The Rancher (3 page)

After she retrieved her pole and pails, she walked with a determined pace toward the water wagon. Something still just didn’t sit right.  She’d killed her fair share of snakes before, but she’d never seen a rattler on the ranch.  They were too far away from the hills.

“Are you all right?”  Lily broke into her thoughts.

Abby looked back at her friend, who struggled to catch up, her heeled shoes no match for the gravel and dirt that made up the courtyard.

What   is   wrong  with  you  Abby

McCallister?
 
She took a deep breath andslowed   enough   for   Lily   to   walkcompanionably next to her.

“My mama sure loved this place, you know?” Abby forced her thoughts in a different direction.  “It’s because of her that  McCallister  stock  is  the  most requested in the territory. She sure knew her horses.”

They reached the water wagon and Abby turned the spigot to fill the oversized pails.  She leaned her backside against the base.

“I know you miss her and all, Abs, but...” Lily paused lowering her eyes away from Abby, “...she’s still alive,” she reached out a hand and placed it over Abby’s heart, “in here.  You don’t have to be exactly like her to keep her memory alive.”

“She was different than most mothers, I know that. But she taught me how to ride,

how to respect and handle hors—“

“No one is saying your ma wasn’t a great woman, Abs.   In fact, I am very thankful right now for the skills she taught

you.   They just saved my life,” Lily exclaimed, her hand raised across her heart.

The door to the main house opened.

Her father’s broad shoulders filled the

entry.  Abby noted how the white flecks in his hair aged him somewhat and she was saddened to think of all he had endured over the last several years without her mother.

“It’s my pa you should thank for that

one.”

Her father motioned for Caleb to joinhim on the porch.  Abby watched the tensebody language between the two men as

they spoke.  When her father looked up and caught her eyes he held her stare for a moment then turned inside, slamming the door behind him.

“Uh, Abby?  The water.“ Lily nudged her toward the overflowing pail.

She quickly switched the full bucket with the empty and was more careful to watch as the second one filled. Her father

was still angry.   This was the most troubled she had seen him in a long time, but she wouldn’t give in.  Couldn’t give in to what he wanted from her.

“What exactly happened between you two last night?” Lily asked.

Abby did not appreciate how in tune Lily could be sometimes.

“And don’t say ‘nothing’ because I know better,” Lily continued, moving her

hands to her hips.

Abby turned away from her, but could still feel her friend’s eyes boring holes into the back of her head.

“He just told me it’s time to get married, is all.”  She closed the spigot and picked up the second pail, placing it on the elevated shelf to the left of the wooden faucet.

“He thinks I’ll have a better chance at landing a man in Denver society with my aunt Iris than I do here.  She’s supposed to teach  me   to  be   more   refined   or

something.”  Abby slid her carrying pole into the handles of the full water buckets.

“So, why his sudden change?  Hasn’t he always said that no man is good enough for his little rancher girl? Not even the ever-so-perfect Mr. Alaric Johansson?”

Lily tilted her head and batted hereyelashes.

Abby’s feelings for the young boy she’dbelieved she’d loved had died a long time

ago.  It had been ages since she’d thought about him.   Lily just wanted her to be happy, but she just couldn’t understand that the land made her happy.  The horses.  The ranch.

“I don’t know what happened, but Papa’s been actin’ all strange like for the past few weeks.”  Abby positioned herself under the pole, attempting to balance the water evenly on her shoulders.

She remembered the day, just after her ma died, when her father had defended her to Mrs. Patterson, the store keeper.  He’d said any man worth a grain of salt could see she was worth her weight in gold and

if  the   fine   and   well-to-do  Alaric Johansson couldn’t see it, he wasn’t worthy of her. He’d told the nosy busybody that a truly worthy man would recognize her value straight away and wouldn’t make a lady wait, not even one day. His little rancher girl deserved only the best.

So, why
 
had
 
he changed his mind now?

“I don’t know,” she repeated.   Her words no more than a whisper this time. Abby pushed her legs into a standing position, the weight of the pails throwing her balance off slightly. She wavered.

Lily ducked her head under the pole and rested it against her shoulders and together they heaved the buckets toward the stable.

“Suddenly, he’s decided that working on a ranch is not fit for a lady and he

wants something better for me.” Abby’s hands wrapped more tightly around the pole.  She shook her head and took a deep breath, hoping it would clear her thoughts and help her to focus on the task at hand.  It didn’t work.

“I love ranching and he knows it. He’s the one who taught me how to ride and shoot better than anyone else in the territory... including him.   No, the SilverHawk was my mother’s dream and I am not about to back away from it.”

When they finally reached the stable, they nearly dropped the buckets.  Abby had forgotten how heavy they could be when full.

“Here, let us get those.”  Jim and Bert

stood on either side of them and removed

the buckets from the pole and dumped

them into Chester’s in-stall trough.

Abby was grateful for the help, but thought it odd.   The hired hands rarely stepped up to help with her chores.  They each bowed awkwardly and smiled before leaving.  She glanced over at Lily who had a mile-wide smile plastered on her face.  She looked back to the hands and it dawned on her.   They weren’t helping with her chores, they were trying to impress Lily.

Abby snorted as she took the brush off its hook on the wall.

“So, are you really going to do it, then?” Lily asked casually as she sat down on a small wooden stool near the stable

doors.

“Do what?” Abby swung the stall door

wide and walked into Chester’s stall to

brush him.   When Lily didn’t respond immediately, Abby glanced up.

Clay McCallister stood in the entrance of the stable.  Abby stopped brushing, but

didn’t move.   She remembered a time

when her father had been larger than life to her.   It hadn’t been that long ago.  Something had changed in the last little while and she didn’t know how to reach

him, to make him understand that she

couldn’t bear to leave him or the ranch.

They had just purchased a new herd ofcattle and a few more prize horses fromsomeone down in Texas.  The last thing onher mind had been getting married.  Sheturned back to Chester and continued

brushing his mane.

“I heard about the incident with a rattler

this morning.” The brusqueness in his

voice hurt, but Abby was determined to appear unaffected.

“Yep.”

“They said you got it in one shot.”

Was that pride in his voice?

“It was close range.”  Abby shrugged her shoulders to brush off the possible compliment.   She was grateful her back faced her father.  She didn’t want him to

see that she was pleased by his words.

Silence.

“What is this?” Clay demanded, pulling the black knapsack from her back pocket.

She spun around, but almost wished she hadn’t.   The pride she’d sensed in her father just moments ago had transformed into anger, even fear.   She’d almost forgotten about the rag.  Clay held it up to her face.  She didn’t take her eyes off his,

but pursed her lips and shrugged.

His eyes turned hard and distant. “Where did you get this?” The material all but disappeared in his balled fists.

“I found it,” Abby’s head pulled backward.  She blinked hard at his sudden abruptness, “under the straw, here in Chester’s stall.  I thought maybe one of the hand—“

“The stage leaves at three o’clock on Friday,” her father interrupted. “Be on it.” He turned away from her, nodded to Lily on his way out the door and strode with determined step toward the bunkhouse.

He paused and glanced back over his shoulder.  “The new foreman will be here

on Saturday morning to help with the new stallion.  Feed the horse and brush him, but don’t ride or start working with him,

ya hear?”   Without waiting for her response he turned and picked up his stride.

Lily’s face had a look of pity, mixed with sad surrender.

Abby’s mind raced. “I still have twodays to find a husband,” she shouted afterhim and then nodded to Lily.

Clay stopped, still as stone, his headfixed forward.

“I don’t know what’s going on withyou, Papa, but I’m gonna win our littlewager and find myself a husband.”

He started walking away again, the firstfew steps slow, then much faster.

“This horse.   The new herd.  And a

place of my own.” Her voice got louder with each phrase. “On the ranch!” she practically screamed at her father’s

retreating form.

Abby’s short fingernails bit into the flesh of her hands and she stomped her feet, her body shaking all over.

Lily stepped in front of her, blocking Clay   McCallister’s   back   from   his daughter’s view. “What do we need to do?”

Chapter Two

Two Weeks Earlier, Kansas

“You can’t go on livin’ like this, Cole.”

Raine threw his leg over the saddle of his bay roan and dismounted.

Cole looked past his eldest brother and squinted his eyes at the horizon.

“Marty,” he called out to a gangly cowpoke sloshing a cup of water down his throat, “looks like there’s a fence down on the property border over on the north side.”  Cole flicked his chin toward the far end of the pasture.

The dark-headed flank rider lowered the tin ladle from his cracking lips and

wiped his newly wet mouth with the back

of his hand.

“Take a couple of men over there and get it up before we lose half this herd to the Marcusen’s.”   Cole removed his

rawhide gloves, tight from sweat, and hit them against his hand.

“Sure thing, Boss,” Marty responded before escaping into the small group of men who had just returned from the drive.

The air had not yet settled from the dust of thousands of steer and horse hooves trampling over the dirt road and onto the

green  pastures   of  Redbourne   land.
 
Another   successful   cattle   drive, complete.

“Cole,” Raine attempted once again, his voice low and resolute.

Cole glanced up at his brother and,

without further acknowledgement, walked right past him toward the ranch house.  With   each   quickened   step,   his determination   grew   and   his   stride

elongated.

Raine was right behind him. His strong hand gripped Cole’s upper arm and squeezed.

“Alaric’s dead,” Raine said in a quiet, but firm tone.  “It’s been nearly a year, but it’s still eating at you.”

Cole froze.  The familiar pang stabbed him in the chest.  He shook his arm free

from his brother’s grasp and turned to face him head on. “Leave Alaric out of this, Raine,”   he   countered   with   clear deliberation.  His jaw flexed and his teeth crushed together with intensity.

“You can’t keep blaming yourself for

what happened.” Raine’s defensive stance exuded his many years of experience apprehending outlaws. “The men can hardly stand to be around you anymore,” he pushed a little further. “It used to be that you cared about what you were doing. Cared about the men you did it with.”