by Maggie Ryan
"Ah, come on, you gotta admit it's a legitimate question," Roger said, leaning back against the stall as Matthew grabbed a curry comb from a nearby shelf and began running it over Ranger's body. When his friend remained mute, he sighed and pushed away from the stall. "Fine, I'll just let my imagination run wild. Let's see, you were working when some… oh, I don't know, wood nymph flew from the woods and—"
"Wood nymph?" Matthew said, shaking his head, "seriously? Don't tell me your wife is forcing you to read one of those silly novels she is always toting around."
"Hey, don't disparage my wife. She's a teacher and needs to keep up with what's happening in the world. Besides, I'd sit and listen to her read to me any day of the week, regardless of the topic."
"Still, nymphs?"
"I wouldn't have to guess if you'd just come clean…" Roger paused and then grinned. "Well, why didn't you just say so?"
"I didn't say anything," Matthew said, giving Roger a look as he moved to squat, running the comb down Ranger's legs, lifting a foot to check his hoof for embedded stones. "Hand me that pick," he said. Roger slapped the tool into his open palm and as Matthew used it to dig out a stone, Roger ruffled his hair.
"Hey!" Matthew said, a bit too loudly as Ranger shifted at the volume. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Just wanted to check to see if you remembered to wash behind your ears," Roger said, deftly ducking aside as Matthew's arm swatted out at his legs. "You know, while it does require a bit more work, heating water and filling a tub would be a lot more comfortable. I can't imagine that river is anywhere near warm enough to bathe in."
"I wasn't bathing," Matthew said, moving to Ranger's other side to continue his task.
"You went swimming?"
"Not intentionally," Matthew muttered, digging another stone free and dropping it next to the first he'd collected.
"What does that mean? Oh, wait, don't tell me, you fell in?" Roger chuckled. "Or better yet, this guy got sick of hauling your ass around and dumped you in?"
"Ha-ha, very funny," Matthew said, placing both the hoof pick and comb aside and picking up two brushes, tossing one to Roger. "If you're gonna stand there jawin', you can make yourself useful." The two men began brushing Ranger's coat, comfortable in the silence. It wasn't for another several minutes before Matthew spoke.
"Have you heard anything about a family named Jefferson moving in around here?"
Roger seemed to give the question some consideration but shook his head. "Can't say the name sounds familiar, why?"
Matthew gave him a rundown on the afternoon's events as they finished grooming the horse. Once done, Ranger secured in his stall and munching on his feed, Matthew closed the door. "I want to kick myself for allowing her to go."
Roger nodded. "I can understand that but it sounds like she didn't want you to follow."
"I know but still, I should have made sure she and her boy got home safe. Though where home is, I have absolutely no idea."
The two men left the barn and began to walk towards the bunkhouse. "Teresa's got supper waiting," Roger said. "Come eat with us. With her teaching in town and her pa owning the restaurant, might be she's heard of the family. Heck, the boy might be in her class."
Matthew perked up at the possibility and changed direction, only to be stopped by Roger's hand slapping against his chest. "If you don't mind, put a shirt on first."
"Ah, what's the matter? 'Fraid the sight of my handsome body will have your girl swooning?"
"Ha-ha, very funny," Roger said, mimicking Matthew's earlier taunt. Puffing out his chest a bit, he said, "I guarantee that any swooning my bride is gonna do is when she is being held by me." When his friend just rolled his eyes, Roger pointed to the bunkhouse. "Unless you want to eat a can of cold beans for your supper, go put a shirt on."
***
"I'm sorry, that name isn't ringing a bell," Teresa said, smiling up at her husband as he pulled out her chair. Sliding onto her seat as the men seated themselves and began passing around the platter of roasted venison and bowls of mashed potatoes and stewed corn, she continued. "I've gotten four new students in the last week, but none are named Davy. That doesn't mean he won't be coming to school, though. Pa said that more and more people are coming into town every week."
"That makes sense," Roger said, as he mixed his corn into his huge pile of potatoes, folding the two together and then adding a large pat of butter to the mix.
"And you besmirch my manners," Matthew said, rolling his eyes.
"Nope," Roger countered, lifting a bite to his lips and rolling his own eyes in exaggerated pleasure. "I was besmirching your attire… or rather, lack thereof."
Matthew huffed and turned his attention to the other side of the table where Teresa was smiling, her amusement at the men's banter obvious.
"Roger's right," she said, defending her husband. "With the passes open and free of snow, more and more trains are getting through. Perhaps Davy's parents just haven't had time to enroll their son. How old did you say he was?"
"I don't really know," Matthew said, swallowing his own bite. "If I had to guess, I'd say probably no older than five… maybe six? Poor guy is little. He was nothing but skin and bones."
"That could be accounted for if his family came in off a wagon train," Roger said. "It's not an easy journey for adults, and even tougher on children."
"Oh, and he's very shy," Matthew added. "He never said a single word. In fact, I never even heard him cry out when he was hanging on to that rock. Maybe he was just too exhausted to speak."
Teresa leaned forward, her eyes showing her concern. "Poor thing. I can't imagine how terrified he must have been. I'm just so very glad that you were there to help. I wonder how he got down to the river. That's quite a climb."
Roger sat back in his chair. "You know, I was thinking about that. What if he didn't climb down? Maybe he just walked down the bank until he found a fishing spot."
Matthew seemed to give it some thought as he continued to eat. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't know, but if you're right, then maybe I can backtrack up river and find their homestead."
"Seems like a lot of work on a guess," Roger said, his grin widening as he looked at his friend. "You know, you described Davy—thin, shy, five or six, dark hair, pale skin—and yet, I don't recall hearing you mention anything about his ma other than her name."
"Why would I?" Matthew asked, instantly wondering exactly why he'd kept silent about Sally himself.
"Oh, no reason," Roger said. "Just seems a mite strange."
"It's not strange," Teresa said, reaching over to pat Matthew's hand. "He was too concerned about the little boy."
"She's married," Matthew said, not liking the feeling that it was himself he was reminding. "I'm sure her husband wouldn't appreciate learning some stranger was discussing his wife with other strangers."
"Then we can remedy that by finding out about them and introducing ourselves," Teresa said, standing to remove the dinner plates, returning with dessert.
After they'd finished the dish of cobbler, Matthew thanked her for the delicious meal and seated his hat on his head. At the door, Teresa said, "You did a very good thing today, Matthew. I'm sure that boy owes his life to you, and I'm positive that Sally will be forever grateful."
"I was just in the right place at the right time," Matthew said.
Teresa lifted herself onto her tiptoes and brushed his cheek with her lips before adding, "Well, school won't be open till Monday so there won't be any new students, but we are all going into town tomorrow. We can ask around."
"That sounds like a plan," Matthew said, thanking them again and stepping out into the night. The moon provided enough illumination for him to make his way down the slope, where the Morrisons had built their cabin. Every person on the ranch had pitched in to get it ready quickly, knowing the couple wanted to move in as soon as they said their vows. As he started walking to the bunkhouse that had been his home since the group had arrived in the Oregon territory, h
e thought about all the changes made in only a few months.
The group had made the arduous two-thousand mile journey along the Oregon Trail together. Starting as strangers, hired by Richard to help move his herd, they'd become more than employees, even more than just friends. When Richard made the generous offer of combining forces, the men had become equal partners in establishing the Double R Ranch, though it was becoming better known by the nickname they'd given it; the Rose Ranch. He still had a tendency to shake his head when seeing the ranch's brand on the hide of one of the cattle. It just seemed a bit incongruous for a steer weighing a thousand pounds or more to have a rose stamped on its rump.
They had started with nothing but stakes in the ground to claim their combined acreage given them from the Land Donation act. Since then, a bunkhouse and four cabins had been built, five barns housed a growing menagerie of animals. Two children had been born, Teresa had recently joined them as Roger's bride, and Agatha and Wyatt were expecting their first child soon.
Babies and brides weren't the only new residents. Their herd was growing, almost two dozen calves had already been born and more were expected to be dropped soon. While the partners worked long hours, every man was grateful for the blessings he'd been given.
Stripping off his clothes and crawling naked into his bed, Matthew lay with his arms crossed beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling. For the first time in a long time, he felt a very unfamiliar feeling… one he hadn't felt since he was a decade younger, when the woman he had thought returned his love chose another, and realized he was uncomfortable with the surge of jealousy he could feel in his blood. Four men, scattered across the ranch, were in their own beds but they each had something he didn't. Each had a warm and loving woman at his side. And for the first time in his life, instead of seeing the face he'd watched growing dimmer with every year that passed, he saw the face of a woman who had gone from terrified to grateful when her son was safely placed into her arms. What would it feel like to embrace them both? To assure them that not only had the river given up its hold but that he'd make sure the two would remain safe?
He could see the paleness of her cheeks and wondered how silky her skin would feel beneath his thumbs as he wiped away a tear. Her lips… they'd pursed and then dropped apart when he'd threatened to actually spank her. Good Lord, he seriously couldn't believe he'd done that, and yet he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have her over his lap, the skirt she'd begun to remove lifted, those bloomers he'd seen as she'd mounted her horse now pulled down in his mind's eye, exposing what he had no doubt would be a plump set of bottom cheeks waiting for his correction. How quickly would her skin pinken? How many strokes of his hand would it take to turn the pale flesh a rosy hue, each smack warming her skin? What would Sally's reaction be when he'd lift her after her spanking, cuddling her in his arms, pressing his lips to hers to assure her that she was forgiven? Feeling his cock stir, he groaned and sat up.
Punching his pillow, he knew that he should push aside any desire to follow the river upstream. It wouldn't be right, as his reason wouldn't be to assure that the two had made their way home… no, his intention would be to pound some sense into a man who obviously had no idea of the treasures he'd come very close to losing that day.
Chapter Four
Sally stirred sleepily and then came awake instantly as the sound that had drawn her from her rest was repeated. Sitting up, she pushed aside the quilt and bent over her son. Placing her hand against his forehead, she was grateful to feel it wasn't that warm. Perhaps it had just been a little cough. However, when he opened his eyes, she could tell that he wasn't feeling well. His body began to shake as he coughed again and again. Helping him to sit, she rubbed his back until he calmed.
"That's good, just let it come," she encouraged, forcing herself to remain calm. She recognized that it had been his coughing that had disturbed her sleep throughout the night, though not enough to truly arouse her fully. "I'm going to get you some water, all right?" He nodded and allowed her to ease him back down. Climbing from the bed, she pulled on her clothing from the day before, the lack of her petticoat reminding her that she needed to wash and dry both hers and Davy's clothing. Still, there were more important things to concentrate on right now.
She took their water bucket down to the river and filled it. Pouring some into a tin cup, she took it to him. "Here, sweetie, sit up for mama."
Davy managed to do so and she handed him the cup, adjusting both his and her pillow behind him so that he could lean back and drink. "Is your throat sore?" At his nod, she said, "I'm going to make you some tea and broth." When his little nose screwed up, she smiled and brushed his hair back. "Sorry, buddy, but you need to get some nourishment, and the broth will be easier to get down."
King jumped down and trotted into the woods but she knew he'd soon return. It didn't take but a few minutes to get the fire going and put on a pot of water for Davy's tea. Last night she'd used the coffeepot to heat the water but this morning she desperately needed coffee instead of the weaker tea. Another pot held both water and strips of the hardtack they'd eaten on the trail. The water would soften the tough meat while the rehydrated beef jerky would add nutrients and flavor to the water. She hummed as she worked, the soft sound not only soothing her as she worked but knowing it would also soothe her son. Once the meager meal was ready, she took it to him. He sipped the tea, and though he made faces that had her smiling, he took a few sips of the beef broth. When he attempted to push the cup back into her hand, she shook her head.
"Can't you try a piece of meat?" As his head turned from side to side, she sighed. "Do you think you might be able to eat a flapjack?" His nod had her continuing. "Then I'll make you a nice big one, but only if you finish every drop of that broth." His enthusiasm waned at her offer but she knew he needed every bit of food she could get into him. "I believe we still have a jar of strawberry jam. If you finish that broth and find the jar, you can slather it on your flapjack, deal?" This time his nod was a bit more vigorous, though when he started coughing, she did place her hand around his to hold the cup of broth steady until it passed.
"Good boy," she said as King leapt back onto the pallet. "You can feed the beef to your dog while I fix your flapjacks." She waited until Davy dug a piece of the jerky from the depths of his cup and held it out to the dog, who carefully took it from his fingers, before returning to the fire. Remembering Mr. Stone's instructions, she mixed the batter. If Davy's cough didn't improve soon, she knew that she'd be taking him to town to find the doctor. It would take funds they couldn't really afford but she'd give every penny she owned if it meant ensuring her son's health. Making a list of provisions they needed, she expertly flipped the pancake once bubbles had popped up on its surface. Sliding it onto a plate, she returned to Davy, smiling to see the empty cups and his huge grin as he held out a small jar of preserves.
"Perfect," she said, opening the jar and allowing him to dip his fork into it, watching as he heaped a great deal of jam into the center of his flapjack. Taking the jar from him, she watched as he folded the concoction in half and bit into it. It was a simple thing and yet, seeing his enjoyment, she felt her worries lighten just a bit. Leaving him to his breakfast, she made another flapjack but ate it plain, sipping a cup of coffee, sitting on the edge of the pallet. He managed to eat all of the flapjack, a smear of jam at the corner of his mouth the only remainder of his fare. She fixed him another cup of tea and when his eyes began to droop, only opening wider as a round of coughs left him gasping a bit, she made her decision.
"You rest a bit and then we're going into town. I don't like the sound of that cough." When he didn't protest, her worry grew, as he normally would fight tooth and nail at the thought of seeing a doctor. Helping him to lie down again, petting King as he curled up beside him, she kissed her son's cheek. "It's going to be fine, I promise." His small hand reached up to stroke her cheek, causing her heart to lurch in her chest. God, she adored this little man.
While
he slept, she washed the dishes as well as their wet clothing from the day before. Spreading the clothing out on the grass to dry, she couldn't help but compare the difference in the sizes of the two shirts she'd laid out side by side. One seemed impossibly large, easily having enough fabric to make three of the smaller shirt next to it. Remembering how the shirt had fit across a pair of wide shoulders, she smiled. With time and luck, perhaps one day her son would need such a large garment. Leaving the wash to dry in the sun, she found clothes for Davy and her spare petticoat. What she couldn't find was his missing boot. Had she left it on the river bank? Closing her eyes, she attempted to picture the scene as she and Mr. Stone had stripped him. With a groan, she remembered wondering at the time where his boot was. Evidently he'd lost it during his time in the water. Removing a few items from her mental list, she took some money from its hiding place and stuck it into her string bag. She could drink her coffee black and they could do without butter. Putting shoes on her son's feet was far more important. After she had saddled Buttercup and made sure the foal was securely hobbled and had a bucket of fresh water, Sally woke Davy, dressing him. Stuffing his socks into her skirt pocket, she lifted him to the ground.
"We'll get you some new boots after we visit the doctor, all right?" He bowed his head then lifted it, his eyes showing his sorrow from having lost his footwear.
"It's all right, sweetie," she assured him. "Those were getting a bit tight, anyway. Your poor toes are gonna be grateful you lost that boot." She ruffled his hair, earning her a smile and a nod. He was already standing on the rock they used as a mounting block when she brought Buttercup over. He climbed onto the horse's back, scooting forward as Sally mounted and wrapped one arm around him. "Can you call King?" she asked casually, hiding her disappointment when instead of calling verbally, he clapped his hands. The dog came trotting over, his tail wagging.
"Good boy," she said. They began to descend from the meadow they called home, heading for a town she'd only seen from a distance.