Samantha and the Cowboy (13 page)

Sitting on the ground with her back against a wagon wheel, Sam watched the storm rolling across the land. Flashing sheets of lightning followed by resonant thunder. Although there was no rain, the air felt charged with expectation.

She could certainly understand why the cattle had decided to stampede tonight. She desperately wanted to run herself. She'd worked until her fingers were raw, every muscle and bone in her body ached. She'd faced the river.

And for what?

For betrayal. She'd earned the right to be respected, to be thought capable of handling a stampeding herd. Instead, she'd been relinquished to waiting and worrying and wondering.

Beneath her backside, the ground still trembled with the pounding of hooves.

“Eerie, ain't it?” Cookie asked as he put another coffee pot on the stones he carried with him to place around the fire.

She glanced over at him. He was wiping his hands on his apron.

“Cattle don't make a dadgum sound except for the thundering of their hooves. I think the dang silence bothers me most,” he said.

For some inexplicable reason, she shivered. “I don't know why I had to stay behind.”

“So you'd be safe.”

“I didn't think any place was safe during a stampede,” she muttered. She knew she should be grateful that Matt cared, but it angered her that he didn't trust her to do the job.

“A wagon is usually safe. I don't know why, but cattle won't trample over a wagon. If they start heading this way, you just get on the other side of it. They'll go around. No matter how many steers there are, no matter how fast they're going.” He chuckled. “I've stood with my quaking back against the wagon and watched 'em rush by like the parted waters.”

Sitting here, wondering what was going on out there on the prairie, was driving her crazy. She scrambled to her feet. “What can I do to help?”

He grinned. “That's the fighting spirit, gal. Let's get some water to boiling. Probably have to clean some scrapes and cuts. And the men will want lots of coffee. Once cattle get it into their heads to stampede, they're hard to settle down. Doesn't take much to set them to running again.”

She grabbed a pot off his well-organized wagon and
began to ladle water into it from the water barrel. “Have you seen many stampedes, Cookie?”

“Yep. Before the war, I worked for men herding the cattle to California. During the war, worked for outfits trying to get beef to the Confederacy.” He swung his arm in an arch. “Now, I got this.”

She set the pot on a hooked pole that Cookie had stabbed into the earth. “Have you ever seen a woman on a cattle drive?”

“Not until this one.” He squinted at her. “What were you thinking, gal?”

“That a hundred dollars would ease my ma's burden.”

He shook his head. “How long has Matt known?”

She licked her lips, trying to decide whether she should answer. What could it hurt? “Since we crossed the Red.”

Cookie swore harshly. Then his cheeks turned red. “Beggin' your pardon. Jake is gonna skin that boy alive and hang him up to dry.”

Good. He deserved it. Not for keeping her secret, but for revealing it.

She heard galloping horses and turned to see some trail hands switch out their mounts for fresh horses. She ran over to them. “How's it going?”

“They're scattered to the four winds,” Squirrel said.

“Maybe I ought to ride with you and help,” she suggested.

“I'd rather you didn't,” Slim said. “Jake would cut us
loose quicker than you could blink.”

Disappointed, she nodded.

Squirrel mounted his horse. “For what it's worth, I thought you were a fair hand—for a first-timer.”

She smiled as he kicked his horse into a gallop. “Be careful!”

Turning away, she headed back toward the camp to see what else she could do to help Cookie. She thought she'd been a fair hand as well.

 

Hell on hooves.

That's all Matt could think as he galloped over the prairie, trying to get in front of the lead steer. A man didn't want to fall from his horse and get caught beneath all those hooves.

Matt had heard tales of men being pounded into the ground until all that was visible was their hat. Probably nothing more than a tall Texas tale. But he had no plans to test whether it was legend or fact.

The men were as silent as the cattle. The cattle didn't bawl and the men didn't yell. No need to spook the critters any more than they were already spooked. Besides, the men knew what to do without speaking.

The hands needed to get the cattle to start turning in on themselves, to form a circle that the men could gradually guide the cattle into—smaller and smaller, until they had no choice but to stop running. And once they were
settled, they'd still be jittery and nervous.

The least little sound would start them off again.

A group of cattle detoured from the main herd. Matt swore under his breath. Once they started splitting up, it made it harder to get them back in line. A man had to stay on the outside and not get caught in the middle.

Even if Sam hadn't been a girl, Matt would have argued with Jake about letting her ride tonight. A haunting stillness hung heavy in the air. It made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with unease.

Sam. He understood that she was madder than a hornet trapped in a bonnet. He didn't even blame her. He had betrayed her, but in his mind he'd had no choice. He didn't have time to argue with her or convince her of the merits of staying behind.

With her out here, they would both have been at risk, because he would have had his mind on her, on trying to protect her. If the sacrifice was the loss of her affection, so be it. He'd rather have her hate than have her dead.

He urged his horse into a faster gallop as the cattle once again veered off. He felt rain splatter on his hat. Good. If the rain came, maybe the storm would pass.

An electric storm was the worse. He watched lightning streak across the sky and dance over horns. It was a frightening sight.

The gully appeared out of nowhere. He heard the cattle bawling as they plunged over its edge.

He heard his horse's high-squealing neigh. It pitched forward into the abyss. Matt leaped free of the chaos. But in the darkness, he couldn't see. He could only feel the agonizing pain ripping through him.

Before the merciful peace of oblivion claimed him.

 

Something was wrong; Sam felt it clear down to her bones as the rain began to fall in torrents. Matt wasn't a coward. Neither was he a fool.

He had to know that his horse couldn't keep at a gallop all night. He had to understand that facing Sam's wrath was preferable to wearing his horse down to nothing. Besides, she didn't think he'd slink away from confronting her.

He'd meet her head on. He no doubt expected them to have words as soon as the cattle were quieted.

So why hadn't he returned to camp to get a fresh horse?

The other men had, some more than once. They gulped down the cups of coffee she offered them, then leaped onto their horses and rode back into the night with only a few words spoken.

“They must have run a good fifteen to twenty miles.”

“Had 'em calmed for a while, then they just took off like someone poked 'em.”

“Figure we've probably lost a hundred.”

“Some didn't have the sense to get out of the way. I keep running across trampled carcasses.”

It was the last comment tossed onto the wind that
bothered her the most. She figured two thousand head at a dead run could do a lot of damage. Even though Cookie continued to reassure her that cattle wouldn't cut across the wagon, it didn't mean they wouldn't trample a man and his horse.

“Need help here!” someone yelled. “Jeb is hurt!”

Sam snapped out of her reverie. Jed was pulling back on the reins, drawing his horse to a halt. Jeb was sitting behind his brother. With a grunt he slid off the back end of the horse.

His hat was gone, his clothing was muddy, and his arm was dangling at his side like a scarecrow's in a corn field.

Jed dismounted and led his brother toward the fire. “Jeb fell from his horse.”

“Dang it, boy,” Cookie muttered as he lumbered over.

Jeb dropped onto the ground and cradled one arm in his lap. Sam knelt beside him. “Is it broken?” she asked.

Nodding, he rolled back his sleeve. Sam's stomach roiled at the sight of the bone pushing against the flesh.

“Head back out,” Cookie ordered Jed. “Me and Sam can tend this.”

Jed nodded and then he was gone.

Sam held Jeb's hand and wiped his brow while Cookie set the broken bone into place.

“How did you fall?” Sam asked quietly, trying to distract Jeb from the pain.

“Horse dropped his leg into a prairie-dog hole. Jed had
to put him down. Broke his leg. Broke my arm.”

“Does that happen often, men getting this badly hurt?” Sam asked.

“Not unusual to lose a man or two when the cattle are as riled up as they are tonight. I knew it was a spooky night. I could feel it in the air,” Jeb said.

“Did you see Matt while you were out there?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Cattle are spread out everywhere, though. We're all just doing the best we can.”

She glanced over at the splint that Cookie had finished putting together.

“Reckon we can expect injuries to start coming in now,” he mumbled.

And he was right. Sam served up coffee and tender ministrations. She applied a damp cloth to a huge lump on one man's head. Men limped around the camp. More men began to filter into camp, reporting that the cattle were spread out but calmed.

Some men fell flat onto their pallets and immediately began to snore. Others drank the coffee and ate the sourdough biscuits she offered right before they headed back out. But Matt never returned to camp.

The sunrise was just a sliver along the horizon, beginning to push aside the night. She tromped over to the remaining horses and began to saddle Cinnamon.

“What are you doing?” Squirrel asked.

“Something's wrong. Matt hasn't returned to camp,” she told him.

“A lot of fellas are staying out there,” Squirrel said.

How could she explain this feeling of dread that had been creeping over her? “But they've returned to camp off and on. Even Jake has returned to camp.” Not as often as some of the men, but he had come back at least twice that she'd seen.

“I'll go with you,” Squirrel said.

She didn't know whether to draw comfort from his presence or worry because he had thought, just as she did, that there was a need to go in search of Matt.

The torrential rain eased off into an irritating drizzle. The drops fell from the brim of Sam's hat. That her face and shoulders were protected offered her little comfort. Like most of the cowboys, she'd slipped on her poncho when she'd felt the first bit of moisture hit.

So beneath the poncho she was drier than an empty well. Still she was miserable. She couldn't shake off this dreadful sense of foreboding.

As the sun began to ease higher, she could see the cattle clustered in small groups.

Before her spread an expanse of land that was as breathtaking as it was daunting. Matt could be anywhere out here. Anywhere at all.

She had no idea where to begin looking…until she saw the vultures circling overhead.

 

Slowly, painstakingly, Matt crawled his way up the side of the gully. He had to get back to camp, had to make sure that Sam was all right. His horse was dead, as were most of the cattle that had plunged headlong into the abyss.

Through the haze of pain, he could hear some bawling.
He wanted to help them, he truly did. But he wasn't even certain that he could help himself. His leg ached like a son-of-a-gun and blood soaked his britches. A protruding horn must have ripped through his thigh.

He shuddered at the memory of the agonizing pain. It was all he remembered. That, and the blackness. And the paralyzing fear.

Breathing harshly, he collapsed at the top of the gully. How much blood had he lost? How long had he been lying there, unconscious? Was Sam all right?

Sam.
Her name was a sweet benediction echoing through his mind. He had to get to her. Somehow, he knew that if he could just make his way to her, he'd be all right.

With trembling hands, he worked the knot on his bandanna loose and slid it away from his neck. He wrapped it around his thigh. He needed to make a tourniquet. But he was incredibly weak.

The darkness kept fading in and out. Which made no sense. It appeared to be day.

The earth and sky tilted and swirled.

Thirsty, he was incredibly thirsty. Was his canteen in the gully, still strapped to his saddle horn? Was it wedged beneath his horse and the cattle? Would he have the strength to retrieve it if he tried?

The questions, the doubts, pounded at him unmercifully. He couldn't think clearly. He seemed capable only of
worrying about Sam. What would happen to her if Matt couldn't get back to camp?

He heard thunder. Beneath his cheek that was pressed to the dirt, the ground shook.
Not another stampede. Please, not another stampede.

He didn't think he'd have any luck getting out of the way this time. He'd lost his hat. No one would know where he'd been trampled.

“Oh, Matt!”

Raising his throbbing head, he squinted through the sweat and dirt.
Sam!
A corner of his mouth quirked up. “You sure are a sight for sore eyes.”

“What happened?” she asked as she dropped down beside him.

“Bad luck.”

 

Sam thought it was more than bad luck as she lifted Matt's head and tilted a tin cup against his mouth. She'd helped Squirrel get Matt onto Squirrel's horse so they could get him back to camp. The journey had been slow and arduous, with Matt gritting his teeth the entire trek.

He'd groaned only once—and that was when Squirrel had put him on the horse. She wished he wouldn't remain so stoic. It made it difficult for her to remain angry with him.

It made it even harder to remain angry when she'd been
so dadgum relieved to see him alive.

Now he lay on a pallet, breathing harshly through clenched teeth. The trail hands had surrounded him as though they'd never seen an injured man before.

Sam sat beside him. He had his hand clutched around hers. It felt clammy and cold. Unnatural sweat beaded his brow and his upper lip.

Cookie cut the leg of Matt's bloodied britches, pulling the cloth aside, and exposing the dastardly gash in his thigh. Sam darted a quick glance at his wound. It looked as though a steer had torn unmercifully into it. She could only imagine that the cow had been mad with fright, and Matt had been caught in the madness.

“Gawd Almighty,” Cookie breathed.

“That bad, huh?” Matt asked, his gaze never wavering from Sam's face as though she was his tether in the storm. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to see.

“It's gotta be stitched,” Cookie announced, as though no one else could draw the same conclusion.

“I'll do it,” Sam said quietly. She'd seen Cookie treat the others. The man might be skilled with healing, and the cowboys might all acknowledge that he was the camp doctor, but he wasn't gentle. She couldn't bear the thought of Matt being in any more pain that he already was.

She heard the clanking of spurs. The men gathered around quickly parted and Jake knelt beside Matt.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Didn't see the gully,” Matt said. “Cattle were frantic. Sam found me.”

Jake jerked his attention to her. “You went searching for him?”

She wasn't certain if the disbelief in his voice was because she'd disobeyed his order to stay at camp or because she'd had the gumption not to wait.

“He didn't come back to camp, not once,” she explained. “Everyone else came back for coffee or to switch horses. You were long gone by the time I started to get concerned. I was afraid to wait until you came back to go searching for him in case he was in trouble.”

“Which I was,” Matt said.

“Reckon he's lucky you didn't wait then,” Jake said, and she almost thought she heard admiration in his voice.

“We need to get this mess in his leg taken care of, Boss,” Cookie said.

“All right. It's gonna take us most of the day to round up the cattle. Do what you can for Matt. I'll check back at nightfall.” He stood up and strode away.

Cookie set a bowl of warm water in front of Sam. She quickly washed her hands.

“Bite down on this,” Cookie ordered and Sam watched as he slid a strip of leather between Matt's teeth. Then he poured whiskey over the wound.

Slamming his eyes closed, Matt jerked and hissed through his teeth. Tears burned Sam's eyes. She wanted to stay angry with him for betraying her, but all she seemed capable of doing was wishing that his torment would be over.

Looking away from Matt, she slipped sturdy black thread through a large needle. Then, with a shuddering breath, she steeled herself for what she had to do. And went to work.

 

The fever hit Matt hard in the middle of the night. It had been hovering most of the day. Every time Sam had run a damp cloth over his brow or along his throat, she had felt it just below his skin, the warmth that ran more deeply than body heat.

She'd fed him broth throughout the day and given him plenty of water to drink. She'd sponged him off, over and over, trying to keep him cool. She'd changed his dressing more often than was probably needed, but she worried about infection setting in. She didn't want him to lose his leg. Even more, she didn't want him to die.

One by one, the men would come over to check on him. Shifting from foot to foot, hands tucked behind the waistband of their britches, they all seemed uncomfortable with Matt's discomfort as though they'd somehow failed him by not noticing that he was missing.

“How's he doing?” Jake asked as he squatted beside her.

“He's fevered,” Sam said quietly.

“That's not unusual out here. Infection can set in quick. Or his body could just be fighting. But he's strong and stubborn. We'll hole up here as long as we have to.” He twisted slightly and looked at her. “I can't believe Matt hired a girl.”

“He didn't know that I was a girl at the time,” she admitted.

“But he figured it out.”

She nodded. “At the Red River.”

He heaved a sigh. “He should have told me that day.”

“He wanted to, but I talked him out of it,” she said hastily. She was willing to shoulder the responsibility for the entire fiasco.

“Don't you have family?” Jake asked.

“Of course I do. Why do you think I'm doing this? We needed the money. We still do.”

“The next town is Baxter Springs. You'll be leaving us there.”

She considered arguing, begging him to let her stay, but she didn't think the time was right. He was weary; she could see it in his eyes. He'd battled cattle all night and day. Maybe if she waited until his mood improved…but she couldn't recall ever seeing him in an improved mood.

“I'll be out with the cattle. Send someone to fetch me
if Matt's fever gets worse.” With that final command, he stood and strode away.

She tried not to think about how she'd be leaving the outfit once they got to the next town. It was just a hop, skip, and a jump from Baxter Springs to Sedalia. But if she didn't make it to Sedalia with the outfit, she wouldn't get her hundred dollars. It didn't matter how far she'd come or how hard she'd worked.

She'd be left with nothing but broken dreams.

But at least she wasn't broken physically, as Matt was. She dipped the cloth into the bowl of water. Lifting it, she wrung it out and tenderly began to wipe away the sweat that coated Matt's chest. Cookie had removed Matt's shirt shortly after Sam had finished tending the wound on his thigh. He'd wanted to check his ribs.

Matt's ribs were all intact, but it was obvious from the dark shadows forming on his skin that he'd been battered by stampeding cattle in the gully. One side was almost completely black and blue. The rest of him was a series of bruises.

She hated the thought of him caught in that gully. She might have been able to do something if they'd been riding together. She wouldn't have left his side as the others had.

She knew her thoughts were unfair. No one had intentionally abandoned him. They were all just doing
what they could to calm the herd and get them back in line.

Slowly she trailed the cloth along his throat, over his broad shoulders, and across his chest. His muscles were taut from hard work. Gingerly, she moved the cloth over his ribs down to his flat stomach. Back up again to his throat. Back down. A wide circle. Then a smaller one.

“I had to tell Jake, Sam,” Matt rasped.

Snapping her gaze up to his, she wondered how long he'd been awake, how long he might have been watching her.

“Don't you see?” he continued. “It could have been you lying here.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I wish it was. Don't die on me, Matt.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Wouldn't dream of it…but I sure am dreaming of this…”

He plowed his fingers through her hair and curled his hand around the back of her head. He urged her closer, closer, until their mouths touched.

The kiss was filled with desperation as though he needed to affirm that they were both still alive. Had survived.

When he'd finished kissing her soundly, he guided her face to the nook of his shoulder. “Sleep,” he ordered in a weary voice.

“I need to watch you,” she murmured.

“Later,” was all he said before he drifted off.

His breathing grew even and his skin felt less heated. She gave into temptation and joined him in sleep.