The Rancher's Courtship
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“I understand quite a few folks died then, not just Pete,” Jack put in.
“Yes, too many. People on ranches, people in town. I reckon we might’ve lost more if Dr. Walker hadn’t been here. The mayor’s wife died, and her sister, and the livery stable owner, and the proprietor of the mercantile… It was awful, Jack. I don’t know why Mr. Wallace and I were spared, but we’re thankful.”
Jack deliberately changed the subject. “Did your daughter always want to be a teacher?”
Mrs. Wallace wiped her lips with a napkin, then shook her head. “No, she never said anything about it before, though she was always quick to learn. But when the old teacher announced she was leaving to be a missionary this summer, suddenly Caroline decided she was going to take her place and devote herself to the children of the town. Oh, she still helps out with the Spinsters’ Club, just because she’s friends with those ladies, but she’s made it clear she’s given up on the idea of marriage.”
“Well, hello there, Caroline!” a voice called, and Caroline looked up to see her friend Milly Brookfield just pulling up in her buckboard in front of the doctor’s office. No doubt she was here to visit her sister Sarah in the house attached to the back of the clinic. As Caroline approached with the curious girls at her side, the old cowboy who had been holding the reins took the baby Milly had been holding so Milly could descend, then handed him to her on the ground.
“Mornin’, Miss Caroline,” he called, fingering the brim of his cap. “You got some new students, eh?”
“Morning yourself, Josh. Yes, these are Amelia and Abigail Collier. They’re going to be staying with us for a while.”
“Nice to meet you, young ladies. Miz Milly, reckon I’ll jest mosey over to the mercantile and pick up those things you were wantin’,” Josh said. He set the brake, clambered down and walked stiffly down the street. Caroline guessed the old cowboy’s rheumatism had gotten worse, along with his hearing.
Milly hadn’t missed the significance of the girls’ surname, however, and raised her eyebrows, her eyes flashing a question to Caroline.
“Yes, these are Pete’s brother Jack’s daughters. He arrived yesterday.” Caroline stared straight into her old friend’s eyes, willing her to understand that there was more to the story that she didn’t want to discuss in front of the children. She knew Milly was aware that Caroline had never gotten an answer to the letter she’d sent to Pete’s brother informing him of Pete’s death.
Milly, God bless her, didn’t miss a beat. “Well, isn’t that wonderful that you could come for a visit!” she said, bending down to the girls. As she did so, baby Nicholas woke up and cooed, sending the girls into delighted giggles.
“He’s darling!” cried Amelia, while Abby asked, “What’s his name? How old is he? Can I hold him?”
“Another time, perhaps,” Caroline told them. “We have to get to school, remember?”
“I’m sure your mother’s thrilled to have two little girls to spoil,” Milly said, and then to the girls, she added, “I’m sure you’ll have a chance to hold little Nicholas. He’s just getting to the age where he likes to flirt with older women.”
The girls giggled again.
Milly turned back to Caroline. “I thought I’d drop in on Sarah for coffee, since we came to town to get supplies, but why don’t I stop over at the school at morning recess and we can catch up?”
Caroline could see from the avid interest in her friend’s eyes that she wanted to hear the full story of Jack Collier’s arrival. Which was fine, for Caroline needed to tell someone about it, someone who would understand the feelings that had overwhelmed her yesterday at seeing the man who looked so like his brother. Someone full of common sense, as Milly was, who would understand the contradictory feelings that had warred within Caroline after he had first exasperated her with his foolish plans, then confused her later with his kindness. Suddenly she could hardly wait till recess, when the children would be outside and she and Milly could have a frank talk. It had been too long since Caroline had shared her feelings with her friend.
“That would be wonderful,” she said. “I usually have recess at ten. Come on, girls, we’d better hurry, or Billy Joe Henderson will ring that bell before we get there.”
Henry Avery studied Jack with a skeptical gaze that told Jack he was drawing conclusions from his bedraggled appearance—Jack’s worn denims, down-at-the-heel boots, the shirt and vest he hadn’t managed to brush entirely free of trail dust, his battered, broad-brimmed hat. But once Jack told the bank president what he was there for and that Mr. Wallace had sent him, Mr. Avery showed him into his back office with encouraging eagerness.
“That’s a capital idea, capital!” he enthused about Jack’s proposal to winter at the Waters ranch. “I don’t mind telling you it’s been difficult to raise any interest in the place after the last two owners were murdered—”
“Yes, Mr. Wallace told me about their deaths,” Jack put in quickly, not wanting to hear another long recital of the tale. He didn’t want the sun to get too high by the time he made it out to the herd, for he knew his drovers would be wondering about him.
“Yes, folks say the place is cursed, but I know a sensible fellow such as yourself doesn’t pay any mind to silly tales like that. Fact is, it’s prime ranch land, well-watered. And if you were to build a cabin on it to stay in over the winter, I’d probably have no further difficulty sellin’ that place come spring, once you’d gone on to Montana.” The bank president spread his hands over a slight potbelly as he leaned back in his chair. “But are you sure you want to do that? Why, you could buy the Waters place, and come spring, you could drive the herd to Kansas and be back by fall with a big profit lining your pockets. You could do worse than this pretty part of Texas.”
It was lovely, with its rolling blue hills and clear green streams, and so was a certain young woman in black, Jack thought. But she wasn’t interested in marriage anymore, certainly not to the likes of him. And he didn’t need to spend any more of his life with someone who’d constantly compare him to his brother, against whom he’d always fall short.
“I know. But my mind is made up.”
“Once you see the place, you’ll change your mind,” the banker declared.
Jack shook his head. “I just want to rent it till spring, Mr. Avery. What’ll you charge me if my men and I erect some sort of dwelling on it?”
“Mr. Collier, I liked your brother, and I was sorry to hear of his passing. If you’d promise to build at least a cabin there—a decent, sound dwelling, mind you, not some ramshackle hut that falls over when the first bad storm blows by—I won’t charge you a penny. But you really ought to buy it.”
“What does the heir want for it?” Jack inquired, though more out of courtesy than any real interest.
“Not much now,” the bank president said with a wink. “But it’ll cost you more once there’s a dwelling on it.”
Jack couldn’t help smiling at the other man’s doggedness. “I’ll think about it, but you better count on us moving on in the spring. There’s already a prime piece of ranch land waiting for me up in Montana Territory.”
But no prime ranch land in Montana could compare to a woman like Caroline, a voice within him mocked.
Chapter Five
Raleigh Masterson, Jack’s ramrod, rose from where he’d been hunkered down by the campfire when he saw Jack approach. He poured coffee into a tin cup, holding it out to Jack as he dismounted. He was the only trail hand by the campfire. Cookie was busy mixing one of his concoctions at the chuck wagon. The rest of the drovers were grooming the remuda horses, mending or cleaning tack, or riding herd. The cattle were clustered on the banks of Simpson Creek, some grazing on the lush grass that grew nearby, while others had waded into the creek flank deep and drank the cool water. It was a peaceful sight, and it gave Jack a sense of contentment, even though he knew those same placid cattle could be off in a flash, spooked by thunder or seemingly nothing, stampeding until the trailhands succeeded in turning them or until they just ran out of the need to run. Impulsive beasts, longhorns, and as dangerous as they were silly. A man never trusted their apparent docility while grazing; he always approached them on horseback because they were so unpredictable.
“You find your brother all right, and settle the girls with him and his bride?” Raleigh asked, as Jack took the cup.
“No on both counts,” Jack said, sitting on a saddle blanket someone had left lying there. Staring into the black Arbuckles’ coffee, he told Raleigh about the events of yesterday. “Miss Wallace tried to notify me. Sent it General Delivery. Don’t know why I never got that letter,” he said with a shrug.
Raleigh whistled. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry about your brother, boss.”
Jack nodded grimly. “I should have written again,” he said, almost to himself. “Pete must not have saved my letters.”
“What’re you gonna do, then?” Raleigh asked. “Now that you can’t leave the girls with your brother and his wife?”
Jack knew his ramrod was too polite to say so, but his mind had already leaped ahead and concluded that Jack would be forced by the unexpected circumstances to take girls along with them.
“Thought I’d talk to you and the rest of the men about that. And I only want to say this once,” he said, half turning and raising his voice, “so, Cookie, call the men in.” He knew the cook had been listening in on the conversation.
Cookie reached for the iron triangle that hung on the chuck wagon. The carrying jangle of metal on metal yanked cowboy heads up wherever they rode or worked, and they started drifting in toward the campfire.
“Fine, but you tell them yahoos right off that we ain’t eatin’ early jes’ ’cause you’re holdin’ a palaver,” Cookie groused, going back to kneading the biscuit dough. “It’ll be ready when it’s ready, an’ not a moment before.”
“So noted,” Jack responded, too used to the older man’s crotchets to take offense.
When everyone had assembled, he repeated what he’d told his ramrod about Pete’s death and let his mind wander as they murmured their shocked condolences.
“Now, we knew we were going to have to winter somewhere along the way,” he went on, “and I’ve been told it’d be smarter to spend the time right here than to head north and pass right by where the Comanches’re spendin’ the winter.”
“Told you that when I got thrown in th’ calaboose,” Raleigh muttered. “Told you you oughta leave me there and ride on so you’d be past the Staked Plains before the redskins made their winter camp.”
“And I told you I wasn’t leaving you behind,” Jack snapped. No one but his ramrod dared talk to him the way Raleigh had, and even he would guess from Jack’s curtness that he was treading on thin ice. Jack hadn’t heeded his advice, not only because of their friendship, but because he knew none of the other men were seasoned enough to be the new ramrod.
“That’s all water under the bridge,” Jack went on, and told them about the vacant ranch and the deal the bank was offering if they built a cabin.
Around the circle of men, some faces sparked with interest. In others, eyes narrowed.
“But, boss, it’s already October,” one of the men pointed out.
“I’m a cowboy, not a carpenter,” another groused.
It was what Jack had expected. “I know it would mean getting right to work on building, but I’m told it doesn’t get that cold around here until December or so. It wouldn’t take that long for us to put up a cabin if we don’t dillydally. The bank won’t charge me rent if we put up some kind of dwelling, ’cause it’ll add to the value of the place. Now, I know you didn’t sign on for building anything, so you men are free to stay on or not—no hard feelings if you decide to ride on. But if you stay, I’ll expect you to help build.”
Two men announced right off they were quitting. Jack wasn’t surprised. They were nephews of his stepmother, and he’d judged them as lazy and unreliable from the start, but he’d been nagged into hiring them. With any luck, he could find a pair of hands to replace them come spring.
“All right, you can collect your wages in the morning,” he told the two men and studied the rest of them, hoping they would stick. One of the other trail hands rubbed the back of his neck consideringly.
“Simpson Creek got any pretty girls? A saloon? A parlor house? We’d be allowed to ride inta town on Saturday nights, wouldn’t we?”
“I sure haven’t had time to scout all that out for you, Wes,” Jack said evenly, “but I do remember seeing a saloon. You couldn’t all go at once, of course—and I’ll warn y’all right now I’ll tolerate no rowdy behavior in town,” he told them, thinking of Caroline and the other ladies of the Spinsters’ Club. Trail hands weren’t saints, and he didn’t want bad behavior to make them unwelcome in town and reflect back on him. “You get thrown in jail, you’re fired.”
“Aw, boss, you’re takin’ all the fun out of it,” someone grumbled good-naturedly.
“You know where this ranch is, boss?” Raleigh asked. “Why don’t a few of us go take a look at it?”
It was a good idea, Jack thought. It was never good to buy a pig in a poke. Who knew if the banker had exaggerated the quality of the place?
“All right. Raleigh, Quint, Jase, Shep, you’re with me. We’ll ride over there after we eat. Cookie, any chance you’d have some grub we could take with us and eat in the saddle?” He winked at his ramrod, knowing his request would set Cookie’s temper on the boil, but knowing the trail cook wouldn’t protest too loudly to his boss.
“I’m a cook, not some kind’a miracle worker!” Cookie groused. “All I got’s jerky for ya if you’re not gonna wait till dinnertime.”
The five men rode up the dirt lane that led to the desolate, charred pile of timbers that was all that remained of the previous house. Jack recounted to his men how the Comanches had committed the initial attack upon the dwelling, but how it been white outlaws working for the so-called Ranchers’ Alliance who had finished the destruction just recently, burning down the house old Mr. Waters’s nephew had just started rebuilding.
“Those Alliance men are all gone now, right?” Jase asked, a little nervously.
Jack nodded. “I’m told they vamoosed when their bosses were either killed or put in prison, but as for the Comanches…well, this is Texas, boys, and they aren’t beaten yet. We ought to be safe enough this winter, though.”
“First thing to do would be to clear off the foundation, if you mean to build the bunkhouse in the same place as the old one, boss,” Raleigh said, eyeing the ruins.
Jack nodded, already envisioning what he and his men would do. Something about the ruined buildings in this hill country ranch called out to him, as if pleading to be nurtured so it could be reborn. Well, he would do what he could over the winter months, but it would be some future owner who enjoyed the fruits of whatever he and his men would be able to accomplish.
“I’ll think about that. Let’s ride on and see the rest of the place,” Jack said and kneed his roan into a trot past the site.
He liked what he saw of the land. It was good country, with plenty of shady live oak groves, mesquite and a small creek—probably a tributary of Simpson Creek—running onto his land under the western boundary fence. Just beyond the fence, on Brookfield land, the creek was broader and more inviting. He wondered if Brookfield would consider giving him access so his cattle would be able to drink from that broader part, at least on the western side, when summer heat dropped the water level.
But why was he thinking that way? He and the cattle would be long gone, come summer.
Yet he couldn’t seem to stop his imaginings. He pictured taking down the faded remains of the sign that read “Waters Ranch” and replacing it with one with his name. A rancher could do much worse than a place like this.
“Looks like a pretty good spot t’ spend the winter, boss,” Raleigh murmured, and the other men chorused their agreement.
“Yeah, and there’s lots of trees we could fell for logs, with plenty left,” Shep said.
“Looks like we could salvage a lot of stones from the old fireplace to make a new one,” Quint put in.
“Guess we got ourselves a winter camp, then,” Jack said, pleased his men agreed with him about the plan. “Mr. Wallace says there’s a hardware store in town that can sell us some saws and so forth—reckon I’ll stop in there and buy what we’ll need first thing tomorrow. We’ll have to rent a wagon from the livery for a while, too.” Maybe he could make it back to town before the bank closed today and tell Mr. Avery he was going to take him up on the offer. The rest of the men could easily move the herd on down the road to the Waters ranch without his assistance.
He’d told Caroline he’d leave the girls in town with her and her parents, regardless of whether he stayed on the ranch over the winter or not. He wished they could be with him, but leaving them at the Wallaces’ was the only practical thing to do. Though they’d slept under the chuck wagon during the journey, the weather would get colder. He didn’t want them sleeping in a tent, or later, in the bunkhouse with his men. Staying with the Wallaces, they could go to school, and that would be good for them.
Such an arrangement would mean frequent trips in from the ranch for him to see the girls, at least on Sunday. He pictured treating them to dinners at the hotel and taking them to church. It had been a long time since they’d gone regularly; for a time after Lucinda’s death, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with God.
But this arrangement would also mean he’d have to keep dealing with Caroline Wallace. He wasn’t at all sure exactly how he felt about regular contact with her.
Caroline heard boot heels on the kitchen steps. She forced herself to turn her attention back to where the twins laboriously practiced their letters on borrowed slates at the kitchen table, waiting to rise until he knocked. It wouldn’t do to let Jack Collier imagine she’d been watching for his arrival. Then she rose and let him in with a casual “Good afternoon, Jack.”
If she was sparing in her welcome, however, the twins had no such reservations. “Papa!” cried one of them—Amelia?—as they exploded away from the table and ran into his waiting arms.
“We’re learnin’ our ABCs, Papa!” cried the other.
Caroline realized she was going to have to find some foolproof way of telling one twin from the other. Should she have them dress differently?
Bending over, Jack kissed both of them. “That’s wonderful, girls. Were you good today?”
“Yes, Papa,” they chorused.
He looked over their heads at Caroline. “Were they good today?”
His direct gaze did funny things to her equanimity. “Yes, you have every reason to be proud of them. They show a quick aptitude for learning which some of my other students would do well to emulate.”
Goodness, did that prim, stuffy speech really come from her? She sounded like—well, a schoolmarm. At least praising the twins gave her a reason for the enthusiasm in her voice and face, so he wouldn’t think she was appreciating the way the wind had left color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his blue eyes.
“Look, Papa, see? I can spell my name,” Abby said, grabbing her slate off the table and holding it up to him.
He looked at it, and Caroline guessed he was noticing that Abby’s b’s were backward, written as d’s instead.
“We’re working on our b’s,” she said quickly, her eyes warning him not to call attention to his daughter’s mistake.
“Yes, I see,” he said gravely. “Good job, Abby.”
“Me, too, Papa,” Amelia said, holding out her slate. “’Course, mine is harder, ’cause Amelia has more letters than Abby.”
“Well, yours will be shorter when she can spell out Abigail,” he told her. “Then you’ll have the advantage, Punkin.”
“Well, hello, Jack,” said her mother, returning to the kitchen. She took the lid off a pot and began stirring. Immediately, a savory aroma filled the kitchen, and Caroline saw him lift his head to sniff.
“Mmm, something smells good.”
“It’s just beef stew,” her mother said, but Caroline could see she was pleased by the compliment.
Her father came in from the post office. “Were you able to go out and see the Waters place?”
Jack straightened and nodded. “Yessir. We can stay for free if we build a dwelling. My men were agreeable—all but a couple, anyway.”
Abby looked up with a pleased smile curving her lips. “So you’re staying the winter, Papa?”
He nodded.
“Hoorah!” the twins yelled in unison, beaming.
Caroline had been watching him as he spoke to her parents, since she could do so without his noticing. When he finished speaking to her father, however, he looked at Caroline, not her father, as if seeking her reaction. She looked down quickly, pretending great interest in the long tail on the y Abby had just scrawled.
“That’s good news, Jack,” her father said, clapping him on the back. “It’s a fine piece of land.”
“Yes…shame what happened there,” Jack murmured.
Caroline winced inwardly. The stories of Comanches attacking William Waters and outlaws murdering his nephew were not tales fit for little ears.
“What happened there, Papa?” Amelia asked, wrinkling her nose in curiosity.
Realizing his mistake, Jack shot a dismayed look at Caroline.
You’d think the man would have learned by now how little pitchers have big ears. “Oh, the house burned down,” she said quickly, “but wait till you see the fine cabin your papa’s going to build there to take its place.”
The girls’ mouths were twin Os. “Why did the—” Abby began.
Before Abby could complete her question, Caroline said, “Girls, why don’t you take this pitcher of cream out to the mama cat in the shed? There’s a bowl out there for you to pour it in.” She handed the little pitcher to Abby. “It’s curdled a little, but she won’t mind.”
The girls scampered for the door, and it banged shut behind them.
“Thanks,” Jack said, his eyes grateful. “Sometimes I forget they’re listening.”
His gaze held hers a moment longer than she was comfortable with, but she couldn’t seem to look away.
“So your plan is to let the children live here while you stay on the ranch land this winter, and then leave them with us when you take off with the herd in the spring?” her mother said, then seemed to hold her breath until he nodded.
“When are you going to start building?” her father asked, also looking relieved.
“Tomorrow, after I stop at the bank and tell Mr. Avery. I didn’t make it back before the bank closed today. I imagine I’ll have to sign some sort of paper,” Jack said.
Her father chuckled. “You won’t find Mr. Avery at the bank. Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
Jack’s eyes crinkled in the corners just as Pete’s had, Caroline thought, as he raked a hand through his hair.
“Guess I’ve purely lost track while we were traveling.”
“I’ll be seeing him tomorrow, though,” her father said, “so I can let him know for you. I’m sure he won’t mind if you go ahead and start working since it’s already so late in the year.”
“I’ll come into town often to see my girls—at least every Sunday, and each time I come into town for supplies. And when the weather isn’t too cold, they could come out and spend some time at the ranch,” Jack assured them.
“Sounds fine,” her mother said. “Why don’t you spend another night here and explain the plan to your girls before you start building tomorrow?”
Caroline saw Jack hesitate. Though he hadn’t been speaking to her, Caroline sensed he was waiting for her reaction—why? It wasn’t up to her to approve or disapprove of what he did.
“As Papa said, we’ll see the bank president tomorrow,” Caroline told him. “The mayor’s daughter, Prissy Gilmore, is getting married, and the whole town will be going to the wedding. I thought the girls would enjoy going with us. Did you happen to bring the rest of their clothing with you?”