“I bet they’d want to strike too,” Joe said.
“If not, at least we could tell them not to let any of their men hire on with Porter. I bet they’d do that to back us up.” Nevada looked around at the others.
“That didn’t work so well in the panhandle,” Alex reminded them, hefting his saddle against his hip to carry it into the barn. “They had five ranches striking, but the owners still found more workers and refused to hire back the men who struck. We’d probably do ourselves out of our jobs if we tried it.”
“You know we can’t live on thirty dollars a month without our maverick herds,” Nevada said.
“Yeah, some ranches are paying forty now,” Leo put in.
Harry nodded. “That’s right, and now Porter’s claiming our herds for himself. We own those cattle, even if he doesn’t let us keep any from now on.”
“Yeah, we should be able to sell them and keep the money,” Harry said. “We’ve been doing it for years.”
Alex looked around at them. Mr. Porter had treated him fairly—some might say more than fairly. Alex had been on the Rocking P for seven years now, and Porter had bypassed older men when he promoted Alex to foreman last year. That called for a certain amount of loyalty.
He’d always admired Porter for the way he ran his vast spread. Letting the men keep a few mavericks was standard procedure and allowed the boss to keep wages low. He’d also provided cabins for three of the married men and allowed them to bring their families to live on the ranch.
But lately, the boss was slipping. Alex could see it, and the men could see it. He’d tried to talk to Mr. Porter a couple of times, when it seemed like maintenance was being neglected, and when the supplies for the men’s cook had lacked several items the men enjoyed. Mr. Porter had answered him more gruffly than usual—even a bit angrily. Alex had let it go, thinking they’d talk again later, when he caught the boss in a better mood. Surely they could work this out.
And another thing—he’d heard Porter’s daughter was coming home soon. If Maggie Porter weren’t in the mix, Alex might not have hesitated. The men were right—the boss no longer treated them fairly. But if he sided with them, would he lose his job—and his only chance to make a good impression on Maggie Porter?
He turned to face the men again. “All right, listen to me. I have to go in tonight and settle the details of the roundup with the boss. I’ll mention your complaints.”
“Grievances,” Nevada said quickly. “We’re not complainers, Alex. We’re hardworking men with grievances.”
Alex gritted his teeth. “All right. I’ll bring it up.”
Maggie Porter stepped down from the stagecoach in Brady, Texas, scanning the small crowd of onlookers eagerly. Her gaze lit on Shep Rooney, a cowhand who had been with her father’s ranch as long as she could remember. She swallowed her disappointment and made her way to him.
“Hi, Shep!”
“Afternoon, Miss Maggie. Good to have you home.”
“Where’s Papa?” She looked around once more, on the chance he’d stepped into the stage line’s office out of the hot sun for a moment.
“He’s out to the ranch.” Shep’s smile for her was the same as it had always been, but his hair had gone mostly gray, and his beard was streaked with white. “You got a trunk?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have the stage people put it in the wagon.” He spoke to the station agent then came back to her side, limping as he walked. “Your pa woulda liked to have come, but the boys are all out on the roundup, and they’ll start the drive in a few days. Lot going on at the ranch.”
She nodded and walked to the wagon with him, wondering why Shep wasn’t with the other cowboys. The team of bays in harness looked familiar, and she paused to pat their noses. “Is Duchess waiting for me too?”
Shep smiled. “Yup, she can’t wait to see you. I see Alex take her out now and then to keep her in shape for you.”
Alex. Maggie guarded her expression. She’d have thought her girlish crush would have passed by now, but even the mention of him still brought on a flutter or two. He was the best-looking cowboy she’d ever seen, and not that much older than she was. When she’d left at eighteen with her mother, she’d kept her memories of Alex Bright as a secret treasure she could take out and gaze at now and then, the way she did the Mexican silver dollar her father had given her on her tenth birthday. The memory of Alex was another pleasant keepsake.
Shep fussed with the horses and got her luggage loaded. They started out, and he kept the team trotting steadily. Maggie plied him with questions about the ranch.
“How’s the roundup going?”
“The boys just went out yesterday. They’ll be at it three or four more days at least. Then they start the drive.”
“Lucky cowpokes.”
Shep smiled. “You still want to be a cowgirl?”
Maggie smiled. When she was younger, her father had taken her out to the spring roundup for a day. She’d looked forward to it every year, as soon as Christmas had passed. She’d vowed she could ride and rope as well as a cowboy and begged her father to let her stay out with him and the men. He’d always brought her home in the evening, though.
“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving the roundup and watching the men start off on the drive. But I’ve developed a few other interests now, Shep.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
She didn’t answer right away. During most of her absence she’d attended her mother, whose long illness had worn Maggie down. Seeing her mother fail and die at the sanatorium had taken something out of her that she didn’t think she’d ever regain. That’s why Papa had sent her to San Francisco after the funeral. Seven months with her cousin Iris had started the healing process. How could anyone stay melancholy around Iris? The young woman lived a life of constant activity.
“Iris helped me learn to love art,” she said. “And music, and … and lots of things.”
“Well now,” Shep said. “We don’t get much of that on the ranch, and that’s for sure.”
Almost Maggie regretted not going away to a finishing school like Sarah Bradley and some of the other girls from ranches did. She’d gone to the sanatorium with Mama instead and led a gentle life for a year and half, followed by the whirl with Iris. Perhaps that was education enough. She needed some time at home now; the ranch would complete her restoration.
“How come you’re not out on the roundup, Shep?”
He nodded toward his left leg. “It’s this bum knee. Did something to it last summer. I can’t take more’n half an hour in the saddle these days. But so far, your pa’s found plenty for me to do.” Shep’s face sobered. “Gotta admit, some days I wonder if he’ll keep me on.”
“Why wouldn’t he? You’re good at so many things.”
“Well, thanks, Miss Maggie. But things aren’t the same at the ranch. I putter around and clean out the barn and corrals and mend harness. I drive into town for supplies. But I wonder how long your pa will pay me if I can’t get back in the saddle.”
His words troubled Maggie. Surely her father would take care of an employee who had served him faithfully for many years.
“I hope they do all right on the drive this year,” Shep said.
“Why wouldn’t they? It’s only to Fort Worth now, not all the way to Kansas. A couple of weeks on the trail. That should be a picnic for Alex and the other men.”
Shep shook his head. “They aren’t happy, and when people get mad, things can go wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Maggie asked. “Has something happened?”
Shep smiled at her, but he seemed to have lost his good humor. “You papa told us we can’t run our little herds anymore, or claim mavericks. The boys are angry about that.”
“Are you mad too? You have a maverick herd, don’t you?”
“I had a dozen steers I hoped to send on the drive this year. But it looks like that won’t happen now. There’s other things too.”
“What other things? Papa
’s always been a good boss. Everyone says the Rocking P is a good place to work.”
“Well, the boys feel different now.”
They were almost home, and Maggie would have to save that to think about later. She’d ask Papa about it, because on the surface, it didn’t seem fair. She sat on the edge of the wagon seat, holding her hat down with one hand and bracing herself with the other. She couldn’t wait to get her working hat on again. This flimsy thing she’d bought at a milliner’s shop in San Francisco was all feathers and net—no match for the Texas wind. She ought to have anchored it with an extra hatpin.
As Shep guided the team over the crest of the last rise, she caught her breath. Rocking P land stretched out as far as she could see. She’d longed for the people who loved her—Papa and Dolores, mostly, but she’d also craved this place. This was home. She’d often thought the “P” in Rocking P should stand for “peace,” not “Porter.”
Maggie reached up and pulled out her long hatpin and whipped the hat off.
Shep looked over in surprise.
She smiled. “Can’t stand this thing any longer.” She turned around and opened the valise that sat in the wagon bed behind her. She tucked the hat in and dropped the hatpin after it. Reaching up, she loosened her bun and shook out her long hair. She’d missed feeling the Texas wind blow through it, lifting the strands and ruffling her locks.
“Now you look like little Maggie,” Shep said. “Guess you’ll be out galloping Duchess in the morning.”
“I sure will.”
He drove into the yard and drew up before the ranch house. Maggie jumped down without waiting for his help. The door flew open as she ran toward it, and she tumbled into Dolores’s arms.
“Miss Maggie, we missed you so much!”
Dolores, a cowpuncher’s widow, had taken care of the Porter family since Maggie was about five years old—when her mother became too ill to do all the cooking and cleaning herself. Dolores had always been there for Maggie, entrenched in the kitchen but always ready to listen to a girl’s woes.
When Mama grew more and more frail, Dolores helped Maggie in ways she’d never realized until now. She’d kept her busy and taught her to think of others. She’d trained Maggie to help keep the house neat and clean, and to cook a passable meal if need be. She’d had the “girl talks” with Maggie that most girls had with their mothers. She’d made Maggie’s birthday cakes and dried her tears. And when the time came for Mama to go away in a last, desperate effort to regain her strength, Dolores packed for both Mama and Maggie and helped the girl find the grit that helped her through those last agonizing months with Mama.
As she pulled away from Dolores’s embrace, Maggie found her cheeks were wet with tears. She wiped them away quickly.
“Thank you. I’ve missed you, too.”
Across the big parlor, the door to her father’s office opened. He stepped toward her, smiling.
Maggie ran to him and hugged him.
“There, now,” he said. “Welcome back, sugar.”
She clung to him for a moment, knowing things had changed. She’d been home only a few weeks after Mama died, and they hadn’t really settled into a routine then. But now she was home for good. Without Mama, they’d have to muddle their way into a new family pattern. She’d never be his little girl again. What was her role now?
She pushed away from him. “Papa, you’re so thin! Hasn’t Dolores been feeding you?”
He chuckled. “You have to ask? You know her cooking. No, I’m just … a little off my feed, I guess.”
Shep came through, carrying her valise. “I’ll put this in your room, Miss Maggie, and I’ll get one of the boys to help me with the trunk later.”
To her surprise, Papa didn’t jump in with an offer to help.
An hour later, Maggie and her father ate together at the table to one side of the big parlor. She could hear muted voices from the kitchen and decided that Shep was eating out there with Dolores.
“I was sorry to hear about Shep’s injury,” she said.
“You and me both.”
“It must have happened before—before the funeral, but I didn’t realize it then.”
“We were both pretty well distracted in September.”
“Yes.”
Her father didn’t seem to be eating much, but Maggie didn’t mention it.
“So the other men are out on roundup.”
“Yes. I expect they’ll bring the first cut in tonight, and Alex will come in to tell me how things look. I hope we’ll have a good herd to send to Fort Worth.”
“Are you going out to the roundup?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. The boys can handle it.”
Maggie’s disappointment struck hard. She’d hoped they could ride out to the range together and join the fun for a day.
“Papa …”
“What?”
She shook her head and reached for the milk pitcher. Everyone seemed too sober. Maybe it was just that the men were gone, and the whole ranch seemed too quiet. Then too, Maggie had only been home once since her mother left—for those three weeks at the time of Mama’s funeral. Maybe she just wasn’t used to the house without Mama.
“How are the Herreras doing?”
“Good, so far as I know. I haven’t seen Juan for a month or so.” That wasn’t unusual during the busy seasons, with the houses on the large ranches several miles apart. But Carlotta, Señor Herrera’s daughter, was Maggie’s girlhood friend.
“I’ll want to visit Carlotta soon,” she said. “She wrote to me a few weeks ago, and I didn’t get a chance to answer before I left San Francisco.”
“She’ll probably be happy to see you,” Papa said. “I hear the Riddle boy’s been hanging around there some.”
Maggie smiled. The neighboring rancher’s beautiful daughter had never lacked for suitors. “She mentioned it. I don’t think she’s sure whether she likes him or not. She said she rides better than he does.”
Her father laughed. “That girl always was a handful. Did Iris take you to the opera? You said in your last letter that you were going.”
“Yes. You would have loved it, Papa. The costumes were so elegant, and the singing! Every voice was perfect. I could have gone every night for a week and not gotten tired of it.”
They continued to chat throughout the meal, and some of Maggie’s anxiety quieted. She went to her room after supper and unpacked her valise. When she opened her armoire, she found her old riding clothes hanging inside. She smiled and pulled out the brown serge skirt she had defiantly split and stitched into loose trousers. When she stood still, people couldn’t even tell it was divided, but it allowed her to ride astride modestly. She’d try it on in the morning to see if it still fit. If not, she’d have to wear the fancy riding habit she’d bought in San Francisco. Duchess might not like wearing the sidesaddle and letting the heavy skirt hang down her side.
Hoof beats coming up the lane drew her to the window.
Alex Bright. He rode his leggy red roan to the hitching rail and slid out of the saddle like a man who had worked hard all day but wasn’t done yet.
He was even better looking than he had been when she left two years ago. Alex had always sat easy in the saddle and made his dusty hat and worn work clothes look fit for a cattle baron. But Maggie studied him with more mature eyes now. She’d expected to be disappointed when she saw him again. Instead, she knew what she’d felt as a teenager was real.
He walked up the steps to the front door and disappeared from view. With a sigh she turned to her bed to finish unpacking. After hanging up the extra skirt and blouse she’d carried, she transferred the last few things to her dresser. She wondered when she’d get her trunk. She was almost glad Shep hadn’t brought it in yet—she was too tired to unpack it. That could wait until morning.
She went to her dressing table, picked up her hairbrush, and ran it through her long golden hair. Though she kept her hands busy, her mind thought of Alex, only yards away. On impulse, she laid
down the brush and went out to the parlor, but it was empty. She turned toward her father’s office. He kept the small room for business only.
The door was open a few inches, and she could hear Alex talking, his voice deep and rhythmic. Someone had told her once that he was from a musical family—related to a famous composer, unless she’d gotten it wrong. She’d heard him sing at roundups and at church. Maybe that’s why she’d fallen so hard for him—his voice was enough to make any girl swoon.
Stepping closer to the door, Maggie wondered if she dared knock quickly and barge in as though she had something to tell her father. If she pretended she didn’t know Alex was here …
“I think three more days will do it,” Alex said. “The men are doing a great job, scouring the canyons for strays. We brought in more than five hundred steers tonight. They’re in the north pasture now.”
“How many calves have you branded?”
“About two hundred. And we’ve culled out quite a few of Señor Herrera’s beeves, and some from the Lazy S. When we’re done, I’ll send one of the boys over to tell them they can come get them.”
“All right. I’ll have Shep get your supplies ready for the drive. The morning after you bring the cattle in, you head out for Fort Worth,” her father said.
“Sir, there’s one other thing I need to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“The men aren’t happy with the pay situation, like I mentioned a couple of days ago. Since you told them they can’t keep their herds or put their own marks on any mavericks this spring, some of them are really upset.”
“You know those are Rocking P cattle. I lose money every year when I let the men have some of them.”
“I know, sir, but some of the men will really be hurting this year if they don’t have their herds to sell. Especially the married men.”
“Well, I can’t do any better. You tell them the pay is the same as always. I’m not treating them any worse than the other ranchers.”
“No disrespect, sir, but some of them think you are.”
“Oh, really?” Her father sounded belligerent now. Maggie hoped Alex wouldn’t push him too hard.
Cowgirl Trail Page 2