Willow

by Norah Hess

  Jules ran a palm over his whisker-stubbled jaws. "I guess I ought to get home, take a bath and shave."

  "The sun will be down in another fifteen minutes." Corrie Mae looked out the window. "Why don't you stay another night and go home tomorrow?"

  "I don't know." Jules looked out the window too. "Aunt Jess will be worried about me."

  "If she could see you now she would be more worried if you started to ride home at this hour. You look like hell."

  "Thank you," Jules growled as he gave the cook a baleful look. "You can take a bath in the bunkhouse and borrow a razor from one of the men."

  "What about Aunt Jess?"

  "Send one of the men to tell her that you'll be home tomorrow," Corrie Mae said as she began peeling a large basin of potatoes.

  "I guess I could do that," Jules agreed, but he continued to sit at the table. After a minute or so of silence, he said, "I haven't seen Willow around the place. I went to the house and found it stone cold. I got the feeling that there hasn't been any heat in the place for a few days."

  "There hasn't been. Willow went away for a while. She had a lot of thinking to do. A person can't think straight around here."

  "Where did she go?"

  Corrie Mae only shrugged her shoulders. She didn't want anyone else to know about her hideaway.

  "Do you know when she'll be back?" Jules asked impatiently.

  "Tomorrow sometime." Corrie Mae put the peeled potatoes in a pot, added water, and then placed them on the stove to boil.

  "What did she have to think about that was so heavy she had to leave the ranch?"

  "I have no idea." Corrie Mae placed a frying pan on the stove and then started dredging a dozen pork-chops in a plate of flour. "Did she ever mention me to you?"

  "A couple times."

  "Well, what did she say?" Jules demanded when Corrie Mae didn't elaborate. "You don't want to know."

  "Yes, I do."

  "Well, one time she said that you're a lean, long-legged wolf, always chasing after a bitch."

  "What else?" Jules growled, a dark frown on his brow.

  "Well—"Corrie Mae had to pause to think up another lie. "She said that golden rod you're so proud of isn't all that much. Then she said—"

  "That's enough. I don't want to hear any more of her lies," Jules barked angrily. He jerked to his feet and slammed out of the cookhouse.

  Corrie Mae's eyes glittered with amusement. Although she loved men and the pleasure they could give her, she never missed a chance to put them in their place.

  She went about preparing supper, directing worried glances out the window. Darkness was coming on early because of the dark clouds gathering in the west. By the time the sun dropped behind the mountain, total darkness would descend.

  A half hour later when the men came bursting in to eat, their hands clamped over their ears, the air had turned cold and sharp. "We're in for a blizzard sometime tomorrow," one of the men said.

  Corrie Mae, her hand holding a fork poised over the frying pan, ready to stab a porkchop, grew still.

  Would Willow know enough about Texas sleet storms to leave the cabin early tomorrow morning?

  She went ahead and forked the meat onto a platter. When the men were ready to leave later, she would detain Jules and tell him of Willow's whereabouts and that she was worried her young friend might get caught in the impending storm.

  "What do you want to talk to me about?" Jules asked when the last man straggled out of the kitchen. "You look worried about something."

  "I am. I'm worried about Willow."

  "What about her?" Jules sat forward, an anxious look on his face.

  "I lied to you about not knowing where Willow went. She didn't want anyone to know. But now that a blizzard is bound to break tomorrow, I've got to tell you. I know that she's going to need help getting down the mountain if she doesn't start out early."

  His face tight and his fists clenched, Jules grated out, "Where is she, Corrie Mae?"

  "I'll write down the way to get to her."

  "You don't need to write anything down. I've been all over the mountain hunting the wild ones. Just tell me the direction to go."

  When Corrie Mae had told him about the lightning-struck tree, the spring and then the stand of pines, Jules pushed away from the table. "I'll leave at first light."

  When Willow came awake, she knew the temperature had dropped. Her nose was cold.

  She scooted deeper into the warmth of the feather mattress. She dreaded making the dash to the fire-place where red coals gleamed through the ashes she had covered them with before retiring last night.

  Two thoughts ran through her mind as she lay staring at the dim outline of the curtainless window. She hated the idea of leaving the peaceful mountain to return to the ranch where some crisis or other was always happening.

  The other emotion that gripped her was excitement. She couldn't wait to get down the mountain to make peace with Jules, to marry him. It wouldn't always be a smooth marriage, this she was aware of They would be at loggerheads many times about something or other. They were both strong-willed people. She grinned. Their life together would never be dull, that was for sure. For one thing, the many children she hoped to have would keeps things lively.

  The clock began to strike and Willow counted its soft bongs. "Six o'clock," she exclaimed. "That can't be so." It was still night outside, for heaven's sake.

  She leaned on one elbow, fumbled for the matches on the table and lit the lamp. She peered at the clock on the mantle and couldn't believe what she saw. It was indeed six o'clock. She scrambled out of bed and, shivering, hurried into her robe and house slippers.

  When she had built up the fire, she went to the window that looked eastward. There were patches of gray trying to break through dark, rolling clouds. She shivered. A storm was brewing, and she couldn't start down the mountain until it was light enough for her to find the landmarks that would lead her home.

  "Now I mustn't panic." She spoke aloud her thoughts as she made a fire in the cookstove. "While I'm waiting for it to clear up, I'll cook myself a hearty meal and tidy up the cabin."

  As the stove heated up, Willow got dressed, then packed her clothing into the saddlebag. By the time she had made up the bed, heat was flowing from the stove.

  Willow kept an anxious eye on the window as she sat at the table eating a slice of ham and hardtack and washing it down with coffee.

  "Will daylight never come?" she cried when the clock struck seven. Then, to increase her anxiety, a wind came up, whipping the pine branches outside the window into a frenzy.

  "I've got to get off the mountain," Willow half cried. "I'll give the mare her head. Maybe instinct will lead her to the ranch."

  It took less than a minute to wash and put away the plate, knife and fork, and the frying pan and coffee pot. Another minute saw her in her jacket, a heavy scarf tied over her head. She blew out the lamp, picked up the saddlebag and stepped outside.

  The icy wind almost took her breath away. She ducked her chin and mouth into the folds of the scarf and looked in the direction of the horse shed. She could barely distinguish its shape as she struck out toward it.

  The little building was warm and when Willow fumbled the saddle and halter on the little mare, the animal balked at going out into the cold. She gave in to her mistress's soft coaxing, though, and out in the whipping wind she stood still so Willow could mount her.

  Willow pointed the little animal's head west, and letting the reins lie loose on her neck, said as she kneed her into motion, "It's up to you, girl. Get us home."

  Willow hadn't realised how the pines around the cabin had blunted the force of the wind until she rode out of their protection. As soon as the mare broke free of the trees, she and Willow faced a howling, hissing wind. Minutes later snow was whirling before Willow, dancing crazily in the icy wind. The flakes were small, stinging her face like hailstones.

  The snow was affecting the mare the same way. She grew nervous and upset as
she was half-blinded by the snow that clung to her thick lashes. She dropped her head and continued to pick her way down the mountain's frozen path.

  Finally, a dark gray daylight dawned. Willow heaved a sigh of relief They were on course. The spring, one of Corrie Mae's markers, was only a few feet away.

  Suddenly her relief was shattered. At the same time that she caught the blurred sight of an animal dashing through the trees, the mare saw it too. She gave a terrified squeal, reared straight up and Willow was flying through the air. The mare went tearing down the mountain.

  Willow landed on her back, the wind knocked out of her. As she scrambled to her feet, she saw the rear end of a deer bounding off through crags and boulders. A timid deer had spooked her mare.

  What to do now? she asked herself The answer was there was nothing she could do but strike out walking. With any luck, she would come upon her mount.

  She took one step and then crumpled to the ground with a sharp cry of pain. Her right ankle was either broken or badly sprained. Either way she couldn't walk. She must find some kind of shelter and pray that Corrie Mae would send somebody up the mountain to check on her.

  Willow peered through the snow, looking for a place that might shelter her from the storm. She found that the best place was the large boulder from which the stream flowed. She painfully crawled up to it and sat hunched against its roughness, the scarf pulled down over her face.

  Chapter Thirty

  The sound of sleet striking against the window panes awakened Jules. He felt that it was daylight because he felt refreshed. But when he rose and pushed aside the heavy curtain at the window, it was still as black as night outside. He looked down toward the cookhouse and saw its illumined window. He made out the dim shape of Corrie Mae moving about. She would be making his breakfast.

  He felt his way to the kitchen and lit the lamp on the table. At the dry sink he pumped water into a basin and splashed it onto his face. When he had toweled it dry, he went back to his room. As he pulled on a fresh set of long-legged underwear, he wondered what the weather was like up on the mountain and imagined that it was snowing up there. He prayed that Willow hadn't started out in a blizzard.

  Dressed in his warmest clothing, Jules, his head ducked against the icy pellets of sleet, walked across the yard to the cookhouse. He pushed open the door and caught the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee Corrie Mae was pouring into two cups. A steaming plate of bacon and eggs and hot biscuits also waited for him. He wrestled the door shut against the howling wind and took off his jacket and hat.

  "We're in for a bad one," he said, sitting down at the table and picking up his fork. "I guess it's too much to hope that Willow will stay put until the storm passes."

  "I doubt that she will. She will know that the trails and passes could be closed and she'd be stuck up there all winter. The cabin doesn't have more than a week's supply of grub." Corrie Mae sat down and picked up her cup of coffee. "She'll head down the mountain as soon as it's light."

  Jules started eating faster then and refused a second cup of coffee. Something told him that Willow was going to need him before the day was over.

  When he was pulling on his jacket again, Corrie Mae handed him a pint bottle of whiskey. "This may come in handy," she said. Jules nodded his thanks and put the bottle in his pocket. "Good luck," Corrie Mae added as he walked out into the storm.

  Entering the barn, Jules quietly saddled his stallion and led him out into the sleet-filled air. Swinging into the saddle, he heeled the big animal into motion, heading him toward the tall, black shadow of the mountain.

  The whipping wind was blowing the sleet sideways, and in no time Jules's brows and lashes were ice en-crusted. Every few minutes he had to wipe his eyes with his gloved hand. White steam snorted from the stallion's nostrils, and Jules's breath hung in the air. He had long since pulled his neckerchief up across his mouth.

  Both he and his horse grew weary, but Jules knew that they must keep on. To stop meant death on the icy, windswept range.

  Full daylight finally came, a white sun trying to shine through the clouds. Jules wanted to shout aloud his thanks when he saw the beginning of the foothills only a short distance away.

  When Jules reached the edge of the timber, as he had expected, the sleet turned to snow. With the collar of his heavy mackinaw still pulled up around his neck, he put a hand in front of his eyes to ward off the stinging snow. As the stallion began to climb, he stared through his fingers, looking for Corrie Mae's first landmark.

  As the stallion climbed higher and higher through twisting trails and rocky passes, anxious sweat glistened on Jules's forehead despite the freezing cold. He had passed the lightning-struck pine some way back and been expecting to meet Willow coming down the mountain ever since. Corrie Mae's second marker couldn't be far away.

  The big mount suddenly pricked his ears. Jules stiffened and sucked in his breath. Willow's little mare was advancing slowly down the trail, her head hanging low. But where was Willow? Jules felt the gut-wrenching sensation of fear in his stomach. What had spooked the mare? Had Willow been set upon by a pack of hungry wolves? He told himself that wolves wouldn't attack humans unless threatened.

  He let the mare move on down the mountain, knowing that she would head straight to the barn. He kneed the stallion, and it began to climb again. Jules looked carefully on both sides of the trail, searching for Willow. When they came to the spring and he still saw no sign of her, he began to fear that when she was thrown from the saddle she had tumbled down the mountain. He envisioned her lying at its bottom, her body broken and bleeding.

  He drew a long, shuddering breath. There was a slim chance that he might find Willow at the cabin.

  Jules had almost ridden past the huge boulder when he saw what he thought was a snow-covered piece of windfall. On a closer look, hope swelled in his breast. A wisp of blue material lay up against the stone. He pulled on the reins and left the saddle, running. Willow owned a blue scarf Two swipes of his hand through the snow revealed Willow's face.

  It was as pale as her hair, the only color on her still features was the darkness of her long lashes. Calling her name anxiously, he brushed all the snow off her and pulled her into his arms. When she made no response, he remembered the whiskey Corrie Mae had given him. He took the bottle from his pocket, uncorked it and held it to Willow's pale lips. The liquid ran out the corner of her mouth. He tore off his glove and laid his finger on the inside of her wrist. He gave a smothered cry of relief and joy when he felt a slow pulse. She was alive.

  Cradling her in his arms as he would a baby, Jules grabbed the saddle horn with one hand and managed to pull himself and Willow onto the saddle. With both arms wrapped around her and her face turned in to his chest, he spoke to the stallion and it moved out, heading back down the mountain.

  After what seemed like hours to Jules, he saw through the sleet the outline of the ranch buildings. Nothing had ever seemed more beautiful to him than the smoke rising from the chimney of the house. Blessed heat was waiting for them there. Corrie Mae must have lit the fire. The stallion stepped along more quickly, as though the smell of smoke alerted him to the fact that nearby was a warm stall and a pail of oats.

  When Jules drew opposite the bunkhouse, the shout he gave brought the men hurrying through the door. They stared up at him, and at Willow clasped tightly in his arms. None had been aware that he had left the ranch to go look for their boss.

  Jimmy, his face full of concern for Willow, reached for her. When Jules passed her down to him, he fell, more than dismounted, from the saddle. "Take her to the house," he ordered, and then said to Sammy and Brian, "Gather up several large rocks and bring them to the house."

  Jules hurried ahead of Jimmy to open and hold the door for the teenager to pass through. When he had closed the door behind Jimmy, he led the way down the hall and entered the bedroom next to his.

  "Go into the family room and build up the fire as you wait for the rocks," Jules said to Jimmy when he had
laid Willow on the bed. "Bury them in the hot ashes to heat up."

  "What are you going to do with them, Jules?"

  "Down at the end of the hall is my aunt's linen closet. You'll find a stack of towels there. When the rocks are hot, wrap them up in towels and bring them to me."

  Jules shed his jacket, then got Willow out of her wet one. He turned to taking her boots off The left one came off easily, but every time he tugged at the right one, a soft moan of pain fluttered through Willow's lips. He realized that her foot and ankle were swollen. She had either a bad sprain or broken bones. He took the bowie knife he always carried from his boot. The broad blade quickly cut through the leather, and her slender foot was freed. He gently probed the swollen ankle. It was badly sprained, but not broken.

  He was bending over Willow, unbuttoning her shirt, when Corrie Mae came hurrying into the room. She stood at the foot of the bed, frowning. "Shouldn't I be doing that?" she asked.

  Jules looked up at her, his lips twisted in a half smile of amusement. "We have been lovers, Corrie Mae. Don't you think that I already know every inch of her?"

  "I guess I never thought of that." Corrie Mae grinned, a little embarrassed that she hadn't remembered that. She walked over to the dresser and took from a drawer a long, high-necked, flannel nightgown. With the garment over her arm, she went back to the bed to watch Jules continue to undress Willow.

  "She certainly has a beautiful body, doesn't she?"

  Jules made no response to her remark. He had known for a long time the beauty of Willow's body. The only thing that interested him about it now was getting it thawed out.

  He held out his hand for the gown. He had just pulled it over Willow's head and eased it down to her toes when Jimmy entered the room, his arms full of towel-wrapped rocks. "Line them up on either side of her and put two at her feet," Jules said. "Corrie Mae, get some more blankets out of the linen closet."

  When the hot rocks had been placed around Willow and the blankets were tucked tightly around her shoulders, the three stood around the bed, waiting.