The Coming Storm (31 page)

“I’m sure you’re mistaken. He couldn’t help but love a daughter as beautiful and perfect as you,” Ned interjected.

Portia smiled. “That’s so very kind of you to say, but truthfully, we have always been at odds. I would chastise him for deserting us—leaving my mother so very lonely. He would tell me it was not my place to reprove him for any action he might deem worthy.”

“I can understand that,” Trenton said. It was the first time he’d volunteered any comment at all.

Portia frowned. “Had you lived in such a manner, you might well have believed it your place to strive toward making things right.” She took out her handkerchief and pressed it under the veil to her eyes. “No doubt you always honored your father— respected him in every way.”

“Now, now, Chadwick. You’ve upset her. You mustn’t be so hard on her.”

Trenton shrugged. “I suppose the truth is hard to deal with.”

She hated his smug tone. “Mr. Chadwick, I would suggest that unless you personally experience the pain of another, you are hardly in a position to judge them for their response. My mother and I endured a great deal of pain because of my father’s choices. It seemed only right that he should know the misery he had caused.”

“But it accomplished nothing by your own admission,” Trenton declared. “Rebellious natures seldom do. You’ve already suggested that you spent a lifetime trying to convince him of his wrongdoings. Why do you suppose showing up at the fort with the news that your mother died is going to change him now?”

Portia felt slapped by the question, and for the first time in a very long while, she felt words escape her. Instead of responding, she pretended to weep into her cloth.

“Oh, now look, Chadwick. You’ve gone and upset her. We need to remember her position. She’s just lost her mother, and this on the heels of losing her husband. We must handle Mrs. McGuire with great care.”

Portia looked beyond the handkerchief to see Trenton roll his eyes and pull his wide-brimmed hat down over his eyes.

“I’m gonna get some shut-eye,” he said in disgust.

The only other passenger on the stage, an ancient old woman who sat beside Portia, began snoring. The noise was no more disruptive to Portia, however, than the tone of Trenton Chadwick’s voice. She would have to be very careful around this man. He had the eyes of someone who had been betrayed and knew too much. His demeanor screamed danger.

Yes,
she thought,
I’ll have to be very careful around Mr. Chad-wick
.

CHAPTER 23

D
IANNE LOVED ROUNDUP TIME.
T
HE AIR WAS FULL OF THE
musky scent of cattle, dust, and dung, but she didn’t care. It was all wonderful. There was an energy and excitement in roundup that wasn’t found any other time of the year. This year even promised to hold some entertainment for the cowhands and ranchers. There were plans to show off some of the cowboys’ finer skills with demonstrations of roping and bronco busting. Gus seemed particularly pleased, but Dianne wasn’t sure if it was because he was reliving his days as a youth or because of the herd’s good turnout.

“We’ve got a lot of twin births this year. That’s a good omen,” he said as they shared breakfast.

Dianne looked out across the field. The mothering up had been fairly easy, and today they would start branding. She was even pleased to see that two other local ranchers had joined in the event, bringing their wives along with their crew.

“Mrs. Farley from the Lazy MW says they’ve had a very productive year as well. She actually seems more knowledgeable about such matters than her husband. She’s out there directing her crew as if she were in charge.”

Gus laughed. “I think she’s just the kind of woman who doesn’t cotton to lettin’ someone else run things. Her man’s a good one, seems to take her in stride. I ain’t sure I could be the same way.”

Dianne grinned. “Are you giving me a warning, Gus?”

He appeared embarrassed. “Now, don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth, Miz Dianne. You know I think highly of you.”

“Yes, but you also know I consult you on everything related to running this ranch. What if I were to just up and get bossy about things? Get out there like Mrs. Farley and try to tell you what to do.”

“Well, frankly, I have to admit the little lady knows her business. As I hear it told, she grew up on a ranch down in Kansas. She knows a sight more than her man, which is probably why he tolerates it. He was a farmer.” Gus crammed in a mouthful of sourdough biscuit, then chased it down with a swig of hot coffee. He wiped off his mouth with the back of his sleeve and continued. “They got all excited about homesteading up this way when they saw some sketches of the area. Don’t rightly know that a few picture drawings would send me traveling a thousand miles from home, but they seem happy. Their place is just about ten miles from our northwest boundary post.”

“They seem nice,” Dianne said, watching Maggie Farley handle a rope as well as any of the men.

“That other couple—the one that brought their young’uns— they don’t know a whole lot about nothing, but they have the heart for it. I’ve been trying to share a thing or two with the man. His name is Clark Vandercamp and her name is Hilda.”

“I can’t imagine bringing children to a roundup,” Dianne commented, looking across the camp to where Hilda sat fixing the hair of her oldest daughter.

“Oh, roundup is a great time for the community to gather. I remember times in Texas when folks would come from hundreds of miles. Roundup might last weeks into a month—just depended on how big a territory you had to cover. I remember bein’ in the saddle eighteen hours a day—sleepin’ there too.”

Dianne grinned. She loved it when Gus talked about his days in Texas.

“Always wanted to be a wagon boss. Spent my time as a circle rider, horse wrangler, even a rough-string rider.”

“What’s that?” Dianne asked, finishing the last of her meal.

“Ah, that’s a man who’s brought on to ride the really mean horses—the bad ones. You put them all in one string.”

“A rough string,” Dianne said, nodding. “Makes sense. Guess you’d have to put Jack in that group.” She flexed her arm. It was pretty much mended, although it still felt stiff. She was blessed that Gus had put off roundup until the latter part of April. His decision had proven to be very wise, when a surprise snow delivered a foot of icy whiteness only a week and a half earlier. The break had given Dianne’s arm extra time to heal, and by the time they headed out, she actually felt confident sitting atop Dolly. The only real problem was that she longed to participate—to get in there and help with the roping and cutting, but she was wise enough to recognize her limitations.

“How’s the arm?” Gus asked, seeing her rub the muscles. Dianne grinned. “Feels almost as good as new.”

“I’ve had more busted on me from ridin’ mean ol’ broncs like Jack than I care to remember. You were lucky, little lady.”

“Well, you always said a fellow didn’t know what he was made of unless he got out there and gave it his best.”

“I said that about fellas. Not ladies.”

Dianne laughed and gathered up her dishes. She poured out the remains of her coffee. The stuff was strong enough to walk away on its own. “Wish you boys would be a little more liberal with the water when you’re making coffee.”

Gus shook his head. “Been my experience most folks make it too weak. If I can’t stand a spoon in it, I don’t wanna drink it. Never did cotton to milkin’ it down either.” He got to his feet and handed his dishes over to Dianne. “Although I can tolerate a little sugar.” He grinned. “Always did have a sweet tooth.” He looked off to where the boys were already preparing to brand. “Well, the work won’t do itself.” He tied on his neckerchief and gave Dianne one last nod.

Dianne watched him walk away, wishing she could join him in branding the calves. Just last year she’d finally gotten the hang of roping. She’d gotten pretty good with a lariat, if she did say so herself. But she’d promised to be good, and she intended to keep her word.

“I can see you’re itching to get in there and work with the boys.”

Dianne smiled at Boris Masters. He was an older man who’d been hired on to cook for the outfit. He’d worked off and on at the Diamond V, and Dianne had always liked him. He took the dishes from Dianne and plunged them into steaming, sudsy water.

“It’s hard to just watch,” she admitted. “I see those other women helping and it just seems unfair.”

“Those other gals ain’t nursin’ a broken arm,” Boris said in an authoritative voice.

“I know. I know,” she said in an exasperated tone. “No one is about to let me forget it either.” She gave him a quick smile and added, “Breakfast was great. You make one fine trail cook.”

Boris’s ears turned red and Dianne realized she’d embarrassed him. Turning, she called back to him, “You’ll make some woman a fine husband.”

She heard the man sputter and cough, as though the comment were impossible to comprehend. Dianne chuckled to herself, remembering Gus’s tales that Boris was courting some Sunday school teacher in Bozeman. If it got serious, she’d have to let Boris know that they’d be more than open to the idea of yet another woman on the Diamond V.

Dianne took her place at the back of the wagon Gus had set up for her. She watched as the men got to work. The fires had been going since before dawn and the brands were heated and ready to go. She felt sorry for the new babies that had to be branded, but at the same time she felt a pride she couldn’t explain. These were Diamond V cattle—Uncle Bram’s livestock. It made her happy to see them so marked.

The ropers were on their horses and working to single out the babies for the morning’s work. Gabe Presley, who’d been with the ranch for nearly three years, threw his rope and started the morning’s affairs. He heeled the calf quickly and dragged it from the circle by its back legs over toward the branding fires.

“Diamond V,” he called out, indicating the brand to use. This done, he turned the calf over to the flankers, who went to work to keep the calf down.

Dianne was fascinated as one man grabbed the calf at the flank and foreleg, then finished rolling the animal to its side. Once down, the man grabbed the top foreleg, while the other flanker took the top hind leg and stretched it out behind the calf. They made it look so easy. The calf bawled, causing its mama to become quite disturbed. Dianne felt sorry for both of them. They couldn’t understand what was happening.

Levi, the iron man, came forward with the brand. Dianne knew from talking to Gus that branding was a very precise job. Too little pressure and the brand wouldn’t be deep enough to peel and leave a good mark. Too much pressure, especially with the more detailed Diamond V brand, and the mark would often be blotched or run together.

“You don’t need a heavy hand to lay a brand,” Gus had told her. Watching as Levi applied the iron, Dianne could see that he was very comfortable with his job. Years under Gus’s tutelage had made Levi quite good at his job.

The morning continued in like fashion. Calves were mothered up, then pulled from the circle to be branded with the appropriate markings, then passed on to the next round of workers. By lunchtime, dozens of babies had been branded, inspected, and in some cases castrated. It was all a very orderly, busy affair.

The roundup weather held in a grand fashion without spilling even a drop of rain on the crew. There was no sign of Indian or animal that might want to attack, and only two cowboys endured injury, and even those were minor. On the last day before they were to head back to their own ranches, a party had been planned. It was during this time that the boys would show off their talents. Dianne chose a good place to stand and cheer on the participants as the festivities got started.

“I’m sure glad we finally had a chance to meet,” Maggie Farley said as she took a place beside Dianne. “We’d heard about you last summer when we moved in, but there wasn’t much time to come visiting.”

Dianne offered the redheaded woman a smile. “I’m glad we could spend time getting to know each other.”

Maggie pushed back a lock of errant hair and tucked it up under her wide-brimmed hat. “My husband tells me you’re the owner of the Diamond V. Pardon my saying so, but you seem a mite young to be handling an outfit this big.”

Dianne tensed at the woman’s comment, then realized it was probably curiosity rather than criticism that drove the woman’s question. “The ranch belonged to my uncle. He was killed last year by a grizzly bear.”

“I’d heard that. Heard he left a squaw wife and children behind. Did they go back to their people?”

“They’re with me. I’m their people,” Dianne said more severely than she’d intended.

Maggie Farley’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean no offense. It’s just, well, in Kansas that kind of thing wasn’t looked upon favorably.”

“Neither is it accepted here. That’s why I own the ranch now instead of my aunt.”

Maggie nodded. “Whitson—he’s my husband”—she spoke as if Dianne wouldn’t remember this—“he said your intended was overdue. Have you had word yet?”

Dianne had no desire to discuss Cole’s absence, but she didn’t want to appear offended by Maggie’s remark about Koko. “No. We’ve heard nothing.”