Dreaming on Daisies (12 page)

“You want me to follow you?” Steven glanced back toward the barn, wondering if he should call Leah. No sense in alarming her when the dog probably simply wanted attention. “All right, I’m coming.” He had to trot to keep up as the dog disappeared through the shrubbery beyond the newly rebuilt corral.

A prolonged whine came from the other side, somewhere in a stand of trees on the edge of a pasture. Steven broke through, stopping at a split-rail fence where the dog waited, staring into the middle of the field. Young calves frolicked a few hundred feet away and what looked like a pile of laundry was heaped under a lone tree. His gaze focused on it. Why would someone dump anything out here away from the house or barn?

He whistled to Rusty, but the dog darted past him, slipping under the rails and racing toward the tree. From the edge of his vision, Steven saw a dark, massive body move. He walked to the fence and surveyed the pasture, looking more closely. Some distance from the tree a bull pawed the ground, his head lowered and attention pinned to the pile of clothing that stirred and lifted what appeared to be an arm.

Vaulting over the top rail, Steven twisted his head back toward the barn. “Leah! Get out here. Hurry! There’s someone in the pasture with the bull.” He waved his arms and shouted, running as fast as his boots would allow, praying he could draw the animal’s attention.

Chapter Twelve

Leah heard Steven’s shout and came running. She skidded to a halt and took in the scene, then leaped forward, bounding over to the fence, her heart pounding and chest heaving. “Pa! That’s Pa out there.”

She struggled to breathe. Should she run back to the house and grab her rifle, or shout for Buddy and hope he’d hear and bring one? Never in her life had she felt so helpless.

Whirling around, she cupped her hands around her mouth and sucked in a deep breath. “Buddy! Bud—dy!”

Steven sprinted across the pasture, waving his arms and shouting at the bull.

The front door of the house flew open, and Buddy bolted outside. He shaded his eyes against the lowering sun. “What’s wrong? Somebody hurt?”

Leah stepped onto the bottom rail of the fence and pointed toward the bull. It remained in the same position, head lowered and gaze trained on her pa, only a dozen yards or so away.

“Get the rifle. Pa is down, and the bull is in the pasture. He’s not far from Pa.” She waited only long enough to be sure Buddy had heard, then jumped down from the fence and raced across the grass, closing the distance toward Steven, who’d stopped between the bull and her pa.

Steven halted and spun. “Get back! I can handle this. I don’t want you hurt as well.”

Leah slowed her pace, anger surging. Who did he think he was, telling her to leave? That was her pa out there, hurt and in danger, not his. If anyone needed to be here, it was her. “I know cattle better than you do, and you’re the one who ought to leave,” she called. “That bull is going to charge if you keep running at him.”

She’d been right all along. He was a city slicker who didn’t know a thing about ranching, and she should have sent him packing. He’d get himself trampled, and then they’d have two people to rescue.

She pulled to a halt, her gaze darting from her father, to Steven, to the bull, and over to her father again. Pa sat slumped against the base of the tree, his arm lying at an odd angle by his side, his eyes closed and face drained of color.

The bull swung his head back and forth, froth flying from his open mouth, and a bellow rent the air. He pawed the ground and dropped his head, while his entire body shook with rage. What had set the bull off, and why was he in this pasture instead of in his own pen? And what in the world was Pa doing out here?

Steven pointed off to Leah’s left but kept a wary eye on the bull. “Swing wide and come up on your pa as far away from the bull as possible. If you can get to Charlie, find out how bad he’s hurt and help him to his feet, if he can walk.”

Leah edged to the side, keeping her eyes riveted on the bull. “What about you?”

“Worry about yourself and your pa right now. I’ll distract the bull, hopefully long enough for you to get Charlie out of danger.”

Increasing her pace but not breaking into a jog again, Leah covered the distance between herself and her pa, keeping to the far side of the base of the tree where he lay. If nothing else, she could drag him behind the trunk if the bull decided to charge.

Her wild thoughts settled, and she forced herself to focus. The tree wouldn’t do much good if the bull swung around and made another pass. She couldn’t keep dragging a grown man from one side to the other, and Pa wasn’t a lightweight. Not that he was heavy, but right now he was a dead weight. She balled her hands into fists. Why had she used that phrase? Pa would be fine. He had to be. It appeared he’d only injured an arm. But why wasn’t he moving or opening his eyes?

Glancing up, she gauged the height to the lowest limb. An easy climb for her, but not likely if Pa was hurt bad, as she now assumed he must be. Otherwise, he’d surely be on his feet by now, running the other way or tossing epithets at the bull.

A slight smile formed at the picture. She squelched it and bent over, touching her father’s shoulder and being careful not to move his arm. “Pa? Are you awake? Can you get up?”

Not even a groan answered her, and his eyes didn’t open.

What was taking Buddy so long? She hazarded a look back at the house. He’d made it to the pasture fence, but his bad back must be giving him fits, as he appeared to be barely moving.

She dropped down onto her knees behind the tree and surveyed the scene before her. Pa lay quiet against the trunk, but she could see his chest rising and lowering, so he was alive.

Steven stood between Pa and the bull, his arms at his sides, but approaching the beast at a slow, steady pace. Rusty raced around in circles, barking and lunging at the bull, which swung his head and bellowed at the dog. Rusty would get himself trampled, and Buddy’s heart would be broken. Besides, the dog wasn’t used to taking orders from Steven and might get in the way.

“Rusty!” She placed her fingers to her lips and let fly the piercing whistle Buddy had taught her years ago—one Rusty knew better than to disobey. He gave one lingering look and a bark at the bull, then tucked his head and came to her side.

“You sit and be quiet.” She stroked his silky ears, wondering if she should have called him off. Maybe he could keep the beast away long enough to allow her and Steven to get her father to safety.

She raised her head and focused on Steven, praying God would somehow deliver them from this madness. What a fool she’d been to allow a greenhorn like Steven to tackle the bull on his own, but there was no help for it now. She’d never forgive herself if he was seriously injured, but gratitude for his sacrifice and bravery swelled her heart nearly to bursting.

A loud snort broke the stillness of the late-spring evening. Leah’s head jerked up from where she’d crept a few feet from her father’s side.

The bull pawed the hard dirt beneath his hooves, stirring up dust, and shook his head, his fiery gaze riveted on Steven.

Leah jumped to her feet and screamed, sheer terror coursing through her body. “Run! He’s going to charge! Get over here behind the tree before you get trampled!” Leah’s insides bunched into a tight coil as Steven sprinted away from the bull—but not toward the tree as she’d instructed.

Steven heard a rifle shot ring out at the precise moment the bull plunged into action. The bull kept coming, so apparently the bullet missed its mark. Steven ran farther into the pasture, away from the tree protecting Leah and her father, and away from the fence.

He had to draw the bull away from Buddy. He’d seen the older man hobbling across the field toward Leah—no way could the man outrun the beast if he charged.

Steven’s lungs emptied and screamed for air, and his legs, which were more used to sitting at a desk than plunging across an uneven pasture, cried for rest. Thundering hooves beat the ground not far behind, and new energy pumped through Steven’s body. Would Buddy get off another shot before Steven reached the far side of the pasture—and the fence that seemed to recede with each succeeding step?

He zigzagged and jumped clumps of brush, praying his feet wouldn’t tangle. The bull had no such concerns, as Steven heard the animal plunging through the brush at a steady pace.

He hated the thought of Leah and Charlie losing their prized bull to a bullet, but he didn’t relish the pain and possible death that would come if the bull’s horns hooked him or tossed him onto the ground. Being stomped by the animal could do as much damage as being gored by those wicked horns.

Finally, the crack of another bullet ripped the air, and the bull bellowed in rage. A second, then a third shot rang out. Another sound caught Steven’s ear—the pounding of multiple hooves. He chanced a look over his shoulder, praying the brute had lost interest in him, but also dreading the thought the bull might turn his attention back on the injured man or his daughter.

A dozen cows and calves galloped across the pasture, straight toward the angry creature. As Steven veered to the left, the herd cut between him and the bull, slowing his pace and catching his attention. The bull’s head lifted. He bellowed, then adjusted his gait and followed the last cow in the line, heading toward another pasture.

Steven stopped, placed his hands on his knees, and leaned over, trying to get his breath. Thanksgiving to God, as well as to Buddy for firing those shots, flowed through him.

Buddy lifted his rifle in the air. “Over here. You’re safe now. Come help us get Charlie to the house.”

Steven straightened and jogged across the intervening space, shaken from his close miss, but grateful to see Charlie sitting without assistance. He made his way to the older man’s side and drew to a halt, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. Thank the Lord Leah and Charlie had avoided serious injury. He grinned at Leah. “Everything all right now? How’s your pa?”

Leah couldn’t stop her hands from shaking—or her entire body, for that matter. She stared at the man who’d risked his life to lead the charging bull away from her father, wondering if she should throw her arms around him and kiss him, or chew him out for the risk he’d taken.

For the space of several long seconds she’d been certain the bull would trample him, leaving nothing but a bloody, limp rag of a man. A shudder shook her frame, and she choked back a sob. If their bull had injured or killed Steven, it would have been her fault for putting a tenderfoot in that position. And she’d have lost the first man who’d managed to touch her heart.

Fire raced along her skin. Leah ignored her father and turned her attention on the man who’d saved them. The fear inside hadn’t subsided, but bubbled, threatening to pour out like a hot geyser. “What were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that, and against my orders?” She pushed to her feet, keeping her hands balled to control the tremors.

He simply stared at her, no comprehension lighting his eyes. “Orders?” He shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I yelled at you—told you to run toward us and get behind the tree to save yourself.” She stamped her boot. If she had a rifle, she’d have dropped that bull. Of all the obtuse, stubborn, mule-headed men she’d ever met, Steven Harding won hands down. “You could have been killed!”

Slowly he shook his head, regret and disappointment vying for dominance on his face. “So you would rather I’d saved myself by hiding behind a tree like a coward? I was supposed to let you tend to your father and lead the bull back so he could trample you? What kind of man do you think I am? Forget it. You’ve already made that clear.” He didn’t wait for a reply but pivoted on his heel and stomped toward the bunkhouse.

“Hey! Come back here.” Leah worked to calm herself enough to form another coherent sentence. Glancing down at her father, she almost spat. He’d been the cause of all of this. “Get up, Pa. Before I go get that bull and bring him back here to teach you a lesson.”

She’d deserved that dressing-down from Steven, but the image of him lying bloody or dead under a raging beast still danced before her eyes. Why did the pain of her father’s rotten decisions have to spill over into her life and color everything around her? There was no reason to snap at Steven, but she couldn’t seem to contain all the roiling emotions screaming to be released.

Pa raised his head, and bloodshot eyes met hers. “I think I busted my arm.” The words were slurred, but Leah had no trouble understanding.

“Good. Serves you right for getting drunk. What did you do? Leave the gate open, then try to climb the tree and fall out of it after you had too much to drink?”

She shook her head in disgust. “Your actions could have gotten all of us killed.” Not to mention they could have lost their prized bull—one they needed if they hoped to grow their herd and improve their circumstances. “You are totally irresponsible when you’re drinking, Pa. This has got to stop.”

Buddy pulled to a halt, panting and wheezing. “Charlie? What’s the matter with you?” He planted the butt of the rifle on the grass and peered at his boss, then straightened and sighed. “Uh-huh, I see.” He held out his hand. “Give me your good arm, and let’s see if we can get you to the house. Reckon you’re still liquored up so the pain shouldn’t be too bad.”

Charlie grunted but let out a deep groan when Buddy heaved him to his feet. “Hurts. Need another drink.”

Leah gave a sharp laugh that ended in a sob, then turned to Buddy. “Can you get him to the house? I need to open the gate to the next pasture and get the bull and cows out of here. Any idea how he got in?”