Dorothy Garlock (8 page)

The outriders raced past the wagon, waving their hats and shouting at Mooney. They prodded the work mules they were leading into a gallop and were soon far ahead.

Mooney chuckled good-naturedly. “Everybody’ll know ’bout you before we get thar. The young scutters is jist adying t’tell it. Yup, by granny, you’ll be looked over good ’n’ proper by ever’ livin’ critter by the time we get thar.” He chuckled again.

“How long have you been in the valley, Mooney?”

“’Bout five, six years.” Mooney spat out a mouthful of tobacco juice, a sure sign he was about to say more. “Red ’n’ me, we met up with Burr ’n’ Luis in El Paso jist after the war, ’n’ we liked their way a doin’ things. Burr, he tol’ us ’bout the valley ’n’ ask us to hire on. We did ’cause we didn’t have nothin’ else t’do. Red, he’s tied up with a Mex woman now ’n’ they got ’em a little young’un ’n’ another on the way, so he ain’t never gonna leave. Me, I don’t have nobody nowhere, so I’ll stay as long as I can work.”

Jacy had been quiet. She turned often and looked back at the string of wagons behind. Most of the outriders had gone on ahead. Johanna knew she was waiting for Luis to pass. When he rode up beside the wagon he was leading the sorrel mare. He put his fingers to his hat brim and smiled.

“Señorita, you like?” he asked, indicating the mare.

“Oh, yes, very much.” Jacy’s eyes shone with excitement.

“She will bring new blood to my herd.”

“Are you going to breed her to the black?” Jacy asked with the uninhibited frankness of youth.

“No, señorita. He is too big for her. I have the perfect mate at my hacienda. Would you like to see him?”

“Yes, very much,” she said again.

“Then I will come for you.
Adiós.
” He tipped his sombrero to Johanna, then his eyes swung back to Jacy. His face was different, more alive. His eyes seemed to caress her face for an instant before he spurred the black horse and raced down the trail, the flowing mane and tail of the mare standing out as she sped along behind the powerful black.

Mooney chuckled knowingly and slapped the team with the reins.

Johanna looked at Jacy’s beaming face and glowing eyes.
She’s smitten with him!
she thought.
Please, God, don’t let her be hurt. Don’t let him break her heart all over again.

Involuntarily she reached out for her sister’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

The wagon topped a small rise, and for the first time Johanna caught a glimpse of buildings. A cluster of sun-bleached adobe dwellings, surrounded by a patchwork of garden plots, shone brilliantly in the noonday sun. Even as she watched, the houses emptied and people ran out toward the trail. There were women in brightly colored skirts with small children clutched in their arms, while older children ran alongside, laughing and chattering. They lined up beside the wagon track, heads turned toward the approaching trail. Quietly, shyly, they waited for a look at the strangers. Dark, solemn eyes gazed at Johanna and Jacy. Some of the children hid behind their mothers’ skirts.

“
Buenas tardes,
” Johanna called out gaily. A few smiles appeared at the use of their language. Most of the two dozen or more women who lined the trail smiled back at the newcomers, and a few answered their greetings.

Johanna remembered her hat and reached for it. She placed it squarely on top of her high-piled flaxen hair. She felt better. Somehow the hat gave her courage.

The trail curved around the adobe houses and the rest of the ranch buildings came into view. Johanna’s spirits sank.

Seeing it on the whole, Johanna’s first impression was that the place looked like an army post. The buildings and the ranch house were made of stone and blended with the land as if they and the mountains that framed them had been created together. The peaked roof of the house extended down and out to form the roof of the porch, which was supported by the husky posts that fronted the house. Several hide-covered chairs stood along the wall. There were three doors at the front of the building and three glass-paned windows. Stone chimneys, one emitting a weak plume of smoke, protruded high above the roof on each end of the squat stone structure. While the place looked permanent, there wasn’t a bush, flower, fence, or anything else to lend warmth or humanity. Several large trees stood well back from the house, and under their spreading branches was the hitching rail.

Mooney stopped the wagon and waited for the freight wagons to pass. They veered off toward the buildings behind the bunkhouse, which was as long as the house but not quite as deep. Beyond that was a network of split-rail corrals and several small stone buildings. All activity centered around the bunkhouse. The returning outriders were putting their tired horses into the corral, and there was much shouting and blackslapping as the men were greeted by those who had stayed behind.

Red rode up beside the wagon. “Take ’er on up, Mooney. I’ll go on ahead and tell the old man. I see he’s a-waitin’ fer us.”

Johanna adjusted her hat again, then gripped Jacy’s hand and smiled reassuringly. She had steeled herself for this meeting with her new employer, and despite her uneasiness she was determined to face the man boldly.

“He didn’t know I was coming,” Jacy said nervously.

“Don’t worry about it, dear. Mr. Cash was sure it was all right for you to come. You stay with Mooney and I’ll go speak to Mr. Macklin.”

“That’s a good idey, missy. You stay with me till Johanner gets the lay of the land.”

Mooney pulled the wagon to a stop beneath the trees. Johanna glanced nervously at the house, where Red was talking to a man sitting in a huge chair. First impressions are the most important, she told herself, and called on all her inner resourses to help her put a cool, confident expression on her face. She patted Jacy’s hand, once more straighted the straw hat on her head, and turned to climb down over the wheel.

Her foot found the spoke and she was about to jump lightly to the ground when the horses suddenly lurched forward. She teetered for a breathless instant, hopelessly grabbing for a way to save herself, before she fell heavily, striking the ground with such force her hat bounced off and rolled beneath the wagon. She sprang up quickly and out of the corner of her eye saw a small boy disappear around the corner of the house. Badly shaken from the fall, her face flooded with color, she smoothed her skirts and patted her hair into place.

Jacy leaned over the side and stared at her with horrified eyes. “Jo! Johanna! Are you hurt?”

Johanna felt like a fool and wished the ground would open and swallow her.

“That goddamn Bucko!” Mooney cursed as he held the frightened horses. “I’ll get me some skin off his butt!”

“I’m . . . all right.” Johanna tried desperately to compose herself. “I’m not hurt, just embarrassed.” She laughed nervously and glanced at her hat under the wagon; a wheel had run over it. The crown was crushed and the lovely satin rose was beyond repair. She refused to bend her dignity still further to retrieve it. Her legs were unsteady, but her shoulders were square and her back was straight as she walked up the path to the ranch house. Red gave her a sympathetic look and another wave of color flooded her face. She had no doubt that both men had witnessed her inelegant sprawl in the dust.

The big man seated in the cowhide-covered chair had thick white hair and a mustache, stained with tobacco juice, that curved down on each side of his mouth. Closer now, she could see in his lined face a lifetime of struggle against man and the elements. His bright blue eyes were compelling and tinged with impatience. She met his hard, discerning stare and started to look away, then forced herself to return his appraisal with a measuring look of her own. He wore a faded flannel shirt with rolled-up sleeves under a sleeveless leather vest, and a high-heeled boot beneath one pant leg while the other pant leg hung limply. The hands that gripped the arms of the chair were huge and gnarled, but the flesh on his large forearms was loose and sagging, as if the years had worn away the muscles of youth. His sunken blue eyes were narrowed and cold. Johanna met them unflinchingly.

“I’m Johanna Doan, sir. I . . .”

“I know who the hell you are,” he broke in rudely. “I’ve got a letter here from that goddamn Cash. I told him I wanted a woman, a real woman, not a prissy miss that can’t get out of a wagon without fallin’ on her arse!”

Johanna was stunned into silence but never allowed her eyes to waver from his. His hard words had hit her like stones, but she stiffened her back and answered him sharply.

“I assure you, sir, I
am
a real woman and I know how to work like one. And as for my . . . ungraceful descent from the wagon, the child who threw the stone at the horses should be punished.”

“I doubt if the bastard was aimin’ at the horses, miss. ’Twas that silly thing atop your head he was aimin’ for.”

Johanna was speechless. His attack was unsettling and unwarranted and totally unexpected even after all Mooney had told her about him. She could feel her knees weakening again, but not from terror. The anger that started down in her stomach surged upward, but before she could retort Red broke in, a questioning frown on his weathered face.

“I think we’d better unload the trunks, Mack, so Mooney can take the team on down to the sheds.”

The old man’s grunt was noncommittal as his gaze swept up and down the slender figure of the woman standing before him.

“I hope t’hell you got all the parts of a woman. You got the hair and eyes. You’re here and I ain’t got much more time to be a-dallyin’ ’round. I wish to God you wasn’t such a skinny bitch.”

Johanna took a deep, hurtful breath and looked at him with disbelief. “I’m not going to like working for you, Mr. Macklin. You’re rude and you’re crude.”

The man’s eyes were cold, but there was a strange sort of smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He nodded in Red’s direction.

“Well . . . bring in her gear.”

Johanna forced herself to appear calmly contemptuous of his rudeness, and soon her anger gave way to pity for the crippled old man whose heart was so corroded with bitterness that he couldn’t even be decent to a stranger in his home.

“Cash says your sister’s goin’ to whelp and it’ll be a bastard. There’s plenty here, one more bastard in the valley ain’t gonna matter none. Does she have hair and eyes like yours? Is she heftier than you?”

Bluntly Johanna answered him. “No, she’s small, and no, she doesn’t look like me because her mother was Mexican.” She said the last deliberately, then clamped her mouth shut and waited for an explosion.

“Another bastard!”

“No,” Johanna said firmly. “My father and I loved her mother dearly, and I want you to understand this: I’ll not allow you to mistreat her because of her mixed parentage. I insist that she not be subjected to any unpleasantness. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Macklin? She is the dearest thing in the world to me, and if she’s not welcome in your home, now is the time for you to say so before Mooney brings in our things.”

The look on his face was surprise, then smoldering anger.

“I ain’t got no use for a goddamn Mex. You’d better swaller that and keep her out of my way!”

“That will be impossible if we are to live in your home,” Johanna said calmly. “So I suggest that you learn to control your prejudice.”

His eyes narrowed and he glared at her. He seemed to be taking a second look at the slender young woman, aware now of her defiant stance, the eyes that met his unafraid. He had sent men scampering off the porch with his roar, and this woman stood firmly in front of him and gave
him
an ultimatum. The silence was heavy between them as they took each other’s measure.

Still looking at her, the old man opened his mouth and bellowed, “Calloway!”

A door opened at the end of the porch and a small, neatly dressed man came toward them. He was not as old or as weather-worn as Mack Macklin.

“This here’s the woman,” old Mack said by way of introduction.

As she offered her hand, Johanna’s eyes roved the lean features of the small man. His eyes were piercing and showed slight surprise, but his clean-shaven face was kind. In his youth his snow-white hair would have been black, the brown eyes daring, and his body slim and wiry. There was an air about him that spoke of education and breeding. She waited for him to speak.

“B. N. Calloway,” he said. There was a noticeable lack of a southwestern drawl in his voice. “Call me Ben. Only Mack insists on calling me Calloway.”

“Hello, Ben.” Johanna held out her hand and looked into faded brown eyes that were on a level with her own. “My name is Johanna Doan.”

“Johanna,” he repeated, and his eyes flicked at old Mack. “Lovely name,” he said softly.

Red came to the porch holding Jacy by the arm. It was obvious that he wasn’t sure about the reception she would receive and looked at Johanna to indicate what he should do. Johanna came forward and put her arm around her sister. She led her to the old man as if the words they had spoken about her had never been said.

“Mr. Macklin, my sister, Miss Jaceta Doan.”

“Good afternoon, sir,” Jacy said, with a frightened tremor in her voice.

Old Mack grunted, turned in his chair, and looked off toward the mountains.

Trying desperately to excuse his rudeness, Johanna introduced her sister to Ben, who smiled, clasped her hand warmly, and bowed gallantly.

“Two lovely ladies in the house,” he said. “I’m overwhelmed.”

He led them through the middle door and into a hall that ran the length of the house. There were two doors on each side of the hall and a small, steep stairway at the end. A door to the back of the hall opened onto what appeared to be another porch. The first two doors in the hall were closed, but looking into one of the last doors, Johanna saw a large kitchen with a black iron stove and a long trestle table with two benches. On the other side of the hall was a room with several chairs, a table, and a huge fireplace full of cold ashes. The place was stark and bare and dirty. The floors were stone, the same as those of the porch patio, and were covered with dust so thick it looked as though it had been there for years. She glimpsed several lamps, their chimneys black with soot.