Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter (7 page)

“You don't have to order everybody around, Maria. We are all aware that you're in charge. Nita and I can take care of Mama. You just take care of Trey.” And with that, she wiped her hands on her apron and hurried down the hall to her brother's room.

The kitchen was silent for a long moment, and then Juanita started scrubbing the stain herself. “Those two might bicker and scratch like a couple of wild dogs, but I never saw a brother and sister closer than they are.”

“Not like Jess and me?”

Juanita snorted. “You lost Jess when he realized your papa took more pride in you and what you could do when it came to ranching. That hurt him as it would any boy. And he blamed you.”

“What could I have done?”

“Nothing, but he couldn't take it out on his pa, so he took it out on you. That night he left? His parting words to Eduardo and me were ‘We'll just see how good she is at running things.'”

“But he never wanted this life.”

“Not necessarily. Truth is that he could just never figure out where he fit into the scheme of things.”

Maria stared out the window, fighting the tears that these days were never far from the surface. “Do you think he'll ever come home again?”

“Jess? More than likely. When he goes through that money and realizes life out there is nothing like the life he had here. Question you need to be asking yourself is what you'll do when that day comes.”

Maria pushed herself off the kitchen stool. “That'll hold. For now, I've got to get the horses saddled.”

* * *

Bunker was the first to notice the two riders approaching from the east. “Holy…” He stood up in his stirrups as if that might give him a better view. “That woman is crazy as they come, bringing that tenderfoot out here. What's she thinking?”

Chet looked up from his work and saw Maria riding toward them. There was something about her that made him just want to stop whatever he was doing and watch her—something that made him think he would never get enough of looking at her.

“Why, Bunker, I heard her say she wanted to be sure that boy was trained by the best,” one of the younger cowboys said. “That'd be you, wouldn't it? Ain't that what you keep telling us?”

“Shut up, Slim,” Bunker growled. He edged his horse closer to the place where Chet was closing a large hole in the Tipton fence, twisting the wires together, his shirt soaked through with sweat. “You know about this, Hunt?”

“She said something about being shorthanded and seemed real upset about Joker leaving.”

“Joker didn't leave,” Bunker muttered. “At least not on his own.” He glanced around as if to assure himself that none of the others were listening. Sure enough, Slim and a couple of the other hands had gone back to watching the herd. “You get my meaning, Hunt?” Bunker asked.

“You're saying he had help.”

“I'm saying he was forced out by Turnbull. I'm saying that if he's even still breathing, he is miles from here by now.”

Chet's hands stilled as he gripped the pliers hard. He'd had little doubt that Joker had left because of the encounter with Turnbull, but what Bunker was suggesting was something far more sinister. “You think Turnbull…”

“You been here long enough to know Joker ain't afraid of nothing, man or beast, and he sure ain't afraid of that dandy Turnbull. Course, accidents do happen, and just maybe later last night when we was all sleeping…”

“You're imagining things. Joker and his horse and all his stuff was gone this morning. He left, Bunker. Men do it all the time.”

Bunker shrugged. “Maybe so. But I'm recalling that Turnbull came storming into the bunkhouse before sunup bellowing about how we was a bunch of no-good layabouts and how we better get used to the idea that we'd be working short again. How did he know Joker was gone when none of us knew? And unless Miss Maria has taken to ordering bed checks…” He glanced back at the approaching riders.

Chet went back to work. “She wants to get him to come back,” he said, jerking his head toward Maria. “Joker. Says he's the best iron man around.”

“Is or was?”

“Is,” Chet said firmly and stood up to survey his work. He had reset the fence post and tightened the strands of barbed wire. Taking off his hat and swiping the back of one hand across his forehead, he watched Maria and her brother riding toward them. The kid was nervous—it was plain as day in the way he kept looking around and talking nonstop to his sister. Maria had her eyes fixed on the fence that ran along the border of her property. When she saw Chet standing next to it, she raised her hand in greeting and then kicked her horse into a gallop to cover the distance between them.

“Any trouble?” she asked.

“It's pretty much a matter of just resetting the posts and twisting the wires together again,” Chet replied, a little insulted that she seemed to be questioning his ability to handle such a simple job.

“I meant with the Tipton men.”

“Not a sign of 'em, Miss Maria,” Bunker assured her. “Those boys will look for any way out of work they can find. Bunch of no-good layabouts, they are.”

Chet wondered if Maria knew the whole truth about the Tipton brothers and their attempts to cause problems for her and the other small ranchers. He doubted it. It seemed pretty obvious to him from things he'd heard Bunker and the other cowhands say that they saw it as their job to protect “the little lady,” as they were fond of calling her. Now Bunker turned his attention to Trey. “Well, young fella, you ready to round up some strays and get set to finish the branding?”

Trey glanced at his sister, his eyes wide with pleading. Chet expected that all that chatter he'd been doing as they rode was about begging her to let him go back home.

“It's not as hard as it looks once you get the hang of it,” he told the boy.

“That's right,” Maria said. “If I can do it—a mere girl—it should be easy for you.”

“You can do anything,” Trey murmured.

“Tell you what, how about you stick with me for today?” Chet said, wondering even as he said the words why on earth he was making such an offer. Taking care of young-uns was woman's work—a thought he could see from Bunker's smirk that he and the other men would surely echo.

“Thank you, Chet. Trey can start with fence mending and ease into the rest.”

Chet whistled for Cracker and the dog took one more bite of something she'd found in the tall grass before ambling over and waiting for Chet to mount his horse. “Come on, Trey. This is the easy part. We're just going to keep riding along the fence, looking for places where it's down. When we find that place, we fix it and then move on, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No need to be so formal. I'm Hunt to the other men.”

“Boy needs his own name,” Bunker announced.

“My name is Trey.”

“Naw. That's your name for your sister and the others. Out here we're gonna call you…”

They all waited as Bunker scratched his beard and pondered the possibilities. Once or twice, he started to say something but shook it off. Then he grinned. “Snap,” he said. “On account of you being no more than a young whippersnapper. I'll let the others know.” And without waiting for Trey to either agree or not, Bunker took off riding through the clusters of grazing cattle.

“Snap,” Trey repeated softly as if trying it on for size. Then he settled his hat more firmly on his thick hair, leaned forward to rest his hands on his saddle horn, and said, “Ready when you are, Hunt.”

Chet touched the brim of his hat as he looked at Maria. “We'll get started then, Miss Maria,” he said.

Trey repeated the motion. “Miss Maria,” he said softly, and he was smiling at her.

She let them get maybe twenty yards away before calling out, “You be careful, Trey.”

Trey sighed and did not acknowledge the warning. “She thinks I'm a baby,” he muttered.

“But it sure must be real nice to have somebody—more than one—who cares about you,” Chet replied, and he spurred his horse into a trot.

Maria was bone tired. The temperatures had soared well past one hundred degrees over the last few days, by Bunker's reckoning. The nights brought little relief, and sleeping on the hard ground did not help, even though she and Trey had the luxury of a tent and more than enough blankets to pad their bedrolls. But nine days of hours in the saddle, eating the dust that dogged them every step, followed by meals taken while seated on the ground or a fallen log and nights spent on that hard earth mattress had taken their toll. The men seemed used to this life, but why wouldn't they be? Almost to a man, they had spent years following this routine. And she wasn't about to complain—not when Trey had endured the same.

That first day after he'd ridden off with Chet, he had returned to camp full of stories he could not wait to tell her and even a few sketches he had made. He had also returned sunburned anywhere his skin had been exposed—even his face, in spite of his hat. When she tried to rub some salve on the worst areas, he had brushed her away.

“Hunt says he was burned worse than this one time back in Florida when he lost his hat—burned right on his scalp,” he added. “And Bunker says once my skin tans like leather, then it'll be all right. He says it's all those years I had to be in bed and stay inside.” His eyes were bright with excitement each day when he returned to camp and told her all that he had seen that day. “I never really looked at it all before, you know? The sky was like a painting. Hunt says that in Florida…”

He went on and on, and every other sentence seemed to begin with two words: “Hunt says.” She was surprised to hear that “Hunt” talked so much. Whenever she was around, she had the feeling that he only spoke when necessary. On the other hand, though she took her meals with the men, she had purposely avoided any direct contact with Chet, especially once Roger joined them on the trail. She saw no sense in aggravating an already touchy situation. But one night when she saw Chet head down to the stream after supper, she decided to follow him. She told herself that her intention was to thank him for taking such good care of Trey, but the truth was Trey's stories had raised her curiosity…and she found herself longing to spend time with him.

“Good evening, Miss Maria,” he said, not turning at her approach. “Was there something you were needing?” He tossed a small stick into the water and watched it drift downstream, then gave his dog permission to retrieve it and did the same thing again. The water level was lower than ever, and over the last week the association had lost more than a dozen steers to the drought, but the dog seemed to enjoy the game.

“I came to thank you for the time you've taken with Trey. It can't be easy.”

“Snap's a quick learner. No trouble at all.” He tossed another stick.

“What are you doing?” she asked, moving closer so she too could watch the stick's journey. She realized that Cracker stayed put until Chet gave a signal, but she also realized that this was more than a game.

“Checking the water flow.”

“Not much flow there,” she said. “With this drought—”

“Are you so sure it's all drought?”

She stepped closer and nearly lost her footing. His hand was tight but gentle as he caught her. “Easy there, ma'am,” he said.

She told herself that it was her imagination that he held on to her a little longer than was necessary. And yet the way his gaze locked in on her…

“Clearly you think it is more than the drought.” Her voice was surprisingly husky. “Perhaps you should discuss your thoughts with Roger.” To her surprise, this brought a smile and a chuckle as he discarded the other sticks he was holding and bent to rinse his hands in the water.

“I see he's back. The others were beginning to wonder.”

“He had business in town.” The fact that Roger had been away so long with no explanation before showing up had rankled her. She needed to get to the bottom of why he kept riding off like that. Later—after she'd solved the other dozen or so problems demanding her attention. “And you did not wonder?” she asked Chet now.

He shrugged. “Truth is, I didn't much care one way or the other. We were getting work done. Now if Joker had been the one come riding into camp the other night, that might have been a different story—cause for celebration.”

She was surprised by his brazenness. After all, technically speaking, Roger was his boss. “I see your opinion of my foreman has not changed. May I remind you that you could have had the job?”

“And would I have still had the job once you and Turnbull patched up things between the two of you?”

“Yes. I do not go back on my word.”

“Another lesson you learned from your pa?”

“That's right. And you, Chet? What lessons did you learn from your father?”

He looked out toward the setting sun, watching the orange globe on the horizon as if it held the answer to her question. “Those lessons were more about what a man shouldn't do.”

“I don't understand.”

“He left us when I was eight—me, my sister, my ma. One day he was there and then he wasn't. A little like Joker.”

“You're changing the subject.”

“I'm asking if you've been able to learn anything more about Joker leaving.”

“In other words, did I talk to Roger?” she challenged.

“That would be one course of action. Another would be to go back to the ranch and town and see what you could learn. Now that your foreman's here—and appears to be planning to stay awhile—I'm not sure why you think you need to be here.”

She was not used to the hired men speaking to her with such directness, and she certainly was not used to them studying her so openly. Chet had left his hat on the ground and his eyes—those sparkling eyes—were probing hers, seeking answers. “Trey…”

“Trey is doing far better than you or any of us hands would have thought. The boy's a natural. Question is why are
you
here, Maria?”

She did not miss the fact that he had dropped the “Miss” from her name. And she could not ignore the fact that the first answer that sprang to mind—one she forced herself to swallow without speaking—was
because
you
are
.

“I should get back,” she said, aware that the sun had slipped below the horizon and the shadows were closing in on them like a cloak. “Thank you again for helping Trey adjust, for everything you've been doing. It's…been a big help.”

“Maria?”

There it was again—that familiarity she should never permit. She paused but did not turn to face him.

“Talk to Turnbull about the creek. Even with the drought, this stream is not running the way similar streams appear to be running on the other side of Tipton's fence.”

“All right. I'll mention it.” She took a few more steps, and then she added, “And if you are certain that Trey is adjusting and will be all right, perhaps I should get back to help Amanda and Juanita.”

“And find out what happened to Joker?”

“Yes, that too. Good night, Chet.”

“Night, Miss Maria.”

So as she had expected, the times he had called her by her given name were no more than slips of the tongue. Why was it that instead of the relief she should have felt at learning he was not going to take advantage, all she felt was disappointment?

Roger was sitting outside her tent, talking to Trey when she returned to the campsite. He continued talking but watched her. Trey had always gotten along well with Roger, and Maria could not help wondering if spending time with Chet might change that.

“You were gone for some time,” Roger said as soon as Maria reached the tent.

Before Maria could answer, Trey interrupted. “I was telling Roger how Hunt and me had been working the fence and how many places we found posts pulled out and the wire gone all slack,” Trey reported. “We fixed them all but Hunt says—”

“Hunter seems to have a lot of opinions,” Roger interrupted, his eyes still on Maria.

“He's always watching for stuff,” Trey went on as if Roger had not cut him off. “Just yesterday my horse was headed straight toward a rattler. I didn't see it but Hunt did, and he cracked that whip of his and clean cut that snake near in half. Hunt told me that…”

Maria watched Roger's face work as he tried hard to contain his irritation at Trey's chatter. “Trey, I need to speak with Roger for a minute. Could you go help Eduardo finish cleaning up?”

“Sure thing.” He strode confidently past the men gathered around the campfire, calling out to them and getting greeted in return.

“Your brother appears to have taken to life on the trail,” Roger said.

“Yes, the men have taken him into their circle as if he were one of their own. I'm so pleased with the progress he's made that I've decided to return to the ranch tomorrow.”

“Not alone.” It was a commandment.

“And why not alone? I'll be on Porterfield land the entire way. Besides, it's not as if we can spare anyone to travel with me there and then back again. We've already lost valuable time, and we need to do our share here, Roger. We can't expect the men from the other ranches to do more because we're shorthanded.”

“Maybe if the drifter wasn't taking his own sweet time checking the fence line, he might be able to do some actual work. Seems to me Trey could handle the fencing job and free up Hunter to do his part with the branding.”

“I asked him to stay with Trey. I really don't want Trey working alone, especially not where he might run into some of those ruffians who work for Tipton. The man is simply following orders.”

“Is he now? Or is he trying to worm his way into your good graces?”

“To what purpose?”

“Just take my word for it, Maria—I've done some checking, and he is not what he seems to be. But since you refuse to believe me and my instincts and instead choose to rely on those of this total stranger…”

“Oh for heaven's sake, Roger. Will you please just stop this? Chet Hunter works for us both. By every measure I can think of, since coming here he has shown he is loyal and dedicated. One day he may move on, but as long as he is here, I have no doubt—”

“Based on what?”

“Based on the fact that he's suggested I talk to you about the possibility that the water here is running lower and slower than it is just over the fence on Tipton property. To my way of thinking, that is a hand looking out for his boss's property.”

“Are you suggesting that I am not?”

“I am suggesting that you work with Chet instead of trying to find ways to drive him away. And speaking of that, while you were attending this mysterious business you had in town, I assume you stopped in at the saloon at least once.”

“And what if I did?”

“I'm just wondering what the talk was about Joker. Surely someone must have heard something.”

“Will you stop worrying about Joker, Maria? The man up and left.” The men around the campfire had stopped their own conversation in order to listen to his suddenly raised voice.

Noticing this, as well as Chet coming back to the campsite, Maria took hold of Roger's arm and turned him away from the others. “Lower your voice please. And stop fighting me, Roger. I thought we both wanted the same thing—to save Clear Springs Ranch.”

Her touch had calmed Roger, and he covered her hand with his. “Of course we do. I just wish you would allow me to take some of the responsibility you carry on those beautiful shoulders. I can manage the ranch while you do what comes naturally to women.”

“And that would be?”

“Caring for your mother and siblings. And I think your idea of returning to the ranch is exactly the right one. I will choose one of the less experienced men to accompany you.”

“I have a better idea. Assign one of the men to take over Eduardo's duties, so he can ride back with me. It will be a nice surprise for Juanita.”

“Splendid idea.”

“And in the meantime, talk to Chet and find out what he's seen regarding the water supply.”

“Of course.” The man was all smiles now that he thought he had gotten his way. “I'll make all the arrangements. You should get some rest. Even with an early start, you'll still have another night under the stars before you can sleep in a real bed again.” He caressed her cheek and frowned when she stepped away and he caught her looking at something—or rather someone—over his shoulder.

“Ah, Chet,” Maria said, “I was just telling Roger about your concerns regarding the water. Why don't I say good night and leave you to talk?”

* * *

Both men watched as Maria returned to her tent and closed the flap. Roger spoke first.

“You've got a way of sticking your nose in where it don't belong, Hunter.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Meaning I'm not?”

Roger had turned on him and was standing close enough that Chet could feel the man's breath on his face. “Can't say since I'm not real sure what your job is. But if I was the one trying to make sure Miss Maria and her family didn't lose their place, I'd be wondering how come the water on that side of the fence is running slow but free, while over here it seems to come in fits and starts.”

He'd gone too far and he knew it when Turnbull reared back and took a swing at him. The fact that Chet saw the punch coming and ducked only infuriated the man more. The fact that Cracker had seen someone attacking his master and decided to take matters into her own teeth only complicated things.

“Crack!” Chet ordered, and the dog let go of Turnbull's pants leg and took up a position next to Chet.

“Get your gear and be gone by morning,” Turnbull roared. When he noticed the other men inching toward them, smelling a fight the way they could smell a thunderstorm coming, he turned on them. “And that goes for any man here who thinks he knows more about running this herd and this ranch than I do.”