I feared that Boyd, judging from his face, might still decide to angle the wagon that direction, and said to him, “As your sister, I’d much rather you stay in one piece. You too, Malcolm!”
Boyd laughed, leaning to root in the leather haversack on his waist, extracting a smoke. “For you, sis, I’ll stay here then. Don’t want to disappoint you.” Planting the tobacco roll between his lips, he flicked the reins neatly over the team and muttered, “Hee-up, there.”
The horses were responding to the strange animal scent on the air, restless and noisy, tossing their heads. I could even catch the slightest smell of the buffalo, dusty and sharply distinct.
“Gus, we’ve been talking about who taught us to ride,” Sawyer said, and Angus led Admiral to my right, slowing his pace to keep with ours, resettling his hat.
“Have you told Lorie the story of Charley Bean?” Angus asked, leaning forward to regard Sawyer, his gray eyes fond and merry with amusement.
Sawyer laughed at that, then added ruefully, “No, but I suppose you will.”
In his storyteller voice, Angus began, “Summer, deep summer, ’fifty-three. This one,” and he nodded to Sawyer, “would have been nine years old, and the twins eight. Dear Ellen, it was all she could do to keep the three of them in line. Wouldn’t turn her back but for a moment before they’d be into trouble again.” He looked at Sawyer and said, “I recall your daddy suggesting that she tie you boys to her apron strings, and Ellen replying that she would be pulled three directions at once and suggested to James that he might take a strap to you instead. Ellen was of Ireland, and it was still strong in her voice.”
Sawyer was smiling and it resounded in my heart. I smiled too, unable to draw my eyes away from him. He said, “Believe me, when she was in a temper it was even stronger. Then you knew you were in trouble.”
Angus continued, “Now, James Davis was a firm hand with a horse, and no one was more stubborn in a bargain, but when it came to his boys, he had a soft spot a mile wide. He could no more strap the lot of you than he could a newborn. Now, this particular afternoon the Carters were hosting a picnic. If I recall, Bainbridge had just tapped a new barrel of his best corn whiskey, which was a call for celebration if I ever knew one. The day was fine enough to tuck into a pocket for safekeeping. Grace and I were courting then, we’d driven over in the buggy.”
“I remember her white parasol, with the roses, she was never without it,” Sawyer said. “She was fair as the moon, Gus, truly.”
“That she was,” Angus said and sighed a little, before repeating, “That she was. On this particular afternoon, a Sunday it was, Bainbridge had more than one reason to celebrate, as he’d purchased a new horse only the afternoon before, a fine tall stallion, sleek and shining, very nearly a true black. His name was a bit misleading, as ‘Charley Bean’ sounds more like an old plow horse. But this was a yearling, still wild, and if I remember, all of the boys were hanging on the corral fence like flies at a slice of watermelon. I must say I joined them for a fair amount too, though when Clairee called for us to eat, everyone went running.” Angus paused dramatically for a moment, before adding, “All but one, that is.”
“Ethan dared me,” Sawyer said, looking at Angus with a grin. “Though it didn’t take much, I’ll admit.”
I listened delightedly, clearly able to picture the summer afternoon in our home state, the rich humid air and the sunlight filtering through the spruce needles and spicing the air with their scent, the deep ditches where orange lilies bloomed in dizzying profusion, the delicious perfume of the honeysuckle vines that climbed every fence and sign post in the county.
“How in the world you ever managed to mount him, that’s what I’d like to know,” Angus said. “I never did ask, though I know you’ve an uncanny way with horses, just like your daddy.”
“I coaxed my way to his side. If you’ll recall I had a bruise that covered my entire foot, where he shied and then stepped, but I was determined. I caught hold of his mane and clung, and climbed for all I was worth, and before I knew it I was on top of what felt the whole world.”
I watched Sawyer speak, his voice with the dream-like quality of remembrance. He added ominously, “And then he reared.”
Angus picked up with, “Here we all sat at Clairee’s lovely, fine spread, do you recall that cucumber salad she was known for, Sawyer? And her jellies, those blackberry preserves. Bainbridge had just lowered his head to lead grace when there was a fearsome racket from the corral. I was just opposite Bainbridge and his eyebrows curled. He overturned his chair and yelped ‘Goddammit to hell!’ Excuse me, Lorie. And here comes Charley Bean, who had leaped the corral, four beams high to be sure, a most impressive jump. He was running like the devil, James Davis’s eldest son clinging to his mane, not quite sitting, more flat on his belly, holding with both hands—” He was laughing too hard to continue, as was Sawyer.
Angus gathered himself and finished, “And Bainbridge shouted that if James wouldn’t take a strap to you, then he planned to as soon as that horse slowed down, which at his rate looked to be in Kentucky somewhere. And Ellen, bless her, and your granny Alice, both sobbing that you’d be killed, their little boy. If I recall correctly, Ethan was a little green around the gills and made himself scarce.”
“How did you get down?” I asked, breathless with the excitement of the long-ago afternoon.
Sawyer grinned at me, his eyes dancing with amusement and flooding me with warmth. He said, “Well, I fell, though I can’t remember exactly what happened, as the ground gave me quite a blow. I was lucky that Charley didn’t crush me, when it comes right to it. I recall waking with Mama and Granny and about a half dozen other ladies leaning over me, though I could only see stars at first.”
“Were you strapped?” I asked. I was immeasurably glad he’d not been crushed on that afternoon either.
I must have sounded more worried than I intended, because Sawyer laughed again and assured me, “I was, but not terribly, and I deserved every lash. Though Daddy told me to tell anyone who asked that he’d dealt ten, instead of just the three. Aw, those days. I miss them so much it hurts, even still.”
“As for Charley Bean,” Angus said. “He didn’t quite make the state line, but Bainbridge and his brother Malcolm saddled up to chase him down and ruined Clairee’s picnic. Though if I’m not mistaken, the two of them considered it a fine adventure. Grace and I sat up discussing it on her mama’s front porch well into the evening that night.”
“What happened to the horse?” I asked.
Angus responded, “He became one of the finest Bainbridge ever owned. Beaumont took him to War, though neither survived.”
I shivered at that; so many lives lost, the War that had intruded upon the peace of those lazy summer days and had subsequently ripped all our families to shreds. My heart hooked on something sharp at that thought. I looked ahead to Boyd and Malcolm, the last of the Carters, both still angling their heads to catch a glimpse of the buffalo herd to the west, and the notion lingered in my mind as I studied them. Each of us was the last of our kin now, our families lost forever, alive only in our memories. Before the War, I would never have imagined that I could feel so strongly for people I had only just met; there would never have been occasion. I had loved my parents and my brothers dearly, had innocently trusted in their presence and the promise of security they provided. At Ginny’s, Deirdre had shown me that I was still capable of being loved, of giving love in return. Now, under the bright sun and free from both of my old lives, both the dear sweetness of Tennessee and the prison of Hossiter’s, I understood that I belonged with these three men and this boy, that they were my family now. That life had allowed me such a gift was almost beyond my ability to comprehend.
“We’d best pick up the pace a hair,” Angus said, tipping his hat to me before spurring ahead to speak to Boyd.
“What do you say?” Sawyer invited.
“Should we canter a spell, Lorie?”
In response, I tightened my knees and tapped Aces’ belly with my heels, taking him right. Sawyer took Whistler to the left around the wagon, as Malcolm whooped after us.
“No fair!” I heard Malcolm wail, but his voice was soon lost to the rush of the breeze in my ears as I let Aces have his head, feeling his muscles ripple against my calves as he flowed into a full gallop. I leaned over him, clutching the reins in my gloves, seeing Whistler on my left, racing north.
I laughed excitedly, maintaining the lead by a nose, though I sensed it was only because Sawyer was allowing it; he could certainly have taken it with little effort. Then I gasped as my hat went sailing. Immediately I reined in and slowed, meaning to circle Aces, but Sawyer was already there, Whistler at an easy lope back the way we’d come; just as they reached my errant hat, Sawyer leaned from his saddle and swept it from the tall grass with one hand. We were perhaps a half-mile from the wagon, and I kicked Aces forward to collect my hat from Sawyer, who handed it over with his hawk eyes smiling; he’d no more than passed it into my hands before he gathered the reins and then wheeled about on Whistler, taking the lead.
“No fair!” I yelped after him, digging my heels.
We spent the morning running them, enjoying every moment. As the sun began to crawl westward, I did switch with Malcolm, though with utter reluctance, riding with Boyd at the almost maddeningly sedate pace of the wagon, my eyes following the horses as they ranged far and back. Malcolm assured me that I could share Aces with him, from here on out.
“Now that you’re my sister an’ all,” he declared. And then, “Lorie, you’re a mite sweaty.”
I was, and I promised him I’d wash his clothes at first opportunity.
We stopped for the first time in the late afternoon, letting the horses drink their fill at a small creek, glinting blue promises at my hot skin. I was on the wagon seat, waiting to drive it over; Boyd had agreed to let me, as it was shallow, and handed over the lead lines. Angus and Admiral were just to the right, Angus with one hand curved over the top edge of the wagon.
“You ready, Lorie?” Angus asked and I nodded, flicking the lines over Juniper and Fortune, who carried us easily across; the deepest part scarcely reached the middle of the wheels. It wasn’t until I cleared the far bank and then tried my hand at jumping down unassisted that I caught my boot on the wheel and fell flat into the wet, rocky shallows of the creek.
I heard numerous sounds of alarm as I floundered to a sitting position, my elbows aching where I’d landed. Boyd and Angus were there in an instant, and Angus helped me gently to my feet.
Malcolm called over, “You all right, Lorie?” and I nodded, though my knees were hurting too. Angus led me to the dry bank and helped me sit.
“Here, you’re bleeding,” he said calmly, carefully rolling the trousers up past my knees. “How about your elbows?”
I nodded, mortified, again feeling like a little girl. I worked to roll up the sleeves of Malcolm’s shirt, further humiliated when I realized I’d ripped his clothing. Sawyer and Malcolm were upon us then and both of them looked so worried that I wanted to hide my face. Malcolm dropped to a crouch and inspected the scrapes on my knees, pronouncing, “Aw, these ain’t so bad.”
“They’ll sting though,” Sawyer said softly, and he had a linen handkerchief that he’d dipped in the water, kneeling just to Malcolm’s side and pressing it gently to my right knee. He said, “Here, Gus, take yours and wet it, too,” and Angus hurried to do so.
Sawyer’s hat hung down his back, a loose strand of his hair along the right side of his face, near the slash of his scar. He was so near, and immediate, his strong, capable hand dabbing blood from me yet again, as he had when I’d stepped on the splinter. He looked up from my leg and then into my eyes, the warmth of him spiking through me. He refolded the linen and moved it to my other knee.
“Thank you,” I told him, trembling a little. But it was because of him and because he was touching me, however lightly and with extreme care, and I had found that I longed increasingly for his touch.
“Here, use this,” Angus said, wringing out the second handkerchief and then passing it to my hands. His eyes were glinting with their usual good humor, and he added, “And next time, my dear, let me assist you from the wagon.”
“When there’s four of us to leap to your aid too, Lorie-girl,” Boyd chastised in a teasing voice. “Trousers or not, you’re still a lady. An’ ladies need help from wagons, sure thing.”
I recognized their insistent desire to provide such courteous care; they had all been raised this way, Tennessee gentlemen whose mothers would take them instantly to task if they didn’t rush to assist the nearest lady. I had been raised to expect such as well, though I had since learned the value of being able to help myself too. Though I admitted, in my heart, that it was a pleasure to be treated as a lady. I accepted the wet linen and wrapped it about my elbow. Sawyer’s hand was cupped around my left knee, heating my flesh, despite the presence of the damp cloth between our skin. He seemed to realize that he didn’t need to hold it in place and leaned back, our eyes clinging for a last moment.
“Lorie, if you wanna take a swim, just tell me, I’ll swim with you. You don’t gotta dive in alone,” Malcolm teased then, and I giggled.
“I could use one,” I allowed. “I’m a mess.”
We rested for a spell. Boyd lay flat on his back on the sunny bank, staring up at the clouds as he smoked, while Malcolm played in the creek, barefoot, cajoling Angus to try and catch minnows with him. I remained sitting in the shade, straightening my legs and transferring the linens from knee to knee, and Sawyer, following Boyd’s example, stretched to one elbow near my side, his long legs extending far beyond mine. He kept enough distance for propriety but was still so near that had I been brave enough, I could have reached but inches and curled my hand over his shoulder. His wide shoulders that I was sure a three-foot ax handle would not be enough to measure. There had been no chance to shave, as I knew all three of them preferred, and near two days’ growth of whiskers stubbled his jaws, his chin, shades darker than his hair. Again my belly pulsed with a feeling I had never known, a pure and plaintive wanting that was threatening to consume me. Though I pretended to watch Malcolm playing, splashing at Angus, I was truly intent upon Sawyer, conscious of his every breath.
Oh Sawyer, Sawyer.
This cannot be, Lorie, it cannot.
And yet it was.
“Think you’ll be able to travel?” he teased me and I felt his gaze, though courage had deserted me and I was too flustered to look over at him.
I nodded.
“We’ve hours before sunset,” he said, no longer with a teasing tone. “Would you rather ride? I’ll let you take Whistler, but only if you stay near the wagon and keep me company.”
I braved his golden-green gaze. His beautiful hawk eyes were steady in their regard.
Only if you ride her with me, I said in my mind, though I knew that he sensed my thought, saw what I longed for in my eyes, as heat flashed in his, leaping between us.
I was somehow certain that he responded with, Later. I promise you, later.
Boyd rolled to his own elbow, closer to the water and in the sun, and peered over his shoulder at us, exhaling smoke through both nostrils. He called, “You two alive back there, or what?”
I giggled and Sawyer said lazily, “Just resting, is all. As if you don’t know about that.”
“I am a man who appreciates a good rest,” Boyd agreed, winking at me and then sprawling flat to his back again, bending one forearm to brace over his eyes.
“Sawyer, come on an’ catch me some of these little fish!” Malcolm called, hands on his skinny hips. “An’ you never did catch us no trout, like you promised, Lorie-Lorie!”
“I’ll try again,” I told him.
“Excuse m
e for a moment,” Sawyer said to me, before rising gracefully. He gave me a last look before he headed to the creek, pausing at Boyd’s side to step lightly on his belly. Boyd’s head came up and then he chased after Sawyer, catching him around the waist from behind, as though to propel him into the water.
Sawyer laughed and tried to twist away, and they struggled, Boyd still with his smoke dangling from his lips. I giggled at their playing; Malcolm, unable to help himself, monkeyed atop Boyd’s back. The three of them, locked together, lumbered into deeper water, and Boyd, spying a sudden advantage in position, lowered his grip enough to catch Sawyer behind the knees. With much displacement of water, they went toppling tail over teakettle into the creek. Juniper and Admiral paid no attention, though Whistler snorted and neighed, Aces and Fortune dancing on their tethers at their masters’ antics.
“Goddammit!” Boyd yelped upon surfacing with arms wind-milling, though I could tell he wasn’t truly angry. He hollered, “Now I’ll have to dig out my dry britches or have a rash all over my ass!”
Sawyer was laughing, still sitting in water to his chest, and he thumped Boyd across the back of the head at those words, indicating my presence with his other hand. I was laughing too, even as Boyd yelled, “My apologies, Lorie-girl!” and then struck like a bull, taking Sawyer back into the water. Their legs thrashed and Malcolm dove into the fray, the long sunbeams of approaching evening spangling the resultant splashes with gold. Dozens of cottonwood seeds floated atop the water’s surface, backlit by the sun and stirred into furious motion.
“Gus, stop them!” I called, only half teasing. “They’ll listen to you.”
Angus shook his head and called back, “It wouldn’t do any good, I tell you.”
Boys played so much differently than girls…men, acting like boys, in this particular case. I recalled Dalton and Jesse throwing each other around the yard, beating each other bloody at times but running thick as thieves at all others. When I’d tried to play their games, I’d nearly always ended up in tears. Angus came over and helped me to my feet, then used his remaining clean handkerchief to swipe dust from my cheek. My eyes were still on what appeared to be the outright violence in the creek, though Angus remained unconcerned.
Heart of a Dove Page 24