Unbroken Hearts (5 page)

      
The smells of leather and
molasses greeted Cal as he strode into the general store.

     
"Howdy," he drawled as he
handed his list to the owner, Earl Watkins.

   
 
Then Cal looked past the
man to browse the crowded shelves. He scanned the rows of buckets, hammers, pots,
and axes, while Earl pulled on his spectacles and read the order.
 

   
Bill and Thad, the Underwood brothers, stood at the counter. Bill was
hunched over his family's ledger page, checking a running total of their
purchases and credit balance at the store. Thad was eyeing the same from over
his brother's shoulder. Thad heard the click of Cal's boot heels moving
restlessly along the length of the counter. He looked up and grinned.

      
"Hello Mr. Easton," chimed Bill.

      
"Howdy Bill, Thad." Cal touched the brim of his hat.

      
Thad's
grin broadened. He was missing two more teeth since Cal had last seen him.
"Seen the new gal they got over at Lola's? I was jus' tellin' my brother
he needs a pretty filly like that ta' warm his bed. He's biddin' on
her."
 

      
"Yeah, I saw." Annoyed, Cal tugged off his hat and turned it
roughly in his hands. Hearing them talk about this woman as if she were a horse
deal nagged. He usually paid little attention to such matters, and he found
himself wondering why this one was different. She was pretty, but the one time
he'd bought a woman he'd found it far less than satisfying. It had provided nothing
but temporary physical relief. And anything further was out of the question. He
didn't flinch at hanging rustlers, but he was downright terrified when the
thought of loving a woman skipped through his mind. Emotional entanglements
left a man vulnerable, and bad things were sure to follow. They always
did.

    
Losing Grace Farrel
had cut deeply, and Cal carried a wrenching secret -- one that set his heart to
aching every time he thought on it. Shortly after Grace's passing, Doc Chandler
had confided to him that she'd carried his child. It was unexpected, as he'd
enjoyed physical intimacy with Grace on just two occasions. Even now the
knowledge sliced keenly, and occasionally he yearned, in his dreams, to tell
Grace how happy and proud he was that they were expecting a baby. It was a
dream from which he woke sweating and wracked by the guilt that came with
knowing he might have prevented her death and the loss of their child.

    
Then, two years
later, his meddling mama invited Betsy Simon to Sunday dinner. Mama thought it
was time he married, his duty in fact, and she openly encouraged Cal to court
the woman. Betsy was kind enough, but her incessant chatter didn't leave any
room to kindle a spark, let alone for Cal to finish a sentence, when they were
together.
 

    
One day when Betsy
was visiting a bee flew into her mouth and stung her tongue, and she was forced
to cease her talking. The woman had to sit still and actually think for a few
minutes. Perhaps it was then that she finally admitted the truth to herself:
 
Cal didn't share her enthusiasm for the
match.
 

    
Hell, he'd probably
be married to the woman if that bee hadn't happened along. And not long after
the bee incident Betsy met Barry Hanson, and that was that.
 

    
If Mama was
disappointed, she hid it well. A year later Papa died in the accident, and life
changed again when grief-stricken Mama took ill.
 

     
Cal had known
enough misery in a few short years to last his lifetime.

     
These days he
kept busy running the Mineral Creek Ranch, and when his bed felt a mite too
cold, or loneliness gnawed at the pit of his stomach he simply rolled over,
hammered his pillow with a fist, and brushed it aside. Loving and losing was
just too hard on a soul. A man did himself a favor by avoiding it completely.

     
The young woman
he'd seen on the white pony wasn't for him. Her looks might run to above
average, he told himself. Besides, he hadn't seen a new young woman in a long
time. Any normal man would react to her the way he did. Cal told himself he
wouldn't bother to remember her when he got back to the ranch.

    
"Ahem." The
burly storekeeper cleared his throat noisily to catch Cal's attention. "I
got one order to fill ahead of you."

    
"No reason to
hurry, Earl." Cal stretched to his full height as he broke away from his
counter-leaning posture. "Roy's over at the bank. I got business at
Jake's. I'll be back."
 

      
Cal
slapped his hat against his thigh and strolled out of the store. He ambled down
to Jake Farrel's blacksmith shop but he couldn't shake the image of Sarah's
smile and musical lilt of her voice.
 

    
Walking
into Jake's shop was like visiting a sweat lodge. Beads of sweat trickled down
Jake's face. The barrel-chested man was hammering a horseshoe, and Cal waited
patiently while Jake finished the task.
 

    
Finally the
blacksmith turned from his anvil and looked his question at Cal. Like every
blow of his hammer, Jake made every word count. His regular customers had
learned to interpret the nuances of facial expression, and just then he was
wearing narrowed eyes and a frown.

      
"I
need some hinges and locks," Cal called out.

      
At that
moment Mary, Jake's wife, scurried in with a pitcher of water and tin cups. She
set the cups on a large section of the tool-littered tree stump that doubled as
a workbench. Jake looked like a giant next to his woman's diminutive figure.

      
"Good afternoon Mr. Easton. How's your mama?" Mary cocked her
auburn head prettily, and turned to pour the water.

      
"The
same, thanks for asking," nodded Cal, staring intently at the pitcher.
Mama had been youthful and energetic until her husband's death the previous
year. Several grieving months had passed before she suffered the stroke.

    
Like his mother, Cal
felt the loss of his father deeply. It still hurt to think about the magic that
no longer danced between John Easton and Elizabeth McDougal, the pretty and
lively daughter of a successful Scottish merchant. Cal's father had put his
heart and fervor into making a good life for Elizabeth and the two handsome
sons she bore him. Through the early years John Easton had worked as a trapper
and guide, and he'd had his share of luck panning for gold. Then he'd moved up
to the valley at his brother's urging, and he discovered copper in the Lazca
area on the north fork of the river. But John Easton didn't have enough money
on his own to develop the mine, so he threw in with Jack Dullen.
 

    
John had been frugal.
He used his profits from the partnership to buy cattle down near Helena. He
drove them up to his claim in the lush valley bordered on the east by the
Mineral Creek. He realized his dream of owning a family ranch, and planned to
work it after the mine played out. With the help of his strong, capable sons,
the herd had quickly grown to over a thousand head.

    
Jake winked at Mary
as she filled the cups. She smiled back. Then Mary disappeared as quickly as
she came, leaving the two men to their business.

    
"The outlaws aren't giving you trouble, are they?" Jake rumbled.

    
Cal sipped the cool
water. "Don't think so. Had some strange goings on lately, though.
Somebody or something spooked our cattle in the north pasture, just two days
back. We had a stampede, and we lost five head by my reckoning. Our hands
worked most of the day to round up strays." He stroked his chin.
"Maybe rustlers."

    
"Indians?"
Jake leaned heavily against the makeshift table.

    
"No." Cal frowned. Thin lines
etched around his mouth burrowed deeper. "Rustlers on the outlaw trail.
Could be any of them."

  
  
Jake turned the topic back to business.
 

    
"Those hinges be ready for you in a
couple days." Jake lifted his glass and paused it halfway to his lips as
he glanced at Cal's injured arm. "I got somethin' that might interest
you." He paused. "Haven't told anyone else."
 

    
Jake
 
paused again and continued. "A fellow gave me a rifle for payment a
couple of weeks back. Pained him to give it up. It's one of those new
Winchester lever-action repeating kinds. It's got the King improvement, to make
it load from the side 'stead of the muzzle. First I've seen."
 
He took a long gulp and set the
half-empty glass on the tree stump. "Darn thing shoots least 20 rounds a
minute, an' that don't count the loading. I won't be needin' it myself, bein'
in town. But could you use it, with your arm bad and all? Mind you, it won't
come cheap." He wiped around the edges of his mouth with the back of his
hand.

    
Cal looked startled at the revelation, not to
mention the fact that Jake had just spouted the longest speech he'd ever made.

    
"Twenty rounds a
minute! Hell yes, I'm interested! How much you want for it?"

    
"I got it in
back. Hold up while I get it."

    
Cal waited anxiously
as Jake walked to the back of his shop. Soon the blacksmith lumbered back
carrying the rifle. The oiled barrel gleamed, and the wood stock was in
beautiful condition

    
Both men admired the
fine craftsmanship of the piece.
 

    
"How much you
want?"

    
"Think forty
dollars is fair," replied Jake as he pulled a bandana from his back pocket
and wiped it across his brow. "I'll throw in the boxes of
ammunition."

    
"You got
yourself a deal!"

    
"Easton. You
watch your backtrail". Jake's voice was tight. He slapped a bear paw on
Cal's shoulder.

    
"Always
Jake." Cal grinned.

    
 
His birthday was turning out to be
special after all.

                                                  
*
    
*
    
*

      
Cal was
basking in the glow of his good fortune as he returned to Watkins' general
store. He spied Roy out front, loading the goods into the wagon.

     
"Little
brother, I've got good news."
 

     
Roy glanced up
at Cal from his post in the back of the wagon. He grinned slyly.

     
"Me
too." Roy jumped down to the dirt to face his sibling. The wagon bed
swayed, and rusty springs groaned.

     
"Ella's
sending another pie?" Cal gripped the rifle behind his back.

     
"No, but
she sends her regards," Roy shot back. "Tell me your good news first,
then I'll show you mine."

    
"OK, but you got
to keep this under your hat."

    
Roy's hand flew in
dramatic fashion to his head.

    
"Sure thing!
Brother you know I'm worthy."

    
Cal grunted, moved
closer, and swung the rifle around.

.
   
"Jake sold me a
repeater!"

    
"Hot damnation!
I've heard of them but never seen one." Roy smiled broadly. His eyes were
shining.

    
"Me neither
brother. But a man has to protect his property," twittered Cal.

    
"He surely
does," Roy's blue eyes twinkled, "and a man never knows as when he
might be gaining more valuable property. Like a family."