Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter (24 page)

It was amazing what a plate of tortillas served with Juanita's rice, beans, salsa, and roasted chicken could do to restore a person's energy and outlook. Maria was not beat yet. She had a little money from the sale of the stock and she hadn't used up all of the loan, so she had that to give back as well. She sat at the kitchen table long after she'd finished her supper, juggling the numbers. If she could just…

From out near the bunkhouse, she heard the shouts of angry men and knew a fight was in the making. She was tempted to let them blow off steam by carrying through with the fight. After all, they'd worked so hard, and for what? Though of course, Roger said he'd paid them, so what did they have to be upset about?

Frustrated, she slammed down her pencil and hurried outside. “What's this about?” she shouted, but even as she said the words, she saw Slim with the tail of Chet's whip still wrapped around his arm and a box filled with money on the ground at his feet. In fact, there were bills scattered around that the other men were trying to gather.

“You thievin' little…” Bunker growled as he ran at Slim.

Chet pulled the whip free as the two men collided. Slim couldn't put up much of a fight because he was still nursing his bleeding arm where the whip had struck, not to mention that Bunker was nearly twice his size.

“Stop this right now,” Maria demanded, wading into the thick of things just as Bunker reared back to throw a punch. “Seymour, that's enough.”

The big man looked down at her and slowly lowered his hand. Then he bent down and picked up the box. “This is for you, Miss Maria.” He motioned the men who had been gathering the scattered bills forward. “It's from us,” he added as the men stuffed more money into the already-full box.

“I don't… You can't… We couldn't possibly…” She had no words to express the feelings that threatened to overpower her. “Why?” she managed finally.

“Because we don't want the Tiptons to win,” Rico said softly. “This place is our home too, Miss Maria.”

“But you attacked R. J. here. Why?”

“He was trying to steal the money. Hunt here got suspicious and kept an eye on him. We're pretty sure he's Tipton's man, and I'd be happy to take him in the barn there and get the whole story out of him,” Bunker said.

Slim looked first ashamed and then defiant. “I wasn't going to take it all—just enough to leave you short.”

“And how would you know what amount that might be?” Maria asked.

“I ain't no squealer. Just sayin' I had my instructions.” He folded his arms and then grimaced as a shot of pain apparently ran through him.

And that's when Maria noticed the ring.

“Where did you get that?” she demanded grabbing his hand with no worries for whether or not she might be hurting him. “That ring belongs to my father. He always wore it—he was wearing it the day he died.”

Slim started to back away but Chet, Bunker, and the others surrounded him.

“It was given to me,” he said. “I swear. All I did that day was fool with the saddle and shoes—nothing more. They said they were just teaching your pa a lesson, miss. He told me—”

“Who? Who is ‘he'?”

“Marshal Tucker.”

Marshal Tucker.
Marshal
Tucker
was responsible for the death of her father.

“What do you want us to do with this varmint, Miss Maria?” Bunker looked as if he might happily string the man up.

“I want you to keep him safe until we can get him to the fort and into Colonel Ashwood's custody.”

Two of the cowhands grabbed Slim and hauled him off to the bunkhouse.

“And Tucker?” Bunker asked.

“I'll take care of that,” Maria said, and the way she said it, there wasn't a man standing who was going to debate the matter with her.

A single bill fluttered to the ground, and she realized she was still clutching the money box.

“I just hope it'll be enough,” Seymour said.

She touched his whiskered face and then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Even if the numbers do not add up, it already is more than enough. Thank you.” Her voice broke as she looked around the circle of men. “Thank you all.” When she turned to head back inside the house, she brushed past Chet and murmured, “I need to see you.”

Chet waited near the creek until the windows in the house went dark and nothing stirred except the occasional night bird. Sometime around what he judged to be midnight, he heard the creak of wagon wheels and saw a buckboard slowly roll to a stop some distance from the house. He heard a whistle that could have been mistaken for a birdcall and then saw Loralei, struggling to carry her overloaded carpetbag, make her way to the wagon.

The driver—he assumed it was Turnbull—climbed down to meet her. He had words with Loralei, gesturing angrily toward the anteroom, Turnbull finally taking her bag, throwing it in the back of the buckboard, and then lifting her none too gently onto the seat before taking his own place as the driver. With Loralei still yammering at him, he pulled away. If she'd had any notion Turnbull would go back for her trunk, she was wrong.

Chet was so engrossed in watching them go that Maria was almost beside him before he realized it. She tugged at his sleeve.

“I came as soon as I could,” she said. “I wanted to say good-bye to Roger before he left.”

“But he—”

“He had nothing to do with my father's death, but he'd gotten so tangled up with the Tiptons that he just kept getting in deeper. He explained everything about the dam and why he kept trying to get me to sell out. He was trying to help, but he just didn't know how to go about it. And now he's gone for good.”

He touched her cheek and pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “The men got Slim to the fort, but he's refusing to say anything—he's that scared. Now, come sit and tell me why you asked me to come here.”

She did as he suggested and sat on a flat boulder near the bank of the creek. “The money—even with the men giving up their pay—won't be enough.”

“I figured as much. So now what?”

She sighed and looked off into the distance. “I hate losing this place, but what I hate even more is somebody getting away with murder.”

Chet sat beside her and pulled her close. “There's not a man in that bunkhouse who wouldn't be happy to take care of that for you.”

“I don't want revenge, Chet. What I want for my father and for Oscar is justice. I want those responsible arrested and brought to trial.”

“That may not work out if Slim doesn't cooperate.”

“He as good as told us that it was Tucker who killed my father,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Tucker is still the law,” Chet reminded her.

“In town,” she argued. “Neither Papa nor Oscar were murdered there,” she added softly.

Chet realized she was not really talking to him. She was just thinking out loud, and the direction her thinking was headed made him mighty nervous. “Listen to me, Maria. You need to stay out of this—if not for yourself, then for your ma and Amanda and Trey.”

“Well, I can't just let them get away with murder.”

“I get that, but you don't know what these men are capable of.”

“Oh, I think it's pretty obvious what they're capable of.”

“All right, but let's work out a plan together—one that makes sure you are never alone with Tucker or the Tiptons.”

“Well, I have to go into town tomorrow to meet with the bank,” she said. “I'm sure that the Tiptons as well as the marshal will be in town as well.”

“Okay. Not sure what that accomplishes but…”

“I was thinking you could come with me, and before we go to the bank, we could stop by the Wilcox place and talk to Doc. Doc is not only the town doctor; he's also the mayor, meaning he's the one who appointed Tucker as marshal—and that means he can fire him as well.”

“I still don't see how—”

“I was thinking that while we were in town, maybe Bunker and a couple of the other men could ride over to the fort and let Colonel Ashwood know the marshal's been fired and will likely be leaving town.”

Chet grinned. “So Tucker walks free in town, thinking he's won, and the militia picks him up the minute he sets foot outside the town limits. Remind me never to cross you, Miss Maria.”

She snuggled closer to him. “I've missed you,” she admitted. “Maybe once you've dealt with Loralei, we could—”

“Loralei left with Roger, so whatever you've got in mind, lady, don't be holding back on their account.” He bent to her. “So now can I kiss you?”

She tilted her face to his. “Yes, please,” she whispered. And when she opened her mouth to meet his, he was lost.

He had dreamed of kissing her every night while they were on the cattle drive—dreamed of kissing her and so much more. Remembering the beauty of their afternoon in the field of flowers, he'd replayed every kiss, every touch, a thousand times over. He had allowed himself to fantasize about what it would be like next time.

She moaned and deepened the kiss they were sharing, threading her fingers into his hair as her tongue sparred with his. And then he felt the dampness on her cheeks and pulled back.

“You're crying.”

“Don't leave me, Chet.”

“Hey, now.” He smoothed back her hair and wiped her tears away with his thumb. “I'm right here, okay?” He held her close. “Remember that first day I got here, and you asked if you could trust me?”

“You said I had to decide that for myself.”

“Well, in case you haven't yet decided, the answer is ‘yes, ma'am. You can trust me.'”

* * *

Maria's plan worked perfectly. The militia had both Tucker and Slim—who had finally gone on record—in custody before noon the following morning. She would have felt victorious were it not for the fact that any way she looked at it, they were going to lose the ranch. She had counted the money again and again, but the total did not change. Still, she was her father's daughter, and her father had always been an optimist. “Something will come along, Maria,” he had told her whenever it seemed to her that her world was about to fall apart.

On the other hand, as she crossed the street with Chet on one side of her and Doc Wilcox on the other, she could not help feeling that indeed the world as she and her family had known it was about to come to an end. She was wearing the gray dress she had worn for Oscar's funeral and that seemed appropriate.

“Maybe Clyde will extend the deadline,” she said hopefully. Doc patted her hand, but the expression on his face told her that an extension was about as likely as a blizzard in July. “Well, it won't hurt to ask,” she muttered defiantly.

Inside the bank lobby, she was not surprised to see George Johnson and three of the other small ranchers. It was hardly unusual for these men to be in town or in the bank. The confusing thing was that they seemed to be waiting for her.

“You doing all right, Maria?” George asked.

“I will be once this is over,” she replied, glancing at the large wall clock that pointed to fifteen minutes before noon.

“Well, if you wouldn't mind stepping over here for just a minute before you see Clyde…”

“But—”

“This will just take a minute,” Doc urged and led her to where the other ranchers waited.

“We have a proposal to make, Maria.”

She was so focused on the ticking clock that she barely heard the preliminaries until finally George Johnson said, “So in effect, we would all own our combined land—a cooperative arrangement that would be managed by a contract and bylaws drawn up and approved by each member of the cattlemen's association.”

“You're buying Clear Springs Ranch?”

“No, we're suggesting you and your family become a part of the Cattlemen's Cooperative. The cooperative will pay off your loan here and give you a new loan for the balance after we pay what you need to give the bank today. That loan would of course be interest free. Once that is paid off, you and your family will be full and equal members of the co-op.”

“You're not taking the offer the Tiptons made?”

George grinned. “We took a vote, and that business you said about sharecropping had stuck in our minds. If we're gonna share the land, then we'll choose to share with folks we know—and trust. So, are you in or not?”

Maria hesitated. Was this her decision to make?

“Clock is ticking, Maria,” George said softly.

She glanced up and saw that it was indeed seven minutes to noon. “In,” she said firmly and then she laughed. “All in,” she added as if this were one of her father's poker games and the stakes were high—which in this case, they certainly were.

“Then let's go make this deal.” On their way across the bank's lobby, Johnson handed her an envelope. “This covers what you owe,” he said.

“But I have…” She gripped the envelope containing the money she'd brought.

“Cleaner this way. You give Cardwell this envelope and give me the one you brought—that money will go into the association's till as your first installment on repaying us. Agreed?”

She looked at the fat brown envelope he handed her. She didn't need to count it to know that the amount was right, covering the loan and the interest in full. These men were her family's friends and neighbors. She had known most of them since she was a tiny child. She made the trade—the association's envelope for hers—and shook hands with each rancher.

Clyde Cardwell stood at his office door, a worried frown adding to the creases of his jowled face, sweat filling each crevice. “Mr. Johnson,” he said by way of acknowledging the group now crowding into his office. “Perhaps you could explain what this is about.”

“In time, Cardwell, but first this little lady here has some business with you.”

The ranchers formed a double row of protection as Maria stepped forward and laid the cash on the banker's desk. From the lobby, she heard the large wall clock tick off the last seconds and then begin chiming twelve bells. She could not seem to stop smiling. Her father's killer was behind bars. Her family's ranch was safe.

She looked around for the one person whose approval meant everything to her, but Chet had quietly slipped away.

* * *

Chet had hung around long enough to understand that with the help of her fellow ranchers, Maria had managed the impossible—she had saved her family's ranch. And because she had risked everything to do that, it was unlikely that she would be willing to leave it—even for him. She would never be happy anyplace but at Clear Springs Ranch. He, on the other hand, had to think about little Max and the promise he'd made to himself to give that boy a far better life than he would ever have had with Loralei or her family—a better life than he and his sister had known growing up. Could he do that by staying in Arizona?

He didn't see that working. Maria would be running the ranch, and either he would stay on as her foreman or maybe pick up work at the Johnsons' place. Either way, she deserved better—a man who was her equal. He could maybe buy a little place right here, but that was a joke since the Tiptons grabbed up every acre of land as soon as it became available. He had no doubt that she was as caught up in the passion they shared as he was. But passion eventually turned to something more settled, and he just couldn't see how he could possibly make Maria happy over the long haul. No, he'd talk to Johnson, and if that didn't work out, he'd pack his gear and head west.

He saw a woman coming his way, midforties with a welcoming smile. “Hello, you must be Chet Hunter.” She stuck out her hand. “Eliza McNew. I run the mercantile and I've been friends with the Porterfields since Maria was a baby.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma'am. Maria—Miss Maria has spoken highly of you.”

“You planning on staying around now that the dust is starting to settle?”

He was taken aback at her directness. “Well now, ma'am…” He chuckled and shook his head. “I guess I don't rightly know how to answer that.”

“Yes or no works.” She squinted up at him. “Oh, don't go getting all tense. Word has it Roger Turnbull has lit out of here like somebody put a firecracker under him. The Porterfields are gonna need a foreman. Maria's done more than anybody could have ever imagined, but the truth is she deserves a life of her own.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“So you're planning to stay?”

“I'm considering my options, ma'am.” It wasn't a lie—just not the whole truth.

“Good. I'll see you at the party then?”

“I reckon so.”

“Gonna be a real fandango,” Eliza promised. “Amanda Porterfield may not know much about ranching, but when it comes to planning a party, that little girl has no equal.” She pumped his hand again. “Good to finally meet you, Chet.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He watched her return to her shop. He'd forgotten all about the party. He looked down at his dirt-encrusted boots, his canvas pants with the patch covering a split on one knee, and his shirt worn thin by years of wear. Maybe Miss Eliza McNew had a shirt she'd be willing to part with for less than full price. He waited for the women he'd seen entering the store to leave.

“Got just the thing,” Eliza said as she rummaged through a stack of folded shirts and pulled out one in dark blue. “Maria's wearing a blue dress, and if you wear this, well, you are going to make one good-looking couple on the dance floor.” She held it up to him.

“How much?”

She fingered the price tag then ripped it free. “Look at that. Perfect shirt and on sale for two bits. You wanna pay cash or run a tab?”

“Now, Miss McNew…” Chet began, but she was already wrapping the shirt.

“Look, Chet, sometimes you give by taking if you get my meaning. Everybody knows what you've done for the Porterfields—and what you did for Joker.” She pressed the package into his hands. “I'll start that tab because I'm hoping you plan to stay around these parts for a good long time.” She squeezed his hand. “We need men like you, Chet.”

“Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am.”