West Winds of Wyoming

by Caroline Fyffe

  A loud crack rent the air.

  Charlie?

  She searched the far side as the horses galloped past. Where was he? Frantic to see him, she scanned from one side to the other. There. Her heart swelled at the sight. His hat was low over his eyes and seeing his bandanna up, she yanked up hers, getting ready.

  In a matter of seconds she’d let Coyote go. She counted, held her breath, then leaned forward and yelled, “Hee-yah!” giving Coyote his head.

  With a ferocious snap, Coyote bolted away. In seconds they pulled in next to the horses and their ground-eating strides at about the middle of the herd. Nostrils flared. Manes and tails flew everywhere. It was the most exhilarating feeling she’d ever experienced. “Hee-yah! Hee-yah!” she cried.

  Fresh, Coyote had no problem keeping pace. Horses surged behind them, then moved around like a river, drawing Nell in until she and her mount were surrounded. A dark roan veered in and clipped the bay in front of them. Coyote jerked up, trying to keep his hooves from getting entangled. His footing once again strong—and Nell’s heart in her throat—she crouched close to his neck, watching between his ears as they galloped. Squinting through the dust, she was surprised when the throng of horses curved right, when they should have gone left. The bush barrier they’d constructed yesterday hadn’t held them. She needed to do something, and fast.

  Taking hold of Coyote’s mouth, she guided him back to the outside of the galloping herd, now urging him on for all she was worth. She squeezed with her legs and he gave her more speed. They passed two horses, then three, then winged ahead of a handful. Coyote’s belly expanded as he gulped in huge amounts of air, giving her all the swiftness she asked.

  With a frightful jerk, she suddenly recognized the lay of the land. She hadn’t put the pieces together yesterday, but the small buffalo jump was approaching about a mile ahead. She needed to get the wild horses turned before they all went over.

  “Hee-yah!” she yelled into Coyote’s ear, now desperate to get to the front. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

  Coyote surged forward. She’d never ridden him this fast. She couldn’t imagine where he found the energy. His breathing now rasped in her ears but he didn’t waver, and he didn’t slow down. At this rate she didn’t have much time. The trees ahead were thinning. The mustangs labored, some glistened in their own sweat. Still, they didn’t have her weight to carry, or that of the saddle. They galloped on with no signs of slowing down.

  “Faster, faster, boy,” she chanted over and over into Coyote’s ears as she moved her hands along his neck, matching his strides, urging him on. Doing whatever it took to help her courageous mount forward. They needed to be in the front of the herd to be able to turn them. Certain death was fast approaching.

  Charlie reined up when Nell bolted out of the trees to take command of the herd. He eased back, slowing the black to a lope, then down to the jog. His horse labored for breath but he’d done well. Soon the herd was out of sight, and Charlie veered toward a hill that was dense with trees but would be in a direct line to the corral, cutting off several miles. He let the gelding take the first part slowly, but after he’d caught his breath, Charlie asked for more power to the top, to where the trees became sparse.

  He reached for his canteen but was surprised when he caught sight of the herd in the distance running along an elevated plateau. His brows dropped. They must have veered off the path!

  His breath caught. Where was Nell? Had she fallen? Suddenly a very ominous feeling filled his heart. He searched the area the horses were heading. The buffalo jump! The other one Nell had told him about was directly ahead.

  “No!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. A flash of yellow toward the front of the herd caught his eye. Nell! Standing in her stirrups as she cracked her whip over her head in an effort to turn the mass of horses. He’d been a damned fool to let her take the herd alone. “Turn, turn.” His whispered plea lodged in his throat.

  His heart thwacked painfully against his rib as he watched in stunned horror.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  A light tapping at the door barely registered in Brenna’s head as she went about her living room with her duster in hand. Saturday morning was allotted to household chores. After that she’d get to her mending, and then baking. Stevie and Prichard, already finished with their short list of things to do, had gone off to Shady Creek to try to catch something for supper. The girls’ giggles, coming from their bedroom where they were making their bed with fresh linen, made Brenna smile.

  “Hello? Anyone home?”

  Mr. Hutton? Outside?

  Brenna crossed the room and stopped at the door. She pushed some wayward bangs from her moist forehead with the back of her wrist and frowned at her soiled apron. What in the world could he want today? He knocked again, giving her no choice but to open up.

  “Hello, Mrs. Lane.” His face was bright with something. There were no visible signs that he’d been sick, and he looked relatively healthy. Must be all the meals we’ve fed him over the past two weeks.

  “Hello, Mr. Hutton. What can I do for you?” Again. Ashamed at her unkind thoughts, she plastered a smile on her face.

  When he shifted his weight, she noticed he had his hand held behind his back. “First, I just wanted to thank you again for your excellent care over the extent of my illness. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  She warmed. He had a way of doing that to her without even trying. “You’re welcome.” She stepped back, realizing she was being rude. “Would you like to come in? I’m sure you’re ready for a change of scenery.”

  He inclined his head. “Indeed I would. Thank you.”

  She hadn’t thought he’d accept. Didn’t he notice she was in her work clothes? As she clicked the door closed, a soft mewing brought her spinning around to face him. She tried to see what he held behind his back. “What on earth do you have there?”

  He bent over and placed a tiny tiger-striped kitten on the floor between them. “She was crying outside my window this morning. I thought your girls might want to have her, that is, if no one comes to claim her. She can’t be more than a month old.”

  A cat? She had enough mouths to feed already without adding a pet to the mix. “That’s a kind gesture, but we couldn’t—”

  “A kitty,” Jane squealed. “A kitty!” She scampered over and dropped to her knees. As she picked up the animal and snuggled it to her beaming face, Penny and Maddie followed her into the living room, their expressions alight with excitement. People all the way down on Main Street probably heard Jane’s enthusiastic announcement. “Thank you, Mr. Hutton,” Jane said between nuzzles. “Thank you so much.”

  Mr. Hutton’s bright smile and engaging eyes made Brenna bristle. Now she was going to have to be the big meanie. “We can’t possibly keep her, Mr. Hut—” The words died in her throat as her girls stared up at her with pleading eyes. They’d been begging for a kitten for years. Jane placed the rascal back on the floor and the animal instantly hopped onto her daughter’s legs, snagging her socks with claws like little fishhooks. Brenna blinked. “A pet is a big responsibility.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Penny begged. “I promise.”

  “I’ll help her.” Jane nodded.

  “And me, Mama,” Maddie said softly.

  That about sealed the deal. Breaking her daughters’ hearts was the last thing she wanted to do on an early Saturday morning. “I guess you win, Mr. Hutton.” She smiled but knew her expression fell short because he gave her a bemused smile that slowly died away.

  He extended his hands in a pleading manner. “Girls,” he said, watching the three circled around the mewing kitten, “I should have asked your mother before I brought the kitten over.”

  Oh, sure, now he decides to be sensible with Penny, Jane, and Maddie gazing at her like kittens approaching a saucer of milk. That image made her soften up. She stifled a giggle. “As if I could say no now? Of course we’ll keep her. The only question is, what are we going
to name her?”

  Mr. Hutton’s smile was back.

  The back door flew open and then banged shut as Stevie and Prichard came into the room. The kitten skittered under the sofa as the boys came to a screeching halt in front of their soon-to-be teacher. Brenna could tell they were dying to know what was going on but were afraid to speak in front of Mr. Hutton. Penny reached under the sofa and drew out the fluff ball.

  “Oh,” Stevie said, his voice full of delight. “Do we get to—”

  “Yes,” the three girls sang in unison. Jane’s sweet smile warmed Brenna’s heart. “Mr. Hutton gave her to us.”

  Mr. Hutton gestured for Brenna to step over by the window. “I’m sorry. I can see I’ve put you in a difficult position.” He chuckled, apparently not very sorry at all. “And since I have, I was wondering if I could treat you to dinner at the Silky Hen as reparation. Perhaps tonight, or tomorrow?”

  Brenna felt her eyes go wide. What on earth was he up to? A married man asking her out? “Why?”

  “Why?” He rubbed his forehead. “Well, for one, to thank you for your expert care in my time of need.”

  “I told you, I was happy to be able to assist.”

  “And for taking such wonderful care of my class.”

  Brenna swallowed, trying to be discreet. Her heart went pitter patter but she was not at all sure she should say yes. But then, they did work together. Perhaps dinner with a married man wasn’t such a horrible thing to do, as long as it was in a public restaurant and was strictly business—

  At her long delay his brows drew together and disappointment flared in his eyes.

  Glancing over her shoulder to make sure the children were still occupied with the new member of the family, she led him closer to the door so they wouldn’t be overheard. “As long as you understand that this is business. We could use the time to talk about the school Christmas pageant and the spring book drive.”

  He chuckled again and she couldn’t imagine what she’d said to make him do so. She struggled to ignore how comfortable he acted standing in her house in a pair of dungarees, his worn boots, and a dark-blue chambray shirt that appeared impossibly soft, just begging to be touched. Her imagination took flight and she had to rein in her thoughts before they got her into trouble.

  “Yes, we could discuss those, but I also hoped we could make the occasion a little more personal. You’re an adult and so am I. What could it hurt?” He held her gaze so steadily that she was sure he must have plenty of practice hoodwinking unsuspecting females. “I mean, that is—”

  Seemed he’d lost his bravado.

  When she remained silent, he shrugged. “If you’re not interested, just say so, Brenna. May I call you that? I feel we know each other quite well by now.”

  Scalding heat rushed to her face. She tried to focus on the children playing with the kitten, what they were saying and doing. But no matter what she tried, his soul-searching eyes had everything inside her all jumbled up.

  “Mr. Hutton.”

  Surprised, he took a quick step back.

  “I’m sorry.” She glanced again at the floor to find her cool tone had drawn her children’s attention. “May I please speak with you out on the porch?”

  “Yes, of course.” She went out and he followed. “What have I done that has you so upset? In all our days together I don’t think I’ve ever seen this expression on your face.”

  She spun around to face him. “You must think me a silly fool, Mr. Hutton.”

  “Gregory. And why?”

  “Do you think me so desperate that I’ll fall at the feet of any suitor? Or be a married man’s mistress? Thankful for any scrap of attention that is given me?”

  Again, the chuckle. She was getting ready to show him how funny a slap across the face would be. She might be poor but she was a proper lady, and a proper lady she would stay.

  He took a step back and his eyes dropped from her face to her feet as if he were clearly mixed up and looking for an answer. “Forgive me if I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why don’t you start at the very beginning so I can make sense of it.” He cleared his throat. “If that’s not too much to ask.”

  “All right, I will. While straightening up in your house I found . . .” She glanced away, spotting Dwight riding up her street again. What was with Dwight, anyway? She wished he’d just go back to New Meringue and stay there. “Just a moment. Wait until Dwight goes by.”

  Mr. Hutton followed her line of vision, nodding back to Dwight when Hoskins acknowledged them. They stood in silence until he was out of hearing distance.

  “Just wonderful,” she said in a sour tone.

  “What?”

  “Now he has more gossip ammunition. I can just hear it now. Brenna Lane has taken to entertaining married men in her home. Has she no shame? Rumors will fly like bats at sundown.”

  “Who’s married?” His hand came up and touched his chest. “Are you talking about me?”

  “Who else?”

  Shaking his head, he walked over to the two chairs and table on the far side of the porch. “Sorry. But I need to sit down. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He sat and she followed suit, her mind swimming with confusion.

  “What gave you the impression I was married? Did I call my wife’s name in my delirium? Is there an indentation I’m not aware of?” He pointed to his bare ring finger. “Please, tell me. I’m dying with curiosity.”

  Either he was slyer than a wily fox, or somehow she’d made a horrible mistake. “I found your marriage certificate when I put the strawberry jam away in your kitchen. The one with the horse manure stains.” At the memory of that travesty, a blush crept up her neck. “I’m sorry about that whole incident, by the way.”

  He waved it away. “An accident. But I assure you, that isn’t my marriage certificate, but my brother and his wife’s.”

  “But your name was there. Gregory Hutton and Miss Helen Boyd.”

  He made a sound, the mixture between a chuckle and a sad sigh. “So that’s why you’ve been so sensitive of late. I’ve pondered the reason for days.” He reached over, took her hand, and cocooned it between his. “My brother’s name was Greer. Greer Hutton. We were twins.”

  That explains the birthday.

  She dropped her gaze to her hand in his. His touch was gentle and had her totally distracted. “But I read it with my own eyes. I saw your name.”

  When he shook his head a shadow of sadness crossed his face, making him appear years older. “You just thought you saw it. The stain covers most of Greer’s first name, but, if I recall correctly, the g-r-e is still visible. Your brain filled in what you were expecting to be there. An honest mistake, to be sure.”

  “But then why do you have it, if it’s not yours?”

  He blinked, and stared down the road toward town. “Because they’re both dead. Killed last year in a ferryboat accident.”

  How sad. With her free hand Brenna reached over and covered their hands, giving his a squeeze. She could see he was eaten up with grief. Not only a brother but a twin, and his wife. No wonder such a qualified teacher had taken such a low-paying job. He was running from painful memories. Hoping to start fresh. She’d never guessed.

  “How on earth then did you receive letters from—”

  He crooked a brow.

  “I’m sorry. The letters were right there in plain sight. From Helen Hutton? How is that possible?”

  His boyish smile told her he wasn’t angry with her snooping. “They’re from my mother. My mother and father, Harriett and Oglethorpe Hutton. They still live in Poppyville, Pennsylvania, where I grew up.”

  “Oh, Gregory,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine the pain you’ve gone through.” She gazed into his eyes.

  “I thought a change of scenery would do me good.” A wistful smile played around his mouth. “A new town. New friends.”

  When she nodded, something in his eyes changed, making her feel like the most beautiful, desirable
woman in the world. “I’m so glad you did.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Mustering every ounce of strength left in her body, Nell leaned forward and cracked the whip over her head for the fifth time. A loud pop sent the horses next to her veering away. The rest galloped straight for the cliff. For one moment of rest she gripped the saddle horn and just held on. Enough of that; she had to do more.

  “You can do it,” she shouted to Coyote. Her horse labored with every stride. How could she think of rest for herself even one second when Coyote had been running flat out for so long? “Almost there,” she shouted. “Faster, Coyote, get up there!”

  By sheer will she propelled him along, but every rasp of his breath was like a lance to her heart. They were almost to the front of the herd. If they could just get to the lead, and stay there, she was sure she’d be able to get most of the horses turned. She didn’t want to lose a single one. Not because she wanted them for the ranch but because they were beautiful animals, deserving to live until their natural death.

  She hated to do it, but the time had come. All her wiggle room was gone. She had to act now, or lose the horses and perhaps her own life. Stuffing the whip under her thigh, she took the extra length of her split-leather reins that hung down on the right side of Coyote and gathered them. With force, she whipped them over and back on Coyote’s flanks as hard as she could, lashing him with a brutal sting. Surprised, the gelding sprang forward and increased his speed. She dug her heels into his sides and lashed him again.

  She felt every one of his muscles strain. Dig deep. He lowered his head, flattened out his topline, and passed several horses. She could see the edge of the drop clearly. They would be there soon. Sweat dripped into her eyes and she tried to blink it away. They were on the outside track. Grabbing the whip again, she cracked the long, braided leather above her head. Again and again. Horses began swinging away. They were thinning out, turning as she’d hoped.