The Brides Of Tombstone 01 Mail Order Outlaw (7 page)

Mal came around the corner of the house, leading his horse. The horse pranced and chomped at the bit, ready to run.

She smiled.

“You can have a gentler horse, you know.”

“No, I like Satan.” He patted the horse’s withers. “He’s got a lot of spirit and I like that. I learned to ride as a child and they always put me on a gentle mare, but I assure you, I can handle him.”

Just another thing he’d never said in his letters. There were a lot of things about Mal that weren’t included in his letters. But there were lots of things she hadn’t talked about either, like the fact she wore pants to work.

She still remembered his first mention of them. He’d tried so hard to not insult her and he’d done well. Just a few words about how unusual seeing a woman in pants was, but that they looked good on her. The memory still made her smile. He had been so embarrassed afterward.

“Are we ready to go?” He grabbed a set of saddle bags from the front porch. They were bulging with food.

Atina wanted to make sure they didn’t go hungry; after all, repairing the fence was hard work. Some of the hardest on the ranch.

“Yeah, mount up and let’s go. Daylight’s burning.”

He laughed. “Interesting phrase.”

“Daddy used to say it to me. Said there was never enough time in the day to get everything done. And he was right. We definitely won’t finish with the fence today but by the end of the week the north fence will be complete, and we can start on the west one.

“Sounds good.”

“Fixing fence is one of the worst things to do. You probably won’t like it. It’s hard, boring work.”

“If it has to do with ranching I want to learn it and I’ll like it. At least for now. Everything is new and I’m excited to be taught what to do. Especially by such a beautiful teacher.”

Lizzie knew she blushed and wished she didn’t. She felt the color rise from her chest to her neck, finally ending with bright spots of color on her cheeks. She wanted to fan herself.

“Ready to ride?” She mounted her horse, Ajax, a pure white stallion.

His horse, Satan, was as black as hers was white, except for the star on his forehead.

“Are you planning on breeding Ajax or Satan? They’d make good babies.”

“Foals.” She grinned at his greenhorn term. “The babies are called foals when they’re born and before we know what gender they are. After we know, males are called colts and females are called fillies.”

“I haven’t seen any foals, so I take it you don’t breed your horses.”

“No, we breed them. The foals are in a secluded part of the west pasture with their mothers, away from the rest of the herd. There they can bond with their mothers and run and frolic like foals are known to do. Actually, they’re fun to watch. I’ll take you out there when we come back from working on the fence. It’s on the way, but we’re already getting a late start.”

“My fault. I should have gotten up earlier to finish with the chores on time.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll get used to getting up at dawn.” She chuckled. “Especially when you have to finish your chores in the dark one too many times.”

He smoothed his hand around the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I will.”

They rode out at a gentle lope. Not too hard on the horses or the riders but fast enough to make some time.

“I don’t see much in the way of flowers out here, just a few on the cactus.”

“We don’t get enough rain for there to be flowers. There is a lot of sage brush, scrub oak, some cedar and whatever else doesn’t take much water to live.”

“Why would you come to ranch in this country? It’s awfully harsh conditions to raise people or cattle.”

“It’s definitely not the easiest place to ranch, but when Daddy first came out here he was prospecting for gold in the mountains.” She pointed to the northwest, to the mountains in the distance. “He met and married mother, a difficult proposition, considering every white man in the area was trying to kill every Indian. He’d saved her father’s life and asked for her hand in marriage to clear the debt owed and I was born nine months later. Then he joined the army at Fort Lowell as a scout. He grew to like the area and homesteaded one-hundred-sixty acres. He slowly bought land from other homesteaders until he had the ranch you see today.”

“Here we are.” An hour later, they pulled up in front of a line shack. Next to the small building was a buckboard wagon with a couple of bails of barbed wire. “Let’s harness the horses to the wagon. There will be sections with the barbed wire completely missing or so badly kinked that it needs replacing.

“We’ll keep the saddle bags with us ’cause we’ll have to eat today while we work. Oh, and go easy on the water. The stuff in the creek will keep you alive but it doesn’t taste that good. We’re used to well water—crisp, clean and clear. The creek is very shallow and so is full of dirt and silt.”

“Where does the wire go?” Ed dismounted and got his heavy leather gloves from his saddlebags. “Who’s stealing it?”

“Rustlers mostly.”

“Why don’t they come take this?” He pointed at the wagon with the wire in it.

“The tracks wagon wheels make are too easy to follow and the wagon goes too slow. They don’t want to be found. Taking the wire from the fence is easier and quicker. And they don’t want great sections of fence. Just enough for a gate or a single string around the top of their temporary corral.”

They harnessed the horses and drove to the first section of missing fence.

“I see. It’s basically a crime of opportunity. They don’t really plan it when they steal your cattle.”

“Not true.” She shook her head and continued working. She cut the old wire off and let it fall to the ground. They would gather it up before they left and put it in the buckboard. Then she pulled the new wire from the bail, using wire cutters to cut the length she needed. She twisted the two end pieces together, pulled the piece new wire tight and then nailed one end to the post, leaving enough hanging to twist onto the next line of wire.

“It’s very well planned. That’s why they don’t take the wagon. They take as much as they need, when they need it, but even then it’s not a lot. Their corrals are usually of rope because barbed wire is so hard to work with. A couple of hours from now and you’ll know just what I mean.”

Once the horses were ready, he climbed up next to her and she flicked the reins on the horse’s rumps. “Giddy up,” she called out to the animals.

They road until the next break in the fence and then they nailed the wire to the fence posts and strung it across to the next one. Again and again throughout the afternoon they repeated the actions until she called a halt.

“It’s late. That’s more than enough for today. My hands feel beat up.” She flexed her fingers inside the beat up leather gloves. “I bet yours do, too.”

“They do, and that’s a fact.”

Ed decided truer words were never said. By the time they stopped to eat lunch, his hands were already so sore from hitting himself with the hammer, he could hardly hold his plate. And he was hungry. Atina had filled the saddlebags with food, including leftover chunks of the fried venison, roast beef sandwiches, cheese, apples, and cookies. He finally gave up and stood using the tail gate of the wagon as a table.

“How are you doing?” She looked down at his hands, now out of his gloves. “Doesn’t look like you’re doing too good.”

He looked down and winced. Now that he could see the damage done, he acknowledged the fact his fingers hurt like the dickens.

“Aren’t you glad you’re wearing sturdy leather gloves?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “They’re mostly banged up and bruised. If I didn’t have the gloves they’d be a bloody mess.”

“That’s very true.” She smiled a little before shaking her head. “There was one cowboy who thought he knew better than anyone how to do everything. When he came up here to work the fence line, he didn’t wear gloves. Didn’t think he needed them. After pulling wire up here all day, he couldn’t work again for two weeks while his hands healed.”

“Did you keep him or fire him?”

“That was when Daddy was still alive. He didn’t fire him, though he probably should have. But, the man turned into one of our best wranglers. You met him, Boyd Dinkens, the foreman. He’s been with us for about fifteen years now.”

“Really?” The story gave him hope that he might actually learn how to ranch someday. “You’re not just funnin’ me?”

“Ask him.” She laughed. “He’ll tell you. It’s one of his favorite stories for the new men. Reinforces their need for the proper equipment.”

“I know. Every tool has a purpose and there is a purpose for every tool.”

“That’s right.” She seemed pleased by his response and smiled.

They packed up their saddle bags. And loaded the wagon with the used wire they’d collected and headed back to the line shack. When they arrived, they went inside the shack. A table with two chairs stood in the middle of the room. To the right of the table next to the wall was a cot with bedding neatly folded on the top of the mattress. A small kitchen was to the left and behind the table straight in front of the door was a huge rock fire place, with cooking arm and pot. Simple and functional. All anyone who got caught by bad weather would need to ride it out.

“Put the saddle bags on the kitchen counter,” Lizzie pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “We’ll deal with them later. For now let’s get the horses unharnessed and in the pen for the night.”

“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say.” He set the bags on the counter and followed her back outside. “For the night?” He repeated not sure he heard her right.

“I think it’s too late to try and get back to the ranch tonight. I don’t want to get caught in the storm.” She pointed upward.

Only then did Ed notice the darkening sky.

“So we’re spending the night at the cabin?” He swallowed hard. A night alone with Lizzie might just kill him.

“Yeah.” She put her hands on her hips. “You have a problem with that?”

“No.” Ed shook his head, amused by the righteousness in her tone. “We’re already engaged to be married, so you couldn’t be trying to rope me into marrying you. I don’t care about gossip, and sounds to me like you don’t either.”

“I don’t. When you’re a half-breed you hear it all anyway.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call yourself that.”

“What? Half-breed?” She shrugged. “It’s what I am. Most of the people who use that term think they are insulting me because I’m not white, but I’m proud of my mother, proud to be a part of her. I’m proud to be a half-breed. The name doesn’t hurt me.”

He was taken aback by her response, and yet it did make sense to him. “I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. I’d be proud to call Atina ‘mother’, too.”

“I’m sure she’d like that. You’ll have to ask her.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

Lizzie went into the kitchen. “Why don’t you see if you can get a fire going? The date may be the end of July, but we’ll need the warmth before the night is through.”

Ed walked outside to where he’d seen wood stacked against the wall of the shack and brought in an armful. Building a fire was something he was good at, having done it all his life. Kindling was piled next to the fireplace. He took some of the small sticks and formed a teepee shape, stacked three pieces of wood in the same shape over the kindling, lit a match and held it against the dry pieces of twigs and weeds.

“You’re pretty good with that, for a tenderfoot.”

Lizzie cocked an eyebrow.

Ed thought the jig was up, but she just looked at him a moment and then went back to preparing their supper.

He should tell her but he wanted to wait until after they were married or at least until she fell in love with him. He was sure she would, he couldn’t be alone in that feeling, could he? The more time he spent with her the more he found loving her easy.

Never had he known a more resilient, disciplined woman. Every day she was insulted and rather than be upset by the name calling, she reveled in it. He admired her attitude. It showed him that everything isn’t always viewed the same by everyone.

“My dad used to take me camping when I was a kid.” He hoped that was safe to say. He’d read Mal’s letters to her and didn’t remember anything like this being mentioned. “This is one of the things he taught me. He loved the wildness of camping out in the middle of nowhere. Away from the city and all his problems.”

“It’s wonderful to have that memory. You were a young man when you lost your dad and though I was older when my dad died, I think similar experience is one of the reasons I chose you.”

“And I you.” He agreed. He’d read the correspondence so quickly, he didn’t remember what all was in them, but he could picture Mal writing something like that.

The fire crackled merrily and the shack began to warm up. Ed went into the kitchen and unpacked the remainder of the food from the saddlebags, while Lizzie made up the cot.

“It’s a good thing Atina didn’t want us to starve. There was enough for a couple of days if we hadn’t been so hungry today. Of course, we didn’t know we’d be spending the night here.”

“She always packs too much,” Lizzie laughed. “But in this case, the quantity will be appreciated. We’ll need it for tonight and tomorrow. I’ll make sure to quit earlier tomorrow, so we can beat any storms home.”