Each minute wore on, and she longed for the dinner hour. Ha. Like we’ll have a whole hour to eat.
It took until noon to gather the cattle, and by then Mara wished she could lay out her bedroll and go back to sleep. She was so weary. By the time she spoke to Clay, she would be too tired to talk.
When at last it was time to stop, she nearly fell out of her saddle, and her legs almost buckled under the weight. Clay passed at that very moment, and she turned quickly away, suddenly having the energy to stand upright.
A river ran nearby, so she took her horse for a drink with the others. Her dry mouth begged for water, and after washing her hands she cupped some water and slurped. Once her thirst was assuaged, she washed the thick layer of grit off her face. Oh, how she longed for clean clothing! The mud she’d fallen into had caked and dried on her trousers. If she were to hang these up and beat the dirt out as she did rugs, it would take an hour.
Sometime later, the cook slopped the food on her plate. She looked down at it. Beans and biscuits. To think she’d looked forward to this. With a mess wagon full of cooking supplies one would think he could come up with something more original. No wonder the poor hands at the Stedman ranch had been so testy when she’d ruined the meals! Their only decent food was what they had at the house.
While eating dinner, Mara found out that after the meal they would sort the cattle by ranch; then each ranch would brand its own calves. The thought made the food in her stomach turn. Her hopes of escaping the work were dashed when all of Clay’s men went to work. Some of the men worked by the fire while others began separating the cattle by ranch brand. She joined in the throng, nudging the cattle with the lazy “S” brand into the designated spot.
Once they were separated, each ranch began nudging unbranded cattle out of the herd. The calf’s angry mother would follow her offspring, and more than once Mara saw the mother try to knock the cowboys off their horses.
Mara found her first unbranded calf and nudged her from the herd, keeping an eye on the disgruntled mother. Sweat ran down the front and back of her shirt in the afternoon sun. It was a tedious job.
Once she had the calf out of the herd, she slipped the lariat’s loop around the calf’s head and tightened it. Next she dismounted and tried to drag the fighting calf to the fire. Every time she gained a few feet, the animal would jerk on the rope and pull her back. The fight seemed to go on forever. Her back and arms and legs had about all they could take. She was too weary to stand, much less drag a frightened calf and fend off an angry mother.
When she finally had the calf near the fire, one of the cowboys grabbed it and held it down. Before she could turn away, another cowboy with a red-hot branding iron pressed the hot steel into the calf’s side. The calf bawled, his eyes wide and frantic.
The horror of it wrenched her stomach. The stench of burning hair flooded Mara’s nose and lungs, and the contents of her stomach threatened to spill. The world began to spin, and everything around her went black, save two tunnels of sight. Her body felt light and dizzy. She swayed.
“Buck up, Boy!”
She heard the words from far away and knew they were directed at her. She fought the darkness, blinking her eyes. She heard laughter and taunting and forced herself to remain upright. Slowly her vision returned, and the dizziness abated. The queasiness remained, and so did the horrible stench.
Several men had stopped their work to gawk. Her gaze fixed on Clay’s across the fire. She quickly turned back to her horse. Had he recognized her in that short moment? How could she have swooned, for lands’ sake?
“All right, boys, back to work,” she heard Clay say.
When she was mounted again, she pulled her hat brim low and glanced at Clay. He was back at work, and a gush of relief flooded her. She looked at the large herd and realized she would have to endure these sounds and smells for quite some time.
Now she ached all over, and she was mortified to boot. Could things get any worse? This isn’t working out so well, God. She realized for the first time that she’d made her plans without consulting God. Hadn’t Beth and Clay told her how she was supposed to let Him lead her? I’m not doing so well, am I?
She reached the herd and found another unbranded calf. When the mother eyed her and snorted, Mara almost picked another calf. Moments later she wished she had. She successfully nudged the calf through the herd, but the mother charged at her horse. At the jarring force, her mount skittered sideways. She urged the horse forward after the calf and had just cleared the herd when the mother cow rammed the horse from the side, taking him by surprise. He reared up, and Mara lost her seating.
She grabbed for something, the saddle horn, the saddle, anything that might stop her fall. But the momentum dragged her downward. She slid backward off the horse and sailed through the air. Time moved so slowly that she felt as if she were hanging suspended, but the hard-packed ground relieved her of that theory.
Her backside landed first, and the impact jolted her head so much she felt as if she had slammed it into a tree. Her whole back felt as if it sported a giant bruise. She heard laughter from behind her, which was quickly choked off. She looked around, making sure the mother cow and horse were not about to trample her.
It was then that she noticed the odd silence. The cows continued to moo and snort, but the hawing, the whistling, the talking stopped. She noticed then that all the men were staring. The laughing had stopped, the smiles falling off their faces. Their eyes were wide like those of the bawling calves, and their mouths hung open.
Twenty
A moment of confusion washed through Mara’s barely functioning mind. Then she saw the hat—her hat—in the dirt a few feet away. She became aware of a long strand of hair blowing across her face. She could feel other strands blowing against her bare neck.
“Mara?” Clay’s question held a bushel of disbelief.
Her gaze fastened on him. His open mouth snapped shut, and he crossed his arms over his chest. His nostrils flared. She had seen the same look on his face when Beth had cut up one of his shirts to make a dress for her doll.
She was suddenly very conscious of her improper clothing. It was one thing when they’d thought she was a man, but now—
Clay marched toward her. He would make her go; she could see it clearly. He was not happy to have her here, and a deep part of her soul hurt to know that. This was not working out as she had hoped. She’d been hurt, laughed at. She was sweaty and stinky and achy and dirty. And clearly unwanted.
❧
Clay watched Mara’s lip tremble before she caught it with her teeth. So many emotions assaulted him when he realized it was no boy who had fallen from the horse. On the one hand he was angry that she’d deceived them all; on the other he was downright pleased to see her. Only the gawking cowboys had made him realize the woman he loved was dressed improperly in front of a horde of lonely men.
“All right, show’s over—get back to work!” His attention never left her. The dirt and dust on her face stopped in a line mid-forehead where her hat had rested. Wonder filled him as he realized what she must’ve been through the past two days.
Mara’s eyes brimmed with tears, and Clay suddenly realized she might be hurt.
“You all right?” He was beside her now, but her eyes were turned to the ground.
She nodded.
Clay held his hand out, and she grabbed it. He pulled her to her feet then picked up her hat and set it on her head. Her horse had been rounded up by one of the men.
He took hold of her hand and headed off to the copse of trees a short distance away where they could talk in private. What had possessed her to join the roundup? Dressed as a boy, no less. He glanced back at her as they walked. The clothes hung loosely on her, and she walked awkwardly in the chaps. Her boots flapped with each step, and he knew they must be four sizes too big.
He shook his head. Didn’t she know what could have happened to her out there? What if one of the men had discovered she was a woman? She could hav
e been abused in the worst of ways, and he would not have been there to protect her. His blood began to thump in his head as he thought about how careless she’d been. She could’ve been killed in a stampede, bit by a snake, thrown from a running horse. There was no end to the dangers a man faced on roundups, much less a woman.
He was glad they had made it to the trees, because he wanted answers, and he wanted them now. He let go of her hand and paced from one tree to another, aiming his frustration at her in occasional glances.
She stood quietly, head down, her arms wrapped around each other. At least she had the sense to look contrite.
He started to speak more than once, but the fact that she had put herself at risk on this harebrained scheme riled him until his teeth clenched and ground together.
“I can explain.” Her quiet words set him off.
“You’d better explain, Mara Lawton, ’cause I’m just about angry enough to tan your hide.” He took his hat off and threw it on the ground. “Do you know what your foolishness could have caused? You could’ve been seriously hurt, killed, or downright defiled if these men had found out you were a woman at a more opportune time.”
Her chin trembled, but he wasn’t about to let her off that easily. “And what about your family? Do they know where you are? They’re probably worried sick about you and rightly so.” He stepped up to her, wanting to shake her shoulders, but refraining from doing so. “So let’s have it, Missy. What made you go off on this cock-eyed plan?”
Her eyes met his briefly, the tears puddling on her lower lashes. She covered her face with both hands. “I just wanted to see you—” Her words ended in a wail. Her shoulders shook with sobs.
Clay watched, his emotions bouncing around but settling nowhere. His anger drained away. He felt helpless watching her cry like a baby. Especially after he’d spoken so harshly to her.
“I missed you.” He barely heard her over the hawing and the pounding of hooves in the distance. “And this was the only way I could think of to—it’s been so hard—my whole body hurts, I have a sunburn, I’m filthy dirty, and you don’t even want to see me—”
His heart softened as he imagined the rough two days she must have had. Cowboy work was hard enough on a man, let alone a woman who had only lately done any work at all. Did she have any idea how endearing he found her at this moment? Of course he was glad to see her. Too glad.
“Now, now.” He patted her shoulder awkwardly, not wanting to risk an embrace. She had no such compunctions. Her arms went around him, and she cried into his chest. Only the fact that she was as dirty as he was kept him from pushing her away. He rubbed her back and smoothed her snarled hair, which was half up and half down. Slowly the sobs dwindled to sniffles.
He grew very aware of her arms around his waist, of her head against his chest, of her womanly shape beneath the manly clothes. A fire burned in him, and he fought it with all his might. He drew back, placing his hands on her shoulders. Her tears had run down her face, leaving clean rivulets against her dirty cheeks.
She looked at him with all the love in her heart, and his heart nearly burst in his chest. His legs, weary from the day’s work, went weak and shaky. Did she know what she did to him?
His forehead fell against hers, his eyes closing. Dear God, how much can a man bear? He felt her breath against his lips and shuddered. He was aware of her hands, still at his waist. She was here. With him. No one else was around. His nose brushed hers. Once. Twice. He was almost dizzy with wanting her. Just a kiss. What would it hurt?
His lips were a whisper away when he felt it. That kick in the gut from his soul, knowing that what he was about to do was wrong. A groan ripped from his mouth as he tore away.
He turned and walked a few paces away. Still his heart rioted, and his chest heaved. It was sweet agony. “We can’t. It’s wrong,” he whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear.
“I love you.” The words were a plea that wounded his heart and brought unspeakable joy at the same time. Why does it have to be this way, God?
“Let me stay.”
“I can’t.”
“Why are you doing this?”
He turned then. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“How can you say that?” A tear trickled down, making another path.
He inhaled, filling his lungs, feeling the strain of his chest as it stretched. The breath came out audibly. He saw the ruckus of work beyond her. He needed to get back to it. He needed to get away from her before he did something foolish.
“I want you to go and get cleaned up by the creek. Do you have anything decent to put on?”
She shook her head. “Just another pair of trousers and a shirt.”
“That’ll have to do.”
“I can’t change with—how am I supposed to—”
“I’ll send Duncan to stand watch. I trust him.” The man was too old to be on a roundup anyway. He would send him to escort Mara home in the morning. Until then he had to make sure the other men kept their distance.
He picked up his hat and shoved it on his head. “Let’s go get your things.”
She followed him through the prairie grass back to the group. After she gathered her clothes, he sent Duncan off with her, asking him to stand guard. Patting the peacemaker at his side, the older man nodded.
All the while she was gone, Clay kept an eye out for any of the men who might wander off to find her. Only when she reappeared and settled by the chuck wagon did he finally relax.
❧
Mara looked across the campfire, where Clay was having a word with one of the other foremen. He’d promised to have a talk with her once the other men got settled into the night’s diversions, but Mara was not looking forward to it. He was only going to tell her she would be leaving in the morning.
She shifted on the log, appreciating the clean clothes more than she’d ever appreciated her finest gowns. How good it felt to be clean once again, to have her hair flowing over her shoulders instead of being matted to her head.
The cowboys had given her a wide path all evening. Some of them were sweet, in a bumbling sort of way, but others had intimidated her with their bold stares. She realized she had been naive in thinking she could travel with the group for two weeks. She was grateful Clay had arranged for her to sleep in the chuck wagon tonight.
Mara didn’t know Clay had approached until he was between her and the fire. “We need to talk.”
Mara stood, looking at his silhouetted form and wondering what expression he wore. She followed him a short way to the chuck wagon. Far enough away not to be heard, close enough to avoid speculation.
He leaned against the back of the rig. She could see his eyes now, though they were shadowed by the wagon. She thought of their embrace hours before and wished he would take her in his arms again. Instead he folded them across his chest.
A lively harmonica tune started in the distance, and she could hear the sizzling and popping of the fire from where she stood. Her body tensed with expectation. She knew she wouldn’t like what he was about to say.
“I’ve asked Duncan to escort you home tomorrow.”
She looked into his eyes but couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. He held his body rigid. His face was a mask of indifference. She knew she couldn’t stay. It wasn’t practical or even safe. She had hoped he might escort her home, though she knew it would be inappropriate.
“I trust him to see you safely home. If you make good time, you’ll be home by nightfall.”
Home. She would have to tell her parents where she’d been. She shouldn’t have lied to begin with. Lord, I’ve failed You again. Will I ever learn?
“Say something.” His voice was scratchy, like the stubble that covered his jaw.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
Shadows played over his face as his jaw clenched. “This isn’t about what we want. It’s about what’s right.”
How many times would they go over this? How could he deny her what she most wanted?
> “Your parents aren’t believers.”
His words confused her. What bearing did that have in all this? He must’ve read her thoughts.
“The Bible is clear on a child’s duty toward her parents.”
She opened her mouth. “But I’m—”
He held up his hand. “I know you’re no longer a child. I’m all too aware of that fact.” He gave a wry grin.
Heat kindled in her at his admission. A small part of her was glad it pained him too. She wondered if that was selfish.
“You’re new to the Christian faith. But what kind of example would it be for us to defy your parents?”
She hadn’t thought of that. And she did want desperately for her parents to find what she had found. So far they wouldn’t even go to church with her. Her mother’s words haunted her. “I’ll not sit in the same building with that heathen.” The words brought an ache to her heart even now as it had then.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small book. He handed it to her, and she saw it was a Bible. Its edges were curled, the pages frayed.
“I want you to have this.”
She realized it was his. “I can’t take your Bible, Clay.”
She handed it back, but he refused to take it. “I marked some passages earlier tonight. Read them. It’ll help you understand why I’m doing this, because, believe me, Mara, this isn’t easy for me either.”
Her hand fell to her side. She read the pain on his face and knew he suffered too. “I’ll read them.”
He nodded once then started to walk away. She watched him every step of the way.
When he turned back, her heart lurched. “Duncan will settle down in front of the wagon, and I’ll bed down behind it.”
She nodded, unable to speak around the knot in her throat. She climbed into the chuck wagon and laid down on the spot they had cleared for her. It wasn’t her safety she worried about; Clay would protect her. But who would protect her heart from the pain of losing him?
Bittersweet Bride Page 14