The Best Man

by Maggie Osborne

  “Enough not to trust him. Why?”

  “See that red mustang over there? Got hooked in the first stampede, and she’s not healing up like I want her to. Anyways, I was up tending to her right before that old piebald steer jumped up and started running toward Sunday, you know the one I mean.”

  “Keep talking,” Dal said, frowning.

  “Just before all hell broke loose, I thought I seen Caldwell walking toward the bedding ground. He’d circled around the camp and was far enough out that I woulda missed him if we hadn’t had a moon tonight and if I hadn’t just happened to look that way when I did.”

  Grady spit a stream of juice on the ground, then walked into the herd of horses to fetch the roan, leaving Dal to think about the implications of Caldwell approaching the bedding ground. All it would take to start a stampede would be one loud noise. Or a rock thrown at one of the steers. Stampedes would start for a dozen reasons, but they didn’t start for no reason.

  The same thought crossed his mind again in the morning when he discovered the result of the stampede was one steer dead and two missing.

  “Hell, Dal, we’ve checked every ditch and gully for three miles in every direction,” Drinkwater reported, eating his breakfast while he talked. “You want my opinion, those two missing steers probably joined up with the herd right behind us.” He forked some boiled potatoes into his mouth. “You want me and Peach to ride over and check?”

  “No,” he said reluctantly. He’d lose two drovers for a full day, it would disrupt the other trail boss’s operation, and the King’s Walk steers might not even be there.

  He looked toward the three men sitting around the observers’ campfire, his gaze steadying on Jack Caldwell. Stampedes were easy to start, and costly. Steers got lost, men got tired or injured, the outfit suffered. But stampedes were a fact of life on any cattle drive. A bright moon or a drop of rain could start a stampede. An unusual odor or an unfamiliar sound. Because Caldwell had taken a midnight stroll could mean something, or it could mean nothing.

  Much as he would have liked to throw him off the drive, he had no proof that Caldwell had done a damned thing except gloat over the lost steers.

  He tossed back the last drops in his coffee cup. “Get the drovers moving,” he said to Drinkwater. “And keep the pace up. I want those beeves so tired tonight that they can’t move.”

  “Is it true you were seeing Jack Caldwell?” Alex asked curiously, as Freddy brought her breakfast plate to the wreck pan.

  Freddy sent a silent curse winging toward the observer’s camp. “What of it?”

  Alex wiped a rag over a plate and sat it aside to dry in the morning sun. “A gambler, Freddy?” Her eyebrows rose and she rolled her eyes. “How could you?”

  “Well pardon me if I’ve tarnished the family honor once again. Pardon me for being lonely. Pardon me for keeping company with a no-account gambling man instead of one of the hundreds of respectable men who were beating a path to my door.”

  Angry, she slammed her empty coffee cup down on the chuck wagon worktable hard enough to rattle the stack of clean dishes. Hard enough that the table’s support leg shook and disturbed Alex’s precarious balance. Her hands flew out of the wreck pan’s dishwater and she grabbed for her crutch, but not in time. She fell sprawling to the ground.

  Before Freddy recovered from the shock of it, Charlie stepped over Alex, dropped his plate and cup in the wreck pan, and started toward the remuda to choose his horse for the day.

  “How can you just step over her?” Freddy demanded, horrified and furious.

  “Huh?” Charlie looked back, then down at Alex, who was struggling to reach her crutch. “She ain’t hurt, is she?” He peered at her. “Naw.” And continued on his way.

  “I’ll help you,” Freddy said, rushing to her sister.

  “Just get out of the way.” Shoving down her skirts, Alex lifted to her knees, then gripped the crutch and pulled herself up.

  “I’m sorry, Alex. Honestly. I wasn’t thinking about you balancing against the table.”

  “Of course not,” Alex snapped. “But falling down is nothing new, it happens several times a day.” Pink blazed on her cheeks, and she was angry.

  “When you fall… does anyone help you back up?”

  “No, Freddy. They don’t.” Alex faced her with a hard glare. “Does anyone help you when you get tossed off your horse during the morning rodeo?” She referred to the bucking and kicking that occurred every morning while the riders settled out their horses. “People are falling on the ground every day of this drive. The novelty of watching me fall over has worn off for most of the drovers. Not you, apparently, but most.”

  She hadn’t seen Alex fall that often, and this was the first time Freddy had witnessed the other drovers’ indifference to it. She stared at her sister, considering Alex’s precious dignity and poise. Regardless how casually Alex tried to treat the incident, it must humiliate her every time she crashed to the ground.

  “This is very hard for you, isn’t it?”

  “Your grasp of the obvious is stunning. And it only took you—how many weeks?—to notice. Yes. This is hard. Damned hard as you might say. Hard in ways you can’t even imagine because being so absorbed with yourself, you wouldn’t even try!”

  “I’m self-absorbed?” Freddy leaned forward, careful not to shake the worktable. “When have you ever given a thought to anyone but yourself? When you wanted something you just took it. Or manipulated everyone around you. Or made us feel stupid with your holier-than-thou superiority. You always had to have things your way!”

  Alex’s face turned white, and she gripped her crutch. “I’m tired of being blamed for everything that’s gone wrong in your life! If you feel stupid, that’s not my fault. I didn’t tell you to run off with that acting troupe and ruin your reputation and your future!”

  “You can run off and that’s fine, but God forbid that anyone else does the same thing!”

  “It was hardly the same thing! I ran off to get married. You just threw yourself away!”

  “I was looking for a future, exactly like you were!”

  Dal’s hand came down on her shoulder. Freddy knew it was him by the leap of electricity that shot through her body and momentarily stopped her heartbeat. “Les has already ridden out. Grady is holding your horse.” His voice was cool, carefully impartial.

  But she felt like a foot soldier flanked by two attacking armies, and it infuriated her that he removed his hand before she could order him to. “This started because I wanted to help you get up off the ground,” she flung at Alex, hoping to get in the last word.

  “No, it started because you knocked me to the ground!”

  “That was an accident,” she shouted, her face turning red. “And don’t you say a word,” she yelled at Dal, who stood between them, a frown lining his bronzed forehead. “Or you either,” she snapped at Grady when she reached the remuda and found him impatiently waiting for her.

  “This ain’t the time or the place,” Grady said sharply. “You got a beef with your sisters, you save it until this drive is over, you hear me, girl? When the cowboys start fighting amongst themselves, the drive goes wrong. If you want to git along, you gotta get along. Don’t forget it.”

  “Tell that to Alex!”

  “I will.” He slapped Walker on the butt, and the horse kicked, then bolted for the range, carrying Freddy with him.

  When Freddy rode up on the stupid stragglers, the first thing Les said was, “Jack Caldwell?” Censure flickered in Les’s brown eyes along with a hint of superiority.

  “I didn’t know he was seeing Lola, all right? It was a mistake, and I regret it. What do you want me to do? Shoot myself?” Baring her teeth, she galloped toward the stragglers.

  Last night she had defended Jack to Dal, and she had been wrong. Jack hadn’t kept their relationship discreet to please her. Since Jack was seeing Lola at the same time he was seeing her, it suited him to keep her hidden away, that’s why he had agreed to Freddy’s
plea for secrecy. Oh he’d had everything going his way. Two women, each of whom had a reason not to want her relationship with him known.

  She rode by herself during the morning, keeping her distance from Les, thinking about Jack and men in general, and about Dal Frisco.

  Every time she thought about Dal, hot color rose on her throat. Actually she understood what he’d said about not letting the attraction between them explode again. She had pretended not to because that was easier than admitting her own embarrassment.

  She’d capitulated to his wildly exciting kisses as easily as if she were indeed the woman of low character that most people assumed she was. She hadn’t uttered a peep of protest. The instant she felt his desire for her, her mind and body had caught fire with an answering passion.

  With a sigh, she wondered how long she would have to pay for a long-ago mistake. How many years would it take before people stopped treating her as if she’d spent time in a brothel? But maybe she deserved censure. Dal Frisco had taken her in his arms and without a moment’s hesitation she had flung herself against his body and behaved as if she hadn’t an ounce of morality. Like she was perfectly willing to take those wild kisses to their ultimate destination.

  And, oh God, she had been. That’s what hurt. His touch, his mouth, his hands had inflamed her to the point of craziness, of wanting him so much that she was dizzy and breathless and unaware of anything but him. Nothing even close to such a thing had ever happened to her.

  She wished she never had to see Dal Frisco again.

  Chapter 13

  By the time the herd reached the Colorado River just north of Austin, Les had driven the stragglers through enough spring-swollen creeks that the Colorado didn’t worry her. The only difference with this crossing was that the river was broader and deep enough that the men had to take the wheels off the chuck wagon and float it across.

  Les rode forward to watch. She stayed out of the way, but was close enough to see how white Alex’s face was when she finally drew a deep breath, then flapped her reins across the mules’ backs. The mules started across the river, pulling the wagon behind them like a raft while Dal and four other drovers strained on the shore, playing out a rope tied to the back of the wagon to keep it from turning in the current.

  Unconsciously holding her breath, Les struggled to guess what Alex was thinking and feeling, tried to imagine the courage and trust it must take for her sister to enter the swiftly moving water. Les didn’t think she would have been that brave.

  Though she hadn’t told them, she was developing a grudging admiration for both of her sisters. She had seen Alex dishing out food with tears glittering in her eyes, but the meal was always ready. Twice now firewood had been impossible to find, and she had glimpsed Alex rolling her wheelchair on the range, forking up dried cow pies to burn. And Alex, being Alex, brought her own standards to the ordeal. She insisted on the men using napkins, and it had been Alex who demanded a latrine tent for herself and Les and Freddy.

  And Freddy. Freddy set the pace on the drag, relentlessly nudging the stragglers along even when she and Les had been awake half the night working a stampede. If Freddy hadn’t made the first cut when skinning the dead steers, those steers would still be lying on the range. And it was Freddy who sat around the fire with the other drovers, drinking coffee, laughing at their tall tales and sly jokes. Freddy who had learned all the verses to the cowboy songs. Freddy who kept practicing with her rope and gun, who had given the stragglers silly names that made Les laugh.

  Once Alex made it safely across the Colorado, Les rode back to the main herd, grazing about a mile from the river. But she continued to think about Freddy.

  From the time Freddy had begun to blossom, at about age fourteen, men had flocked around her. It was still happening even though Freddy had thrown away her reputation. Learning about Freddy seeing Caldwell had shocked Les, but hadn’t surprised her, as she’d noticed how Caldwell always seemed to be watching her sister. And Dal Frisco, too. Both men stood straighter when Freddy appeared, and a hot speculative look narrowed their eyes. Unconsciously, they became more of what they were. More virile, more handsome, more masculine. Around Freddy, Caldwell seemed sleeker, more casually elegant. Frisco became more rugged, more commanding.

  Les didn’t understand this. In the past, she had condemned Freddy for leading men on, but now that she could observe closely, she had to admit this was not true. Freddy didn’t flirt, didn’t carry herself differently in a man’s presence, didn’t behave differently. If anything, she behaved as if she detested Caldwell and didn’t trust Frisco. Yet both men watched her with an expression that burned. And when Dal and Freddy were together, something sizzled in the air, as if a violent lightning storm were about to erupt.

  Les bent backwards to be accommodating and attractive to Ward, but nothing hot burned in his eyes except anger or resentment. The hard animal heat she saw when Dal looked at Freddy was not present when Ward looked at her. The closest Ward came to the looks that Freddy inspired was when he talked about the money. Sometimes she regretted her choice, but it was too late to do anything about it. Ward had sold his store; his commitment to her was total.

  She sighed as she rode up beside Freddy, scrutinizing her sister carefully. Like Les, Freddy was peeling from too much sun. Her nose and cheeks flaked, as did the tops of her ears and the back of her neck. Today Freddy wore her hair pinned up inside her hat, wore a sun-faded shirt, and dusty trousers and boots. A flame of jealousy scorched Les’s throat. Freddy’s vivid coloring and vivacious expression made her beautiful even now, when conventional wisdom insisted women required curls and powder and corsets and frippery to appeal to men. It irritated Les that Freddy could attract two men with her hair skinned back, dressed as a man, her skin peeling, and coated with dust and grime.

  “Alex and the chuck wagon are already across. So are Ward and Luther and Jack.” Les saw no reaction to the mention of Jack Caldwell’s name. “Dal will start the herd soon.”

  Les had come a long way since the drive began. Now she could spend all day in the saddle without feeling crippled by suppertime. She would never be comfortable around the horns, but the beeves no longer terrified her as they had in the beginning. It didn’t happen often, but occasionally she experienced a euphoric moment when she felt like a capable woman, a person who was carrying her own weight. “Dal says we’ll hold the herd here for two days and let them graze. We’ll all have a chance to ride into Austin and have a bath if we like.”

  Up ahead, the lead steers had accelerated the pace, trotting toward the water. They would wade into the river up to their knees to drink. The herd would follow, bawling with thirst, and sheer numbers would push the lead steers on across the river.

  “It should be an easy crossing,” Freddy commented, shielding her eyes to peer ahead.

  But something went wrong. She and Freddy didn’t realize it immediately, but eventually, even with their limited experience, they sensed the time had come and passed when they should have moved up the stragglers. Clouds of dust billowed near the river, and the sound of bellowing and shouting rolled back to them.

  “Ride up and see what’s happening,” Freddy suggested. Her frown said she would have preferred to check things herself. But recently Freddy had been gritting her teeth and following Dal’s orders to the letter.

  What Les saw first was chaos. The cattle, this close to water, raged out of control, every instinct urging them forward, but strangely, the drovers were working frantically to turn the steers back toward the range. Puzzled, knowing her best course of action was to skirt the pandemonium, Les rode to the riverbank above the point Dal had chosen for the crossing. Reining hard, she stared and her mouth fell open. What she saw horrified her.

  Directly opposite the crossing point, Luther and Jack’s wagon sat sunk in mud, at an angle that blocked the animals surging out of the river. Pushed by the herd entering the water behind them, the lead steers had crossed the river, had run into the mired wagon, and had no time to
veer around it before the oncoming herd shoved them forward. Blocked, the animals began to back up. Now, those caught in deep water with no room to move forward and the herd coming down on top of them were being pushed under the water. They were drowning.

  Feeling like she was strangling, Les scanned the banks of the river, narrow here. Dead cattle swirled in the current, littered the water’s edge. Terrified animals thrashed in the river, then went under as she watched. And the herd kept coming, escaping from the drovers’ frantic efforts to turn them away from the death trap the river crossing had become.

  Frozen by the enormity of the disaster, Les might have sat on her horse staring at the carnage for God knows how long. But suddenly Freddy appeared beside her, swearing steadily, her face pale and stunned. “My God,” she whispered.

  “Who’s watching the tail of the herd?” Les remembered to ask.

  “We can round them up later. Right now the boys need help.” Dropping forward over her horse, Freddy raced along the bank toward a seething mass of heaving, hooking horns and hides.

  Even the thought of joining her made Les feel lightheaded and sick. If she sat here one more second thinking about it, she would never do it. Grinding her teeth together, she sucked in a gulp of air, then galloped after Freddy, screaming and shouting as the others were doing. In the dust and bawling madness, she lost sight of Freddy. After a minute she no longer thought about anything except staying on her horse and avoiding the slashing horns and terrified steers.

  When the battle finally ended, and they had the herd running toward the previous night’s bedding ground and away from the river, Les slumped in the saddle, more exhausted than she remembered ever being. How simple life had been before this drive, how calm and predictable and leisurely. Now here she was, filthy, so tired she could hardly think, sunburned, thirsty, deprived of privacy and any hint of comfort, her nostrils filled with the heat and stink of cattle.