The Lady and the Cowboy (3 page)

Ruth arose at 9 a.m. the next morning, early by English aristocracy standards, but she could see that Mamma and Cassy had already been up for hours, and Sam was long gone.

“Mornin’,”
Mamma smiled as she came into the kitchen. “Sleep well?”

“A little too well,” Ruth said, feeling embarrassed that she was the last one up.

“I figured you were probably tired after your journey, so best to let you sleep it off.”

Ruth considered letting her believe that but her honesty got the better of her. “Actually, we usually rise between 10
a.m. and noon.”

“Noon!”

“The aristocracy doesn’t work, remember, it’s a sign of social rank. Well that, and they like to stay up late, drinking into the wee small hours.”

“Well you’ll soon adjust. Besides, you don’t look like a big drinker to me.”

“I'm not. A glass of wine with dinner perhaps but anything more is unladylike.”

She sounded as if she
were reciting someone else’s words.

“You hungry?”
Mamma asked?

“Oh, no, I’ll wait until lunch, thank you.” She didn’t want to put
Mamma out when she had clearly already cleaned up after breakfast.

“Want some coffee? Won’t take a minute.”

“Um, all right, please.”

Mamma
crushed some beans then mixed them with boiling water from the stove, and handed her a cup of what looked like swill. Ruth took a sip and grimaced.

“It grows on you,”
Mamma assured her.

Ruth didn’t want it to grow on
, in or around her. “Do you have any tea?”

“No, sorry, but I can pick you some up when I next go into town.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Mamma
smiled and continued pottering around the kitchen. “Well, drink your coffee for now, then I’ll show you around the farm.”

***

The Wakefield Ranch was basically a stud farm, breeding, schooling and selling horses, Mamma explained as they left the house.

“What kind of horses?”

“All kinds. Ranch horses, plough and cart horse, general mounts, a few quarter horses. Sam’s real dream is to breed a racing winner and put himself on the map.”

“That must be expensive.”

Mamma just nodded. “We’ve sold a few racing horses and they do well, just not Kentucky Derby ‘well’.”

Mamma
took her through the two barns where the horses were stabled, their names written in chalk beside the stalls. Ruth stopped to pet them, pleased to be around horses again.

Next
Mamma showed her the tack shed, where each saddle rack, bridle hook or harness had a horse’s name written in chalk above it. The saddles were very different from English ones but now wasn’t the time to ask about that.

She also noticed that most
of the bridles had a curb bit, which as well as pulling on the mouth when you pulled the rein, tightened the bridle as well. Because it was so harsh, they were generally only used on the most headstrong of horses. She wondered what made Sam’s horses so difficult, that they almost all needed a curb bit.

The door to this room was thick and Ruth could see a large
padlock dangling from the lock and the windows also had thick shutters with padlocks. She guessed that the tack was a target for thieves.

T
he feed shed was next to that, where the feed was stored in large bins and each horse’s meal requirements were written on a large chalk board. A third shed acted as an office but it was very utilitarian, with a desk, two chairs, shelves of ledgers and a safe. Mamma explained that this safe just housed small amounts of money and the real safe was hidden in the house.

The
bunk house was next, which had dormitory type rooms in one half, and a kitchen, dining room and ‘rec’ room in the other half.

A third barn was behind the two sheds and this was where they kept the
harnesses for the cart or plough horses. One corner housed the wheelbarrows, pitchforks and other large tools, with very large equipment, such as wagons and ploughs beside the tools. The upper level was given over to hay and straw bales, which were piled so high they almost touched the roof of the barn in places.

Next
Mamma walked Ruth over to the outdoor small paddocks, fenced off areas where the horses were exercised and schooled.

“Each horse has to be ridden for at least twenty minutes a day
but usually an hour,” Mamma explained. “But they have two days rest a week.”

Ruth leaned on
one of the fences as she watched various horses being exercised. She soon spotted Sam, who seemed to be breaking in a young horse. She had to admit, he looked breath-taking; perfectly at ease and at home in the saddle, as he patiently walked the horse through a series of movements.

“Why does he hold the reins so slack?” Ruth asked.

“Cowboys have to keep one hand free, so ranch horses are trained to react to the neck rein. We also train them to rope and cut but mostly, they just have to be good all-rounders with fast reflexes.”

That explained the curb bits then, even the slightest pressure would cause a sharp turn
in an obedient horse.

“And the saddles?”

“What about them?”

“Why are they so large? It’s like an armchair on horseback.”

Mamma laughed. “I guess in some ways they are. Cowboys spend most of the day in the saddle, so it has to comfortable.”

“Do you have any European saddles?”

“Don’t think so. We’ve got a few racing saddles but that’s about it.”

“Side saddles?”

“I don’t believe we’ve ever trained a horse for that.”

“Why? Women over here must ride.”

“They do,” Mamma chuckled. “Most women in these parts just use the western saddle, but there’s got to be some rich women who have their own horses and ride side saddle.”

Ruth watched
Sam, noting how with just the gentlest of taps to the flank, the horse broke into a gallop, turning sharply when the reins were moved slightly, then galloping off in a different direction. Clearly these horses were very well schooled and sensitive.

Sam’s horse then began a bucking fit, trying to rid himself of the rider but Sam just gripped the saddle horn and rode the tantrum out. It was a rather half-hearted attempt on the
horse’s part and it soon settled again. Sam gave him another two rounds of the meadow and decided to call it a day.

He touched his fingers to his hat as he passed them.
Mamma nodded back and Ruth blushed and looked at the ground.

“So how many horses do you have here?” Ruth asked
, trying to distract herself from the thought that Sam might have seen her staring.

“Oh, just under five hundred, I believe.”

“Five hundred?” She sounded surprised.

“Mostly breeding stock. They stay in the outer fields but we
take them hay and check them for injury every day.”

“Doesn’t feeding animals you aren’t trying to sell get expensive?”

“Not really. We also have a small herd of cattle that we use to train the horses, we sell what we don’t eat or need to keep, and that covers a lot of the hay costs. Besides, quality breeding stock is the backbone of a stud, so it’s a worthwhile investment.”

She wasn’t wrong, Ruth knew her fair share about breeding and blood lines but 500 heads was a little out of her league.

“Now, I’ll show you the chicken run, our dairy cow and the vegetable patch, then I’d best make a start on lunch,” Mamma said.

“Doesn’t Cassy do that?”

“She’s ironing today. Besides, I like cooking, don’t you?”

“I’ve never tried it.”

“Do you want me to teach you how?”

‘Why not?’
Ruth thought. It didn’t look as if she’d be allowed to do much else around here.

Ruth wandered through what passed for a garden in these parts. The vegetable and flower gardens were to the side of the house, a large area filled with neat rows of plants and leafy herbs, thanks to regular watering. The actual garden was nowhere near so pleasant. The grass was mostly beige in shade, with occasional patches of green and brown. There were no plants here, save for these odd looking, fleshy green things that Mamma had called cacti, which formed clusters on the ground.

Like everything else here though, they were harsh and unpleasant, covered in strong, sharp needles.

Why had she come to this awful place? What has she been thinking?

Nothing here was in the slightest bit hospitable, not even the plants.
What passed for a hot beverage here, coffee, was bitter and acrid. What passed for food was tasty enough but very basic. Even the sun seemed hostile, beating down with a heat that stifled and threatened to burn her.

She missed running water, indoor water closets and servants. It wasn’t that she disliked doing things for herself, just that often, she didn’t know how to.

Sam made it clear that he thought she was a complete waste of space and although Mamma and Cassy were kind enough to her, she was next to useless to them. She helped around the house where she could but her housekeeping skills were poor, to say the least.

She rubbed her eyes when she felt the sting of tears,
realising that she had been a fool to come here. She should have sold the place and been done with it.

***

Sam was coming back in the cart from the outlying fields, having just dropped off some hay for the semi-wild horses he kept for breeding stock, when he noticed their new house guest, bending over a cluster of cactus plants, poking the spikes.

He stilled the horses and watched her for a moment, wondering what made her behave so oddly.

Sam still didn’t know what to make of Ruth. On the one hand, she was a typical rich Englishwoman, or at least how he imagined them to be. On the other, she wasn’t just shy and demure; she almost seemed to run from him every chance she got.

He had tried to converse with her over dinner but she was very insular, almost afraid.

Oddly, it made him want to slap her, just to see if he could provoke that spark he’d seen in her eyes the first time he met her. He refrained, of course, he didn’t hit women, but her attitude did make him more prone to snap than usual.

After dinner, she
always cleared the plates away, like a good little drudge, then went to her room to read.

His mother had told him that she liked to ride, so he had even offered to teach her to use a western saddle. She had grinned at him, the most brilliant grin that he had ever seen and it took his breath away for a moment, then her smile had
quickly faded.

“Ladies don’t ride astride,” she said, sounding
hollow and bowing her head.

“They do in these parts,” he assured her.

“Thank you, but I couldn’t.”

He wondered if all English women were this uptight, or if it was uniquely her.

He had found her in the stables a few times, petting the horses but she always avoided conversation if she could help it.

Last Saturday they had taken her to a barn dance, which was a good night out in these parts.
They took the wagon so that the ranch hands could sit in the rear, and the cart could hold more people than a carriage could.

Besides, these
weren’t exactly high class events, so no one would mind a few pieces of straw on their clothes. The barn was volunteered by a local farmer or rancher, the music free, provided by a trio or more of musicians, everyone brought a dish of food or some drink and anyone who wanted to come was welcome; married people, single people, even small children.

He had hoped that the sheer energy and fun in the room would work its magic on Ruth but instead she had stayed by the refreshments table all night, refusing to let anyone take over from her and steadfastly refusing all offers to dance.
According to his mother, she said she didn’t know the dances and didn’t want to make a fool of herself.

He had n
oticed her looking enviously at him a few times, as he danced with one of his four sisters or a local girl, but especially when he danced with his niece. Five year old Cindy was as pretty as a picture and as they had cavorted around the barn, he had actually seen Ruth smiling at them! Smiling!

It brightened up her whole face, making her look as beautiful as she did when she was angry at him.

Wanting to see more of that expression, he had enlisted the help of one of his nephews, John, who was seven years old, cute as a button and a very hard boy to say no to. Sam had watched as she leaned down a little to talk to him but even he couldn’t convince her to dance. John did come back wearing a big smile though and proclaimed that she promised to dance with him sometime, just not tonight.

So her heart wasn’t completely
made of stone.

He watched as
Mamma introduced his four sisters and their families to Ruth and she had even held baby Jake for a few minutes, until he began to cry and Lucy took him back.

As the evening wore on, he noticed that she was smiling more and talking with a few neighbours
, although she still seemed reserved. Despite her fine dress, no one here seemed inclined to hold it against her and he was hopeful that she could be drawn out of her shell a little more.

At
the end of the night he offered her his arm to escort her to the cart, she immediately retreated back into her shell. She took his elbow, probably only because it would be rude for a ‘lady’ to refuse, but she blushed a lot and answered his polite inquiries with as few words as were possible.

That had been five days ago and nothing had changed between them since then.

He sighed and urged the horse on, back to the barn. He didn’t have the time or patience to keep pondering Ruth Adams and her odd behaviour.

***

Ruth was helping Mamma mend some clothes and getting to know the sewing machine. It took a little coordination but she was getting the hang of it.

Ruth had discovered that of the five doors off the upper landing,
three were bedrooms, one a linen closet and the fourth bedroom had been turned into a sewing room, where they were working.

Mamma
took care of not only her son’s clothes but the ranch hands’ too, repairing rips, patching thinning spots and replacing buttons. There wasn’t an awful lot to do on a day to day basis but if Ruth could work the sewing machine, Mamma was going teach her dressmaking; how to cut the cloth, how to pin it, tack it, sew it, reinforce elbows, knees and button holes and a whole lot of other things that Ruth hadn’t known were involved. She was beginning to think that maybe her family had been right, and that she had no business becoming a seamstress.

True
, she could embroider a beautiful sampler but this was completely different and she felt out of her league. Mamma was supportive of course, but that didn’t alter how Ruth felt.

Still, this was infinitely preferable to wash day. She had volunteered to help Cassy on Monday and
whilst she gave it her all, she thought that it was quite possibly the worst job in the world. Her hands were sore and cracked by the end of the day, from being immersed in water and soap for so long.

She was beginning to lose hope that she would ever fit in here.

Who was she kidding; she wasn’t built for the Wild West. She was built for English countryside, afternoon tea and books. If only they had a library in these parts, she’d be down there like a shot, offering her services.

Well, if she could. Without a horse and unwilling to ask Mr Wakefield to borrow one (not to mention, having to ride it western style) she had only left the ranch once, for the barn dance.
It had been a very new experience for her, but she had enjoyed the evening very much. Mamma’s daughters seemed lovely, and their children were even lovelier and whilst her toe had tapped along to the unusual music (what was a banjo? And who played that kind of music on a violin?)  she just hadn’t been able to relax enough to try dancing. The dances seemed easy enough, about four movements repeated over and over but without practice, she knew she would get it wrong and make a fool of herself.

A young lady never made a fool of herself
in public.

And she was certain that some of the drinks she was serving were spiked, some with truly awful tasting alcohol, so she had
stuck to drinking water herself, just in case. Without knowing how much alcohol was in these things, she had no idea how much was safe to drink.

Ladies didn’t drink in public and if they did, they never got drunk.

She couldn’t help but admire Sam whilst he danced though; he was so relaxed and carefree, smiling and laughing easily. It made him took so handsome that her heart skipped a beat at times.

If only he were so carefree with her. His mother and sisters were lovely, so he couldn’t be all bad could he? She so much wished that she hadn’t
been angry with him that first day, because he seemed determined not to forgive her, always giving her curt or sarcastic answers, often seeming to be just moments away from losing his temper with her.

She put such thoughts from her mind for the moment, determined not to let Mr Wakefield upset her.
Thinking of him made her ache with a longing that she hadn’t felt since she met Ivor, and that kind of longing was never a good thing, she had decided. Even if Mr Wakefield wasn’t the devil, he certainly hadn’t been very nice to her, so she could only assume that he didn’t like her. Which was fine, she didn’t like him either. And these feelings? They were just the feelings of a frustrated spinster. Well, she was technically a widow but she certainly didn’t feel like a widow. No, the term spinster fit her much better, she felt.

Spinsters found things other than husbands and families to occupy their lives, such as businesses or a vocation. And spinsters could still have fun, couldn’t
they? There had been many grey-haired women at the barn dance, and they all got up for a turn. Maybe they weren’t spinsters, but she was certain that a spinster wouldn’t be turned away. People would dance with her, out of pity if nothing else. Of course, that meant that she had to learn their dances.

T
here was a barn dance every month or so, and she hoped that by the time the next one came around, she would have the courage to try at least one dance. She had a plan to learn, as long as her little friend came through for her.

“Who is that?”
Mamma asked, going over to the window.

“Who is what?”
Ruth asked, looking up from the sewing machine.

“There’s a grey horse coming up the driveway, but I don’t recognise it or the rider
and we’ve already had our post today.”

Ruth left her sewing and ran over to the window.

“They’re here!” she cried, running out of the house before Mamma could stop her.