Retrieving the jar of buttermilk from the water, she shook it before pouring herself a cup. After swigging half of it, she refilled the cup before returning the jar to the cold water.
Now that her stomach had calmed some, she nibbled the cookie and sipped her drink on the way back to the house. Perhaps this was not the best time to confront Ruby about not returning to school in the fall. But when was a good time?
At least she’d heard no more of the drifter, so perhaps he’d heeded the warnings and taken his sorry hide on west or north. Maybe he’d freeze to death if he went far enough north. She’d not let on to Ruby she’d had that kind of thought, just like she didn’t say she wished she’d shot him. If Christians shouldn’t have such thoughts, what did that make her? That wasn’t a good thought either.
She leaned against the south wall of the log house, letting the sun sink into her bones to drive out the cold and apathy of the long dark winter, playing the future discussion with Ruby out in her mind. . . .
‘‘If you weren’t going to school, what would you be doing?’’ Ruby would ask.
‘‘Training horses. Whatever Rand needed to have done on the ranch.’’
‘‘I see. And what if there are no horses to train?’’
‘‘Once I build a good enough reputation, people will bring me their horses to break and train.’’
‘‘What if they can’t afford your services?’’
‘‘I could take a colt or calf or something in exchange.’’
‘‘That’s true. But . . .’’
Opal heaved a sigh. The conversation would just go around in circles. With Ruby there would always be one more ‘‘but.’’
The heat felt good on her closed eyelids, soaking into her body. She listened to the sounds of spring. One of the hens was cackling. Must have laid an egg. A cow bawled somewhere off in the distance. A bee buzzed past her nose. The breeze tickling the cottonwood leaves set them giggling.
That same breeze brought a whiff of the outhouse. Most likely needed to dump lime down the holes again. Per called for his mother. Ghost stuck her nose into Opal’s palm and nudged her silent request for an ear scratching.
Opal tried to ignore all the sounds and smells so she could continue dreaming about rounding up wild horses to train.
Ghost whimpered.
‘‘Oh, all right. How come you’re with me instead of Per, anyhow?’’ She rubbed the dog’s ears, headed into the house to set her cup in the dishpan on the stove, and went down the hall to change into work clothes. Chores were calling her name. The discussion with Ruby would have to come at some other time.
‘‘Hey, Miss Opal, how about you goin’ out and findin’ Fawn? We let that fool cow out of the fence to graze with some of the others, and she done left. I got me a feelin’ she’s hidin’ out to have her calf.’’ Linc leaned over the corral fence.
‘‘Sure. Walk or ride?’’
‘‘Better take Bay.’’
Opal whistled, and Bay, who was grazing some distance away, threw up her head. Opal whistled again, and the mare broke into a jog, then a lope.
Linc, his black skin glistening in the sun like he’d been oiled, chuckled and shook his head. ‘‘That horse minds better’n most kids.’’
Opal fetched her bridle.
‘‘You might want to saddle up in case you need to rope that cow. She might be a bit testy when you try to drive her in.’’
‘‘I will.’’
Once she was mounted again, Opal rode up to the house and dismounted. ‘‘I’m heading out to look for Fawn. Linc said she took off, and he thinks she is calving somewhere. I’m taking the rifle in case I see a deer.’’
‘‘Get home before dark.’’
‘‘I will.’’ Opal paused. ‘‘Ghost! Hey, dog. Ghost, come on. Cows.’’
Ghost trotted around the corner of the house, tongue lolling. The word cows took precedence even over Per.
Opal nudged Bay into a lope and, with rifle secured in the scabbard, headed north across the meadow in the direction Linc had pointed. Farther up the draw oak trees, Juneberry bushes, and other brush offered good shelter for both calving cows and resting deer. The closer to dusk, the more likely the deer would take the trails down to the river to drink. On the edge of the wooded area she waved Ghost to go searching. Having a cow dog trained to hand signals was sure easier than beating her way through the brush in search of a cow that wanted to stay hidden. As she rode on up the game trail, glued to Bay’s neck to keep from being dragged off by low-hanging branches, she heard something crashing off to her left. She stopped Bay, but her own heart picked up speed. When two steers crossed the path in front of her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Rand had warned her that bears were out of hibernation now, and if riled, they didn’t go through the brush lightly.
She patted Bay’s neck. ‘‘You’d have told me if it was something to be afraid of, wouldn’t you, girl?’’ Bay snorted, ears pricked as Ghost took up her place just ahead of them.
‘‘Good dog, Ghost, but wrong cows. Go find.’’
Ghost headed out again, tongue lolling, eyes bright and eager. Ghost loved to find cows probably even more than Opal loved to train horses. She nudged Bay forward again.
A cow bellering, sounding full of panic, brought the hair up on her neck as she heard growls and yips at the same time.
Ghost barked once, imperatively.
Opal drove Bay through the brush. There’s more than one dog there. What else could it be? Coyote? Wild dog? She threw up her arm and ducked her head to keep branches from flaying her face. Bay snorted and plowed to a stop.
The wild-eyed cow stood in front of her still-wet calf. Three snarling coyotes, two in frontal attack position to the cow, one circling behind to get at the calf. Ghost lit into one with a growl.
Opal unsheathed her gun, held it to her shoulder, and fired. The coyote attacking the calf was lifted from the ground with the force of the bullet and crumpled. She pumped another shell into the breech, sighted on a second coyote, and dropped it.
‘‘Ghost!’’
The third coyote dodged away with Ghost after it.
‘‘Ghost. Drop!’’
With a confused look over her shoulder, the dog bellied to the ground, her whine pitiful in its beseeching.
The cow snorted, turned to nuzzle her calf while Opal dismounted and walked toward her. ‘‘Easy, girl. You’re all right now.’’ Opal spoke gently, all the while checking the cow for slash marks from the marauding attackers. Fawn spun like a longhorn and, head down, charged toward Opal.
‘‘No, girl, no!’’
Opal dodged behind a tree as Ghost lived up to her name, appearing between cow and girl as if by magic. With a nip to the cow’s nose, she drove her back to her calf.
‘‘Good dog.’’ Opal leaned against the tree trunk and patted her chest, willing her heart to settle back down and not leap out of her throat.
Ghost returned to sit right in front of her and wriggle from nose to the bit of fluff called a tail. Her whimper pleaded for attention, and Opal gave it wholeheartedly, sinking down to her knees to look the dog in the eyes as she rubbed the dog’s ears and down her shoulders.
‘‘What a good dog. Good dog.’’ When she pushed herself to her feet again, her knees felt like sodden river grass. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning to watch the calf nursing for the first time.
‘‘They’ve been busy while we caught up over here. Now how can we get cow, calf, and two coyotes home, preferably all in one trip?’’
She returned to Bay, slid the rifle in the scabbard, and took her knife out of the sheath hooked on her belt. After bleeding the coyotes, she dragged the carcasses back near the now skittish Bay.
‘‘Don’t like the idea of packing coyote, eh? Well, neither do I, but these pelts will look and feel mighty nice come winter.’’ They’d been collecting coyote pelts to make a blanket for her bed. The one she’d seen made up had been beautiful. And warm.
&n
bsp; Fawn lowed, a gentle moo that comforted the calf but also let Opal know someone else was near. Bay had already pricked her ears and whinnied just as Opal walked in front of her.
‘‘Ahh.’’ She rubbed her left ear. ‘‘You didn’t have to make me deaf, you know.’’
‘‘Opal?’’ a welcome voice called.
‘‘Over here.’’ So Rand had come looking for her. While she’d not shot twice in the instant succession of the call for help, Linc must have told him where she’d gone.
Fawn licked her calf, all the while keeping a wary eye on Opal and Ghost.
‘‘Looks like you’ve been busy.’’ Rand came into sight and stopped, crossing his arms on the saddle horn.
‘‘Could have been bad. Three coyotes were after Fawn and her calf. Ghost chewed on the other one, then ran it off.’’
‘‘I see. And the two shots were for those?’’ He motioned toward the carcasses on the ground. ‘‘You did well, I’d say.’’
‘‘Thanks. Fawn was aiming to take out her ire on me, but thanks to Ghost and a big tree, I’m fine.’’
‘‘Mad mama, eh?’’
‘‘No gratitude.’’ Opal picked up one of the coyote carcasses. ‘‘You want to carry these or the calf?’’
‘‘Let’s skin them first. Leave the rest out here for the scavengers.’’ Between the two of them they skinned out the carcasses and, rolling the hides with fur side out, tied them behind Rand’s saddle. Buck sidestepped only once, but his ears spoke loudly of his displeasure.
‘‘I’ll put a rope around Fawn’s horns and tie her to a tree.
Then we can catch the calf and put it up in front of you. Okay?’’
‘‘Fine with me, but don’t go giving her the benefit of the doubt. She’d as soon hook you as look at you.’’
Rand roped and snubbed the cow up tight to the tree, ignoring the bawling fight the critter put up. ‘‘Good grief, Fawn, you aren’t a wild longhorn mama. You’re a tame milk cow.’’
‘‘She forgot to read that line on the bill of sale.’’ Opal reached for the calf and caught only air. ‘‘Feisty little thing, aren’t you?’’ She grabbed again and got an arm around its neck. Rand took it from her, and when she was mounted, he laid it across Opal’s lap.
‘‘You better hang on to him.’’
‘‘I will.’’
Together they made their way back to the trail and on homeward, Fawn trotting beside Bay, talking all the way.
‘‘Think we’ve been cussed out in cow language,’’ Opal said when she and Rand were riding side by side.
‘‘Probably a good thing we can’t understand cow talk.’’
‘‘Oh, I think she’s getting her point across.’’
‘‘Just so she doesn’t implant those points into one of us or the horses.’’
Back at the barn they ran Fawn into a box stall and slid her calf in through the door before slamming it in her face as she charged them.
‘‘She always going to act like this?’’
‘‘No. Once she’s in the stanchion, she’ll calm down. Think she’s been too long with the longhorns. They’ve been giving her lessons.’’
‘‘I’m going to work with Missy for a while before supper.’’ She’d not had time to work with the filly for three days.
‘‘Probably not. There’s the bell.’’
Opal groaned. She pulled her rifle from the scabbard, knowing she had to clean the gun before she went to bed. That was one of the rules Rand had taught her. You took care of your horse, your rifle, and your rope, and they’d take care of you.
Ruby thought she should take care of more around the house. But how could Opal build a reputation as a horse trainer if she never had time to train horses?
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘‘I want my mama.’’
Jacob stared at the boy. Was this really his son? When he forced himself to think, he knew there could not be much doubt, considering Joel looked enough like Jacob’s younger brother to make him homesick. And his younger brother was not only too young to have a seven-year-old son, but he had not been the one to make love to Melody.
All Jacob wanted to do was go kill some more firewood.
‘‘I’m sorry. I don’t think she plans to come back.’’ What a cruel monster you are! He squatted down to be eye level with the child. What would my mother do in this situation? First of all, she’d never be caught in such a mess, and secondly, she’d . . . she’d offer food.
‘‘Are you hungry? Have you eaten?’’ he asked the boy.
‘‘Not since breakfast.’’
‘‘I see. I have some cookies and . . . and . . .’’ His mind searched the larder. ‘‘Do you like bread and cheese?’’
The boy nodded. ‘‘But I don’t want to stay here. I want to go with my mother.’’
‘‘Yes, I’d like your mother to come back too, but in the meantime why don’t you come and eat something?’’
The boy hesitated. His brow furrowed in a manner that Jacob had seen on his father all his life and been told he did the same. How can that be? The boy has not been around any of us. Jacob stood and held out his hand. ‘‘Come along, and let’s see what we can find.’’
The boy looked toward the door, then up at Jacob. ‘‘Maybe she will come back soon.’’
Jacob only nodded. He had a very definite feeling Melody would not be back. She had always lived up to her word.
Jacob indicated the chair by the table, and the boy sat on it, his dark eyes tracking every movement Jacob made. He took out a loaf of bread, sliced two pieces, and asked, ‘‘Can you eat three?’’ At the shake of the boy’s head, the father brought out a block of cheese, some jam, and butter, freshly churned the day before by one of his flock.
Often members of his congregation who lived out in the country brought him gifts when they came to church. Those in town dropped things by the church or the house. Jacob cut off several slices of cheese, motioned toward the jam, and waited until Joel nodded. ‘‘All right, bread and jam, with cheese on the plate. As soon as you finish this, I’ll bring out the cookies.’’
Am I talking just to hear myself make noise? Or because I don’t have any idea what to say? I can talk with children easily. I do so all the time. They even appear to like me. But this. . . ? What do you do when you meet your son for the first time and he is seven years old? And his mother leaves him and flees?
He pushed the plate across the table. ‘‘There’s water or buttermilk to drink. Which would you like?’’
‘‘Water.’’ The boy nibbled on a piece of cheese.
After dipping out a cup of water from the bucket, Jacob set it in front of the boy and went to stand at the back door, looking out over his garden and to the woods covering the hillside that grew steeper the farther he looked. Dear Lord, what do I do here? What would you do? Dumb question. You’d welcome him and surround him with love. Did Joel bring a suitcase with him? Jacob had been so shocked, he’d not thought to look.
‘‘Pardon me, but did you bring any extra clothes with you? A nightshirt?’’
Joel nodded. ‘‘By the door.’’ He went back to nibbling on the bread and jam. Mouselike, he ate around the edges, small bites as if being polite.
‘‘Would you rather have something else?’’
‘‘No. Yes. I want my mother.’’ His eyes filled with tears, and while Jacob watched, one tear meandered down the boy’s cheek.
Jacob could feel his heart crack. He crossed the room and knelt beside the chair. ‘‘Ah, Joel, I am so sorry she left. Of course you want your mother. If there was any way to get her back here, I would do so.’’ He put his arm around the now shaking shoulders and leaned his cheek on the boy’s soft hair.
‘‘I-I wa-want my m-mother.’’ Sobs so strong it shook them both made Jacob scoop his son up in his arms and carry him to the big chair in front of the fireplace. Sitting down, he held the shuddering body close and murmured words he hoped were comforting.
The shudders turned
to sobs, the sobs to sniffs, and periodically the child’s body jerked as he fell asleep, his head on Jacob’s chest.
One minute Jacob felt like crying too, the next minute he wanted to rage at the woman who had been so heartless as to leave her son with a total stranger. What was the matter with her? Why had she not let him know of this child? How had she found him now? Questions tumbled through his mind like rocks from a cliff. Would there be a landslide to bury everything?
Where would Joel sleep? There was only one bed in the house, and Jacob had never shared a bed since he left home. Tall as he was, he slept kitty-corner on it already.
Only two choices, he told himself. A pallet on the floor or he sleeps with me. What if he wakes in the night and is terrified?
He rose with the child in his arms, carried him to the bedroom, and laid him on the bed. He returned to the front room, where a tattered satchel waited by the door. He snatched it up and headed back to the bedroom, not opening it until he set it on the bed. Joel hadn’t moved. He lay on his back, long eyelashes like his mother’s feathered on cheeks red from crying. Dark shadows purpled under his eyes, and a narrow line of scar on his right cheek looked like a cat scratch.
Jacob sank down on the foot of the bed. How could his life have changed so in an instant? One moment he’d been alone, and now he had a son and a whole mess of muddle. What a heyday the gossipmongers would have with this.
Forcing himself to tend to the matter at hand rather than succumb to the dither going on in his head, he unbuckled the flap on the satchel and reached inside. He withdrew a sweater, a shirt, trousers, drawers, a nightshirt. Several pairs of socks lay in the bottom, and an envelope. With his name on it.
He put the other things back in the bag, keeping out the nightshirt and the envelope.
While he unlaced Joel’s shoes, he fought the anger that attacked again like a waiting cat. A big cat, one that threatened to rip his throat. What kind of mother would dump her son on a stranger and run off? What kind of mother never let the father know he had a son? Where had she gone? How had she found him? Where had she been all these years? Questions snarled at questions, fighting and clawing for supremacy.
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