by Nan O'Berry
“Emma. Emma, come on. Get up. We got chores to do.”
“Yes, coming.” She yawned and rolled over taking time to stretch before shoving back the sheet to rise. Quickly dressing, she hurried down the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. Pushing back the door, she watched Clay rise from the kitchen chair.
“Morning.”
“Morning.” She smiled back.
“Oh good, you’re up,” her mother remarked holding out plates. “Clay was kind enough to keep me company this morning. He even chopped some wood, so Stephen didn’t have to.”
Emma smiled. “You know how to make my younger brother happy.”
He winked.
“I sent Stephen to feed. Would you do the milking?”
“Sure.”
“May I help?” Clay inquired. “I have done my share of milking back home.”
Rosalynn asked. “Where is your home, Clay?”
“Texas, ma’am.” He moved to take the bucket from Emma. “Allow me.”
“You really don’t have to milk for me,” Emma told him as they reached the barn.
“I know that, but I’d like to. You and your family have made me feel right at home. I feel I should help out.”
Emma led him over to the stall that held the milk cow. “This is Daisy. Daisy, this is Clayton. You be nice to him.”
The cow turned her head to size up the male crawling beneath the post of the stall with the milking stool. Turning her head back to Emma, she let out a loud bellow.
“Gracious!” Emma exclaimed.
“Now, Daisy, give me a minute and I’ll try to be gentle,” Clay promised. Setting the stool down, he rubbed his hand along his pants leg to get them warm. “Easy now.” He placed his cheek against the bovine’s flank and reached for one of the teats of her utter. “That’s a girl,” he crooned as his fingers pulled down.
It took only twice before a steady stream of rich milk began to hit the bottom of the pail. As Clay continued to fill the bucket, Emma picked some hay from the trough and held it out to Daisy. Out of the corner of her eye, she studied the man at work. He had surely eased the cow with his gentleness. His concentration stayed focused on his job. She watched his hands work and marveled at both their strength and gentle touch. “Tell me about Texas, your home.”
His face shifted to allow him to gaze in her direction.
Her breath caught at the sheer intensity of his brown eyes. The color so like the dark earth upon which her house stood.
“My home?” He shrugged. “It was a home, nothing more.”
Her face relaxed. “I can’t believe it was nothing.”
His glance beheld her with unease.
Emma wondered what he could possibly have to hide.
As quick as the look surfaced, it was replaced with a soft smile. “All right, I grew up on a ranch that most in Texas would consider quite small.”
“How small?” she asked, anxious to keep the conversation growing.
He gave a hint of a smile. “Only about five thousand acres.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Five thousand? Not big?”
“There are some that make up nearly half a county.”
“Gracious.” Emma blinked. She thought about his comment, then hesitantly spoke again, “You had family? Back there though? You’re not an orphan.”
His motions stopped. His eyes seemed to lose their luster. “Yes. Had.”
The two words were harsh and brought tears to Emma’s eyes. She had found his weakness.
He rose from the stool and set the bucket on the other side of the stall.
Her hands continued to stroke the soft burnished copper of the bovine’s hide. She worked on getting her emotions under control.
The straw in the stall shifted under his boots as he moved closer. “My family and I are distant.”
“Not by your demand, I take it,” she whispered.
He nodded. “I was asked to leave.”
Her eyes flickered wide in shock. She turned her glance to the right and found him standing a breath away. The sadness on his face was evident. “Is-is there anything I can do to help?”
Clay issued a wounded smile and gave a shake of his head. “No. Just be you, Emma. Let me forget all the ugliness in the world and just be you.”
She swallowed roughly. “Yes.”
“Thank you.”
She stepped back so that he could pass through the rails and join her.
He bent over and picked up the pail. “Shall we go back?”
The walk back to the house, in silence, seemed the longest trek she’d ever been on.
As they drew abreast of the door, Clay spoke, “Emma.”
She turned and quietly waited.
“Thank you. Thank you for caring enough to ask.”
Her heart gave an extra beat. “I’d do anything for you, Clay. I hope you know that.”
He gave a nod of his head.
Emma felt the tense knot that formed between her shoulder blades ease.
“I’d-,” he whispered
The pause made her hold her breath. “Yes?”
He gazed down at his boots for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I’d like to still see the ranch, if you’d be willing to show it to me?”
Her lips softened. “I’d love to, Clay.”
He grinned and reached for the door. “After you.”
Emma’s horse bounded up the rise. Her hat had long fallen against her back, only held to her throat by a thin band of lattigo. The pure joy of being on horseback caused her heart to soar. Pulling her mount to a halt, she turned in the saddle and waited for Clay’s horse to meet her.
The Appaloosa’s legs dug into the soft ground turning chunks of sod over as he climbed to the top. Clay reined in Spirit and glanced around the horizon.
“You can get a full view of the ranch from here,” Emma explained. She pointed to the north. “See those hills?”
Clay nodded.
“From the edge of those hills all the way to the Stage road is ours. It stretches twenty five miles to the east and another thirty three to the west.”
Clay shifted his gaze to follow her directions looking to his left then to his right, before turning in the saddle to look at the western horizon. When finished, he let out a long low whistle. “And all cattle?”
“Yes, except for the horses, Drew is breeding.”
“How many head?”
Now, it was Emma’s turn to shrug. “I can’t give you an exact number. Dad says somewhere around fifteen hundred depending on birth rate and loss to wolves and other predators.”
“That’s a good size herd.”
She watched his brow furrow.
“And he runs it himself?”
“Well, not exactly. There’s my brother, Drew, and about eight other cowboys that come in seasonally.” She locked her elbows and rested her hands over the pommel of her saddle, then sighed. “One day, the land will belong to Drew and Stephen.”
The melancholy tone of her words made Clay question, “And you? What is left to you?”
She turned and offered him a wan smile. “Nothing.”
He blinked. “Nothing?”
Emma nodded. “I shall go wherever my husband determines. This land, the Rocking R will be their legacy, not mine.” She took a deep breath and stared at the horizon. “My legacy lies beyond the border of the Rocking R. A new ranch, shaped by two hearts beating as one. A place where you can set down deep roots that lasts for generations.”
For a moment both were silent, then he responded, “Beautifully said.”
“You must think me foolish.” Emma felt her cheeks grow warm.
“No, not at all.”
Lifting her reins, Emma tapped her horse’s sides with her heels. “Let’s go this way.”
Clay followed.
“What about you?” she asked.
“Me?”
Emma nodded. “Don’t you want to set down roots?”
“Yes.”
Sile
nce filled the gap between them. Emma wondered what his dreams might consist of. “Shall we water the horses?”
With Emma leading, they made their way toward a slow moving stream that meandered through the ranch. Reaching the banks, she dismounted and Clay followed suit. Holding on to the reins, she led her horse into the stream. As she watched, the animal blew across the water then stuck his nose into the clear, cold stream. “Do you plan on riding for the express for the rest of your life?”
Clay fiddled with the leather reins he held before answering, “No.” He squinted his eyes against the sun’s reflection off the water. “No, I want my own ranch.”
“In Wyoming Territory?”
“I’m not sure.” He shrugged. “Once, long ago, I thought about going home to Texas.”
“To your family?”
He nodded.
“But, not now?”
He gave a deep sigh. “Not now. There’s nothing for me left in Texas.”
“But?” she asked, feeling his hesitation.
“But, I hate to leave the Hawkins. They’ve become my family.”
“I can understand that,” Emma agreed. “Shall we walk a ways?”
“Sure.”
Leading their horses away from the water, Emma walked beside Clay. The grasses whispered as their footsteps took them closer toward the flat land below.
“Tell me about your dream ranch?” Emma asked.
“Mine?” Clay seemed surprised.
She nodded.
“Oh, cattle and horses, I suspect.” Clay lifted his right hand and placed it on Spirit’s neck. “I’d love to raise a bunch of good cutting horses. Ranchers around here and cowboys need good horses to work cattle.”
“That’s what Andrew says.” Emma chuckled. “It must be a man’s way of thinking.”
“There’s always the army.” Clay chalked up another reason. “They need good mounts.”
“How do you plan to start?”
“Oh, round up a few mustangs.” He looked at Emma. “But I want to raise a few Appaloosas as well. They’re sure footed, smart, just the kind of horse that a cowboy can rely on.”
“Your horse is a gelding.”
He nodded. “But I helped a man in Texas once who moved to Nevada. He promised me a colt from the same stock as Spirit. I’ve been saving money for land and a breeding pair.”
“It sounds like a good plan.”
Off in the distance, a deep rumble of thunder reached their ears. Emma gave a worried glance to the west.
Clay followed her gaze.
“Storm’s coming,” she stated.
He nodded. “We should get back.”
Emma looped her reins over her horses head. She lifted her foot and slipped it into the stirrup. Clay moved behind her and thrust her into the saddle. The horses sensed the coming storm and began to dance. She pulled her horse up tight and waited for him to mount.
Two hops and Clay threw his leg over the saddle, then slipped his feet into the stirrups. “Lead the way!”
Emma nodded and let go of the pressure on the reins. Her horse sensing its freedom, shot off toward home.
A bold flash of lightening lit up the alley behind Main Street of Three Rivers. Cyrus flattened his body against the worn boards of the freight wagon and waited for the thunder to pass.
“Not a fit night to be out,” he grumbled and shifted his dark oil skin poncho in an attempt to cover a bit more of his body.
He glanced toward the stable in the back and wondered who had summoned him here and why. He swallowed his nervousness and pushed away. His boots slid on the slippery ground as he gave a cautious glance back over his shoulder. No one had followed him. Who would want to? With the sky seeming to be ripped apart and the water flowed free filling the streets, refusing to be sucked beneath the earth.
He’d just reached the front of the stable when a bolt seared the sky above him exploding in the sound of thunder, and making him drop to a crouch expecting to be struck dead at any moment. His fingers trembled as he reached up and slid the heavy metal bolt away from the lock. “Thank God, it’s greased,” he whispered, drawing himself up and slipping into the barn.
The wind blew the door closed at his heels. Cyrus stood for a moment listening to the rain lash at the door, hoping to find an opening somewhere. Removing his hat, he poured a steady stream of water from the brim onto the straw of the floor. The stable was dark as pitch. If he was to see who invited him, he might as well light a lantern.
Crossing to the first post, he grabbed the lantern he knew was hanging there and fumbled for a match in his pants pocket. “Damn this rain,” he cursed pulling the match from his damp trousers. Perhaps, if he were lucky it would strike. Reaching out, he ran the head across the rough timber and it burst into a flame.
“Blow out the match,” a stern voice ordered.
Cyrus paused with his eyes wide. His heart beating against his chest so loud he thought it might wake up the dead in the churchyard.
“Do it,” the voice seemed to hiss the command.
Cyrus shook the match dousing the flame. “Who are you?” he whispered.
“Never you mind.”
The sounds seem to come from behind him. Cyrus swirled afraid that the voice might sneak up behind him. He pulled at his poncho. The cold sweat that now layered his body drew the material of his shirt clinging to his skin.
“Did he come alone?”
Cyrus head whipped back around. There must be at least two. “Yes, I-I’m alone,” he stammered.
“Check his story.”
A figure stepped from the shadows. A flour sack with slits for eyes had been cut to give him sight and a dark poncho, like Cyrus’ covered his clothing.
His breath came in gulps as the door creaked open.
The only sound they heard was the pouring rain pounding the earth.
“No one.”
“I told you,” Cyrus defended himself.
“Light,” the second voice called.
Cyrus hugged the post as he watched the figure lift the glass and light spread across the stable.
Three figures now stood exposed against the light.
“Wh-who are you,” he demanded.
“Don’t worry about who we are. We’ve got a job for you.”
There was no mouth to grin back, yet when the specter answered, a cold chill made Cyrus shiver. He swallowed heavily. “I-I have a job.”
A harsh grunt followed. “Pay well, does it?”
Cyrus shook his head no.
“Then listen. I want a Pony Express rider to disappear.”
“Disappear?”
The head covered in cotton sacking nodded.
“Disappear as in permanent?” Cyrus asked.
Again, the figure nodded. “That would be the idea.”
He thought for a moment, then asked, “What’s in it for me?”
“Five hundred dollars.”
Cyrus’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of money just to get rid of a rider.”
“You want the job or not,” he snapped.
Cyrus’ eyes flared. Five hundred dollars could get me anywhere. He dampened his lips with his tongue. “Yeah, yeah, I want in.”
“Good. Oh, and I want that mail pouch.”
Cyrus nodded.
“Excellent.”
Chapter 8
Rosalynn pushed back the curtain and watched as the flash of lightening illuminated the yard. The rain lashed dirt glimmered but there was nothing to see. Her face drew taunt with concern. Where could Emma be?
“Is she home yet?” Stephen called and moved to stand next to the window.
“No.” Rosalynn placed a hand on her son’s head and gave him an encouraging smile even if she didn’t feel it herself.
“She’ll be here soon,” he said.
“Yes, yes she will.” Rosalynn took a deep breath and motioned to the table. “Why don’t we get your primer book out?”
Stephen sighed and moved toward the kitchen table. Rosalynn
followed her son and took the chair next to him. “Why do I have to learn to read?”
She did all she could to smother the chuckle that threatened to spill forth. “You need to be able to read bills of sale if you are raising cattle or horses. You need to understand how to do math in order to keep up with your money.”
“Isn’t that what they have banks for?”
“Sometimes, banks don’t do a good job,” Rosalynn pointed out. “Come, let’s read.”
With a sigh, Stephen opened the book he’d left on the table.
Outside, the sound of horses slogging through the mud distracted him.
“Ma?”
“I heard.” She hushed him. “You stay here.”
Rosalynn rose and moved to the window. The night was dark as ink and no matter how hard she tried to focus, nothing seemed visible. She was just about to give up when lightning flashed and she caught sight of a horse being led into the barn. “Someone’s here,” she murmured.
The sound of footsteps on the porch caused her to look toward the back door. The knob turned and the door gave way.
Emma entered, her body soaked from the driving rain. “Ma,” she chattered drawing her arms around her.
“Emma,” Rosalynn breathed and rushed forward to take her into her arms.
“Don’t, I’m soaked,” Emma protested.
“I don’t care, you’re home.” Rosalynn glanced over to Stephen. “Go get some blankets.”
Stephen wasted no time in vacating the chair to rush into the other room to get what his mother demanded.
“We g-got caught in the storm.”
“Shh, you should have found shelter. Here, sit down. I’ll get the stove running and we’ll you warm and dry.”
Emma sneezed.
“Sit,” her mother commanded and drew out the chair leaving no room for denial.
Emma sat down as Rosalynn opened the door to the stove and began to lay a fire.
“Ma, if we had found shelter, you would have been more worried.”
Rosalynn froze. She thought about her daughter’s words and couldn’t help but smile. Turning back, she grinned. “You have that right.” The sound of water dripping on to the floor drew her attention to Emma’s skirts. “Land’s sakes child, wring out those skirts.”