by Norah Hess
"You've got yourself a fine horse there, Jules," said his cook, Amos, who had watched the mad ride over the plains. "You ought to put him to that fancy mare you bought last spring. I bet you would get a real nice foal from her."
"I've been thinking the same thing," Jules agreed. "The bay has good blood lines."
As the two men walked toward the cookhouse, Amos asked, "Will you be starting the cattle drive as you planned nest week?"
"Yes. Have you laid in the supplies you'll need?"
"Yeah, I'm all set. The chuck wagon is packed, all ready to go," Amos said.
Jules always started his drive in the spring, so that the cattle could graze fresh grass as they moved slowly north. Spring was also a good time to avoid flash floods.
One thing Jules never did was to take cows or calves on a drive. The steers were easier to drive and could maintain a rate of fifteen miles a day. He liked his cattle to be strung out in a long line so they could be drifted instead of driven.
He calculated he would be moving a herd of three thousand and would need to take along a dozen drovers, one of these a trail boss, an experienced professional who had made several such drives. His trail boss was Rooster Garr, a strong, quiet man who stayed mainly to himself He was nearing fifty and had never been married.
Each hand would have a string of eight to ten horses, and that meant the need of a wrangler. He was usually a young hand, who was expected to know every horse in his band and to which hand it belonged.
As Jules walked toward the house after leaving Amos at the cookshack, he was in a deep study. On the one hand, he looked forward to the cattle drive. He enjoyed eating his meals around a roaring campfire, listening to and watching the cowboys horse around, telling tall tales. Also, he found it restful to sleep under the stars for a while.
On the other hand, he was reluctant to be away from the ranch for so long. He had seen the gleam in the farmer's eyes as he talked to Willow, and he knew what such a look meant. Thad Wilson was hot to have the beauty. In his own absence the man would come courting her, and by the time he returned to the ranch, she could be gone, a sodbuster's wife.
He wished he could remain at the ranch and sweet-talk her himself But even as the thought entered his mind, Jules knew he had to go on the drive. He had built the ranch up with hard work, and one of the reasons for its success was his personal involvement in every aspect of the business. He couldn't change that now.
Chapter Six
The five days Willow had been at the Asher ranch had passed swiftly for her. She was still in the process of cleaning out corners, getting rid of the accumulation of dirt and grime. She had washed windows, polished furniture and hung clean drapes and curtains. But the hacienda was beginning to regain the splendor it had once had in the days of Jules's mother.
A fact he often mentioned.
Things were much better between her and her boss lately. He was quite pleasant to her these days, and sometimes she forgot how unpleasant he could be if he wanted to.
Thad had come calling one evening, and though Jules hadn't liked it, he hadn't said anything when she and Thad went for a walk in the moonlit evening. He had, however, followed them out onto the patio and she had felt his eyes boring into her back as they walked away.
When she and Thad walked homeward an hour or so later, she saw the glowing tip of a cigarette under the portico, then saw it arch into the air as it was flipped away.
But when they arrived at the vine-covered archway, it was empty. She'd had a feeling, though, that Jules was standing at a window, watching them. She had been tempted to lift her face to Thad, inviting a goodnight kiss, but she hadn't. It wouldn't have been fair to the young man. She had sensed that he had been working up the nerve to do just that, and she suspected that, given any encouragement, he would be all over her. And she wasn't ready for that. He was the first man she had walked out with, and she needed time to learn this courting business.
Willow left off her recollections as she finished ironing the last piece of clothing in the laundry basket. It was one of several shirts she had pressed for Jules.
As she folded it and laid it on top of the others, Jess walked into the kitchen. "You've been at this all mornin'," she scolded. "It's time you stopped and had a bite of lunch. Sit down here at the table and I'll make you a sandwich."
"I can do it, Aunt Jess," Willow protested as she pushed the flatirons to the back of the stove to cool before putting them away.
"No, I'll do it," Jess insisted. "Now do as I say."
Willow didn't argue further. She had learned that once the old lady decided something, there was no changing her mind. Anyhow, she was ready for a rest.
The amount of shirts and trousers she had ironed for Jules gave testimony that Nina hadn't washed clothes for weeks.
"There, put that under your belt," Jess said a short time later as she placed a thick beef sandwich before Willow. "Do you want coffee or milk to wash it down?"
"I'll have coffee if there's any left in the pot."
There was, and after Jess set her own sandwich on the table, she filled two cups.
"You've certainly brought this place up to snuff, Willow," the old lady said after a few bites of her sandwich. "It does my heart good to see my sister's home looking like it should. She was always so proud of it."
"Have you always lived here, Aunt Jess?"
Jess shook her head. "I didn't come here until after my sister passed away. Before that I lived on a small ranch my father left to me years ago."
Willow looked at her, surprised. "Do you still own it?"
"Oh, yes. I like to know that it is there in case I ever need it."
"Where is it, and who runs it for you?"
"It's about twenty miles north of here. There ain't much to runnin' it. I have a few hands to tend my three hundred head of cattle, and as for the ranch house, I have a Mexican couple livin' there. They take care of the milch cow and some chickens. They raise a garden for their own use."
Envy flashed through Willow's mind for an instant. Jess spoke so casually about her holdings, whereas she felt it would be a bit of heaven to own such a place, a place where she could bring her mother to live in peace after so many years of hell. While Willow was pondering why some had so much, while others had neither wealth nor peace of mind, Jess spoke on another subject.
"I guess Jules and his men will start the cattle drive to Kansas in a few days. He told me last night that they had all the calves and cows separated from the steers, and that tomorrow they would start hair-branding the unmarked yearlings."
"I don't think I'm acquainted with the term 'hair-branding.'" Willow wrinkled her brow. "How is that done?"
"The animals are branded with a light slash of the branding iron that only touches the hair. It's to be on the left side behind the shoulder. It takes extra time, but an honest rancher will do it, branding only his own cattle, leaving his neighbor's longhorns alone."
That would not be my father's way, Willow thought contemptuously. He would not waste the time hair-branding, but would claim every steer, cow and calf he saw.
Buck Axel was the same way. That was one of the reasons her father got along so well with the man she feared and despised. She still couldn't shake off the dread that somehow Buck would find her and drag her back to her father's home. By now he and Pa would have come to the realization that all they had to do to make her come around was to threaten her mother with bodily harm. A shiver feathered down Willow's spine at that thought. It was unbearable to imagine her frail little mother being beaten. But it was equally impossible to consider being married to the cruel Buck Axel.
Smitty had told her some awful things about the rancher—how he treated the poor Indian woman whom he kept in virtual bondage by setting a man to watch the house while he was away so that she couldn't escape. It was rumored by some of his men, who had peeked through a window, that he made her go around without her clothes when he came home from work, and that they often heard her screaming in p
ain.
And Pa had to know this because he spent many evenings at Buck's place. Maybe he even abused the woman himself Willow stared down into her coffee. How could a man want his daughter to marry such a monster?
"That's a strange name your mama gave you, Willow," Jess said suddenly. "How did she come up with it?" Willow chuckled. "It's short for Wilhamina, my grandmother's name. I've never been called that, though."
"Willow suits you. You're tall and slender and move so gracefully, just like the willows that hang over the river."
"Thank you, Aunt Jess." Willow laughed. "I've never been compared to a tree before, but willows are nice trees." Jess grinned. "I've heard one man refer to you as a long-legged witch, and once in a while as a damned beauty."
"I don't suppose I have to guess who said that," Willow replied.
"I guess not." Jess's eyes twinkled as she filled her pipe and put a match to it. "There's one thing about my nephew," Jess started to add, and then stopped short when shouts and yowls of pain came from outside.
"What in the world!" Willow exclaimed. She jumped from her chair and rushed outside, with Jess following her as fast as she could.
They found the cook on the ground, cradling his right foot in his hands, a grimace of pain on his pale face. Two stable hands and the young wrangler knelt around him.
"What's wrong, Amos? What has happened to you?" Jess panted anxiously.
"He must have sprained an ankle stepping in that hole over there," the wrangler answered for the cook.
"Sprained, hell," Amos shouted. "The damn thing is broke."
"Let me look at it." Willow knelt and, taking the injured foot in her hand, said, "One of you men help me get his boot off."
"No! I couldn't bear havin' you pull it off," Amos objected loudly.
Willow looked at the men ready to help her. "One of you fellows will have to cut it off."
"Oh lord, I just bought them two weeks ago," Amos complained as a sharp blade sliced through his boot from top to bottom.
"Don't carry on so," Jess scolded as Willow carefully removed the boot. "We'll buy you a new pair."
One look at the rapidly swelling ankle told Willow that Amos was right. The ankle was broken. She looked up at the wrangler. "Ride to town and bring back the doctor. Tell him to bring splints for a broken ankle."
"Pick him up and carry him inside the cookhouse," Jess ordered. "Give him a glass of whiskey and make him as comfortable as possible until the Doc gets here."
The two stable men had taken hold of Amos when Jules rode up. "What's wrong?" He climbed from the saddle and hurried over to the huddled group. "Amos stepped in a hole and broke his ankle," Jess answered. "Sammy just left to fetch the doctor. The men were getting ready to carry him inside."
"I'll do it," Jules said brusquely, and bending down, he gathered the slight body up in his arms and strode into the cookhouse, where Amos's quarters were located in the back of the building. Jess followed him, but Willow stayed outside. She wasn't needed, and besides she hadn't been asked to go along.
When she returned to the house, she put away the garments she had ironed, then got out the ingredients to make pie dough. There was a can of peaches in the larder room. She would make a cobbler for their supper tonight.
Half an hour later, when the dessert was ready to go into the oven, Willow glanced through the window and saw the doctor drive up in his buggy, the wrangler riding alongside him. Pulling the horse in, the middle-aged doctor climbed from the buggy and hurried inside the cookhouse, carrying a small black bag and a bundle of short splints. She was peeling potatoes when Jess returned to the house.
"Broke his ankle in two places." Jess plopped down in a chair and pulled her pipe from her dress pocket.
"He was cussin' a blue streak when I left. He's mad at himself for breakin' his ankle and leavin' Jules without a cook for the cattle drive."
"I expect Jules is doing a little swearing too." Willow remarked.
"Surprisingly, he's not. But you can see that he's worried about where to find a cook on such short notice."
"I'm sure he'll think of something," Willow said as she began to shuck the husks off six ears of corn.
"I can't imagine what. There's not a hand on the ranch capable of doin' much more than brewin' a pot of coffee and heatin' a can of beans."
"What about Nina? She could cook for them."
"Didn't you know? Jules sent her packin' a couple days ago. It cost him a little money. Jules said she raised quite a ruckus when he told her to go."
"Serves him right," Willow said sharply. "Maybe he'll think twice before he moves another woman into his home."
"I'm sure he will," Jess said, thinking to herself that if Jules had his way, his long-legged witch would be the last woman to move into his home. Of course, right now he was fighting the idea.
Willow was telling her stupid heart to slow down, that it didn't make any difference to her that Nina was gone. She glanced out the window and saw Jules and the doctor leaving the cookhouse. The two men stood a moment on the narrow porch, talking. Then the doctor climbed into his buggy and Jules walked toward the house.
"Here comes your nephew now," she said to Jess. Jules looked tired and discouraged when he walked into the kitchen. "Would you pour me a cup of coffee, Willow?" he asked as he pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. "How long will Amos be laid up?" Jess asked.
"He has to stay off his foot for two weeks. Then he can start walking around a bit with the aid of crutches."
"Well, he sure can't go on the cattle drive," Jess said, a worried frown on her wrinkled face. "What are you gonna do for a cook?"
"I don't know." Jules sighed heavily.
Willow was as surprised as Jess and Jules when she said, "I can be the camp cook."
"You cook for seventeen men?" Jules laughed.
Willow was tempted to pour the coffee over his head at the sarcasm in his voice. He was so arrogant, he naturally thought a man was superior to a woman in all ways.
She checked her rising temper and said calmly, "I've done it for my father many times."
"How many men did you cook for?" Jules asked disbelievingly, "a half dozen?"
"No, Mr. Know-it-all," Willow retorted. "I've made meals for twice that many men."
"Well, nephew, it looks like your problem has been solved." Jess's eyes twinkled. "I can't think of any reason that Willow can't fill Amos's shoes. Maybe even do his job a little better. And I can cook for Amos and the few men left behind to keep an eye on the place."
"Are you sure you're up to doing that, Aunt Jess?" Jules looked doubtful. "I'm sure. I've been feelin' quite spry lately… since Willow moved in with us."
"All right then, I guess it's settled. Willow will go with us on the cattle drive. I'll pay you extra, of course," Jules said. "Since you've done this before, I guess I don't have to give you any instructions."
"No, you don't, but I'd like to check out the wagon, see that it will be carrying everything I might need."
"I'm sure it is well equipped." Jules gave Willow a frowning look. "Amos has been preparing the chuck wagon for years."
"What about the hoodlum wagon? Who takes care of that?"
"Brian Winterspoon, the driver. He's been doing that for years also. Do you want to inspect his wagon too?" Jules's voice was sharp. He was still smarting from the new title Willow had given him.
"No, Mr… Asher, I don't. As long as he's got enough wood in it for me to cook with."
Jules gave her a narrow-eyed look. She had almost called him a know-it-all again. But as she gazed back at him, her eyes were innocent, so he didn't call her on it.
He looked at Jess and said, "We've spent half the day hunting for calves that are too young to keep up with the herd. We're driving them in close to the ranch where they can be fed. Will you see to it that the stable hands take care of them while I'm gone?"
"I will. If they lose one head, I'll take a whip to them."
Jules gave an amused twist of his l
ips and stood up. "I believe you would," he said and left the kitchen.
That evening Willow sat on the kitchen patio, the old hound, as usual, lying at her feet. A tiny frown was etched in her forehead as she gazed at the moths fluttering around the wall lamp. She was having second thoughts about her rash offer to cook on the cattle drive.
What had made her do it? It was hard work, bouncing along in the chuck wagon, keeping ahead of the herd, choosing the right spot to build a fire and make the meals. And about those meals. A cook had to prepare hot meals no matter what, even after hail storms and stampedes, not to mention the big suppers after day-long drives. She would be beat when she rolled up in her blankets at night.
When she asked herself again why had she volunteered to cook for a bunch of cowhands, she wondered if it had anything to do with a desire to be near her brooding, handsome boss.
Agitated at such a notion, she jumped to her feet. I'd be loco to want that, she told herself Nevertheless, a tall, dark man hovered in the background of her dreams that night.
The next morning when Willow made breakfast for Jules, only a few words passed between them. She had learned that he, like herself, only grunted answers to any question put to him until he had had a second cup of coffee.
When he finished eating his bacon and eggs and hot biscuits and was having that second cup of coffee, Jules cleared his voice and said, a little nervously, "I hate to ask this of you, but would you cook for the hands until we leave on the drive?"
"I had planned on doing that," Willow answered, rising and gathering up Jules's plate and cup. "I guess I'd better get over to the cookhouse and fire up the stove." She glanced out the window and saw that the sky was turning pink. "The men will be expecting breakfast before long."
"Jimmy, Amos's helper, will show you where everything is and give you a hand when you need him. He cleans up the kitchen after all the meals." Willow nodded, and after hesitating a moment, Jules grunted, "I'll see you later then," and walked outside.
When Willow opened the door to the cookhouse a short time later, she found a tall, gangly teenager waiting for her. He had built a fire in the big black range and had a gallon-sized pot of coffee brewing.