Stream Ran Dry

by Jeanne Harrell

  She watched the emotions flit across his face. Ella took a good look at him – damp, uncombed hair, deep soulful eyes, freshly shaven face, and trim body in worn jeans. His scuffed boots rounded out a picture of a cowboy in love. Wyatt couldn’t fool her… He adored Rebecca and it was written all over him. Ella reached over to give him a quick hug.

  “…It’s going to be all right.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yep. You’ll both be fine.”

  Rebecca came back then, lugging her backpack and putting fresh batteries in her tape recorder. “Where’s your stuff?”

  Ella’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah. Be right back.”

  With a big smile, Wyatt took Rebecca’s hand – She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve been pumping Ella for information, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he teased.

  “…Find out anything you didn’t already know?”

  “…Maybe…”

  “Wyatt…”

  Ella dashed back out. “Ready. Let’s get to work.”

  Wyatt drove them out to the Howard Ranch to meet and interview Gareth Howard. He wasn’t home so Wyatt drove them down to the camp and parked his truck back a ways, up a nearby ridge. He checked out the scene before letting Ella and Rebecca walk down there.

  Howard was talking in the center of the camp, various men gathered around listening. There must have been forty or so men dressed in everything from camouflage clothing to jeans. Ages varied as much as expressions on their faces. Dusty tents with tilted poles and sleeping bags were everywhere. Wyatt took it all in with a glance.

  The men were all talking, voices carried on the breeze. Whispers sometimes… forceful discussion too… tempers were on the rise, eyes becoming unfocused.

  The law enforcement presence was double what he’d seen the last time he was here with Rebecca. The hair on his arms rose with his mounting feelings of alarm.

  She took a step down the ridge – Wyatt blocked her way. “… Becca. Don’t go down there.”

  Rebecca rolled her eyes back. “Don’t be silly. I’m press – They want to talk to us.”

  “I just don’t know about this, honey. It’s not a welcoming scene.”

  “We’ll be fine. Come on, Ella.”

  Ella pursed her lips looking at the rough scene below.

  “… I don’t know, Rebecca. Maybe Wyatt’s right – This really doesn’t look good.”

  As they watched, some men in the camp glanced occasionally up at the Las Vegas police officers lining the area. Unreadable expressions on faces.

  Ella gulped and rubbed her forehead. “What’s going on, do you think?”

  “Rob Carson told me the cops are here to move the campers out. Local townsfolk don’t want them around anymore.”

  While Wyatt had turned to speak to Ella, Rebecca quietly walked down the hill and right into the middle of the camp. Angry men turned to her at the same time Wyatt noticed she’d gone.

  “Shit, Ella… Does she ever listen?”

  She shook her head and gave him a wide-eyed look. “Not when she’s going after a story…”

  Before Wyatt could react, several men with protest signs and guns mumbling and yelling surrounded Rebecca. Eyes flashed, mouths moved, fists flew up in the air and then Rebecca was gone.

  Gareth Howard came forward to calm the crowd and police officers started down the hill. Wyatt moved quickly down the ridge into the camp and was about to confront everyone, when a bearded man with a deep voice called out.

  “…Hey! We’ve got this reporter. Everyone just back off!”

  The cops froze on the hillside, but Wyatt kept moving quietly…quickly.

  Several men stepped back to show the bearded man with a knife to Rebecca’s throat threatening to do her harm. He tightened his grip on Rebecca – Wyatt stopped and threw up his hands.

  “Now…” the man began, “all we want is for Mr. Howard to be heard. Is that asking too damn much?”

  One of the police officers glanced and nodded at Wyatt. He took a deep breath, put down his hands and began speaking.

  “That reporter is only there to get your stories. That’s all… Hurting her will not look good to your cause.”

  The bearded man glared at Wyatt. “…Who are you?”

  “I’m her husband and a local rancher. Let her go… I promise I’ll make some things happen for you and Mr. Howard.”

  “…What kind of things?” He made no effort to put down the knife. Wyatt noticed it had scraped a bit of Rebecca’s skin and she was bleeding. Her eyes were wide with fear.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Next ranch over, ten miles east.”

  “… What kind of things?” he repeated.

  Wyatt wiped sweaty palms on his jeans. “I’ll gather together people who can make real change about range management. That’s the real issue here – how we deal with wildlife, plants and various animals on the range. We have to make some changes in how it’s always been done.”

  “What about Mr. Howard?”

  “He’ll be actively involved. We’ll have a summit, I guess we can call it, at his ranch. Gareth?” He looked over for confirmation and help from Howard.

  Gareth stared at the grim situation before him. Outsiders were threatening bodily harm to the wife of his long-standing neighbor. His family and Wyatt’s family had never had any trouble between them, only respect.

  He nodded. “Wyatt’s right. Let her go…”

  The bearded man’s eyes dimmed and he lowered his knife. Wyatt strode quickly into the center of the mob and pulled Rebecca out. He pushed her behind him and she grabbed onto his waist.

  His eyes blazed, glaring at the man. “It wasn’t necessary to hurt her. She’s done nothing to you people.”

  The man stroked his grizzled beard and snorted. “… Got what we wanted, didn’t we?”

  Not hesitating a second, Wyatt angrily stepped forward and took a wide swing. His right hook and the man’s square jaw connected with a resounding thud – The big man fell back, nursing his face, shooting dagger looks at Wyatt. He took a step towards Wyatt who poised to hit him again – the man backed away…

  “Helluva way to do it… frightening innocent people.” Wyatt stood his ground until he saw Gareth waving him back.

  The police officers had come down from the ridge and had circled the protesters. Wyatt took Rebecca over to them. Once he was sure she was safe, he walked back to Gareth and pulled him to a private corner of the camp.

  “Listen, Gareth. You’ve got to get these people out of here. It’s time.” He looked him in the eye. “When the light’s off you, it’ll just be us around here and you’ll need your friends.”

  Howard was already nodding. “I hear you, Wyatt. What about this summit thing you proposed?”

  “I’ll organize it and run it. Rebecca can help me… We’ll have it at your house and publicize the results. It’ll work…”

  He gave Wyatt a baleful look. “Sorry about the reporter. She’s your wife? Didn’t know you got married.”

  Wyatt shook his head, smiled a little. “… Not married yet, but hopefully soon. And it sure wasn’t going to happen if that asshole slit her throat.”

  “No,” Gareth agreed quickly. “I’m sorry you and your fiancé were involved.”

  They looked at one another for a long moment. Sweat dripped off Gareth’s forehead and he wiped it with a bandanna from his back pocket. Wyatt looked cool and calm… Standing straight and tall, his breathing was even and his eyes were clear. He adjusted his cowboy hat…

  “Okay…”

  Wyatt extended his hand and Gareth shook it. “Get these guys out now or the cops will do it for you. And you can guess what will happen then.”

  He touched the brim of his hat and nodded.

  Gareth turned to the assembled men in the camp. “Time to pack it up, boys. I have to get to work now. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to get off my land. Thanks for your help, but I can take it from here.”

  More
grumbling and mumbling, but the process of movement began. Tents were dismantled, campfires were snuffed out, clothing was stuffed into backpacks and duffle bags.

  Wyatt and Gareth went over to talk to the Las Vegas police officers, as a group of townsfolk gathered around the ridge to see what was happening. Word had spread fast in the wide-open area that violence was likely and that Wyatt needed help. With mounting pressure from the local onlookers, the ramshackle campsite was clearly being taken apart. The cops announced they’d stay as long as needed, to which Howard agreed. Future communication between Wyatt and Gareth was discussed, and Wyatt finally walked back to Rebecca and Ella.

  They’d both been standing back, watching the action play out, with Ella taking a few pictures. Wyatt quietly asked her to put the camera away and then gave his full attention to a tired Rebecca. She held a bloody tissue to her throat and Wyatt paled just looking at her. When he pulled her into his arms with urgency, she began to cry, dampening his shoulder – Wyatt turned to look at her.

  “Are you all right?” He examined her throat and the superficial cut. The skin had barely been broken, but wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

  When she nodded with watery eyes, he held her against him a second time, just breathing… giving up silent thanks.

  “You could have been hurt or worse, you know.”

  She hiccupped in his neck. “… Sorry. I didn’t think – I just waded in.”

  He raised her lovely face to stare into her eyes. “Darlin’, you have more than yourself to think of now. Think of the baby… And me… You can’t just go off tilting at windmills without thinking of us. Please?”

  “…But it’ll make a great story, Wyatt.”

  He closed his eyes, still holding her face. “That man could have hurt you, Becca.”

  “…Actually, he did. See the mark?”

  She smiled at his worried face and leaned in to plant a juicy kiss on his lips. He kissed her back and held her against him for another minute.

  “Ahem,” coughed Ella.

  They broke apart, looking at her.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, Wyatt, but it will make great copy that Rebecca was attacked. I got super pictures and Dave will be excited!”

  He took off his hat and ran a hand through messy hair.

  “…Damn, Ella. Whose side are you on? Remember the baby?” A vein on his temple throbbed.

  “Well, definitely, but you want her to live here at the ranch, right?”

  He wearily nodded and adjusted the hat back on his head.

  “With her standout byline, Dave probably won’t even push for those Human Interest stories from her. That book will stand alone, on its own merits, and have tons of publicity to go with it.”

  “Yes,” Rebecca agreed, “… and I’ll have the writing career that I’ve always wanted.”

  “…Okay, okay. I can’t fight both of you and your editor as well.” He turned back to Rebecca. “Please don’t do anything that foolhardy again. Please?”

  She kissed him lightly and smiled smugly. “…I promise. How’s that?”

  “Unbelievable…”

  They walked back to the truck together. Ella dashed off to speak to one of the police officers and get a last couple of photos. Arriving at the truck, Wyatt opened the door for Rebecca. She started to get in, but stopped, lifting her face up to his.”

  “…Still love me?”

  He laughed and kissed her nose. “…Without a doubt.”

  She gazed into his open face, the face she loved. An eyebrow arched.

  “Want to get married tomorrow, cutie?”

  Kissing her cheek, he beamed and nodded eagerly.

  “…Yes, I do…”

  “I didn’t think we’d make it a few times, Wyatt.”

  “…Our stream ran dry is all.”

  She cast curious eyes at him.

  “Our stream ran dry? So… we had to fill it again?”

  “Yes, honey. We have to keep it filled and always be on the lookout for it running dry again.”

  She thought about that… Folded her arms and tapped her chin.

  “… No dry streams then.”

  “No, ma’am… Not with us.”

  “Well… okay then.” She gently stroked his dear face. “I love you, Wyatt Washburn.”

  “…And I adore you, Rebecca Sawyer Washburn.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “You can say that again, kid…”

  “…Quit calling me…” and he captured her sweet lips stopping all discussion. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck – When they broke for air, she leaned in to whisper in his ear, “…kid…”

  The End

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jeanne Harrell lives in Nevada with her husband. They are both long time Nevadans mired in the Old West spirit. Traveling to different places in the country, especially the Western states, gives Jeanne ideas for her books.

  From Jeanne

  Thank you very much for taking the time and having the interest to read one of my stories. I appreciate it more than you know. There’s not enough love out in the world, so these are my attempts at adding a little more. If you have any comments you’d like to share with me, please write on the blog page of my website – www.jeanneharrell.com. I would love to hear from you.

  My next book is Just Before Dawn. Janie Ferguson is living in Scotland now with husband, Craig and precocious daughter Cecelia. Dual cases of murder and credit card fraud land in her lap with her Secret Service job and she’s back in danger again! Danger of botching the job, danger of weakening her marriage and worst of all, possibly putting her daughter’s life in danger... How can she rise again to the challenge when she’s still battered from the last one?

  Watch for Just Before Dawn – coming soon.

  And I’m bringing the whole Johnson family together for a special book at Christmas. So many personalities with so many problems all brought together under Lily’s roof with the snow coming down in layers.

  Watch for Rancher’s Christmas – coming soon.

  * * *

  An excerpt from Whisperer, Book two of the Rancher Series

  Prologue

  The night he was born was a wild one. The wind blew stoplights down, thunder rattled the town over and over, and rain beat so hard at the windows, the glass was in danger of breaking. Even with all the turbulence, his mother Lily was calm when he was put into her arms for the first time. She knew he would be special. The line of his face was perfect. Smiling faces agreed with her.

  Growing up, they always knew if he disappeared, they could find him in the stables with the horses. The stables would frighten his brothers and sisters, but never him. From the beginning, his knack with horses was uncanny. Boy and animal seemed to understand each other and it was inexplicable. His father, Sandy, had a favorite Appaloosa named Anna. Sometimes he could be found curled up by Anna’s feet, but she never harmed him—an incredible feat for a horse 15.5 hands high, weighing five hundred pounds.

  He and older brother Jesse would often ride with their father to check the cattle on their sprawling ranch. His mother wouldn’t let him sit a horse until he was three, but he was a natural even then. By the time he was eight, he and the vet figured out problems with the horses together. For a while, it looked like he wanted to be a veterinarian. --- But fate had other plans for him.

  Colt Johnson knew that communicating with and helping horses was all he really wanted to do.And that talent would take him to many places, familiar and unknown, in his lifetime. It would be his love of horses that would lead him to another love.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Sierra Mountain Ranges in Nevada were rugged, strong and insurmountable. Sierra means ‘saw’ in Spanish, which is appropriate because the mountains look like the teeth of a saw with their granite rock offerings dwindling down to lower elevations. Just up the road was beautiful Lake Tahoe, a clear, freshwater lake with an elevation of over 6,000 feet. Various canyons in the glacially scoured a
rea included Hetch Hetchy Valley, Yosemite and Kings Canyon. The groves of giant sequoias occurred along a narrow band of a lower altitude on the western side of the Sierra Nevadas. On the east side lay the town of Naples, just south of Carson City, where the Johnson family had resided for six generations and would endure for many generations more. Their ranch was a sprawling two thousand acres. Cattle raised there were unique, expensive and sold all over the world. Colt Johnson was a sixth generation Nevadan.

  “Dad, I know what you’re saying, but I think I need to get more practice,” said Colt.

  “Son, I hear what you’re saying too, but why do you need to go to Sonoma? Why do you think Grandpa Sam can help you?” Sandy, his father, was trying to understand his thinking.

  “Grandpa’s been training horses for probably forty years and I think I would learn a lot from him.”

  “Honey, I think Grandpa would learn more from you, than you from him,” said Lily, his mother. “You know you have a way with horses that none of us understands. Why Sonoma?”

  “It’s not something I can explain, but feel. That probably makes no sense -- my saying that feelings count more than facts, but that’s about it.” He looked at his mother for confirmation. She was still so beautiful with all that luxurious black hair. No wonder his fair-haired father had fallen head over heels for her. But he also knew Lily believed in fate. It’s what brought her to Naples in the first place to meet her beloved husband, Sandy. Lily smiled at him.

  “You know, Grandpa will love having you, as will Grandma Jeanne. They are up there at this time of year and will gladly help you with anything. Like they did with Meggie.”

  Sam Cable, Lily’s dad, had married Jeanne Johnson, Sandy’s mom, the year after Sandy and Lily had married. Their relationship went back a long way – back to when they were in grade school. They lived part of the year in her home in Naples, Nevada and the rest of the year at Sam’s ranch in Sonoma, up in northern California. Sam and Jeanne had taken in their granddaughter Meg for a while, while she attended the Culinary Arts Institute in Napa Valley. It appears that Meg, named for Lily’s mother Margaret, had inherited her grandmother’s cooking skills as well as her name.