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Chapter Five
Raleigh Masterson, Jack’s ramrod, rose from where he’d been hunkered down by the campfire when he saw Jack approach. He poured coffee into a tin cup, holding it out to Jack as he dismounted. He was the only trail hand by the campfire. Cookie was busy mixing one of his concoctions at the chuck wagon. The rest of the drovers were grooming the remuda horses, mending or cleaning tack, or riding herd. The cattle were clustered on the banks of Simpson Creek, some grazing on the lush grass that grew nearby, while others had waded into the creek flank deep and drank the cool water. It was a peaceful sight, and it gave Jack a sense of contentment, even though he knew those same placid cattle could be off in a flash, spooked by thunder or seemingly nothing, stampeding until the trailhands succeeded in turning them or until they just ran out of the need to run. Impulsive beasts, longhorns, and as dangerous as they were silly. A man never trusted their apparent docility while grazing; he always approached them on horseback because they were so unpredictable.
“You find your brother all right, and settle the girls with him and his bride?” Raleigh asked, as Jack took the cup.
“No on both counts,” Jack said, sitting on a saddle blanket someone had left lying there. Staring into the black Arbuckles’ coffee, he told Raleigh about the events of yesterday. “Miss Wallace tried to notify me. Sent it General Delivery. Don’t know why I never got that letter,” he said with a shrug.
Raleigh whistled. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry about your brother, boss.”
Jack nodded grimly. “I should have written again,” he said, almost to himself. “Pete must not have saved my letters.”
“What’re you gonna do, then?” Raleigh asked. “Now that you can’t leave the girls with your brother and his wife?”
Jack knew his ramrod was too polite to say so, but his mind had already leaped ahead and concluded that Jack would be forced by the unexpected circumstances to take girls along with them.
“Thought I’d talk to you and the rest of the men about that. And I only want to say this once,” he said, half turning and raising his voice, “so, Cookie, call the men in.” He knew the cook had been listening in on the conversation.
Cookie reached for the iron triangle that hung on the chuck wagon. The carrying jangle of metal on metal yanked cowboy heads up wherever they rode or worked, and they started drifting in toward the campfire.
“Fine, but you tell them yahoos right off that we ain’t eatin’ early jes’ ’cause you’re holdin’ a palaver,” Cookie groused, going back to kneading the biscuit dough. “It’ll be ready when it’s ready, an’ not a moment before.”
“So noted,” Jack responded, too used to the older man’s crotchets to take offense.
When everyone had assembled, he repeated what he’d told his ramrod about Pete’s death and let his mind wander as they murmured their shocked condolences.
“Now, we knew we were going to have to winter somewhere along the way,” he went on, “and I’ve been told it’d be smarter to spend the time right here than to head north and pass right by where the Comanches’re spendin’ the winter.”
“Told you that when I got thrown in th’ calaboose,” Raleigh muttered. “Told you you oughta leave me there and ride on so you’d be past the Staked Plains before the redskins made their winter camp.”
“And I told you I wasn’t leaving you behind,” Jack snapped. No one but his ramrod dared talk to him the way Raleigh had, and even he would guess from Jack’s curtness that he was treading on thin ice. Jack hadn’t heeded his advice, not only because of their friendship, but because he knew none of the other men were seasoned enough to be the new ramrod.
“That’s all water under the bridge,” Jack went on, and told them about the vacant ranch and the deal the bank was offering if they built a cabin.
Around the circle of men, some faces sparked with interest. In others, eyes narrowed.
“But, boss, it’s already October,” one of the men pointed out.
“I’m a cowboy, not a carpenter,” another groused.
It was what Jack had expected. “I know it would mean getting right to work on building, but I’m told it doesn’t get that cold around here until December or so. It wouldn’t take that long for us to put up a cabin if we don’t dillydally. The bank won’t charge me rent if we put up some kind of dwelling, ’cause it’ll add to the value of the place. Now, I know you didn’t sign on for building anything, so you men are free to stay on or not—no hard feelings if you decide to ride on. But if you stay, I’ll expect you to help build.”
Two men announced right off they were quitting. Jack wasn’t surprised. They were nephews of his stepmother, and he’d judged them as lazy and unreliable from the start, but he’d been nagged into hiring them. With any luck, he could find a pair of hands to replace them come spring.
“All right, you can collect your wages in the morning,” he told the two men and studied the rest of them, hoping they would stick. One of the other trail hands rubbed the back of his neck consideringly.
“Simpson Creek got any pretty girls? A saloon? A parlor house? We’d be allowed to ride inta town on Saturday nights, wouldn’t we?”
“I sure haven’t had time to scout all that out for you, Wes,” Jack said evenly, “but I do remember seeing a saloon. You couldn’t all go at once, of course—and I’ll warn y’all right now I’ll tolerate no rowdy behavior in town,” he told them, thinking of Caroline and the other ladies of the Spinsters’ Club. Trail hands weren’t saints, and he didn’t want bad behavior to make them unwelcome in town and reflect back on him. “You get thrown in jail, you’re fired.”
“Aw, boss, you’re takin’ all the fun out of it,” someone grumbled good-naturedly.
“You know where this ranch is, boss?” Raleigh asked. “Why don’t a few of us go take a look at it?”
It was a good idea, Jack thought. It was never good to buy a pig in a poke. Who knew if the banker had exaggerated the quality of the place?
“All right. Raleigh, Quint, Jase, Shep, you’re with me. We’ll ride over there after we eat. Cookie, any chance you’d have some grub we could take with us and eat in the saddle?” He winked at his ramrod, knowing his request would set Cookie’s temper on the boil, but knowing the trail cook wouldn’t protest too loudly to his boss.
“I’m a cook, not some kind’a miracle worker!” Cookie groused. “All I got’s jerky for ya if you’re not gonna wait till dinnertime.”
The five men rode up the dirt lane that led to the desolate, charred pile of timbers that was all that remained of the previous house. Jack recounted to his men how the Comanches had committed the initial attack upon the dwelling, but how it been white outlaws working for the so-called Ranchers’ Alliance who had finished the destruction just recently, burning down the house old Mr. Waters’s nephew had just started rebuilding.
“Those Alliance men are all gone now, right?” Jase asked, a little nervously.
Jack nodded. “I’m told they vamoosed when their bosses were either killed or put in prison, but as for the Comanches…well, this is Texas, boys, and they aren’t beaten yet. We ought to be safe enough this winter, though.”
“First thing to do would be to clear off the foundation, if you mean to build the bunkhouse in the same place as the old one, boss,” Raleigh said, eyeing the ruins.
Jack nodded, already envisioning what he and his men would do. Something about the ruined buildings in this hill country ranch called out to him, as if pleading to be nurtured so it could be reborn. Well, he would do what he could over the winter months, but it would be some future owner who enjoyed the fruits of whatever he and his men would be able to accomplish.
“I’ll think about that. Let’s ride on and see the rest of the place,” Jack said and kneed his roan into a trot past the site.
He liked what he saw of the land. It was good country, with plenty of shady live oak groves, mesquite and a small creek—probably a tributary of Simpson Creek—running onto his land under the western boundary fence. Just beyond the fence, on Brookfield land, the creek was broader and more inviting. He wondered if Brookfield would consider giving him access so his cattle would be able to drink from that broader part, at least on the western side, when summer heat dropped the water level.
But why was he thinking that way? He and the cattle would be long gone, come summer.
Yet he couldn’t seem to stop his imaginings. He pictured taking down the faded remains of the sign that read “Waters Ranch” and replacing it with one with his name. A rancher could do much worse than a place like this.
“Looks like a pretty good spot t’ spend the winter, boss,” Raleigh murmured, and the other men chorused their agreement.
“Yeah, and there’s lots of trees we could fell for logs, with plenty left,” Shep said.
“Looks like we could salvage a lot of stones from the old fireplace to make a new one,” Quint put in.
“Guess we got ourselves a winter camp, then,” Jack said, pleased his men agreed with him about the plan. “Mr. Wallace says there’s a hardware store in town that can sell us some saws and so forth—reckon I’ll stop in there and buy what we’ll need first thing tomorrow. We’ll have to rent a wagon from the livery for a while, too.” Maybe he could make it back to town before the bank closed today and tell Mr. Avery he was going to take him up on the offer. The rest of the men could easily move the herd on down the road to the Waters ranch without his assistance.
He’d told Caroline he’d leave the girls in town with her and her parents, regardless of whether he stayed on the ranch over the winter or not. He wished they could be with him, but leaving them at the Wallaces’ was the only practical thing to do. Though they’d slept under the chuck wagon during the journey, the weather would get colder. He didn’t want them sleeping in a tent, or later, in the bunkhouse with his men. Staying with the Wallaces, they could go to school, and that would be good for them.
Such an arrangement would mean frequent trips in from the ranch for him to see the girls, at least on Sunday. He pictured treating them to dinners at the hotel and taking them to church. It had been a long time since they’d gone regularly; for a time after Lucinda’s death, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with God.
But this arrangement would also mean he’d have to keep dealing with Caroline Wallace. He wasn’t at all sure exactly how he felt about regular contact with her.
Caroline heard boot heels on the kitchen steps. She forced herself to turn her attention back to where the twins laboriously practiced their letters on borrowed slates at the kitchen table, waiting to rise until he knocked. It wouldn’t do to let Jack Collier imagine she’d been watching for his arrival. Then she rose and let him in with a casual “Good afternoon, Jack.”
If she was sparing in her welcome, however, the twins had no such reservations. “Papa!” cried one of them—Amelia?—as they exploded away from the table and ran into his waiting arms.
“We’re learnin’ our ABCs, Papa!” cried the other.
Caroline realized she was going to have to find some foolproof way of telling one twin from the other. Should she have them dress differently?
Bending over, Jack kissed both of them. “That’s wonderful, girls. Were you good today?”
“Yes, Papa,” they chorused.
He looked over their heads at Caroline. “Were they good today?”
His direct gaze did funny things to her equanimity. “Yes, you have every reason to be proud of them. They show a quick aptitude for learning which some of my other students would do well to emulate.”
Goodness, did that prim, stuffy speech really come from her? She sounded like—well, a schoolmarm. At least praising the twins gave her a reason for the enthusiasm in her voice and face, so he wouldn’t think she was appreciating the way the wind had left color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his blue eyes.
“Look, Papa, see? I can spell my name,” Abby said, grabbing her slate off the table and holding it up to him.
He looked at it, and Caroline guessed he was noticing that Abby’s b’s were backward, written as d’s instead.
“We’re working on our b’s,” she said quickly, her eyes warning him not to call attention to his daughter’s mistake.
“Yes, I see,” he said gravely. “Good job, Abby.”
“Me, too, Papa,” Amelia said, holding out her slate. “’Course, mine is harder, ’cause Amelia has more letters than Abby.”
“Well, yours will be shorter when she can spell out Abigail,” he told her. “Then you’ll have the advantage, Punkin.”
“Well, hello, Jack,” said her mother, returning to the kitchen. She took the lid off a pot and began stirring. Immediately, a savory aroma filled the kitchen, and Caroline saw him lift his head to sniff.
“Mmm, something smells good.”
“It’s just beef stew,” her mother said, but Caroline could see she was pleased by the compliment.
Her father came in from the post office. “Were you able to go out and see the Waters place?”
Jack straightened and nodded. “Yessir. We can stay for free if we build a dwelling. My men were agreeable—all but a couple, anyway.”
Abby looked up with a pleased smile curving her lips. “So you’re staying the winter, Papa?”
He nodded.
“Hoorah!” the twins yelled in unison, beaming.
Caroline had been watching him as he spoke to her parents, since she could do so without his noticing. When he finished speaking to her father, however, he looked at Caroline, not her father, as if seeking her reaction. She looked down quickly, pretending great interest in the long tail on the y Abby had just scrawled.
“That’s good news, Jack,” her father said, clapping him on the back. “It’s a fine piece of land.”
“Yes…shame what happened there,” Jack murmured.
Caroline winced inwardly. The stories of Comanches attacking William Waters and outlaws murdering his nephew were not tales fit for little ears.
“What happened there, Papa?” Amelia asked, wrinkling her nose in curiosity.
Realizing his mistake, Jack shot a dismayed look at Caroline.
You’d think the man would have learned by now how little pitchers have big ears. “Oh, the house burned down,” she said quickly, “but wait till you see the fine cabin your papa’s going to build there to take its place.”
The girls’ mouths were twin Os. “Why did the—” Abby began.
Before Abby could complete her question, Caroline said, “Girls, why don’t you take this pitcher of cream out to the mama cat in the shed? There’s a bowl out there for you to pour it in.” She handed the little pitcher to Abby. “It’s curdled a little, but she won’t mind.”
The girls scampered for the door, and it banged shut behind them.
“Thanks,” Jack said, his eyes grateful. “Sometimes I forget they’re listening.”
His gaze held hers a moment longer than she was comfortable with, but she couldn’t seem to look away.
“So your plan is to let the children live here while you stay on the ranch land this winter, and then leave them with us when you take off with the herd in the spring?” her mother said, then seemed to hold her breath until he nodded.
“When are you going to start building?” her father asked, also looking relieved.
“Tomorrow, after I stop at the bank and tell Mr. Avery. I didn’t make it back before the bank closed today. I imagine I’ll have to sign some sort of paper,” Jack said.
Her father chuckled. “You won’t find Mr. Avery at the bank. Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
Jack’s eyes crinkled in the corners just as Pete’s had, Caroline thought, as he raked a hand through his hair.
“Guess I’ve purely lost track while we were traveling.”
“I’ll be seeing him tomorrow, though,” her father said, “so I can let him know for you. I’m sure he won’t mind if you go ahead and start working since it’s already so late in the year.”
“I’ll come into town often to see my girls—at least every Sunday, and each time I come into town for supplies. And when the weather isn’t too cold, they could come out and spend some time at the ranch,” Jack assured them.
“Sounds fine,” her mother said. “Why don’t you spend another night here and explain the plan to your girls before you start building tomorrow?”
Caroline saw Jack hesitate. Though he hadn’t been speaking to her, Caroline sensed he was waiting for her reaction—why? It wasn’t up to her to approve or disapprove of what he did.
“As Papa said, we’ll see the bank president tomorrow,” Caroline told him. “The mayor’s daughter, Prissy Gilmore, is getting married, and the whole town will be going to the wedding. I thought the girls would enjoy going with us. Did you happen to bring the rest of their clothing with you?”
Jack nodded, a little uneasily. “I left it in my saddlebags on the step,” he said.
“Would you go get it, please?” Caroline asked. “I’m thinking we might need to launder what they’ll wear to the wedding.”
He arose and went to the door, his steps those of a condemned man walking to the gallows. Brushing off the saddlebags as he entered, he crossed the kitchen and laid them on the table.
“Now, you have to remember,” he began, his tone apologetic, “they didn’t get off the ranch much, and they’ve been traveling with us drovers and the herd…I—I’m afraid there’s not much you’d consider suitable… .”
Caroline opened one saddlebag and dumped its contents on the table, then the other. The saddlebags contained boys’ shirts and pants—and nothing else.
Chapter Six
“Where…where are the dresses?” Caroline asked, thunderstruck. “This can’t be all you packed for those little girls?” Then suddenly she knew it was all, and she raised her gaze to Jack’s guilty face.
“Their blue pinafore dresses are the only dresses you brought.” It was a statement, not a question. She hadn’t meant to expose his poor planning again, but it was too late to call back her words. It had just never occurred to her that a father might not see the need for little girls to have more than one dress.
