by Arlene James
Kara blinked at that. They had been spending an awful lot of time together, but then they had an awful lot of work to do. “We’ve been busy,” she muttered.
“Yes, I know. I’ve heard the shouting.” She cut a look between her daughter and the bemused cowboy with the magnificent mustache. “You two just seem to strike sparks off each other.”
Kara felt her face color slightly. Sparks. Yes, she’d definitely felt a few of those.
Rye cleared his throat. “Do you think you can handle this job? What I mean is you’ll have to cook for eight, three times a day, besides making rendezvous at noon and setting up camp at night.”
Dayna’s mouth twitched. “I think I can handle it.”
“Of course she can handle it,” Kara said, insulted on her mother’s behalf. “Who do you think did all the cooking for our outfit?”
“Well, not you, that’s for sure,” Rye retorted.
Dayna laughed. “Trust me, Rye, Kara’s a damn sight better hand with a rope than a skillet.”
“I tried to tell him that,” Kara grumbled.
“It’s settled then. The chuck wagon’s my venue,” Dayna said.
“Uh, there’s one other thing,” Rye said.
“Oh?”
“My son, Champ, will be along. He’s eight, so he won’t be able to ride with the herd. That means he’ll have to stay with the camp rigs. I’ll need you to keep an eye on him, if you don’t mind.”
Dayna smiled. “Not at all. I love kids. We’ll get along fine.”
Rye breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s great. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Now then, how many other vehicles will be going along and who else will be behind the wheel?”
Rye rocked back on his heels. “I figured we’d rotate, try to give everybody a break from the saddle now and again, but starting out we’ll have Shoes Kanaka—he’ll be bringing his farrier’s truck and a horse trailer. Bord Harris, our wrangler, will drive my truck, which we’ll use to haul our tack, feed, personal gear and another horse trailer. Dean Shuster will drive your truck, which will be outfitted with a water tank. I figure you and Bord to be permanent drivers with our other three hands taking turns.”
“That leaves just you and me on horseback every day,” Kara said.
“And four riders to manage the herd,” Rye said. “We can squeeze out five, if we have to, by hopscotching the rigs. That means—”
“Driving two ahead,” Dayna said, demonstrating her understanding of the concept, “then taking one back with two drivers to pick up the third.”
Rye nodded. “We won’t be moving those cows much more than fifteen miles a day, so it’s really not that much driving.”
“But with all the cooking involved and setting up and breaking camp and the thousand and one other things that are going to come up,” Dayna said, “it’ll do.”
Rye nodded. “I’d say you’ve got a pretty good handle on the job already. What we have to do now is familiarize you with the route.” He waved her over to the desk, and the two of them bent their heads over the map. Kara watched from the other side.
More than an hour passed before Dayna straightened, stretched and sighed. “I’ll study these carefully. Meanwhile, Kara, we’d better decide how we’re going to handle our own move. If we’re not going to pay another month’s rent on that dingy apartment, we’ve got to get to Farmington and box up everything, then move it to the ranch. Then we’ve got to hightail it back here and—”
“Oh, and I have to sell my car!” Kara exclaimed. “And pick up my paycheck.”
“And have the utilities shut off.”
“And turn in my uniforms so I can get the deposit back.”
“And leave a forwarding address. We’d better get hopping.”
Kara’s mind was humming with details again. She’d have to give her plants away. They’d never survive weeks untended out at the ranch. And her bank account in Farmington would have to be closed. And there was the cleaning deposit at the apartment to wrangle out of the manager. And...she looked at Rye Wagner, fully aware for the first time that he essentially held her entire future in his hands. She smiled. Plummer had taken good care of her, after all, very good care.
Chapter Four
The move from Farmington back to the ranch took days longer than Kara expected, but at last she and her mother were on their way back to Utah. They stuck as closely as possible to the itinerary set for the cattle drive, familiarizing themselves with the roads and terrain. It wasn’t possible, of course, to drive the exact route. For one thing, they were doing it backward. For another, the cattle would be moving across country that modern vehicles couldn’t easily negotiate, but it was helpful to know what facilities would be available to them via the roads that the vehicles would be using from rendezvous to rendezvous and campsite to campsite. That, too, added to their time away, however, so that when Kara and Dayna finally got back to the ranch in Utah, they were the last of the crew to arrive.
They dragged in about 8:00 p.m., tired, bedraggled and hungry. Kara was surprised to find her cousin in residence, along with the agent for some concern interested in purchasing the Utah property not left to Meryl in Plummer’s will. Kara couldn’t help feeling that it hadn’t taken the carrion long to start circling the corpse, but Payne quietly pointed out that they did have obligations to meet apart from her own personal “venture.” She was too concerned with her own business, however, to pay much attention to the rest of it. As unfair as it was, she gladly left that end of things in her cousin’s large, capable hands. Payne, bless him, didn’t seem to mind. No one, in fact, seemed to mind leaving her out of anything.
Kara sat on the porch in the dark and listened with growing chagrin—and no little envy—to the sounds of celebration wafting down from the little house on the hilltop. Rye and his buddies were having a happy reunion, it seemed. No doubt they were making plans for the drive, happily dividing up the responsibilities and storing up memories of what was sure to be an experience none of them would ever forget. She ought to be up there, she told herself. She was a major part of this enterprise. She admitted, only to herself, that she felt a little hurt at being left out. Logically, she knew that Rye probably didn’t even know she was back, but that didn’t make her feel any better. She decided that she would go up and let him know that she was here and ready to go to work.
As soon as she stepped off the porch, she wondered where Oboe had gotten to. She’d left him behind when she and her mother had returned to Farmington to take care of their business there. He’d whined a protest when she’d climbed into the truck without him, but she’d known that as badly as he hated to be cooped up, it was far kinder to leave him where he had the run of the place than to take him with her. Now she worried that he’d taken advantage of his freedom to wander away, perhaps in retaliation for the months spent unhappily caged in that tiny apartment in Farmington. But then she was apt to credit the animal with far too many human traits.
The night air was crisply cool. Kara felt the unmistakable bite of autumn in the air. That bite would grow fierce teeth before they reached New Mexico. She tilted back her head and surveyed the brilliance of the stars strewn across the black heavens. This would be her ceiling for weeks to come. Her spirits and her steps quickened as she climbed up the hill. Soon she recognized the sounds of harmonica and guitar. No, guitars, plural. They drew her on even more quickly than before. When she knocked on the door, she was surprised to find it opened by a small boy with a round face topped by an ink black pelt cut closely to his head. His father’s gray eyes looked back at her from that sun-browned face. From his side, Oboe leaped at her.
Kara caught him and went down on one knee to give him a good rubbing. “Well, hello, old chum. I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”
The boy frowned, straight black brows drawn together sharply. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Kara. You must be Champ.” She stuck out her hand, but the boy scuttled back before bolting away, Oboe at his heels
.
“Da-a-d!”
A second later the music stopped. Then Rye appeared, guitar in hand.
“Hey, Kara. About time you got back. Come on in and let me introduce you.”
She stepped up into the crowded room. All of its occupants were on their feet. They were a motley crew, ranging in size from tall and lean to short and squat and in coloring from freckled skin with red hair to brown with black. The boy was absent. Rye made the introductions. The men respectfully nodded, and some offered handshakes. When the formalities were complete, it was Rye’s friend Pogo Smith, tall and leanly muscled with silver hair and bright green eyes, who offered Kara refreshment from the sideboard laden with chips and dips, white bread sandwiches, beef jerky, peanuts and cold beers. A plate of hard-boiled eggs and pickles had been wiped clean except for flecks of yolk and streaks of brine. Kara helped herself to sandwiches and beer.
“I’m starved, actually. Thanks.”
Borden Harris vacated a rocker for her, one like those that had graced the porch of the big house for as long as she could remember. Kara sank down into it gratefully. As soon as her bottom hit the seat, the men all scrambled for places, perching on the old sofa and its rickety arms, the end of the battered coffee table and a windowsill. Rye leaned his guitar in a corner and took the one other chair in the room, leaning forward with his hands pressed together, his elbows on his knees.
“Me and the boys were just enjoying a little music,” Rye said needlessly.
Kara swallowed the bite of sandwich she’d grabbed and nodded. “I heard. Sounded pretty good. Guess we won’t be lacking for entertainment around the campfire.”
“Chances are that most nights we won’t be much in the mood for music or anything else by the time we get to camp,” Rye said. “We’ll be dog-tired and aching all over, ready for food and sleep, and not necessarily in that order.”
“Speaking of dogs,” Kara said between bites and swigs, “he seems to have adopted your boy.”
“They’re back in Champ’s room,” Borden said.
“The boy’s shy,” Pogo added.
“Oboe seems to think he’s a calf to be herded,” Rye said with a chuckle.
Kara nodded. “He’s protective, all right. Once down in Farmington, I was getting ready to take him for a walk—he hated that apartment—and I heard the most awful caterwauling. I looked out the front door and found Oboe holding the neighbor’s little girl by the seat of her pants. Seemed she’d gotten out of the apartment without her mother knowing it and was trying to get down the open stairwell. She was two, maybe three years old. Kid would have fallen to her death if not for that dog.”
“I had a dog once tackle a snake to keep it from getting me, a rattler,” Pogo said. “Damn, I miss that dog! Er, pardon me, ma’am.”
Kara waved away the apology. “My dad always believed animals were a lot smarter than we give them credit for. He and Grandpa told me about an old dog they used to have when Dad lived here in this house before he and Mom married.”
“I know what dog you’re talking about,” Rye said. “Plummer swore that if he made that old hound mad, it would take its bowl and blanket and move up here until he apologized.”
Kara nodded. “Dad said the same thing. He said the dog would only go home again if he made it mad or Grandpa apologized.”
Everyone laughed, and soon dog stories were the order of the day. Kara strongly suspected that some of them were sheer fabrications, but she was enjoying herself too much to worry about a little thing like that. Before long the sandwich plate was empty, the chips were reduced to mere crumbs, the dips congealed and all the bottles on the table were empty. Only when Oboe appeared, whining to be let out for the night, did she realize that considerable time had passed. She glanced at her wristwatch and swallowed a gasp.
“I better be going, too,” she said, getting to her feet. “Everyone will be wondering where I’ve gotten to.”
“We’d all best turn in,” Rye said, standing. “We have an early morning and a long day of round-up ahead of us tomorrow.”
“What time were you thinking to start?”
“First light.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Rye seemed mildly surprised. “You really intend to ride out with us to round up the herd.”
“Damn straight. It’s my herd, you know—provided we get it to New Mexico on time.”
“We’ll get it there,” Rye said flatly, and she grinned to let him know she’d baited him. Waving to the others, she added, “See you bright and early, boys.”
Farewells and polite rejoinders were made as she and Oboe wound their way to the door. Rye was right behind them. “Be careful walking down. It’s dark out there.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” she said dismissively. “In a way, this is my own backyard.”
“Not for much longer,” Rye muttered. “Old Payne didn’t waste any time getting the place on the market.”
Kara sobered. “I know. But there are creditors to be satisfied, and Payne takes his responsibilities seriously.”
“Humph.”
She shook her head, stepping down through the door, and turned back to look up at him. “You just can’t credit Payne with any good attributes, can you?”
Rye groomed his mustache thoughtfully with his fingertips, then said, “Nope.”
Kara rolled her eyes. “You’re a hard man, Wagner.”
“And make no apologies for it,” Rye confirmed.
Exasperated, Kara turned away. “Thanks for the food and the introductions. See you in the morning.”
“If you insist.”
“See you in the morning,” she repeated.
Rye made an exasperated sound and closed the door. She set off down the hill. Oboe had taken himself off the instant the door had been opened, but he rejoined her now, his business concluded.
“So,” she muttered to the dog, “you’ve adopted Champ Wagner, have you?”
The dog sneezed and wagged his tail.
“Not very friendly, is he?”
That elicited no reply at all.
“Guess he’s too shy for his own good, poor thing,” she mused. “Well, he’ll warm up once we hit the trail.” She thought suddenly of the quiet stillness of Shoes Kanaka. He had been a calm island of serenity in the happy, garrulous chaos of five other more outgoing personalities. Of average height and stocky build, he wore his black hair long. His teeth, when he briefly smiled, were a startling white against the smooth red-brown skin of his face and a stark counterpoint to the whites of eyes crowned with black pupils and near black irises. Something about his face felt familiar. Roundish and a bit flat, its high, broad cheekbones triggered some vague correspondence. She shook her head, quite certain that she’d never seen the man before. She couldn’t even remember meeting anyone similar to him. Yet, something about him nagged at her. And then she knew.
It was the boy. Of course! The resemblance was undeniable. If Shoes Kanaka was not closely related to Champ Wagner, she’d eat her hat. So Kanaka was not Rye’s only connection to the Chako tribe. But why then had Rye not simply said so? What was it Rye Wagner didn’t want her to know? She sighed, troubled by this new mystery, but then a lot of things troubled her about Ryeland Wagner. Too many. She promised herself that she’d know every one of his secrets by the time the drive reached New Mexico, and suddenly the weeks ahead held even greater import for her. Whatever Rye said, there would be evenings around the fire when frank talk and deep discussion would lay them all bare. She could hardly wait.
Rye walked back inside to a barrage of comments and questions.
“You didn’t say she was good-looking.”
“She fit right in, like one of the boys.”
“That mother of hers anything like her?”
“Wanda wouldn’t like it, so don’t none of ya’ll clue her in.”
“That fiancée of his has a ring in his nose all right,” Kanaka commented quietly of George, to general laughter.
“You reckon s
he’s gonna last the day tomorrow?”
Rye deigned to answer only the last question. “I wouldn’t count on it. Damned fool woman wants to be a man, but we all know she hasn’t got what it takes.”
“Including the equipment,” Dean cracked, and they all laughed again, all but Rye. He didn’t think it was funny. He didn’t know why, he just didn’t. Seemed to him that she deserved more respect than that, but again, he couldn’t say why he thought so. Except...
“She’s still the boss, and don’t forget it. I may be ramrod, but Plummer made it pretty plain who he expected to have the final say.”
“Still,” Dean said worriedly, “you wouldn’t cave in to her if you knew you was right. Would you?”
Rye kept his expression and voice neutral. “You know me better than that. You all do.” It was a reference to a knowledge shared uncomfortably by all, and Rye was sorry he’d brought it up. “You boys better get on down to the bunkhouse,” he said. “Shoes will help me clean up here.”
They all knew Rye Wagner well enough to recognize an order when they heard one, however friendly. They filed out, one by one, Dean taking along his own guitar and George his harmonica.
“See you in the morning.”
“Sleep well.”
“Damn, I can’t wait to get at them cows!”
Rye shook his head at that “Dean’s enthusiasm is a product of his ignorance,” he said after the door closed behind them.
Taking the direct route, as always, Kanaka said, “What will you do about the boy?”
Rye shrugged and began gathering empty beer bottles. “Nothing to do.”
Kanaka cut him a sharp glance. “He’ll see her as a threat.”
Rye snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Kara and I barely tolerate each other.”
“That could change.”
Rye shook his head. “It won’t.”
Kanaka sighed. “If not that one, then another woman will mean something to you someday.”