Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter (10 page)

The drawing of Maria captured everything about her—her beauty, her grit, her smile—especially her smile. Trey had sketched her with her hair pulled back and caught with a ribbon at the nape of her neck. Her curls tumbled down her back and over one shoulder. Trey had caught her at an unguarded moment, though Chet knew that there were few of those. Maria always seemed to be expecting the worst. Her smile was rare and her laughter even more so.

Here, she was grinning out at the world, her eyes focused straight at him. But the way Trey had sketched her eyes made the smile a lie. The expression in her eyes was wary and sad. Chet wondered if the boy would miss the drawing if he were to tear it from the pad and place it with his sketch folded carefully between the pages of his tally book.

“Hunt!”

He looked up and saw Turnbull riding toward him. He quickly closed the sketchbook and returned it to his saddlebag, then turned to wait for the foreman. Dawn was just breaking as Turnbull's horse came straight for him at a full gallop. Cracker let out a low growl of warning and Chet's horse whinnied and sidestepped a little, but Chet steadied him and climbed into the saddle just as the foreman jerked his horse to a stop that sprayed dust in the air—dust that clung to the lather around his steed's breast straps.

“Been looking for you, Hunt.”

“I've been out here all night, watching the herd.”

“Didn't look to me like you were watching any herd. Looked to me like you were standing around—reading some letter.” His eyes glinted. “You got a woman somewhere we don't know about?”

“A sister,” Chet said, taking advantage of the fact that although Turnbull had seen that he was holding some papers, he hadn't been close enough to distinguish the sketchbook from a letter. “I suppose a sister might count as having a woman somewhere.”

Turnbull pranced his horse in a tight circle, one that brought the two animals close enough to make each other nervous, but Chet knew that his horse was bulletproof when it came to not letting things rattle her. By contrast, Turnbull's horse was tossing its head and snapping its jaws. Turnbull controlled the animal and then leaned in close enough that Chet could see every hair in his mustache. “You and me, Hunter, need to come to an understanding,” he said, his words delivered with such grit that spittle formed in one corner of his mouth.

Chet eased his fingers around the handle of his whip. “I'm listening.”

“I run the Clear Springs Ranch. I decide whether or not water flow needs to be looked into. I take care of Maria and her family. I do not need or want your help. Do your job out here, and we'll get along just fine. Keep butting in where you've no business, and we won't.”

“Sounds like more of a threat than an understanding.”

Turnbull's grin was filled with malice. “
Here's
the threat.”

Cracker flattened her ears and growled again.

Chet showed the dog his hand, palm down, all the while never taking his eyes off Turnbull. “I'm listening.”

“Keep messing with me and keep sniffing around Maria, and one day you might just be gone.”

“Like Joker?”

“Exactly like Joker,” Turnbull growled, and he turned his horse and galloped off.

Even though the foreman had as good as admitted that he at least knew the truth about Joker's disappearance, Chet couldn't do anything about it with no proof. What he knew for sure though was that Roger Turnbull was determined to have what he wanted whatever the cost, and that included Maria and her ranch. The thing that troubled him was why—if the man was so set on having it all—he wouldn't be as concerned about all this trouble with the Tiptons as Chet was.

Chet took an extra shift when he heard Slim was down with stomach trouble, and the following night, the sky was alive with lightning strikes that sent their jagged spears from sky to ground, striking anything in their path. The night riders were kept busy putting out small grass fires, and by morning it was clear that the lightning that had finally brought a steady, soft rain that promised to last for hours, if not days, had hit more than the grass. As Chet rode the circuit, he saw half a dozen dead steers killed by the strikes. One cow had fallen onto her calf. He freed the calf as he and the other men worked in the steady rain to salvage what they could in meat and hides from the dead stock and clear the rest away.

Exhausted after nearly twenty-four hours on duty, Chet and the others went down to the stream to wash off the blood and guts of the dead stock. That was when he noticed that in spite of the steady rain that Bunker had now officially declared the monsoon they'd been waiting for, the stream still was not flowing the way it should be. Something—or someone—was messing with the water that supplied the small ranches. Turnbull's threats aside, Chet was determined to find his chance to get onto Tipton land. The only problem was that getting on the other side of that fence was likely to end in bloodshed—his blood.

Once Maria—with Eliza's help—convinced Amanda that the party would not be a ball but rather the usual and far more casual barn dance, her sister had settled on a less expensive green calico for herself, a solid maroon cotton for their mother, and for Maria, a ready-made dress in shades of blue with full bell sleeves that ended in a wide, lacy border to match the collar trimming the square neckline.

“The neckline is too revealing,” Maria had protested after Eliza and Amanda insisted she try the garment on. “And it's so full—there's too much fabric.”

“It's light as air, that fabric, and will look wonderful when you dance,” Amanda replied as she studied Maria's reflection in the mirror.

“Besides, it's on sale,” Eliza had chimed in, being no help at all. “I don't know what possessed me to order that dress in the first place, but it was just so gol-darned pretty.”

“Then you wear it,” Maria had grumbled, biting her lip as she turned this way and that. But she had to admit that Amanda was right. The way the skirt swirled was like watching a child's toy top twirl until the colors ran together. “Not to mention it's too long, and I'm likely to break my fool neck just trying to walk from here to there.”

“I'll hem it for you,” Eliza offered and immediately went behind the counter where she kept a pincushion and tape measure. “What shoe will you wear?”

Maria looked at the shopkeeper as if she had suddenly lost her mind. “These shoes,” she said, lifting the skirt to reveal her scuffed and dirt-encrusted boots she'd brought with her in the wagon and changed into the minute she'd left the bank.

“No!” Amanda grabbed a pair of soft leather shoes from the shelf. “These are perfect.”

“Amanda, I will either wear new shoes or a new dress but not both, so take your pick.”

Eliza waited, a line of straight pins gripped between her lips. Maria stood with the boots exposed and glared at her sister. “Well?”

“The dress.” Amanda took pins from the pincushion and knelt to the other side of Maria so she could help Eliza measure and shorten the dress. “Now stand still,” she ordered.

Maria knew she had won that battle. The dress would have been her choice as well. The dress would eventually end up in Amanda's wardrobe, so at least it would get more than one wearing. Shoes, on the other hand, were not so easy to share. Her feet were a full size larger than Amanda's, so buying shoes just to dance in one night would have been a pure waste of money. She followed instructions, turning as her sister and Eliza pinned up the hem. When they had finished, she hurried off to the room behind the counter that Eliza had designated a changing room now that she carried more ready-made clothing items, changed back into her regular clothes, and finally emerged to find the woman she'd noticed getting off the stagecoach entering the store, the baby now squalling loudly.

“Can y'all help me?” she said without so much as a “howdy” or “please.”

Eliza stepped forward, and the woman deposited the child in Eliza's waiting arms and then straightened her form-fitting jacket and touched her hair as if checking for missing hairpins. She was no longer wearing the duster the stagecoach company provided for female customers. Instead, she stood before them dressed in a traveling costume made of a stiff lemon-yellow brocade with the skirt bustled in the back and the tight bodice buttoned all the way to her chin. A fine lace border outlined the top of the gown and the bottom of the sleeves. Her hair was flecked with dust and capped by a feathered flat pancake of a bonnet. Amanda's eyes were wide with envy and admiration. Maria felt as if her Sunday best would be something this woman might wear for a picnic.

“Your child needs changing,” Eliza said.

“Oh.” The woman blinked as if Eliza were speaking a foreign language. “I sent my—our—valises on to the hotel. Maybe you could…?”

“Of course, Missus…?”

“My name is Loralei Culpepper.”

“And the baby's name?” Eliza persisted, gently rocking the child in her arms.

“Chester Lee Hunter the Second,” she replied.

“Chet?” Amanda whispered, nudging Maria.

“Yes, Chet,” the woman replied, honing in on Amanda. “You wouldn't know where I could find him, would you?”

“Well, sort of. I mean, he works for us.” She glanced at Maria, her eyes pleading for help.

But Maria had been struck dumb. So this was the big secret. This was why the drifter was so far from home. He was running away from something all right—responsibility.

“Chet's your husband?” Amanda asked, determined to get the facts.

“Chester is my intended,” the woman replied. “We did not make it to the altar before his untimely departure.”

“But apparently they sure as tootin' made it to the bedroom,” Eliza murmured as she carried the baby to the counter, pulled a length of the brown paper she used for wrapping purchases across the surface and laid the baby on it as she began exchanging his filthy diaper for one she fashioned from a flour sack tea towel.

Loralei removed a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes, although Maria saw no sign of tears. “It is an oversight that I am certain he will be anxious to rectify once he realizes that he is a daddy.”

“No doubt,” Maria said. “Where are you staying, Miss Culpepper?”

“Well, that remains to be decided. You see, I stopped by the hotel, but the room they showed me is most unsuitable—small and dark, with everything covered in dust.” She absently ran one gloved finger along a glass-topped showcase, examined it, and frowned. “It would seem that everything in this town is in a similar state.”

“Been awhile since we got any rain,” Eliza said, handing the baby back to her.

The child immediately went for the long coil of a curl that hung down from her elaborate hairstyle. She swatted at him as she might a fly. “Stop that,” she growled.

Maria fought the urge to snatch the child from her arms.

“I suppose you could come stay with us until Chet gets back,” she found herself saying instead.

Loralei's smile lit her entire face, and for the first time since meeting the woman, Maria could see what Chet must have seen—flawless, creamy skin, unblemished by the harsh sun and wind; blue eyes that were like sapphires; and that perfectly bow-shaped mouth. Over Loralei's shoulder, she could also see Amanda and Eliza staring at her as if she had lost her poor weak mind.

“I mean, we have extra room,” she continued.

“But not for long,” Amanda blurted. “You see, we're planning a party, and there will be folks coming from miles away who will need to stay over and…”

Loralei ignored her as she stepped forward and placed her free hand on Maria's sleeve. “You are too kind, and I accept your hospitality for as long as you can spare the space.” She handed Maria the child and headed for the door. “I'll just have the hotel porter bring over my luggage,” she said. “You live here in town?”

“Not exactly. My family has a ranch about five miles west.”

“My father owns a ranch back in Florida,” Loralei said, as if somehow that made them sisters. “You'll have your man come collect my things?”

“I'm afraid it's just my sister and me,” Maria replied.

“You drove yourself?” This idea seemed shocking to the woman.

“We did,” Amanda said, moving to the window. “That's our buckboard right there. Plenty of room for your
things
, and you and little Chet can ride in back.”

The woman's smile was tight. “Perhaps I have acted in haste here,” she said. “Perhaps I should stay here at the hotel, and you would be so kind as to send Chester to fetch me?”

Maria was ready to agree, but Amanda was apparently rethinking her position on the matter. “Chet works for us, miss, and right now is our busy time, so it could be some time before he could get away—weeks, maybe even a couple of months by the time…”

With each word out of Amanda's mouth Maria saw the woman becoming more agitated. “But—”

“On the other hand,” Amanda continued, “if you and the baby come with us, think what a lovely surprise that will be for Chet once he comes in from the range.”

Loralei frowned. The baby gurgled and grabbed for her hair, the feather in her bonnet, the brooch pinned to the neckline of her dress. Each time she swatted his little fist away, the child gurgled happily and moved on to the next item that caught his attention. “Is there someone—a servant perhaps—who might help with the baby?”

“Oh, I think I can assure you that your child will receive far better care at the Clear Springs Ranch than he ever could at the hotel,” Eliza said dryly.

Faced with two untenable choices, Loralei finally pasted on yet another fake smile. “Very well. I accept your kind invitation,” she announced.

“Again,” Amanda muttered.

Maria looked at the clock behind the counter. “If you could be ready at two o'clock? My sister and I are having lunch at the hotel, and then I have some business to finish at the bank.”

At the mention of food, Loralei's eyes brightened. “I would love to join you for lunch.”

“I'm afraid that's just not possible,” Amanda said. “My sister and I have things we must discuss, and well, you would just be bored to tears. Besides, Little Chet here looks like he could use a nap.”

“But it's only now before noon. What am I to do for all that time?”

It did seem cruel to leave the woman—and especially the innocent child—with no place to wait. Maria was about to give in and include them both in lunch when Eliza came to the rescue.

“You could leave the baby with me while you go arrange to collect your things and have them loaded into the buckboard. Then come back here to wait. Would that suit?”

Loralei looked around the store with its supplies of mining equipment and tools in addition to dry goods and a little bit of anything a rancher, miner, or farmer might need. “I suppose I could do some shopping…”

“That's the spirit,” Eliza said as she relieved Loralei of the child and shooed all three women out the door.

“He has a son,” Amanda whispered as she and Maria crossed the street with Loralei trailing after them, emitting little squeals every time a horse and rider passed by or she had to lift her skirts as she tiptoed around a fresh pile of horse dung.

“So it would seem,” Maria replied.

“Have you lost whatever good sense you ever had?” her sister demanded.

“You were the one who insisted she come to the ranch, and the fact is, you're right. The sooner Chet faces his responsibilities, the better.” She refused to let herself be hurt by that thought as the hotel waiter led them to a table near the window.

“We could have a wedding as part of the party,” Amanda said once they were seated, her dreamy eyes showing that she was already imagining the scene.

Maria hid a flinch.

“What do you think Juanita will say?”

She closed her eyes, imagining the scolding they were both going to endure. “My hope is that once she meets Little Chester, she will forget her irritation and see the need for someone to arrange for his proper care.”

“It's certain that his mama is not exactly the doting parent,” Amanda said. “I swear, if she had swatted at him one more time…”

“And if Nita refuses, then you and I can help with the baby,” Maria blustered, although neither of them knew the first thing about such a task.

By the time they finished lunch, Eliza had their purchases wrapped and ready for them. Together Maria and Amanda walked out to the wagon and watched as Loralei persuaded a man from the hotel to load her belongings—two large trunks and three overstuffed carpetbags. Then she held out her hand to the man as if expecting him to escort her in a dance. Instead, she allowed him to assist her in climbing into the wagon. Not once did she look at the baby that Eliza was holding.

“Good luck,” Eliza said as she handed Maria the child and stepped back so Amanda could drive the wagon out of town.

On the ride back to the ranch, Loralei settled herself against the carpetbags and immediately fell asleep, leaving Maria to care for her child as if that were perfectly normal. Within minutes of their leaving town, Little Chester laid his head on Maria's shoulder and was soon sound asleep himself. She was surprised at how solid and heavy he felt in her arms…and how perfectly right.

But then she reminded herself that this child she was mooning over was Chet's child, and the woman in the wagon was someone he had left behind—unmarried and pregnant. How could she have been so wrong about him? Loralei certainly was the last woman she would ever have thought would have traveled such a distance on her own, and yet here she was. How could Maria not believe her story? Why else would Loralei travel more than halfway across the country to find Chet if it wasn't true?

Maria felt her chest fill with a stew of anger and regret and half a dozen other emotions that she did not begin to understand. Were all men not to be trusted, or was she just so gullible when it came to the male of the species that she was an easy mark? Well, as soon as Chet returned to the ranch, she was going to…

“How old do you think he is?” Amanda asked, then answered her own question. “Certainly not yet a year.”

“We can do this,” Maria said, lowering her voice but losing none of her resolve. “After all, it's not forever. Chet will see his responsibility and accept it.”

“He ran away once,” Amanda reminded her. “Nita says he'll take off again, and then where will that baby be?”

For once, her sister was right, and Maria had to accept that perhaps she had permitted her heart to overrule her head when it came to Chet Hunter.

No
more
, she told herself—and firmly locked away whatever breathless hopes may have been brewing.