by Rita Hestand
"As soon as we get the hay in, I'll try to find you some help. I won't leave you stranded." He promised.
She pulled away now and moved to put some distance between them. "I'd appreciate that." She told him her voice almost back to normal now. "Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder."
"Kate I—"
But she walked back to the house now, leaving him to stare after her. Her shoulders slumped, her head bowed, he wanted to say so much, but he wasn't used to caring about people and Kate and Dickens had grown close to him.
Chapter Fourteen
The way things were going, Wes knew he should be leaving now. But there was the hay to get in, and then he promised to find her some help.
The problem was he was beginning to have real feelings for Kate, and he knew that wasn't wise. He was a perpetual drifter. He had little money, and nothing to offer a woman. If he let things go much further, he'd have to marry her, and people would assume it was for her land, and not for the feelings that were growing every day he was around her.
He could smell the sweet fragrance of her hair, the guarded looks she threw at him from time to time.
But despite his inner feelings, they had to get the hay finished. So every day she joined him in the field, and they worked from sunup to sundown. She'd fix such great meals and both men enjoyed her cooking.
Dickens had taken to feeding and grooming the animals, collecting the eggs, and seeing to minor repairs around the house for her.
Between the three of them, the place was beginning to take shape now. When they had another wagon load of hay Wes drove it over toward the Campbell's and several other ranchers that needed a supply for the winter to come.
The last trip Dickens went with him. Wes wanted to object and let Kate go with him in case she wanted to visit with Frank Campbell, but Kate made no reference to it, so he shrugged and took Dickens.
"I thought we weren't gonna leave her alone." Wes reminded Dickens.
"Well, it's been a while and it don't look like the Smith boys are gonna bother her." Dickens chuckled.
"Are you sure they ever were going to bother her?"
Dickens turned to look at him, "Naw, but I figured they might try something sooner or later. Since that cat incident and one of the boys dying, I guess it took the starch out of them."
"Maybe you are right about that."
"We won't be gone that long, anyways." Dickens chuckled. "You got back in a half day, the last time."
"That's true."
"Don't you fret, I'll still pay you." Dickens chuckled.
"So tell me Wes, what do you think of Kate?"
Wes folded his lips and glared at Dickens. "She's a nice lady."
"And that's all?"
"Well what else is there?"
"She's right pretty, and she's singled."
"So?"
"So," Dickens glanced at him. "If you like her, you better start thinking on how to rope and hog tie her or someone else might."
"Who said anything about wanting to rope and hog tie her?" Wes frowned.
"Nobody, but that girl is ripe for the picking, that's all. And if you don't, someone else will." Dickens told him.
"It's none of your business. Besides," Wes heard himself confessing. "I got nothing to offer her. I'm a drifter, remember."
"Maybe, but she's got something worth stopping all that drifting for. She's a good cook, a good housekeeper, and a good hand in the field. And you know as well as I she can't keep this place up alone." Dickens frowned at him now. "She needs a man, a good man."
"Frank Campbell's got his eye on her."
"How do you know?"
"He told me so."
"When?"
"When we were hunting the cat." Wes admitted.
"So you just gonna let him step in and take her?" Dickens asked.
"I'm the hired hand, not her lover."
"Well, you could be." Dickens insisted.
"What makes you think so?"
"I've seen the way she looks at you. And the way you look at her." Dickens chuckled.
"Well, Frank can offer her a lot more." Wes insisted.
"Maybe, but she's not in love with him!"
"For goodness sake, she's just now getting over her husband, Dickens." Wes argued.
"She told me you getting the cat did that for her."
"Doesn't mean she's in love with me!" Wes hollered.
"Alright, enough said. I won't say another word. But I'll wager she's the best thing to happen to you." Dickens turned away.
"I won't argue that," Wes mumbled under his breath.
"Then what's holding you up, son?" Dickens had heard him.
"I have nothing to offer her… " Wes mumbled again. "And you know that as well as I do."
"I think love is about the best thing any man can offer a woman."
"Shut up, Dickens." Wes said crossly and he did. The rest of the ride was in silence.
At one of their stops to deliver the hay, Dickens got to talking with the rancher and they were there much too long. Wes was anxious to get back, but Dickens was telling one good story after another and it was mid-afternoon before they got underway to home.
Wes was fit to be tied. The way Dickens had talked this morning had him thinking about things too hard. It was almost time for him to move on. But he found the notion harder than he could admit to.
He wrestled with their talk this morning so long he'd worked himself into a tizzy.
"I thought you'd never stop talking." Wes told him on the way home.
"Don't get to talk to many very often. I enjoy getting to know more people and helping them out if I can." Dickens told him.
"I thought you'd never run out of stories." Wes complained.
"Well hell, son, who put the bur in your britches?"
"We got to finish up getting that hay in, that cat put us off nearly a month."
Dickens looked at him and smiled.
But as they pulled into Kate's place, it was totally silent. Nothing stirred.
"Now what?" Wes muttered miserably as he jumped down from the wagon.
Dickens got down and yelled out for Kate. She didn’t' answer. He ran in the house and came back out, "She's not in there."
"Kate!" Wes cried out.
Something moved around the side of the house.
Wes ran around and found Kate sitting up, a big stick in her hand gripping it, and her face full of pain.
"What's happened?" he asked picking her up in his arms.
She laid her head against his chest, "Snakebite," she uttered. I saw him too late, but after he bit me on the ankle, I tried to kill him with this stick."
Wes glanced about and saw the dead rattler about five feet away.
"You got him. Let's get you in the house."
"What in tarnation?" Dickens hollered when he saw how white Kate was.
"Snakebite, go over to Lonnie's place, see if Little Beaver is there. Bring him over as fast as you can. Tell him about the snakebite, he keeps some stuff for it all the time."
"When did he get you Kate?" Wes asked as he laid her on the bed. "Just a few minutes ago, I think…"
"Hurry, Dickens."
Dickens scrambled out of the house as fast as he could. Wes heard him ride out as he examined the wound. He cut an ex on the wound and sucked out the poison as bests he could. Kate giggled in hysteria. "Does this mean we are blood brothers."
"I hope not!" he hollered and continued to suck the blood from the wound. Then he went outside and brought back a handful of mud and mixed it with gunpowder and placed it on the wound. Kate was out of it by then.
She was sweating a lot now and he got a wet cloth and wiped her brow as he stared into her beautiful face. "You're quite a woman Kate."
She opened her eyes for a moment, and she tried to sit up, he pushed her down and wiped her forehead once more. "Stay still young lady."
"I need to get supper for you and Dickens… " she mumbled, her head going back and forth on the pillow.
He checked her ankle it was swelling.
Suddenly he burst out, "Don't you go and die on me Kate." He cried out.
Kate's head kept turning first one way then the other.
Finally Dickens got back with Little Beaver. He was an Arapaho Indian and he had a concoction that he used. After recleaning the wound, the Indian prepared the concoction and put it on the wound, wrapped it in rags and told them to leave it on. "Three days." Little Beaver told him. "I come check in three days."
Wes nodded, and shook hands with him.
The first time she woke up, she was in pain and Wes gave her whiskey to knock her out, so she wouldn't feel anything.
But that evening, she was pretty drunk.
"Who put this on my leg?" she asked, her eyes glassy.
"Little Beaver, leave it alone." Wes instructed as Dickens went in the kitchen to prepare supper.
"I'm feeling better, I don't need it on, anymore," she protested. She reached down to jerk it off, but Wes put his hand over hers.
"Yes you do!" He instructed.
"You're awfully bossy." She yelled.
"And you are drunk, little lady."
"Drunk, what did you do, ply me with whiskey?" She grumbled.
"Yes ma'am, I'm trying to knock you out." He chuckled.
"I don't like whiskey."
"There is a right time for everything." He told her.
"I gotta admit, your beautiful when you're drunk." He smiled tenderly at her.
"What did you say?" She came up off the bed for a moment.
He forced her back down once more. "Get some sleep."
"I don't want to sleep, I'm hungry."
"Fine, I'll get you something to eat." He grumbled and went to the kitchen.
But when he returned with roast beef sandwiches, she was out cold. He smiled at her and closed the door.
But three days of the men leaving her alone and she felt deserted. It reminded her of her younger days when she was so alone. How could she rid herself of this feeling?
Little Beaver came to see her and checked her wound. "It is healing," he told all three of them.
"I knew I was getting better."
"Better, but don't get up yet."
"Why not?"
"I reapplied the poultice and it is still drawing the poison out. If you move around, it will make it worse, so you must stay in bed the rest of the week."
"But I feel better." She complained.
"Yes, but the poison is not all gone yet. See this scar on your arm?"
"Yeah, I got that when I was a baby, using my Momma's iron." She explained.
"See the darkness on the edges here?"
"Yes, I see them."
"That tells me the infection is not all gone yet. When the arm turns white again, you may get up. Understand?"
She frowned and nodded.
"Good."
After Little Beaver left and Dickens went outside to sit on the porch, she called Wes to her bed.
"What's wrong now?" He asked with impatience.
"I can't stand staying in this room, Wes. It's closing in on me."
"Too bad, you've got to remain still a while longer."
"Come on Wes, I really do feel better." She argued softly.
"I'm glad, but don't you dare touch it, or try to get up." He insisted.
"You know you have nice eyes," she smiled suddenly.
"Really?" he smiled despite himself.
"Really!" she chuckled. "And when you blush you are so handsome."
He chuckled.
But suddenly she reached up and pulled his head to hers and kissed him for all he was worth. Wes was so shocked, he responded to the kiss. He heard her moan, and looked up, and saw she was totally out of it again.
He shook his head, "Lady, can you ever kiss." He murmured just before he laid her down once more.
Dickens came in, "Y'all about ready to eat."
"She isn't," Wes chuckled. "She's out of it, again."
Dickens looked at her and smiled.
He looked at her ankle. But it was still bandaged.
"When we gonna take that off and look at it?"
"The end of the week, Little Beaver said he'd come back and look at it."
"Good."
"She's been trying to take it off all day."
"You know she's quite the trooper, she didn’t even cry when she was first bitten. She actually killed that damn snake."
"She's tougher than she knows." Dickens chuckled.
Dickens had made them some scrambled eggs and biscuits. Kate had taught him how to make them her way and they were tasty.
Chapter Fifteen
Little Beaver returned to take the bandage off at the end of the week. Her skin was colored but he was pleased. "The poison is gone."
"How do you know?" Wes asked.
"Look at her arm, the dark had gone from her arm. She is healing well now."
"Great. How long will it take her to completely heal?"
"About three or four weeks."
"She does not need to be up on her foot before that. If there is any more poison, it could cause her problems. So do not let her get up. If she stays still her body will absorb any poison and she will heal. If she moves around a lot, she could have more problems."
Wes nodded, "We thank you for your help."
"I got a couple of chickens you can take home with you, Little Beaver." Dickens told him.
"Great, I thank you." Little Beaver was always glad to get food.
But Kate proved to be a problem and one day as it misted rain, Dickens told Wes he wanted to go over to his old place and check on things. Wes offered to go with him, but Dickens insisted he needed to keep Kate off her feet.
"Be back before dark, then." Wes advised.
"Sure, I might as well tell you I'm thinking of selling my place if Kate will let me live here."
"Selling it?" Wes was shocked.
"Yeah, when you leave, she's gonna need someone here with her. I won't leave her alone."
"Have you talked it over with her yet?'
"No, but I will soon."
Wes nodded.
Dickens left and Wes went inside to see if Kate was behaving herself.
She was about to get up when he came in. "Oh no you don't." he advised.
"But with Dickens gone I need to cook us something."
"I'll do the cooking." He told her.
"Can you cook?" she asked.
He frowned, "Well, how do you think I stay alive on the trail?"
"Oh, well, I hadn't thought of that. What can you cook?"
"You just stay in bed, and I'll show you?"
"But I’m so tired of being in bed. I need to get out of this room" She grumbled.
"What's with the room?" He asked looking straight at her.
She hung her head.
"Out with it. What gives?"
"After my folks died, and it snowed me in. I couldn't leave the cabin. I was alone for days and days. Sometimes I couldn't even get my firewood chopped. I'd sit in the dark. Ever since then, if I'm confined, I get…. "
"Get what?" he demanded.
"Scared!" she cried.
"You were alone for five years, and you were scared?"
"Just when I couldn't get out." She hollered.
He sat down beside her. "There's nothing to be afraid of here. This is your home. Dickens and I are here. You'll be fine." He insisted.
"Can you stay and talk to me a little while?"
"I guess," he put the towel down as he dried his hands.
"How's the hay coming?"
"It's coming along." He grinned.
"Can I have a book to read then?" she asked with a huff.
"Sure, which one?"
"Ivanhoe. It was written by Sir Walter Scott of medieval England. I enjoy his adventures at least since I'm not having any of my own."
Wes laughed.
He wen
t to find her a book and brought it to her. Their fingers touched and she held onto them. "Uh, I thought you wanted some lunch."
"I do, but I'd rather talk."
"About what?" He seemed a bit aggravated.
"I don't know. I get lonely when you go to work in the fields and Dickens goes to take care of the animals."
"What did you do, before we were here?"
"I don't know," she chuckled. "I can't remember."
"Did Jim talk to you much?" he asked out of the blue.
"No," her expression changed a bit. "He wasn't much on conversation."
"Do you want me to bring your knitting to you or something."
She took his hand and held it up to hers, noting the difference in their sizes. "No, I want to talk about you. You must have seen a lot of different things in your adventures."
"Nothing a woman would care to hear."
"When you go visit your whores, what do you talk about?" she asked out of the blue.
"My whores?" he looked genuinely surprised.
"Yes, your women."
"Well, um…. We don't talk much." He told her almost angrily. "And they aren't mine."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you mad. I just thought maybe you told them some tales."
"You need to get some sleep while I make us something to eat."
"Please," she pleaded when he got up and started walking away. "I didn't mean to pry into your private life. I seem to share all my life with you and Dickens, but I never hear either of you talk about your lives."
She glanced outside, "It's raining again, do you want the day off to go to town?"
"No!" He whirled around on his boot heels. "I don't want the day off to go into town," he insisted.
"Why not, your grouchy and maybe you need some female company."
"I don't want to go to town," he stared into her eyes now.
"It looks very much like you don't want to talk to me, either." She huffed, folding her arms over her chest as she adjusted the sheet over her.
"You have no idea what whores are like, do you?" He asked.
"No, I don't, so tell me. What are they like? "
He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared into her innocent face. "They wear a lot of stuff on their face, some too much, most too much. They smell nice most of the time. They smile a lot, to please people who come in. They wear dresses of satin that sparkle when they move. Some are very pretty, others are not. They'll talk about anything, and they'll listen, some of them. Does that give you a bigger picture?"'