Dashing Druid (Texas Druids)

by Lyn Horner

  After a trip into the nearby bushes, Tye sauntered over to the grub line.

  “Enjoy the hen fruit,” Chic Johnson remarked, dishing up eggs, side pork, gravy and sourdough biscuits. “Gonna be a while ’fore we have ’em again.”

  Realizing Johnson meant the eggs, Tye grunted in reply and watched Lil mount her horse. Accompanied by the tall, sandy-haired MacClure, she rode out to guide the cattle northward as they began to meander off the bed ground.

  Tye squatted by the fire to eat with the other men. He took no part in their sporadic conversation and kept his mental shield firmly in place, not caring to know what any of them were feeling. He’d almost finished eating when he heard the jingle of spurs approach. He swallowed and looked up, encountering Crawford’s flinty scowl.

  “Well, greenhorn, how’d you like your first day of eating dust? You ready to call it quits yet?”

  All talk ceased as Tye rose to face him. “’Twill take more than a wee bit of dust to make me quit . . . sir.”

  “That so? Well, I’m betting you won’t last a week.”

  “You’ll lose that bet, Mr. Crawford.”

  The trail boss smirked. “We’ll see about that, Irish.”

  Tye clenched his jaw, not trusting himself to say anything more.

  For a moment they stared at one another, neither giving ground. Then Crawford issued a mocking snort, strode over to his horse and stepped into the saddle. His figure blended into the gray of dawn as he rode away.

  “Whooee! The boss sure was ready to paw sod, young fella,” one of the men remarked. “What’d yuh do, put a burr under his saddle?”

  “Naw, he’s jus’ a tenderfoot who cain’t tell a cow from a coyote,” Dewey said, dark eyes glittering with humor. “Boss man prob’ly figures he’s trouble. Could be right,” he added, grinning at Tye.

  Laughter erupted around the camp. Grateful to Dewey for saving him from snarling an angry reply and making an enemy, Tye laughed too. Then he tossed his plate and utensils in the wreck pan – Chic’s name for a washtub – and went to collect his mount.

  Luis and the nighthawk, a teenaged boy named Jubal Evans, had driven the remuda into a corral made up of several lariats strung between the two wagons and a handy pair of cottonwood trees. It was a flimsy enclosure, but the horses didn’t challenge it.

  Patch needed a rest after yesterday. Working with practiced ease, Luis cut out another horse from Tye’s string, a leggy blue roan mare. The mustang put on a brief bucking show, but Tye worked the fight out of her and was soon on his way. Come hell or high water or a sea of dust, he swore he’d prove himself to both Lil and her accursed father.

  The wide, wagon-rutted trail led north that day and the next, east of Clifton and Meridian, across Childress, Cedron and Steele Creeks. Covered by bluestem and grama grass, and daubed by colorful spring flowers, the prairie rolled gently amid low-slung hills decked with oak and dark green cedar.

  Those first few days, the crew pushed the cattle hard to get them used to the trail. Later, Tye learned from Dewey, the animals would be allowed to set their own pace for the most part. The aim was to fatten them on grass along the way so they’d bring a better price in Kansas.

  Eating dust every step of the way, Tye saw little of Lil as he worked to keep stubborn longhorns from turning back to their home range. Most were older, half-wild animals like the one that had attacked David. Mossy horns, the men called them.

  The fourth morning out, Tye awoke to find a snake curled on his belly. Uttering a startled Gaelic oath, he hurled the thing away – a stupid reaction. If it were a rattler, he surely would have been bitten. As it was, the harmless reptile slithered off into the darkness while every drover in camp doubled over laughing. Even the stoic scout, Choctaw Jack, chuckled.

  One of them had planted the snake on top of him. Alabama! The stocky, moon-faced southerner rode either flank or swing, like Dewey, to whom he showed poorly concealed contempt. That alone made Tye dislike him, but on top of that, the unreconstructed Reb was the ringleader in every prank the men pulled. Tye had good reason to know.

  Like the two lads, Kirby and Jubal, he was open to hazing from the others because he’d never been up the trail before. Herding mustangs to Fort Concho and brush cattle up from the Nueces didn’t count. The Big Trail was a horse of a different color.

  Tye had so far taken the men’s pranks with good humor, but snakes were too much. “Very funny,” he growled, climbing to his feet, ready to stuff Alabama’s laughter down his throat.

  Lil’s half-smothered giggle drew his gaze. She clamped her lips together, but they twitched mutinously as she studied the ground. Seeing himself through her eyes, he suddenly laughed too. She looked up and actually smiled at him for a moment. For that, he could have thanked Alabama.

  After breakfast, they forded the Brazos River at Kimball’s Bend. They might have used the Waco Suspension Bridge, but the old crossing lay closer, and the water was down right now. Also, they paid no toll this way.

  As the cattle became trail broken, they settled into a routine, walking twelve to fifteen miles per day. During the cool, crisp mornings, the longhorns grazed and walked slowly. Then they were moved off the trail to rest while the crew ate lunch in two shifts, riding to wherever Chic Johnson had stopped. As left drag rider, Kirby Daniels ate with the first shift, along with the right flanker, left swing man and right pointer. Tye didn’t mind waiting; Lil ate with the second shift. While he seldom had a chance to say more than hello due to her father’s presence, he at least got to see her.

  Once everyone had eaten and saddled fresh horses, they moved on, the cattle stretching into a long, mile-covering stride through the warm afternoons. Chic drove ahead to set up night camp at Del Crawford’s chosen location, with Jubal Evans driving the hoodlum wagon. Dark-haired and sturdy, the young nighthawk squeezed in a few hours’ sleep when the wagons stopped. At night he guarded the horses while Luis slept.

  Supper was eaten in shifts the same as lunch. Then Tye threw down his bedroll, saddled his night horse, a calm mouse colored grulla, and turned the rest of his string out to graze in Jubal’s care. While he and Dewey rode early guard, the rest of the crew relaxed a while, then settled down to sleep until each one’s turn came up. Lil rode third shift with Neil MacClure, Tye had learned.

  At dark, Chic Johnson always pointed the wagon tongue toward the North Star. It served as a compass at sunrise when the whole process started over again.

  David had sent along four extra River T hands to help get the herd trail broke. At dawn on the seventh day, Del Crawford told them to eat and head for home. Tye was cinching his saddle when they left.

  “So long,” he called out to the four.

  “See you when you get back,” one replied.

  “Don’t let Wichita get yuh by the tail, Irish,” another hollered as they rode out.

  Tye laughed and waved. Then he caught Del Crawford’s sour glare and crowed to himself. He’d proven the crusty devil wrong, doing his job without complaint, swallowing Crawford’s ridicule and the men’s practical jokes.

  Mounting up, he recalled that snake the other morning. It was a good thing Lil had been there to make him laugh. Otherwise, he likely would have lost his temper and handed her father a perfect excuse to send him home. Since then, the men had let up, thank the saints. He was beginning to feel like one of them. But he longed desperately for time alone with Lil, an impossibility as things stood.

  That afternoon, he came close to spoiling his chances entirely when Del Crawford and Neil MacClure rode back to see how far the herd extended. Tye reined in his horse as they approached.

  “You’re letting them get too strung out,” Crawford barked.

  Stiffening, Tye lowered his bandanna. “We’ve some footsore animals back here, Mister Crawford. If we push them any harder they’ll drop in their tracks.” He knew the trail boss was well aware of this fact.

  Crawford glowered at him. “Argue with me again, Devlin, and you can draw your pay. I’ll b
e glad to find another hand. There’s plenty who’ll do the job a damn sight better than you.”

  Tye’s temper soared. He fought it, but lost the battle. “Perhaps, but I’m not so sure they’d put up –”

  “Neither am I,” MacClure interrupted. “Devlin’s a hard worker. I dinna think he’ll be so easy ta replace.”

  Surprised, Tye stared at him. He’d heard the quiet, craggy-faced Scotsman respectfully disagree with his boss before, but he hadn’t expected the man to speak up for him.

  Crawford turned a furious red. “MacClure, when I want to hear from you, I’ll say so.” To Tye, he snarled, “Get these steers moving.” Then he spurred his horse back the way he’d come.

  “I’m grateful to ye,” Tye told the segundo.

  “Think nothin’ of it. I only spoke the truth.” The Scotsman nodded toward Crawford’s retreating back. “And he knows it.”

  Tye had a sudden, rash idea. He eyed his companion closely. “I’ve a favor to ask, if ye don’t mind.”

  Stacking his hands on his saddle horn, MacClure gave him a shrewd look. “Ask away. It’ll cost me nothin’ ta listen.”

  * * *

  Lil kept her horse to a slow walk as she circled the herd. Her night watch was half over. She hummed softly, reassuring the dozing cattle, while her thoughts gravitated to Tye. Her father had stared holes in him across the campfire at supper. She suspected there’d been trouble between them earlier. If Tye wasn’t careful, her father would send him packing as he’d vowed to do.

  Wouldn’t that be for the best? Then she could stop worrying about what Pa might do if she so much as looked at the handsome rogue. The battle to ignore him was wearing her out. Why had he insisted on coming along, anyway? If he thought he could win her over, he was wrong. Not only did she not trust him, but she resented him for scoffing at the idea of her going on a trail drive.

  Why then couldn’t she stop yearning for him? He wasn’t for her. She’d gone over all the reasons a thousand times.

  The silhouette of another rider appeared against the cream-colored moon, approaching at a walk from the opposite direction. She knew it was Neil. He was the only man her father trusted out here alone with her at night. Not that she couldn’t take care of herself. She’d learned how to use a knife and a gun when she was a little mite.

  “Lily, is that you, colleen?” the man called out low as they neared one another.

  “You! What are you doing out here?” she blurted, sawing on her reins, causing her horse to snort. Hearing the nearby cattle stir, she lowered her voice. “Where’s MacClure?”

  “In his bedroll by now, I should think.” He grinned, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “I volunteered to take part of his shift so I could have a moment alone with ye.”

  “Have you been eating locoweed again? If my father finds out –”

  “I’ll risk it, since this seems to be the only way.”

  “You dang fool!” she hissed, struggling not to yell. “Pa meant what he said. Unless you want to end up dead, you’d best stay away from me.” She kneed her horse ahead, paying no attention when Tye called softly after her.

  They circled the herd and met again, but Lil refused to speak to him. Riding on, she heard a muttered curse behind her.

  The third time they met, Tye prodded his horse close before she could get past him and gripped her arm. Lil squeaked in alarm as he leaned toward her without saying a word. His other hand reached out to cup the underside of her jaw. Her hat fell back to dangle by its chin strings as his mouth claimed hers.

  Any resistance she might have offered gave way beneath his insistent kiss. She wanted this as much as he did. Laying a hand on his chest, she opened her mouth to his exploring tongue. A rush of heat swept through her, drawing a smothered moan from her throat. His answering groan told her he was just as affected as she was.

  Her horse suddenly squealed in protest and shied away from Tye’s mount. Torn apart from him, Lil gasped and fought for balance. She quickly settled her ornery steed, but the ruckus brought several cattle to their feet.

  Breathing hard, she faced Tye, sharing the frustration on his moonlit face.

  His gaze went to the restless herd. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, husky-voiced. “I only meant to speak to ye, but –”

  “Don’t talk,” she whispered urgently. “Just start riding and sing. And don’t try that again, or we’ll have a stampede on our hands.”

  Nodding, he made no attempt to stop her as she walked her horse away. She resumed her soft crooning and heard his baritone pick up the melody a moment later. After that, he kept his distance each time they passed each other. She was both glad and sorry.

  * * *

  Two days later the herd crossed paths with a troop of wild mustangs. Lil knew from experience how these nomads enjoyed cutting and scattering a drove of cattle. Before this bunch could cause trouble, she headed them off, yelling and flapping her hat. She chased them back along the dusty swell of longhorns, aided by Alabama and a hand named Rusty Grayson, who rode at left swing and flank today. Fortunately, the remuda was on the far side of the herd, or their own horses would likely run off with the wild ones.

  Lil signaled the two men to turn back when they neared the end of the herd, while she kept up the chase. From the corner of her eye, she saw another horseman angle toward her as she galloped past the last straggling steers. She glanced over her shoulder, already knowing it was Tye. He waved and grinned, blue eyes twinkling in the sunlight, much like the bluebonnets spread among the prairie grass and other wild flowers along the trail.

  Suddenly lighthearted, Lil smiled and waved back. “We’d better drive them off a ways, or they’re liable to turn and come back,” she shouted above the thunder of hooves.

  “Whatever ye say, milady,” he called. Flashing her another impudent grin, he took position on the other side of the horse herd.

  They pounded onward for a couple of miles. By then, Lil felt reasonably sure the mustangs wouldn’t return to harass the cattle. Spying a buffalo wallow partly filled with rain water, she waved her arm, catching Tye’s attention and signing for him to pull up.

  “Let’s water our horses,” she called, pointing to the wallow.

  “Grand idea. I could use a drink myself.” He wiped a dusty shirtsleeve across his forehead. “And a bath wouldn’t hurt.”

  Lil glanced at him sharply as they approached the pond. Was he serious? If so, he could forget it. She wasn’t about to strip down in front of him. That would be asking for trouble, maybe more than she could handle.”

  “That can wait,” she declared. “We’ve got to get back to the herd.”

  He looked at her and sighed. “Aye, I know. But a man can wish, no?” His warm gaze said he wished for more than a bath, causing Lil to hastily avert her eyes.

  Dismounting, they led their horses to the wallow. While the animals drank their fill, she and Tye knelt nearby to drink. Though tepid and a little murky, the water tasted a lot better than trail dust. Once she’d quenched her thirst, Lil splashed water on her face, washing away some of the grit. She, too, longed for a bath. If her father located a creek where they could bed down tonight, maybe she’d find a hidden spot and clean up proper. For now, she pulled off her grimy bandanna, rinsed it out and swabbed her throat and neck.

  Beside her, Tye plunged his head into the water, swished it back and forth vigorously and threw more water over his neck. He came up dripping, shirt half-soaked. Swiping water from his face, he took a breath and slicked back his hair. The wet tendrils immediately sprang back into unruly waves, making Lil long to run her fingers through the glistening black strands.

  Tye turned his head and caught her staring. Stunned by the instant leap of desire in his eyes, she gazed into their beckoning depths. Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded wildly.

  She still held the wet bandanna pressed to her throat. Shifting to face her, Tye took the wadded up material from her and tossed it aside. She was mesmerized by his caressing gaze,
but when he leaned close, panic set in. He mustn’t kiss her again. That would be playing with fire.

  “No!” she cried, pushing him away. She jumped up, but before she’d taken two steps, he was on his feet, catching her arms.

  “Lily!” he murmured, soft tone imploring her not to run.

  This time she couldn’t force herself to stop him as he bent toward her. His mouth settled on hers, courting her with gentle kisses. When his tongue teased her lips, she parted them with a shudder of longing. A groan rumbled low in his throat as he dipped into her mouth, stroking the tender surfaces within, setting her senses ablaze.

  Her hands climbed up his muscular chest to the corded column of his neck. Twining her fingers through his wet hair as she’d longed to do, she slanted her mouth across his, kissing him back. He smelled of horse and honest hard work, and that unnamable something that was only Tye. Glorying in his rugged, manly strength, she pressed closer, fanning the flames.

  His hands kneaded her back. Then one slid down to cup her bottom, molding her to him, making her feel his hard shaft against her belly through layers of rough cloth.

  Dragging his mouth from hers, he seared a path across her cheek and down her throat. She threw her head back, breathing fast as his lips and tongue danced over her skin. He nibbled at the hollow of her throat, making her shiver and moan. His hand came around to enclose her breast, and she gasped. She’d never considered herself well-endowed, but as he teased one nipple and then the other to pebble hardness beneath her shirt, her breasts seemed to swell and tingle. A molten, throbbing ache began in the pit of her belly.

  “Tye!” she cried, clinging to him.

  In answer, his mouth came back to plunder hers with devastating thoroughness, while his hand continued its explorations.

  “Sweet Lily,” he whispered brokenly against her lips, “I’ve no right. None. But, God, I need ye so.”