We won’t bother you again.” Henry Fletcher held Leta’s hand firm in his grasp. “We’re well out of it. I can’t promise that the fighting will end, but no one will bother the D-Bar-D again.” A sad smile played around his mouth. “I’ll make sure of it.” Henry bit into a chicken wing Leta had fried, what felt like days ago instead of only that morning. “Delicious.” He suited the action to his words, licking along the length of his finger.
“Heinrich, I taught you better than that.”
Leta laughed. She chewed the bratwurst that the Fletchers had brought for the picnic. She enjoyed the hearty meat that made a welcome change from the beans and chicken that constituted the staple of her diet.
“Trust me, you have to try the strudel.” Buck dipped a fork into the pastry and bit into it. “Not quite as good as Ma’s, but delicious nonetheless.” He gestured to the older gentleman Leta had observed earlier, whom she hadn’t yet met.
“Leta, this is my father, Jud Morgan. Pa, this is Leta Denning.”
The man was an older version of Buck, his hazel eyes a shade darker, his hair more silver than blond, but the same sun-colored skin and easy manner. Leta liked him immediately. “We have already met. I’m pleased you could join us, Mr. Morgan.”
“Jud, please.” He tipped his hat in her direction, then set it back on his head. “You have done a brave thing here today. We can only pray that other people hereabouts learn from your example.”
“Time will tell.” Her face warmed. “Words aren’t enough to make up for everything my family has done to yours.”
“It goes both ways, if we were keeping count. But I learned to set that aside the hard way a long time ago. With God’s help, it’s possible.”
“Yes.” This man made her feel like change, real change, was possible.
“I’ll pray that this ranch becomes your own Salem.”
“Salem?” Leta scrambled for the word.
“It means peace. Leastwise, I think that’s right.”
“It does.” Leta had recovered the memory. “I heard a sermon about it once. About Melchizedek, king of Salem. I like that. I may have to change the name of the ranch. New start, new name: the Salem Ranch.”
“Peace Ranch. I like that.” Mr. Morgan winked and slung an arm around Buck’s shoulder. “I like her, son.”
Buck’s tanned cheeks turned a brick red, but warmth flooded his eyes when he looked at Leta. “You may be right.” When Buck looked at her that way, she forgot about everyone else in the yard. She forgot about the past ten years, as giddy as a girl who’d never been kissed. “I’m going to steal her away from you for a few minutes, Pa.”
“Give me a minute.” Mr. Morgan grinned, then turned serious. “I have a proposition for you, Mrs. Denning. I know what it’s like to have a young man around the house who can’t wait to leave home.”
He glanced at Buck, who remained impassive, except for a twitching of his lips.
“We were blessed that Buck was too young to fight in the War Between the States. Your brother hasn’t been so fortunate. Feeling his manhood and ready to fight for his family and doing it the best way he knew how.”
That was one way to look at it. “And I didn’t make it easy for him. I still treated him like a boy.”
Buck snickered. “My Aunt Marion, back in Victoria, would say Pa still treats her like a little girl. Stella probably would say the same thing about me. It comes with being the oldest.”
“Maybe. But …”
“The point is, your brother made some bad choices, but that doesn’t make him a bad man. If you’re agreeable, I’d like to offer him a job at my ranch in Victoria.”
Andy could accept a job at the premiere horse ranch in south Texas. “That’s an incredible opportunity. He doesn’t know a great deal about horses …” The words were stumbling out of her mouth. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
Mr. Morgan chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve trained plenty of ranch hands in my time. I taught Georg most of what he knows about horses.”
Pa’s confidence was teasing a smile out of Leta, and she looked more relaxed than she had all day. Buck had told his father a little about Andy’s situation, but he hadn’t known he would offer him a job on his ranch.
Leta shook her head, a smile lighting her features. “Of course you may ask my brother.” She put her hands on her hips. “And if he refuses the offer, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”
Buck laughed out loud. “You’ll have your hands full, with him and Stella. I never saw two young people so anxious to grow up.”
Narrowing his eyes, Pa looked in Stella’s direction. “It looks like someone else has sparked her interest.”
Stella was sharing strudel with Steve. Stella and Steve? A smile spread across Leta’s face.
Tucking Leta’s elbow beneath his arm, Buck steered her toward the stand of elm and oak trees. “I am taking a lady for a walk.” The leaves had turned, a colorful canopy engulfing them with a momentary privacy. “Salem Ranch. I like that.”
“I’ll change my brand to a circle S—a symbol of eternity. Like a wedding ring.” Blushing, she glanced at a plain gold band on her left ring finger. Under her breath, she recited, “Till death do us part.”
Buck sucked in his breath. Did she still pine for her husband?
She twisted the ring another time and took it off her hand. “And death has parted Derrick and me. He’s part of my past. A precious, important part—but it’s time for me to move forward.” She inched forward and raised her head to his.
Accepting the implied invitation, Buck pulled Leta into an embrace. “I was a lot like Andy when I was his age. I couldn’t wait to get away from home and prove myself to people who didn’t already love me.”
She glanced down before lifting her eyes to his again. “Do you still have wanderlust? How long do you want to be a Ranger?”
Her eyes reflected fear. He laid gentle fingers on her chin and tilted it to look at him. “Major Jones already knows that I intend to resign. He sent me away to see if I would change my mind. I didn’t.” He lowered his face to hers. “Like you, I want a new start. Here in Mason County. I’ve found a new challenge, one that’s big enough to last a lifetime. As your husband, if you’ll have me.”
She tilted her head until her lips were a scant breath from his. “Yes, William Meino Morgan. With everything that is in me, yes.”
EPILOGUE
WEST TEXAS FREE PRESS
October 7, 1876
We are looking for a part of Maj. Jones’ company to be quartered among us to keep peace, but I do not know that they will come, as our Gov. may countermand the order as “there is no crime in the State, all mere sensational reports.” I hope they may come and keep the grasshoppers company.
MASON COUNTY, TEXAS MARCH 1877
It was a beautiful spring day, full of sunshine and promise. Leta had convinced Buck to take a trip to town before their baby arrived. Mason was relatively quiet these days; the feud had moved to the county next door, Llano.
While they waited outside the schoolhouse, Leta perused a letter from her brother. He was doing well, looking forward to the birth of foals in the spring.
“What does Andy have to say for himself?”
“He’s excited about the responsibility your father has given him caring for the new foals.” Leta peeked at the envelope sitting in his lap. “What does your aunt Billie have to say?” Even without the postmark, Leta would recognize her distinctive handwriting.
“She says my cousin Alex is heading this way. Just turned eighteen and decided he wants to try something different. Maybe the wanderlust bit him the way it bit me.” He felt a jab in his ribs. “Was that you or was that the baby kicking me?”
“It was the baby.” Leta turned her wide smile on him. “Like his daddy, he’s tired of staying put in one place.”
“He’s not …? You’re not …?” Panic laced Buck’s words.
Her skin rippled again, and she felt a twinge of pain i
n her back. “Uh, Buck? I think I might be having a baby.”
“You mean?”
She nodded, a tremulous smile on her lips. “Go get Ricky and let’s get home.”
“Forget that. I’m taking you to the doctor.”
Eve Hope Morgan entered the world before midnight.
Buck looked into the tiny, red face of his daughter. “A baby makes the world feel right again.”
“A new baby for the hope of peace.” The baby wrapped her tiny fingers around Buck’s index finger.
“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.” Leta looked at her husband, love and joy flooding her exhausted body.
Buck handed baby Eve back to her mother to nurse. “God with us, the Prince of peace. In a world of trouble, that’s the only peace we need.”
EXCERPT FROM Cowgirl Trail
PROLOGUE
ROCKING P RANCH, NEAR BRADY, TEXAS, JULY 1877
The princess wants to ride this morning. Saddle up her horse.” Jack Hubble, the ranch foreman, clapped Alex on the shoulder and walked past him into the barn.
Alex shot a glance toward the house, but the boss’s daughter hadn’t come out yet.
“Uh … which horse?”
“Duchess, of course. Come on, I’ll show you her gear.” Jack strode into the tack room, and Alex hurried after him.
“That’s the chestnut mare out back?”
“That’s right. Here’s Miss Maggie’s saddle.” Jack laid a hand on the horn of a fancy stock saddle with tooled flowers and scrollwork on the skirts.
“She doesn’t ride sidesaddle?”
“Nah. Maggie’s been riding like a boy since she was a little kid. Her father lets her get away with it, so don’t say anything.”
Alex nodded. His own sisters rode astride around the home place, and no one thought a thing about it. Why should he expect the boss’s thirteen-year-old daughter to behave differently? But he had. Maggie Porter was a pretty girl, blonde and blue-eyed. She’d looked like a china doll on Sunday morning, wearing a pink dress with gloves and a white straw bonnet when the family set out for church in the buckboard.
“Here’s Duchess’s bridle.” Jack placed it in his hand.
“Just saddle the mare and take it out to her?” Alex asked.
“Get your horse ready, too.”
Alex stared at him. “Me? You mean I’m going with her?” He’d been hired at the Rocking P less than two weeks earlier. Now wasn’t the time to argue with his foreman, but it seemed a little strange.
Jack laughed. “You’re low man around here. Oh, the fellas don’t mind, but it gets kind of boring. It’s an easy morning for you. And Maggie’s a good kid. Let her go wherever she wants on Rocking P land, but make sure she doesn’t do anything dangerous. Where’s your gun?”
“In the bunkhouse.”
“You’ll want it today, just in case.”
“In case of what?” Alex’s first thought was Comanche, but the tribes were now confined to reservations—his parents had followed the saga of the Numinu with special interest.
“You never know, do you?” Jack said. “Snakes, wild hogs, drifters.”
“All right. How long does she ride?”
“As long as she wants, but get her home by noon. Her mother gets fretful if she’s late for dinner.” Jack looked him up and down. “Oh, there’s one other thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Maggie’s young, but she’s starting to notice you boys. Don’t do anything to give her ideas.” “You mean—”
“I mean, she’s a thirteen-year-old girl on an isolated ranch. She’s cute, and she’s smart. She’s getting to the age, if you take my meaning.”
“I’m not sure I do, sir.”
“It’s Jack,” the foreman said. “My meaning is this: if you lay a finger on that girl, I’ll tear you apart, and then her father will flay your hide. You got it?”
“Yes, sir. Jack.”
“Good.” Jack strode out to the corral.
Alex pulled in a deep breath and hefted Maggie’s saddle.
Maggie watched the new cowpuncher saddle the horses. He’d sure taken long enough to get the tack out and hitch Duchess and his own mount in the corral. The rest of the hands were long gone, out toward the north range.
She stood outside the fence while he saddled Duchess, then a black-and-white pinto for himself. He never looked her way once while he worked. He wasn’t very old—seventeen or eighteen, she guessed. And he was cute. If Carlotta were here, she’d swoon. Maybe sometime she’d ask Papa if the new cowboy could escort her as far as the Herreras’ ranch.
Her cheeks heated at the idea. When had she started thinking about boys that way—and showing one off to her best friend? She supposed it was Carlotta’s fault. She always chattered about the boys in town and the young men on the various ranches. Carlotta was a year older than Maggie, and her mother was talking of sending her to Mexico City to stay with her aunt for a year or two and finish her education. Maggie hoped she wouldn’t go.
The cowboy finished adjusting the straps and then double-checked Duchess’s cinch before he led the horses out of the corral.
“Here you go, Miss Porter.”
“It’s Maggie. You’re Alex, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. Do you need a boost?”
She scowled at him. “Not since I was seven.”
“Oh. Excuse me.” He turned away and hid his smile.
It was a very nice smile, not mean or anything. Maggie wished she had let him help her, but she’d gotten to the age where Mama said she mustn’t let any of the men boost her into the saddle. Except Papa, of course.
Alex swung onto the pinto’s back. By the time Maggie was up and had smoothed her divided skirt and gathered the reins, he looked as though he’d sat there an age, waiting for her. His dark eyes intrigued her—he seemed to see everything and yet he didn’t stare.
“Where are we goin’?” he asked.
The wind gusted and caught the brim of the felt hat she wore riding. She reached up and pulled it down over her ears. “I thought we’d head south. There’s a pond there, and sometimes there are birds on the water.”
“All right. I’ve never done this before. Do you want to lead the way, or what?”
She flushed again, and her embarrassment was compounded by the realization that he noticed. “You can ride beside me.”
He nodded, and she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. Did he think she was too old to need a nursemaid? Or too young to be blushing when a cowboy looked her way?
They walked the horses for a few minutes, until they got off the road and onto the range. The grass was dry and brownish—it hadn’t rained in weeks. But the wind never stopped blowing.
Alex didn’t say anything, but matched his horse’s stride to Duchess’s when Maggie picked up a trot.
After a minute, she said, “I’m sorry to keep you from your regular work. I expect you’d rather be with Jack and the others.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind riding. Beats sinking fence posts.”
Maggie nodded. Some of the men complained about all the new fences they were stringing. Her father said they had to do it, so Jack told the men to put a lid on it—she’d heard him tell Harry and Nevada that.
“Some of the men think riding with kids is a waste of their time,” she ventured.
“Well, I can see your pa not wanting you out here alone. It’s a big range. My sisters aren’t allowed to go far by themselves.”
“You have sisters?”
“Two. One’s about your age.”
“What’s her name?”
“Elena.”
Maggie thought about that. Elena sounded Spanish, though Alex didn’t look Mexican. He had brown hair and eyes, but not too dark, and not the olive-toned skin Carlotta and her family had.
“I wish I had a sister.” Sometimes she felt the loneliness sharply. With only her parents and the ranch hands around, some days
she thought she’d die of boredom. She’d never been to school—her mother taught her at home. But they did have regular church in Brady, and she saw the Bradleys or the Herreras once a month or so.
They came over a rise and looked down on the pond.
“Now, that’s a pretty sight.” Alex gazed down at the water and the trails leading over the prairie to it, the two cottonwoods on the far bank, and the waterfowl gliding on the surface.
Maggie smiled and squeezed Duchess a little with her legs. The mare pricked up her ears and tensed. “Race you there.” She kicked Duchess, and they tore for the pond. A moment later, Alex and the pinto edged up beside them. He didn’t tell her to be careful or to watch out for holes. He just sneaked that pinto past her inch by inch. He reached the pond first and turned to look at her, grinning.
Maggie laughed at the joy of it. Finally, someone to ride with who wouldn’t let her win a race and wouldn’t scold her or fuss over her. She was almost there when the wind seized her hat and blew it off.
“Whoa!” She pulled Duchess up and wheeled to see where her hat went. The wind buffeted it along like a tumbleweed. Before she could decide how best to fetch it, Alex’s horse streaked past her.
At first she thought he’d fallen off—the saddle was empty. Then she saw his boot sticking over the cantle, and one hand clamped on the saddle horn. The next thing she knew, he’d galloped the pinto right up to the hat, reached down while hanging off the horse’s side, and snatched it off the ground. Then he bounced up into his saddle, pivoted the horse on his haunches, and bounded back to her.
He halted next to Duchess and dusted off Maggie’s hat with his cuff. Smiling, he bowed from the waist and held the Stetson out to her. “Your chapeau, Miss Maggie.”
She stared at him, still not believing what she’d seen. “How did you learn to do that? Are you a circus rider?”
He chuckled, obviously pleased that he’d startled her. “My mother used to live with the Comanche, and she learned a lot of their riding tricks.”
She eyed the tousle-haired boy keenly—because he seemed more like a boy now than a hired man—and decided he was telling the truth. “That was amazing.”
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