by Anna Schmidt
“No need to be so formal. I’m Hunt to the other men.”
“Boy needs his own name,” Bunker announced.
“My name is Trey.”
“Naw. That’s your name for your sister and the others. Out here we’re gonna call you…”
They all waited as Bunker scratched his beard and pondered the possibilities. Once or twice, he started to say something but shook it off. Then he grinned. “Snap,” he said. “On account of you being no more than a young whippersnapper. I’ll let the others know.” And without waiting for Trey to either agree or not, Bunker took off riding through the clusters of grazing cattle.
“Snap,” Trey repeated softly as if trying it on for size. Then he settled his hat more firmly on his thick hair, leaned forward to rest his hands on his saddle horn, and said, “Ready when you are, Hunt.”
Chet touched the brim of his hat as he looked at Maria. “We’ll get started then, Miss Maria,” he said.
Trey repeated the motion. “Miss Maria,” he said softly, and he was smiling at her.
She let them get maybe twenty yards away before calling out, “You be careful, Trey.”
Trey sighed and did not acknowledge the warning. “She thinks I’m a baby,” he muttered.
“But it sure must be real nice to have somebody—more than one—who cares about you,” Chet replied, and he spurred his horse into a trot.
Six
Maria was bone tired. The temperatures had soared well past one hundred degrees over the last few days, by Bunker’s reckoning. The nights brought little relief, and sleeping on the hard ground did not help, even though she and Trey had the luxury of a tent and more than enough blankets to pad their bedrolls. But nine days of hours in the saddle, eating the dust that dogged them every step, followed by meals taken while seated on the ground or a fallen log and nights spent on that hard earth mattress had taken their toll. The men seemed used to this life, but why wouldn’t they be? Almost to a man, they had spent years following this routine. And she wasn’t about to complain—not when Trey had endured the same.
That first day after he’d ridden off with Chet, he had returned to camp full of stories he could not wait to tell her and even a few sketches he had made. He had also returned sunburned anywhere his skin had been exposed—even his face, in spite of his hat. When she tried to rub some salve on the worst areas, he had brushed her away.
“Hunt says he was burned worse than this one time back in Florida when he lost his hat—burned right on his scalp,” he added. “And Bunker says once my skin tans like leather, then it’ll be all right. He says it’s all those years I had to be in bed and stay inside.” His eyes were bright with excitement each day when he returned to camp and told her all that he had seen that day. “I never really looked at it all before, you know? The sky was like a painting. Hunt says that in Florida…”
He went on and on, and every other sentence seemed to begin with two words: “Hunt says.” She was surprised to hear that “Hunt” talked so much. Whenever she was around, she had the feeling that he only spoke when necessary. On the other hand, though she took her meals with the men, she had purposely avoided any direct contact with Chet, especially once Roger joined them on the trail. She saw no sense in aggravating an already touchy situation. But one night when she saw Chet head down to the stream after supper, she decided to follow him. She told herself that her intention was to thank him for taking such good care of Trey, but the truth was Trey’s stories had raised her curiosity…and she found herself longing to spend time with him.
“Good evening, Miss Maria,” he said, not turning at her approach. “Was there something you were needing?” He tossed a small stick into the water and watched it drift downstream, then gave his dog permission to retrieve it and did the same thing again. The water level was lower than ever, and over the last week the association had lost more than a dozen steers to the drought, but the dog seemed to enjoy the game.
“I came to thank you for the time you’ve taken with Trey. It can’t be easy.”
“Snap’s a quick learner. No trouble at all.” He tossed another stick.
“What are you doing?” she asked, moving closer so she too could watch the stick’s journey. She realized that Cracker stayed put until Chet gave a signal, but she also realized that this was more than a game.
“Checking the water flow.”
“Not much flow there,” she said. “With this drought—”
“Are you so sure it’s all drought?”
She stepped closer and nearly lost her footing. His hand was tight but gentle as he caught her. “Easy there, ma’am,” he said.
She told herself that it was her imagination that he held on to her a little longer than was necessary. And yet the way his gaze locked in on her…
“Clearly you think it is more than the drought.” Her voice was surprisingly husky. “Perhaps you should discuss your thoughts with Roger.” To her surprise, this brought a smile and a chuckle as he discarded the other sticks he was holding and bent to rinse his hands in the water.
“I see he’s back. The others were beginning to wonder.”
“He had business in town.” The fact that Roger had been away so long with no explanation before showing up had rankled her. She needed to get to the bottom of why he kept riding off like that. Later—after she’d solved the other dozen or so problems demanding her attention. “And you did not wonder?” she asked Chet now.
He shrugged. “Truth is, I didn’t much care one way or the other. We were getting work done. Now if Joker had been the one come riding into camp the other night, that might have been a different story—cause for celebration.”
She was surprised by his brazenness. After all, technically speaking, Roger was his boss. “I see your opinion of my foreman has not changed. May I remind you that you could have had the job?”
“And would I have still had the job once you and Turnbull patched up things between the two of you?”
“Yes. I do not go back on my word.”
“Another lesson you learned from your pa?”
“That’s right. And you, Chet? What lessons did you learn from your father?”
He looked out toward the setting sun, watching the orange globe on the horizon as if it held the answer to her question. “Those lessons were more about what a man shouldn’t do.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He left us when I was eight—me, my sister, my ma. One day he was there and then he wasn’t. A little like Joker.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“I’m asking if you’ve been able to learn anything more about Joker leaving.”
“In other words, did I talk to Roger?” she challenged.
“That would be one course of action. Another would be to go back to the ranch and town and see what you could learn. Now that your foreman’s here—and appears to be planning to stay awhile—I’m not sure why you think you need to be here.”
She was not used to the hired men speaking to her with such directness, and she certainly was not used to them studying her so openly. Chet had left his hat on the ground and his eyes—those sparkling eyes—were probing hers, seeking answers. “Trey…”
“Trey is doing far better than you or any of us hands would have thought. The boy’s a natural. Question is why are you here, Maria?”
She did not miss the fact that he had dropped the “Miss” from her name. And she could not ignore the fact that the first answer that sprang to mind—one she forced herself to swallow without speaking—was because you are.
“I should get back,” she said, aware that the sun had slipped below the horizon and the shadows were closing in on them like a cloak. “Thank you again for helping Trey adjust, for everything you’ve been doing. It’s…been a big help.”
“Maria?”
There it was again—that familiar
ity she should never permit. She paused but did not turn to face him.
“Talk to Turnbull about the creek. Even with the drought, this stream is not running the way similar streams appear to be running on the other side of Tipton’s fence.”
“All right. I’ll mention it.” She took a few more steps, and then she added, “And if you are certain that Trey is adjusting and will be all right, perhaps I should get back to help Amanda and Juanita.”
“And find out what happened to Joker?”
“Yes, that too. Good night, Chet.”
“Night, Miss Maria.”
So as she had expected, the times he had called her by her given name were no more than slips of the tongue. Why was it that instead of the relief she should have felt at learning he was not going to take advantage, all she felt was disappointment?
Roger was sitting outside her tent, talking to Trey when she returned to the campsite. He continued talking but watched her. Trey had always gotten along well with Roger, and Maria could not help wondering if spending time with Chet might change that.
“You were gone for some time,” Roger said as soon as Maria reached the tent.
Before Maria could answer, Trey interrupted. “I was telling Roger how Hunt and me had been working the fence and how many places we found posts pulled out and the wire gone all slack,” Trey reported. “We fixed them all but Hunt says—”
“Hunter seems to have a lot of opinions,” Roger interrupted, his eyes still on Maria.
“He’s always watching for stuff,” Trey went on as if Roger had not cut him off. “Just yesterday my horse was headed straight toward a rattler. I didn’t see it but Hunt did, and he cracked that whip of his and clean cut that snake near in half. Hunt told me that…”
Maria watched Roger’s face work as he tried hard to contain his irritation at Trey’s chatter. “Trey, I need to speak with Roger for a minute. Could you go help Eduardo finish cleaning up?”
“Sure thing.” He strode confidently past the men gathered around the campfire, calling out to them and getting greeted in return.
“Your brother appears to have taken to life on the trail,” Roger said.
“Yes, the men have taken him into their circle as if he were one of their own. I’m so pleased with the progress he’s made that I’ve decided to return to the ranch tomorrow.”
“Not alone.” It was a commandment.
“And why not alone? I’ll be on Porterfield land the entire way. Besides, it’s not as if we can spare anyone to travel with me there and then back again. We’ve already lost valuable time, and we need to do our share here, Roger. We can’t expect the men from the other ranches to do more because we’re shorthanded.”
“Maybe if the drifter wasn’t taking his own sweet time checking the fence line, he might be able to do some actual work. Seems to me Trey could handle the fencing job and free up Hunter to do his part with the branding.”
“I asked him to stay with Trey. I really don’t want Trey working alone, especially not where he might run into some of those ruffians who work for Tipton. The man is simply following orders.”
“Is he now? Or is he trying to worm his way into your good graces?”
“To what purpose?”
“Just take my word for it, Maria—I’ve done some checking, and he is not what he seems to be. But since you refuse to believe me and my instincts and instead choose to rely on those of this total stranger…”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Roger. Will you please just stop this? Chet Hunter works for us both. By every measure I can think of, since coming here he has shown he is loyal and dedicated. One day he may move on, but as long as he is here, I have no doubt—”
“Based on what?”
“Based on the fact that he’s suggested I talk to you about the possibility that the water here is running lower and slower than it is just over the fence on Tipton property. To my way of thinking, that is a hand looking out for his boss’s property.”
“Are you suggesting that I am not?”
“I am suggesting that you work with Chet instead of trying to find ways to drive him away. And speaking of that, while you were attending this mysterious business you had in town, I assume you stopped in at the saloon at least once.”
“And what if I did?”
“I’m just wondering what the talk was about Joker. Surely someone must have heard something.”
“Will you stop worrying about Joker, Maria? The man up and left.” The men around the campfire had stopped their own conversation in order to listen to his suddenly raised voice.
Noticing this, as well as Chet coming back to the campsite, Maria took hold of Roger’s arm and turned him away from the others. “Lower your voice please. And stop fighting me, Roger. I thought we both wanted the same thing—to save Clear Springs Ranch.”
Her touch had calmed Roger, and he covered her hand with his. “Of course we do. I just wish you would allow me to take some of the responsibility you carry on those beautiful shoulders. I can manage the ranch while you do what comes naturally to women.”
“And that would be?”
“Caring for your mother and siblings. And I think your idea of returning to the ranch is exactly the right one. I will choose one of the less experienced men to accompany you.”
“I have a better idea. Assign one of the men to take over Eduardo’s duties, so he can ride back with me. It will be a nice surprise for Juanita.”
“Splendid idea.”
“And in the meantime, talk to Chet and find out what he’s seen regarding the water supply.”
“Of course.” The man was all smiles now that he thought he had gotten his way. “I’ll make all the arrangements. You should get some rest. Even with an early start, you’ll still have another night under the stars before you can sleep in a real bed again.” He caressed her cheek and frowned when she stepped away and he caught her looking at something—or rather someone—over his shoulder.
“Ah, Chet,” Maria said, “I was just telling Roger about your concerns regarding the water. Why don’t I say good night and leave you to talk?”
* * *
Both men watched as Maria returned to her tent and closed the flap. Roger spoke first.
“You’ve got a way of sticking your nose in where it don’t belong, Hunter.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Meaning I’m not?”
Roger had turned on him and was standing close enough that Chet could feel the man’s breath on his face. “Can’t say since I’m not real sure what your job is. But if I was the one trying to make sure Miss Maria and her family didn’t lose their place, I’d be wondering how come the water on that side of the fence is running slow but free, while over here it seems to come in fits and starts.”
He’d gone too far and he knew it when Turnbull reared back and took a swing at him. The fact that Chet saw the punch coming and ducked only infuriated the man more. The fact that Cracker had seen someone attacking his master and decided to take matters into her own teeth only complicated things.
“Crack!” Chet ordered, and the dog let go of Turnbull’s pants leg and took up a position next to Chet.
“Get your gear and be gone by morning,” Turnbull roared. When he noticed the other men inching toward them, smelling a fight the way they could smell a thunderstorm coming, he turned on them. “And that goes for any man here who thinks he knows more about running this herd and this ranch than I do.”
The flap to Maria’s tent snapped back, and she emerged—her hair streaming down her back, her eyes narrowed in fury. “What the devil is going on out here?” The question was directed at Turnbull. “Well?” she demanded when Turnbull did not answer her in the split second that passed.
“Now, Miss Maria, don’t go getting all—”
“He just sent Hunt packing,” Bunker reported.
“Oh no, he did not,” Maria said. “You must have misunderstood, isn’t that right, Roger? I mean, think about it, Seymour—we’re already shorthanded, so why would Mr. Turnbull—”
“It was my doing, ma’am,” Chet said. “I made a comment I shouldn’t have, and the boss rightly took offense. Then my dog got into it and…” He turned to the foreman. “I’d like to apologize.” He offered Turnbull a handshake.
All the men froze, waiting to see what would happen, half of them no doubt expecting Turnbull to take another swing at him. But instead, the foreman spit on his own palm and then clasped Chet’s hand, squeezing with such force that Chet was pretty sure he’d have some bruised if not broken fingers.
“Better,” Maria said. “Now could we all get some sleep please? And, Mr. Turnbull, tomorrow you and Chet should ride out and have a look at that water flow farther upstream.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chet said.
“Maria?” Roger’s voice was gentle—the voice of a sweetheart pleading with his lady.
Maria ignored him, and as Roger brushed past Chet, this time he was the one to murmur, “Watch your back, Hunter.”
Once Turnbull reached the makeshift corral that held the horses, the other men moved closer to Chet. “I warned you,” Bunker muttered as he and the others went back to their bedrolls laid out around the campfire.
* * *
The rain started just after midnight. Maria was awakened by the plop of large raindrops on the canvas of the tent. She lay very still, willing each plop to bring more and more until there was a true downpour. When it happened, she grinned, then laughed out loud and shook Trey. “Wake up,” she said. “It’s finally raining.”
From outside the tent, she heard first grumbles and then shouts of pure joy as the men came awake and realized that they and their belongings were soaked. Trey sat up and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. Then, as he became aware of the sounds of the rain and the men’s shouts, he grinned. “Can I go?” he asked.
“We both will,” Maria said, tossing him his boots before pulling on hers. She lifted the flap and followed Trey outside. In seconds, they were both drenched, and she had to laugh when she saw Happy, Bunker, and Slim dancing around what had been the campfire. Even Roger was smiling, and when he saw her, he came to her at once and bowed. “May I have this dance, Miss Maria?”