A Hopeful Heart (13 page)

A fierce pounding wakened Abel from a restless sleep. He sat up, blinking into the murky bedroom and trying to make sense of the unexpected noise. The pounding came again, accompanied by a frantic voice. “Abel! Abel, wake up!”

Abel stumbled out of bed, tripping over the boots he’d abandoned in front of his night table. Muttering, he kicked the boots out of his way and clumped to the bedroom window. He pulled the yellow-checked curtain aside and squinted out at the peaceful night scene. No barn on fire, no bawling cattle, no reason he could see for someone to scare him out of a year’s growth.

Grumbling under his breath, he charged to the front door and swung it wide. “Ethan, why’re you bangin’ on my door in the middle of the night?” He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Pa’s bed is empty—he’s gone.”

Abel resisted snorting. “Did you check the outhouse?”

Ethan nodded hard enough to dislodge his head from his neck. “Checked everywhere, includin’ the barn. His horse is gone, too. I figger he must’ve heard somethin’. Maybe the thieves came back an’ he went after ’em.”

Abel came full awake. “Vince went out alone?” His heart thumped in fear. The older man would be no match for desperate men. He hurried to his bedroom and scrambled into his trousers and boots and then tugged a jacket over his longjohns. “Any idea when he might’ve headed out?”

Ethan trotted alongside Abel as he thumped toward the barn. Worry created a deep crease in his brow. “I visited the outhouse around ten. Pa was in his bed then. What time is it now?”

Abel came to a halt and dug in his pocket for the watch he always carried. A flick of the catch opened the round cover. He angled the face toward the meager moonlight. “Eleven forty-five.” So Vince could have been gone for an hour or more. He groaned. In the dark, they’d never be able to figure out which direction he went. Vince could be in grave danger, and Abel was powerless to help him.

“Are we gonna saddle horses an’ go out?” Ethan stood poised, ready for action.

Abel flung his arms wide. “Which way, Ethan? Where do we go?”

“I . . . I don’t know. . . .”

“Neither do I.” Abel ran his hand through his hair, frustration sharpening his tone.

“But we gotta do somethin’! Pa . . . he shouldn’t be chasin’ rustlers on his own!”

Abel well understood Ethan’s fretfulness, but what could they do? He needed guidance. Ethan tapped his boot on the ground, his breath coming in little huffs of impatience, but Abel stood stone still, uncertainty nailing him in place.

Suddenly the sound of hoof beats intruded. Both men spun toward the sound. As they watched, a rider reined his horse to a stop on the far side of the house and swung from the saddle. He led the horse toward the barn, his head low and his heels dragging. When he was within twenty feet of the barn, Ethan released a cry of relief.

“Pa!”

The man’s head shot up, revealing a sparse gray beard and wide eyes. “Ethan—an’ Abel . . . What’re you two doin’ out here?”

“We were goin’ after you, Pa.” Ethan raced to his father’s side. “When I saw you were gone, I got worried. I told Abel you’d probably gone after the rustlers. Did you catch them?”

Vince’s gaze flicked to Abel. Regret flashed in his eyes, and then he lowered his head. “No. No, didn’t catch nobody.”

Abel strode forward. “I appreciate you tryin’ to protect the cattle, but it wasn’t wise, Vince, goin’ out on your own like that. Thieves are bound to be dangerous—likely to shoot anybody who gets in their way.”

Vince rubbed his finger under his nose. “You’re right, Abel. I’m sorry.”

Ethan swung on Abel. “We gotta get the sheriff in on this, Abel.

Just the four of us—we can’t keep these rustlers away.”

“No.” Abel barked the word. But then uncertainty smote him. “Or should I, Vince? Is it time to get the sheriff in on our problem?”

Vince angled his face toward the barn, his brow puckering. “You’re the boss, Abel, an’ if you think we oughtta contact Sheriff Tate, I’ll go along with ya. But I’m thinkin’ the fewer people involved the better. Whole county’ll get in an uproar if you make an official complaint. Men’ll be firin’ weapons in the dark, an’ who knows what kind of harm might come.”

“But—” Ethan started.

Abel inserted, “I agree with your pa, Ethan. Sheriff Tate’s likely to do little more’n talk about it, an’ rumors can build to misconceptions quicker’n a fox can raid a henhouse. No, we gotta handle this ourselves. But, Vince . . .” Abel gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze. “Next time you hear somethin’ at night, come get me. I should be the one takin’ the risks. After all, the cattle’re mine.”

Vince sucked in a breath, as if preparing an argument, but then he gave a brusque nod. “Whatever you say, Abel.”

Tiredness underscored the man’s tone. Abel needed to let him get back to bed, but first he needed a question answered. “Do you know . . . are we missin’ any head?”

“Won’t know till mornin’ how many, but I’m pret’ sure we lost some tonight. Rode clear out to the north side of the far pasture. Wire’s been cut.” The muscles in Vince’s jaw clenched.

Abel clamped his lips tight to hold back a curse. “Can’t do nothin’ tonight. We’ll do a count in the mornin’. You two get some sleep.”

“I’ll see to your horse, Pa. Go on to bed.” Ethan caught the reins and guided the horse toward the barn. Head slung low, Vince scuffed his way to the bunkhouse.

Abel’s arms pumped and his feet pounded as he crossed the ground to the house. Vince’d said the north fence of the far pasture had been cut. That created an opening directly onto Hammond land. Tomorrow he’d pay another visit to Brewster Hammond.

13

Hattie pushed aside her empty breakfast plate and drew in a deep breath. “Ladies, today might be a bit hard on your tender sensibilities, but . . .”

Five wary faces turned in her direction, giving her pause. She’d put off calf branding because she suspected some of the girls would be squeamish about the task. But it couldn’t be delayed any longer or those calves would be too big to wrestle to the ground. Besides, she’d helped Jed every year. Chances were these girls’ mates would depend on their help one day. So, squeamish or not, they’d need to learn.

“Laid out on the sofa in the parlor are a half dozen shirts an’ just as many pairs of trousers. I don’t expect you’ll find a perfect fit with any of ’em, but if you tuck the shirts in and then tie a length o’ good strong twine around your middle, you’ll be able to keep the pants up. So scoot upstairs an’ change out o’ your skirts, then meet me in the front yard. We’ll be stampin’ the Flying W brand on my new calves this mornin’.”

A flutter went around the table. Mabelle’s mouth fell open. “You . . . you want us to wear pants? But . . . but . . .” She shook her head, coils of frizzy brown hair springing loose from her ponytail. “Ladies don’t wear pants!”

“City ladies sure don’t,” Hattie agreed, “but in case you hadn’t noticed, this ain’t the city. You think you can tussle a calf to the ground while you’re wearin’ a skirt? ’Sides that, skirts flare out in the wind. Last thing we want is for a skirt to drag through the firepit where we heat the brandin’ iron.”

Mabelle clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in an expression of horror.

Hattie nodded. “Nope, skirts have no place in the brandin’ corral. So go on now—get yourselves into britches an’ meet me outside.” Without waiting for compliance, she rose and headed for the back door.

“Mrs. Wyatt?”

Hattie turned back at Tressa’s hesitant voice. She had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from grinning at the girl’s apprehensive expression.

“Shouldn’t I clear the breakfast table before coming out?”

Emitting a low chuckle, Hattie shook her head. “Oh no, missy, you aren’t gonna miss out on the fun. Just stack them dishes in the wash pan an’ come out with the others. When the brandin’ is done, we’ll worry about the dishes.”

Tressa’s shoulders sagged, but she obediently followed the others out of the dining room. Still chuckling, Hattie made her way through the kitchen and into the yard. The wind tugged at the fabric of her full skirts, reminding her she’d need to instruct the girls from outside the pen so her wind-tossed calico wouldn’t frighten the calves or— worse—catch flame. She smiled, recalling how Jed always told her she was cuter’n a baby bunny in spring clover in a pair of britches. Giving her padded hips a pat, she grinned to herself at how he’d fibbed, but she’d still liked hearing it.

Her gaze drifted to the corral, where the new calves jostled one another and bawled in protest at being penned up. All that bawling was music to a rancher’s ears—the more calves, the more money to be made. Her ranch hands were there, too, stoking the fire and spinning lassos in readiness. Their faces lifted toward the house, and they poked one another with their elbows, grinning like fools. She pursed her lips into a frown. Appeared they were a little too eager to have the girls join them.

She’d already warned them to keep these lessons professional, but she suspected it would be hard considering it was the first time she’d allowed her hands and her pupils to be in close proximity. But staying focused was crucial considering the task. Many a man had come away from branding with a broken bone—a finger, wrist, or ankle—or a burn from the fire. Carelessness caused accidents, and she didn’t want any injuries today. They’d best all keep their minds on their work. Scowling, she decided to give the men one more stern warning before the girls came out.

As she headed across the yard, two horses with riders loped through the gate at the end of the lane—Brewster Hammond and Abel Samms. Neither looked happy. Trepidation created a lump in her belly, but she hitched up her skirts and trotted to meet them.

“Harriet.” Brewster touched his hat’s brim and nodded.

Abel removed his hat. “Mornin’, Aunt Hattie.” The greeting carried no cheer.

Hattie plopped one fist on her hip. “I can already tell it’s bad news. Just go ahead and tell me.”

The two men exchanged looks. Abel scratched his head. “Fence between my place an’ Brewster’s got cut last night, an’ we found tracks headin’ right for your land.”

Hattie gawked in amazement. “You think somebody deposited your beef on my land?”

“Wouldn’t be hard to cut through your place, Aunt Hattie, seein’ as how you don’t have fence around your grazin’ land.” He glanced at the noisy calves. “Mind if I take a peek in your corral over there at the calves? Want to make sure none of ’em are carryin’ my brand.”

“Not likely, Abel, since my men rounded ’em up yesterday afternoon and penned ’em overnight. But you’re welcome to take a look, if it’ll ease your mind.”

Abel hesitated, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. Finally he gave a nod. “You’re prob’ly right, but I’ll go look just in case.” He replaced his hat and gave the reins a tug. The horse turned sharply toward the corral.

As Abel clopped away, Brewster swung down from his horse.

“Abel come to my place first thing this mornin’, all a-dither. At first I thought he was imaginin’ things, so I agreed to go out an’ do some snoopin’ just to prove him wrong. Couldn’t believe it when I saw those tracks cuttin’ along my property line. Makes me madder’n hops that someone would stoop so low as to run off his cattle. No secret that I wouldn’t mind addin’ his land to my holdings since it’s right next door an’ has a good source of water, but I sure can’t abide rustlin’.”

Hattie wondered why Brewster felt the need to defend himself to her, but she didn’t ask. Men were funny creatures. Sometimes they talked without thinking, but they were mostly prone to think without talking. At least she assumed there was thinking going on behind their closed mouths. Her Jed had been the exception, engaging in long conversations in the evenings while they sat together on the porch.

Brewster tipped his head toward the branding pen, his gray eyebrows high. “You’re brandin’ a little late, aren’t you? Those calves look well beyond weaned. Be tougher to hold ’em down, given their size. . . .”

A hint of defensiveness tickled Hattie’s chest. “It is later than usual, but I had my reasons.” She didn’t offer to share the reasons, however.

Brewster’s face puckered for a moment, and he opened his mouth as if to say something else. But at that moment, the girls spilled out of the house dressed in shirts with the sleeves rolled above their wrists and pant legs dragging on the ground.

Brewster gaped. “What in blue blazes?” He pointed at the girls as they straggled to the branding pen and lined up along the fence. “Harriet, are those your pupils gussied up like a pack of miners?”

She laughed at his disbelieving face. “Yep, Brewster, them’s my pupils. They’re gonna be brandin’ the calves today, an’ they needed to be dressed for it.”

“You’re lettin’ ’em brand?” Brewster pushed his hat to the back of his head. “Harriet Wyatt, have you taken leave of your senses? A woman’s got no business in a brandin’ pen!”

Hattie drew back. “Now, see here, Brewster, I’m a woman, an’ I branded more’n my fair share o’ calves when Jed an’ me were gettin’ started. Hasn’t hurt me a bit to know every aspect o’ ranchin’. A wife is a
helpmeet
, an’ these girls’re gonna learn to be helpmeets in every sense o’ the word.”

“But, Harriet—”

“Brewster, if you’ll excuse me, my pupils’re ready to start their lessons. If you’ve a mind to, you can stick around an’ watch. Might surprise you what a
woman
can do.” She swept past him, her nose in the air. But after only a few steps, guilt attacked. Brewster’s late wife, Amy, God rest her soul, had been a fragile woman who had no business setting foot in a branding pen. Brewster had cause to express concern. But her girls were strong and able. They’d do just fine with the right instruction.

As she neared the pen, Abel stepped into her pathway. He held the horse’s reins in one hand and his hat in the other. “Thanks for lettin’ me look, Aunt Hattie. You were right—I didn’t see any calves carryin’ the Lazy S brand.”

She touched his arm. “Don’t lose heart, Abel. Just keep prayin’ for that thief to let go o’ his wicked ways.”

He clapped the hat onto his head. “I’ve lost a total of ten calves, three cows, an’ a bull this season.” He heaved a deep sigh. “Much as I hate to, I reckon it’s time I get the sheriff in on the situation.”

“Well now, I’ve always had better luck with God than with the sheriff.”

The corner of Abel’s mouth twitched. “Not sure either one of ’em have done me much good.”

Hattie gave him a fierce scowl. “Shame on you, Abel Samms. Your mama would wash your mouth out with soap if she heard you! I couldn’t name two more godly people than your ma an’ pa. Why would you make such a claim?”

A frown pinched his face. “Got my reasons.”

She jabbed her finger at his nose. “Man’s reasonin’ is foolishness in the sight o’ God. You remember that, Abel.” Leaning in close, she added, “Just ’cause things don’t go the way we want ’em to doesn’t mean God’s quit carin’. He cares deep, but His ways aren’t ours. His ways are always better.”

Abel turned his face away, his jaw thrust out.

Stubborn coot . . .
Hattie shook her head. “Well, if you won’t pray, I will. An’ when that thief is caught, you’ll owe me a big thank-you for handlin’ your problem for you. Now, unless you want to help with brandin’ today, you best get on to town an’ let the sheriff know what’s been happenin’.”

He swung onto his horse and clopped toward the gate without a word. She stood looking after him for a moment, her heart heavy. She’d be praying for the thief, but she’d also be praying for Abel to put his trust in God again.

The smell of smoke reached her nose. The fire would burn out before they got started if she didn’t put somebody to work. She charged over to the row of girls and grinned down the line. “All right, ladies, Clyde is gonna show you how to lasso a calf, drag it to the fire, and sear the brand into his rear flank. Who wants to go first?”

Both Luella and Paralee stuck a hand in the air. Although Paralee’s gesture was less confident than Luella’s, Hattie chose Paralee. “Good girl.” She peered into Paralee’s pale face. “You sure you’re ready?”

Paralee gulped twice, ran her hand down the length of her gold-tinged braid, and squared her skinny shoulders. “I reckon so.”

Hattie rewarded her with a wide smile. “Spoken like a true rancher’s wife! Crawl between those rails now an’ show us what you can do.”

Tressa dropped the filthy pair of pants on top of Sallie’s discarded clothing. A puff of dust rose from the pile. She hoped Mrs. Wyatt would put someone else on laundry duty for the week. She had no desire to scrub the stains from those clothes. Turning toward the corner, she began unbuttoning her shirt. A groan from the opposite side of the room caught her attention. She peeked over her shoulder and caught Sallie examining her bare limbs in the oval mirror that hung above the bureau.

“Sallie!” Forgetting her own state of dishevelment, she dashed to Sallie’s side and gingerly touched a large purple splotch on the girl’s shoulder blade. “Oh my!”

Sallie grimaced, pointing to a series of smaller walnut-sized bruises running down the front of her shin. “It’s terrible marked up I am.” Holding out her arm, she ran her fingers over a bluish blotch on the inside of her elbow. She sighed. “I haven’t been so black an’ blue since—” She clamped her mouth closed and scrambled in the drawer for her nightgown. She whisked it over her head and snatched up her hairbrush, viciously attacking her tangled hair.

Tressa stood in the dusty half-buttoned shirt, staring at Sallie’s pale reflection in the mirror. Suddenly the reason for the fear she’d witnessed in Sallie’s green eyes on previous occasions became far too clear. She gently cupped her hand over Sallie’s shoulder. “Sallie? Has someone . . . mistreated you?”

Sallie’s eyes darted to the side and then returned, meeting Tressa’s in the mirror. Her lips formed a grim line. “
He
did. But no more. I tricked him by gettin’ far away. He can’t ever be hurtin’ me again.” Her expression hardened. “No man will.”

Although Tressa had received little affection from her aunt and uncle, at least they had never raised a hand to her. How could someone be cruel enough to strike Sallie hard enough to leave marks behind?

She squeezed Sallie’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Sallie shrugged, dislodging Tressa’s hand. “Don’t be wastin’ your sorry on me. As I said, it won’t be happenin’ again.” She smacked the brush onto the bureau and spun around, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

“An’ ye might want to check yourself where ye sit down. I saw ye fall when the calf worked its head free of the lasso.”

Despite the remembered embarrassment of that moment, Tressa released a giggle. She rubbed her sore hip and nodded. “The fall was a surprise. But I managed to brand him after all.” Pride filled her. Never would she have believed she would have the courage to press a red-hot iron against the flank of a thrashing calf. But she’d done it!