Harvest of Fury (26 page)

“Call on me?” she echoed, wondering for a moment what he meant. Then she realized that he was again asking to visit her, not simply stop by the ranch. “Why, I—that's kind of you, lieutenant, but—”

“Are you keeping other company?”

“No.”

Jordan's one-sided proclamation and subsequent aloofness was scarcely courtship. Besides, he hadn't asked her what she thought about it, just stated his claims like some
conquistador
saying a place belonged to some distant king no matter what the natives wanted!

“Do you find me distasteful?” persisted Frazier.

“You can be very nice,” Cat tried to think of a tactful way to say it, could come up with none, and simply blurted, “I don't want to get married for a long time, Lieutenant Frazier.”

He laughed in a way that removed any sting from his words. “Bless you, neither do I! But I'd like to take you riding, escort you to the occasional festivity that's fit for ladies. I promise not to importune or woo you fervently till I'm at least a captain—unless you want me to.”

Put that way, it didn't sound alarming. Her eye caught Jordan swinging winsome Doña Gertrude in the firelight. Going to marry her, was he, after he'd exhausted himself with everyone else? Cat glanced at Frazier from beneath her eyelashes.

“Well?” he urged, gray eyes eager.

She nodded. “All right, Lieutenant. You may speak to Talitha. She's my guardian.”

“But surely Marc Revier—”

“Father left Talitha in charge of us.” A new thought struck her. “Of course, the twins are twenty-one today! I suppose they might be my guardians, in a way. But it's Tally you must ask.”

Frazier gave a bewildered chuckle. “It's a complicated household. Do you and your brothers own the ranch and that mine I've heard mentioned?”

“Just shares. Father's will left Tally a quarter, which isn't really enough. Without her, the ranch and mine would have been lost during the war. Then, Sewa has her father's shares.” At the officer's baffled look, Cat tried to make it simple. “Our parents owned two thirds of the properties they shared with Santiago. That two thirds is quartered to my brothers, Tally, and me. Santiago's third is Sewa's, undivided.”

“Then she ought to be quite an heiress.”

Cat had never thought of it that way but had to nod slowly. “I suppose.”

It followed that the O'Sheas were a little bit rich, though wealth was only of relative importance in this region. It couldn't buy your life from Apaches or bring rain when the fields were dry and cattle were thirsty. People were what mattered here, their courage, strength, and judgment.

A captain from Camp Wallen was approaching. Frazier pressed Cat's hand. “I'll speak to Mrs. Revier,” he promised, and, surrendering her to the other officer, went off to do just that.

Why was it that birthday dances had suddenly become so hazardous? Cat was far from sure that she really liked Claybourne Frazier and wanted more of his company than she already had. But, since he agreed with her that marriage was out of the question for years, it might be a good way to learn something of men, rather than wait till Jordan decided she was old enough to court seriously.

If he still cared about her at all, the way he was acting tonight! He hadn't even been friendly. She craned her neck and soon located him, dancing with one of Doña Rosa's pretty nieces and obviously enjoying it. If he was going to act like that, why had he spoken to her at all, given her that kiss that she sometimes felt in her dreams? He was horrid and exasperating. Even if he asked her to dance now, she wouldn't.

She had been making appropriate murmurs at the captain's complaints about Camp Wallen and was jarred to full attention only when he asked where she was from.

“Why, I was born here,” she said. “Not at the ranch, but between here and Sonora. Of course, this was all still Sonora in 1853; it wasn't till the next year the Gadsden Treaty was ratified and this became part of the United States. But,” she added proudly, thinking about it for the first time, “I'm of the country, though my father came from Ireland and my mother from Alamos.”

The captain, middle-aged, with graying sideburns, shook his head. “You poor child! To spring from this barbarous land and know nothing else!”

“I don't want anything else. Marc's been to lots of places. He says we have the most beautiful mountains and skies anywhere.”

“Mountains! Skies!” The captain eyed her pityingly. “You speak like a savage, my dear young lady. But perhaps it's as well. How could you be content here if once you enjoyed the advantages of a city? Shopping, theater, museums, conveniences, and, most of all, no fear of being killed by Apaches!”

“Cities are smoky, filthy, and full of disease,” she retorted. She'd never been in a city, not even little Tucson, but Marc had talked about the squalor as well as the wonders of New York, Berlin, London, St. Louis, and San Francisco. “I'll take my chances with the Indians any time.”

“Really, Miss O'Shea—”

“Forgive me, sir, but I haven't had my dance with this young lady.”

Smoothly, firmly, Jordan took her out of the captain's arms and swept her into comparative shadow. “How you do get into disputes with these officers!” he teased. “What would you do without me to rescue you?”

“I'd do very well. If you'd rather dance with everyone else, please don't sacrifice yourself.”

“Katie!” He twinkled. “Can I hope you're jealous?”

Insufferable! “Why should I be jealous?” she sniffed. “I've just told Lieutenant Frazier he could ask Talitha for permission to call on me.”

Did Jordan's arm tighten? She couldn't see his face in the shadows. Oddly enough, she felt in the wrong, as if he hadn't provoked her sharpness, but when he spoke, his careless tone removed that edge of guilt.

“You're bound to be wooed by the officers, honey. We might as well get it over with.”

“
We?
”

He nodded, giving her a whirl so sudden she had to cling to him to keep her balance. “Yes, my sweetheart. Because after your dances and rides and flirtings, I'm going to marry you. When you grow up.” His voice roughened. He held her close for a moment. Sweet pleasure-fear shot through her and her knees felt heavy. “I won't rush you, Katie. And the only way I can keep from that is to hold back. I can't court you just a little.”

So that was why he'd been aloof. Regretting her commitment to Claybourne Frazier, she gazed up into Jordan's steady hazel eyes. “Jordan, maybe—”

She wasn't sure what she wanted. It didn't matter. He cut in almost harshly. “No, Katie. I could besiege you, drug your senses, make you think it was love, but that's not what I want. Give us time, darling. But during that time, remember I'm your friend. You can come to me for anything.”

His mouth just brushed her forehead before he gave her into Miguel's arms.

A few days later Patrick and Cinco headed east. Belen rode with them to help drive the cattle Talitha sent to James each fall. She always had them left in the basin where she'd parted with her brother late in 1862, and though the herders had never seen anyone, neither had they been molested.

The vaqueros couldn't have liked this feeding of their enemies, but they remembered James and respected Talitha's love for him. No one knew, of course, whether he got the cattle, but at least Talitha could hope she'd helped prevent his having to sacrifice another horse to feed hungry women and children.

“Be careful,” Cat whispered to Patrick when it was her turn to kiss him good-bye. “If you see James, tell him to come home.”

Patrick gave her a chiding squeeze. “Katie-Cat, maybe he
is
at home. And,” he added, laughing, “it may be a lot healthier for me if I don't see him!”

Cinco, grown so tall at fourteen that her head reached only to his shoulder, stood before Cat, waiting till she looked at him. Though his face wasn't as angular as Patrick's, its brown leanness showed the heritage of their common father. It came to her, with a bit of shock as it always did, though she knew it perfectly well, that he was her brother, too.

Rising on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “Take care of yourself,
hermano mío
. Find your gold and come back quickly.”

“I'd rather find turquoise,” he said in his soft voice. “The color of the little bird I gave you. The color of your eyes.”

Troubled by his manner, she didn't know how to answer him till she remembered that he was only a boy, scarcely more than a child. By then he was on his horse.

His shadow, against the sun, was that of a warrior.

XV

Sangre was pure delight, spirited but responsive, one ear and eye bent always toward her, the others alert for what was before them. She loved to brush him till he gleamed a rich red brown so dark it was almost black and to comb out his thick sable mane. She still rode Mancha and was pleased that her two loved horses had become best friends, keeping company in the field or corral, resting their heads on each other's withers and rubbing tenderly.

The way that horses formed special attachments had always beguiled Cat. Geldings often had special mare friends, treating them almost after the manner of possessive stallions, but many had an amazing love for colts. Sangre had never exhibited that till a foal of Ceniza's began to approach him and Mancha, thrusting out its head and opening and closing its mouth in a way that clearly indicated its youth. Like most grown horses, Sangre wouldn't fight a colt, and he somewhat dourly ignored the filly's overtures till Mancha accepted her. After that, the three were inseparable.

“Like a family,” Cat said with a laugh to Belen, then sobered. “In a way, it's sad that Sangre can't sire a foal of his own.”

Belen snorted. “He'd only run it off, once it was a yearling or coming two-year-old.”

“Well,” floundered Cat, “I guess I wish he could be a stallion—have his own herd, be sort of a splendid tyrant.”

Belen shook his head, smiling. “You astonish me, small one. When a band of horses travel, who leads them?”

Cat frowned. “A mare.”

“What mare?”

Cat thought of the lead mares of various
manadas
, traits they had in common. “She's strong and well grown, though not old. She seems to know where the best grass and water are, and where to find the best protection in a storm. And with all that—well, the others just naturally follow her. The stallion's behind to keep the herd together and protect it, but surely he's the real boss!”

“The leader is the leader.” Belen chuckled. “For sure, the stallion has his uses, but any stronger one can take his place. The lead mare must be much more than strong. She knows how to keep the band alive.”

“Like Talitha!”

After a startled glance, Belen laughed from deep in his barrel chest. “True,
chiquita. La madama
has the qualities of the finest lead mares.” He watched Cat searchingly. “So will you when you're older—if you learn not to be betrayed by pity. This land requires a tougher skin.”

She looked ruefully down at her wrists, gnawed by a teething kitten. “I can't help it, Belen. If something's hurt, I feel sorry for it.”

He glanced toward Jordan, who was working with a fractious mare everyone else had given up on. Jordan spoke to her with firm gentleness, smoothing her trembling flanks, accustoming her to his hands.

“
Bueno
, Caterina. Be as tenderhearted as you please as long as we find you a kind, brave man.
La madama
will lead our band a long while yet.”

“She'd better. I could never take her place.”

Belen looked toward the crosses on the hill. Sadness made him look his age. “That's what my
doncellita
thought when Doña Socorro died. But she raised you and your brothers. She held the ranch through the war, through Don Patricio's death. Thank the good God she now has a strong man to cherish her.”

Cat nodded, unable to speak for the sudden welling of grief for her father, for the mother she'd never known. Why did people who'd loved each other as they had have to die so young?

Though they went riding on most days the lieutenant was off duty, he also spent many evenings at the ranch, sitting as close as possible to Cat while nutmeats were picked out, clothes mended, and ropes and hackamores made. On such occasions Jordan usually seemed to find some pressing duty away from the house, but, somewhat to Cat's chagrin, he stuck by his resolve to delay his own courtship.

As well as singing songs and
corridos
, they discussed everything imaginable from John Wesley Powell's navigation of a thousand miles of the Colorado River's torrents and rapids through the Grand Canyon in the northern part of the territory to Wyoming Territory's granting women suffrage for the first time in the United States. When Talitha applauded the admittance of Arabella Mansfield to the Iowa bar as the first case of a woman lawyer in the States, Marc pointed out with a smile that Mistress Margaret Brent had been attorney for Cecilius Calvert, Lord Proprietor of Maryland, in the 1640s.

“Georgia, Mississippi, Texas, and Virginia won't be readmitted to the Union till they ratify the Fifteenth Amendment,” Marc added. “It's sure to be adopted next spring, made a part of the Constitution. It says no citizen shall be denied the vote because of race, color, or previous condition of servitude.”

“But women are classed with lunatics, felons, and children!” Talitha grimaced. “If we lived back in the States, Marc, I warn you that I'd join Susan Anthony's Woman Suffrage Association!”

“I should hope so,” Marc said. “And when I run for the legislature again, woman suffrage is going to be part of my program.” He grinned at Frazier. “Will you vote for me, Clay?”

“In spite of, not because of, your views on women voting,” the lieutenant said a bit stiffly. “To my mind, voting, like warfare, is debasing to female sensibilities.”