“You what?” Blood poured into Sharpe’s face and he made a quick convulsive movement that sent the same feathery tingle into Mike’s mind that had been there the night before. Sharpe’s hands clenched into fists. “What happened?”
“Don’t know for sure.” Joe scratched his head. “We saw some lights where they shouldn’t have been. I told Mike to hold the horses an’ I crept up toward the lights. I could see five figures.”
“Recognize any of them?” A curious waiting settled on Dan’s features and his knuckles showed white.
“Naw. Someone took a shot at me. Next thing I knew Mike was there stuffin’ clothes on me. I told him to get out while he could. Didn’t know but what those jaspers were hangin’ around. He didn’t. He packed me in.”
From his viewpoint, Mike saw Sharpe’s hands uncurl. The blood receded from his face, leaving it colder and more chiseled than ever.
“He must be dead,” the foreman said disparagingly and glanced toward Mike’s bunk where he lay prone, his eyes now closed.
“I ain’t the lightest feller in the world,” Joe said quietly. “An’ it’s a long way from where I got shot to the Circle 5. Besides, now that the fence’s fixed, no reason why he shouldn’t sleep, is there?”
With an inarticulate mumble, Sharpe turned on his heel and slammed out the door. Its bang would have roused the dead so Mike opened his eyes, threw back his blankets, and sat up. “Joe? How’s the shoulder?” He stretched and yawned.
“Sorer than the time I fell on a cactus.” Joe’s mouth twitched. “The boss was here. You get the rest of the day off. Too late for church, though. It’s gettin’ on toward three.”
A pang went through Mike. He had really looked forward to attending church. “Maybe next week.” He dressed, shaved, and ate a breakfast that even made the cook’s eyes pop then decided to ride off some of his stiff muscles.
“Which direction are you headin’?” Joe demanded when Mike stated his plans for the afternoon.
“Thought maybe I’d ride back out the way we came home last night,” Mike said casually, but he knew his high color betrayed him. Would he never get over the childish trait of blushing? Must run in the family. Mercy had it, too.
“Not until I’m able to go with you,” Joe hissed. Mike turned to see the deadliest look he’d ever noticed in Joe’s sharp gaze and Joe repeated softly, “Got that? Not until I go with you. Promise?” He held out his hand.
“Promise.” Mike gripped Joe’s hand and remembered what the Rock Springs lawyer had said about the Circle 5 cowboys. Rowdy, lovable, ornery, soul-trying…once you pass their tests, they’ll settle into a loyal crew who will stand behind you in high water and…it’s companion. The look in Joe’s eyes showed more plainly than words how that prophecy had come to pass.
Chapter 8
A flurry of excitement greeted the Browns and Birchfields when they reached the church yard that Sunday morning. “Wonder what’s happened?” Rose craned her neck to see. “Nate, help me down, will you? How I detest dresses!” She pushed down the bothersome skirts and smoothed her hair. Laurel insisted that she either wear it in curls or put it in braids on top of her head for Sunday, and Rose hated that as much as the dresses.
“Did you hear the news?” a friend gushed. “Your father got called out to the Circle 5 early this morning. Joe Perkins got shot by unknown riders and the new young man we’ve been hearing about—Mike something—bandaged him up and got him to the ranch.”
“The way I heard it is that this new hand is making a name for himself. Seems the first day he got there he put on a demonstration of shooting that convinced the hands he might talk like an easterner but he sure could shoot western!”
“What new hand is that?” Rose whirled on Nate. “Why don’t you ever tell me anything interesting? Not that I care about any old cowboy,” she added, then whispered in Nate’s ear. “After all, my Michael is above showing off to impress people.”
“How do you know?” Nate’s black eyes twinkled.
“I just do.” She smirked and adjusted her collar. “Drat this dress.” She swept into the church with a chuckling Nate right behind her. “Oh dear.” She stopped short. Just ahead of them stood Columbine, her hand in Dan Sharpe’s. Color came and went in Columbine’s face, set off by her simple blue and white gown.
“Mr. Sharpe.” Not a trace of emotion colored Rose’s greeting. Unperturbed, the dapper man released Columbine’s hand and smiled at Rose. “Miss Birchfield, Nate.” He inclined his head toward the girls’ glowering cousin. “I was just asking Miss Columbine if you young ladies and your cousins would like to ride over to the Circle 5 and—”
Rose started to freeze him with an “Impossible!” but she quickly reconsidered. Once Columbine thought her family was persecuting the foreman her romantic notions would swell into a situation worthy of the Montagues and Capulets.
Nate had no such qualms. “I think Dad’s about ready to start. Why don’t we discuss it after church?” He adroitly escorted a reluctant Columbine into a nearby pew, then Rose, before placing himself on the end.
If Dan Sharpe saw through the move he didn’t let on. “After church, then,” he murmured and skillfully placed himself in a pew just ahead and across the aisle where Columbine’s admiring gaze couldn’t help focusing on him.
It took all of Rose’s concentration to overlook the arrogant man and listen to the sermon. On this Sunday Reverend Nathaniel Birchfield had chosen to speak about loving your enemies and praying for those who despitefully use you. Rose frankly admitted in her heart, Dear God, if I prayed for Dan Sharpe it would be for You to remove him to another range and then soften his heart! The next second shame filled her. Quick to anger, she struggled for the meekness she knew God required of His children. I’m sorry, God. She quickly added a postscript to her unspoken prayer. It’s just that Columbine acts so fascinated and Dan Sharpe’s more than twice as old as she is plus a million times older in experience. Rose turned her head slightly and love mingled with impatience for her sister brought moisture to the long, downcast lashes.
Columbine looked so demure, yet her eyes told other tales when she cast glances across the aisle to the pew ahead. Rose involuntarily shivered. Never, never, never must Dan Sharpe win Columbine! Dared she herself go back to the plan to attract him? She set her lips firmly. If that is what it would take to open Columbine’s novel-blinded eyes, so be it. The rest of the sermon, closing hymn, and prayer blurred while Rose gathered courage for the distasteful task ahead. When the congregation spilled out open doors into the sunny world, she had herself under control.
“About that visit, this afternoon would be perfect,” declared Dan Sharpe from his position a step behind the girls.
Rose stuck her tongue in her cheek but forced a smile and an upward sweep of lashes worthy of Miss Columbine. “Our parents have strict rules about Sunday riding except to church,” she told him. “Perhaps another time.”
“How are the rules about Monday riding?” Dan asked. His sardonic look showed he would not be deterred.
Rose hesitated just long enough to feign modesty. “If Nate and Sam are free perhaps we can ride over tomorrow.”
“I’ll expect you. Don’t bother with food. My cook will prepare dinner.” He smiled, shoved his hat on his tawny hair, and walked to his horse, his posture ramrod straight.
“Isn’t he just the most exciting man you ever knew?” Columbine whispered in her sister’s ear, so low that only Nate caught the words.
“He’s one of the most dangerous men I ever knew, little cousin.” Nate’s black eyes flashed as he glared after the retreating Dan Sharpe, impressive as always on his beautiful buckskin. “If you have a brain in your head you’ll stay away from him.”
“How can I when he seems so devoted?” Columbine shot back.
“You ninny, can’t you see he only pays attention to you when Rose isn’t around?” Nate stood his ground.
A look of doubt crossed Columbine’s face and Rose could have hugged Nate.
Now that the seed of distrust had been planted, the elaborate scheme Rose had concocted to disillusion her impressionable and foolish sister could proceed.
Opportunity to further her intentions came the next day when the four cousins rode to the Circle 5. Although their foreman-host scrupulously treated the girls the same, Rose saw big-eyed Columbine watching every glance Dan Sharpe sent her way, measuring it against some inner yardstick. A few times Rose noticed Columbine biting her lip in vexation and the glow her younger sister wore like a cloak faded. Rose secretly rejoiced.
All the crosscurrents didn’t keep the Birchfields from enjoying their day. The open admiration of the Circle 5 hands who gathered for the midday meal restored some of Columbine’s good humor. Near the end of it, a bowlegged cowboy bashfully approached the grassy area a little distance from the cluster of men who had finished eating and gone back to work.
“Beggin’ your pardon, boss, but Perkins is feelin’ real poorly. Might be some purty visitors would lift his spirits.” The messenger stood his ground when Sharpe snapped back at him.
“Get back to work, Haley. The young ladies have better things to do than hold some cowpoke’s hand who didn’t have better sense than to get himself shot up.”
Haley cowered slightly but he would not be silenced. “You might recollect Perkins was on his way back from doin’ his job when he got shot up.” Haley’s bright gaze searched Sharpe and he added softly, “Seems to me a man like that deserves some considerin’.” He backed away wrapped in the dignity of the range that falls on hard working men when they are right.
“I should fire that fellow,” Sharpe muttered, then laughed and shrugged. “If I did, I’d lose half the others and with all the work to be done around here….” He hunched his shoulders eloquently, but Rose caught the glowing embers of resentment deep in the foreman’s eyes.
“I don’t mind at all visiting this man, Perkins, is it? If it will make him feel better, we should see him.” Columbine prettily clasped her hands and a gentle blush tinged her face.
Rose saw Sharpe’s scowl and quickly jumped up. “I don’t either, Columbine. Mr. Sharpe, would you take us to him?” She mischievously added, “Remember what Reverend Birchfield said about visiting the sick? My stars, I didn’t know we’d have the chance so soon!”
Defeated, Dan Sharpe silently led them to the bunkhouse. The door stood open and only one man occupied the large room.
“Perkins, Miss Rose and Miss Columbine came to say howdy.” Sharpe’s look at the injured ranch hand sent chills up and down Rose’s spine. She hesitated but Columbine walked close to the bunk where the cowboy lay. “I’m Columbine and this is my sister, Desert Rose,” she told the feverish man. “Oh dear, you do look miserable.” With the skill that always amazed those who only saw the flirtatious side of Columbine, she located the water pail and dipper with one glance, a basin and cloth with a second. She brought water and gave it to Perkins then bathed his face. “There, isn’t that better?”
An ugly laugh from behind Rose warned her of the foreman’s growing anger. She stepped to Columbine’s side and slid a protective arm around her then said, “Mr. Perkins, we have to be going, but I hope you get well soon.”
Some of his usual spirit surfaced. “I sure will, now. An’ I’m Joe, not Mr. Perkins.” But he didn’t waste much time on Rose. He looked back at Columbine with a glance that shouted he had been stricken for a second time when she ministered to him, and this time straight to the heart. Rose intercepted the startled recognition in her sister’s face before a burning blush spread over her white skin.
Rose exulted, wanting to do a war dance of joy. Let her get interested in this young cowboy and she’s bound to compare him with Dan Sharpe to Sharpe’s disadvantage. Even sick and “feelin’ real poorly,” Joe Perkins was obviously quite a man.
Before they told Joe good-bye, curious Sam could not repress one question. “What happened, anyway?”
Joe suddenly looked older. He compressed his lips and Rose got the distinct impression he wasn’t telling all he knew. “My pard Mike an’ me were ridin’ home. We crossed that section where Hardwick runs his cattle. Someone took a shot at me an’ Mike packed me in.”
“Mike?” Nate raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember meeting anyone today named Mike.”
“Mike Carey. He’s just been here a little while but he’d done proved himself.” Joe’s eyes brightened. “Once you meet him, why, he just ain’t easy to forget.”
“We really do have to go,” Rose reminded Nate. She smiled down at Joe then looked toward Columbine. “When you’re feeling better, come see us at the Double B. During the summer we’re there more than at home in town.” The spirit of mischief prompted her to add, “Mr. Sharpe comes by now and then. Perhaps you can ride over together.”
Her remark backfired. When the little party got back outside, Sharpe managed to corner Rose for a minute. “I’ll hand it to you, Miss Birchfield. Thanks for getting your little sister all soft and sympathetic toward Perkins.” His lips curled in an unpleasant smile. “It will free me to turn my attentions to the girl I really admire.”
A surge of disgust and anger opened Rose’s lips, but a warning signal in her brain went off just in time. “We’ll see about that,” she said, mounting Mesquite in record time to get away from the Circle 5 and its domineering, overconfident foreman.
“He seems nice, doesn’t he?” Columbine dreamily said and relaxed in the saddle.
“I think he’s obnoxious, wicked, and sickening.” Rose let off the steam that had been building ever since she first met Dan Sharpe.
Columbine jerked on her reins so hard her horse danced and nickered in protest. “Why, Desert Rose Birchfield, what a mean thing to say. And when you only talked to him for a few minutes. I declare, you get more peculiar every day!” She stared at her sister. “He seems like a perfectly pleasant boy, and if you took such an unreasoning dislike to Joe Perkins, why did you up and invite him to come visit us?”
Rose hid her astonishment and smiled at Columbine. “Sorry, Columbine, I was thinking of someone else. Joe does seem nice, and if I’m a judge of cowboys—and I should be after living around them all my life—he will come calling the minute he can ride again.”
Did Columbine whisper, “I hope he does” or did Rose imagine it? She couldn’t be sure, for her sister leaned forward, called in her mount’s ear, and galloped ahead.
The long, lovely afternoon’s golden edges had begun to dim when the little band rode across the needle-covered stretch that led to the bald knob overlook and home. Nate and Rose had taken the lead with Columbine and Sam trailing a little behind. Glorious splashes of rose, red, orange, and pale violet stained the sky and reflected in the handsome faces of the riders.
Rose turned from the burning sky to the overlook point. Surprise straightened her spine. “Someone’s there.” Her brows knitted. “Why on earth would a lone rider be here at this time of day?”
“Come on, we’ll find out.” Nate hallooed and the figure turned. Rose gasped. Bathed in the sunset glow, a man stood etched against the far peaks in clean, clear lines.
The distance between the riders and limping figure diminished. Rose’s observant eyes showed a man about Nate’s height but a little stockier, a rueful grin spread across a good-natured face, lupine-blue eyes, and a shock of curly golden hair escaping from beneath a worn sombrero.
“Hello! I seem to be in your territory.”
The unfamiliar accent didn’t belong to Wyoming, yet Rose found it pleasant.
“Nate and Sam Birchfield and our cousins Columbine and Desert Rose,” Nate quickly identified. “Looks like you took a bad spill.”
“It wasn’t Peso’s fault,” the stranger quickly replied. Rose liked the defensive and affectionate way the cowboy glanced at the quarter horse standing a little way back from the promontory. “I got so busy watching that special display of God’s handiwork”—he waved toward the ever-changing sky—”I didn’t pay attention, and Peso stepped in a gop
her hole.” The boyish laugh made Rose’s lips twitch in sympathy. “Next thing I knew he was standing there and I was lying on the ground looking up at him. By the way, I’m Mike Carey.”
“Really?” Rose flushed, disgusted at her involuntary response. We just came from the Circle 5 and Joe Perkins mentioned you….” Her voice trailed off in embarrassment.
“He tends to exaggerate the little service I did for him,” Mike said matter-of-factly, rubbing his leg with a dusty hand.
“Are you badly banged up? Can you ride?” Nate asked.
Carey looked surprised. “Sure I can. I just figured as long as we were stopped I’d enjoy the scenic view for a while before heading back to the ranch.”
Rose stared at the pinkened glaciers on the high peaks and the purple-shadowed valley. “You called it God’s handiwork. You must be a Christian.”
The disappearing sun turned Mike’s hair to burnished gold. “Yes, except for a time I—”
Nate interrupted. “It’s good to meet you, Mike.” His face shone in the wavering light. “We have to get home, though. Ride over to the Double B when you can. I’d like to have you meet Grandpa and Grandma Brown.”
Mike Carey’s steady gaze fixed on Nate. “I had planned on coming to church yesterday but it didn’t work out. I will, the first Sunday I have off.” He smiled a singularly sweet smile at the girls and grinned at Sam. “It’s quite a ride back to the Circle 5 so I’ll be on my way.” He limped to Peso, mounted, raised a hand in farewell, and rode out of sight.
Quiet Sam, who now and then stunned his elders with rare bits of wisdom, observed, “He sure doesn’t act like most of the cowboys around here. How many of our hands would get pitched off a horse and just sit on the ground looking at the mountains and sky?” He shook his head. “Something funny about him.”
Nate exploded in much the same way Columbine had when she thought Rose was criticizing Joe Perkins. “Funny! Why say that? Is there any law that says a—a cowboy can’t appreciate Wyoming scenery, ‘specially when he’s a Christian?”
Wildflower Harvest: Includes Bonus Story of Desert Rose Page 22