending you. They need their rest.”

  Her insides tightened up. Was he correct? Would she only make things worse?

  “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “For tonight. But you’re going to have a wagon with supplies when you start for town and I will be driving it. And I am not going to go home each night. That’s ridiculous.”

 

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