“How can a person live without applying faith to their lives?” Roger asked confused, staring across the table into Rhonda's eyes. Past Rhonda's beauty, he saw a lonely woman—a very lonesome woman who was lost inside of her own heart. “I guess everybody rides a rough saddle sometimes.”
“I just know what I want out of life, that's all.”
“And what is that?” Roger asked.
Rhonda began to say that all she wanted was love but stopped herself. Deep down, she knew real love began and ended with Jesus. Yet, because she had lost her mother to cancer, her need to seek the love of Jesus had been locked up inside of her heart. “I want what everyone wants...happiness,” she smiled weakly at Roger and quickly changed the subject. “So, I have the truth about you, and I know what kind of story I'll write when I return home.”
Roger rubbed the back of his neck with a worried hand. “Ms. Morrow isn't going to marry me, is she?”
“You're better off,” Rhonda promised Roger. “I doubt Heather Morrow has been being very honest herself. The truth us, Ms. Morrow is a sour weed that will never grow roses, Mr. Steward. If it wasn't for her father making a personal request, I wouldn't have traveled all the way to Nevada. But Mr. Morrow is a good and decent man.”
“Maybe it's for the best,” Roger said and looked down at his stew. “Matthew was doing all the reading and writing for me. I just kinda went off what he was telling me. He made Ms. Morrow sound awful good, but I could tell he was stretching the truth a ways.”
“I'm sure your brother meant well,” Rhonda assured Roger.
Roger nodded his head. “I sure wish I knew how to read and write. Then I could have told the truth and sent honest letters.”
“Why haven't you learned to read or write?” Rhonda asked curiously.
Roger clasped his hands together and grew silent for a minute. “I was blind up until I was eight years old. And then one day, this preacher fella laid hands on me and...Well, my sight just suddenly came back to me. I remember the first thing I saw was my mother's face...she sure was crying up a storm, but her tears were happy.”
Rhonda didn't know what to say. Was Roger giving her a tall tale or was the man speaking the truth. “A man laid hands on you and your sight was...restored?”
“Yep,” Roger said in a simple voice. “Just like in the Bible when Jesus laid His Hands on folk and healed them.”
“You're...stretching the truth. I'm sure there had to be a medical reason.”
Roger shrugged his shoulders. “Don't see how.”
“There must have been...I mean, sure, in the Bible we read about Jesus giving people their sight back, but...oh, never mind,” Rhonda said in an aggravated voice. “If you were eight when you regained your sight, why didn't you learn to read or write?”
“Work,” Roger explained. “My Pa was busy working, and my mother was working her fingers to the bone. Only at night did she have the time to read to me before bed. You're not from this part of the country, ma’am. It takes a mighty heap of work to survive out here. A strong back is what a man needs, not a book.”
“Your brother learned to read and write, though?”
“Matthew was taught how to read and write by a Christian school teacher. But she didn't stick around long. Matthew was mighty smart, though, and took want he learned and kept throwing ropes at it until he had himself a book tied down to the ground.”
Rhonda enjoyed Roger's way of explaining his answers. The man was decent and honest—yet, he was very lonesome, she saw. It wasn't fair that a man like Roger had to be lonesome. But what could she do? She had her story. All she had to do was return back to Georgia and write it, leaving Roger far behind in his little shack. But was that fair? Surely there was something she could do. And then an idea struck her mind. “Mr. Steward, would you permit me to teach you how to read and write?”
Roger stared at Rhonda in disbelief. “You want to teach me how to read and write?” he asked.
“Sure,” Rhonda smiled. “There's really no rush for me to return back to Georgia. What will I do after I write my story, anyway? I'll just start pacing around my brother's office fussing about how drab our little town is.”
“I...uh...well,” Roger said becoming very afraid of the idea that a beautiful woman like Rhonda wanted to teach him how to read and write, “I…got a good bit of work to do.”
“Sure, you better get outside and start rounding up all your cattle,” Rhonda told Roger. “Or maybe you better start running a new fence line or rounding up strays or building a new barn or getting ready for the next cattle drive.”
“How do you know--?”
“My uncle is a rancher in Texas,” Rhonda explained. “I know a thing or two about ranching.”
Roger bit down on his lower lip. “I guess I don't have as much to do as I claim then...”
“Oh, you have a great deal of work to do, Mr. Steward. Learning to read and write takes more work than building two barns at once. I'm going to make sure your mind is so exhausted that you won't have the energy to even think about making any more excuses.”
Roger stared into Rhonda's glowing eyes. The woman was serious. “Well,” he said, “if I can run down a cougar that's been after my cattle, I guess I can face a book.”
“Wonderful,” Rhonda beamed. “We can start right this minute. There's no rush to get back into town. What will I do? Sit in my hotel room? We can start right now.”
“Now?” Roger swallowed.
“Now,” Rhonda smiled.
“The only book I have is the Bible.”
Rhonda drew in a deep breath. “Then the Bible it is.”
<<<<<>>>>>
Roger saw that the day was fading into night outside. Even worse, a light snow was beginning to fall. “I should really get you back into town,” he told Rhonda.
Rhonda took a sip of hot coffee and agreed. “I didn't realize it was so late. You did very well, today, Mr. Steward.”
Roger blushed and turned away from the window next to the front door. “I made a plum fool of myself trying to read all of those words.”
“No, you didn't,” Rhonda scolded Roger. Standing up she stretched her back and approached the front door. “I think--”
Roger threw up a quick hand. “Wait a minute,” he said and turned back toward the window with concerned eyes and studied the darkening day. A minute later three men, on horseback appeared. “It's Mintfield,” Roger told Rhonda in a calm but worried voice. Turning away from the window, he snatched a gun belt off a wooden coat rack sitting next to the front door.
“What's wrong?” Rhonda asked, alarmed. Watching Roger put on the gun belt caused her chest to tighten with fear. “Mr. Steward--”
“It's okay,” Roger assured Rhonda and opened the front door. “Stay behind me.”
Rhonda tucked her body behind Roger and peered over his shoulder as a large man dismounted a dark brown horse, looked toward Roger, and said a few words to the two men with him. The two said a few words back and remained seated in their saddles. Then the large man walked toward the shack. “Roger,” Steve Mintfield said in a peaceful voice.
“Mr. Mintfield,” Roger replied in a polite but cautious tone. “What you brings you out my way?”
Steve Mintfield hugged the thick brown coat covering his large chest as the icy winds tried to steal the brown hat he was wearing. “Mighty cold, can I come in?”
Rhonda narrowed her eyes and studied Steve's face. The man was built like a bear and had a face that matched. She saw cruelty, hate, and anger in the man's face. “I was just getting ready to go into town,” Roger told Steve. “What can I do for you?”
Steve glared past Roger at Rhonda. “I don't believe I know you, ma’am?”
“No, you don't,” Rhonda replied in a voice that told Steve to stand down.
“Roger,” Steve said allowing his voice to change from peaceful to gruff, “I've come to get my answer. Now, I've been a very patient man. Either you sell to me or lose out. It's that simple. I hope you're s
mart enough to take the easy road, boy.”
“Why do you want this land so bad?” Roger asked Steve. “We both know this land ain't no good for cattle. You have the best grazing land around. What's so important about the few measly acres I own?”
“My water rights runs through this piece of land,” Steve told Roger and glanced at Rhonda.
“Mr. Mintfield, I've never bothered with your water rights. I've had this land for a bit of time now, and we've never quarreled over any water,” Roger said looking past Steve toward his two hired gunmen. “What do you really want?”
“I told you,” Steve said in a voice that went from gruff to dangerous. “I want your answer, and I want it now. Are you going to sell out to me, boy?”
“We will let you know in one week,” Rhonda said and stepped up beside Roger. “Mr. Steward and I are making certain plans, Mr. Mintfield. Surely you can wait seven days. If you can't, I know of a man who will surely buy Mr. Steward's property tomorrow.”
Steve glared at Rhonda with red cheeks. He didn't like being pushed into a corner. Looking up at the sky, he knew a snow storm was approaching. The snow was starting to fall harder, and the winds were growing in power. The land would be covered with snow and frozen by morning. “One week,” he warned and held up a gloved hand. “One week, and then you sell to me, boy. I'm offering a fair price.”
“And when you leave my place, you're going over to the Johnsons’?” Roger asked. “Are you making your rounds, Mr. Mintfield, to remind people who is really in charge?”
“Don't mouth me, boy,” Steve snapped at Roger. “I'm being very kind to you for your mother's sake. What she ever saw in that Pa of yours I'll never know.”
“Get off my land,” Roger exploded.
Steve nodded his head toward his two hired guns. “You want to sleep six feet under tonight, boy?”
Roger slid his hand down to his gun. “You'll go first,” he warned Steve.
Rhonda braced herself for a gun fight. But to her relief, Steve nodded his head and backed away from the front door. “I promised your mother that no harm would come to you, boy. I'll be back in one week. If you refuse to sell to me, then you will force me to break that promise. And as far as the Johnsons go, I'm leaving them be. I only want your land.”
Roger watched Steve walk back to his horse, mount up, and ride off into the dark snow. “I guess that's that,” he said and closed the front door.
Rhonda stared at Roger with admiration in her eyes. “You were willing to draw guns with three men.”
“Ain't nothing,” Roger said in a humble voice. “Mintfield is slow on the draw. Those two fellas with him, Greg Falcon and Eric Howard, they're pretty fast, but they sure ain't interested in tangling with me after they saw me take down Nate Sellers.”
“Nate Sellers?” Rhonda asked.
“A well-known gunfighter that Mintfield hired,” Roger explained and took off his gun belt. “Nate was in town one day, sober as a hot day is long, and saw me coming out of the general store. I'm not sure why, but he called me out into the street for a gun fight. Greg and Eric were with him... Mintfield was there, too. To Mintfield's credit, he did try to talk Nate down. You see, Mintfield was in love with my mother, she couldn't stand the man.” Roger hung up his gun belt. “Anyway, Nate wouldn't back down and... Well, he insulted my folks. So we tangled...and here I stand while he's buried six feet under.”
Rhonda was amazed. She would have never imagined in a million years that the humble man standing before her could transform into a deadly gunfighter when pressed into a corner. “Well,” she said and smiled, “I'm sure glad you're standing here and not this Nate Sellers person.”
Roger looked into Rhonda's beautiful face and felt a smile touch his lips. “Yeah, I guess that's kinda good. Now, let's get you back into town.”
“Now wait just a minute,” Rhonda told Roger in a stubborn voice. “There could be a story here.”
“What do you mean?”
Rhonda began to pace around the room. “You asked this Mintfield person what he really wanted with your land. What did you mean?”
Roger shrugged his shoulders. “It just fits my thinking that Mintfield wants my land for something, that's all. It sure ain't for water rights, either, that's for sure. The truth of the matter is, Steve Mintfield ain't doing so good himself in the cattle business. The land has been in a drought, and now it's colder than it ought to be outside, and winter ain't even arrived yet.”
Rhonda rubbed her chin. “He said he only wanted your land...why?” she asked Roger. “Why does this man only want your land?”
“Maybe because of my mother?” Roger suggested.
Rhonda stared across the room at Roger. “Or maybe,” she said, “he wants gold?”
“Gold?” Roger asked confused.
“The gold your Pa was after.”
“Aw, my Pa didn't strike it rich. I already told you that,” Roger told Rhonda. “My Pa left just enough for me and my brother to be able to buy this land and start the ranch.”
“Mr. Steward,” Rhonda said in a curious voice, “where is your Pa's gold claim located at?”
“Pa didn't have a gold claim,” Roger admitted. “He just started digging right here on this land. That's how come me and Matthew bought this land. We know it wasn't fit for ranching, but our folks are buried here and, well, it just kinda meant a lot to me and Matthew. I guess Pa would have tanned our hides for being so foolish.”
“Not foolish,” Rhonda told Roger in a caring voice, “but loving. There is nothing wrong with two sons loving their parents.”
Roger scratched the back of his head. “Tell that to Mintfield. I guess it's going to come down to me selling out. Ain't no sense in going gun to gun with him. I hate to admit it, but Mintfield has more guns than I can deal with.”
Rhonda slowly crossed the room and stood before Roger. Very gently, she touched the man's face. “Don't give up,” she told him in a soft voice.
Shocked that Rhonda was touching his rough face, Roger found that all he could do was look down into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen in his life. “I can't go up against an army of guns.”
“Maybe not,” Rhonda smiled, “but we have one week to find the gold that man wants.”
“But my Pa--”
Rhonda touched Roger's lip with her finger. “I'm a reporter. I have a nose of a bloodhound...or so my brother would tell you. I smell a skunk, Mr. Steward.”
Roger stared into Rhonda's eyes. “My Pa never struck much gold. What would Mintfield want with an old mine that is filled with memories of broken dreams?”
“Maybe,” Rhonda suggested, “the mine isn't dry? Mr. Steward, when did your Pa die?”
“Shortly after my mother...about five to seven years back, give or take,” Roger explained. “My Pa died when a part of the mine he was working in gave way on him. My brother and me...we pulled dug Pa out, but...Pa was already with the Lord.”
“I'm sorry,” Rhonda told Roger. Reaching down, she took his hands. “Could it be your Pa was close to striking gold?”
Roger looked down at Rhonda's soft hands. “Pa was just striking a few pebbles here and there, but the rest was all dirt.”
“Tell that to Mr. Mintfield,” Rhonda smiled up into Roger's eyes. “Tell me, did that man know your Pa was digging for gold?”
“Oh, sure, everyone did. But everyone knew Pa was striking dirt, even Mintfield. That's why he sold this land to me and my brother. Mintfield knows this land ain't worth much. He even called me and Matthew fools for wanting to buy it.”
“And now he wants it back,” Rhonda told Roger, “and not to graze cattle on, either.”
Roger considered Rhonda's words very carefully. Maybe he couldn't read or write, but he was very smart and had a load of common sense. “Well,” he said feeling remorse and sadness touch his chest at the same time, “you could be right. Pa wasn't a foolish man, and if he kept after the gold...maybe there was gold to be kept after? I...never believed my Pa would find a
ny gold. I even told him so one day when I got awful mad at him.”
Rhonda reached up and touched Roger's face again. “Don't be upset with yourself.”
“Can't help but to hate myself on account of that day,” Roger told Rhonda. Hearing the winds scream outside, he glanced toward the front door. “I really should be getting you back into town. Paul will worry.”
“Yes, of course,” Rhonda told Roger and gathered up her coat. “But tomorrow, come and get me. I want you to take me to your Pa's mine.”
Roger made a worried face. “It's been a while. Pa kept the location of his mine secret from everyone. I followed Pa one day, and that's how I found the location. I never told Pa that I followed him, though.”
“Good,” Rhonda said, “then we won't be bothered. Now, take me back to the hotel, Mr. Steward, because I'm going to need a good night's rest.”
Roger looked back into Rhonda's eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you helping me learn to read and write, and now...you want to go take a look at my Pa's old mine. Why?” Roger asked confused.
Rhonda felt her cheeks flush. “I see goodness in you, Mr. Steward. I also see a very lonely man. I always told my brother that all I ever want is to love and to be loved.” And with that, Rhonda walked to the front door, opened it, and looked outside. “You better hurry and get the buggy hitched up,” she said as the icy winds screamed into her beautiful face. “Tomorrow will be a very interesting day.”
Chapter 3: Golden Love
Roger walked Rhonda down a snowy trail, stopped, studied the snow covered trees and brush, and then looked north. “This way,” he said holding a rifle in his gloved hands.
Cold but excited, Rhonda hugged her coat and followed Roger. “How much farther?” she asked holding her chin down to block the winds from touching her frozen face.
“I think….yeah, this way,” he said breathing white trails of smoke from his mouth.
Rhonda smiled. A few minutes later, she walked into a small clearing. And there, tucked under a large boulder, was a very small opening of earth covered with snow. “Very clever,” she said. “Your Pa definitely didn't make his claim easy for anyone to spot.”
The Thanksgiving Day Bride: Mail Order Bride Novels Page 26