Owen Family Saga Box Set: Books 1-3

by Ward, Marsha

“Come on,” Andy razzed him. “You ain’t afraid, are you?”

  James had to ignore Andy for a time.

  Then it was up and down, up and down in one stirrup for a long spell, getting the horse used to the feel of weight. Then James put his right leg over, dragging it across the rump a bit, seating himself, all the while talking to the brown and stroking it gentle as a mare’s lick. Pretty soon it got over its nerves and stood quiet. James climbed on and off a couple of times, and then decided it was time to ride.

  “Hey Andy. You ready for a show?”

  The boy had almost gone to sleep on the fence rail, but he came awake when James called, and popped his suspenders with excitement as he ran off to get the rest of the kids. Angus heard the noise and called Molly down to the corral. Amparo figured out something was up, because she was there too, leaning against the top rail, staring at James.

  He untied the hobbles, let loose the lead rope from the halter, gathered the reins, and looked toward Amparo. She was still looking at him, and that melted his innards, but he picked his courage up off the ground, stuffed it into his chest, put his foot into the stirrup, and swung aboard.

  Nothing happened. The brown horse stood quiet as a tame pony, and James could tell Andy was mighty disappointed by the groan he let out. James got the colt to circle the corral three or four times, then hopped down.

  Everybody went away while James played the same up and down game with the buckskin, then with the mousy horse. The buckskin was the more nervous of the two, and he decided to ride it the next day, when he would be rested, but he figured the mouse-colored colt was ready. Andy spread the word, and a crowd built up for his ride on the mouse.

  This time the horse bucked a time or two when it found out it was free of the hobbles and ropes, and James had a nice little bouncy ride, but after the colt ran around the corral twice, it settled down and soon he got off.

  “Ride the buckskin. You still got plenty of day,” said Andy.

  James shook his head. “He’s fractious, and I’m tired. Tomorrow is soon enough.”

  “Ah, come on. It’s hours till sundown. You can have everything done a day early.”

  I hadn’t better try it, tuckered out as I am, he thought. But there is that daylight, and I wouldn’t mind leaving one day sooner.

  “Young’un,” he said to Andy, “you could wear the bark off a tree flapping that tongue of yours. I’ll ride the buckskin if your pa has a rope in his hand to catch it if it bucks me off.” Then James made ready, knowing all the while it was the wrong thing to do.

  The buckskin waited until James’s right leg was halfway over its back before inviting him to dance, and right then he should have thrown himself off. But he was stubborn, and wanted to show the colt who was boss, so he grabbed for a handful of mane and stuck with it.

  James couldn’t get his right foot into the stirrup iron, what with it and him both bouncing in the air. There was more sky between him and the saddle than between the ends of a rainbow. Once James thought he had his boot tip set to shove it home into the stirrup, but the buckskin landed with four feet together, head down, and that was the last jolt he took.

  Before James met the ground he cart wheeled twice, and the breath left his lungs with a “whoosh” that could be heard clear back to Tom O’Connor’s place. Then the colt turned toward him, snorting and kicking, trying to get rid of the saddle, and James couldn’t get his limbs to move him out of the horse’s way.

  Hush, I’m in trouble.

  James lay frozen where he fell, listening to Molly’s baby wail. The colt bucked and swirled toward him, shaking its head and blowing clouds of foul smelling breath. Two of the girls screamed.

  Andy cried, “Get up, James! Get up outta there!”

  Molly started praying out loud. Angus swore at the horse, and started to climb the fence.

  James tried to move, but his limbs still wouldn’t work. He knew he was about to get hurt bad, or maybe killed.

  Five or six puffy clouds scudded around in the sky, white above the dust the colt kicked into the air. James wondered if a body’s soul floated through those clouds on the way to heaven.

  As he turned his head a bit, he saw that in two more jumps the buckskin would be atop him.

  James figured he wasn’t going to a saintly reward, what with the lies he’d been telling, the truths he’d not told, the swearing he’d done, and falling into the crack between a couple of other bad sins. He tensed up his belly and closed his eyes, waiting for the colt to stomp him.

  James heard a low sound. It wasn’t a scream or a cry, but an angry voice getting louder as it came up behind him. He didn’t understand a single word, but Amparo wasn’t talking to him. She was cussing the colt, and running right toward it, trying to chase it away from James.

  “¡Vaya!” she said. “¡Vaya de mi esposo! Maldito caballo, ¡vaya, digo, vaya!”

  She came into his view, and there was determination on her face as she flapped her apron and swirled her skirt at the horse. Glory, she had no fear, and she drove that green colt right to the other side of the pen, where Angus got a rope on it and snubbed it up tight to the fence.

  Amparo knelt in all that dust and checked him over to see if anything was broken. He quivered from head to toe, as much from her touch upon him as from almighty terror. Her face was white as chalk dust as she ran her hands over his limbs, asking him over and over something he couldn’t decipher.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, although he felt like he wanted to lie there and die, now that pain was burning up his spine and down his limbs. That’s when she touched under his nose and brought her finger away bright with blood.

  “Sangre,” she whispered, and chills beat down his back.

  “Blood,” James said, trying to move his arm up to his nose.

  The force of the colt’s bucking had started his nose to bleeding, but he had been too busy trying to suck in air to notice. Now that the girl had brought it to his attention, he knew what was making the hairs of his moustache clump together.

  Amparo dabbed at his nose with her apron. “Mi pobrecito,” she crooned, making little clucking sounds in her throat.

  James tried to put on a cheerful face. His arms tingled up and down, like root beer prickling a body’s nose, and he let loose a long sigh. Maybe I haven’t got any paralyzing damage, he thought. He flexed his fingers, and Amparo took his hand. He held on for a moment, trying to squeeze so she’d know he was sound.

  The girl was still clucking and crooning, and James felt a frown creasing his face. “I’m going to live. Don’t go worrying over me, girl. Tarnation! How can I let you know not to fuss?”

  The best way to tell her was to show her, so James gathered strength, struggled to sit up, and got to his feet. Yellow dust clung to his clothes, so he gingerly bent to pick up his hat and swatted at the dirt. Then he jammed his head into the hat, took Amparo by the elbow, and hauled her back to the fence while she chattered away at him. When she was safely on the far side, he turned away so she couldn’t see he was gritting his teeth, and took a careful step or two toward the far side of the corral, intent on showing that colt who was boss.

  Amparo called out, “Señor, ¡no!”

  James stopped and turned to face her. “Yes,” he said, looking into those wide, dark eyes, and breathing hard like someone had let him up after holding his head under water for a long time. Her concern stung him like a swarm of yellow jackets on the prod, but he turned and went to the colt.

  “Are you in one piece?” Angus asked from his perch on the top rail of the fence, but James only grunted and fetched a rope.

  He had to work the buckskin some more, tying up a foot and putting the hobbles and lead rope on again, then climbing in and out of the saddle eight or ten times before it quit sidestepping. But he did get the animal to quiet down when he sat on its back.

  By then, daylight was gone, the crowd had left, a breeze had come over the horizon, and James was stiffening up from the hard landing. Andy had other
chores to do, so James sent him off while he left the buckskin in the hobbles, hauled food and water to it, and took care of the other two horses. Then James made for the house and supper.

  Amparo was waiting for him beside the back door with a can of hot water and a white towel.

  “Is this for me?” James reached out for the water can.

  The girl shook her head a bit, and put a corner of the towel into the water. “Voy a lavar tu cara,” she said, making scrubbing motions in front of his face with the rag.

  “I can do that,” he gulped. “Thank you anyway.”

  “Es mi placer,” she said, soft like, and he shivered like she’d stroked his soul with a feather.

  James swallowed. He was doing a lot of that, like a green kid at his first dance. Being around this girl he’d vowed to see home safe, then held tight in his arms as if he had no will, this girl who had just saved his life and limb, shamed him as he recalled his weakness.

  “It’s my face.” He put out his hand to take the towel, but Amparo touched it to his upper lip. The wet heat seeped pleasantly into his skin. He was grateful it was dark and nobody was around, for he wasn’t sure if he was blushing or not.

  The girl kept saying “mi pobre marido,” and soaking the clots out of his moustache. James swallowed again, not sure how to make his escape, then wondering if he wanted to leave.

  Eventually Amparo finished with his face, and he did go. When James sat down at the supper table, Angus said, “That colt scared the living daylights out of me. I thought you were a goner before the girl took a hand. It happened so fast I no more than had my leg over the bar before she had the horse off you and backed against the fence.”

  James turned his head to look at Angus. “I thought I was out there six or seven minutes before Miss Amparo came up. I’d wondered why you weren’t there with the rope.”

  Ignoring his jibe, Angus continued, “And then I thought you was crippled up for life. I was never so glad when I saw you get up. I thought I’d have to cart you home on a buckboard and face your Ma and Pa.”

  The young man grunted and went on eating.

  Angus left before James finished his meal. It was just as well, for he didn’t want any further conversation just then. But as he approached Molly with his empty plate, she looked sideways at him and said, “Miss Amparo keeps saying ‘mi esposo’ and looking at you, James. Are you carrying her away from her husband?”

  He blinked four or five times, then said crossly, “Do I look like the sort of man who’d steal another fellow’s wife?”

  As James said it, pain he thought had gone ripped through his belly as he thought of Ellen and his brother. He frowned, rocking from his toes to his heels and back, then said, “The young lady’s had some grief, and I’m taking her home to her ma.”

  “Oh, the poor little thing!” Molly said, and went about her work. James limped out of the house and off toward the stable, hurting inside and out. The dog trotted up and put its wet, cold nose into James’s palm, then turned and ran toward the corrals.

  James opened the stable door, closed it behind him, and walked slowly toward his bed in a corner of an empty stall, pulling his shirttail free of his trousers. Then he looked up and stopped short. Amparo sat on a box beside his bed, a bottle of liniment at her feet.

  “Where’d you get that stuff?” he asked, and wondered how she told Molly she needed it.

  Then he quit wondering and started sweating when she looked him over, demanded “¡Quita la ropa!” and made signs for him to shuck his clothes.

  “No o o, girl, you got me at a disadvantage here. Go back to the house and leave me be,” he said. The glance of those brown black eyes seemed to burn through to his skin as surely as sitting on a just used poker left carelessly on a hearth.

  “¡Quita la ropa!” she repeated, stood up, and started on the buttons of his shirt. He caught her hands, put them aside, and slowly took over the job. When she saw his shirt come off, Amparo picked up a cloth and soaked it in the liniment, then stood tapping her foot and waiting for him to take off the rest of his clothing.

  James took his sweet time, but only unbuttoned the top half of his underwear and peeled it down. Amparo clicked her tongue in annoyance, pointed to the box, and said “¡Siéntate!”

  He sat.

  She found the lumps and bruises and scrapes he’d managed to heap up that day, and put that foul-odored stuff on them. The liniment burned, but it lessened the pain. When the aches were eased, she departed. James’s body took on a fresh ache at her going, and he went to bed a lonesome man.

  Chapter 13

  By the end of the week, James had ridden the buckskin fourteen times and proclaimed him ready for Andy to work with. The boy was anxious to start training the colts, Angus was happy with the work, and James had his grubstake. Then he and Amparo were on the trail, with the big brown dog scampering behind their horses, sniffing out every scent that came along.

  James rode cautiously that first day. His ribs were still tender from the adventure he and the buckskin had shared. With Amparo riding her horse behind him, he tried to pick the easiest side of the trail so she wouldn’t notice how he was favoring his back. He surely did not want her to whip out that vile bottle of liniment he’d seen Molly hand her as she packed the food and supplies.

  When he called a halt for the night, he dismounted with an “oof.” Amparo looked over at him, but he smiled as he came to help her down, trying to move through the pain as though it did not exist. She narrowed her eyes, then turned and hunted through the packs to put together a meal.

  James watched her from the ring of darkness beyond the fire as he rubbed down the animals and grained them. She sang softly as she cooked flat corn patties to go with the beans in the pot, kneeling beside the skillet at the fire, with her brown print skirt tucked up out of the way.

  Beneath the white petticoat she wore under the skirt, he could see her knees. He turned away, quaking to his core as he recalled the fine texture of her skin beneath his hands, his fingers twined in the sweet smelling black veil of her hair, the rough places on his skin catching some of the strands. Now those strands of hair were captives in two thick braids tied with bits of cord.

  He stroked the sorrel’s neck, resting his head against its shoulder, gathering strength from the animal, damping down the yearning that rose in him. When he had won a measure of calm, he returned to the fire.

  Amparo gave James a plate, put down a portion of food for the dog, then took up her own plate and settled on her saddle. James ate a few bites, standing in silence, then looked down at her.

  “It’s good food,” he said, his voice a touch gruff. I wish I could tell her in her own tongue, he thought, chewing another mouthful. “I’m obliged for the help. My cookin’ isn’t fit for any woman to eat.”

  Amparo smiled at him. “Gracias, mi marido.”

  “‘Marido’. You keep saying that.” James scooped up beans with one of the corn cakes, in imitation of Amparo’s actions.

  “Marido.” She pointed to him. “Mujer.” Her finger turned to herself.

  “Mujer. That’s woman,” he muttered as she pointed to the ring. “More than woman. Wife. So ‘marido’ must be husband.”

  “Sí. Husban’.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook her braids back and pointed to the glints of light at her ears, the adornments Rodríguez had provided. “Aretes,” she said, and laughed. The dog looked up from its food and barked.

  It struck James that Amparo had a pleasant kind of laugh, low and bubbling. So different from Ellen’s laugh, Ma. He shook off the thought and put his mind to the girl’s word game. “You’re having fun with this. ‘Aretes’ are ear bobs.”

  Her hand circled over the plate. “Comida.”

  “I heard that one before. Food.” He held up a corn cake. “What’s this?”

  “Tortilla. Es una tortilla.”

  “Beans. What’s that in your tongue?”

  She craned her neck to see exactly where James was poi
nting on his plate, then nodded. “Frijoles. Free ho less.”

  He went over and squatted on his heels beside her. The dog came and lay down, placing its head on its paws beside James’s boot. “You’re a bright one, that’s for sure.” He stuffed a piece of tortilla soaked in bean juice into his mouth, then stroked the animal’s head.

  She scrunched up her face. “Bright?” It sounded funny the way she said it, with a little trill on the r.

  “Bright. Smart. Use your noodle,” James said, tapping his forehead.

  “Ah. Listo. Por supuesto. ¿Y cuál de nosotros es listo?” Her finger waggled between the two of them.

  He caught on and pointed to her. “Listo. You’re listo. I reckon you know a little more English than I figured.”

  Out of the blue James felt a pride for her, almost like it mattered to him that she was a canny woman. And with that pride came back the yearning, filling his belly with a new kind of hurting. He felt a creeping heat going up his body, and hated knowing it wasn’t from the fire. “It’s sure you know how a woman gets her way,” he said. “You had you a proper weddin’ night.”

  “No entiendo.” She made a face.

  James sighed. “I fixed us two beds,” he said, holding up two fingers, then putting his palms together and resting his head on them in a sign for sleep. “I’m still taking you to Santa Fe to your ma.” He ducked his head and looked at the ground to hide his face in case it showed color. There was a stick near his boot, and he picked it up and fiddled with it to move his mind away from the yearning. Bark flew in all directions as he twisted the dry branch. The dog snuffled, then lay quiet.

  “¿‘Ma’? ¿Quieres decir ‘mamá’? Ella no es mi mamá. Es mi madrastra.”

  The young man moved one foot so he could turn and toss the stick into the fire, then faced her again. “I don’t take your meanin’. I reckon I’m not so listo.” He gave her his plate and got to his feet. “But I’m listo enough to keep my britches on for the rest of the trip.”

  ~~~

  The trail spread before James like a ribbon laid atop a johnnycake—a smooth path beaten into the uneven earth. Creosote bushes dotted the landscape like orchard plantings, regularly spaced on earth made barren by poison roots that jealously sucked at what little moisture lay beneath the surface.