The Heart's Frontier

by Lori Copeland;Virginia Smith

  Luke’s first instinct was to flare up on Emma’s behalf. But then he saw her laughing right along with Griff, even bending over with a hand across her middle. The sound of her laughter bubbled like water over a rocky creek bed, and for a moment all he could do was listen. Even Mrs. Switzer was having a hard time not joining in, her lips twitching like an antsy child that itches to break free from the firm grasp of his mother and run for the open.

  Actually, the whole thing was kind of funny, now that he thought about it. He joined in with a chuckle.

  Griff managed to recover himself. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay, gal. Good job lassoing that steer.”

  “Thank you.”

  Still chuckling, he wandered off, taking the laughter with him and leaving an awkward silence in his wake. Mrs. Switzer hung close to her granddaughter’s side, while Luke cast about for something to say. The sight of the scrapes on Emma’s smooth skin, and the slightly purplish welt on her cheek, bothered him. All his fault, of course. The rope lesson had been his suggestion, and a stupider one he couldn’t imagine. And what was the point? An excuse to get closer to her for a little while, and look what came of it.

  The funny thing was, those scrapes and bruises didn’t detract from her beauty even a mite.

  Aware that Mrs. Switzer’s eyelids had narrowed as she watched him, he tore his gaze from Emma’s and nodded toward her hands. “Those have to hurt.”

  Her head dropped as she looked at the bandages, and her shoulders lifted in a shrug.

  “Well, obviously you don’t need to worry about riding the herd anymore. You can take the wagon beside your grandmother. Griff can handle the left flank by himself.”

  With a jerk, her head rose and her gaze snapped to his. “But I want to ride.”

  His eyes squinted as he took in her scratches and her patched dress. “You’ve had quite a ride already today, Emma. By nightfall you’re going to be sore and bruised all over. You ought to take it easy.”

  “On a wagon?” She scoffed. “The wheels going over bumps and ditches jar me straight through to my bones. A saddle will be far more comfortable.”

  Mrs. Switzer wrung the cloth she’d used to bathe Emma’s wounds and remarked casually, “A folded quilt will cushion the hard bench.”

  Emma’s forehead creased as she watched her grandmother snap the cloth straight and fold it into a neat square. Then she turned to look directly into Luke’s eyes. Her chin rose.

  “I want to ride the horse.” Her tone left no room for argument.

  For some reason, Luke couldn’t stop a slow-spreading grin. There was something extra appealing about a woman who knew what she wanted and insisted on getting it.

  After another hour of rest, Luke gave the orders for the outfit to get the cattle moving. The herd had spread out as they grazed, so the riders urged them into a tighter pack and set out on another long march. Shallow streams snaked throughout this part of the Chisholm Trail, so the cattle stayed well watered even though they were not given time to graze.

  A few hours into the afternoon, Luke spotted a couple of long land swells in the distance. Between them lay a fairly narrow pass. They could easily navigate around the low hills, but he decided to take the opportunity for a head count. They would arrive in Hays tomorrow evening with their expanded herd, and he wanted to have a good number to report.

  Signaling to McCann to follow, he applied his spurs and his horse leaped forward. The chuck wagon surged after him, the cook applying his whip to the team. The others would know exactly what he intended and lead the herd appropriately.

  When they approached the pass, McCann pulled the wagon to a halt on the left and climbed down from the bench.

  Luke pointed to the hill and said, “You take that side.”

  McCann climbed to the top while Luke directed his horse toward a position across from the cook. They were in place before the front edge of the herd arrived. Then the count began. With part of his mind, he wished that they could have hauled that rocking chair up here and set Jesse to counting so he could be down there in the lead. But that thought was quickly forgotten as he concentrated on keeping track of the number of cattle that surged past him down below.

  Griff and Morris had galloped ahead to take the point positions. Between the two of them they kept the herd moving through. Jonas’s oxen blended in obediently and marched through. When Jesse passed below, he folded his hands behind his head and stretched out long, a leisurely, teasing grin on his face. Luke took a moment to grimace at him and then kept counting. He heard Griff calling instructions to Emma and Rebecca, and the girls moved through the pass in the midst of the cattle without incident.

  When the last steer was north of the pass, Luke called across the gap. “How many do you make it out to be?”

  The reply was instant. “Two thousand five hundred and twenty-four.”

  “Twenty-one,” he corrected with a shout.

  McCann shook his head. “You must have blinked.”

  Laughing, Luke swung up into the saddle. They had started out back in El Paso with two thousand and fifteen head of Triple Bar beef. It wasn’t unusual at all to add or lose a few head along the way, as less hearty cattle succumbed and range cattle joined the herd unnoticed. But they had increased their count by twenty-five percent. Some had been rustled, of course, but because their brands had been sliced off, the proper owners couldn’t be identified. And he had custody of the rustlers to prove his outfit innocent.

  He kneed his horse down the hill and followed the chuck wagon through the pass. On the other side, a horse and rider waited. Jonas urged his mount forward to fall in step with Luke’s.

  His mood light, Luke awarded the man a smile. “Well, Jonas, it’s almost over. We’ll be in Hays by tomorrow evening.”

  Jonas’s serious expression did not lighten. “And then?”

  “Then you can go home. You said your farm isn’t too far from there, but if it’s late you’ll want to stay the night. My treat,” he added. “I’ll buy your supper too.”

  The man did not turn his head but kept his stare fixed ahead. “What happens then for my Emma?”

  Jonas’s meaning slammed into Luke. If he’d been walking, he would have stumbled. This wasn’t a friendly conversation between men. This was a father determined to discover Luke’s intentions for his daughter. And judging by the look on Jonas’s face, he wasn’t too happy to be having it.

  “What are you talking about?”

  A stupid answer that made him look dimwitted, but it gave Luke a few seconds to gather his thoughts.

  “I see the way she watches you, the way she smiles when you smile.”

  Emma’s image rose in Luke’s mind, that engaging smile on her lips and reflected in her eyes.

  Jonas turned his head and caught Luke in a direct glance. “You watch her the same.”

  He couldn’t deny the words. From the moment he opened his eyes back in Gorham and found himself looking up into her face, he couldn’t stop watching her, trying to figure out what went on behind that impassive expression that she obviously learned from her father. But when she let an emotion peek through, he felt it all the way to his core.

  “I suppose I do,” he admitted.

  Saying the words gave them extra weight. Jesse had sensed it from the very first, and though Luke denied any attraction between them, he’d known. He’d chosen to ignore it until his responsibility for the Triple Bar herd, and the men of his outfit, were met.

  “My Emma, she is a Plain girl. Do you know what this means?”

  “I know she’s Amish, Jonas. Anybody can tell that by looking at her.”

  He shook his head. “Being Plain is more than our dress. It is more than the kapp our women wear, or the beard our men grow when we marry. It is more, even, than the church we attend. Being Plain is our life. We dedicate every action, every thought, to the Lord who saved us. We agree to live by the Ordnung under the direction of our church leaders.” The gaze he fixed on Luke became compassionate, almost pityi
ng. “Being Plain is something you will never understand, and Plain is what my Emma is.”

  A protest rose in his mind. No. Emma is so much more than that. But he found he couldn’t form the words, not in the face of Jonas’s stare. So he merely nodded and said nothing.

  “You are a good man, Luke Carson.” Jonas’s voice dropped low. “But you are not a good man for my Emma.”

  The words hit him like hailstones pounding the prairie during a storm. He’d barely become aware that the feelings he had for Emma might be something deep, something lasting, and already he’d been rejected by her father. A man Luke respected enormously.

  Jonas urged his mount forward to take his place in the drag position at the rear of the herd. Luke allowed his horse to slow to a creep. The sun overhead did nothing to pierce the misty gloom that muddled his thoughts.

  As the distance between him and the herd lengthened, he couldn’t help seeking out the form of the black-clad flank rider who had somehow managed to capture his heart.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Though she was too stubborn to admit it, Emma knew she’d made the wrong decision the moment she climbed into the saddle. Even picking up the reins with her sore hands made her suck in a hissing breath. But pride won out over pain, so she clamped her teeth together and took her place at the herd’s western flank. Thankfully, the cows under her charge behaved themselves, so she spent the long afternoon and evening hours in the saddle trying to move as little as possible and letting the horse have her way. When Luke finally called a halt for the night, she rallied enough to help put the cattle to ground, and then she fell onto her bedroll without even a thought of supper.

  The next morning was worse. The first thing she became aware of, even before the last tendrils of sleep had unwound themselves from her conscious mind, was her stiff, aching muscles. The skin on her face felt tight and raw. Lifting an arm to peel away the bedroll brought so much pain she couldn’t suppress a groan.

  “Rope another cow today, will you?”

  She cracked open an eye to find Maummi standing over her, a cup in one hand and a cloth in another. The smirk on her face elicited another groan from Emma.

  Maummi sank to her knees and helped Emma rise into a sitting position. She dipped the cloth in the cup, and began gently washing the scrapes on Emma’s face. The scent from the water was clean, fresh, and faintly grasslike. More violet leaf tea. Was the cook right, and it was nothing more than a granny recipe? Perhaps, but much good would come of keeping the wounds clean regardless.

  “Consider this, granddaughter.” Maummi blotted as she spoke. “Which is more comely, a deer gliding through the twilight or a clucking chicken strutting in the glare of the day?”

  Emma winced, and not because of her stinging scratches. This lesson was one Maummi had used to teach Rebecca, who always tended toward rowdy and loud rather than soft-spoken and gentle, as befitted an Amish woman.

  “A graceful deer,” Emma answered sullenly, plucking at a loose thread where her dress had been mended.

  “And do deer lasso cows?”

  Emma wanted to retort that chickens didn’t lasso cows either, but she held her tongue. “No, Maummi.”

  Her grandmother nodded. “When we are back in Apple Grove, you will leave the saddle horses and cattle and ropes behind, ja?”

  Emma didn’t answer. The question asked far more than the words implied. Was she ready to step back into the role she’d left behind a week and a lifetime ago? She and Rebecca had certainly not led the lives of typical Amish women the past few days, wearing Papa’s trousers and straddling horses and working alongside Englisch cowboys. Watching the men and listening to their talk of their families and tales of trail life was far more interesting than listening to Mrs. Miller drone on about the virtues of her husband and son, or the tally of the pickles she’d put up the week before. Plus, Emma had enjoyed a strange sense of satisfaction that came from doing the work of a cowboy without the disapproving scrutiny of their Apple Grove neighbors.

  And yet she loved her Plain life. She had never wanted anything else.

  Until Luke.

  A painful lump rose in her throat. When she returned home, she would no longer be able to look ahead and see him at the front of the herd, to admire the way he led. Never again feel the giddy flip-flop in her stomach when his gaze connected with hers across the campfire. In fact, today would likely be the last time she saw him, ever.

  Unless he agreed to become Amish, to live by Christ’s teachings and the Ordnung. Long hours in the saddle yesterday afternoon had given her time to consider their discussion over and over. He hadn’t made a firm decision. In fact, she hadn’t actually asked the question. Surely the feelings she felt for him weren’t one-sided. There might still be a chance that Luke would embrace the Amish lifestyle if he really loved her.

  Maummi’s hand hovered in the air, the cloth several inches from Emma’s face, her eyes probing as she waited for an answer.

  “Maybe…” She clamped her teeth down on her lower lip. She couldn’t say the words, couldn’t bear to see denial, or maybe pity, in her grandmother’s eyes. Instead, she shook her head. “I don’t know, Maummi.”

  One thing she did know. She would not give up hope that Luke would profess his love for her and join her in the faith, not until she heard it from his own lips. And she had until tonight, in Hays, for that to happen.

  The last leg of the trail was the hardest of all for Emma. The cattle seemed intent on spreading out as wide as the entire prairie, and the farther they roamed from the main body of the herd, the slower their pace. Emma actually forgot her own pain for long stretches of time, so determined was she on keeping the western flank in hand. Behind her, Griff was having a similar experience, while on the far side, Morris and Rebecca rode with a stream on their right, which their cows seemed to consider as a natural barrier not to be crossed.

  Even worse, Luke maintained his own position in the lead. Hours passed without him circling the herd to check on his cowhands. When she wasn’t chasing steers, Emma stared at the back of his head in hopes that he would turn toward her and she could get his attention. If he would only come back and ride a short while with her, she would find some way of turning the conversation in the direction she wanted.

  Not only did he not look toward her, he didn’t stop the herd at noontime either. She kept watch for signs of a halt, but he seemed intent on pushing the cattle and the riders to the ends of their endurance. When the sun started its descent, she twisted impatiently in the saddle to catch Griff’s eye. He urged his horse into a gallop and soon drew alongside her.

  “You doing okay up here, gal?”

  “We’ve been a long time without a rest.” She swept a hand toward the cattle. “They are starting to look tired, and they seem hungry. They keep wanting to spread out and graze.”

  He shrugged. “They’ll be okay. It won’t be much longer now. I’ve traveled this trail a half dozen times, so I know what Luke’s doing. He’ll push to get to a grazing field an hour this side of Hays, and then we’ll stop and let them eat and drink their fill. That way they’ll be at full weight when we arrive.” He peered more closely at her. “This is a cowhand’s life. We grab a bite in the saddle and keep moving. The beef will be okay, but how ’bout you? Belly empty, is it? I have some jerked beef you can chew on.”

  She eyed the unappealing strip of shriveled meat he extended. That was one part of trail life she could never get used to. Meals were not meant to be gobbled on horseback. They were meant for sharing with family and friends. Even if she were starving, she doubted she could choke down that dried-out hunk of beef.

  “No, thank you.” Instead, she picked up the canteen that hung from the saddlebag and drained the last of her water.

  A pair of steers chose that moment to make a break for the open. Emma felt sorry for them, held to an unyielding pace, crowded in with the others, and forced to follow in the footsteps that hundreds of other cows had trampled before them. If she were a cow, she’d
be tempted to run away too.

  But she wasn’t. She was an Amish girl, and her job was to make sure they followed the herd. She urged her tired horse ahead to cut off their escape.

  The afternoon was half over when Luke called a halt. Finally, Emma could let up her vigil and let the cattle under her charge wander into the wide, open plain. They did so, tearing up great mouthfuls of grass along the way, stopping only to drink their fill from a half dozen small streams that crisscrossed the prairie.

  Griff rode up from behind. “Let’s head in, gal. I’m ready for a good, long break. The railhead at Hays isn’t more than an hour’s easy traveling from here.”

  She nudged Sugarfoot ahead to keep pace with him as they rode toward camp, where the chuck wagon stood sentinel on one side, and the Amish wagon with Maummi’s giant hutch on the other.

  “Griff, what will you do when we get to Hays and this cattle drive is over?”

  The old cowboy pursed his lips and thought a second before he answered. “I’ll probably hang around there for a while to see if I can rustle up another job. There’s still time to get back down to Texas and start another drive before cold weather sets in. If I don’t find anything in Hays, I’ll head on over to Abilene. There’s always something going on there.”

  They rode on a few paces. Was that what Luke planned to do too? Drop off this herd and immediately find another one to lead?

  “You mentioned the other day that you might want to settle down sometime.” Though she didn’t look at him directly, she watched for a reaction out of the corner of her eye. “Did you mean it?”