Gabriel's Atonement (19 page)

Lara's stomach rumbled at the thought of fresh duck. It had been a long while since she had eaten any, but she didn't want to impose. “There's four of us, and that's too many for you to feed.”

Betty swatted her hand in the air. “Oh, pshaw. I had planned to feed the Norman family, but since they left a few hours ago, I have far too much for just us and no way to preserve it out here. I've never been able to cut back after my Edward died and Lester's two daughters moved out. It would be a delight for me to have the comp'ny of another woman.”

“If you're sure you don't mind, I'd enjoy your company, too. Would you allow me to bring some corn bread?”

“No need to start a fire when I already have one. Y'all just come. Don't worry about bringin' nuthin'.”

Lara nodded, thinking how nice it would be to eat a meal she didn't have to prepare, but she couldn't show up empty-handed. She mentally ran through her supply of canned goods. There were several cans of applesauce she could contribute. “Will you holler when you're ready for us to come over? We need to get our tent set up so that I can put my son to bed right after we eat.”

“Will do. It was nice meetin' you.”

Lara waved. “You, too.”

Two hours later, Betty called for them to come to supper. With the tent pitched, bedding laid out, and the animals fed, Lara led the way to their neighbors' camp. The aroma of Betty's stew had been tormenting her for the past hour.

Betty looked up from her huge stew pot and smiled. “Howdy, neighbors. I'm mighty glad to have you join us for supper.”

“Not as glad as we are to come,” Grandpa said.

Betty's gaze roamed toward him, and her brows lifted. She straightened and patted her hair. “Now who's this handsome gent?”

Grandpa stood taller and smiled. “The name's Daniel Jensen. I'm Lara and Jo's grandpa and this little guy's great-grandfather.” He patted Michael's head.

“I'm Michael.” He pointed to Lara. “She's my ma.”

Betty bent down and tousled Michael's hair. “Aren't you a fine young man? I sure wish I had curly hair like yours.”

Lara tugged Jo forward. “This is my sister, Joline.”

“Just call me Jo.” She frowned at Lara.

“My men oughta be back anytime now. I sent them for water so's I could clean the dishes after we're done.”

Lara held out the two cans of applesauce. “I brought these. I hope you can use them.”

Betty's eyes lit up. “That's mighty kind of y'all. I haven't had applesauce since we finished off the last of the jars I canned this past fall.”

“We're grateful to you for the invitation to supper.” Grandpa smiled at Betty.

A shuffling sound drew Lara's attention to her left, where two men lumbered in, carrying buckets of water. Both men's gazes paused on Grandpa then flicked to her and then Jo. The younger man's mouth curved up on one side, at least she thought it did. With his thick beard, she wasn't sure. She guessed him to be in his mid-to-late twenties.

Betty hurried toward them. “Our guests are here. Put the water on the tailgate and wash up.”

“We can see they's here.” The older man ambled past Betty and set the buckets down.

Lara glanced at Jo, who rolled her eyes. If not for the offer of food, she was certain her sister wouldn't have come.

Sam dunked his hands in one of the buckets then splashed water on his face. He swiped his sleeve across his beard to dry it then turned toward them, his eyes staying focused on Lara.

Betty introduced them, and Mr. Biggs shook Grandpa's hand then nodded at her and Jo.

Michael bumped against her skirt and glanced up. “When're we eatin', Ma? I'm hungry.”

Betty clapped her hands. “Supper's ready now, son. Lester, would you bless the food?”

Lester yanked off his hat and mumbled a quick prayer. Sam remained where he was, hat still on, and Lara could feel his gaze. If he stared at her the whole meal, it would surely be a long one.

Bowls of stew and biscuits were passed around, and everyone took a seat on the ground. Grandpa and Lester started talking about the land run. Sam took a seat near Lara, with Michael in between. Her son dunked his biscuit into the broth then took a bite.

Sam stared at her over his head. “Where's your man?”

“Sam! Don't be so rude.” Betty waved her plump hand in front of her face.

Lara thought him ill-mannered, too, but she hoped it didn't show in her expression. She hadn't yet told Michael about his father, so she had to voice her response carefully and hoped he'd drop the subject. “I'm a widow.”

Sam lifted one woolly eyebrow, giving her the impression the news pleased him.

“What part of Nebraska are you from?” she asked Betty.

The friendly woman launched into a long tale about their home in a small town south of Omaha and her deceased husband and how his two daughters had married and moved away. Betty talked so much that Sam didn't have a chance to ask Lara any more questions. His focus eventually turned to the men.

After dinner, Jo took Michael back to camp and put him to bed while Lara helped Betty with the dishes. She liked the woman, but her menfolk were sorely lacking in manners.

She thanked Betty for the fine meal and her company, while Grandpa said good night to Lester and Sam. As she turned to leave, Sam hurried over to her, and Lara's heart dropped to her stomach.

“Might'n I have a word with you, ma'am?”

She tried not to look annoyed, but she was tired after the long day. She nodded. “A brief word. I need to check on my son.”

Grandpa looked over his shoulder but continued on. She wished he would have waited, but she knew he was giving Sam time alone with her. Time she didn't want.

Sam scratched his beard. “I aim to get me a section of land, so I can settle down on my own place. You don't got no man, and I'm huntin' a wife, so I think you and me oughta get hitched.”

G
abe listened covertly to two mounted soldiers while he watered a pair of horses he planned to sell.

“How many Boomers did they catch?” the dark-haired soldier asked.

“There was over thirty of 'em encamped along Turkey Creek near the Kingfisher Station with a dozen wagons and a passel of horses and cattle. They'd already made several dugouts, put up a paddock, and started on a cabin.”

“They must have been there awhile.”

“Yep. Looked that way. Some soldiers in Troop K happened across their wagon tracks and followed 'em.” The blond soldier shook his head. “I don't know why folks can't follow the rules.”

“So what happened to them all?”

“We escorted 'em back across the lines, took their names and photographs, and wrote down the sections they was in.”

The dark-haired soldier allowed his horse to drink from the creek. “Will they get to ride in the run?”

The other man shrugged. “Don't know. If 'n it was up to me they wouldn't.”

Gabe shook his head and tugged on the reins, leading the horses back to his camp. Even though he'd made his living as a gambler, he had never cheated. He was good at reading people, and that's where he gained an advantage. It would be a simple thing for him to sneak through the wide area between soldiers and ride into the Unassigned Lands like those settlers had, but the fun—the challenge—of getting the land was competing in the race for it, especially against such a large number of people.

As he walked back, he scoured the crowd of Boomers, as the land rushers had been called by some newspapers. He'd searched for Lara Talbot since he arrived two days ago, but he hadn't yet located her. He couldn't explain the craving need to find her and make sure she was safe. Most of the folks in the crowd seemed nice, although many remained aloof, as if they expected you to steal the particular piece of land they wanted. His gaze landed on a trio of wagons whose owners had printed
Oklahoma or bust
on the canvas covers. He smiled at the sight, but the sign was true. Many people wouldn't get land, and it would be a bust for them. Where would Lara go if she failed? That hovel she called home already had others living there by now. Did she have someplace else to go if she didn't get land?

He gritted his teeth. Why couldn't he shake her from his mind? Her light green eyes haunted his dreams. She walked with a lantern in the dark, calling his name, and try as he might, he could never get to her. He'd even awakened one night in a sweat from his effort.

The tantalizing aroma of cooking bacon made him quicken his pace as he approached his campsite. Luke McNeil, the cowboy he'd hired to help with the horses, had proven to be an excellent cook. Too bad Luke had aspirations of his own to get land. Gabe would have liked to keep him on to work for him once he got land—and he had a gut feeling he would. Most times that gut feeling had proven true.

He secured the two horses to the picket line then walked over to Tempest and patted him. The gelding tended to get jealous when other horses were around if he didn't get enough attention. Gabe scratched the white diamond on Tempest's forehead then straightened his black forelock. “Too bad you can't eat bacon, boy. Sure smells great.”

The horse nudged him in the chest, and Gabe chuckled. Tempest was the closest thing to a good friend that he'd had in as long as he could remember. The townsfolk didn't trust gamblers, and the people he was around in the saloon weren't exactly the types he'd care to spend his free time with or confide in. Yeah, he'd joke with some of the regulars, but he wouldn't turn his back on any of them.

He sighed. After ten years of working in a noisy, crowded saloon, he found it odd to discover he was lonely. Gabe patted Tempest's neck. “How about we go for a ride after breakfast?”

The horse nodded his head as if agreeing, and Gabe turned back to the campfire, where Luke was dishing up their breakfast.

“My belly's gnawing on my backbone. I'm sure glad you can cook like you do.” Gabe eagerly accepted the plate Luke held out.

Luke set the cast-iron skillet on a stone beside the fire and stood, holding his own plate. “My ma was sickly a lot when I was younger. If I hadn't cooked, we wouldn't have eaten.”

“How is she now?” Gabe bit off half a piece of bacon, enjoying the salty flavor.

Luke shook his head. “She died when I was seventeen.”

“Sorry. What about your pa?”

His cook frowned. “Never knew him, and Ma didn't talk about him much, other than to say he got a cravin' to strike it rich and went off to Alaska. I've always imagined he probably died there.”

Gabe knew it was easier for Luke to believe that than to think his father had abandoned his family. Gabe's real father was thrown from a mustang and broke his neck when Gabe was five. Maybe his pa hadn't willingly abandoned them, but it had the same effect and opened the door for Elliott Jarvis to marry his ma, eight months later. Elliott had never been kind and loving like his real pa, but life hadn't been too bad until the day Gabe's younger brother died.

Life changed for him that day. Ma never recovered from Stephen's death, and Elliott never stopped blaming Gabe.

Wincing, he stroked one shoulder. If only he could rub away the memory of the leather strap crashing down on it. For a time, he felt he deserved the beatings for contracting the measles at school and bringing them home, where Stephen caught them. But Elliott had rattled off a litany of Gabe's misdeeds, from forgetting to milk the cow, to not chopping enough firewood, to neglecting to shut the privy door. The smallest oversight could bring a whipping.

Gabe stared at his half-empty plate, having lost his appetite. After a few moments, he forced himself to finish. Food was too precious to waste when traveling.

While Luke cleaned up the breakfast dishes, Gabe, needing a distraction from his morose thoughts, pulled out the
Homesteader's Handbook
and studied it. All of the land available for settlement had been divided into townships, with each of those divided into thirty-six sections, which were each one square mile. Those sections were divided into four quarter sections, each one numbered, so that every claim would have its own number. When a man registered his land, he had to give the agent the location number. Gabe had to admit the whole system of mapping out the land as it had been was rather ingenious.

“Are you aiming for a certain piece of land, Luke?”

The young cowboy's eyes lit up. “I've heard talk that Guthrie may be the capital if Oklahoma ever gains statehood, so I'm of a mind to ride southeast toward there. Kingfisher and the Oklahoma Station are both planned town sites, but most of the talk seems to be focusing on the Guthrie Station.”

“Yeah, that's what I've heard, too. Makes me wonder if it might be better to head for one of the other town sites.”

Luke shook his head. “The Oklahoma Station is too far south. All them folks on the southern border of the Unassigned Lands will have more of an advantage. If you want land there, you'd better ride farther south before the race starts.”

He wouldn't, of course, because Lara Talbot was here somewhere. He also needed to talk to some of the soldiers and find out what they knew about the town sites. For certain, he wanted to be fairly close to one of them. It would make getting supplies easier and save time traveling back and forth.

“You the man with the horses for sale?”

Gabe looked up from the handbook. Two tall cowboys stood just outside his camp area. He stood. “Yep. Got a string of four fine geldings and three mares. All saddle broke.”

“How much you want for 'em?” The older of the two asked.

“Depends on the horse.” Gabe motioned his hand, indicating for the men to go ahead of him. Something about them didn't sit right with him, so he didn't plan to turn his back on them.

The men split apart, the older man headed toward Tempest, while the other aimed for the middle of his picket line. Gabe glanced back to get Luke's attention, but the youth had his back to him. “That black gelding isn't for sale. He's my horse.”