Dan Winslow did not come awake like most people—slowly, a little at a time. At once his eyes flew open and he turned his head and looked into her eyes, saying, “Good morning.” He unfolded his hands, rolled over on his left side so that he faced her, reached over, and stroked her light brown hair. “How is it,” he murmured, a smile turning the corner of his lips up, “that every morning of your life you get more and more beautiful?”
Hope had heard this, or some form of it, practically every morning of their married life, but it never ceased to give her a sense of pleasure. She thought quickly of her first two husbands—the first one so far back that she could barely remember him at times. He had given her Cody, for which she was grateful, but her memories of him were unpleasant ones. He had not been gentle in his lovemaking, but selfish and demanding. Her second husband she put quickly out of her mind, for she had known nothing but cruelty from him. But this man lying by her side was totally different. She had learned what true love was only with Dan Winslow. She had been amazed to find that a man could be so sensitive and so strong at the same time. Stroking his arm now she whispered, “I got a prize when I got you, Dan Winslow. Just think of how many women would like to be in my place!”
He laughed, amused at her thoughts. “What would you do if you found one in your place?”
“Scratch her eyes out!” Hope said, trying to look mean and vicious and failing miserably.
They lay there in the bed holding each other, talking about unimportant things. This early morning interlude had been a time that Dan had also learned to treasure. He had found in Hope Winslow the woman that he had always longed for, and he thanked God every day of his life that he had been blessed with such a wife.
“I guess we better get up,” Hope said reluctantly. When Dan reached out and held her, kissing her firmly, she surrendered to his caress for a moment—then she pushed him away, laughing. “Never mind all that, I’ve got work to do.”
Dan lay back, locked his fingers together, and watched her as she began to get dressed. “I think I’ll have breakfast in bed today,” he pronounced. “You know what I like best, so just bring it in here.”
“That’ll be the day!” she scoffed. “Get out of that bed, you loafer! I’ve got half a dozen things for you to do.” Dan rolled over reluctantly, got out of bed, and began to get dressed. As he walked over and poured the shaving water into the basin at the washstand and began to work up a lather, he said, “What did you think of that last letter from Tom?”
Hope straightened up from where she was making the bed and looked at him. “I was sorry to hear that they had decided not to come and go into ranching here. Do you think we should try and urge them to change their mind?”
“I don’t think so. You know how Tom is—stubborn as a mule sometimes.” He began to brush his face with a rich, creamy lather, then picked up a razor, tested it, and carefully drew it across his cheek. He had a tough beard that was hard to cut, and his eyes watered. “I wish I could swear like I used to over shaving,” he said. “It always seemed to help.” Then he turned more serious and said, “No, Tom won’t leave the army. It’s the kind of life he was made for, and I’m just grateful he’s got a good wife to share it with him. Not many women could follow a man out on those lonely, miserable army posts.”
Hope finished the bed, came over, and sat down to watch him finish shaving. She knew him better than she had thought a woman could know a man. She traced his strong, stark features, admiring the light blue eyes that all Winslow men seemed to have. Something had been bothering her, and she had learned that she could share anything with Dan, so she said, “I’m worried about Cody.”
At once, Dan turned to look at her. “I know. I’ve been worried myself.” He drew the razor down and wiped it on the towel across his shoulder, then proceeded to cut another swath. Finally, after a few more painful passes, he was finished. He washed his face, took the clean towel she handed to him, and then turned to answer her. “He’s too caught up with Susan, and she’s not the kind of girl he needs.”
“She’s a good girl, I don’t think there’s any question about that.”
“No, I don’t think there is. As many men as have been chasing her, I guess she’s done fairly well. That sort of thing is liable to turn any girl’s head.”
“I know. She’s so pretty—but I don’t think she’ll ever make a rancher’s wife, and that’s all Cody’s ever wanted to be.” She looked at him and watched as he combed his thick, black hair, then asked, “Do you think you might talk to him about her?”
Dan finished combing his hair, picked up a handkerchief and jammed it into his pocket, then said, “I don’t know, Hope. It’s a pretty touchy situation. A young fellow like that, he’s like all the rest. Like I was.” He smiled at the thought of his own past and shook his head. “Nobody could tell me a thing when I was Cody’s age.”
Hope sighed. “Well, I’m going to fix breakfast now. We’ll just have to pray that girl will settle down, because Cody’s bound and determined he’s going to marry her.” She left the room and went to the kitchen, where she found Ozzie Og already stomping around, rattling pans, getting breakfast ready.
“You make more noise cooking than any man I’ve ever seen,” Hope smiled. She walked over, picked up a large bowl, and began mixing biscuits. “I don’t know why you don’t let me cook breakfast anyhow.”
Ozzie Og was a short stumpy man of forty-five, pessimistic as a person can be. Loyal to Dan Winslow and the Circle W, he’d come up the trail with Hope and her family and loved the young woman as if she were his own daughter. “Because I can cook a whole heap better than you can,” he stated emphatically. “You can’t cook eggs without burning them.” He began to complain and fuss, but Hope only smiled at him, and together the two of them put together a huge mountain of food that would satisfy any cowhand.
As soon as the table was readied and the food set out Og went to the bunkhouse to get the hands. They all came trooping in, and soon the large dining room was filled with cheerful talk and the laughter of the men. Hope moved around, filling coffee mugs, and thinking how fortunate she and Dan were to have such a loyal crew. However, she did notice that Cody had not come down for breakfast. It bothered her, but she said nothing.
After the crew had left, Og mentioned Cody’s absence. “Well, he got in about three hours ago. I heard him ride in.” He looked over the huge pile of dirty dishes on the table and shrugged. “He won’t get nothing to eat here.” With an armful of dirty dishes he headed for the washbasin. Then he stopped, turned back toward Hope, and added gloomily, “That boy won’t be worth nothin’ either if he don’t stop chasing around after that Susan gal.”
“He works hard, Ozzie. You know he does,” said Hope, trying to put the best face on it.
“I know that. The trouble is he works just as hard chasing that girl as he does chasing these cow critters!”
Stomping over to where a calendar was nailed to the wall, he fished a stubby pencil out of his pocket and crossed out the date, muttering, “June 6, 1883.” He stared at the calendar as if it had some deep meaning, then turned around and came over to stand beside Hope. “I’m worried about that boy,” he admitted finally. “I know you and Dan are, too.” He stood there uncertainly, wanting to think of a good word to say, and finally shook his head. “Well,” he said, “I guess, like all young fellows, he’s gotta eat his peck of dirt, and it looks like that gal is set to provide just that kind of a diet for him.”
An hour later, after Og had left to go cut firewood, Cody entered the kitchen. His eyes were red from lack of sleep and he hadn’t shaved, but Hope paid no attention. “I saved you some bacon and eggs, Cody,” she said. “Sit down and have breakfast.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Cody sat down and ate hungrily as Hope joined him, drinking a cup of coffee. Finally, noting that he seemed surly and unhappy, she said, “Cody, you’re staying out too late. It’s not good for you, missing all that sleep, then working hard like you do all day.”
&nbs
p; “I’m all right,” he shrugged, reaching for another piece of bacon.
“No, you’re not.” Hope took a deep breath and said firmly, “Cody, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long time about Susan. You’re seeing too much of her, I think.”
A stubborn look came over Cody’s face. He was a handsome, tall young man with a wide mouth, straight tawny hair that fell over his forehead, and very dark blue eyes. His build was lean and strong, as a rider had to be to do the hard work he did. But the stubbornness that was in him rose up now and his face grew slightly red. “Don’t worry about that, Mom,” he muttered.
Hope studied him, knowing instantly that any further mention of the matter would do no good. This tall son of hers had always been an independent young man. He’d ridden up the trail to the ranch doing a man’s work by the time he was fifteen, and now, at the age of twenty-one, he was as good with cattle, with a rope, or with a gun, as any rider in the entire valley. He’d grown beyond her control and was now a man, so she said merely, “Be careful, Cody. More men get into trouble over women than over any other thing.”
Cody stared at her, but as much as he loved her, this one area of his life he had blocked out. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be all right, but I’ve gotta have Susan. You know how much I love her.” He got up abruptly and left the house, and as he slammed the door unconsciously, Hope shook her head thinking, He’s headed for trouble and there’s nothing I can do about it!
****
Susan Taylor left her house and soon reached the center of town. Crossing the busy main street, she headed for the short building with the newly painted sign. The Sentinel was one of the better small-town newspapers of the territory, and as she entered the door, she always felt a small thrill of pride knowing that she was a part of it.
“About time you got up and came to work.” Mason Taylor, her father, was a heavyset man with a batch of thick black hair and sharp black eyes to match. “Susan, I’ve warned you before about this. This paper can’t get itself out.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Susan said. She came over and turned her large eyes on him, adding, “I’m real sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”
Mason Taylor knew people very well and was not fooled for one minute by Susan’s big eyes, or by her apologetic attitude. “What time did you get in last night?” he demanded. Then without waiting for an answer said, “Never mind, I know what time it was. No time for a young girl to be coming in. From now on you get yourself in earlier, you hear me?”
“Oh, I’ll be more careful, Daddy,” Susan promised. Then quickly changing the subject she said, “Let me get busy now, and I’ll work hard and catch up.”
Before he could say another word, she went to work. For the next hour she bustled about the Sentinel office. Finally, she sat down at her desk and was going through some papers when she heard a familiar step and looked up.
“Well, how’s my best girl today?” Harve Tippitt, a tall, well-built man of about twenty-five, stepped in and came to stand before her. He pulled his hat off, his blond hair falling over his forehead. He had searching blue eyes that were bold and prominent. He smiled broadly, aware that he made a handsome picture. “I didn’t keep you out too late last night, did I?”
Susan shushed him, glancing over, for her father was sitting at his desk peering at them over his glasses. “Daddy says I have to be in earlier,” she said loud enough for him to hear, “and I think he’s right.”
Harve Tippitt turned his head so that Taylor couldn’t see, and gave her a wink. “Well that’s right, a young woman can’t be too careful about her reputation.” As he stood there talking, Susan thought of all the young women in the county who would give anything to be the center of Harve Tippitt’s attention. He was the son of George Tippitt, owner of one of the largest ranches in the county, and about half the town. As she flirted with him, she thought, Big, handsome, rich, and lots of fun. What more could a girl want out of a man? But aloud she said, “I can’t go out with you tonight, Harve. I need to stay home more.”
Harve Tippitt leaned over on the desk, smiled and shook his head. “You can stay home when you’re an old lady,” he whispered. “There’s a dance over at Fairview tomorrow. Be ready at six o’clock.” He straightened up and said, “Mr. Taylor, I’m going to borrow your best worker for a dance tomorrow. If it’s all right with you, that is.”
Taylor well knew that Harve Tippitt’s father, George, was one of his best customers, and the most influential man in the county. He said, as amiably as he could, “Have her in early, Harve. She needs to get more sleep.”
“I’ll have her in early enough to suit everybody,” Tippitt assured him. Then he turned and left.
As soon as he was out of the door, Taylor rose and came over to stand beside Susan’s desk. “You’re flying pretty high, Susan. Which one of those two men you gonna have, him or Cody?”
Susan looked up. She made a pretty sight, her eyes glinting. She had beautiful blue eyes that went well with her blond hair, giving her a dramatic look. When she smiled her lips were soft and curved upward humorously. “I won’t even tell them that, Daddy. You don’t expect a girl to tell everything she knows, do you?”
Taylor shook his head and went away muttering, “You’d better pick one or the other of them or there’s gonna be a whale of a fight someday.”
His warning had little effect on Susan, and all afternoon as she worked, humming to herself, she thought about the dance at Fairview.
****
The community building that was used for the dances in Fairview had been decorated extensively by the ladies of the town. Brightly colored draperies hung from the ceiling, and the walls liberally caught the bright amber glow that a myriad of lamps cast over the dance floor. As Harve Tippitt entered with Susan on his arm, he looked around the already crowded room and commented with satisfaction, “Well, I don’t see Cody here. Maybe he’s decided to let the best man win.”
Susan smiled up at him and shook her head. “I doubt you’ll get rid of Cody that easy,” she said. She was wearing a bright red dress, which few young women could wear with such aplomb. Her blond hair was piled up in curls on top of her head, and two small pearl earrings dangled from her ears. She looked beautiful and knew it. “Come on, Harve, let’s dance,” she said at once.
The two moved to the dance floor, and as the music began Harve commented on her dress and her lovely appearance. He had a certain flare with women, having had much experience. As Susan well knew, he had been in trouble several times, primarily for fighting and drinking. But being the son of George Tippitt, he had never received more than a reprimand. He looked smart in his brown suit with the white shirt setting off his florid complexion. He was entertaining, too, keeping her amused as they twirled round the floor, until suddenly he stopped and a frown crossed his face.
“What is it?” Susan asked. Then looking over toward the door, she saw Cody come in. She concealed a smile, knowing that Harve was terribly jealous. She secretly took pleasure in keeping both men off balance. She had learned this knack of handling men when she was no more than sixteen years old, and had refined it almost to an art. “Why, there’s Cody,” she said sprightly, and waved at him. “Look, he’s coming over. I think he’s going to cut in.”
She was not wrong, for when Cody came up, he gave Tippitt a crooked grin, saying, “You don’t mind, do you, Harve?” and then turned his attention at once to Susan. Putting his arms out, he moved her away in a sweeping series of turns, laughing as they went. “Old Harve doesn’t like to be cut out, does he Susan?”
“You’re awful, Cody!” she rebuked him. But she was smiling, and the two danced the rest of the dance without incident.
As soon as the dance was over, Tippitt was right at Cody’s side, saying, “All right, my turn.” Though he was smiling, there was a tenseness around his mouth as he suddenly asked, “Cody, why don’t you get a girl of your own?”
“Got one,” Cody said. He looked over at Susan and nodded. “You’re lookin
g at her. I’m just letting you bring her to this dance because I’m bighearted.”
Tippitt took Susan’s arm, squeezing her so hard it hurt, and swung her away as the music began. As they danced, she admonished him, “You shouldn’t be so short with Cody.” Looking at him curiously, she asked, “You two were good friends for a long time, weren’t you?”
“When we were kids. Cody’s a pretty good hand, but he doesn’t move in my circles now.” He purposely said this as a reminder of the difference in status between him and Cody. Cody was little more than top hand on his stepfather’s ranch, while Harve was heir to a large cattle empire plus various business ventures. “I don’t see why you don’t tell him to stop coming around, Susan. You and I have fun, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do, but Cody’s fun, too.” Susan had been half waiting for Tippitt to make some sort of comment about a more permanent arrangement, but he did not. He’s a hard man to pen in, she thought, but sooner or later, he’ll come to heel. She was not at all a spiteful girl, but she was enjoying being the center of attention of these two eager suitors.
The dance went on without incident until almost eleven. At that time, some of the men had gathered around a table to play the old arm-wrestling game. Sturdy Ben Williams of the Bar X had been the champion for a long time, and he looked around after defeating his last opponent, asking, “Any more takers?”
“Go on, give him a try, Harve,” Cody grinned.
Harve was proud of his strength and sat down in front of Williams. “I’ll have a try,” he agreed. Harve put his whole effort into the match, but Williams was too much and put Tippitt’s hand down without any trouble. Williams grinned, “You may have all the money in the world, Harve, but I ain’t never been beat at this game.”
The Jeweled Spur Page 9