Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter (22 page)

“Now that would be mighty nice of you.”

“Roger? Another slice?”

Roger smiled. “You know I can't refuse Juanita's pie.”

She served Roger first then took the pie and coffee out to Seymour. “What's going on?” she whispered.

He removed his hat and pulled a folded paper from inside and handed it to her. “Best read this later,” he instructed. “It's from Hunt.”

Just as Trey and the others came outside, she pocketed the note and turned to her brother. “We'll walk you down to the bunkhouse,” she said, realizing it might be a chance to see Chet if only from across a room.

“Ah, Sis, it's not that far.”

Bunker put his arm around Trey's shoulders. “Bigger distance than you might think, Snap. Besides, you know how the ladies like to make a fuss,” he added in a whisper they all heard.

Everyone laughed and headed across to the yard. Bunker walked next to Constance. “Just want to say, ma'am, how well you're looking these days. The boys and me are glad to see it.”

Maria's mother smiled, then turned her attention to Trey. “You mind your manners, young man. Just because you're going to the bunkhouse does not mean you are to forget everything you've been taught in my house.” She smoothed back her son's hair.

When they all entered the bunkhouse, the men jumped to their feet and snatched off their hats. Maria tried not to be obvious as she searched the room for Chet. She saw him behind the others, standing in the shadows, his eyes on no one but her. She swallowed the urge to run to him. Instead, she hugged Trey. When the women returned to the main house, Roger was waiting on the porch.

“Walk with me, Maria.” Again this was not a request.

“Oh, Roger, perhaps tomorrow? Amanda wants to talk to Mama and me about plans for the party, and I promised.” She tried to fake a note of disappointment at having to turn him down, but the truth was that it was becoming more difficult by the day to avoid any situation where she and Roger might find themselves alone—where he might assume that his kisses would be welcomed.

He cupped her cheek and leaned closer. “Tomorrow then,” he said softly and ran his thumb across her lips. She repressed a shudder, thinking,
This
man
may
have
killed
my
father
.

She could barely wait to find a moment alone so she could see what was written on the paper that Bunker had slipped to her. Finally, the moment came when Amanda went to help Constance get ready for bed. Maria took the note from her pocket and moved closer to the lamp in her bedroom. The handwriting was small but neat, the words direct and to the point.

Meet me at the creek where we found your mother. C.

How on earth did he think she could possibly get away without raising suspicion? And yet she would find a way. She waited until she heard Amanda coming down the hall, then wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.

“Where are you going at this hour?” Amanda asked.

“The rain has finally stopped, and I thought I would take a walk. It might help me sleep. Do you want to come?”

As she had hoped, her sister made a face. “I'm not having any trouble sleeping. You go ahead.”

She was surprised to find Juanita still in the kitchen.

“Just going for a walk,” she said.

“Sit down, Maria,” Juanita said.

“I—”

Juanita pointed to the kitchen chair. “Your mama is in no condition to talk straight to you, so it falls to me.”

“And?”

“We all like Chet very much. He has done a good deal for this family—the way he's brought Trey along not being the least of it. But, Maria, he's not for you. He's a hired hand and a drifter. How will he provide for you should the day come that the two of you—”

“He doesn't have to provide for me. We have the ranch.”

“But it's not his ranch, and you have to remember that he came here with the intention of getting some money saved up and moving on to California where he could have a place of his own.”

“I know, but—”

“There's no but's about it, Maria. Any fool can see that the two of you can barely keep your hands off each other, but I am telling you that unless something changes, it can't come to good.”

“But I love him.”

Juanita wrapped her arms around Maria's shoulders. “I know you do, and more's the pity. You have to know when to let him go, Maria, because there will come that day.”

Maria hated that she understood that Juanita was probably right. On the other hand, did it have to be that way? After all, who would have thought that she—a woman—could take on the running of one of the largest ranches in Arizona? No, times were changing, and they would find a way.

Gently she pulled away from Juanita's embrace. “I'm still going for that walk,” she said stubbornly.

Juanita smiled. “I know. Just keep your head about you.”

Outside she kept to the shadows as she made her way to the creek. As she slipped past the bunkhouse, she saw Roger with his hand on Trey's shoulder, lecturing the men about making sure the boy was always with one of them and never off on his own. Knowing Roger, he would feel the need to make his point multiple times.

But just as she passed the open door, she heard Roger ask, “Where's Hunt?”

Maria froze.

“Night shift,” Bunker replied. “Him and Happy and Rico.” Now that they had completed the branding, those animals had rejoined the rest of the herd for grazing before the final roundup of stock for market. Bunker's explanation seemed to satisfy Roger, and he resumed his lecture. Maria hurried on down the rocky path to the creek.

At her approach, Chet turned, then hesitated for a second before holding his arms out to her. She ran the last few steps.
Is
this
what
true
love
feels
like? This longing for him and feeling I'm only complete when he's with me?
she wondered as he folded his arms around her. She lifted her face to his for the kiss she had been longing for.

“We haven't much time,” he said as he kissed her closed eyelids and cheeks, then stepped back, still holding on to her shoulders. “Tell me what's going on.”

“I think my plan is working. I told Roger I knew about the dam, and he's beginning to talk more freely about how we might get around that and get the water running again. Of course, that's all just for show, I'm sure. He hasn't let anything slip yet, but in time—”

“You are playing a very dangerous game, Maria. These men are not ones you should try to take down on your own.”

“I'm not. I just have to have more proof.”

“And then what?”

“I'll go to Marshal Tucker, I promise.” She stroked his cheek. “Meanwhile I have some news about Loralei.” She told him what Ezma had overheard Loralei say about not allowing a man to simply walk away again. “She was talking about Roger.”

“He turned to her because you rejected him, and now that he thinks you've taken him back, he has no need of her.”

“My heart goes out to the child,” Maria said. “Thankfully he's too young right now to realize what's going on but one day…”

Chet breathed out a sigh and led Maria to a rock. “Sit down, Maria. I need to tell you something.”

She could barely believe what she was hearing as he told her of his conversation with Loralei—the letter, the promise to give her his wages, and worst of all, her decision to give up her own child.

“But you aren't the father so why would you…”

“What else was I going to do? Think about it, Maria. Think about the life that boy was being doomed to. So that's what I came to tell you tonight. Once the stock gets to market, I need to figure out what's best for Max. In all of this, he's the one nobody seems to be considering. Maybe going on to California might just be the right thing to do. Ezma has agreed to come with me and care for the kid until I can find a place to buy and—”

“With what? If you give your wages to Loralei, where will the money to buy a place of your own come from? And why on earth would you leave here?”
Why
would
you
leave
me?

For the first time, she began to have doubts about the depth of Chet's feelings for her. She knew that he cared for her, but loving her?

“If that's what needs to be done, then I was hoping maybe you might consider coming with me.”

These were the words she had longed to hear, and yet how could she leave? She had worked so hard to save the ranch—if not for herself, then for Trey. Her brother was far too young to take on the Tiptons, and they were not going to stop trying to take over every acre of land they could.

“I can't,” she whispered. “Surely you understand that.” He was quiet for far too long. “Chet, tell me you understand.”

“I do. It's just that I hoped… You'd best be getting back,” he said softly.

She nodded, fighting back the tears that stung her lashes, and turned to go.

But Chet pulled her back, his arms coming around her and his breath soft as rain on her face. “I won't leave until I know you've worked out everything here. Until I know for sure that you and everyone in your family is safe. That's a promise, Maria.” He kissed her, and as always, it was as if all her doubts evaporated like a morning mist.

“Chet, when you leave…”

“That's not something we need to be thinking on right now, Maria. We've got this moment. Let's not spoil it by trying to figure out what lies down the road a ways.”

He kissed her again—a kiss filled with passion and desire. A kiss she never wanted to end. A kiss that felt like good-bye.

“Now go,” he said, releasing her with obvious reluctance.

“I…”

“Shhh,” he whispered, touching her lips. “Just go, Maria, and get some rest and promise me you'll be careful.”

She nodded, her heart so full that she knew if she tried to speak, she would not be able to hold back her tears. She touched his cheek, and he grasped her hand and kissed her palm, then nodded toward the house. “Go.” His voice was husky, and she felt a flash of shared emotion pass between them. Whatever their status in society might be, this man was everything she would ever need or want, and whatever it took, she would find a way to be with him.

“Used to be that the boss would hire extra drovers to take his stock to market,” Bunker explained the night before they were to head out for Yuma. “But these last years there's been no money for that, so we'll join up with the other small ranchers and share the work.”

Chet understood that beef from Arizona Territory most likely went to California, rather than north and east. “How far?”

“Round about two hundred miles, give or take.”

Chet did some figuring. If they could make about ten or maybe fifteen miles a day, it would take around three weeks. Of course, that only figured on there being no problems. Coming back, they could cover more ground, so, all in all, a trip of about four or five weeks.

“Better get some shut-eye, Hunt. Gonna be a long haul.”

Any cattle drive meant long days in the saddle, and the drive to Yuma was no different. Chet had plenty of time to wonder what Maria was doing. She had this habit of taking things in hand without much thought for the consequences and that worried him. In addition, Bunker had reported that the number of stock the Porterfield outfit had lost due to rustling, disease, or the ongoing drought was at least twice what Johnson or any of the other small ranchers had suffered.

“Course, Mr. Porterfield always had the largest spread until the Tiptons come along. In those days he could afford to lose stock, but these days…”

The pieces were beginning to come together. The Tiptons had made no secret of their ambition and probably thought that if they got their hands on the Porterfield land, the other smaller ranchers would fall in line. So the Porterfield spread had been targeted. Trouble was, Chet couldn't any more prove that the Tiptons were behind Maria's troubles—other than the dam—than she could prove that Turnbull had something to do with her father's death. He tried to come up with a connection—Turnbull had left the ranch to work for Tipton and then come back, but was that because Turnbull had been mad at Maria or because he was in the process of betraying her?

Bunker reined up alongside Chet as the trail boss called out orders and cowhands up and down the line began herding the stock into grassland to one side of the trail. “Two more down,” he reported. “Screwworm. Worst case I ever saw.”

“Ours?”

“Yep.” Bunker spit tobacco and stared at the horizon. “Don't make no sense.”

“Not all that uncommon after branding. Animal has a sore, and they get in.”

“Got that part. What don't make sense is how come it's only our stock?”

“So far,” Chet said. “Trail boss is apparently stopping the drive so all the stock can be checked. Besides, the other ranches finished branding weeks ago.”

“I'll lay you a wager that once we get going again, the only infected cows will belong to Clear Springs.”

Bunker would have won that bet when several hours later, Roger came riding up to tell them that from this point on, the Porterfield stock would be separated from the rest and travel alone.

“But cutting our stock from the herd will cost us valuable time,” Bunker protested. “By the time we get these animals to market—”

“It's been decided,” Turnbull barked, cutting off any further protest. “Now get to work.”

They lost nearly a day as the men cut the stock from the larger herd, shot and buried the infected cows who were beyond saving, and finally settled in for a couple hours of sleep. At dawn, they were up and once again on the trail, but even after spending sixteen to eighteen hours a day in the saddle, they had a long way to go before they reached Yuma.

“Hunt, do you think any more bad stuff will happen?” Trey asked Chet as the two of them rode together.

“Hard to say, Snap. You're seeing the tough side of this business now. Lots of stuff like weather and disease can affect the herd.”

In the distance, they heard a train whistle telling them they had at least reached the place where the railroad ran parallel to the herd. Eventually the two would meet in Yuma.

“Bunker says we've got nearly a week before we get there,” Trey said. “And I heard one of the men say we might even miss the train altogether.”

“George Johnson will make sure the train don't leave till we can get there, Snap. Now, take Crack and go on and get that steer trying to head off on his own. Let's see if you've learned anything.”

Trey grinned and took off, waving his hat and hollering until the stray rejoined the march. He looked back at Chet, who gave him a salute. Of course, Chet had no idea if Johnson or any of the other ranchers would stand up for Maria. Somebody was bound to mention the screwworm and that would make the beef buyers nervous. No, any way he turned this business, it came out bad for Maria and the Porterfields.

* * *

Maria slipped into the bunkhouse and immediately spotted Roger's bunk. It was the only single bed in the room, the others being double stacked to make room for those times when the bunkhouse was full. She quickly searched the items on the small shelf above Roger's cot and found nothing. Then she searched the bedding, being careful to restore the military precision of the corner tucks and the pristine fold of the blanket once she'd finished. Again there was nothing. Where would he hide the damaged bolo? Of course, he might have gotten rid of it, and then where would she be? The broken bolo was the only shred of evidence she had. No, she had to believe he still had it. She couldn't let herself doubt.

She glanced through the small window when she heard Amanda's voice and saw her sister head for the chicken coop. Ezma followed her, carrying the baby. They were laughing and the baby squealed with delight when Ezma bent to show him the chickens.

Maria waited for them to go around the side of the coop, where Amanda would spread the feed for the chicks. Then she slipped outside and headed for the office. Roger had been spending a lot of time there, though she had removed any ledgers and documents that she didn't want him to see, claiming she had misplaced the ones he needed and would help search for them to buy time.

Inside the office, she sat in her father's chair—the place Roger took nowadays, adjusted to fit his greater height. She placed her hands on the worn wooden arms and swiveled from side to side, surveying the room. Why would Roger risk hiding anything here?
Because
he
believes
that
he
has
won.

She opened the drawers to the desk—one slender one that held paper and pencils and other supplies. Another larger one that held receipts and files—the history of her father's years building this place from a shack and thirty head of cattle to the showplace it was when he died. Closing that drawer, she looked at the array of items arranged on the desktop. A sepia photograph of her mother and father in a silver frame, an inkwell and pen, an arrowhead Amanda had found when they were adding a room to the house, and a crude sketch of her father that Trey had done when he was around seven and confined to bed most of the time.

Her attention came back to the photograph. She picked it up and carried it to the light. Her father was standing behind her mother with his arms around her. He was wearing the silver ring that her mother had had made for him as an anniversary gift. Maria closed her eyes, then opened them in shock.

Her father had not been wearing that ring the day his body had been found. She had failed to notice and her mother had been too distraught to call the missing ring to anyone's attention. Could it have been taken from his body before they found him? He never would have taken it off.
One
thing
at
a
time, Maria.

She placed the photo back on the desk and looked around the room cluttered with her father's collection of books on ranching and the beef industry, a quiver of arrows he'd been given by a warrior after he'd saved the women and children of that tribe from a stampede, and…

Her gaze stayed on the quiver. There was something not right. She got up and walked over to where it hung. “Backward,” she muttered. Both she and her father were left-handed, but whoever had hung the quiver last was right-handed. Roger was right-handed. She took it off the nail and gathered the arrows, pulling them out before peering inside. She turned the quiver upside down and the bolo fell onto the desk. She shook it again and even dug inside with one of the arrows, fully expecting her father's ring to be there as well. But it wasn't. Quickly, she replaced the arrows and hung the quiver back on the nail. Then she took the chips she'd found and fit them to the damaged stone. But why had he kept it? It didn't matter. She'd figure that part of the puzzle out in time.

“Perfect.”

Roger Turnbull had some explaining to do, because now, besides the damaged bolo, there was the matter of the missing ring. Whoever had that ring had the answer to the mystery of who had killed her father.

* * *

Chet felt as if he'd been in the saddle so long that the leather had become like a second skin. But by morning they would reach Yuma, and that alone was enough to keep everyone in the Porterfield outfit moving forward. Every man among them would happily eat another twelve hours of dirt and dust if it meant they were so close to being paid that they could practically taste that first shot of whiskey. Bunker was planning to buy himself a new pair of boots while Rico had his sights set on a new suit of clothes—one nice enough for courting Louisa Johnson. Every man had given a lot of thought to how he would spend that money, including Chet. In fact, he was so lost in his thoughts of Loralei getting on a stage that he failed to notice the lone rider coming fast across the plain or the lineup of half a dozen more men waiting on the rise they were heading toward.

“What's up?” Trey asked, his voice shaky with fear.

“Trouble, that's what,” Rico muttered as they all watched Turnbull approach the stranger.

Bunker translated for Trey. “See the way the boss is gesturing? He's offering him and his boys a steer from the herd in exchange for us passing over their land.”

“I thought all the tribes had been moved to the reservation,” Trey said.

“There's some that don't hold with being told what to do by a government they don't recognize,” Slim said.

The brave shook his head vehemently and held up one finger, then waved his arm over the area where the herd waited and repeated the one finger gesture.

“He's asking for a toll—a dollar a head.”

“We can't pay that kind of…”

Turnbull's laugh could be heard all the way back where they waited.

“Get ready, boys,” Bunker said. “This ain't looking good.” He reached slowly behind him and pulled his Colt revolver from his bedroll.

“Move 'em out!” Turnbull shouted and then whistled and shouted until the herd moved slowly forward. The men spread out, every one of them keeping his eye on the renegade.

To their amazement, the gang backed away and watched as the herd moved slowly toward the rise. Then Chet saw the leader give a signal and suddenly the others came riding down out of the hills, firing their rifles and yelling as they bore down on the herd.

That was all it took to start the stampede, and with a cliff on one side and a rocky ridge rising up on the other, the stock headed straight for the open vista beyond the cliff. The last Chet saw of the Indians as he whipped off his hat, slapped it against his thigh, and whistled loudly as he and the other drovers tried to head off the stampede, the renegades were whooping in victory as they rode over the rise, apparently satisfied that they had exacted a fair price.

By the time the men had managed to turn the herd and the dust settled, it was near sunset and they still had to count the herd and go in search of stray and wounded animals. They'd be lucky to make it to Yuma by week's end.

* * *

Maria had counted the days—marking them off on a calendar in her father's office—as she waited impatiently for the men to return. She paced the courtyard, thankful that her mother, Amanda, and Ezma had taken the baby down to the creek. She scanned the horizon. The men—certainly Roger—should have been back days ago. A neighboring rancher's wife on her way into town had seen George Johnson outside his house a day earlier. Literally the clock was ticking on settling of the loan she'd gotten from the bank. The deadline for repayment was upon her, and if she did not deliver that payment to Clyde Cardwell by noon the next day, they would lose everything.

On the horizon, she saw a cloud of dust and her heart pounded with anticipation.
Finally
, she thought.

But instead of the men she expected, it was Jasper Tipton and his younger brother, Buck, coming her way.

“Afternoon, Miss Porterfield.” Jasper tipped his hat but remained seated on his horse. Maria did not miss the fact that this put her in the uncomfortable position of having to look up at him and into the hot noonday sun. She shaded her eyes.

“Now ain't she looking pretty today, Jasper?” Buck said as he moved his horse around her.

“Mind your manners, Brother,” Jasper replied. “Miss Porterfield, I see your men have not yet returned.”

“I expect them any time now.”

“They ain't comin' till tomorrow earliest—maybe the day after,” Buck said.

She wheeled around to face him. “How would you know that?”

The younger Tipton shrugged and just kept grinning at her. She turned her attention back to Jasper. “What is it you want?”

“My brother and I have come to make your family an offer, Miss Porterfield. We will buy you out for twenty-five cents on the dollar. That gives you more than enough money to repay the bank and find someplace you and your mama and sister and brother can settle.”

“What about the offer you made at the ranchers' meeting—the one allowing the owners to stay on their place?”

“The one you called ‘sharecropping'—yes, well, sadly that offer is no longer on the table.”