Sourdough Creek

by Caroline Fyffe

  “Just something to get me down the trail.”

  Sam followed the man into the dark interior of the barn. Urine vapors, wafting from stalls long overdue for a mucking, burned his eyes.

  A horse snorted. Sam glanced into the closest stall. A tall bay munched on hay and eyed him sleepily. He had a nice head and straight legs. A darn fine looking animal, in fact.

  “How much you want for this horse?”

  “He ain’t for sale. The gelding in the next stall over.”

  Bristol picked up a broken stool leg leaning against the wall and proceeded to the stall door. As if on cue, the horse inside lunged at him, snorting and shaking his head. Bristol lifted the weapon in a threatening manner. “Get on back!”

  “This horse? He’s not only nasty but the ugliest animal I’ve ever seen.”

  “Take him or leave him.”

  Sam didn’t have much choice. For Blu’s foot to heal she needed time without him on her back. The only way for that to happen was if he could secure a second mount.

  “How much?”

  “Thirty.”

  Obviously Bristol was starting high so he’d have room to haggle. When the man turned away the horse lunged again, baring his big teeth. Sam jumped back and Bristol fell over a bucket into the straw.

  “Damn! You should pay me to take him off your hands.”

  Bristol climbed to his feet and began brushing the straw from his overalls. “He ain’t as bad as he seems. Once he’s caught up he’s gentle as a lamb.”

  Sam could see in the horse’s eyes that he’d been mishandled and abused. Hatred for Bristol burned in them, too.

  Bristol must have sensed his sale slipping away and added, “He rides real nice. Twenty and your horse in trade.”

  Sam gazed out the door, thinking. What were his choices? If he waited for Blu’s foot to heal, Cassidy and the gold claim would be long gone. He needed that gelding to carry him, not win a beauty contest.

  “I’ll give you ten and not a nickel more.”

  “Ten, plus your horse.”

  “Ten.”

  Bristol hacked up some sputum. “I’ll take your horse in trade. No extra money.”

  “It’d be a cold day in hell before I sold her to the likes of you,” Sam said, looking one more time into the stall. The deadly click of a gun being cocked resounded. Anger with himself burst through Sam’s mind. He turned to find Bristol Sherman’s weapon leveled at his chest. Cassidy had been right! He’d walked right into their snake pit, even after the boy’s clear words of warning.

  Bristol laughed. “That mare of yours will bring me a pretty dollar, yes indeed. Haven’t seen horseflesh so fine in a long, long time.”

  A shot rang out. Dirt kicked up between Bristol’s boots. Both men reacted and Sam had his gun drawn before he hit the ground.

  “I know for a fact you gave Miss Hawthorn three dollars for that horse not more than two weeks ago!”

  Sam recognized Cassidy’s voice calling from some hidden spot in the livery yard where he’d gotten a clear shot through the barn door. The boy must have anticipated trouble and followed him.

  “That Cassie Angel can take a hike!” Bristol growled nastily. “That girl is a thorn in my side.” His face turned a dark burgundy. “Hawthorn owed me money!” he shouted back. “Gave him to me for a good deal in payment for something else. Ain’t none of your business, anyway!”

  For a moment Sam was confused. Then realization dawned. A tidal wave of embarrassment washed over him and his face tingled with warmth. Now the large green eyes and slim body made perfect sense! Something hadn’t rung true about that boy, but Sam hadn’t figured it out. Today when he’d offered his help at the steps of the boarding house and their bodies had touched, he’d felt a surge of something, scaring the heck out of him. Relief flooded now and he stifled a laugh.

  Sam stood and motioned with his gun for Bristol to throw his to the side. Bristol complied and climbed to his feet.

  “I’ll still give you ten,” he said to Bristol. “And a couple more for a bridle. You know that’s more than fair. And I’ll forget you drew on me, too.”

  “Deal.”

  Sam took a leather pouch from his pocket and fished out the money. “You catch him up and saddle him. I want to see you ride him down the street.” He wasn’t going to get his neck broken when he was so close to getting the claim back.

  Bristol shrugged and went into the stall, rope in hand while Sam retrieved his saddle off Blu. After a loud commotion, Bristol emerged leading the horse. It was true. The gelding seemed quite docile.

  Bristol smiled revealing a row of stained and broken teeth. “Jist like a little lamb.”

  Now, out in the open, Sam could hardly bear to look. The gelding was the ugliest, ewe-necked animal he’d ever laid eyes on. His sizable Roman nose went unpleasantly well with little pig eyes. When Bristol threw the blanket and saddle on the gelding’s back, the animal pinned his ears. The left ear, split down its middle, was his brand. Sam had seen brandings of the like before, but didn’t agree with them. No need to mutilate a horse to mark him. The horse sucked in air as Bristol tightened the cinch, using the old trick in an attempt to keep the saddle from being properly secured. His one redeeming quality was his color—a nice liver chestnut—and his white markings—wide white blaze, and four white socks. It didn’t matter what he looked like, Sam thought, as long as he was broke to ride.

  Sam wondered if Cassidy—Cassie, he corrected himself, was still around, hiding. Bristol must not know that she was masquerading as a boy. She’d fooled his brother Klem a short time ago. Was she doing it to avoid the two men?

  Bristol mounted. He thunked the horse’s side and loped down the deserted street and back. Then, dismounting, he handed the reins to Sam. “Pleasure doing business.”

  “He have a name?”

  Bristol pointed to the animal’s head. “Split Ear.”

  Taking the gelding’s reins and gathering up Blu, Sam walked down the street toward the boarding house. So, his skinny little friend was really a girl. What a surprise. Sam felt stupid for not seeing through the deception on his own. He had to admit it was good thinking on her part to follow him over. No telling what might have happened if she hadn’t.

  At Hawthorn’s Boarding House, Sam turned Blu out into a corral. He unsaddled Split Ear, and for the moment set his rig on the top of the fence rail. The horse cast a disgruntled look his way and pinned his ears. With a chuckle, Sam gave him a rub on the neck, and then turned him out, too. The gelding cautiously made his way toward the mare that was cropping away at the green grass.

  Leaning against the weathered boards of the corral, Sam removed his hat to feel the cool breeze in his hair and on his face. He glanced at the quiet house. He’d play along with Cassie for a while—until he could figure out what she was up to. One thing troubled him, though. Taking the claim back into his possession didn’t feel quite as simple now as it had an hour ago.

  Chapter Six

  Cassie peeked out the kitchen window as Sam turned his mare out, noticing that he took extra time with the new gelding. He seemed gentle with his animals, a good sign for any man. Then, when the gelding laid his ears back in warning, Sam’s lips tipped up into a lopsided grin, as if he understood the horse’s edginess in a new place. Surprisingly, like a perceptive father might do, Sam stroked the cranky horse’s neck anyway.

  Cassie’s cover gave her time and the proximity to finally get a good look at Sam Ridgeway without seeming curious. He was tall and muscular. His profile was distinctive, with a strong jaw, high forehead and ample eyebrows. His expression, when not threatening to thrash a body, was contemplative and calm and seemed more than a little intelligent. A mild breeze played with the fringes of his brown hair, and when he looked up at the house, it tousled over his forehead in a boyish manner.

  “Should I go feed the horses?” Josephine asked from the other side of the room. Cassie, embarrassed at being caught looking, felt her cheeks tingle with warmth. “Good i
dea. Pepper and Meadowlark will be sorely put out if you don’t hurry. Supper will be ready when you get back.”

  “Is it biscuits and gravy again? I’m tired of them. That’s all we ever eat.”

  “Have you forgotten so quickly? There’s cherry pie for dessert. And, I’ll open the last can of corn syrup for the biscuits. You always like that, right?” Josephine’s eyes lit with pleasure as she ran from the room.

  As she watched her sister go, a longing so deep swept over Cassie, almost stealing her breath. “I’m trying my best, Ma. I am. But, things have gotten a bit complicated. I hope I’m doing the right thing going to California. It’s hard to know.”

  Taking this opportunity of quiet, she went into the bedroom and shut the door. From her satchel she took out the Bible that had belonged to her mother and her mother’s mother before that. Opening it, she withdrew the deed to the claim Uncle Arvid had left in her dresser drawer, and set it aside. She thumbed through the pages until she reached a yellow, dog-eared page. In the dim light, a tingle slipped down her spine knowing her mother and grandmother had read the exact same verse at some trying time in their lives. That thought alone bolstered her confidence. “For I am convinced,” she read quietly, “that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creatures will be able to separate us from—” She stopped reading as voices were heard in the kitchen. Sam and Josephine must be back.

  She finished the sentence and replaced the deed into the Bible and closed it. A moment passed. “Ma,” she said into the stillness of the room. “I’m relying on my own smarts, just like you told me. I won’t forget what you said about men, no matter how good intentioned they seem, that they will only let me down, and—” she stumbled to a stop. She hated to remember that her mother had told her that her father was a liar. What a horrible thing. But she knew her mother had felt a need to warn her and Josephine when she was dying and they were going to be on their own. “I’ll remember your words, Ma, I will. I know they were hard for you to say. I’ll do my best for Josephine, I promise.”

  Cassie returned to the kitchen to find Sam and Josephine setting the table for supper. The pot of thin gravy she’d put on the stove earlier was bubbling gently. “You don’t have to set the table, Mr. Ridgeway. Joey is capable.”

  “Call me Sam,” he said, setting a napkin and fork beside each plate Josephine placed on the tablecloth. “We’re going to be traveling together so there’s no need to be so formal. Since you’re kind enough to feed me, I’m going to help.”

  “That’s just it. We’re not going to California with you. We want to take our time and I’m sure you’re in a hurry.” That was the only fib she could think of to get him off their backs. When Sam stopped what he was doing and looked her way, she avoided his gaze by grasping the long wooden spoon and stirring the pot.

  “That’s nonsense. I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t extend a helping hand to Arvid’s kin. And besides, you just saved my hide from Bristol Sherman. He was in a mind to kill me for my horse. I owe you and won’t take no for an answer. I’ll be your guide and guardian.”

  She placed the bowl filled with biscuits on the table, next to the can of sweet corn syrup and pitcher of milk. Miss Hawthorn had sold her cow for traveling expenses just days before, but the leftover milk and a crock of butter she’d kindly given to the girls. They’d been using them sparingly. The milk, kept in the root cellar, was on the verge of spoiling.

  Cassie searched her mind for another reason not to travel with Sam but knew it would sound contrived if she made a bigger fuss about the arrangement. It made more sense for them to go together than for her to argue. She and Josephine needed to get out of Broken Branch. Maybe trusting him for a few days wouldn’t be all that bad.

  “Well, sit yourself down. It’s ready.”

  Sam and Josephine sat and Cassie passed the bowl of biscuits. She poured a little milk into Josephine’s glass, but Sam declined.

  Sam took a bite of biscuit and chewed, prompting Cassie to pass him the pot of gravy. “They’re dry without this, Sam. Have some.”

  “Or you can put corn syrup on ’em,” Joey added. “I like that the best.”

  Silence fell around the table as the three ate hungrily, not slowing down until every biscuit and all the gravy was gone.

  “What do you do?” Cassie asked finally, looking at Sam.

  Sam glanced up from his plate. He scooted his chair back and stretched out his legs.

  “I’m a rancher.”

  “Cattle?”

  “No. Horses. That is, in the future when I buy the land I need and get my breeding stock. My mare is bred for working cattle. A horse many men would pay good money for.”

  A sizzling sound came from the oven.

  “The pie!” Josephine shouted.

  Sam lunged for two dishtowels lying on the drain board. He opened the oven door and stuck his hands inside as bubbly syrup overflowed the crust and spilled onto the hot cast iron. Steam hit him in the face but he held onto the pie tin, unwilling to give up the prize without a fight.

  “Careful. Careful! Don’t get burned,” Cassie cautioned. He felt her hovering behind him, looking over his shoulder. He was amazed at himself for ever having believed she was a boy, even for a second.

  Heat seared through the dishtowels and the pie bobbled in his hands. He straightened quickly and swung around, looking for a spot to drop it.

  “Here,” screamed Joey, pointing to an open spot on the counter. “Here. Here. Put it here.”

  He did. With a shove. It came to a halt with half the pie teetering over the edge of the counter.

  Cassie’s face flushed with surprise. Her eyes glowed with astonished pleasure that he’d saved the pie. When she laughed, happiness filled Sam’s chest. He had to drag his gaze away from her face before he gave himself away. This was going to be one long trip to California, no doubt about it. And he was looking forward to every step of the way.

  Chapter Seven

  “You saved the pie!”

  Cassie fussed over the sweet pastry as a mama cat does over her kittens. She’d forgotten her manly Cassidy façade entirely for the moment, her eyes sparkling with delight and her laughter filling the room. She moved the bubbling-hot dessert from the edge of the drain board and put it on the sill of the open window to cool.

  Sam was waiting for realization to hit her as she brushed some tendrils from her forehead. “I was just so sure you were going to drop it,” she said on a breath, looking over at him. “I can’t imagine how hot that was.” She gazed at the pie and fanned it with her napkin. “It would have been just dreadful if it’d been smashed to bits on the floor.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Sam replied, captivated by her pretty face.

  “Cassie…dee,” Joey spoke up for the first time since the hullabaloo had settled down. “It looks yummy even if the edges are burnt some.” The boy poked at the blackened crust with a small finger.

  When Joey fumbled her name again, Cassie turned from Sam’s gaze to compose herself. Her boy façade slid down over her lovely features as she remembered her masculine pretense.

  “Is it cool enough? Can we have a slice?” Joey asked eagerly.

  “Not for a while yet, little brother,” she replied, this time with the deeper voice. “Help me get the kitchen cleaned up first and by the time we’re done, it’ll be ready.”

  Both Sam and Joey cleared the dishes from the table as Cassie pumped water into the dishpan.

  “Sam,” she said over her shoulder, “why don’t you pick a room down the hall. They’re all empty except the last. That’s Joey’s and mine.”

  The clock over the parlor mantel chimed seven times. “All right, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  She nodded.

  Sam went to the front door and retrieved the bedroll and saddlebags he’d left there earlier before heading down the hall. As Cassie had said, all the rooms were
unoccupied, a condition unusual for a boarding house. He entered one and looked around. The cat was curled in the middle of the bed.

  Unpacking for him consisted of draping his saddlebags across a chair. That took all of two seconds. He sat on the bed, testing the firmness. The cat opened her eyes and looked at him. She yawned once and laid her head back between her paws.

  Before returning to the kitchen, Sam veered down the dimly-lit hall and stopped at the door of Cassie’s room, which was cracked open a few inviting inches. Temptation was strong. He stilled, listening to make sure no one was coming his way.

  Where was the deed? Directly in his line of vision a satchel leaned against the wall and a few garments covered a rocking chair in the corner. He listened again for any sound of footsteps. Nothing but some clattering of dishes from the kitchen. He pushed the door gently with the toe of his boot. Regardless of it squeaking, he took one step in before his conscience stopped him short. He just couldn’t do it this way. It felt wrong for so many reasons. He turned to leave.

  “Sam?”

  Joey was standing in the hall. The trust shining in the boy’s eyes filled him with remorse.

  “What are you doing in there?”

  Sam hunkered down to his level. A moment passed. “Thought I heard something coming from inside this room. After I took a look I realized it was yours.” He shrugged. “Must have been the cat.”

  As soon as the words were out Sam regretted them. Lying straight to Joey’s face reminded him all too much of the times his own father had done the same to him and his younger brother Seth. And even worse, to his mother before her death. The memory made his stomach burn bitterly. Trying to retrieve the claim was one thing, but lying like this was another. His father’s deceit had ripped his family apart. It had heaped mounds of shame on his mother as she tried to scratch out a living for her and her little sons. Brewster Ridgeway was now paying the price for those lies, and his other nefarious deeds, rotting away in prison.