The Heart's Frontier

by Lori Copeland;Virginia Smith

  “That ought to put us in Hays tomorrow afternoon. If all goes well we won’t miss the train.”

  If all goes well. Buried in those words Emma heard a lot of doubt, a lot of worry. Luke’s reputation as a trail boss rested on their ability to get this herd there on time. In fact, if he showed up with seven hundred more cows than he started with, and a couple of rustlers in the bargain, surely that would look good. He would have no problems getting more jobs as a trail boss. If he misses that train, though... Emma refused to let herself complete the thought, but it danced a tantalizing jig in her mind.

  Surely life as an Amish farmer was better than life as an unemployed cowboy.

  “All right, then,” Luke said. “Vic will wrangle the remuda. Morris and Rebecca will ride flank on that side”—he pointed east—“with Griff and Emma opposite.” He speared Charlie and Papa with a sympathetic grimace. “That makes you two the drag riders.”

  “What about me? A day and a night is plenty of time to rest this leg.” Jesse made as though to get up from the chair, his face a mask of ill-concealed pain. “Bring my horse alongside the wagon so’s I can get on him.”

  Maummi stiffened, her eyes throwing darts across the camp. Before she could speak, though, Luke answered.

  “You’re not riding anything but that wagon until the doctor in Hays checks you out. But you have an important job making sure those two don’t cause any trouble today.” He jerked his head toward their prisoners. “If they try anything, you don’t need a good leg to fire a gun.”

  Appeased, Jesse fixed his charges with a cold smile and patted the pistol in his lap.

  Luke took a final look around. “Let’s break camp and get at it.”

  His words spurred everyone into action. The men began readying the wagons to leave. Griff, empty plate in hand, swung wide so his path would take him by the fire, where Maummi crouched beside the long iron griddle, scraping it clean.

  “Ma’am, that was the best meal I’ve had in years. Maybe ever.”

  Maummi inclined her head like a queen accepting her due. “Danki.”

  Griff didn’t move on. Instead, he shuffled his weight from one foot to the next and glanced around the area. His gaze settled on Emma for a moment, the only person close enough to hear his words.

  He cleared his throat and watched the coals in the cook fire as he spoke. “Ma’am, I’ve spent almost twenty years in the saddle. I figure I’ve got a few good ones left in me, but a man can’t run cattle forever. Someday he has to hang up his spurs.”

  Emma couldn’t agree more. She hoped Luke didn’t want to stretch his trail driving days out for twenty years.

  Stooping on the ground beside the fire, Maummi turned her head to look up at him sideways, the creases between her eyes clearly urging him to get to the point and let her get on with her work.

  Griff cleared his throat again. “And when he does, it sure does help if he has a good woman waiting for him at home. Now, I never had time for a wife, but if I quit the trail, I’d want to find me a woman with some spunk in her. One who speaks her piece.” He toed a good-sized rock into the fire, his gaze fixed on his boot. “One who can cook.”

  His meaning stole across Emma, leaving her numb. No, surely she was mistaken. Was Griff asking to court her grandmother? But, Maummi was sixty years old! Of course, Griff was probably close to the same age.

  “Anyway, I do have a few good years left in me,” he repeated. “Something for you to think about.”

  With an awkward movement, he thrust his fork and empty plate toward Emma and then strode away quickly, like a man bent on escape. Still crouching on the ground, Maummi’s mouth gaped open as she stared after him.

  It was the first time in her life Emma could remember seeing her grandmother rendered speechless.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Riding lead, Luke set an aggressive pace. At first the herd was reluctant. They were accustomed to an easy, sauntering stride while tearing up a mouthful of grass every few steps or so. He targeted a few of the lead steers and stayed on their heels. By midmorning the herd had spread out wide and settled on an acceptable speed, though he kept a close eye on the sun’s position as they passed familiar landmarks. The longer they took to get to the bedding ground he had in mind, the less sleep he would allow tonight.

  The oxen pulling the Switzers’ wagon easily kept pace alongside McCann and the chuck wagon in front of the remuda. Luke kept watch on the occupants. If it turned out there was a reward for those rustlers, dead or alive, by rights it belonged to everyone. He planned to suggest instead that the money be turned over to Willie’s and Kirk’s families. He would take a vote later, but he was pretty sure the men would agree with him.

  At the sight of that wagon, with its hulking wooden hutch, a chuckle rumbled in his chest. Mrs. Switzer had insisted on driving, while Jesse and the prisoners rode squashed in the back. Every time Luke looked that way, Mrs. Switzer’s mouth was moving. What could she be saying hour upon hour? From this angle he couldn’t see Jesse’s expression, so he couldn’t judge his friend’s mood. The chuckle turned to a snicker. Served him right. That boy had some growing up to do.

  His curiosity finally got the best of him. It was time to check on the outfit anyway. He’d start with the Switzer wagon.

  As he neared, he heard the sharp tone of her voice first, and then he was able to make out words.

  “‘A handful of patience is worth more than a bushel of brains.’ A favorite of my dearly departed, that was. And this one too: ‘You can’t make good hay from poor grass.’ Ah, my Carl. A better man never set foot on the Lord’s earth, no matter what the bishop said. He loved to hear my proverbs. Said he could hear the Lord’s voice when I quoted. The Bible ones I had to say in English. Carl didn’t understand German.”

  Lester and Earl had been tied back-to-back in the bed of the wagon behind the bench, where Mrs. Switzer sat with the oxen’s rope in her hand. The pair were wedged between the sideboard and the hutch, but they were tied up and couldn’t move around. The rocking chair had been placed at the back of the wagon. Jesse sat there looking comfortable with a pleasant expression, not nearly as irked as Luke would have thought after being forced to listen to hours of proverbs and Amish wisdom.

  Luke’s horse approached the wagon as Mrs. Switzer turned her head to fix Lester with a stern look. “Heard this one, have you? ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness.’ Taking to heart this one would do you good. When next we stop I will beg sody and a toothpick from Mr. McCann for cleaning your teeth.”

  Earl let out a chortle, and the sour-faced Lester rewarded him with a backward head-butt.

  Jesse sat stiffly upright in the rocking chair. “Settle down there.” He delivered his warning with a glare, and then he relaxed back into his passive, almost peaceful expression.

  Luke slowed Bo’s pace to match the wagon and came up alongside Jesse. He readied himself for a string of complaints at being left as captive to Mrs. Switzer and the two rustlers.

  “How’re you doing?”

  “Huh?” Jesse gave him a blank look before reaching up to pull a wad of cotton wool out of each ear. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you. What’d you say?”

  Luke’s laughter rolled over the Kansas plain. “I’m making sure everything’s all right here.”

  “We’re fine. Just fine.” Jesse swept a hand to encompass the sky. “Pleasant day for an easy ride.”

  He was stuffing the wool back in his ears when Luke, still laughing, steered Bo away from the wagon. His next stop was to check on the westernmost flank riders.

  Emma sat astride her horse like an experienced cowpoke. Well, except for the black fabric of her dress bunched around her thighs, and the black trousers that she had tied in place with bits of twine at the ankles. And her ever-present white kapp, which prairie dust had turned into a dingy brown.

  The moment their gazes met, she looked away. Luke couldn’t tell if the faint touch of color in her cheeks was from the heat or from shyness. They had not spoken privately
since her startling revelation that she’d snuck away from camp in the night to talk to him. Here they were in plain sight of everyone, but so removed that no one could hear their conversation.

  He nudged Bo with his knees to fall in step beside Sugarfoot. “Everything going okay here?”

  His question received a hesitant nod but no comment. She looked straight ahead, giving him a view of a very pretty profile. A man could get used to enjoying this sight every day.

  “You look like you’re sitting easy in the saddle. Is it feeling more natural now?”

  She nodded.

  The horses walked along a few yards. Whatever it was she wanted to talk to him so badly about last night sure didn’t seem to be so pressing today.

  “Emma? You mentioned that you wanted to talk to me about something. This would be a good time.”

  “It wasn’t important.” The blush was definitely a darker shade of pink now. “I…wanted to thank you again for helping us.”

  She was clearly avoiding the truth, and he didn’t know how to answer. He studied her as he considered a response. A steer not far in front of them started to veer to the west, toward the inviting green prairie grass that waved in the breeze. Like an experienced cowboy she dug in her heels to urge her horse into a trot and cut the wandering animal neatly off. He obediently resumed his former position, and Emma slowed slightly to allow Luke and Bo to catch up.

  “You know, you’ve taken to this easier than most greenhorns I’ve worked with. If you decide you want a job, I’ll hire you for my next cattle drive.”

  Emma, a cowhand? He caught back a chuckle. The awkward silence was starting to get to him and made him want to fill the void with talk.

  At least the ridiculous statement elicited a reaction. She turned to look at him full-on, her expression full of surprise at his ludicrous suggestion.

  “No, really,” he insisted. He’d look like a fool if he backed down now. “There are women on the trail. Not many, but I’ve met one or two.”

  Words failed him as he recalled a female cattle wrangler he met a couple years back. He’d waded into a saloon to fish Jesse out and found a woman matching him drink for drink. It came out later that she’d cleaned him out at the poker table too. Definitely a different class of female than Emma.

  “Thank you for the compliment, but I don’t think I’d make a very good cowboy.” The humor twitching around her lips heartened him. She didn’t take offense easily.

  “On second thought, the job is a bit rugged for most women.”

  “You’d probably take to the Amish way sooner than I would to the life of a trail rider.” The words were delivered in a comfortable, light tone. So why did he feel like she was waiting for his response so closely?

  His shrugged. “Oh, I doubt that.”

  She fixed her gaze on the herd, her posture slumping. What did he say? Women. He’d never had trouble connecting to one before. Hadn’t he saved her life a few hours ago? Why, then, was he stumbling over a simple conversation?

  The answer came to him the instant he posed the question. He’d never felt an attraction this strong for any woman. An invisible rope stretched between them as they rode along side by side. Even when he was up at the front of the herd and she back here, he felt the connection. Is that where the term “getting hitched” came from? Did it start with this invisible bond?

  “Listen, the other day you mentioned learning how to handle a lasso. If you’re still interested I could show you a trick or two when we stop to rest the herd.”

  A smile curved her lips. He found himself watching her mouth, remembering the almost magnetic pull he’d felt just before he lifted her onto her father’s horse in the predawn darkness.

  “I would like to learn.”

  “Good. All right. Until this afternoon, then.”

  He spurred Bo’s sides, and the horse leaped into a gallop toward the front of the herd. Luke refused to look behind him, but he felt Emma’s gaze pinned to his back. His mood was curiously light, as if she’d agreed to step out with him for a romantic evening stroll after supper.

  It’s only a rope handling lesson.

  Regardless, he found himself looking forward to the afternoon as eagerly as a kid waiting for a hot cookie.

  By the time Luke called a halt for the planned midday rest, Emma had worked herself around a wagon wheel of emotions. His quick denial of her comment about the Amish lifestyle had delivered a crushing blow. Did his answer mean he’d thought about the idea and rejected it? If not, did his offhand manner mean he would never consider becoming Amish?

  A relationship between us is doomed. Why do I torture myself?

  And what was behind his offer to teach her to handle a rope? Was that a less than subtle hint that she should consider adopting his lifestyle? The idea of her going with him on a trail drive was so far beyond reason that she couldn’t believe he’d even joke about it.

  It was a joke, wasn’t it?

  The cattle welcomed the stop and immediately spread themselves across the open range, feasting on the prairie grass that grew amid the bristly sagebrush, and quenching their thirst in a watering hole fed by a shallow stream. A few trees stretched sun-bleached branches toward one another to form a sparse shade along the banks of the stream, and soon a cluster of cattle crowded beneath them in search of relief from the blistering July sun.

  “We’ll give them a couple of hours,” Luke told the outfit. “You men might want to get some rest yourselves.” He tossed a grin toward Maummi, still seated high on the wagon’s bench. “And you ladies too.”

  Emma drew Sugarfoot alongside the wagon and swung her leg over the horse’s back. She still hadn’t managed to climb into the saddle on her own successfully, but gravity worked with her on the dismount. She landed on her feet, a little unsteadily, and then hurried to help Maummi down from the wagon. As she did, she spared a quick glance at the captive rustlers. Lester straightened upright as much as his bonds would let him, scanning the activity nearby.

  His gaze rested on McCann, and he raised his voice. “You, Cook! You got room in the chuck wagon? Let me ride with you. Tie me up, gag me, I don’t care. I give you my word I won’t try nothing.” He tossed an anxious glance toward Maummi. “Just get me away from this woman.”

  “Quiet, you.” From his perch in Maummi’s rocking chair, Jesse growled his warning at the kidnapper. “Your word is worth less than your spit.”

  Maummi paused in the act of stepping to the ground, her hand on Emma’s shoulder. She spoke calmly to Lester. “Die Ruchlosen verachten Weisheit und Zucht.”

  “Did you hear that?” Lester’s shout toward McCann held a touch of desperation. “She never dries up! I don’t even know what that means.”

  Rebecca arrived, reining her horse to a stop and swinging to the ground with ease. “I can tell you. I hear it all the time. It means only fools hate wisdom and instruction. It’s from Die Bibel.”

  “She’s calling me a fool?”

  Jesse growled. “You are a fool. Now have some respect and shut your piehole before I shut it for you.”

  Vic rode up then and took charge of Emma’s and Rebecca’s horses. He would switch their saddles to fresh mounts before the afternoon march began. McCann put out the fresh water barrel, and the girls quenched their parched throats with a lukewarm drink. At least it was wet.

  When Emma finished wiping her hot face with a dampened edge of her apron—which was in a shocking state but better than nothing—Luke approached from the direction of the remuda, Papa by his side. He walked up to Emma, his smile as refreshing as a cooling rain.

  “Ready?”

  Rebecca lowered her cup from wet lips. “Ready for what?”

  The answer fluttered in Emma’s throat, and she found she couldn’t look Luke in the face without giving in to a flush that hovered in the vicinity of her collarbone. “Luke has agreed to teach me how to throw a rope.” She glanced at Papa. “If it’s okay.”

  Rebecca rose up on her toes and bounced. “I want
to learn too. Papa, can I?”

  The scrutiny of Papa’s gaze made Emma want to look away. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and stared calmly back at him, careful to keep her gaze clear of guile.

  He gave the barest of nods. “Perhaps I may learn as well.”

  Luke cast a quick glance at her, and she saw understanding in his gaze. He’d reached the same conclusion as she. They both had hoped for time alone. Papa didn’t care a thing about learning to lasso a cow. He merely wanted to stay close while his daughter was in the company of an oh-so-appealing Englisch cowboy.

  Feeling a tiny bit thwarted, Emma managed a small smile. This was the very reason Amish youth kept their romantic intentions to themselves.

  “All right, then.” If Luke’s smile looked a little insincere, at least he covered it with an enthusiastic tone. “Let’s go to the other side of the wagon, where there’s a couple of good-sized stumps we can practice on.” He turned his head and raised his voice to be heard by those in the vicinity. “Anybody have a lariat we can borrow? We’re going to do a little practicing.”

  “This I gotta see.” Jesse’s voice from the back of the wagon hinted skepticism.

  Griff approached Emma with a grin and a coiled length of rope. “Show ’em what you can do, gal.”

  He crossed over to the wagon, sat, and pushed his hat back off his forehead, looking as though he was waiting for a show to start. Others did the same, and before long everyone in the vicinity was scattered around the area, their gazes trained on the roping lesson. The flutter in Emma’s stomach erupted into full-blown nerves. This was not how she’d envisioned her personal lesson with Luke progressing.

  When Papa and Rebecca both held borrowed ropes as well, Luke walked them a little ways off. The area was free of trees, though several dead stumps rose out of the sagebrush-covered ground, as though a storm had sheared a thicket in years past. Luke took up the end of his coiled rope and held it up. The end formed a ring.