Cowboy Heart (Historical Western Romance) (Longren Family series #3, Kitty and Lukes story) (10 page)

             
I hadn't thought of any good way to ask Sarah about the half finished letters.

              "Miss Kathryn?"

             
The afternoon was very bright, and very hot. I'd come out to the barn to help Sarah with the calves, feeding the smallest and weakest extra greens.  The veterinarian had indicated something to do with the mother's health during the drought had left the calves weaker than the others and there was a chance some of them would be for sale soon.  One of them had quite stolen my heart, a small calf who shook with exhaustion after taking a few spins around the pen but couldn't resist the urge to run and do what truly looked to me like dancing.  I was running my hands through his wooly fur, feeding him a handful of spinach, when Sarah suddenly came over.

             
"I'll be back," she said, one hand over her mouth.  She'd turned very pale in the heat.

             
"You're not—?" I hesitated. 

             
"I'm not," she said, but didn't say anymore, just went away swiftly.  I'd stayed behind with the calves.

             
Now, looking up, I saw Robert at the edge of the barn.  "Mr. McLeod, please call me Kitty." 

             
He took his hat off, slapped it against his denim-clad thigh.  Dust flew off and hovered in the slanted sunlight between us.  "Not proper for me to do so."

             
"Then call me Miss Collins, if it makes you feel better, but Kathryn's what my mother calls me when I'm in trouble."

             
He moved into the barn then and I could see the smile.  "Is that a frequent occurrence?"

             
"You have no idea," I said.  "My middle name is Anne, if you'd like to complete the experience."

             
His smile was lazy.  I couldn't fathom why he wasn't riding the fences with William or checking out another dammed up creek or making certain where all the cattle were since there'd been more disappearances.  "And what is it you're doing when she calls you thus?"

             
The question was almost impertinent but the topic was mine, and I was feeling sparks in my fur like a cat when there's lightning.  "Damn near anything she's told me not to, sir," I said.  "There's a good many rules for girls and they don’t leave much room for living."

             
That alone would have made Annie Collins say, “
Kathryn Anne Collins”
quite sharply.

             
It made Robert McLeod smile even more.  He walked over to where I stood with the calf.  "There's a dance in Redding this Saturday, Miss Kitty Collins," he said and I liked the way my name sounded in his voice.  "Would you care to accompany me?"

             
Very much so.  "I would be happy to go to the dance with you, Robert," I said and knew the dance was not the destination for me, the destination was the journey, the ride in the wagon with him at sunset, the stars coming out as we returned, the jolting wagon over the hard dirt, the willows beside the stream moving in the evening breeze.  It was being with him, taking, listening, maybe he'd lean down and tilt my head up to his and kiss me, his mouth warm, his eyes warmer, his hands touching my shoulders through my dress.

             
He stepped closer.  We were alone in the light and shadows of the barn.  I didn't know where Sarah had gone, if she'd meant to lay down or if she was sick.  She'd said she'd return, but she hadn't yet.

             
And Robert was beside me, one hand touching the side of my face. I leaned into it, looked up at him, felt impertinent and irresponsible and wild.  His thumb rubbed across my lower lip.  I met his glance, feeling fierce and fearless and wanting something more, something to fill my days and my heart.

             
His mouth on mine was hot, like warmed cider on a fall day or honey. 

             
We broke apart when I heard Sarah returning.  "Four o'clock on Saturday?" he asked.

             
I nodded, not certain I could speak, and he passed the person entering the barn.  When I looked, it was Luke, not Sarah, and he was already turning, preparing to go.

             
"Wait!" But then, of course, I couldn't think of another thing to say to him.

             
"Is there something you need, Miss Collins?" He was looking in my direction, but intentionally past me, as if something interesting was just past my right ear.

             
"Your friendship," I said, hotly.  That same fiery feeling was there again, that I wasn't giving up the things and people I needed without a fight.

             
"You have my friendship, Miss Collins," he said with impossible civility.  "Do excuse me; I am needed in the pastures."

             
If I'd had something at hand, I'd have thrown it at his head.  "The far pastures?" I demanded.  "The farthest?"

             
I couldn't see his face where he stood in the doorway of the barn with the sun behind him.  He hesitated briefly but we both heard footsteps.  He slid to the north and was out of sight before Sarah returned to the barn.

             
"What are you shouting about?" she asked.  She held more greens and my small companion calf deserted me promptly.

             
I looked past her to where Luke had stood and shook my head.  "Nothing, apparently."

              Saturday night, Redding jumped to the sound of fiddles and guitars, to voices singing and people square dancing.  Women's skirts flared bright in the lowering sunlight.  The smell of meat roasting over wood fires filled the air, as did the shouts and hails from cowboys riding into town.  The saloon doors stood open, each spilling out their own brand of music.  The smell of beer permeated the air where the wood smoke and roasted meat didn't.

             
There were faces I recognized now, the grocer's wife, the baker himself.  There were children I'd seen running loose on other trips with Sarah or the one trip I made in with Luke half a week earlier, when he'd been running errands and invited me for the ride.  That was before he stopped speaking with me. 

             
Resolutely, I stopped thinking about that.  Robert took my arm and recaptured my attention.

             
"Would you like to eat?"

             
"Not yet.  I want to see everything!"

             
My father had taken us to county fairs when Sarah and I were young.  There were games of chance and judging of cattle and sheep, there were pie baking contests and pie eating contests and women cutting silhouettes in black paper to make cameos.  The county agricultural society showed off their talents, there were shows of horsemanship and games of chance and games of darts. 

             
In between games of chance and groups of square dancers, Robert and I shared childhood memories, of places we went with siblings and parents.  Eventually, we joined in the dance, spinning until breathless and leaving, laughing, to find our dinners.

             
We were almost at the hotel we'd chosen when two men came barreling out of the open door of one of the saloons.  Robert, already holding my arm, stepped instantly in front of me, edging me behind him as he began stepping back and away slowly.

             
A group followed the combatants out of the saloon, women screaming
stop
and men laughing or shouting for them to
take it somewhere else
.  Fists flew, boots stomped.  The men swore, slammed fists into faces, fell, and stood back up.  One of them ran a knee into the other's midsection and that man dropped, panting heavily.  They hadn't come anywhere near us, but Robert turned to me, concerned.

             
"You're unharmed?"

             
I wasn't sure how to answer.  It was the most interesting thing that had happened in days other than the giddy feeling when Robert called for me.  Just as fast as the men had flown into the street, they'd wakened the restlessness within me.

             
I was unharmed, I supposed.  I said as much.

             
"Let's go find our supper," Robert said and led me cautiously.               

              Night settled faster every day.  August was more than half over.  Robert let the horses move at their own pace, the reins loose in his hands.  We followed the creek again and the night was soft and warm.  Halfway home, he stopped the horses at a bend in the creek where the willows thinned and we could see the distant mountains.  We sat together, watching the sky, and my heart felt light.

             
"When you were young, did you think the moon followed you?" Robert asked.

             
"Didn't it?"  Tonight, the moon was a thin, spare crescent, the sky especially dark.

             
The three shooting stars took me by surprise.  I pointed at the same time Robert did, our hands touching and reaching as though we could catch the brilliant burning points of light out of the sky.  The light reflected for an instant in the river, a dual image.  I shivered and made a wish I couldn't quite name.

             
"Do you think it will come true?" Robert asked.

             
"How do you know I wished?"

             
He gave a low laugh.  "Because I did."

             
When we started up again, we startled a rabbit that dashed for shelter and an owl that flew across our path with a cry of displeasure.  It looked like a huge-winged ghost flashing across the night, followed by the howls of coyotes. 

              The kitchen was empty.  The stove had cooled.  Dinner was long since over.  One of Sarah's peach pies stood on the counter, a plate and fork beside it, where William probably had a last piece for the night.

             
The ranch house was silent.  I stood in the dark, not bothering with a lantern.  Enough moonlight came through the windows to see by.

             
Standing there alone, I could still feel Robert's arms around me.  The shooting stars that had flashed overhead, a promise of the future, flared in memory, the way the creek water had lit with their flight.  I heard again the coyote howl filling the night. Robert held me close in the moonlight and it had felt improper and somehow daring.  My heart raced at the thought of his touch.  I'd felt alive in the night, full of possibilities.

             
Not one of those possibilities was Robert himself.

              Two teams assembled to head out on the Monday following the Saturday dance.  One led by William would take a small number of cattle to auction in Chico, a two week trip.  William would take a wrangler, a cook and 10 hands to drive and watch the cattle.  He needed more but cattle across the region were being moved.  The drought was becoming worse.  Ranchers were selling off the herds before they sickened or lost too much weight.  Those who could were feeding their cattle grain, doing anything they could to keep going.

             
I overheard William and Sarah arguing before the teams saddled up.  They were in the kitchen as I came down the hall from the parlor and I stopped short, ready to retreat and give them their time together when I heard Sarah.

             
"I don't want you to go," she said, more than once.  "What if he tries something else?"

             
"Sarah, I have to.  If we don't take care of the herd and the ranch, if we just deal with Getties, we'll lose Big Sky and he will have won."

             
"But what if he does something, William?"

             
"That's why I'm moving the herd," William said.

             
A second team would lead 100 head of cattle to David Lord's neighboring farm to shelter them and find grazing and water.  The end of August was burning up the land; temperatures scorched.  The day was full of lowering clouds, sunshine darkly shining around the edges, and the oppressive threat of rain even as the temperature climbed.

             
"I want to go," I told Sarah as we stood watching while the men mounted up.

             
She laughed.  She laughed more often now when I was around but in those odd moments I saw her solitary, she still harbored sadness. 

             
Eventually, I'd ask her about the letters she'd started to me and never finished.  Eventually, I'd ask her what was wrong.  She was my sister; I was allowed to pry.

             
For now, I just found ways to help.  With two-thirds of the hands on the road, there was more to do around the ranch.