Black Wolf's Revenge (17 page)

As they disappeared, Roy’s eyes softened with sympathy. “He’s had a hard life, Magpie. After his momma died everything went south and stayed that way.”

“In your last letter you said he was still away at school.”

“He was, but his pa passed a few months ago. And as mean as that old bastard was, he did do one thing right, and that was Garret Shaw. He came back from Georgetown determined to get the Lazy S back up and runnin’ again. His pa nearly laid that ranch in the ground with his drinking, so Garret has his work cut out for him, but if anyone can save that place, it’s him.” Roy sighed and worried at a rusty porch nail with the toe of his boot. “Maggie, I know you’ve thought fondly of Garret since you were knee high to a grasshopper, but he’s different now. Hard living and too much responsibility have made him a calloused man. A good man, but not the marrying kind, you hear? Best you get him out of your head before you get hurt.”

Sound advice, but these things were always easier said.

“I daresay he certainly has changed. And for the worse, if you want my opinion.” The dust had settled enough to reveal Garret’s tall form in the distance. “Don’t worry about me, old chap. I’ll not waste my thoughts a minute longer.”

By the look on his face, the traitorous shake in her voice hadn’t been lost on him either. Roy shook his head and put his hat on. “I have to go work on that damned plow while I still have daylight. I could use some company.”

He took off walking toward one of the outbuildings, leaving Maggie to trail after him, and her billowing skirts after her.

In the hours before dark, Roy worked relentlessly on the wood-rotted plow. She did what she could, handing him new wood and proper tools, but hadn’t the faintest idea how to help beyond that. It was a miracle the old plow could even stay upright.

She cocked her head at the splintering contraption. “Looks like you need a new one.”

“No money for that and besides, she just needs a little extra attention and she’ll be right as rain by morning. Hand me that file.”

She did and he worked tirelessly to sharpen the blade. Besides the rhythmic scraping of metal against metal, the only other noise in the clearing was the first yip of a coyote. As it stretched its voice into long mournful notes, she closed her eyes against the green and turquoise streaks in the darkening sky. It had been so long since she’d heard the prairie song.

After a late dinner of dried beef and warm beans had their famished stomachs satisfied, Roy lit his pipe. Every night she could remember from her childhood, he’d smoked, the sweet smell of tobacco wafting around her while she’d played on the rug in front of the stone fireplace.

While he read by the dim candlelight, she wrote of her adventures in her journal. Tomorrow she’d start work on her dress to remove most of the underskirts and take it in, make it more appropriate for her new life. Water was precious and less fabric meant easier laundering out here. The stiff crinoline that held her dress to its full form, she wouldn’t miss at all. Her wardrobe would have to be adjusted, just as her soul and body would.

She’d show them she could be much more than just a proper lady.