Plots and Pans (27 page)

“That’s all.” Tucker aimed a nod Ralph’s way and left the craven cook frantically stirring his pot and plunking piles of beans in Ralph’s tin. As he walked away, his anger faded a bit with each step until he found the whole thing almost comical.

A few of the other ranch owners stopped Tucker for a few words, but since they saw him as hired help, directed themselves mostly to Edward.
Fine by me
.

Most of the time they wanted to compare spreads and herds and how powerful they all were—so long as none of them came right out and said it. The ring-around-the-rosie they played turned Tucker’s stomach, and he happily left the jockeying for position to Ed. His partner had been raised with it and got used to playing those games.

Although, come to think of it, maybe Ed had gotten a little
too
accustomed at pulling rank. Tucker’s mood soured slightly as he remembered their spat from the other day.
If he doesn’t take Jessalyn in hand now, she’ll start riding roughshod, too
.

Tucker grimaced at the thought, scaring away the owner of one of the smaller spreads around town who’d broken away from his friends and started over. A couple of those men—those whose spreads were in the starting-out period, usually—had tried to approach him and offer him a new position. He couldn’t blame them, and truth be told it made him glad to know he’d earned respect in the larger community beyond the Bar None. But he wasn’t ready to move on to anything more permanent than the trail. After that, he’d see where things with Ed stood.

Lord, maybe he doesn’t realize how difficult Jess will be to look after. Once he knows firsthand how much effort it takes to rein in her enthusiasm and stand against her stubbornness, he might well be up to the task. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I hope Ed experiences a change of heart while I’m gone so things settle back into a routine this fall
.

Tucker kept up his stream of thought-prayer as he grabbed and saddled a fresh pony for the afternoon’s work. Cow ponies were surefooted, sturdy, and steady, but worked best with four-hour shifts. Happy Jack already put in his work and deserved some quality time to feed. For now, Tucker headed to the hill near the center of camp—one of the reasons he’d chosen to center the roundup here.

Most of the Bar None boasted flat land, but this small area seemed almost as though some restless dragon below had given a mighty stretch, pushing earth and rocks upward in a haphazard, staggered pattern. It made the best place to look over the land and gauge on how the roundup progressed. It also happened to be one of his favorite places to pray.

And, while I’m being honest, no matter how much trouble she’s rustled up in such a short amount of time, it’s going to be hard to leave Jessalyn for the next few months. Father, You made her hardheaded as a mule, but tenderhearted underneath. It’s easy to see in the way she dotes on her aunt. She’s smart as a whip and means well with whatever she takes on. She’s the sort of woman who—

Tucker’s silent conversation with God stuttered to a halt as he saw the buckboard come bouncing into view a little ways off. As soon as he confirmed what he thought he’d seen, he set his pony in motion and turned his prayer down a different path, too.

Lord, she’s the sort of woman who’s going to drive me crazy long before I can hit the trail!

“We made it!” Jessalyn leaned forward and maneuvered the horses so they’d come in downwind of the chuck wagon and campfire, as etiquette demanded. She forced cheerfulness into her voice, determined not to let the day be ruined by Desta’s earlier ambush.

She’d have plenty of time to mull over her aunt’s question after the roundup was over and the men rode out on the cattle drive. Jess had been trying to figure out a way to convince Ed to let her go along, but even
she
knew none of her arguments would be strong enough for her to win her way.

Not this year anyway.

Next year, she’d be ready.

Until then, Jess knew she’d better drink in the day. Roundup would be finished tomorrow, and she doubted she’d be able to convince Desta to ride back up here to see the end. And when the men and the cattle all moved out, she’d be alone with her aunt. Without anything to distract her from the questions she’d promised to consider—except the memories she’d promised herself she wouldn’t.

Carpe diem
, she bolstered herself. It was pretty much the Latin version of “grab life by the horns and git goin’!” Jess appreciated the Texas flair, but somehow the Latin saying sounded wiser. And since she couldn’t claim any actual wisdom at the moment, she’d settle for putting on a good pretense. In fact, it seemed to Jess that “a good pretense covers a multitude of ills” summed up everything those insufferable schools taught about ladylike behavior.

“Did you hear me?” Desta’s voice pulled Jess from her musings and back to the roundup. “I said we should talk to the chuck-wagon cook about where he’ll want us to unload everything. Don’t want to step on his toes, or he’ll be kickin’ us off camp lickety-split.”

Jess softened at her aunt’s concern. No matter that Desta probed a little too far and asked questions that cut a little too deep for Jess’s liking. Her aunt did so out of love and support.
I’ll need to get used to the idea that having people around me who care that much means they’re going to bump their noses against my business
.

It seemed the sort of thing she ought to be able to forgive—particularly since she so greatly enjoyed her own bad habit of sticking her nose where some folks might say it didn’t belong. Like the roundup. Jess felt the size of her own grin as she looked around, drinking in a sight both long forgotten and achingly familiar.

The way everything worked, all the men gathered in one place and worked outward in a spreading circle, like the spokes on a wheel. The chuck wagon served as the hub of that wheel, centering the campsite. The picketed strings of cow ponies, the branding fires, and several makeshift corrals to hold the cattle of several different outfits all spread from this point. With every ranch involved, there were enough men to scour the countryside and gather all the stray cattle, then separate them out as they worked their way across the county. Everyone participated, and everyone reaped the rewards of time saved and more cows found. To Jess, it told a time-honored tale of completion, of traditions taken far away and followed right back home. Everything started out here, and everything came back to rest.

As she and her aunt hopped down from the buckboard and headed for the cook fire, Jess began to be very glad she’d listened to her aunt and changed to proper skirts. Although the sun had progressed far past the midday point, several men spread around, still eating their meal in the staggered shifts particular to cattle drovers. Almost none of them looked familiar, but almost all of them eyed her and Desta with open interest that ranged from curiosity to practically predatory.

H
ello!” Jess called as they rounded the chuck wagon, stepping into the slightly cooler space shaded by the canvas stretched out over the back work area.

A short man with a gaunt frame and sour set to his mouth jumped to his feet at her greeting, rubbing the palms of his hands against his apron nervously. He sneered. “Kin I help ya?”

Jess decided at once that she didn’t like the man. But that was where a good pretense came in handy. She summoned her most gracious manner as she addressed the scamp. “You’re the cook?”

He gave a sullen nod but stood straighter, eyeing her in an obvious attempt to determine who she was and how important she might be before he spoke again. It pointed to a certain rodent-like intelligence, but again did nothing to commend the man.

“I’m Miss Culpepper.” She noticed the change in his demeanor immediately, but spoke over him. The sooner she and Desta could unload their supplies and finish arrangements, the sooner she could explore further. “We’ve brought some additional supplies from the house to supplement your larder and reward the men after a long roundup.”

“Good to meet ya, miss.” The little man bent at the waist and bobbed his head in what was unmistakably—and unbelievably—a bow. “I’m Rick, and it’s right nice of ya ta come out this way.”

“We’ll help you unload as you decide where you want things placed.” Jess backed out of the shaded area to where Desta waited. The cook hadn’t set things up very well, positioning his supplies in such a way as to block entrance to the work space and serving station. As things stood, men would be forced to stand in line and file through—which made for good planning on one level. Problem was, they had to file past the water barrel, so it would be unavailable when most needed.

While Jess tried to find a diplomatic way to suggest a change, Rick scurried up to the wagon, hopped in, and began rooting around. After a few minutes, he jumped back down. With empty hands, he swaggered back to Jess, thrust his sharply angled chin toward Desta, and started giving orders.

“Won’t need the dry goods with one day left, and don’t like loading my wagon with unnecessary weight. Yeh can take that back with yers, since the outfit will supply the wagon before we pull out later. Yeh prolly didn’t know.” He sounded marginally respectful so long as he spoke to Jess, but refused to acknowledge Desta directly.

“Have yer girl haul everything else on over. As she brings it, I’ll tell her where to set it.”

Seething, Jess found it necessary to bite her tongue and collect herself before responding. Her aunt shouldn’t have to put up with anyone talking about her as though she couldn’t understand plain English.

“What girl?” Jess didn’t bother trying to be gracious anymore. She’d gone shrill and felt a savage satisfaction when the mean little man before her winced.

“She’s laggin’ behind.” He jerked his wispily covered chin in Desta’s direction and lowered his voice to a carrying whisper. “They do that if yer not real firm with ’em. ‘Specially the lighter ones. They’s lazy on account a thinkin’ they’s better than most their kind.”

“That’s enough!” She bypassed shrill and went straight to screeching, but the fool didn’t realize he was the one to earn her ire.

“Now yer in fer it, girl.” He cackled at Desta. “No more shirkin’. Git a move on an’ grab something while yer still able.”

Jess stepped to the side, blockading her aunt from the revolting attentions of this foul little man. “Rick!” she thundered, breaking through his amusement. “You will not speak to my aunt in such a dismissive manner. In fact, since you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, you aren’t allowed to talk to her or about her at all. She will tell you which items to take, and you will follow her directions quickly and with utmost respect. Do I make myself clear?”

From behind her, the sound of a quickly stifled laugh gladdened her heart. Especially since it seemed like every man in the vicinity headed over to see what was going on. By now the vast majority had taken up her cause and started glaring.

“Yer aunt?” Surrounded now, the despot shrank before their eyes. His shoulders slumped as he looked at Desta afresh, craning his neck and staring as though trying to find a resemblance and failing. “Yer aunt? Yer jokin’.”

Jess let loose a low growl from the back of her throat, and Rick backed up so fast he almost ran into Ralph. The cook stopped just shy of stomping on his feet then spun around with eyes slitted and mouth open, obviously ready to vent his spleen on whoever had the misfortune to get in his way.

His mouth sagged as he looked up … and up … tilting his head back to take in Ralph’s expression of rigidly controlled fury. The cook spluttered for a minute, swiveled his head around on his scrawny neck, got a gander at the other glowers aimed his way, and snapped his mouth shut. Without another word, he scurried back to the chuck wagon.

“Don’t pay the likes of him no mind, Miss Desta.” Ralph’s deep voice pulled Jess’s attention back to her aunt.

“Naw.” She stood tall and proud, eyes sparkling with determined good humor as she added, “Can’t help but pity the man. Looks like he been weaned on a pickle. Turned him sour, so now his mind’s all brine an’ no brain.”

Jess laughed so hard she ran out of breath, but didn’t mind. The men who’d come over to watch the scene were chuckling along, and when the laughter ended, they started unloading the buckboard without being asked. It restored some faith in her fellow man, though most of that credit went to Ralph Runkle.

He looked down at Desta with such pride and admiration it made Jess’s heart happy … and a little wistful.
Someday I hope a man looks at me that way … like I’m something so special he can’t get the thought of me out of his mind
.