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MARGE GOETZ PASSED A MUG of steaming black coffee to the neighbor who stood on her front porch talking to her husband, Ray. “Before you two get so deep into hashing over today’s Bureau of Land Management meeting, tell me, Ben, did our new teacher get moved into your cabin?”
“Danged if I know.” Ben Trueblood blew on his hot coffee and shifted his gaze to the hills where the cabin sat. His land butted up next to the farm where Ray and Marge raised sugar beets and onions. “Last week I tied red flags like you asked and left the box of folders. Chad Keevler finished the kitchen and new bathroom that the board approved. Out of curiosity, why wouldn’t she get here? You said she sounded reliable.” He declined to sit in the empty chair Ray offered and braced a knee-high boot on one rung instead.
Hearty, sandy-haired Ray dusted off his work jeans before dropping into another chair. “Marge is fussing because I had to take her SUV to town for engine work, leaving her without wheels. The board hired the Steele woman on Marge’s recommendation. Since Sikes’s reserve unit was called to active duty and left our kids teacherless midterm last year, I think she feels…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Marge cut in. “Responsible. I feel responsible. Can you blame me? We found Ms. Steele so late, the Martins already sent their twins to board with Sue’s sister in Elko. The district superintendent says if we dip under twelve kids, the county will suspend our funding. By my calculations, we’re at an even dozen.”
“Counting the teacher’s kid? Did I dream you said she’s a widow with a school-aged son?” Trueblood gestured with his mug.
“That’s right. Her boy’s ten, the same age as Jeff, our youngest.” Marge still sounded worried.
Ray patted her on the butt. “Hon, you’re determined to fret.”
“If homeschooling our boys had fallen to you after the army took Sikes, you’d fret, too. Not a family in the valley is anxious to go on tryin’ to teach their kids at home. How much of the curriculum did you teach Clover?” she asked Ben, looking over at the elfin eight-year-old girl with long, black hair who was chasing butterflies through a cow pasture. Every now and then the child stopped to pet one of the massive, white-faced Herefords.
“Now, Marge. Sikes got called up when I was bogged down with the first lawsuit brought by that conservation group who wants the BLM to revoke all grazing leases on public lands. I had to turn Clover’s homeschooling packet over to Bobbalou.”
Marge scoffed. “What can Lou Bobolink teach a girl?” She used the given name of Ben’s old friend and longtime camp cook.
Ben grinned. “How to make beef stew and sourdough biscuits? Hell, Marge, after the recreational ATVers jumped into the land squabble, I had no choice. Vida got sick and couldn’t keep house for a while, or she might’ve helped with lessons. Although, Clover likes trailing the herd.”
“Because you let her do as she pleases. You have, Ben Trueblood, from the day she turned up a crying bundle in your barn.”
The sharp, sometimes brittle obsidian eyes jerked up at Marge’s harsh accusation, but almost as quickly the lean lines of Ben’s bronze face softened. “Look at her. She’s happy. And a damned sight brighter than some folks give her credit for. Clover’s got a way with animals like nobody I’ve ever run across. One day she’ll make a great veterinarian.”
“Not without education and discipline,” Marge said.
Ray cleared his throat. “Don’t rag on Ben, hon. Everybody knows Clover’s way better off with him than those teens from the Shoshone or Paiute reservation who dumped her at his place.”
“Leave it,” Ben said, cutting Ray off. Ben had been born on one of those reservations. No one had to tell him about the harsh existence faced by those two kids he’d caught sight of running from his property that icy night.
“Marge, I’d like to devote more time to Clover. But I figure the best thing I can do for her is fight like hell to hang on to a ranch Bobbalou and I started carving out of this unforgiving land when I was fourteen. I’ve never blamed Clover’s mother, whoever she is. I broke free of the bad crap that perpetuates itself on reservations. Percy and me, we had Lou, and he knew to leave the res and buy his own land. It’s not as easy for kids today, what with our land being gobbled up or fought over.”
“This land is sucking us all dry,” Marge said.
Draining his mug, Ben set it on the porch rail. “Bud Martin, Percy Lightfoot, me and a scant few others are damned lucky to keep ranching the way it’s meant to be done. Letting cows roam free in the tradition brought here a hundred years ago.”
Ray tipped back in his chair. “It’s a hard life for men. Nigh on impossible for women and kids to survive that way, Ben.”
“Which is why you don’t see me trying to find a wife.”
“You need one,” Marge said. “For your own sake and to provide a bit of softness for Clover.”
“Now, Marge,” her husband said. “It takes a hard man to raise four thousand cows, bulls and steers, alongside a thousand mixed mustangs and quarter horses without irrigation, especially now that grazing lands are getting scarcer and scarcer thanks to the likes of damned tree huggers and ATVers.”
“That brings us back to the point I’m trying to make, Ben,” Marge persisted. “Clover needs more. More than blue jeans, boys’ shirts and chaps and being turned loose to learn from your crew, who don’t know anything but living on the range eleven months a year. She’s never gonna be a hard man, Ben Trueblood. That’s the God’s honest truth you need to deal with.” Marge snatched up his empty cup and the one her husband had set down and stomped into the house, slamming the screen door.
“Phew,” Ray muttered. Climbing to his feet, he said, “Let’s go have a look at the beet harvester I picked up at auction last week.” As the men left the porch to mosey toward the barn, Ray said, “I hope you don’t hold hard feelings against her for butting into your business. The dwindling number of wives left in Owyhee are counting on this new teacher. Winnie Lightfoot said if we lose the school it’ll be like losing a chunk of civilization. She’s right. Successful, thirty-seven-year-old bachelor ranchers like you, Ben, are anomalies. It’s families that bring in businesses to sustain a ranch community. We can’t afford to lose another church, grocery, hardware or feed store.”
Ben glanced at Ray in bemusement. “Marge isn’t the only one on a soap box, I see.” He sighed. “Hell, Ray, it takes time to socialize—time I spend trying to prevent our public lands from breaking up. The committee needs to say what’s more important, keeping a million acres from being overrun by environmentalists and all-terrain fanatics, or me hunting up a woman who may or may not civilize me.”
Ray flushed crimson to the roots of his sandy hair. “Enough on that subject. I can’t imagine you with a missus anyway.”
“Why not?” The comment rocked Ben back. He didn’t want a wife, but he didn’t think he was so objectionable. “I own a home. Granted, I’m rarely there. But it stays decent thanks to Vida. I don’t drink or gamble. I cuss a little,” he confessed, tugging an earlobe.
“You have to want a wife. Finding someone to fit your lifestyle won’t be easy. Might be, if you didn’t run a straight-up buckaroo outfit, or if Owyhee had an excess of single women…which it don’t. Or if we didn’t depend on you to represent us in this land fight and organize our Rope and Rides so we’ll have funds in our town coffers to pay a sheriff and hang on to a clinic, such as it is. It’s a cinch taxes don’t cover our needs.”
His friend stopped Ray from droning on. “I get the message. It’s best all around if we keep this new teacher happy. We’ll build the town up by showing we’re prosperous enough to warrant a school, and other revenue will follow.”
“So, does this mean you’ll swing past your old line shack and see if Ms. Steele arrived?”
“Aw, dang it! You led me right into that.”
“Yep.”
“Why can’t Marge take your pickup now that you’re home?”
“She would, except her quilting club meets here in a half hour. I’m not asking you to sweet talk the woman, Ben. Marge hasn’t heard a word since the teacher left Texas. We’ve gotta be sure she arrived so kids can start school tomorrow.”
“It’ll be dark soon. Who’s to say if I blunder in there after dark that a Texas woman won’t shoot first and ask questions later?”
“I’d give a dollar to see that.” Ray grinned, pumping Ben’s hand as they prepared to part. “Letting a little lady blow your ass off would seriously tarnish your image, Ben.”
“You saying it couldn’t happen?”
“I s’pose it could. The old Western books I’ve read set in Texas generally have feisty females who don’t take guff off cowboys. Max Brand’s books.”
Ben hesitated fractionally before waving to summon Clover. “Is that how Marge describes the teacher? A feisty, no-guff type?”
“Marge only chatted with her by phone. Saw a fax of her credentials. They’re so good, some on the board wondered what’s wrong with her. I mean, why was she hunting a teaching job so late in the year? Daryl White was sure she ran afoul of the law. He ran a background check. Nothing came up. Guess if you don’t want to stop there we can wait to see what Bill Hyder says after he drives the van tomorrow. He’s this month’s driver volunteer.”
“You took me off bus detail, I hope.” Ben boosted Clover into the backseat of his Ford pickup’s king cab.
“Yeah. You’ve got your hands full wading through lawyers. Of course, since this woman is the new widow in town, I could assign you Bill’s rotation for the hell of it.”
“Don’t you dare. Tell Marge I’ll check on her teacher. I’ll call after I see what’s what.” Ben crawled in his truck and gave one of his half-cynical smiles before shutting the door and starting the motor. He muttered to the child in the backseat, “Clover, girl, I hope you like the new teacher. ’Cause God’s truth—I’d be the happiest man in Owyhee if I never had to cross the school threshold until you graduate.”
“No school, Ben,” the little girl said firmly. “I’m gonna go with Bobbalou.”
“We’d both like that, but…there are laws, princess.”
“You don’t like laws.” She bounced against the seat. Strands of long black hair flew like errant smoke. “I’ll run off from school.”
“No you won’t.” Ben sighed. “It’s lawmakers I don’t like, Clover.” And he didn’t like being squeezed off his land. He’d much prefer to keep running his cattle without any fences. But, Ray and Marge were right in one sense. It was a hard life. From the minute Clover had landed in his barn, she’d been the bright spot in his harsh existence. From the get-go he’d approached raising her the way he did foals and calves. While it had seemed to work for a while, this past year he’d seen signs that she needed more. Their short-lived teacher, Sikes, had said Clover should be tested, maybe sent to a special school—one for mentally impaired kids. What kind of teacher said stuff like that about a sweet little girl?
Clover was a—free spirit, maybe. His fault, not hers.
Reaching back, Ben smoothed her long bangs with his fingers. “You’ll like the new teacher, princess. I bet she’s gonna love you.” He sounded fierce, and recognized desperation in his statement, as if repeating the words enough would make them come true.
Darkness had covered the purple hills by the time he bounced his heavy-duty Ford up the rocky slope to his remodeled line shack. A big Chevy sat outside the cabin, which was awash in light. Well, he had Marge’s answer. The teacher had arrived.
He saw they’d turned out a horse. Dang, the corral needed shoring up. Ben mentally added a note to ask Chad up to repair it. He would’ve driven on out again if the front door to the cabin hadn’t opened. A boy and a dog ran out and down the porch steps.
Letting the Ford idle, Ben stepped out on his running board. “Hi, there,” he called over the strident barking of a lunging dog. “I’m Ben Trueblood. Marge Goetz asked me to verify that the new teacher got moved in. You’d be her son, I imagine.”
The gangly kid gripped the dog’s collar, but Ben wondered for how long. “Glad to see you’ve got protection. Tell your mom the van arrives at school around 9:00 a.m.”
Before he could halt her, Clover crawled over the seat and shot out his door to plop on her knees in front of the dog, who quit barking and licked her face even as Ben’s heart jacked up into his throat.
He glimpsed a second silhouette at the door. The teacher? If so, she wasn’t much taller than her boy. What had made him think she’d be burly? Probably Ray’s talk about feisty Texas women who handled guns.
“Marge would’ve welcomed you,” he called, “but her car’s on the blink. I own this place.” He circled a hand. “Any problems, tell Clover at school. That’s her.” He stabbed a finger. “Princess, let’s go. We have to eat yet and get you a bath. Tomorrow’s a school day.”
Clover kissed the dog’s nose, got up, waved to the boy she’d been chattering to and skipped back to the pickup. Ben had no more than lifted her in when the boy lost his hold on the retriever. In the semidarkness Ben saw a yellow streak zoom toward him. To make matters worse, the boy flailed his arms and chased his pet. The animal may have cottoned to Clover, but no one would mistake his bared teeth as a sign of affection for Ben, who felt those teeth sink into the soft leather of his left boot. Shaking his foot, Ben ultimately managed to close his door.
Triumphant, the dog gave a last growl and trotted back to his master.
KATE HAD CAUGHT ONLY SNATCHES of what their visitor said before Goldie went berserk. She’d levered herself out of her wheelchair and braced on the door casing as Dr. Pearsall said she could do now and then. She’d witnessed the unfolding scene and was glad the tall, lanky stranger managed to escape without being bitten. All she needed was to be told by her landlord to get rid of Danny’s dog. She’d caught that the man’s name was Trueblood and that the girl talking to Danny was his daughter. Oh, and Marge Goetz had car trouble.
After Goldie trotted meekly back to Danny, Kate watched the truck’s taillights fade. She found it odd the man hadn’t come to the door. Although, on second thought, she was glad. In the soft light shining from inside his pickup, she saw he wore the garb of a conventional cowboy, not a farmer. This cabin could be part of a ranch, she mused, sinking back into her wheelchair.
The last thing she wanted was for Danny to get friendly with a cowboy.
“Good watchdog,” she murmured to Goldie as the retriever bounded into the house.
CHAPTER TWO
KATE DID NEED HER SECOND RAMP at school to get her to the front door, which she unlocked with an old-style brass key Marge had included in the box of student folders that had been left on her kitchen counter.
The folders were a disappointment. No grades had been posted from the previous year and family information was sketchy. And there were eleven folders instead of fourteen. The number of students had dwindled even before Kate started. Schools closed when enrollment dipped too low.
That concern and the general anxiety that went with a new job had seen her sewing curtains for the cabin long after Danny and Goldie had gone to sleep. She would’ve hung the curtains, but she needed Danny’s help. The realization that she’d be more dependent on him than she would have liked troubled her, too. Danny was only ten. Was she expecting too much? Melanie Steele would say yes. Last night Danny had worked without complaint. Today, though, he was grouchy. Kate was glad to leave him standing by the pickup. His absence let her savor the pleasure of entering her first classroom in too many years.
It was a typical country school. A square box with weathered siding. The central cupola at the top of the peaked roof no longer held a school bell. The single main room fanned into wings on either side, housing the boys’ and girls’ restrooms. Wood floors were oiled a dark umber. Five short rows of desks with space to walk between occupied the center of the room. Kate counted desks for twenty students, but with Danny she would only have twelve.
A huge oak desk stood at the front of the room and behind it a massive chair. What did it say to students, Kate thought: I’m the boss?
She loved that the chalkboard was black, not green or white as in newer schools. It ran the length of the wall behind her desk. The U.S. flag stood in one corner and alongside it was a black potbellied stove. Dry wood had been stacked under one window.
As she passed the wood, Kate sniffed the pungent pine scent. The air smelled mustily of smoke, wood oil, chalk dust and industrial-grade soap. Closing her eyes, she soaked in what, to her, was the aroma of knowledge and opportunity. She had attended a similar school in rural Kansas, the one where her mom had taught until she’d died of a ruptured aneurism. Kate had always wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps. She belonged in front of a classroom.
Laughing, she threw up her arms, hugged herself and twirled her motorized chair. The sound echoed in the empty room, prompting Danny, who’d finally wandered in, to exclaim, “Mom, what’s wrong?”
She sobered. “Everything is right for the first time in ages, honey.” Seeing his skepticism, she held out her arms. He cast a furtive glance toward the door to make sure he wouldn’t be observed before he accepted the hug. Then he pulled away fast.
“I hope you aren’t gonna do that in front of the other kids.”
“I won’t embarrass you, Danny. Are you worried kids here might bully you because you’re the teacher’s son?”
“I dunno. Maybe. In Fort Worth all the kids knew Pawpaw. They thought it was cool I got to live at the Bar R-S where all my friends trained for junior rodeo. Here…I’m nobody.”
“Just be yourself, Danny. I know you’ll make friends.”
He turned away.
“Wait, will you open the window? Oh, and put that monster teacher’s chair in the closet, please. You know, I wouldn’t turn down help in tacking up a bulletin board.”
He brightened, did as she requested, then worked feverishly to help Kate cover a small canvas board with red construction paper. Danny stapled on letters that spelled Welcome To School. Yellow happy faces peeked out from between letters. “It’s simple,” Kate said, “but it’s bright and cheery.”
“Yep, it’s nice, Mom.”
Finding a piece of chalk, Kate rose out of her chair and wrote Ms. Steele in printing and cursive on the blackboard.
A loud crunch of tires outside alerted them to someone’s arrival. Kate set the chalk in the tray and parked her wheelchair behind the desk. To anyone walking in the door, it would appear she was sitting in a regular chair.
At the door, Danny shouted, “It’s the van with the other kids.”
Kate’s confidence slipped. She caught herself rubbing damp palms down her slacks. “Let them follow their normal routine, Danny.” Calmly, Kate opened her book bag and pulled out papers.
“What should I do?” Danny asked.
“Pick a seat?” Kate waved at the desk he stood beside.
“What if some other kid sits there?”
“Oh. Good point. What do you think you should do?”
“Go back to Fort Worth. I hate it here.” He spoke with such fervor Kate winced.
“Honey, I agreed to work a full school year. In May I’ll reassess. Until then, we’re staying. Why don’t you ask the van driver what time he or she plans to return to pick up the students.”
“It’s a he,” Danny muttered, brushing past two boys who were timidly approaching.
Kate pasted on a smile. “Welcome boys. Take seats near the front of the room for now. Once I take attendance I’ll assign seating based on your grade.”
The duo, freckle-faced carrot tops, plopped down in the second row. Two giggly blond girls followed. All four appeared nervous.
The next five to straggle in tried to act cool and aloof. Three older boys waited to see where the girls who trailed in their wake decided to sit. The boys then put as much distance between themselves and the girls as humanly possible.
Kate noted that the last two students slipped in silently. The girl was possibly the youngest of the group. In a few years she would be stunning. Lustrous, straight black hair fell to below her shoulders. Eyes so dark they were almost purple studied Kate from beneath thick lashes. By comparison, the boy seemed bland. His black hair was cropped short, his liquid eyes somber. If Kate had to describe the color of his skin, she would call it flat tobacco, whereas the girl’s glowed like burnished copper. Kate had one Hispanic name on the list from Marge and two Native Americans. Checking grade levels, she concluded these two were her Native students.
Which meant the girl was her landlord’s daughter. Last night she’d barely glimpsed the child down beside Danny and Goldie.
Danny returned, trailed by a stocky man.
“You sent the boy to get me, ma’am? I’m Bill Hyder. Dave, there, is my youngest boy.” The van driver crushed a battered straw hat between work-scarred hands. His gaze lit proudly on a husky, toffee-haired teen who slumped in his seat.
Kate smiled, hoping to put the man and his son at ease. “I’m Ms. Steele. I forgot to ask Marge Goetz if I should stagger dismissals by grade levels.”
