Follow The Wind

by Janelle Taylor

  “You sound sad about that.”

  “Maybe I am. I know it’s impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible for you, Jessica Lane, not when you want it.”

  “He is, Gran. The minute his task is done, he’ll leave. I’m sure of it. Just as I’m certain there is nothing I can say or do to keep him here.”

  “You hardly know him, child. Is that what you really want?”

  “For the first time in my life, Gran, I feel like a real woman. He tugs on me in a new way, and I like it. He makes me think about having my own home and family. Is that so terrible even though I haven’t known him long?”

  “No, but I don’t think you should share this news with anyone, Jessie, not your pa, your sister, Tom, or even with Navarro himself. It’s too soon.”

  Jessie had always been able to confide in and trust her grandmother. Yet there were things about Navarro that she couldn’t reveal or discuss. Not yet anyway. “I know, Gran. Why tell them about something that will never happen? Don’t worry about me. I’m a grown woman. I’ll be fine. At least it’s gotten me to thinking like I should at my age,” she teased.

  “The right man will come along for you one day, like my Thomas did for me.”

  “You’re right, Gran. When he does, I’ll know it.” I do know it, Gran, and it’s Navarro, whoever and whatever he is.

  Jessie was up early to gather eggs and to release the hens from their noctural protective coop so they could scatter and scratch in freedom until dusk, except of course for those sitting on eggs. She tossed hay to the horses corralled nearby, including her cherished Ben who had been named after her grandfather Thomas Benjamin, as had her brother. She milked three cows that stayed in the pasture close to the barn. Usually she did those chores in the morning and her sister did them in the evening, when Jessie did ranch tasks while Mary Louise did household ones with Gran. The redhead carried two pails of milk to Gran and one to the chuckhouse cook, along with a basket of eggs for the men’s breakfast.

  She placed both items on a table. “Morning, Hank. Smells good. I’ll bet the boys’ noses are sniffing the air already.”

  As Hank shoved another pan of biscuits into the oven, he responded, “Mornin’, Jessie. The boys will be crawlin’ outta their fleatraps anytime now. I’m ‘bout to clank the ring. Don’t let ’em trample you gettin’ to it.”

  Jessie laughed. “I’ve learned to move fast at mealtime, Hank. I’ll be helping Gran with the wash today. Tell the boys to leave their stuff on the bunkhouse porch and we’ll do their laundry. I’m sure they’re too busy to think about clean clothes, and we need them to stick to the branding. Everybody’s chores will be twisted around for a while. If you need extra help, sing out. See you later. Want me to signal the hands as I leave?”

  Biscuit Hank finished setting the tables. “Much obliged if you do. I’ll get the milk and the coffee poured, and get these eggs to movin’ in a pan.”

  Jessie approached the metal triangle that was suspended from the porch beam. She lifted the rod and clanged it against the three sides rapidly. Men came from beside the chuckhouse where the bathing area was located, hair damp and shirts sprinkled from washed faces and hands. She heard boots clattering on the bunkhouse porch as others hurried after yanking on clothes. She didn’t see Navarro or Matt, and decided Matt must still be inside his private room at one end of the bunkhouse. Or perhaps he and Navarro were preparing to leave for their chore. Jessie waved and spoke to the Box L hands who passed her as she headed across the yard toward her home to enjoy her first meal of the day.

  “Jessie, wait up!” a familiar voice called out and halted her.

  She turned and smiled at Navarro. “I hope you fared well last night.”

  The desperado took in her snug jeans and green shirt that revealed a shapely figure. Her locks were braided, and the waist-grazing plait swung as she moved. The sections of hair she had cut in San Angelo for her disguise curled and framed her face in an enchanting manner. The colors of her fiery hair and rosy-gold complexion made her pale-blue eyes glow. They were large and expressive, and they shone with warmth this morning. He enjoyed just looking at her and being around her, but he wished he could pull her into his arms and kiss her. He cleared his tight throat to speak. “No problems. Most of the boys were turned in when me and Matt got back from supper. He says we’ll ride out to mend that fence after we eat. Will you be all right here today?”

  “Fine. I have plenty to do for Gran and the boys. The hands all took to you yesterday. So did Gran and Tom. He told me how kindly you treated him. Thanks, Navarro. You can’t know what that meant to him, and to me.”

  “Yep, I do, Jessie, but don’t ask why. He’s a good boy. He just needs…”

  “Needs what, Navarro?” she pressed when he fell silent and looked moody.

  “Needs to be treated like everybody else. Not different. Not like a cripple in any way. Every time he’s not allowed to do something, or at least try it, he sees more and more he’s not whole. A boy’s spirit can be crushed only so many times, Jessie, before it’s destroyed. Pretty soon he won’t care about trying. I’m glad your father is letting him ride with me, but …”

  “Why did you stop again? You can tell me anything, Navarro.”

  He glanced at the ground. “Ain’t really my business.”

  “If it can help Tom, please go on. It’s between us. I promise.”

  Navarro’s haunted childhood provoked him to intrude. “I think your father’s doing it for the wrong reasons. If Tom suspects, it’ll be worse than letting him go.”

  “Explain,” she coaxed.

  “He didn’t want you and me out alone together, and he can’t spare any of his hands. He’s letting your brother go because Tom’s the one least needed with the chores.”

  “I’m sorry to say I agree. You’re very perceptive about people. Thanks for being honest and for trying to help. Anything you can do about Tom will be appreciated. You know, you’re like an armadillo: beneath your hard shell, you’re soft inside,” she murmured, stroking his chest. When he looked disturbed by her touch and her words, she said, “Gran and I are washing today. Toss your clothes on the porch and we’ll get them done for you. Don’t argue,” she teased when he started to protest. “We’re doing it for all the boys while they’re so busy.”

  “Navarro, grub’s about gone! Let’s eat and ride,” Matt shouted, wanting to separate Jess and the gunslinger. He’d spent a sleepless night thinking about Navarro’s pull on her.

  Jessie smiled and waved to the foreman, who did the same to her. “Good morning, Matt. He’s coming,” she replied. “Sure you want to help?”

  “Yep. We’ll get things done, then work on Fletcher, if he lets us.”

  The hands returned to their seasonal schedule of breakfast, brand, dinner, short rest, brand, supper, and bed. Matt and Navarro rode northward. Tom kept the tally again. The other men rode range with Jed. Gran and Jessie did chores.

  When it was nearing eight o’clock, Jessie built a fire under a kettle outside. While water heated, she gathered the men’s clothes and linens, then sorted them. The redhead was glad there was no wind today to give them trouble with smoke in their eyes. She chipped soap off a homemade bar into the hot water and stirred it until melted, then drew water from the well and filled the rinse tubs, the task requiring more time and work with the pump broken.

  Gran joined her. They scrubbed the clothes and linens on ribbed metal boards. The rinsed items were draped over sturdy cords that were strung tightly between posts, lower to the ground than usual because of Gran’s short stature. Each time the water became too dirty or cool to do its job, Jessie fetched and heated more.

  The task took the Lane women until three o’clock to complete, seven hours of sweaty toiling over the laundry tubs. Their muscles ached all over, and their hair was mussed, their arms and hands nearly raw. They were both soaked in spots from splashes. But more tasks awaited them. While Martha began the evening meal, Jessie used the soapy water to scrub
the house and porch floors, then rinsed them using water from the other tubs. They would dry before dusk in the arid air. The tubs and kettle were dumped and stored. The dying fire was doused. The soap was returned to its place.

  Jessie entered the kitchen and sighed wearily, but didn’t complain about the hard labor. “Gran, I’ll fill the water barrel, then get cleaned up while those clothes finish drying. I don’t want you do anything more today than supper. I’ll tend to the chickens and milking, then collect the laundry later.”

  Jessie thought the lines of fatigue and age on Martha’s face looked deeper today. Though her grandmother had combed and rewound her white hair into a neat bun at the nape and put on a fresh dress, she could not conceal her exhaustion. Jessie wanted to take over preparing supper, but she knew Martha would not allow it.

  Martha kneaded the dough for biscuits with sore hands. “Put some salve on those chafed hands after your bath, child. Is Navarro coming to supper again?”

  “It wasn’t mentioned. I don’t know what time he and Matt will get home.”

  “Might be best if he sups with the hands. We don’t want the others feeling jealous of a stranger getting favor. If he does come, bring Matt, too. If we make it look like we got business to discuss, the men won’t take any offense.”

  Jessie heard the chow bell sing out while she was bathing. The bath felt so wonderful that she wanted to linger in it, but she didn’t have time. She donned a paisley print dress, then brushed her hair. As she did so, she decided to keep it trimmed shorter around her face because it made her look more feminine. When all was straightened in her room and the water closet, she told her grandmother she was going outside to complete her chores, as dusk was near.

  “Best hurry. Your pa’s late. When he rides in, he’ll be ready to eat.”

  “I won’t dally, Gran,” Jessie responded, merry laughter trailing her words.

  As Jessie pulled the first piece of dry laundry from the cord, Matt joined her and asked, “Need a pair of extra hands? I’m sure you’re bone-tired.”

  She glanced at the soft-spoken foreman and replied, “If you don’t mind, I can use the help. I’m late with everything today. Papa isn’t back yet, so supper is waiting on the stove. You and Navarro want to join us?”

  “Just finished eating. You did good closing that gap with ropes.”

  Jessie placed folded pants on his extended arms. “It was Navarro’s idea. How did you two get along?”

  “He don’t talk much.”

  Jessie laughed and teased, “Then it must have been a mighty quiet day out there.” He was wearing clean clothes and his brown hair was combed. Even his mustache had been trimmed since his return. She looked into his chocolate gaze, and found it warm and searching. “Anything wrong, Matt?”

  “How much do you know about this gunslinger?”

  Jessie hoped the foreman didn’t notice her startled reaction to his question. “He isn’t a gunslinger, Matt, but he’s as skilled as the best. I don’t know his life history, but he strikes me as a good man. Was there a problem with him?”

  “No, but there’s something about him has me worried.”

  Jessie stopped her task to meet his troubled gaze. “Like what?”

  “He ain’t the kind to hang around a ranch.”

  “He’s here because I hired him to do a job. Like lone eagles, even drifters have to light somewhere sometime to rest. Is it something he said or did?”

  “No. I can’t grasp it yet.”

  “When you do, come to me first, not Papa. I’m the one who chose him and hired him. If there’s a problem, I want to handle it. All right?”

  “Sure, Jessie. Just watch him close, will you?”

  “Don’t worry, Matt; I will.”

  The boss’s daughter and the foreman carried several loads to the bunkhouse for the men to sort and claim. The hands thanked her. Navarro wasn’t there.

  Jessie closed the gate to the chicken coop and latched it. Night would engulf the landscape soon. She scanned the horizon for her father’s approach but didn’t sight him. Concern gnawed at her. Jessie halted at the structure where supplies, meats, and home-canned goods were stored for the Lanes and their men.

  As she sealed the door to leave, Navarro said, “You been working hard.”

  Jessie turned to face him. “I wanted you and Matt to take supper with us when Papa returns, but he said you’ve already eaten.”

  “Hired hands don’t eat with the boss much, do they?”

  Jessie realized it was more of a statement than a question. “Not usually.”

  “I found my wash on my bunk. Thanks, Jessie.”

  “You’re welcome.” To keep him with her longer, she chatted about little things. “I was penning up the chickens and getting flour and rice for Gran. We’re letting some sit over there in a separate coop to restock those Fletcher’s men killed. We don’t normally let this many keep their eggs for hatching, just enough to replace those we eat or the ones that stop laying with age.”

  “Owning and running a ranch involves a lot of work.”

  Jessie surmised he wasn’t used to small talk but was seeking it to stay with her longer. That pleased her. “How did you and Matt get along today?”

  Navarro glanced around while deciding what to say. Several hands were sitting on the bunkhouse porch as they talked and laughed, and one made music on a fiddle while Biscuit Hank blew on a harmonica. He knew Miguel, Carlos, and two others were inside playing cards. Although Matt stood in shadows near the barn, Navarro sensed the foreman’s watchful gaze. It was obvious that Matt didn’t trust him yet; but only because of the Texan’s feelings for Jedidiah Lane’s daughter. He had observed Jessie and Matt since his arrival. He wished he knew what their relationship was, but he dared not ask.

  “Navarro?” she prodded as worry filled her.

  The handsome man inhaled and met her gaze. “Sorry, Jessie. My mind drifted. I love this time of day. What did you ask me?”

  The redhead didn’t think he had forgotten her question. “Nothing. Here comes Papa. I’d best get inside and help Gran get our meal on the table. I’m tired.”

  “Will I see you before I leave in the morning?”

  “I’ll be up early, like every day. Good night.”

  “’Night, Jessie.”

  While Jessie was doing the milking, her father and the foreman got Navarro and Tom on their way. She didn’t like not seeing them off, and hoped Jed and Matt hadn’t planned to exclude her. When her other morning chores were done, Jessie churned butter, ignoring her hands that still ached from yesterday. Later, as she heated the iron and pressed garments, Gran labored in the garden.

  A stroll after supper brought strange revelations for Jessica Lane. After waving to her, Miguel and Carlos left the bunkhouse and walked to the corral. At twenty-seven and thirty-one, both men were good-looking and virile. Hard work had made their bodies strong and lithe. Miguel propped one foot against a post as his deft fingers toyed with a pistol. Carlos rested his buttocks against a horizonal rail; his cigarito sent smoke spirling upward as the half-Mexican drew on it, then exhaled. Their attire—pants, jackets, hand-tooled leather belts with silver buckles, ornately stitched boots, and Spanish spurs—revealed their roots.

  An uneasy feeling washed over her as she saw them leave the others and halt in her path, decked in their finery. Usually the men washed after a dusty day and put on the clothes they would dress in the next day. Carlos and Miguel hadn’t done that tonight. She had an odd feeling they were waiting for her arrival.

  In the fading light before a three-quarter moon rose, Jessie smiled and joined them. “Don’t you both look handsome tonight?” she remarked. “Are you expecting a wagon of fort laundresses to pass through?” she teased, referring to the women at army posts who saw to the soldiers’ pleasures.

  Carlos chuckled at her naughty innuendo. Miguel smiled, revealing the whitest and straightest teeth she had ever seen. Or maybe they only looked snowy in contrast to his black hair, dark eyes,
and deep tan.

  “You look pretty tonight, too, amiga. I like your hair cut that way.”

  “Thank you, Miguel.” She related the story of why she had cut it.

  “You are lucky he arrived to rescue you, chica. He seems a good hombre.”

  “He is, Carlos. You know the Lanes only pick the best men for jobs.”

  “Gracias, chica. He is a strange one. Indian blood always makes Mexicans nervous. Our peoples have warred for many years with Apaches and Comanches.”

  “He told you he’s part Indian?”

  “He did not have to, amiga,” Miguel responded. “His looks speak of it.”

  “Does that bother you two?” Jessie inquired, holding her breath.

  “Jamas, so release that air, chica.”

  She exhaled, and they all grinned. “What else do you know about him?”

  Miguel repeated the same brief story that Navarro had told her family. Jessie didn’t believe that tale, but she didn’t challenge it. Nor did she tell the two men of her doubts. “Do you like him?”

  “He has done well, chica. But he must relax for us to learn him,” Carlos said.

  “It will take time, amiga,” Miguel added. “He is a man with a shadow over his past. Such men keep a distance. He has known much trouble and pain.”

  “How do you know that, Miguel?”

  “The scars on his back. When we washed last night, we saw them. He said an hombre was cheating at cards and he exposed him, then in a shoot-out, the cheater was killed. His brothers tracked Navarro and whipped him for hours. They left him for dead. But as you know, he did not feed the buzzards.”

  “He is not a man to be lashed,” Carlos added. “It is certain he tracked those hombres and tasted revenge. A man such as Navarro Jones is always near danger. It runs in his blood as surely as restless dust fills his boots.”

  “Are you two saying I can’t trust him?”

  “He is part Indian, a man who lives with troubled spirits, a man who will kill to survive, a man who must be free or die. He has been hurt many times; this I see because I was like him long ago.”