One Texas Night (15 page)

The sheriff smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m getting too old for any new worries.”

Rowdy watched the sheriff climb on his horse and ride away with only a wave. He wasn’t sure he had a friend in Barnett, but at least the man seemed fair and at this point in Rowdy’s life that was about the best he could hope for.

He checked the barn, then decided to unsaddle his horse and let her graze on wild grass growing in the corral. Walking through the house, he found it just as he’d left it, filthy. It had to be his imagination, but the smell of whiskey seemed to linger in the air. More to use up energy than out of any need to clean the place, Rowdy opened all the doors and windows and swept a layer of topsoil out of the house.

At sunset he pulled his bedroll from behind his saddle, deciding to sleep on the porch. It was too hot to build a fire. Besides, he didn’t even have coffee to boil anyway. The jerky and hard tack in his saddlebags wasn’t worth eating.

He fell asleep listening to the sounds of freedom around him. Tomorrow he’d ride into town and win the first event. He hadn’t even checked to see what came first. He didn’t care.

Just after dawn he woke to the smell of blueberry muffins. He hadn’t tasted one since his mother died, but he’d never forget the aroma. He opened his eyes. Laurel Hayes sat three feet away on the steps.

Rising, he raked his hair back and mumbled, “What are you doing here?”

She smiled. “Watching you sleep.”

“I don’t think that’s proper,” he said.

“Probably not,” she agreed. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything that wasn’t proper. I might as well start with you.”

He growled at her and to his surprise, she laughed. It seemed to him that if she had any sense, she’d be afraid of him.

He studied her, all prim and proper in her white blouse and navy riding skirt. She didn’t look quite so “old maid” today. He had a feeling her rich daddy would shoot him on sight if the old man thought he was even talking to Laurel.

When he frowned, she added, “I brought you a good horse.”

He stood, dusting off his clothes. “I don’t think the captain would like me riding one of his horses.”

“It’s not his, but if you don’t want the mare, I’ll just take my muffins and go.”

“Wait.” Rowdy shook sleep from his head. “How about I think about the offer while I test the muffins?”

“All right.” She pushed back her wide-brimmed hat and studied him with the same look she’d given most of the stock in the corral yesterday. “You want to wash up and make coffee first before you eat?”

“No,” he said, then backtracked when he saw her frown. “I can’t make coffee. No supplies around here. All my father left was the pot, but I could wash up.”

She watched as he went to the well and drew up water. “I’m surprised the rope and bucket are still here,” he mumbled as he washed.

“I put them there last year,” she said. “I ride this way often and I like to stop to water my horse. Hope you don’t mind.”

It hadn’t occurred to him to mind. “You happen to bring a towel too?”

She laughed and tossed him the towel she’d spread over the basket of muffins.

He dried and placed the towel on the nail by the well. “Great, I got the towel wet so now I guess I’ll have to eat all the muffins.” He took the first one from her hand and asked, “Now tell me how come you own this horse?” If she had horses and maybe even cattle, she’d have no use for half the herd they might win.

They walked toward her mount. A lead rope had been tied to the saddle horn. A chestnut mare was at the other end of the rope. At first glance it appeared ordinary, but Rowdy didn’t miss the look in the animal’s eyes. Intelligent, he thought. He downed another muffin while he circled the horse.

“I don’t own him,” she said when he returned to her side. “You do.”

When he showed no sign of believing her, she added, “When the sheriff came to get the stock after your father died, she was only a colt limping around the corral. The sheriff didn’t figure she’d last to town so he turned her loose.” Laurel brushed the roan’s neck. “I found her the next day and knew she’d be coyote dinner if I didn’t put her in the barn for a few weeks.”

The horse pushed her with its nose as if playing.

“I checked on her every day until she was big enough to run the land. Whenever I was home from school, I rode by to check on her. The wound on her leg healed with a little help from the whiskey I found in the cabin and she began to grow. I was afraid someone might ride by and see her, so I moved her down to the little canyon by the stream. There’s water and grass there year-round along with plenty of shallow caves to get out of the worst weather.”

Rowdy ran his hand along the horse’s withers and back, feeling strong muscles. “Looks like she’d have had the sense to run.”

“I thought that too, but every time I came back, she was somewhere on your place.” Laurel pulled an apple from her pocket. “I taught her to come when I whistle.” She offered the apple to Rowdy. “Here, you feed her. She’s yours.”

“No.” Just because the horse survived here didn’t make the mare his.

“You need a better horse than one of the livery mounts. Cinnamon can be that horse.”

“Cinnamon? Don’t tell me you named her?” He’d called a few horses names over the years, but nothing he’d want to repeat in her company.

She laughed at the face he made, then handed him the basket and moved away. “You two share breakfast and get acquainted. I have to get back.”

He set the basket down and followed her to her horse. He offered her a step up, but she didn’t take it. She hadn’t needed it. Her long legs flew over the saddle with ease.

“Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks,” he said, realizing he didn’t want her to leave.

“When will I see you again?”

“I’ll be around. My father insists we all go every night. He goes for the rodeo and my sisters go for the dance afterward.”

“And why do you go?” he asked as he took the lead rope from her hand.

She looked down at him. “I’ll go to watch my partner win.” Kicking her horse, she was gone before he had time to answer.

He watched her ride away. With her height and lean form, she rode like a man, one with the horse, not bumping along like most women he’d seen ride. He decided she probably wouldn’t think that a compliment, even though he meant it as such.

He tossed the apple in the air and caught it, proud of the way he’d handled himself. He’d managed to talk to her, even made her laugh. It was only a guess, but he thought that Laurel laughed very little in her life. She’d been different this morning, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they were alone, out of sight of any prying eyes or ears.

Winning this rodeo might prove great fun with her as his partner.

Walking back to the mare, Rowdy swore when he realized the horse had eaten the basket of muffins and left him with the apple.

Laughing, he patted the horse’s neck. “Well, Cinnamon, since you’ve had my breakfast it looks like we’d better go to work. I got about ten hours to turn you into a cow horse.”

Chapter 4

The rodeo started with little more than an hour until sunset. Men drew for events and nights. Since the celebration lasted four nights, one-fourth of the men did each event each night. That way anyone coming only to one night got to see all the rodeo had to offer even if he got to watch only one out of four of the men compete for any one event.

Laurel checked the charts. Rowdy had drawn saddleback riding the first night. Good. That would give him at least one more day to work with the horse on steer roping. She was so excited she couldn’t wait for the buggy, so she’d insisted on riding in with her father. He didn’t talk to her, but it didn’t matter. In four days, she would have the money to leave.

Deep down she hoped that if she had the means to leave, he might tell her he wanted her to stay. She knew she was only fooling herself. Since the day he’d married Rosy when Laurel had been four, the captain had always tried to make his oldest daughter disappear. Leftover children never mattered much when the new batch came along. Laurel had a feeling that when she left the ranch Sunday night after Rowdy won, her father would be more angry about losing a free bookkeeper than a daughter.

When they arrived at the rodeo, she stood just behind him listening to the men talk and hoping to learn something that might help Rowdy. As usual, no one noticed her.

After an hour, Laurel moved behind the row of wagons and buggies pulled in a circle. She’d sat quietly waiting for her chance. Finally, her father had stepped into a crowd of men who were placing bets on a horse race to be run in the morning and passing around a bottle. Her sisters were flirting with half a dozen cowhands who’d stopped by for a cool drink from the pitcher of lemonade in the back of their rig. No one would miss her.

She found Rowdy off by himself in the shadows of a barn. Since he’d drawn bronc riding as his first challenge, he’d be part of the last group to compete.

Without a word, she moved beside him, leaned her back on the barn only a few inches from his arm and handed him a canteen. She could feel the tension in his body.

“A fellow named Dan O’Brien offered to ride drag for me during the calf roping.”

“He’s all right, I guess,” she said without looking at Rowdy. “He owns a little farm to the south of here.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m not sure he’s much of a cowhand. I think he raises mostly hogs at his place.”

“I’ve already told him I’d trade the favor off for him. He only entered calf roping, so he must feel like he can handle his own.”

Laurel nodded once. “All right.” She could have suggested a few others who might have been better, but he hadn’t asked.

While he drank, she decided to tell him what she knew before he made another mistake, “I’ve been watching the black you drew for tonight. He goes to his left more than his right and fires up easy even in the pen. I think you should—”

“I know how to ride,” he snapped as if resenting her advice. “I’m no greenhorn.”

Silence hung still and heavy between them.

“Fine. Good luck.” She planted a quick, hard kiss on his cheek and walked away.

She thought he might catch up to her and say he was sorry, but he didn’t. A tiny part of her knew she’d done it wrong. She could have said something to him first, maybe let him tell her what he thought. But Laurel would never be like her sisters. She couldn’t have conversations that made no sense. She couldn’t giggle at nothing and bat her lashes. It wasn’t her. It never would be.

“Where you been, girl?” Her father’s voice made her jump.

“Looking at the stock,” she said in a whisper. She didn’t mention that she’d met a cattle buyer from Fort Worth who told her to pass the word along that he’d be willing to buy off the winner’s cattle if the all-around cowboy wanted cash.

“That’s better than hiding in some corner, I guess.” Her father took her elbow in a tight grip. “You remind me more of your mother every day.”

Laurel knew better than to think that was a compliment. Her father had often told her that his first wife was a mouse of a woman, plain and boring. Laurel knew he’d married her for money; he’d even joked once that he’d talked her father into paying more just to get her out of the house.

Her father let go of her arm and climbed on the wagon bench. “I’m going home after the saddle bronc riders. You stay and see that your sisters get home in the wagon after the dance.”

“But I rode in,” she protested. “One of the men will be happy to.”

He looked at her with his usual bothered expression. “All right, see that James or Phil drives the girls home. You can ride back alone, but try to stay for at least one dance. You never know, someone might actually ask you to dance.”

Laurel knew he didn’t care what she did. He probably didn’t care if she danced; he just wanted her to stay behind long enough so that she didn’t ride back with him. If he hadn’t needed her to do the books, he probably would have left her at school until she was thirty. She was a reminder of a time in his life when he’d settled for something far less than what he’d wanted.

She stood silently and watched the competition. The first rider fell off his horse coming out of the shoot. The second rode, but his horse didn’t buck enough to earn many points. The third and fourth started well but didn’t make the clock. Rowdy’s horse came out fighting with all his might to get the saddle and the man off his back.

The crowd rose to their feet. Several people cheered as the animal kicked dust every time Rowdy’s spurs brushed his hide.

Laurel watched, mentally taking each jolt with Rowdy. His back bowed back and forth, but his left hand stayed in the air.

When the ride ended, he jumped from the black horse and landed on his feet. The crowd went crazy, yelling and clapping. Laurel only smiled, knowing she’d invested her ten dollar gold piece wisely.

Her father cussed and demanded to know who number forty was. Five minutes later, when his men gathered round him, he said that Rowdy Darnell was the man to beat in this rodeo and there would be an extra month’s pay to the man who topped his final score.

Laurel felt proud. She stood and watched the young people move to the dance floor as the last light of the day disappeared. Her father and a few of his men rode off toward the saloon talking of plans for tomorrow. Every night the rodeo would end with saddle bronc riding and they planned to have the captain’s men shatter Darnell’s score.