Bleeding Texas (12 page)

“Let me take him!” Lauralee yelled again, pointing at the farmer riding in front of him.

Bo didn't know where she had gotten the paint, but the horse was a big, strong-looking animal and obviously had some speed and stamina. Lauralee weighed only a little more than half what Bo did. Without a doubt, their chances would be better overall if the farmer was riding with her.

“Do it, mister!” Bo shouted at the man. “You've got to switch horses!”

The farmer turned a wall-eyed, terrified look at him and yelped, “I can't!”

“Then I'll dump you off and you can find out if you can outrun those beeves on foot! I'll get my horse as close to Lauralee's as I can. All you got to do is jump over and grab on!”

“Just be careful how you grab!” Lauralee told him.

The farmer grabbed the horse's mane and clung to it for dear life as he moaned, “I can't! I can't!”

“Oh hell,” Bo muttered, indulging in a rare curse. Sheer terror had paralyzed the man, and nothing Bo could say would break through that fear's grip. “Stay here, then. I'll do it!”

He and Lauralee brought their horses closer together. Lauralee was to Bo's left. Scratch moved closer on the right. Bo reached over and handed the reins of his horse to his old friend.

“Hold her steady!”

It was an awesome spectacle, the three horses galloping at full speed so close together that a man could barely fit a hand between them, with the herd of runaway cattle crowding them from behind. Bo kicked his feet free of the stirrups, told the farmer, “All you have to do is hang on right where you are!”

He let go of the farmer and lunged out of the saddle. He threw himself as hard as he could onto the back of Lauralee's horse and wrapped his arms around her. For a harrowing second his legs hung in midair, but then he was able to heave his left leg over the horse's back and haul himself upright just behind the cantle of Lauralee's saddle.

“Got it?” she called over her shoulder to him.

“Got it!”

“Then let's get out of here!”

She urged her horse to greater speed. Scratch did likewise, and since he was leading Bo's horse, that animal had no choice but to call on its reserves of strength, too. The gap between the riders and the stampede widened slightly.

Bo looked back and saw the leaders curving away to the right. Through roiling clouds of dust he spotted riders on the left flank pushing them in that direction.

“Veer left!” he told Lauralee. That would take them away from the direction the herd was turning.

With Lauralee and Scratch heading one way and the herd going the other, it was only a matter of minutes before the riders were out of danger. They slowed and stopped. The gallant horses stood there with their muscles trembling, their sides heaving, and their sleek hides covered with the foam of sweat.

Now that they weren't about to be trampled to death, Bo realized just how tightly he was holding Lauralee and how close together their bodies were pressed. He felt the soft warmth of her breasts against his arm.

Embarrassed, he let go of her.

If she minded how he'd been holding her, she gave no sign of it.

“Powder River and let 'er buck!” Scratch exclaimed as they watched the gradually slowing herd. “I wish I could've seen that instead of be in' right in the middle of it. It must've been like somethin' out of one of those dang Wild West Shows!”

Bo slid down from the back of Lauralee's horse and was glad to get his feet on the ground again. She dismounted, too, and asked him, “Are you all right?”

He nodded and said, “Thanks to you, I am.” He paused, then added, “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your bacon, from the looks of it,” she said with a grin. He could tell from the lines of strain on her face, though, that she realized how close they had all come to dying.

“I was sure mighty glad to see you, Lauralee,” Scratch said from the back of his horse. “I never seen an angel in a Bible storybook that looked like you, but it sure seemed like you was sent from heaven when you came gallopin' up beside us!”

Scratch was right. In boots, jeans, a man's shirt, and the brown Stetson with her curly blond hair tucked underneath it, Lauralee didn't look like a biblical angel. Throw in the deviltry that usually lurked in her eyes and she sure didn't, thought Bo.

But she had saved them, and it was pretty miraculous the way she had done it, too.

None of which answered the question he had asked her.

“You didn't tell me why you're here,” he said to her.

“Because I want to be,” she answered with a defiant tone in her voice. “Everybody in town knew that you were driving that herd to the coast. Some of us can make a pretty good guess why, too. The Star C needs cash. I knew you Creels would be too proud to accept a loan from me, but I figured I could come along and help you with the drive.”

“You don't have enough cash to take care of my pa's problem,” Bo said.

“How do you know how much I have? The Southern Belle is mine free and clear, and it's the most successful saloon in Bear Creek!”

She had a point there. And knowing how smart she was, maybe she really had managed her money well enough to have twelve thousand dollars on hand, Bo mused.

But it didn't matter. She was right about the Creel pride. Not only that, but taking a loan from her to pay off the bank would still leave the ranch in debt. Putting an end to that situation was what this cattle drive was all about.

“Since when did you become a cowgirl?” Scratch asked. “I never knew you could ride like that!”

“I don't spend all my time in a saloon. I've been riding ever since I was a little girl. I'm a fair hand with a rope, too.” She touched the butt of the Colt holstered on her hip. “And with this, when I need to be.”

Scratch grinned and said, “Dadgum, girl, you're just full of surprises!”

Lauralee gave Bo a challenging look and said, “All anybody had to do was ask, if they really wanted to get to know me better.”

Bo didn't know what to say to that, so he turned to the farmer they had rescued from the stampede. The man was still on Bo's horse, slumped forward over the animal's neck, holding on tightly as he let out an occasional moan.

“You can let go now, mister,” Bo said. “You're safe.”

The man was in his mid-twenties, Bo estimated, with a rumpled thatch of dark hair and a beard. His eyes were still so wide that they seemed about ready to pop out of their sockets as he turned his head to look at Bo.

“You . . . you saved me,” he said.

“We didn't want to see a man get trampled,” Bo said.

“Even a damned fool,” Scratch added.

“I . . . I don't know what to say . . . Thank you. You risked your lives for me, and I . . . None of this would have happened if I hadn't—”

“You're right about that,” Bo snapped. He pointed. “Here come your friends.”

The other five farmers rode hurriedly toward them. As the men reined in, the one who had been the spokesman earlier called anxiously, “Samuel, are you all right?”

“Yes, Asa, I am.” The young farmer nodded toward Bo, Scratch, and Lauralee and added, “Thanks to these people.”

Gruffly, the farmer called Asa said, “I reckon we owe you folks a debt of gratitude—”

“Darn right you do,” Scratch interrupted him. “If we hadn't gotten him out of there, you wouldn't even recognize this young fella as human after those cows got through tromping over him.”

Asa's face hardened. He said, “I know that, but you still can't—”

“Don't waste your time blustering, mister,” Bo said. “It's all moot now, anyway.”

“It's all . . . what?”

“Whether you want to let our herd go across your land or not, it doesn't matter now. Those cows have slowed down, but they're not going to stop completely until they get to the Guadalupe River. And that's your doing, not ours.”

“You mean it's my doing,” Samuel said with a hangdog look. “If I hadn't lost my head and acted so crazy . . .”

Asa looked like he still wanted to argue, but he turned and looked for a moment at the dust cloud trailing off to the southwest before he sighed.

“You're right,” he said. “The damage has already been done. And since we owe you for saving Samuel's life . . . Well, there's nothing more to be said, is there?”

“Not really,” Bo agreed. “But for what it's worth, I'm sorry if any of your crops were ruined. Once a herd starts running away like that, there's only so much you can do to stop them.”

Samuel climbed up behind one of his friends, and the farmers all rode off to find his horse. Bo and Lauralee mounted their horses and joined Scratch in riding after the herd.

“I think you should head back to Bear Creek,” Bo said.

“You'd better be talking to Scratch,” Lauralee said, “because I'm not going anywhere except to the coast with you.”

“Who's going to take care of the Southern Belle while you're gone?”

“Roscoe can handle that job just fine, and you know it,” she said.

“Cattle drives can be pretty dangerous,” Bo pointed out.

“I know,” Lauralee said with a smile. “I believe I proved that I can take care of myself a little while ago.”

Scratch said, “Looked to me like you sort of took care of Bo, too. I ain't sure any of us would've made it out of there if it wasn't for you, gal.”

“Thank you, Scratch,” Lauralee said as Bo cast a brief glare at the silver-haired Texan. “It's nice to know that somebody appreciates what I've done.”

“I appreciate you,” Bo said. “I just don't want you to get hurt.”

“And again, I can take care of myself.”

“I'll just be wasting my time if I keep on arguing with you, won't I?”

“I'd say so,” Lauralee replied. “And I can think of better ways for you to spend it.”

Bo didn't figure it would be a good idea to ask her specifically what ways she was talking about.

Knowing Lauralee, she just might tell him.

Not long after that, they spotted Riley and Cooper riding toward them in the distance. Bo was greatly relieved to see his brothers. He had figured they were smart enough to stay out of the way of the stampede, but accidents could always happen.

“Lauralee Parker!” Riley exclaimed when the two groups of riders met up and reined in. “What in blazes are you doing way out here?”

“People keep asking me that,” Lauralee said. “No ‘howdy, nice to see you' or anything.”

“Howdy, Miss Parker,” Cooper said with a twinkle in his eyes. “It's mighty nice to see you, as always.”

Lauralee laughed.

“And you're a charmer, as always, Mr. Creel,” she told him.

“What happened to that blasted farmer?” Riley asked. “Did he get trampled?”

“He's all right,” Bo said. He explained how they had managed to get Samuel—and themselves—safely out of the way of the stampede. “If Lauralee hadn't come along, though, we probably wouldn't have made it.”

“I think that gives me the right to be part of this drive, doesn't it?” she said.

Riley frowned, took his hat off, and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Never heard of takin' a woman along on a cattle drive before,” he said stiffly as he put the hat back on. “I'm grateful for the help you gave us, Miss Parker, but—”

“But I need to turn around and go back to Bear Creek and run my saloon like a good little girl, is that it?”

Riley's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath.

“Didn't say that. I'm just not sure it's a good idea for you to be out here with us.”

“Then you and Bo are in agreement on that.”

Riley glanced at Bo, who figured his brother was a little surprised that they agreed on anything these days.

“I already told her to go home,” Bo said.

“And she told him to go climb a stump, pretty much,” Scratch added with a grin.

Cooper said, “Are you sure you want to spend a couple of weeks around a bunch of cussin', spittin' cowboys, Miss Lauralee?”

“Who do you think make up most of the customers in my saloon?” she asked.

That prompted Cooper to shrug, chuckle, and say, “She's got a point there, boys.”

Bo said, “You can come along, Lauralee, but if you do, you have to remember one thing.”

“What's that?”

“You'll be just another hand on this drive, which means you'll follow my orders as trail boss, and Riley's, as well, since he's the
segundo
.”

Lauralee looked like the idea of taking orders didn't sit all that well with her, but she said, “All right. I can do that.”

Bo wasn't sure if she could or not, but he supposed they could at least give it a try. It wasn't like they were headed out into the middle of nowhere. There were a number of little towns they would be passing nearby where they could leave Lauralee and pick her up on the way back if they had to.

With that settled, the five of them rode after the herd. Bo asked, “Was anybody hurt during that stampede?”

“Good luck was with us,” Riley said. “All the boys did their jobs just fine. Nobody got thrown or gored or anything else.”

“May have to find a creek where some of the younger ones who hadn't been through a stampede before can wash out their longhandles, though,” Cooper said. “Beggin' your pardon for being so crude, Miss Lauralee.”

“That's all right,” Lauralee told him. “I was raised in a saloon, remember? You probably never ran into a girl like me before.”

“That's the truth,” Bo muttered, but when Lauralee asked him what he'd said, he told her he had just been clearing his throat.

 

 

Bo's prediction that the cattle would stop when they reached the Guadalupe River proved to be accurate. Along the way they had broken down some fences and trampled through several fields of cotton and one of sorghum.

Bo hated to see the damage to the fences and crops, but there was nothing he and his brothers could do about it. They hadn't started the stampede. If those farmers had been willing to work with them, they could have avoided most of this trouble.

When they got to the river, they found the herd gathered on its eastern bank, held there by Lee, Jason, Davy, and the rest of the Creel grandsons. Alonzo Hammersmith and the chuck wagon were with them, the old cook having been released by his captors.

Lee rode out to meet Bo and the others and waved a hand toward the stream.

“Bank's too steep to take 'em across here,” he reported. “A couple of the boys went lookin' for a ford.”

“Upstream or down?” Riley asked. “I remember a place a mile or two downstream where we ought to be able to get the cattle across.”

“Actually, one went one way and one went the other,” Lee said. “We figured one of 'em was bound to find a place.”

Bo nodded and said, “That was good thinking. For now, we'll let the cattle rest and graze a mite after running like that.” He glanced at the sun. “It's late enough in the day we might want to wait until morning to make the crossing.”

Riley gave a grudging nod of agreement.

Most of the younger Creels were looking curiously at Lauralee. They all knew who she was, even the younger ones who weren't allowed in the Southern Belle yet.

“You boys know Miss Parker,” Bo went on. “She helped Scratch and me rescue that hotheaded farmer who started the stampede.” He paused, then added with obvious reluctance, “She's going along on the drive with us. I expect all of you to treat her with absolute respect at all times.”

“If you don't,” Riley said, “you'll get your ears boxed—if you're lucky.”

“If you're not lucky,” Cooper said, “you'll get a strap taken to your behind. Creels know how to behave around a lady, and don't you forget it.”

Lauralee said, “I appreciate that, but remember, I'm just another cowhand on this cattle drive, like everybody else.”

That was a nice sentiment, thought Bo, but it wasn't true. Lauralee was about as far from being just another cowhand as anybody could get.

Scratch said, “Here comes the fella who rode downstream to look for a ford.”

Riley's memory turned out to be correct. The young Creel who had gone scouting reported that a little more than a mile downstream, the banks were gentle enough and the river shallow enough that the cattle could get across without too much trouble.

“We'll move the herd on down there and hold them overnight,” Bo decided. “Make the crossing first thing in the morning.”

“You think those sodbusters will come lookin' for any more trouble?” Scratch asked.

“After everything that's happened—and that almost happened—I hope not,” Bo said. “But we'll have guards posted all night anyway. A herd on the move like this is always tempting trouble.”

Alonzo Hammersmith reached into the back of his chuck wagon, picked up a sawed-off shotgun, and placed it on the seat beside him. He said, “I'd like to see those high-handed varmints try anything else. They took me by surprise the first time. Next time I'll say howdy with a face full o' buckshot.”

“Let's hope it doesn't come to that,” Bo told the irascible old cook. He waved a hand over his head and called to the members of the crew, “Move 'em out!”

 

 

They camped beside the river, which was a peaceful stream only a few feet wide and not any more than that deep.

Bo knew that tranquil appearance could be deceptive. He had seen the Guadalupe when it was up, when heavy rains in the hill country west of Austin caused raging floods all the way to the coast. The Guadalupe and the San Antonio Rivers were notorious for bursting out of their banks and inundating all the bottom land through which they flowed.

There wasn't much danger of that at this time of year, especially after a fairly dry season that had left the river at a slightly lower level than usual. Bo was confident they wouldn't have to worry about flash floods unless a hurricane came in before they reached Rockport. This was the right season for such devastating storms.

Lauralee made the mistake of offering to help Alonzo Hammersmith prepare supper. Bo would have headed her off from that if he'd had the chance, but before he knew what was going on, Hammersmith was bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“If anybody thinks I need a dang she-wolf to help me rustle grub, maybe I better just pack up and light a shuck outta here!” he threatened. “I been feedin' cowboys for nigh on to thirty years, and the day I need some fancy female critter tellin' me what to do is the day I throw my pots and pans in the river and go off to sit on a cactus!”

“But . . . but . . .” Lauralee said, looking surprised and flustered. “I didn't mean to offend you, Mr. Hammersmith. I just thought—”

“Thought you was a better cook than me!”

“No, I swear I never thought that,” Lauralee said as she held her hands up, palms out in an entreating gesture. “I would never try to usurp your authority—”

“Never try to what? Now you're not only a better cook than I am, you're smarter, too, with them highfalutin words, is that it?”

Lauralee stood there wide-eyed, clearly surprised by the hornets' nest she had stumbled into and unsure what to say next for fear of stoking the fire of the cook's rage even more.

Bo took pity on her and went over to put a hand on her shoulder.

“We'll go on now, Mr. Hammersmith, and let you get on about your business,” he said as he turned Lauralee away from the chuck wagon.

Hammersmith snorted and said caustically, “Damn well about time. And if you think I'm gonna apologize for my language, you can go rassle a skunk!”

Trying not to laugh out loud, Bo steered Lauralee to the other side of the camp. As supremely self-conf ident as she was, it was good every now and then to see her run up against a situation where she didn't know what to do.

“Honestly, I didn't mean to cause any trouble,” she began.

“I know that,” Bo told her. “A range cook is sort of like the king of all he surveys, though. Most of them don't take kindly to anything they take as a challenge to their authority.”

“That's not what I meant to do,” Lauralee insisted. “I just wanted to give him a hand.”

“Doesn't matter what you meant. It's the way Mr. Hammersmith took it that counts.”

“Like the way you don't want me here, even though all I'm trying to do is help.”

“It's not a matter of not wanting you here,” Bo said. “I'm always glad for your company. I just don't want to see you get hurt, that's all.”

“What if I promise I won't?”

“I don't see how you can do that. Nobody knows what the future is going to bring.” Bo shook his head. “There are no guarantees in life.”

Quietly, Lauralee asked, “Did you really believe there were, back when you got married and had kids?”

Bo stiffened and said, “I don't reckon I want to talk about that.”

“Why not? That's what this is all about, isn't it? This thing between you and me.”

Bo shook his head.

“There's nothing between you and me except friendship, Lauralee.”

“But there could be,” she insisted. “If you weren't afraid.”

A frown creased Bo's forehead. He said, “You think that's what it is? That I'm afraid of getting involved with you? You think the fact that I'm more than twice your age doesn't have anything to do with it?”

“You're only a
little
more than twice my age,” she pointed out. “And if that doesn't bother me, why should it bother you?”

“Because I've got a sense of what's right and proper, that's why.”

“And I don't, because I'm just a saloon girl. A trollop.”

“I never said that,” Bo protested. “And you know good and well I don't think that. You're a lot more than that, and everybody knows it.”

“Then it comes back to the fact that you're scared.”

The two of them were standing in the shadows under a live oak. The glow from the campfire didn't quite reach them. Bo could see well enough to know that she was looking intently at him, however. She had let her hair tumble loose around her face when she took her hat off earlier, and now he saw the blond curls stir slightly as a night breeze made the tree branches sway and tremble.

He put his hands on her shoulders. She lifted her head and tipped it back slightly. He knew she expected him to pull her to him and kiss her. And he was tempted to do exactly that.

Lord, was he tempted.

But he said, “Lauralee, there are some things we just have to accept in life, no matter how much we wish we could change them. If I was younger . . . if I had something to offer you besides pain and regret . . . well, things would be different between us, I can promise you that. But they aren't, and we have to live with it.”

“Living with things . . . hurts,” she whispered.

“Yes, it does,” Bo agreed. “But pain—all sorts of pain—is the price we pay for being alive.”

“Damn it, Bo . . .”

“If you want to turn around and go back to Bear Creek in the morning, I'll understand.”

She pulled away from him and snapped, “I'm not a quitter. Never have been and never will be. I said I was going along on this cattle drive, and by God, that's what I'm going to do!”

Her answer didn't surprise him at all.

Over by the chuck wagon, Alonzo Hammersmith called out, “Coffee's hot and the biscuits are done! Come an' get 'em 'fore I throw 'em out, dang your ornery cowboy hides!”