by Pam Crooks
“What happened to cause the stampede last night?” McClure demanded. “Anyone know?”
Their talking ended; expressions shifted toward him.
“Could’ve been a lot of things, Mr. McClure.”
His gaze swung to Billy Aspen, a veteran cowboy who’d put in his share of years working with cattle. One of the assigned night-herders, Carina guessed he wanted to make sure he didn’t get blamed for them bolting.
“No storm rolled in that I could see. No lightning, no thunder.” McClure propped a booted foot on a boulder jutting from the ground. “Haven’t seen a tumble-weed since we left the C Bar C. Of course, it could’ve been a fox or a coyote that spooked the cattle. Maybe a rabbit. Anyone see any or hear any?”
Heads shook. Faces were grave. Their moods as serious as McClure’s.
“Real quiet night last night,” he said. “But this soon out from their home range, the cattle were a long way from being trail-broke. Wouldn’t take much to spook them.”
Agreement rippled through them.
“That stampede had something to do with the fire someone lit,” McClure snapped.
Carina nearly spewed coffee. A fire? What fire?
“You know anything about it, Orlin?” he demanded.
All heads swung toward the ranch hand.
Including Carina’s.
And he looked as nervous as a prostitute in church. As if he’d rather be anywhere but here, with McClure and the entire C Bar C outfit glowering their disapproval at him.
“Now, listen up, McClure. Ain’t no way you can pin that fire on me,” he sputtered, jowls quivering.
“When you went on herd, you were stationed at the rear while Billy and Ronnie guarded the front. That’s where I found that fire, Orlin. At the rear and still hot.”
“Yeah? Don’t mean I started it.”
“No one else out there but you,” McClure shot back. “What happened? Did you get cold? A little bored, maybe? Did you decide to get a fire going to warm yourself?”
Orlin’s mouth puckered, as though he was gathering up the words to deny it.
“To start the fire, you had to strike a match,” McClure said before he could. “As quiet as the night was, it could’ve been the match that spooked the herd you were supposed to keep calm. Might’ve been the wood you were burning, too. Popping and crackling, like wood does.”
A slow boil stirred inside Carina. The implications of what he’d done… the negligence, the risk.
“You couldn’t have made the fire while you were still in the saddle.” Unrelenting, McClure kept on. “You had to get down off your horse to start it. You probably stayed down a spell, too. Just so you could get warm all over.”
How could the man be so thoughtless? So utterly stupid?
“No one gets off his horse when he’s guarding the herd.” McClure’s voice rumbled. “No one.”
And now, because of Orlin, it’d take even longer to get to Dodge City. To get to her little girl.
“A man gets distracted when he’s not in the saddle, ready to ride if the cattle get spooked and bolt. He loses time when they do. By then, it’s too late.”
Did the lazy lout think of Callie Mae at all?
“You’ve cost us a night without sleep and a day off the trail. But even worse, Woollie got hurt. Did you think about any of that when you struck the match, Orlin?” McClure grated.
“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” he snapped. “I didn’t start the stampede on purpose. It was an accident. A pure accident.”
At the admission, a muscle leaped in McClure’s cheek. Grumbles of head-shaking disgust went through the others.
“Damn you, Orlin,” Carina fumed.
Had she ever hired a man more worthless?
McClure straightened. “All right. The rest of you, get some sleep. We’ll pull out in a few hours. Orlin, get your sorry ass over here.”
Reproving glares shot from the men like arrows from a Comanche’s bow, but they were quick to cover the ground with their bedrolls, clearly more interested in following McClure’s orders than seeing him make Orlin suffer for his sin. Each of them more forgiving than Carina.
While Orlin lumbered reluctantly toward them, McClure angled his body in front of her, keeping their conversation from drifting.
“I know you want to fire him, but don’t,” he said, his voice low.
“He’s got it coming.”
“Probably.”
“So why the hell wouldn’t I?”
“If I have to tell you the answer to that, then it’s a good thing I’m trail boss.” He leveled her with a hard glance. “And not you.”
He stepped back and left her mind working through his words while her pride worked through his arrogance. Orlin shuffled up, and Carina swallowed down a scathing reprimand to them both. McClure might have let his respect for her authority slip, but at least he had the courtesy of not doing it in front of the ranch hand.
“Now before you get all set on sending me packing, McClure, I want you to know I’m needin’ this job real bad,” Orlin said.
McClure nodded, took a sip of coffee gone cold by now. “Reckon that’s why you hired out with us.”
“I shouldn’t have done what I did. I know that now. And everythin’ that happened, it was an accident.”
“So you said.”
“I’ve never been nothin’ but a sheep farmer ‘til I came over to the C Bar C. Ain’t never trailed cattle before, so how the hell was I supposed to know what I should and shouldn’t do?”
“Because I told you.”
A moment passed while Orlin did some recollecting. “Well, I must’ve forgot.”
Carina rolled her eyes. Despite her stewing, she kept her mouth shut.
“The damage is done, Orlin,” McClure said. “Main thing is, you ’fessed up to the mistake. Next time you do something wrong, just let me know. Don’t go making me hunt down the truth.”
“No, sir.”
“I’m good at it,” McClure said, his voice rough. “Finding out the truth.”
“Yes, sir.” Clearly relieved at his continued employment, Orlin’s cheeks quivered from a vigorous nod. “Seems you are.”
“We’ll go on from here. Miss Lockett and I, we’re going to give you another chance. But it’s going to be your last. Understand?”
“Yes, Mr. McClure. I do.”
“Good enough, then. Get some sleep.”
“Guess I will.” He hesitated. Blew out a breath. “Thanks.”
Then, he hurried off.
Carina’s lips thinned. Well. As much as she hated to admit it, McClure was fair. Considering the consequences of the stampede, losing Woollie and having a frustrating delay to get Callie Mae back, she wouldn’t have been as reasonable.
“We’re shorthanded. We need him,” McClure said simply, reading her thoughts.
“How long do you suppose he’ll be licking your boots?” she asked, recalling the deference which had slipped into the word Mister when Orlin addressed him.
“If he’s smart, until we get to Dodge City. After that, it doesn’t matter.”
Her lip curled, revealing her skepticism that the lazy lout would make it so far. “He doesn’t deserve to stay on with us.”
“I disagree.”
“Doesn’t matter if you do.”
“You’re thinking of Callie Mae. That’s personal. I’m thinking of trailing your herd north as fast as we can, any way we can. That’s business.”
Yes. Her perspective was skewed. Another time, another year, driving the beeves to market would have been routine. A financial necessity scores of other ranchers would do, too, for all the same reasons.
This year was different.
This year was worse.
A nightmare she’d never conceived of living.
“It’s not that simple, McClure,” she said.
He narrowed an eye over the dawning horizon, and a faraway look stole into his rugged features. It seemed he returned to a world different than where he was
, here on the Texas range. A place in his past. And forgot Carina was there.
Then, he pulled himself back. Inclined his head with a sardonic glint in his eye. And smiled coldly.
“You’re right, Miss Lockett,” he said. “It’s not.”
Chapter 7
Afternoon, Day Two
Rogan watched the huge mass of bellowing longhorns ford the Washita River with extreme satisfaction.
A beautiful sight, that herd.
They swam with their heads just out of the water and their broad horns pointing to the sky. The C Bar C riders kept the cattle’s momentum going, slow and steady, with persistent yips and yells.
From his place on a ridge, Durant beside him, both of them hidden in the brush, Rogan’s gaze swept the riders for one familiar, wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Carina. He found her in the water with the rest of her men, looking slender and out of place as she added her voice to theirs to get those longhorns crossed over to the river’s north bank.
“Any idea who the man next to her is?” Durant asked.
Rogan shifted his study. Compared to the other riders spread out point and flank, this one kept close to her side. As if he was afraid she’d get caught in a swift undercurrent and be swept away if he wasn’t there to keep her from it.
“No.”
The distance separating them prevented Rogan from getting a good look, but the man rode with confidence in the saddle, as if he forded rivers every day. He called out orders, and the men listened.
“Maybe her trail boss, eh?” Durant said.
Rogan didn’t know what happened to her precious foreman, Woollie. Or why this man took his place. But he took note of him, just in case. “Maybe.”
“He’s acting like her shadow. He must think she needs protecting.”
Rogan grunted. “She doesn’t need a man to protect her from anything.”
“Except us.” Durant grinned.
Rogan scowled. “Not even then.”
The woman was tough. Driven. But he’d enjoyed her company once. A decade ago. She’d been young, hot-blooded. A firestorm in bed. Even now, she made him hard from the remembrance.
Only thing that softened her up these days was Callie Mae.
The daughter he never wanted.
His lip curled in disgust. Carina had been foolish to let herself get pregnant. He’d made it clear their time together in Dallas would be just for fun. Without attachments. She should’ve known he had no intention of being any woman’s husband. Or any child’s father.
He returned his scrutiny to the river and those beautiful cows that would be his salvation. His ticket back to the life he’d had before that damned government agent took it away from him.
Hate stirred, the way it always did when he thought of Penn McClure. Abigail had warned him of the man’s determination to make him pay for his counterfeiting crimes. If McClure found him, he’d throw him in jail. Mother would disown him for sure. And then where would he be?
She didn’t know about his counterfeiting, and she wouldn’t. Ever. Not if he could help it. Mavis Webb controlled the purse strings to the Webb fortune, slowed the flow of money into his account to a pathetic allowance and constantly nagged him to be a success like his father.
Rogan did a slow seethe. She should know how much he’d tried. All she saw was how he’d failed.
She’d despise his illegal activities and any scandal they brought to the high-and-mighty Webb name. But she wasn’t above agreeing to a little blackmail to get what she wanted. And she wanted Callie Mae. It’d been easy to convince Mother to force Carina to bargain with him. She’d been desperate enough to go along with the ploy.
“Carina Lockett will want to get even,” Durant said.
“What if she does?” he demanded, dragging his thoughts from the past. “She won’t get Callie Mae back until she pays us first.”
“Maybe your old lady won’t give her up.”
Rogan opened his mouth to argue. Then closed it again. It was something he’d considered, Mother wanting to keep Callie Mae for herself. Taking her somewhere far away where Carina couldn’t find her.
She was selfish enough to do it. Rogan was convinced she’d always been secretly disappointed he wasn’t born smart and female.
Which was how Callie Mae got to be so important to her.
The daughter Mavis Webb never had.
And that made him more determined than ever to go through with his plan. Rogan glared at the gunslinger. “Having second thoughts, Durant?”
“Without her cattle, Carina Lockett’s ruined. She won’t give that herd up without a fight.”
Rogan considered what she could be capable of, and involuntarily, his glance fell to the man riding at her side. If he was as protective as he looked, he could be a problem, too.
Rogan squared his shoulders. He couldn’t let Durant’s paranoia affect him. They’d come too far to start second-guessing themselves now.
Besides, that big, beautiful herd was heading due north. Carina wanted her daughter back. That would keep her cooperative and trailing right on schedule.
A few weeks, Rogan reminded himself. They’d be in Dodge City.
And then, finally, he’d have the money he needed.
After Midnight, Day Three
Carina couldn’t sleep. Again.
The agony of being away from Callie Mae kept her awake. Every minute of every grueling day, her daughter was there. In her mind, filling her thoughts, pushing her onward through the hours until she should’ve dropped like a rock from exhaustion at night.
She didn’t.
She tossed and turned in her bedroll. Stared up at the canvas roof of her tent. Fought tears of frustration and fury and terror at Rogan, his mother, and yes, Callie Mae, for what they’d done.
This worry, no mother should have to endure it. The haunting agony from not being with her child, not knowing if she was safe, happy or sad…
Mavis could have booked passage with her on a ship by now. From where, Carina could only speculate. New Orleans? New York? She didn’t know a thing about their plans, which direction they were headed, or who they were with.
Carina groaned. Callie Mae had never stepped beyond Texas state lines in her life. Was she homesick at all? Crying? Frightened?
The nightmare of having her so far away, maybe already on the great Atlantic Ocean, surrounded by hundreds, thousands, of miles of water turned Carina’s stomach into nauseating mush. What if the ship sank? Or a storm rolled in and blew them off course? They’d be stranded, helpless, even lost in the horrendous depths of some part of the ocean only God knew where.
But Carina wouldn’t know. Until it was too late.
If only she could find out. She’d take after them, fast as greased lightning, and then, Mavis Webb—
The old witch deserved to be shot.
Carina rolled to her side, jerked up the quilt. And fumed.
If she was a man, Rogan wouldn’t have succeeded at blackmailing her. She would’ve had the physical strength to fight both him and Durant off and prevent them from zeroing in on the one thing that set her apart from being male.
Being a mother.
Her one weak spot. Rogan had blindsided her with Mavis’s help, betrayed her trust, hit her hard where she expected it least.
Frustrated, eyes brimming, Carina tossed aside the quilt and sat up. She’d been so stupid not to have seen through their scheme. Mavis with her spoiling of Callie Mae, turning her head to extravagant fripperies.
Damn the woman for being so clever. So calculating.
Carina covered her face with her hands and fought the sob welling in her throat. Did her little girl enjoy running away? Had the allure of traveling to faraway places turned her forever from the C Bar C? Her legacy?
Or did she want to come back? And couldn’t?
The endless questions pelted Carina’s heart until she bled. Until her surroundings turned suffocating. She needed air, the freedom, the peace of the late night.
She had t
o get out.
She flung the tent’s canvas flap open and slipped through. The camp was quiet except for the scattered snores of the men splayed around the fire. Beyond its flickering light, the cattle rested, calmed by the faint croons of the night-herders. Somewhere beyond, a coyote howled.
Carina stood, breathed in deep, held the air in her lungs. For long moments, with her eyes closed, she didn’t move.
Then, she exhaled, slow and deliberate. And her anguish faded in degrees.
She’d get through this, one day at a time.
Her eyes opened. The night’s dark serenity gathered her in. Air slid cool through the thin cotton sleeves of her nightgown, raising the flesh on her skin. Rough range grass prickled the bottoms of her bare feet.
After supper, in the privacy of a stand of cottonwoods, she’d bathed in Sourdough’s big metal tub. Washed her hair, too, and left the tresses loose to dry. Feeling clean again and donning a fresh nightgown had been heaven after the afternoon’s rigors of fording the Washita River.
Now, Carina gave little thought to her dishabille. It was late, and the exhausted outfit slept like stones after another day of hard work. No one would see her. She was far from being shy, but she was their boss, and she was the only woman on this drive. She had to keep the boundaries clear.
They were the only family she had right now, her men. This far from the C Bar C, circumstances being what they were, where would she be without them?
And yet… she needed McClure most.
Her gaze lifted toward the herd. He’d taken the worst of the shifts as night-herder despite having gone almost a full day without solid rest, an offer the others were only too glad to accept.
The man had the stamina of a bull, for sure.
She was grateful for all he did. More than he knew. His focus on getting her to Dodge City and everything he did in between stirred up a growing dependence on him that she couldn’t ignore.
The fire had withered down to glowing embers. Wanting to keep away pesky critters, Carina stepped gingerly over the bristly grass, making her way toward the chuck wagon and the leather sling beneath where Sourdough kept a supply of cow chips. She’d only need a few to build the fire again, and bending, she reached toward the pile—