The Chisholm Trail Bride, page 2
“The moon is mostly full,” she whispered. “There’ll not be much to see whether here in this wagon or out there away from the campfire.”
Wyatt shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll go alone. Bet I see more falling stars in an hour than you ever have. What’s your highest amount?”
“Why should I tell you? You’ll just brag tomorrow about besting me with some made-up number.”
Rather than take offense, Wyatt laughed. That had indeed been his plan.
“I’ll be too busy to bother about that tomorrow,” he told her. “I’m the wrangler on this drive, and that’s kept me occupied.”
Occupied was an understatement. Any wrangler who hired on to a cattle drive was going to be working hard to take care of the remuda of horses that were required. With every man needing three horses and there being a dozen men on this ride, he had plenty to do.
More than he’d expected. Not that he’d tell Eliza’s pa that. Mr. Gentry was the boss of this trail drive, and as such he’d hired Wyatt on to be a responsible member of his team.
He wouldn’t let Mr. Gentry down. Or his pa.
Another shrug. “All right then. I’ll just let you turn the tables on me and best me tomorrow for whatever amount I see tonight. Good evening to you, Liza Jane.”
She hated when he called her that. Thus, he did so regularly.
Wyatt left the Gentry wagon behind and returned to the circle of firelight where Pa and a half dozen other men had gathered. The men were deep in discussion and ignored him as he joined them.
“Rumor is these cows ain’t going to bring us enough to make all this worth the trouble.”
Red Pearson, Mr. Gentry’s right-hand man on the drive and his foreman back at the ranch, spat into the fire. Wyatt had heard tell that Red used to be a circuit-riding preacher before he settled down and took up the job with the Gentrys. Right or wrong, Wyatt knew him to be a good man.
The fellow beside Red, a cowboy known only as Concho, spoke into the silence. “But it sure beats being at home and having to listen to my wife.”
The men guffawed. All but Pa.
He looked across the fire at Wyatt. Pa reached down beside him and pulled up a bottle and took a swig, never breaking eye contact.
Mama wouldn’t allow alcohol in her home, so Pa quit it altogether out of love for her when they married. But Pa had hated living without Mama since she passed on last fall, which meant he’d gone back to drinking.
And when he was drinking, he was mean.
Mr. Gentry didn’t allow any sort of alcohol consumption on his trail rides. But the boss was out guarding the cattle tonight and not here to witness what his old friend was up to.
Wyatt rose and made for the bedroll he’d stashed not far from the campfire. He figured Pa might follow but never thought he’d move so quick.
When the hand closed on Wyatt’s neck, he knew Pa had caught him.
“I saw that look you gave me,” his father said, his voice ragged and his breath smelling of the rot-gut whiskey he preferred lately. “You ain’t no better than me, Son, and if you don’t know it yet, you will.”
Wyatt stood stock still. He was easily as tall as Pa but not nearly as heavy or strong. The old man’s fist might hurt, but his legs weren’t sure enough to carry him far. At least he hoped that was the case.
In one quick motion he slid under his father’s arm and lit out into the night.
The drive was well under way the next morning before Eliza spied Wyatt. He was hunched over his saddle with his head dipped low and his hat shading most of his face. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he had spent the night wide awake.
In past years when they’d watched the Lyrids, it hadn’t taken long for Wyatt to grow bored enough to start snoring. Why he tagged along was a mystery to her, though he claimed it was to keep her safe from any sort of beast that might be lurking in the dark.
She turned her attention back to the trail. Trey held the reins tight as he guided the wagon over the rutted trail. Just ahead were the cowboys who brought up the rear of the drive.
The purple sky at sunrise had given way to full daylight. Eliza shaded her eyes against the sun and looked beyond the sea of cattle and cowhands to study the gray clouds gathering on the horizon.
Spring showers were always expected but rarely welcomed on the trail. Lightning and thunder could spook just one or two of these simple-minded bovines and send them all skittering in different directions.
Now that he was fourteen, Wyatt had charge of the spare horses—the remuda as the cowboys called them. This meant he had moved up in ranking from previous years when he was relegated to doing odd jobs and helping out Cookie like Eliza was.
Other than the Gentry children, seeing anyone but cowboys on a drive was rare. This much she had learned from her father.
Despite her mother’s objections, he had insisted that his children not grow soft with the easy life they had on the ranch. He required the same chores that had been required of him, and each year he brought any of his children who had reached the age of ten along with him.
When Eliza’s first year arrived, she had been stunned that Mama expected her father would not require her to go along with him as her brothers had. To her mother’s surprise—and Eliza’s delight—Papa decreed that his daughter would have the same opportunity as his sons to experience a cattle drive up the Chisholm Trail.
The opportunity to experience that privilege was gained by hard work. And that hard work was beneath no one.
Not even Eliza Jane Mirabel Gentry, a descendant of Spanish royalty, Texas pioneers, and one particularly enigmatic pirate whose treasure may or may not have been found depending on who was telling the story.
Bringing up the rear of the drive several yards behind the Gentrys’ wagon, Cookie’s chow wagon clanged along. Between the pots and pans hanging from the hooks inside the wagon and the provisions stacked in tins and trunks sliding about in the back, the cook’s wagon was nearly as loud as the lowing of the cattle and the racket that the horses made when agitated.
Eliza’s job was to jump down as soon as the wagon stopped and hurry over to attend to whatever chore Cookie had for her. The old man had been on countless drives—Papa said when he was a boy Cookie was already feeding the men—and his face bore the evidence. Wrinkles as deep as the ruts in the trail were etched across his tanned cheeks and forehead, but his blue eyes twinkled with mischief as if he were somehow still a boy inside.
Cookie’s clothing was a combination of military attire so faded it could have come from either side of the combatants in the War between the States, but his boots shone as bright and new as if he’d just purchased them before he hit the trail. What was left of his gray hair was tied back in a strip of leather that had seen better days.
He mopped at his forehead with the old bandanna he kept in his back pocket. Anyone who didn’t know Cookie might have decided he wasn’t much to take notice of. Eliza knew better.
From where he rode at the back of the drive, Cookie could see everything. And from his position next to the stew pot at mealtimes, he heard everything.
So when he spoke, which wasn’t often, Eliza listened. “He’s a good man, that one.”
Eliza looked over in the direction where he had nodded and spied Wyatt tending the remuda horses under the watchful eye of his father. “Yes, he’s a Texas Ranger and a war hero,” she said as she turned back around to face the cook.
“Ain’t him I’m referring to,” he said. “But I reckon you’ll figure that out eventually. Now come make yourself busy stirring the beans. I see that Barnhart fellow, and I don’t intend to allow him to hold up the line trying to impress you with his vocabulary.”
She shook her head. “I am not impressed by Benjy Barnhart. Never will be. He’s a braggart. I don’t know why Papa brought him along.”
“Same reason he brought you and your brothers. Folks who’ve been given much ought to see what it’s like to work for something.”
Eliza took over the stirring from Cookie. “I don’t disagree with that,” she told him. “But why can’t his own papa teach him that?”
Cookie looked over at the men who were ambling toward them. “Because his papa ain’t learned it yet. Now look alive. We’ve got hungry mouths to feed.” He clanged his bell and the ambling became a stampede. “All right now,” he called to the men. “Form a line and act like you’ve got manners. We may be out on the trail, but we aren’t savages.”
It was the same speech Cookie gave at every meal, but Eliza never grew tired of hearing it. Or of watching the expressions on the cowboys turn from eager to polite in the length of time it took the old cook to shout out the warning.
Not only did he require the men to stand still and wait until he prayed before each meal, Cookie also insisted on a thank-you from each cowboy once his plate had been filled. Though Pa could have used his status as boss to take first place in the line, he always stood back and watched until each of his men had been fed.
Unlike Benjy Barnhart. He would have been the first one to grab for a plate at every meal if Cookie hadn’t shamed him for it the first time he tried it.
“Respect your elders,” he’d told him. “And that’s all of us. You’ll eat once we’re all done.”
That cured Benjy of elbowing his way to the front. Unfortunately, it appeared that nothing short of a miracle would stop him from pausing to brag to her about something he’d seen or done since he last spoke to her.
Eliza saw him watching her from behind Papa’s foreman, Red. “Thank you, Miss Eliza,” the gentle giant told her as she ladled beans over his cornbread. “I’m going to have to tell your mama that you’re doing a good job on the trail.”
She beamed and slid him an extra dollop of beans. Red returned her grin with a wink, then moved on.
Benjy presented his plate. “Hello, beautiful. You gonna give me extra like you gave ole Red?” he asked.
Eliza answered him by spooning a meager portion over his cornbread. “Don’t forget to say thank you,” she told him.
“There’s not enough to thank over.” Benjy leaned close. “I’m gonna marry you someday. Don’t you think you ought to treat me better?”
“Get on out of here, Barnhart,” Cookie told him. “That girl is too smart for you, and she sure won’t be taken in by promises of marriage at her age, will you, Miss Eliza?”
“Not the least bit interested,” she said as she looked past Benjy to the cowboy waiting in line behind him. “Next!”
Benjy moved forward, but his eyes followed her until he found a place to sit nearby. A few minutes later, Mr. Creed stepped in front of her. He’d looked out of sorts all morning, but now he just looked mad.
After she served him, he mumbled something that might have been a thanks and walked away. Eliza cut her eyes toward Pa, who was watching her. He shook his head and looked away.
Next up was Wyatt. She dipped the ladle into the pot and looked up at him. His left eye was smudged black and purple and was swollen nearly shut.
“What in the world happened to you?” she gasped.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Wyatt Creed, that cannot possibly be true. Nothing doesn’t look like that. Tell me what happened. Did you fall asleep and tumble off the rock? Last time we watched the stars, you might have done just that if I hadn’t poked you with a stick.”
His laughter held no humor. “I guess that’s what I get for looking at stars without you.” Wyatt nodded toward the spoon. “Do I get beans or are you just airing them out for the next man?”
Eliza hurried to pour what was in the ladle over his cornbread. Her eyes met his, and he held her gaze for a moment. Then he grinned. “Thank you, Liza Jane.”
Finally, it was Pa’s turn to be fed. He accepted his beans but shook his head when she offered a second helping. “I’ll not be a bad example to my men,” he said.
“No, of course not, Papa.”
“You look troubled.” He glanced past her, presumably to Cookie, and then returned his attention to Eliza. “Did that Creed boy tell you something you didn’t like?”
“Wyatt? No.” She paused. “His eye looked terrible though.”
Pa worked his jaw like he did when he was thinking about something that upset him. A moment later, he shrugged.
“That situation will be handled,” he said before walking away. Then, as if recalling he hadn’t completed the requirements to be fed by Cookie, he turned back around. “Thank you,” he called. “Best beans in Texas, and Cookie, your grub can’t be beat.” He turned back to his men. “Isn’t that right, boys?”
Every man except Mr. Creed shouted his approval. Cookie beamed, and Eliza smiled. Mama might not have wanted her to go on this ride, but she wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
Benjy caught her attention and grinned. When she didn’t return his smile, he made a face that caused her to laugh.
Cookie stepped in front of her to take the ladle from her hand. “I’ve done had this conversation with your pa, and now I’ll have it with you. You’ll have nothing but trouble with that one.”
“What one?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He studied her a moment then dropped the ladle into the pot. “No, I don’t suppose you do at that. But one day you will. And I’ll be the one reminding you, if not in person then in your memory, that Ben Barnhart will bring you nothing but heartache.”
Eliza turned her back on the gathering of cowboys. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. I’m not the least bit interested in him. If I get my way, I’m leaving Texas to go study the stars somewhere back east at a college with a telescope.”
“You won’t get your way,” he said. “You ought to know your mama wouldn’t have none of that.”
She did, but she also knew that Mama’s wishes could be thwarted. If that wasn’t so, she’d be sipping tea in a drawing room in New Orleans wishing she was with Pa and her brothers on the trail.
Glancing back over her shoulder, she spied Pa chatting with Wyatt and Red. Red had just said something, and the other two threw back their heads, laughing. Eliza’s smile rose.
The key to getting her way was always to get her father to agree with her. That was how she had landed on a trail drive again this year, and it was how she would make her dreams of studying the stars and discovering new galaxies come true.
She would do all of these things because Papa always said yes.
And of course he always would.
The moon was full and the wind had ceased. Yesterday’s rain had soaked into the Central Texas prairie and left the ground soft enough to be comfortable. Even the cattle seemed to be enjoying the evening. Not a sound came from where they were grazing.
Wyatt looked across the broad expanse of land. The moon had cast everything in a silver light, making the familiar horizon look strange and unfamiliar.
He had just put his rifle down and settled with his back to a rock when his companion for this watch arrived. Stifling a groan, he ignored the greeting.
“One of these days I’m going to marry that Gentry girl,” Benjy Barnhart declared as he took up a spot beside Wyatt and eyed the rifle. “You watch. She’s got it bad for me. Anyone who looks at her can see it.”
Wyatt had spent most of their shared watch tonight looking for falling stars and ignoring the irritating braggart. He’d heard the rich fool talk about everything under the sun, always adding something about him besting someone else. But when he brought Eliza Gentry into the conversation, he finally had Wyatt’s attention.
Red told him Barnhart’s father had called in a favor in order to get Mr. Gentry to agree to bring him along. The hope was that being out with men might teach him to act like one.
So far it hadn’t worked. Not that he could see, anyway.
His fists balled up, but Wyatt kept them at his sides. Though the moon was almost full, a cloud had slid over it, rendering the landscape nearly pitch dark. He considered picking up the rifle that lay between them on the ground and taking a walk, but Mr. Gentry would have his hide for leaving his post.
“She’s just a kid,” Wyatt said. “She likes everyone.”
“What?” Benjy said. “You like her too? Well, you can’t have her. She’s mine.”
He slid Benjy a sideways look. “I doubt she knows that.” Wyatt grinned when he realized his comment had struck a nerve. “No, I’m sure of it,” he added.
“Oh, she knows it. You’re just jealous.”
“Eliza is just a kid,” he repeated, his temper rising. “I don’t think about her like that. She’s my friend.”
“Maybe so, but from now on you leave her alone. If I catch you with her, you’ll answer to me.”
That did it. Wyatt stood and looked down at the braggart. “I’m answering you now, Barnhart. Stand up, look me in the eye, and say that again.”
He did, although he kept just out of reach of Wyatt’s fists. His face had gone as pale as his straw-colored hair. “All right, I’m standing,” he said.
Benjy swallowed hard but kept his eyes on Wyatt. Even under the moon’s light, Wyatt could see the fear in his eyes.
“Say it again,” Wyatt snapped.
“Don’t need to.” He squared his shoulders and straightened his back but still couldn’t manage anything near Wyatt’s height.
A limb cracked in the distance. Could be nothing. Could be trouble.
The remuda was quiet and the cattle gave no sign of a reaction.
Wyatt returned his attention to Benjy. “Scared to,” he taunted. “Try one more time to tell me I cannot be friends with Eliza Gentry and see what happens.”
“I don’t have to tell you to stay clear of her, Creed,” he said. “Won’t be long until she will see you for the sorry son of a drunk that you are. She won’t have anything to do with you then.”
Rage blinded him. When Wyatt came to his senses, Benjy was on the ground, his nose bleeding and his eyes wide. Had he kept on with the beating he was giving Benjy, who knows when he might have stopped.
Wyatt took two steps backward. Benjy was smaller and slower and had no experience with defending himself. Wyatt hadn’t cared. Hadn’t been the better man and just ignored him.
