KeepingFaithCole (29 page)

The woman looked every bit
the loving grandmother she longed to be and Lucille silently chastised herself
for the unkind thoughts she harbored. Her husband was right; she insisted on
thinking the worst of his mother.

“Yes, of course. Please,
come inside.”

“Thank you.”

Charlotte followed close
behind as Lucille stepped inside and hurriedly brushed a few breakfast crumbs
from the old tablecloth.

“You’ll have to excuse the
mess. I was attempting a bit of spring cleaning. I’m afraid I haven’t
accomplished much this morning. It’s not easy to keep a tidy home with a little
one toddling around.”

“Let me help,” Charlotte
suggested. “I’ll keep an eye on Faith. And maybe you and I can have a pleasant
little chat while you’re working.”

“That would be helpful,
indeed.” Lucille wasn’t sure what she and her mother-in-law might chat about,
but she was grateful to the woman for looking after Faith.

Charlotte, however, had no
shortage of topics to discuss. She babbled excitedly about Faith’s first
birthday which would be coming up soon. She’d been saving her pennies, she said,
hoping to buy a pair of shoes for
her
baby, and she wondered, too, if Lucille could find patience enough to help her
with her knitting. She’d seen a pattern in a ladies’ magazine for an adorable
child’s hat, and maybe Lucille could recommend the right type of wool?

Did Lucille happen to know
any herbs to treat rheumatism? What was the best method for dyeing fabric?
Would that fancy Castile soap from the mercantile really help prevent wrinkles?

On and on, questions tumbled
out of the woman’s mouth. Questions about cooking, questions about sewing and
the latest fashions, questions about all the things ordinary women asked one
another, the sort of questions and easy conversation shared between friends.

All the while, Charlotte
bounced Faith playfully on her lap, and the little girl’s sweet laughter filled
the air.

The obvious changes in her
mother-in-law surprised Lucille but impressed her, as well. At times, she
nearly laughed at Charlotte’s exuberance; now and then, she almost cried as
tears of genuine joy welled in her eyes.

This is how it’s supposed to be
.

It was a portent, she
decided, a sign of all that could be—all that
would
be. As soon as Tom came home, she would throw herself into
his arms and ask his forgiveness. Never again would misunderstandings—or her
own foolishness—come between them.

“Don’t you think it’s time
for a break, Lucille?” Charlotte asked a few hours later. “You’ve been working
all morning.”

“It would be nice to sit for
a spell,” Lucille agreed, but instead of taking a seat, she went to the stove.
“First, let me put on a pot of coffee, then let’s open that basket of cookies,
shall we?”

Charlotte’s smile warmed
Lucille’s heart. “Yes, let’s have a plate of cookies, but instead of coffee, do
you have any fresh, cold milk?”

“I do.” Lucille turned
toward the door. “The milk is in the spring house. I’ll get it.”

Chapter
Nineteen

The skies remained gloomy thro
ughout the
morning, with thick clouds obliterating most of the sun and making it hard to
reckon time. When Tom and the two men with him reached the western ridge, he
figured it must be nearly noon. All was going according to plan.

From that vantage point, his
vision swept across the floor of the valley spread out below them. His heart
pounded at the thrilling sight. For as far as he could see, wild horses grazed
the grassy prairie, as impossible to count as the stars in the night sky. An
awed silence settled over the men. For several moments, no one said a word.

“What is the plan,
señor
? How can
the three of us handle so many horses?”

“We knew there were probably
a lot of wild horses down there in that valley, but we didn’t come here with
intentions of catching them all. Keep that in mind.” Greed had a way of making
men forget the best-laid plans. He lifted the reins, ready to ride.

“Wait,” Goose called,
holding up a leather-gloved hand. “Maybe we should think on this a little more.
Why settle for a dozen
caballos
when we could have hundreds?”

“Hundreds?” Ignacio hooted.
“Dios
mio
!
Juro
que
hay mas de mil.”

“Thousands, probably.” Even
though Tom didn’t understand the words, he could guess their meaning. “But we
only need enough to make a start.”

“Are you
loco
, man? Look at all those horses.
Think of all the money we could make.”

“Well, you’re the one who’s
loco
if you think the three of us could
round up that many animals.”

“So, we come back. We get
more men, build more corrals. We ride the valley again, figure out ways to trap
those horses. Why not take what
Dios
has given us?”

Tom didn’t hesitate. “Why
not? Because I’m the
jefe
here, and what I say goes. Both of you agreed to ride with me. We get what we
came here for today, and we’re done.” He looked from one brown face to the
other. A broad grin broke out. “Later, we’ll come back with all the riders we
need. There’ll be plenty of horses waiting for us. It takes time to plan a
large-scale operation, time to find the right men, to buy all the supplies.” He
pushed his hat back. “It takes money, too. Today, we make a start.”

“Wise man,” acknowledged
Ignacio. “You should listen to him more often,
hermano
.”

“Here’s how we’ll do it.”
Tom motioned them closer. “We’ll ride down, nice and slow. Once we move in,
they’ll split up into smaller bands,” he explained. “We’ll look for the best,
single them out, and cut them away from the rest. The important thing is to
keep them headed in the right direction, keep them together, keep them moving
toward our corrals.” He gave a thumbs-up sign. “We can do it.”

The Mexicans responded in
kind, pointing their thumbs upward.

Goose rode slightly off to
the left and stared down into the valley again. “We do not have much time.” He
glanced back toward Tom.

“
Asi
es
.” Ignacio’s voice held a note of
urgency. He, too, gazed off toward the distance. “We must go down now,
señor
.
The
horses are moving.”

“You’re both
loco
.” Tom peered down from the ridge. A
man’s vision, he’d once heard, depended a lot on the color of his eyes. A
fellow with light, blue eyes—like his—or clear, gray eyes, could see farther
than any dark-eyed
hombre.
Or so he’d
been told. He had yet to see any sign of movement among the horses. Most likely
Goose and Ignacio were letting excitement get the best of them. But he needed
to keep them happy. “All right, let’s get started.”

Riding at an easy canter,
Tom led the group down the ridge. Glancing to the wild horses again, he drew in
a sharp breath, surprised to find that they were definitely on the move, a
dark, undulating ribbon sweeping through the valley.

“Something’s spooked them,
all right,” he admitted, looking toward his companions with increased admiration
for their visual abilities.

“They know we are here.” The
corners of Ignacio’s mouth turned downward. Goose, too, wore a grim expression.

“Doesn’t matter. Between the
three of us, we’ll run their legs off, tire them out. We’ll catch ourselves all
the horses we need. Don’t doubt it.”

As Tom had predicted, the
line of horses quickly broke up into several smaller bands, most veering off
toward the south and west, but one herd continued coming toward Tom and the men
who sat watching and waiting. It was only when the horses came within roughly a
hundred yards that they suddenly halted.

“
Dios
mio
!
”

All three men—Tom
included—spoke the words at once.

The sun momentarily came
out, peeking over the edge of a thick cloud to illuminate the breath-taking
sight before their eyes.

A sorrel-colored mare led
the band. Her coppery red mane glistened in the sunlight as she tossed back her
head and gave out a shrill whinny. A magnificent black stallion galloped out
from behind. Immediately aware of the danger his mares faced, he took charge,
side-stepping to the left to lead the herd around the men who threatened them.

“Come on. Let’s go!” Kicking
into action, Tom rode out hard, turning the wild horses back. The stallion and
the sorrel mare raced to the left, manes and tails flying as a dozen sets of
hoof beats thundered over the earth. The sun slipped behind the clouds again,
plunging the day into a chilling gloom. An uneasiness crept over Tom, but he
shook it off.

The three riders split up,
each taking a position where they could coordinate their efforts, bring the
band of wild horses together, and move them steadily onward toward the
makeshift corrals they’d fashioned.

Clods of dirt and dust poured
up, turning the skies to shades of yellow and gray and choking the breath from
the riders. The day’s cloudiness added to the effect, making it almost
impossible to see what was going on with any degree of clarity. If the horses
took a notion, they might wheel around, turn back the way they’d come, and
cleverly avoid capture.

Tom rode off to the left, up
a slight rise, hoping to get above the pall of dust and dirt. He caught sight
of Goose and Ignacio riding farther ahead. The corral was still a long ways
distant, but with luck—and hard riding—they could keep the band together.

Working fast, he darted to
and fro, heading stragglers back into the herd. Hoof beats echoed from the
nearby mountains, a steady clatter in Tom’s brain. From what he could see, the
band of horses was larger than he’d first estimated. Probably close to twenty,
maybe as many as two dozen. A damned good start, indeed.

The horses, as well as the
riders, were tiring. Waving his hat in the air, Tom let out a cry of victory.
They had a ways to go yet, but they would succeed. His future looked all but
assured.

Suddenly the swarm of horses
seemed to break apart. The animals turned in a dozen different directions, and
the huge black stallion raced headlong toward Tom. Caught by surprise, he
pressed his knees against Dandy’s flanks to swerve out of the wild horse’s path.
On raced the stallion, his long neck stretched out, his black mane flying. Tom
gave chase, racing after the beast. Forget the mares! Forget Goose, Ignacio,
forget even his dreams.

In that moment, nothing
mattered more than this black stallion, a horse more powerful, more beautiful
than any Tom had ever seen. He reached for his rope, even as he rode harder,
hoping to catch up to the glorious creature.

From the start, he knew how
foolish the idea was. Still, he chased after him, much like he’d once chased
after the beautiful, dark-haired Miss Lucille McIntyre, the young woman who had
become his wife.

The wife who was about to
walk out on him.

Tom reined up, watching as
the proud stallion leaped over a yawing crevice, his safety now assured.
Looking behind him, he realized that most of the mares had gotten away too. Had
Tom not gone running off after the stallion but remained to work with Goose and
Ignacio, perhaps all the mares could have been driven into the corrals. Now,
because of his foolishness, his own dreams would have to be put on hold a
little longer.

But what good were any of
his dreams without Lucille to share them with him?

From the other side of the
crevice, the black stallion snorted. Tom’s head jerked up. To his surprise, the
horse stood looking back at him, one forefoot pawing at the ground almost as if
he wanted Tom’s attention.

“What is it, fellow?” he
called out. “You want to rub it in, do you? You want to tell me what a fool I
am?”

The stallion seemed to
understand, although, of course, it had to be only Tom’s imagination. Still,
the fine horse shook his big head. His shiny mane rippled down his neck. He
whinnied, then looked up to gaze directly at the man he’d eluded.

The uneasiness Tom had felt
earlier returned along with a weariness so deep it came from within his very
bones. This horse was trying to tell him something, trying to warn him in some
way.

“Speak up,” Tom said in a
hushed voice. “I’m listening.”

Folks always said maybe it
was because he’d been born in that barn, but then again, maybe it was only
because his love for a fine horse ran so deep, or could be it was some of both,
but either way, he’d always been able to understand what horses told him. It
wasn’t exactly that he heard any voices, but more of a feeling that somehow translated
into words and thoughts. It was simply
a
knowing
. That’s what he’d always called it.

And he knew now, without the
slightest doubt, what this horse was telling him.

Tom tipped his hat, bowed
his head, then turned Dandy around and rode back toward the Mexicans. He caught
up to them shortly before they reached the corral. Between them, they’d managed
to catch six good mares. Both men glared at Tom, but neither said a word.

“Look, I have to go. I need
to get back to Lucille.”

“Son of a bitch!” Goose threw
down his hat. “What’s got into you? We lost more than a dozen good horses
because you went
loco
. You knew that
stallion would break away and try to lead us on a chase. Why in hell you follow
him?” He lapsed into a string of virulent Spanish that Tom didn’t even try to
comprehend.

“Ay, ay, ay!
Two horses apiece.” Ignacio hung his head and muttered
a few words that Tom guessed were probably curses. When he looked up, the
Mexican’s dark eyes glowered. “All that work for this?”

“Keep the horses,” Tom said.
“At least that makes three for each of you. Better than two.” He shrugged.
“We’ll catch more next time. I promise.”

“There won’t be a
next time
.” Goose dismounted, then bent
down to retrieve his hat. “You’re fired,
jefe
. Or else, I quit. We both
quit.” He indicated himself and his brother.

“Well, fellows, I wish I had
time to jaw, but I don’t. I’ve got a feeling down in my bones that something’s
wrong. I need to get back home and…” Tom paused. Hell, yes, something was
wrong. His wife had threatened to leave him, and he’d told her to go right
ahead. A fine husband he was. He didn’t deserve a loving wife like Lucille. “I
need to take care of my family,” he finished. Without another word, he turned
and rode toward home, paying no heed to the shouts and cries of the men behind
him.

As he rode, the chill in the
air deepened. What had begun as a favorable spring morning had turned into a
depressing gray afternoon that promised nothing but miserable weather and a
foul mood. Little wonder, actually, that his bones ached. Most likely he’d
developed a spot of the same rheumatism that afflicted his mother.

He talked to himself as he
traveled back over the ridges, down the sloping hillsides, across the plains
where the spring grasses and brightly-colored wildflowers brought sudden surges
of hope.

Nothing was wrong. When he
reached home later than afternoon, he’d find Lucille and Faith waiting for him.
They’d be glad to see him…
both
of
them. His heart lifted a bit as he allowed himself a moment to pretend that all
was well. It took a lot of effort, though, to hold on to that pretense,
especially when all the while, those bones of his kept insisting otherwise.

Riding into the yard, he
sucked in a deep breath. Time now to put all pretense aside. Time to face the
truth.

Time, too, to right all the
wrongs, to tell Lucille how much she meant to him and ask if they could start
over, if they could begin again and this time make love work.

* * * *

Lucille didn’t come outside
to greet him. Disappointment filled him. Had she really left him? Or, maybe she
hadn’t heard him ride up. Hoping that was the reason, and not wanting to
frighten her, he rapped at the back door.

“Lucille, I’m home.”

Still, no answer.

Damn it! He swore under his
breath, regretting the angry words he’d spoken earlier that morning. “Lu, where
are you?” He banged his fist on the door, then, too impatient to wait, he
pushed his way into the kitchen. An eerie silence greeted him. His bones had
not lied.

“Lucille!” he called again.
His mind refused to believe that she’d walked out on him. There had to be
another answer to the question pounding through his head. He moved swiftly
through the farmhouse, checking for any sign of trouble or anything that might
provide a clue to the whereabouts of his wife and child.