by Carol Cox
Hurrying to the house, she paused to smooth her hair before she entered. Charles stood before the fireplace, where he was addressing Jeff, Abby, Willie, and Adam, who stood in the back of the room, leaning casually against the wall. Charles’s face creased in a delighted grin when Lizzie entered, and he broke off in midsentence to sweep his daughter up in a bear hug. Lizzie returned his hearty squeeze and thought for the thousandth time how much she loved and admired her father.
“It’s good to have you back,” she told him. “I missed you.”
Charles smiled affectionately and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I’m glad to be home, honey. It’s good to have a part in territorial affairs, but it’s even better to be back with my family.”
“How was Santa Fe?” Lizzie asked as she took a seat on a footstool next to the chair where Willie sat. “Did I miss hearing all the news?”
“Hardly,” her father replied. “I just got started.”
“Actually,” her uncle Jeff said dryly, “he started a while ago, but he’s just now working up a good head of steam.”
Everyone laughed, including Charles. “All right,” he said, looking a bit sheepish, “I’ll admit I get a little worked up over all that’s going on in the capital—”
“A little!” Jeff whispered loudly, winking broadly at Lizzie and Willie.
Charles shook his head in mock exasperation, cleared his throat, and began again. “As I was saying, the state of the territory is precarious, with all the trouble that’s still going on down in Lincoln County,” he said, referring to the conflict between two factions over contracts for military supplies that had escalated into bloody violence two summers earlier.
“I thought all that was over,” Lizzie’s mother said with a worried frown.
“It was supposed to be,” Charles replied grimly. “But things never settled down completely. Lately there have been more outbreaks of lawlessness—everything from small-time rustling to open raids on some of the outlying ranches.”
“What about the law?” Abby asked. “Aren’t they doing anything to stop it?”
Charles snorted in disgust. “A good number of the undesirables the Rangers ousted from Texas have made their way into the territory, and some of them have decided to give themselves the appearance of being law-abiding citizens by joining the posses. The very ones who are supposed to uphold the law are often no better than the ones they’re chasing!
“Governor Wallace is doing his best to resolve the situation,” he continued. “He’s offered Billy the Kid a full pardon if he’ll turn himself in. If that young killer will give himself up, maybe some of his gang will see the light and settle down. Short of that, I don’t know what it will take to bring peace to New Mexico.”
Lizzie looked around the room. Every face wore a grim expression, with the exception of Willie’s.
“How can you say Billy’s bad?” he blurted out. “Haven’t you heard the story about how he rode all night to get medicine for that little Mexican girl? She almost died! She would have died, too, if Billy hadn’t done that.”
As the company gaped at him, Willie leaned forward in his seat, warming to his subject. “Folks talk about the people he’s killed. Well, maybe he has killed some. But it’s only been to defend himself, or protect women or someone else. Billy and his friends are more like knights than outlaws. It’s all been blown up bigger than it really is!”
Jeff spoke softly. “Better get all your facts straight, boy, before you go taking someone’s part.”
Willie opened his mouth to protest, but at a stern glance from his father he slumped back in his chair, a look of disgust on his face.
Lizzie studied her brother out of the corner of her eye. Surely he couldn’t be defending that notorious killer! Willie might be fun-loving, even ornery at times, but there wasn’t a truly mean bone in his body. She turned her attention back to the group listening to Charles.
“There’s grave concern among those in the territorial government that this will have an adverse effect on our hopes for statehood,” he said. “If we can’t manage our own affairs successfully, why should they admit us into the Union?”
Jeff’s brow furrowed in concern at his brother’s words. “We’ve come too far to have all our hard work destroyed now.”
Lizzie’s mother spoke, her voice pleading as she searched her husband’s face. “Aside from the effect it may have on the statehood issue, will the trouble stay in Lincoln County? You don’t think it will affect us here, do you, Charles?”
Charles’s gaze softened as he regarded his wife tenderly. “I hope not, Abby. I truly hope not. It’s a hard thing to have put in so many years of effort, only to have all our work placed into jeopardy by the actions of a few desperadoes.”
Lizzie crossed her arms and hugged herself tightly. Please, God, don’t let the trouble spread here. There had been so little unrest at the ranch in all the years they’d been there that the idea of something like this rocking her secure world was unthinkable.
Next to her, Willie stirred. “I don’t believe they’re desperadoes,” he declared hotly. “But even if it’s true, maybe if they came up here, we’d have some excitement for a change!” He stood and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Silence gripped the room as the group stared after him in shock. Charles recovered first. “What in the world has gotten into that boy?” he demanded.
Adam straightened from his place in the back of the room. “I remember how restless I was when I was his age. I wanted to lick the world and had no doubt I could do it. A boy that age needs heroes, but Willie’s picking some bad ones if he’s looking up to the likes of that crew.”
Lizzie started at the sound of Adam’s voice. He had stood so still and been so quiet, she had forgotten he was even in the room. It had always been that way, though, she reflected. She had heard other girls giggling over his brawny physique, the sandy hair that would never quite stay in place, and his dark brown eyes. But for her, Adam had been a part of the place for so long that he seemed a natural part of the background—like the furniture, the wallpaper, or the scenery outside.
She watched her father glower at the closed door as though he could see Willie right through it. Then he exchanged a troubled glance with her mother. “They all have their growing pains, I guess. I hope that’s all this is.” He turned his head and smiled at his daughter. “At least we’ve never had a reason to worry about Lizzie.”
Lizzie flushed with surprised pleasure at the general murmur of agreement from the others. Had they always felt like this? she wondered. And if they had, why hadn’t she realized it before now? The glow she felt at her family’s approval was dimmed only by the niggling worry that goaded her when she remembered Willie’s uncharacteristic attitude.
She must remember to pray for Willie, she decided. Maybe he was going through the same type of uncertainty she herself had been experiencing. She would pray that God would work things out according to His will in Willie’s life, too.
four
Lizzie walked toward the barn, the glory of the bright summer day matching her lighthearted mood. Life always seemed more unsettled when her father was gone on business. Having him home again the past week made her feel that the pieces of her life were back in their proper places.
Small clouds like white puffballs were scattered across the sky, but she knew they would soon begin gathering, massing into thunderheads that would bring the afternoon rains. Lizzie loved the feeling of anticipation that came before a rain and looked forward to her daily ride, knowing Dancer would be as eager as she was to work off excess energy before the storm broke.
Far off to the west, a rider appeared as a dot on the horizon. One of the cowboys heading in for some reason, she supposed. Nearer at hand, Bert was mending a hinge on the corral gate, and Hank prepared to mount a green-broke horse in the breaking pen.
Even though she had lived on a ranch all her life, the process of breaking a horse to ride—that contest of wills betwee
n man and animal—still fascinated Lizzie. She slowed her pace, her attention riveted on the drama about to take place.
The horse, a rawboned dun, stood stiff-legged, ears laid back flat against his head. Hank stroked the horse’s neck and spoke in a soothing tone. Lizzie respected the way Hank treated the green horses, trying to win their confidence instead of attempting to master them by brute force. The dun snorted nervously, and Lizzie could see the muscles bunch in his neck.
Hank carefully placed his foot into the left stirrup and swung smoothly into the saddle. The horse’s nostrils flared when he felt a man’s weight on his back for the first time. His eyes wide now, Lizzie could see a ring of white around each dark iris.
Hank sat easy in the saddle. He looked completely relaxed, but Lizzie knew he was on the alert, ready for a blowup.
It came without warning. With a shrill squeal of rage, the horse exploded into motion, like a spring compressed to its limit, then released. Leaping and twisting, he slashed the air with his forefeet, then lowered his head and thrust his hind feet high above him. Hank hung on gamely, shifting his weight to maintain his balance on the frantic animal’s back.
Bert trotted over from the corral and stood on the lower rail of the breaking-pen fence. “Ride him, Hank!” he shouted. Dangerous as it was, this raw action never failed to thrill Lizzie. She moved closer to the pen, her eyes never leaving the spectacle.
“He has a lot of spirit, doesn’t he?” she said quietly.
“That’s for sure,” Bert answered eagerly. “Look at him—full of fire and vinegar! He’ll make a good cow pony when Hank’s finished with him. Plenty of stamina in that one.”
Hank’s skillful handling seemed to be having the desired effect. The horse no longer lunged with his original violent force, and Hank was smiling, apparently confident the battle was nearly over.
The dun stopped abruptly in the center of the pen, head down and breathing hard. Hank, still wary, relaxed a bit. As if he had been waiting for that very response the horse burst into action again, with all of his former determination.
Caught off guard, Hank was thrown slightly off center. Encouraged, the horse redoubled its efforts. Hank hung on grimly, although each jarring landing knocked him further off balance.
“Don’t let him throw you, Hank!” Bert yelled. Lizzie held her breath, knowing a fall was inevitable.
The dun gave a mighty leap, twisting in the air as he did so. Hank threw himself as far from the pounding hooves as he could, landing hard. He lay still for a moment, and Lizzie felt her heart pounding heavily in her chest as she willed him to move. The horse, free of his load, ran toward the fallen cowboy, snorting vengefully.
“Get up, Hank! Get up!” Lizzie shrieked, aware that Bert was vaulting over the top rail even as she shouted.
Hank raised himself on his elbows and started to rise but grimaced with pain and sank back to the dust. With one eye on the raging animal he began dragging himself away, using his arms to propel himself toward the edge of the pen and safety.
The horse whirled and glared at Bert, who skidded to a halt midway between the dun and Hank. Lizzie raced around the outside of the pen and dove under the fence near Hank. “Come on!” she screamed, grabbing him under his arms and pulling for all she was worth. “You’ve got to get out of here before he kills you!”
“I think my leg’s broke,” Hank ground out through clenched teeth. He dug the toe of one boot into the ground and thrust himself forward. “I’m making it okay, but you’d better get back under that fence before you get hurt.”
Lizzie continued to tug at Hank, glancing desperately from him to the fence, which seemed impossibly far away. Bert stood frozen, looking for an opportunity to gain control of the enraged animal, which shifted its malevolent gaze back and forth.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzie saw Adam appear in the doorway of the barn, holding a partially mended bridle. “What’s going on, Hank? Can’t you keep your seat in that saddle?” he called cheerfully. Then he spotted Hank’s prone figure, and his smile disappeared.
Dropping the bridle, he backed through the doorway again and reappeared with a lariat in his hand. “Easy, Bert,” he called softly. “Don’t make a sudden move and spook him.”
“I’m not plannin’ on movin’ much at all,” the cowboy replied. “Not until the situation changes a mite, anyway.”
“Lizzie?” Adam’s voice was sharp with concern. “You and Hank freeze too. Let me ease over there and get a loop on him.”
Knowing Adam’s skill with horses, Lizzie obeyed without question. Hank, too, ceased his struggle to reach the fence.
Lizzie’s breath stilled as she watched Adam approach the breaking pen, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and advancing so gradually that it hardly seemed he was moving at all. “Easy, boy,” he said in a calm, low voice. “Settle down, fella.” In the same soothing tone, and without raising his voice, he said, “As soon as I get this loop over his head, all of you get out of there in a hurry.”
The dun’s nostrils flared as he evaluated this new threat. His front hooves beat a nervous rhythm on the hard-packed earth, and his ears flicked back and forth as he tried to concentrate on all four humans at once.
Without warning, he pivoted on his hind legs and rushed madly toward Lizzie and Hank. Lizzie heard Adam’s hoarse cry as she flung herself toward the fence and wriggled under the bottom rail. She could feel the vibration of the horse’s pounding hooves as she pressed herself flat against the earth.
Rolling over quickly, she saw Adam’s muscular arm whirl and straighten as he flung the loop toward the horse’s head. The dun swerved abruptly just as Adam released the rope, avoiding the noose by a fraction of an inch.
Adam immediately began to retrieve his rope for another try. Bert had made his way out the other side of the pen and was going for his own lasso. Only Hank was left inside with the infuriated animal.
Before Adam could prepare for another throw, the dun turned and headed for the side of the pen at breakneck speed. With a powerful thrust of his haunches, he cleared the top rail and bolted away.
Bert threw down his rope in disgust. “That’s going to be one tough horse to catch again,” he muttered.
Lizzie and Adam ran to Hank’s side. “That was close,” Hank said, grinning weakly. “I thought I was a goner there, for a minute.”
“How bad are you hurt?” Adam asked.
“It’s his leg. It may be broken,” Lizzie told him. She raised her eyes to look at Adam and was stunned at the intensity of his gaze as it locked onto hers.
“And you! What did you think you were doing?” he demanded.
Lizzie blinked and lowered her eyes before the force of his glare. Then she bristled. What right did he have to speak to her this way?
She opened her mouth to make a sharp retort, but a whoop from Bert interrupted her.
“Look! Look at that! I never seen anything like it!” Bert was staring, mouth agape, at the scene unfolding to the west.
The rider Lizzie had seen earlier had set his horse on a course that intercepted the escaping dun. When the dun swerved to evade him, the rider spurred his mount, gaining on the runaway with incredible speed. A thin line snaked out from the rider’s hand and a loop settled gently around the dun’s neck. Rather than jerking the animal to a stop, the rider gradually guided him in a wide arc back toward the waiting group.
“If it ain’t too much bother. . .” Hank’s strained voice broke into the awed silence.
Lizzie started guiltily. “Oh, Hank, you poor thing!” She knelt beside the injured man. Adam hunkered down across from her.
Adam scanned the cowboy’s leg. “I’m afraid you’re right, Hank. Legs don’t bend quite like that on their own. I’ll get Bert to help me, and we’ll get you inside and send for the doctor. Bert!” he called.
Bert tore his gaze from the advancing rider and hurried to help move Hank. “Did you see that?” he sputtered, bending over his injured friend. “Beats anything
I ever did see. Why, I didn’t know anyone could rope like that.”
His voice trailed off as he and Adam disappeared inside the bunkhouse, carrying Hank between them. Lizzie watched them, anxiety for Hank clouding her expression. The sound of approaching hoofbeats caught her attention and she turned to greet their unexpected champion.
The man on horseback guided his mount to the breaking pen, where he opened the gate without dismounting, swung it wide, and shooed the recalcitrant bronc inside. Securing the gate, he rode back toward Lizzie and tipped his hat courteously.
He was, Lizzie judged, about twenty years old, with dark brown hair framing a narrow face. Deep-set eyes flashed a dazzling blue gleam her way and he gave her a winning smile. “Tom Mallory at your service, Miss.”
Lizzie, suddenly aware that she was gaping at the stranger like a codfish, tried to recapture some semblance of dignity. “Welcome to the Double B, Mr. Mallory, and thank you for your help. We’re in your debt.”
Tom Mallory leaned forward in his saddle. “Well, Miss, I’ll certainly keep that in mind.”
Lizzie felt herself blush furiously. What on earth was wrong with her? She had been around cowboys and ranch hands all her life, and none of them had ever affected her this way.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get my father,” she said, trying not to sound as flustered as she felt. “I know he’ll want to thank you himself, and I need to let him know one of the men needs a doctor.” She turned toward the house, willing herself not to give in to her desire to break into headlong flight.
❧
After checking on Hank and summoning the doctor, Charles strode over to the newcomer and held out his hand. “Mallory, I’m obliged. I understand you made a pretty impressive showing out there.” He swept his hand toward the range.
Lizzie, at Charles’s elbow, couldn’t seem to focus her eyes on anything but Tom Mallory. He was of medium height, smaller than her father, with the slender build and narrow hips of a rider. She took in the long, tapering fingers that gripped the belt of his chaps.