Lee would probably make him wait until the last possible moment for her answer to his marriage proposal. Doubts buzzed around him like gnats. She had asked what he expected of her. The answer seemed simple enough. To be his wife, to bear his children, to love . . . What the hell was the matter with him? She had loved Patrick. And how many others? Could she recall being in bed with him instead of Patrick? Did she wonder which brother had fathered her child?
In the kitchen, he poured his coffee, glad to have time to himself while Vesper fed Toddie. He loaded his plate with ham, fried eggs, and red-eye gravy, then broke open a sour-dough biscuit and slathered it with butter.
Why couldn't Lee DuBois stay at the ranch house and take care of Toddie and let a man do a man's work? He wolfed down his food and gulped the last of his coffee. Why couldn't she do what she was told and forget the boots? He took a bearing on the day. An idea formed slowly in his mind, then gathered momentum. He almost smiled at its simplicity.
He strode to the corral in time to see Lee lean toward the horse wrangler and say something that brought a smile to the young man's face. T.K. felt tightness in his gut and recognized the reason for it. McCucheon was about Lee's age, perhaps a couple of years older. They appeared to be friends already.
After nodding to the men and turning an icy blast on the horse wrangler, T.K. launched into the plans for the day. ''We're moving a chuck wagon within a half mile of the curve in the canyon, east of the winter range. We'll be staying out a few nights until we get a fix on the herd. We'll fan out and see how many have drifted. Later on, we'll brand the mavericks caught in the circle." He paused to glance around. "You'll need to get whatever gear you want before we ride out."
Some of the cowhands looked at him suspiciously. Slim became openly annoyed. "Ain't this a little early to start sleeping on the ground?"
T.K. tried not to let his irritation show. "Not much. Boswell brought word the cattle market is uneasy right now. We may need to get a head start on a drive."
He heard Lee inhale sharply. "I'll get my clothes. How about a bedroll?" Before he could come up with a reply, she stopped abruptly. "Who'll be at the ranch house with Vesper and Toddie?"
"Juan and his brother, Al, and Juan's son, Paco, are always here." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw McCucheon edge closer. The wrangler carried his hat in his hand, and his hair was plastered down with water. For no reason he could think of, T.K. wanted to punch the man's face in. "You won't need a bedroll, Lee."
She bit out the words. "I'm no longer a greenhorn."
"There won't be a job for a woman. Later, maybe."
"I haven't paid for my boots, and until I do, I'm riding." She headed toward the house. "I won't be long."
T.K. gritted his teeth. He was not blind to the fact that his riders were curious about his relationship with Patrick's woman. There was an alertness about the ranch hands, a subtlety in the way they glanced from Lee to him when she was nearby.
No doubt some of them figured T.K. Burke had already bedded his future sister-in-law. The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. His riders waited, curious to see how he would handle the situation. He took care of it the only way he knew, by ignoring it and motioning toward the bunkhouse. "Get your gear. We'll leave in an hour."
Within moments, he was at the back door. Seconds later, he was bounding up the stairs. He threw open the door of Lee's room, then slammed it shut behind him. "I said there was no place for a woman on this drive."
Her hands on her hips, her eyes bright with anger, she met his glare. "I've earned my spurs, Mr. T.K. Burke. And that's the poker game, isn't it, whether I can do the job?" She walked closer and thrust her face within inches of his, her forefinger pointing at his chin. "I'm not folding my cards."
She was the most exciting woman he had ever seen, and he was caught totally unprepared. Once more, reason and control were swept away. He grabbed her hand and held it, then crushed her to him and covered her mouth with a punishing kiss.
Wrestling against his superior strength, she pummeled his back with her free hand doubled into a fist. He licked at her lips and felt a wild, intoxicating rush when she gasped, inadvertently giving him entry.
Twisting and turning, she continued to pound him, her empty blows falling on his shoulders. He held her closer until she couldn't move. Then he deepened the kiss, feeding his hunger and unknowingly fostering hers. When her lips softened, a muffled groan rose in his throat. After a long moment, he lifted his head to drink in a breath, steadying her and himself. His mouth quirked in self-mockery, and the hardness of his eyes softened in mute apology. There was only one way to make it right.
"Get your damned gear ready," he said gruffly. He turned at the door. "While we're working, see if you can take orders like the rest of the crew."
Her eyes were still blazing. "Right," she said stiffly. Then so quietly that he had to strain to hear, she added, "like the rest of the crew."
Inwardly cursing himself, he hurried downstairs. He had seen victory brighten her face, but she could rest assured that the next win would be his. In the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of black coffee and headed toward the corral. He wondered what the men would think when Lee showed up to ride. One thing was sure: They wouldn't ask why.
True to her word, she arrived dressed and ready. She had drawn her hair back severely and tied it with a dark cord. She casually glanced around her, nodding to the men, before leading her horse out of the corral and mounting. When she stopped near McCucheon, he greeted her by touching the brim of his hat.
The chuck wagon pulled out from behind the barn. The men bunched around it, whooping and laughing, glad to be free of the tension, and caught up in the excitement of riding herd that would ultimately lead to a roundup and a trail drive.
"Tom, Spitz, you'll act as outriders until we get ourselves organized. We'll take most of the day seeing how many cattle are in the breaks. That'll give Beefy time to plant his grub wagon on the south bank of Bull Creek." He signaled them to move out.
The brassy sun had started its hot upward climb in a cloudless sky. No one talked or paid any attention to Lee and he was glad. Ahead was nothing but flat pasture land and rolling prairies. As the riders moved along, the memory of his early morning encounter stirred a tiny warning. She had managed a small triumph, and as satisfying as that must be to her, he had no intention of letting her press her advantage. His feelings lay too close to the surface. So did hers.
He was jolted out of his reverie by a shout from the outriders. "Buffler," one of the twins shouted. "A big herd about five miles over the next rise."
Elise reined her horse as close to Mac's bay as she could without their actually touching. The wranglers handy black leather whip lay coiled near his saddle horn, its grip worn smooth to fit his hand. When he shifted uncomfortably, she smiled at him. "What happens now, Mac?"
Mac didn't meet her eyes. "We just ride, ma'am. The big boss got his sights on the north range. Looks like we might have to go around the buffalo. Means we won't get to Bull Creek by tonight." With a brief nod he trotted away to join the other riders.
Surprised, Elise stared after him. What had happened to the friendly young horse wrangler to rob him of his good-natured banter? The answer came like a blow. In the eyes of the cowhands, she was not Patrick Burke's future wife. She was T.K. Burke's woman. The message had been doled out to McCucheon. She thought of her fall from her horse, and Mac's quick reflex that had killed the rattler. He had seen T.K. holding her. Through a blur of tears, she saw T.K. ride toward her.
He matched his horse's gait to hers. "We'll circle southwest. It'll hold us up, but we don't have a choice. We'll bed down there for the night."
She shivered. "Aren't you afraid they'll stampede?"
"We'll give them plenty of room."
Elise noticed his preoccupation with the horizon. He darted his gaze from one point to another. "Anything wrong?"
"No."
Wanting to understand his reaction to her presence, she dre
w his attention back to her. "Thanks for letting me come."
He gave an absentminded chuckle. "The alternative was worse, becoming a question of truthfulness. I never knew that buying boots could turn into such a problem. One thing about it. We'll hurry this job along so we can get home to the boy."
Elise watched him ride away. She missed Toddie, too, and felt guilty at leaving him. Vesper loved him, but it wasn't the same. Elise sighed. Had she failed Toddie in her haste to be less dependent on T.K.?
The riders spread out along the rise and waited for the chuck wagon to catch up with them. Since she wasn't accepted nor comfortable in the male-dominated environment, she rode alone.
Chapter Seven
T.K. watched Beefy urge his recalcitrant mules to cooperate. He heard the short-tempered cook swearing as the chuck wagon clattered over bumpy ground to a bend near the wide tree-lined stream.
"Whoa, you lazy, good-for-nothing critters. You're slower than oxes and twice as dumb. Couldn't get you started. Now I cain't get you stopped."
Beefy chose a campsite hidden behind a long rise, shadowed by the high sandstone cliff, and within a few feet of clean water. He soon had a fire going and made ready to rattle his utensils.
In ones and twos, Lazy B riders dribbled in, their snorting horses and the creak of leather announcing their weary arrival.
Beefy took his share of ribbing. "Keep it up," he threatened, "and 'fore long you 'punchers gonna be beggin' for vittles. Beef and beans and sour dough could git mighty scarce. And that coffeepot could shore quit talkin'."
Mac didn't join in the laughter. After the hands ate, he gathered all the tin plates to wash and dry, his distaste evident in the set of his mouth. He added buffalo chips and what wood he could find to the fire, then searched for more. None of the riders would have dared josh the newcomer about his being Beefy's right hand, even if it was always the wrangler's job to help the cook. Could have been the low-slung Colt at the man's hip. Or maybe the way the man looked them in the eye when he spoke.
The horse wrangler threaded a picket rope through some saplings and looped the end around a tall stump. As each rider unsaddled his horse, he'd tether the animal to the rope. When darkness curtained the prairie, Mac threw down his saddle, picking a spot where by opening one eye he would have full view of all the horses.
Before dark, the men staked out their territory. They hauled their saddles into a circle around the fire, using them as headrests, their handguns and rifles within easy reach. They soon settled down to listen to Moses Langly play his harmonica. Some of them sang along with the music.
T.K. motioned for Lee to drag her saddle to a place he indicated between him and McCucheon. He felt more comfortable since she was safely settled for the night. When he looked down at Mac, understanding darkened the wrangler's eyes.
Mac reached casually to untie the whip on his saddle and locate it near his hand. Then he lay down and rested his head on the saddle. Moments later, he placed his hat over his face.
With his back to the other ranch hands, T.K. spoke so only Lee could hear. "If you want to wash up or anything, you'll be safe enough at the creek."
Her shoulders drooped with fatigue. "I can wait until they're asleep."
"No need. They'll be snoring by the time you get back."
With a furtive glance behind her, she looked at him and frowned. "But what about Indians?"
"Nothing to worry about. Come on. I'll walk you part way."
She staggered to her feet and followed him down the winding trail through the trees. The stream trickled over occasional rocks, giving a gentle, soothing murmur to the moonlit night.
They reached a big willow, and he motioned for her to go on alone. "I'll wait here for you."
He watched her loosen her shirt and unfasten her belt before he turned his back. Pulling the makings from his pocket, he rolled a cigarette and struck a match. His mind wandered to McCucheon. Mac's face was young, but he looked at the world with knowing eyes. No doubt he'd witnessed a lot of life. When Mac walked toward him, T.K. wasn't surprised.
Mac turned so he faced away from the stream and leaned against a tree. "I scouted above the rise, Mr. Burke. Nothing out there now but sand, lizards, and rattlesnakes. With the buffalo herd close by, that'll change."
T.K. drew on his smoke. "It'll be a gamble whether Indians or hide hunters get here first."
"How long are we going to take to get around the herd?"
"Most of tomorrow. We'll go slow on account of Beefy. And we sure don't want to stir the buffalo into a run. We'll take another half day to get to the north range."
"Miss DuBois already getting tired?"
In a quick glance toward the creek bank, T.K. saw a small pile of clothes. Another look satisfied his need to know where she was. He stood so Mac could not see around him, but he needn't have bothered. Whether by accident or design, Mac faced the opposite direction.
"It was a mistake to let her come," T.K. said.
"Seems like you didn't have a choice." Mac's low chuckle accompanied his words. "Not much of one anyway."
T.K. felt a wry admiration for McCucheon and his laconic observation. "I let her talk me into it."
"Easy to do, I reckon."
"I have a feeling you don't like being the Lazy B wrangler."
Mac's low words came in a rush. "I like horses and I like ridin' for the brand, but I hate the damned chuck detail."
A bare mention at that point would help, T.K. thought in amusement. He wanted to keep the young Kansan, even if his own emotions got twisted when he saw Lee and McCucheon together, not that he believed Mac would be disloyal to him. When it came to sizing up a man, he could usually depend on his gut feeling. As for Lee, there was her reputation to think about, but he'd put his money on McCucheon.
"If you can handle it a few more days, I'll ask Boswell about finding another wrangler."
McCucheon gave a brief nod. "I'll manage."
Water splashed in the stream, and both men looked at each other. Mac's words held a tautness. "Guess I'll turn in. Hope I can sleep."
T.K. braced himself against a tree and waited. When she came toward him, her shirtfront was partly open, the fabric clinging to her damp skin. Water dripped from her hair, and when she was near enough, he reached out to push wet strands from her face. He made a clumsy attempt to button her shirt, his knuckle grazing the soft curve of her breast. When she shivered, he smiled down at her.
"Feel better? I imagine you're cold."
"Both," she whispered. "The water was like ice, but it's wonderful to be clean."
Moonlight feathered through mesquite leaves, turning her hair to silver. Fascinated, he studied the beautiful face lifted to his. When her tongue slid to the corner of her mouth, he couldn't help himself. He dipped his head quickly and brushed her lips with his. "Goodnight, Lee. Morning has a way of starting early."
T.K. watched Lee wake to the sound of voices and the stamp of horse's hooves. Her hair tangled over her face and shoulders reminded him of another night when she had slept in his bed and thought he was Patrick.
She sat up and stretched, then looked around until she saw him. She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled ruefully at the tangles. After working the thick mane into two braids, she pulled on her boots and stood. She was ready when Beefy beckoned them to bacon and flapjacks.
The riders hung back to let her go first. They threw perfunctory greetings in her direction or chose to ignore her by looking away. Only Mac asked how she had slept.
She took her food and walked to the edge of the circle to eat alone. T.K. recognized the rebellious quirk of her mouth, but not before he saw the vulnerable look in her eyes. Lord, how he regretted letting her come. He couldn't figure a way to get her back to ranch headquarters without creating a bigger problem.
He raised his voice so all the hands could hear. "We'll load up and double back southeast, then head west. That way we'll not disturb the buffalo. It'll take more time, but that can't be helped.'' He tur
ned to Boswell. "Got any kind of a tally on the cattle we've passed?"
Boswell clumped to the front of the men, his spurs clinking, his wind-squinted eyes passing briefly over them. He drew out a piece of wrinkled paper, moistened the tip of a stubby pencil, and proceeded to read.
"In the breaks, about twenty-five mavericks, seventy-five head of cattle, half or more of them yearlings. Sixty longhorn steer. We didn't go on into the canyon." He made a check mark and smoothed out the paper. "That's not a big pasture, but the grass is good. Fu'ther on, me and Slim seen around seventy-five cattle carrying the Lazy B brand, a third of 'em with weaner calves. Maybe a hundred cattle grazing along Razorback Ridge. About forty down in the basin."
Mentally calculating, T.K. raked his fingers through his hair and replaced his hat. "The market right now averages a mix at about four dollars a head."
He saw Lee turn from listening to Boswell to glance at him. "What percent of the whole herd does his count represent?"
T.K. hesitated a moment, then answered as if it were an everyday kind of question from a woman. "Somewhere between ten and fifteen percent. What do you think, Bos?"
"Prob'ly." Boswell grunted without looking up.
She seemed thoroughly interested. "You'd get four dollars in the Texas market? And if you sold in the East?"
"Could run as high as forty dollars a head."
"Fifteen percent sets the total around twenty-five hundred. At forty dollars a head you could make as much as"
"Yes? How much?"
She gasped. "A hundred thousand dollars."
Lines hardened around his eyes and mouth. "But not all of them will go to market. Some will get lost on the trail drive. Some will die."
T.K. wondered how he could have allowed himself to get caught in the mess. The range was a man's country. A woman was supposed to be protected, sought after, prized, not allowed to run loose, ciphering cattle prices and competing with a bunch of seasoned cowpunchers.
He watched Boswell stuff his figures back in his shirt and stalk toward his horse. Several of the cowboys shifted and mumbled among themselves. He saw McCucheon try to hide a grin behind a sudden need to tighten his saddle cinch. He had also seen the look of pain that flickered over Lee's face.
A Leaf in the Wind Page 10