Hard Country (37 page)

“Are you about to give me a talking-to?”

Cal chuckled. “Wouldn’t do a bit of good. I will say you’ve got that lad back at the ranch about half civilized, but I doubt you can hold him off much longer.”

“I know it,” Emma replied.

In the time that Emma and Molly had been at the ranch, Patrick had been on his good behavior, hoping to win Emma over. It was amazing how a woman could gentle a man, but in Patrick’s case Cal wasn’t sure it would last forever. The lad had a lot of wild oats tugging at him and had lately become as restless as a wildcat.

“Will you stay or skedaddle?” he asked.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, faking innocence.

“Either you’re going to share a blanket with Patrick or you’ll leave the Double K. I can’t see it any other way.”

“There is no other way.”

“In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him so partial to anyone.”

“I wonder if he loves me,” Emma said.

“I reckon he does. Will you marry him?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’d sure hate to see you go. George would too.”

Emma smiled. “I didn’t say I would leave, just that I might not marry him.”

Cal shot her a surprised look. “Well, I’ll be. You’re a bold one; I’ll give you that. But you’ve got cause to be cautious.”

Emma placed her hand on Cal’s sleeve. “I knew you would understand. I wish Patrick was more like you.”

“Give over that silly talk, missy,” Cal said gruffly.

“I will not,” Emma replied with a laugh.

They traveled the rest of the way to Tularosa through a growing snowstorm that turned the entire basin white under a bank of flat, dark clouds that hung above like a massive ceiling blocking the sky, hiding the mountains from view. In town, they went directly to Ignacio’s casa, where they were greeted with food and an invitation to spend the night.

After eating, Cal and Ignacio went off to the cantina. Emma tucked Molly into bed with Sofia and rejoined Teresa, who had sent Juan, Bernardo, and Miguel to spend the night with their grandfather Cesario, who lived alone and enjoyed their company.

“I think I’ll have at least three more children,” Emma said merrily.

Teresa looked at her in the lamplight. “Have you decided to marry Patrick?”

“Not yet. I may want different men to give me my babies.”

“Emma,” Teresa cried, startled and shocked by the thought of it.

Emma smiled mischievously.

“Do you love Patrick at all?” Teresa asked.

“I don’t know if I can,” Emma replied, a touch of sadness in her voice. “Perhaps we’re a perfect match.”

Teresa reached for her hand and the two women sat silent in the lamplight for a time.

“Are you happy?” she finally asked Emma.

“I’m safe,” Emma answered. “That might be about the best I can do.”

37

O
vernight the skies had cleared and the day was bitter cold. To the west above the San Andres, dull clouds gathered, pushed eastward by a stiff breeze. Snow covered the mountains and the basin, creating a glistening landscape. Icicles danced on the bare branches of the trees that lined the village acequias, and chimney smoke filled the air with the aroma of pine and piñon logs.

Cal and Emma had spent the morning buying and loading the wagon with supplies. Earlier, they decided to stay over another night before returning to the Double K in hopes the cold snap would end and the weather would clear. But Cal figured more snow was on the way as he stomped his boots clean on the front porch of the general store, where two horses hitched to a buckboard waited. Tied to the back of the wagon was a little pinto pony.

He stepped into the warmth of the general store and spotted the lawyer Albert Fountain with his young son, Henry, warming their hands at the potbellied stove.

Years ago, Fountain had drawn up the papers giving Cal guardianship of Patrick, making the boy his sole heir, and giving him half ownership of the Double K. During Cal’s times as a deputy sheriff, official business had brought him into contact with Fountain every now and then, and he’d watched the lawyer become a powerful and influential politician. He had held elected and appointed offices, had served in the militia, rising to the rank of colonel, and had become an enemy of Oliver Lee and his compadres, who some said were rustling on the Tularosa. Since Cal had no proof that Lee was a rustler and got along just fine with the man, he paid no attention to the rumors. Cal was one of the few Texans on the Tularosa who’d never found cause to dislike Albert Fountain in spite of not agreeing with his politics. Fountain fought for what he believed in, and Cal admired that quality. He also figured any man willing to take on the cattle rustlers was worthy of his respect, and Fountain was doing just that as counsel to a newly formed stock-growers association. He was relentlessly pursuing the stock thieves by legal means and had already scored convictions on one gang operating near Socorro along the Rio Grande. Word had it that he was now poised to go after Oliver Lee.

Cal touched his hat brim as he stepped to the stove. “Good morning, Colonel.”

Fountain turned. A muscular man with a high forehead and wide-spaced eyes, he was clean shaven except for a neatly trimmed mustache. Fountain smiled. “Good day to you, sir.”

“What brings you to Tularosa?” Cal asked.

“Young Henry and I are on our way home to Las Cruces from Lincoln.”

“There’s more snow sure to come before nightfall.”

“I believe you’re right,” Fountain replied. “We’ll stay over tonight in La Luz. Have you seen anything of Oliver Lee and his friends in town?”

“Can’t say I have,” Cal replied. “Are you looking to find those lads?”

“Not yet,” Fountain said, forcing a smile. “Come, Henry, pick out some hard candy and let’s be on our way.”

“Have a safe trip home,” Cal said.

Fountain gave him a quizzical look. “Yes, by all means.”

Cal sought out the proprietor’s wife, who was busy arranging notions and fabrics on a table near a display of women’s fashions.

“Do you recall that young woman in here with me this morning?” he asked.

“Yes, of course I do,” the woman replied.

“Would you help me pick out an outfit or two for her?”

“Certainly. What would you like for her?”

“Nothing fancy,” Cal replied. “She’s pretty enough as is. Something she’d enjoy wearing every day. And can you wrap it up nice?”

“With pleasure.”

After half an hour with the woman’s expert help, Cal left the store with a parcel tied with a pretty red ribbon under his arm. In it were two dresses and some undergarments the proprietor’s wife had picked out.

With the storm approaching, he hurried back to Ignacio’s casa, covered the loaded wagon with a tarp, and fed the team some oats just as the first flakes began to fall. Inside, he put the parcel on the table in front of Emma.

“What’s this?” she asked, as Ignacio, Teresa, and their children gathered around.

“Open it,” Cal said.

Emma handed Molly to Teresa, carefully untied the ribbon, and peeled back the paper. “Oh, my,” she said, her fingers caressing the fabric. Her eyes were bright and wet as she stood and held a dress in front of her. “Oh, my.”

“Maybe you should court her, my amigo,” Ignacio said.

“Watch what you say, old pard,” Cal cautioned.

Ignacio belly laughed as Emma swirled across the room with the new dress pressed against her body.

She stopped and looked at Cal. For an instant she was no longer a bold, fiercely independent woman, but just a delighted, charming young lady brimming with pleasure.

“I never…,” she stammered before throwing herself into his arms. “You are the sweetest man.”

Cal gave her a small hug and pushed her away. “Now, I’ve told you before, give over that kind of talk.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and danced away.

* * *

T
wo days after their return to the ranch, on a clear, cool, early morning, Patrick confronted Cal as he climbed down from the windmill.

“Do you want her for yourself, old man?” he asked.

“What are you all puffed up about?” Cal asked as he crossed toward the barn, grease can in hand, Patrick at his heels.

“You know damn well what it is,” Patrick spat, “buying her dresses and all. She told me.”

“That girl needed some new duds and I made her a present. Nothing more to it than that.”

“You’ve got no hankering for her?” Patrick demanded.

“If I were young and inclined to want to settle down with a woman, I’d pay my respects to her, hat in hand,” Cal replied as he stowed the grease can on a shelf in the barn. “But I’m neither young nor the marrying kind.”

“So you do fancy her,” Patrick said, half snarling.

Cal grabbed a rag and wiped his hands. “What man wouldn’t? But I ain’t standing in your way or trying to queer your play.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Why is it you can’t see the honest truth when it’s told to you straight out? If you want to call me a liar, we can knock each other’s ears down right here and now.”

Patrick backed up a step. “I ain’t looking for a fight.”

“Good,” Cal said on his way to the saddle shed. “You’ve been mooning over Emma for nigh onto a year, and it’s about time you stopped being flummoxed by her.”

“I ain’t confused at all.”

“Like hell you ain’t.” Cal grabbed his tack and started for the corral, where his pony waited. “I know you don’t like to take advice, but here’s some for you anyway: Go tell that girl what you want, listen to what she wants, and see if you two can cinch something up together.”

“I’ve already done that.”

“Do it again and be nice about it,” Cal said as he entered the corral with his tack. Bandit, his pony, trotted over. “You got all day and night to get it done, with no one around. I don’t think we lost any stock in the storm, but it’s best to prowl around and check. George is on his way to Big Sheep, and I’m headed to North Canyon. We’ll be back tomorrow. Go talk to that gal.”

“All right,” Patrick said. “Maybe I will.”

Cal blew on the bit to warm it, put it in Bandit’s mouth, secured his saddlebags and scabbard, mounted, and smiled down at Patrick. “Way I see it, Emma has been real good medicine for you.
Buena suerte
.”

He rode out of the corral and broke Bandit into a trot. Behind him, he heard the gate swing closed. He’d finally said his piece to Patrick. He hoped some of it had sunk in.

* * *

W
hile Molly slept soundly, Emma cleaned the ashes out of the cookstove, brought in more wood, and scrubbed the kitchen floor. When she finished, she washed her face in a basin of hot water, sat at the kitchen table, and brushed her long, thick hair with slow strokes, the feel of it pleasant and soothing.

Cal and George had ridden away earlier in the day, and Patrick was still in the corral working with one of the horses he was training. Usually when he was with the ponies he came in for a midmorning cup of coffee, knowing she always kept a fresh pot ready. Today she’d yet to hear his footsteps. She emptied the basin of water outside and paused to watch him for a minute. He reined the pony from a canter to a quick stop and trotted it around the corral. He bent low over the pony’s neck, patting and talking to it before dismounting. She found it mystifying that he was gentle and patient with animals and so sharp and irritable with people.

She was about to wave and call to him that fresh coffee was ready when Molly started crying. She changed the baby’s dirty diaper and nursed her for a time before Patrick stomped into the kitchen.

He nodded, crossed to the stove, poured his coffee, and sat across from her at the table.

“Molly’s getting big,” he said after taking a swallow. “How long a time before she stops nursing?” He had no idea how long it took but thought once it stopped maybe Emma might show more interest in him.

Emma looked at him with surprise. It was unlike him to comment about Molly at all. “Another year or so.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Patrick said, falling silent. He wet his lips, ran a finger around the rim of his cup, and said in a rush, “I know I’m not much for courting, but I’m thinking we should get married.”

Emma looked at him without changing her expression.

“Well?” he prodded.

“Will you hear me out and not get riled by what I have to say?” Emma asked.

“Are you turning me down?” Patrick asked, ready to hate what he might hear.

“You’re starting up already,” Emma replied evenly. “Will you hear me out?”

Patrick shifted uneasily in the chair. “I will.”

“Promise?”

“Okay,” he said. Across the table, a milk bubble formed on Molly’s lips and she burped.

“You can have me,” Emma said, patting Molly’s back, “but I will not marry you yet.”

Patrick’s eyebrows went up. “Why not?”

“We can live as man and wife for now.”

“I ain’t good enough to marry?”

“I won’t be owned by any man.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I won’t be bossed around, tied up and locked in a room, or forced to do whatever a man wants. You can have no rights over me.”

“I’m not like that,” he replied, half believing his words.

“If you ever force yourself on me, raise a hand to me or Molly, come to our bed drunk and dirty, I will leave. If you ever lie to me, steal from me, or treat me like a servant or a whore, I’ll leave. Those are my terms.”

“You got this all figured out, don’t you?” Patrick said.

Emma nodded. “If you don’t like it, walk away.”

“You ain’t never gonna marry me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Patrick stared at her. He didn’t know what he meant to her and probably never would. She seemed to take him as he was and wasn’t frightened of him at all. He liked that. There was a part of her he didn’t understand, but he knew it was as tough as rawhide. Maybe even dangerous.

He’d thought about all of this every day for a year, trying to shake her off and be done with her. But all he could think of was being with her, pressed belly to belly, her legs wrapped around him, her dark hair coiled in his fingers, lips on lips, his hands exploring every inch of her warm body.