Longhorn Country (8 page)

The woman who faced him was in her fifties, her serene face remarkably free of wrinkles, though the
brown blotches on the backs of her hands gave some indication of her age. Her eyes were very blue and they squinted a little as she turned her face towards him enough so that the shadow of her stiff headpiece moved and allowed sun glare to strike her. ‘
Norteamericano?
’

Blaine nodded. ‘From Texas, ma’am.’

Her expression didn’t change. ‘I am Sister Angelica, in charge here – I will write Don Miguel a note of thanks. Sister Maria de Gracia will join you.’ She gestured to a small patio, shaded by an
umbrella-like
shelter of thatch on a long pole beneath which was a round table and some chairs. ‘She will bring you refreshment.’

‘Obliged.’ Blaine made his way there, feeling a little awkward. He didn’t really need to see this Sister de Gracia.
What the hell kind of name was that anyway? Sister of Thanks?
Now the cows had been delivered and he had spoken with the nun in charge, all he had to do was hand over the note to Father Gabriel and then he could go. This place made him feel – well, kind of awkward. Or was it that these laughing kids reminded him of the little Indian children who had helped him get used to walking again, steering him safely past obstacles he could no longer see on his right side …
Maybe he should have done something for them before he left to pay his debts – both to Morgan and Hardesty and Rendell … Well, he could set that right when he got back
….

But right now he could do with a long, cool drink – though he figured there would be no
tequila
in the lemonade here.

He was smoking, half turned away from the main adobe building, watching Pancho playing with the kids near the corrals, when he heard the small clatter of glasses and he turned slowly.

A young woman in a habit like Sister Angelica’s, except the headpiece was no more than a scarf draped over her hair, was setting down a bamboo tray with glasses and a terracotta jug on it.

‘You wished to see me,
señor
?’

As she spoke quietly in perfect English she picked up the jug and poured some clear, brownish liquid into the glasses. ‘I do not know Don Miguel
personally
so I am at a loss as to why he told you to ask for me … I am, of course Sister Maria de Gracia.’

It was Alamo who had told him to ask for this woman, not Don Miguel – and now he knew why
….

He stood up quickly and she turned her face towards him and he saw her properly for the first time.

‘Thought I recognized that voice – Been a long time, Kitty … A
long
time.’

The jug fell and shattered on the stone flags, cool liquid splashing over Blaine’s boots – washing away the last traces of Hardesty’s blood.

She insisted on clearing away the mess first and he knew she was using the time to get her thoughts in order. He didn’t push her, though his own heart had an unfamiliar racy feeling to it and his stomach seemed knotted.

Finally, she came back, the scarf removed from her hair now and he noted it was shorter than he
remembered
. But she looked somehow older – no, more mature, might be the better way of putting it. He couldn’t tell if she had gained or lost weight under that loose habit but she seemed healthy enough, deeply tanned, and several children ran over, crawled up into her lap and threw their thin arms about her neck. She spoke to each in gentle Spanish, set them down and told the third one to tell the others that they should play with Sister Mercia while she entertained her guest.

Then she sipped from her glass, looking at Blaine over the rim.

‘You’ve suffered since I last saw you, Blaine.’

‘Some.’

‘Was it – Hardesty and Rendell?’ He met and held her gaze and she sighed. ‘I know it was! Dad was raging and I knew he would sick them on to you … I’m sorry.’

‘No need.’

‘No
need
! Heavens, you’ve lost an eye!’

‘And you lost your baby.’

She tensed but only slightly. ‘I’m glad you know and that I won’t have to explain – it – it was horrible. I – didn’t handle it very well, but Sister Angelica and the others helped me, guided me….’

‘You look content.’

‘I – am, mostly, Blaine – I love working here with the children. I’m not a nun, but a kind of
unofficial
mission helper, I suppose.’

‘Pay well?’

And the remark surprised her: Blaine wasn’t really known for his attempts at humour. But she smiled widely. ‘Yes – it pays very well. Though I don’t earn a dime.’

‘I understand.’ And she knew he did: he was quick to savvy such things and it was why she had told him the details of how she had become pregnant. ‘I – missed you.’

‘Yes – I’ve missed you, too, Blaine. But didn’t Alamo tell you where I was…? I mean, he brought me here in the first place….’

‘He gave his word to Morgan he’d never tell me.’

She smiled slowly. ‘So he had you drive some milking cows up here from Don Miguel’s!’

‘Alamo’s a man of his word, follows his own code.’

‘Just like you – does this mean you’ve gone back to working for my father?’

‘Yes.’

She waited, then spread her hands. ‘And…? Surely
that
requires some explanation.’

He shrugged. ‘Morgan feels I owe him too much to let me go.’

‘I don’t understand…?’

‘He reared me – along with you and Lucas. Took care of me for more’n twenty years. He outlayed heaps on me.’

Kitty was shocked. ‘You’re not serious! He – he surely wouldn’t be that – petty!’ She stood, unable to contain herself, took a turn around the patio, came back and stood beside his chair. ‘Oh! My father’s – one of a kind! And I’m being as liberal as I can when saying that! But – you. You didn’t have to do this … Oh! I’m
wrong
! Of course, you
did
, didn’t you? You wouldn’t be Blaine if you turned away from him and just rode out.’

Blaine drained his glass. ‘I like to pay my debts.’

She shook her head as she slowly took her seat again. Her hand slid across the table and lay across his.

‘He’ll keep you working for him for years – and not pay you a cent in real money.’

‘He’s already spent a small fortune on me.’

‘Oh, you exasperate me, Blaine! He spent more on Lucas and me – yes, we’re his blood-kin but he
adopted
you and that makes you his son in a lot more than just a name on an official paper! How
dare
he do
such a thing! Telling you you owe
him
, and making you feel guilty.’

‘I don’t feel guilty, Kitty – I’m happy to pay him back for as long as he says it’ll take. Then I’ll be rid of this thing and I’ll be free to go my own way, make my own life.’

Her fingers tightened on his hand and her eyes glistened. ‘And he thought you weren’t a good enough man to be allowed to take a courting interest in me!’

‘He’s a father, Kitty – wants the best for his
daughter
. You can savvy that.’

‘Yes, I suppose so, but – well, it’s Dad’s outlook, and Lucas’s, too, I guess. Just because you have Indian blood in you through no fault of your own…. Oh, it becomes too tangled to keep on, Blaine! I admire you for what you’re doing, even though I think you’re foolish at the same time.’

‘I’m glad I found you again, Kit – you seem really happy here.’

‘I am –’ She frowned slightly, looking a bit
uncomfortable
. ‘Blaine – I – I’m staying here. This is
worthwhile
work, something I want to do. It would please me if you’d visit whenever you can, but I just want to make it clear that – we—’

He pressed her hand and stood up, almost
smiling
. ‘It’s enough that I know you’re safe and happy and that I can see you from time time – Morg’s right, you know. I’m not good enough for you. I have
nothing
to offer you right now. But I’ll make something of myself eventually. I know ranching pretty well and by the time I’m clear of Morg I don’t doubt I’ll know it
a whole heap better. Then I’ll start one of my own – I aim to gather some mavericks when I have the time and I know where I can keep ’em so I’ll have the start of a herd of my own…. Nothing says I can’t do that or sell the cows myself and put away the cash…. Just so long as I keep working at squaring-up with Morg.’

‘That’s a tremendous job to take on, Blaine!’

‘I can do it.’ He looked steadily at her with his one eye. ‘Specially if I have some – incentive.’

She flushed and lowered her gaze. ‘Blaine, I already told you …’

‘I know. You’re content here. Well, maybe you won’t be forever – and I’ll be waiting….’

She shook her head briefly. ‘Blaine, I can’t – promise anything like that! I – just – can’t.’

‘I know – but just remember anyway – I’ll be around whenever you need me. Anytime.’

Her eyes were wet now and she even made a
half-gesture
as if she would throw her arms around him but didn’t. He saw the pulse throbbing in her neck and knew her heart was hammering.

That was good enough for him: his words had moved her and because of her present position she was fighting not to let her emotions get the upper hand.

For now, it was just ‘
Howdy and Adios!
’

But there would come a time – he knew it.

Sooner or later, they would be together.

Alamo Ames was talking with some of Don Miguel’s
vaqueros
when Blaine rode back from the Mission
Seguridad
, trailed a brown-cloaked Father forking a
weary looking burro. Alamo broke off his
conversation
and hurried out to meet Blaine, nodded and
bypassed
him, calling to the priest.

‘Best hurry,
padre
– I think he’s on his last.’

Two of the
vaqueros
hurried to the priest and almost pulled him bodily from the burro. Then they practically carried him into the big glaring-white
hacienda
. Blaine swung down easily.

‘The Don’s going fast?’

Alamo nodded. ‘The priest’ll be lucky if he gets to the bedside in time.’ Ames shifted his eyes over Blaine’s usual unreadable face. ‘Deliver them Jerseys OK?’

‘Sure – A Sister Angelica took ’em off my hands.’

Ames shifted weight from one foot to the other. ‘And…?’

‘I had a mighty refreshing drink of lemon and lime – served to me by Sister Maria de Gracia.’

‘Ah! So you met the young sister, uh?’

‘Yeah – she’s not a nun, not even a novice. Just a volunteer helper – seems quite content.’

Ames studied him carefully. ‘Think she’ll stay there?’

‘I do.’

‘Kind of a pity – a good-lookin’ gal like that, hidin’ her beauty under that drab old habit. Almost like she’s – goin’ to waste.’

‘Don’t see it that way. She’s doing what she wants and is mighty happy about it. Good way to be.’

‘Uh-huh … Well, guess there’s nothin’ to keep us here any longer. We’ll head ’em out in the mornin’. OK with you?’

Blaine nodded and as Alamo started to turn away, he said, ‘Thanks,
amigo
.’

Alamo just grunted and called to the remaining
vaqueros
. ‘Hey,
amigos
– Let’s get the
ganados
ready for the trail, eh? When we reach the Rio, the drinks are on me, OK?’

Judging by the grins and shouted remarks in Spanish that brought much laughter, it was definitely ‘OK’ with the Mexicans.

They pulled out as the first rays of the sun crept above the
cordillera
and stretched long shadows across the coolness of the land. The riders savoured this cool for they knew once the sun lifted properly into the sky, the sweat would pour from their bodies like water squeezed from a sponge.

A thousand head of sleek longhorns that had been nurtured with the patience and consideration only a solicitous – and indulgent – Spanish cattle-breeder could afford. Don Miguel had practically given them away – he sure had made a fine attempt at foiling his grasping kinfolk and Alamo was glad they would be a long way from here and safely back in the States when the fur started to fly once the old
hidalgo’s
will was read and the assets were totalled up.

They had eight men from the
rancho
and they knew their job. Blaine felt kind of superfluous on the drive but Alamo only grinned.

‘The longhorns only speak Spanish down this way – these boys know ’em by name, practically, so we’ll let ’em run things and just tag along for the ride.’

Blaine nodded but he was a man who liked to earn
his keep, no matter who was providing it.

‘You must have your knife pretty deep into old Morg by now, eh?’

Blaine frowned. ‘You mean I hate him hard?’

‘Hell, no one blames you – I mean, losin’ an eye’s not exactly like gettin’ a busted nose or a few loose teeth. He knew what Hardesty and Rendell were like when he turned ’em loose on you.’

‘Well, he was mighty riled, ’cause he thought I was the one spoiled Kitty.’

Alamo frowned. ‘You sound like you –
almost
like you – figure it was OK what he did.’

‘Hell, no, but I can
savvy
why he did it.’

‘OK, but you must still hate his guts.’

‘He did a lot for me, Alamo – I’d’ve grown up with the Comanche if he hadn’t taken me in.’

Alamo kept silent for a little while then sighed, nodding. ‘Yeah – well, I guess that’s you, Blaine. You aim to be free of him, but only after you figure you’ve squared away what he’s done for you over the years. There has to be some cold hatred in there
somewhere
.’

‘I’ll do things my way,’ Blaine said shortly and Alamo shrugged.

‘Like always. But you sure got some queer notions of obligations. Anyone else would figure losin’ an eye wiped out any debt to a man like Morg O’Day.’ No reply from Blaine and Alamo murmured, ‘But, I oughta know by now that you ain’t any ordinary man….’

And that was proved soon enough.

Just two days later when they reached the Rio.

The herd was halfway across the ford just south of El Salto Vado, splashing through the shallow,
yellowish
water without fuss, for they had travelled contentedly with good graze along the trail from San Nicolas, when a bunch of screaming, painted Indians came sweeping out of the timber on the American side, shooting wildly.

From behind, on the Mexican side, another group of Indians rode out of the heat-cracked boulders like the flickering black tongue of a striking snake.

The herd – and the riders – were caught between two fast-closing jaws of a murderous pincer.

Blaine was already across on American soil and he slid his rifle out of its scabbard and turned to shout to the nearest
vaqueros
. There were four of them and they were already scattering, riding around the herd on the edge closest to the marauders.

Blaine breathed a sigh of relief: these men, for all their fancy rigs and clothes, their lazy style of riding herd, were fighting men and prepared to protect the cattle. That made things a hell of a lot easier he figured, throwing his Winchester to his left shoulder and sighting swiftly.

Lead whined overhead and he heard the thunk of a bullet taking a steer in the side, even saw the puff of dust as the animal lurched and began to bellow. Arrows zipped through the air and one that stuck in his saddle just beneath the horn he saw had a knapped flint tip.
Wild men, then – likely up from the Madres to the south, half-starved, just waiting for a herd to use the ford
….

It wasn’t until a long time later that he realized this ford hadn’t been used as a cattle crossing for a couple of years. Mostly it was freighters with their wagons and pack-mule trains who used the ford now. Most cattle were driven to the Gulf ports like Vera Cruz and then shipped to market on waiting sailing vessels.

But the Indians swept in determinedly and his rifle hammered methodically as he worked lever and
trigger
, moving the smoking barrel a little each time, selecting his target.

Four horses went down with their riders who floundered in the river. Blaine cut across instantly and saw two
vaqueros
had the same notion. Between them, they drove a bunch close to forty steers into the shallows where the Indians were desperately trying to wade ashore. They all went down screaming under the hoofs or on the ends of the raking horns.

Blaine didn’t wait to see the results. He swerved the sorrel, triggering his remaining shots in the rifle, sheathed the weapon and palmed up his six gun just as a painted, screaming face appeared right in front of him. The tomahawk whistled past his ear and he felt the jar as the hard knuckles of the brown hand wrapped around the handle hit the side of his neck. The Colt bucked in his hand, the barrel buried an inch deep into the leathery hide of the Indian. The blast blew the man clear off his horse and Blaine kicked it away, wheeled aside from a thrust with a lance and shot the man who wielded it somewhere in the face. The Indian swayed violently but managed somehow to stay in the saddle, riding away from the fight.