Samantha and the Cowboy (2 page)

She ran her hand down her face. She'd miss her hair. Her mother called it her crowning glory. But it would grow back. Eventually.

A hundred dollars. Just for guiding a few cattle north. How hard could that particular task be?

She considered tucking her hair up under her hat, but if a good strong wind sent the hat sailing over the prairie, her secret would be revealed. She couldn't risk letting that happen. No one wanted a woman on a cattle drive.

And yet she knew she was as capable as any boy. After Benjamin had left for the war, Samantha had stepped into his boots, taking on the role of the eldest. Doing what had to be done without being asked. Plowing the fields, harvesting the crops, mending fences, caring for sick livestock. She'd even had to put down an animal or two.

Then when her pa had died, she'd become the one
person whom her mother leaned on. Samantha was accustomed to being independent, making decisions. She didn't ask her mother what chores needed doing. She simply did them.

Heck fire! She wanted to earn that hundred dollars with a desperation that was almost frightening. It would help ease some of her mother's burdens. She wasn't naïve enough to think it would solve all their problems. But it would go a powerful long way toward lightening the load.

She set the candle on the dresser. The quivering light cast an eerie faint halo around her. Slowly she unraveled her long braid. When she was finished, her hair cascaded around her like a heavy curtain. She combed her fingers through the thick tresses that reached below her waist. Her crowning glory. It would grow back in time.

She knelt in front of her sewing basket and lifted the lid. She removed the scissors. They were cold against her fingers.

She gathered her courage around her like a warm blanket in winter.
We need the money. Desperately.

Unfolding her body, she took one last glance at her reflection in the mirror. Using only her thumb and forefinger, she took hold of several strands of hair and lifted them straight up. Her heart thundered so loudly that she imagined it sounded like the hooves of cattle pounding the earth during a stampede.

It's only hair,
she thought. Closing her eyes and shuddering, she took the first snip.

She felt the fallen tresses float against her nightgown before they landed on the floor with an ominous silence. Opening her eyes, she cringed at the sight of the shortened strands curling just above her brow.

It wasn't too late to turn back. To crawl into bed and forget this hare-brained idea of hers. To leave the remainder of her hair alone.

But in a way, she knew it had been too late the moment she had read the notice that had been posted outside the general store. She'd offered Benjamin the chance to help out the family, and he'd turned her down flat.

Nothing got done if a person thought it couldn't be done. Samantha knew she could do this.

Grabbing more strands of hair, she released a quaking breath and went to work. Cut and snip, cut and snip, cut and snip. Her stomach tightened with each bite of the scissors.

Within the mirror, the contours of her face seemed to change. The soft lines faded as though they mourned the loss of her hair. Her eyes seemed to grow larger, her cheekbones harsher.

When she lopped off the final strands, she sank onto a nearby chair, her knees wobbly and unable to support her. With tears welling in her eyes, she stared at
the reflection in the mirror.

What had she done?

Samantha had disappeared. And in her place staring out of the mirror was Sam.

Samantha—Sam, she had to remember her name was now Sam—stood outside the general store, her knees quaking. Her stomach felt as though someone had tied a noosed rope around it and was tugging hard.

Two men stood in front of her. Men, not boys. A few men and boys stood behind her.

It seemed several people were as desperate as she was to earn a hundred dollars. Fortunately, she didn't know any of these fellas. Since the war, so many men were drifting aimlessly from place to place, never stopping long enough to put down roots. Those she did know were farmers who couldn't risk leaving their fields.

She knew she was taking a chance that the crops would suffer without her to care for them. But her mother had Nate and Amy. And even though Benjamin grumbled that he was useless, he did what he could, and she thought he did a fine job of working the fields.

In the cold shadows, long before dawn, she'd sneaked through the house to Nate's room and grabbed a pair of his britches, a flannel shirt, and an old coat. Nate was just a little bigger than she was, even though he was four years
younger. She'd located a battered black hat that had belonged to her pa. It made her feel closer to him, to think he might approve of her scheme.

Leaving her mother a note explaining that she needed to go to town, she'd saddled her brown mare, Cinnamon, and headed on in. A thousand times during the journey, she'd questioned her sanity. A hundred times she'd almost turned around. But her family's needs were greater than her fears.

Her desire to help her family greatly outweighed her terror of the unknown, of the dangers that might lie ahead.

Benjamin may have let the war defeat him, but she wasn't going to allow it to get the best of her.

Her mouth grew dry as the first man in line moved aside and the next fella stepped up to give his particulars to a man sitting behind a small table. She'd heard it whispered about that he was the trail boss. The one she had to impress. The one who could crush her dreams with a single word—or give them flight.

Suddenly the hairs on the nape of her neck began to prickle. Unease settled around her. Slowly she let her gaze wander…and then it slammed to a stop.

A young man was leaning against the side of the building, a short distance away from the table. Why hadn't she noticed him earlier? Had he been there all
along? Was he hoping to get hired on with this outfit? If so, why wasn't he standing in line? Maybe he'd been hired before she'd arrived, and he was saving a place for the other hired men to wait.

He had his arms folded across his chest, his hat brim pulled down low so she couldn't get a good look at his eyes, but she knew those eyes were trained on her. She could feel his gaze boring into her, was acutely aware of him studying her. He had a hardness about him, as though he hoped to find fault with her. Was her disguise not as good as she'd thought it was?

“Next.”

Her breath started coming in shallow little pants as though it was as afraid as she was that the fella would figure out she was a girl. She brushed away the thought just as she'd brushed dirt on her cheeks and chin earlier. She was worrying for nothing. For pity's sake, he probably wasn't even looking at her. He stood so still that he might have been a statue…or asleep. He was probably—

“Next!”

She jerked to attention. The man behind the wobbly looking table glared at her, tapping his fingers impatiently against the flat surface. Swallowing hard, she stepped forward.

He studied the top of her hat before slowly scrutinizing her, leaning over the table so he could see all the
way down to the tips of her scuffed boots. With her brother's shirt and jacket, she was certain that none of her curves showed, nothing gave away the fact that she was a girl. But knowing and accepting were two different things. And no matter how she appeared, she still felt like a girl.

She clenched her jaws, trying to look as unfriendly as the fella standing against the wall did. Whatever it took to get hired, she'd do it.

“I'm Jake Vaughn. You got a name?” he asked gruffly as he settled back in his chair.

She nodded quickly.

“And it is?” he prodded.

She felt like such a fool. “S-Sam. Sam Reynolds.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

He leaned forward. “Well, Sam, have you had any experience herding cattle?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered quickly, comfortable with her answer. It wasn't a lie, exactly. She'd herded Old Bess out to pasture each morning and then back to the barn each evening.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you're lying to me?”

The fella standing against the wall shifted his stance slightly as though he was interested in her answer. Ignoring
him, she focused all her attention on Mr. Vaughn.

“I ain't lying. I swear.” With her finger, she made a cross over her heart. She almost repeated the childish refrain, “Cross my heart and hope to die…” but she figured a real cowboy wouldn't do that.

Slowly he looked her over one more time as though he was hoping to find some fault he might have missed the first time. Then he shook his head. “Sorry, Sam, but you're a little too scrawny.”

Only he didn't look sorry at all. “But I'm strong,” she insisted.

“Most of those fellas behind you are stronger. Sorry, son.”

Sam's stomach dropped to the ground. She hadn't considered that he might tell her no. In the shadows of the night, with only the stars to wish on, her plan had seemed foolproof. She hadn't considered that a fool had come up with her plan.

“Move along now, son, we're burning daylight here,” the man urged.

She almost snapped that she wasn't his son, wasn't anyone's son. Instead, she gathered her dignity together, thrust up her chin, and trudged away from the line of men and boys who would probably be hired.

She hadn't told her mother about her grand scheme because she hadn't wanted her mother to attempt to
change her mind. She sought what comfort she could find in the fact that her family wouldn't be disappointed, wouldn't learn of her failure.

Her failure.
Tears stung her eyes as she stormed down the alley between the buildings. She needed to be alone. Just for a few minutes. Before she headed home in disgrace.

Once behind the general store, she tore her hat from her head. “Dang it!” She kicked an empty crate. “Dang it!”

She'd shorn her hair and for what? For a foolish dream that would never happen. She kicked the crate again, taking no comfort in the echoing crack of splintering wood.

“Feeling better?” someone drawled.

She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs. It was the young man who'd been staring at her while she'd been waiting in line. He was again leaning against a wall, his arms folded across his chest. Unlike her, he wasn't scrawny at all. Taller than she was, he had broad shoulders and a wide chest that tapered down to narrow hips. He was the type of person the trail boss wanted to hire, and that knowledge irritated her. “Don't you know it's rude to impose on a fella's misery?” she asked.

“Didn't mean to impose. Just thought maybe I could help you out.”

“Not unless you got a herd to get to market and are lookin' to hire me,” she said tartly as she crammed her hat back onto her head. Inwardly she scolded herself. It wasn't his fault that her dreams had been dashed and her hair was gone.

Sweeping his hat from his head, he squinted at the early morning sun. Her heart very nearly stopped. His eyes were a stunning blue. But it wasn't the color that snagged her attention as much as it was that he seemed to be a young man with an older man's eyes. A young man who had seen much that he might have wished he hadn't. A thin white scar creased his left eyebrow, parted the tiny black hairs there.

The scar made him seem mysterious, dangerous.

He leveled his gaze on her. Her stomach quivered.

“You shouldn't have lied to Jake,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught. Somehow he'd managed to figure out she was a girl. Jake probably had as well. That was probably the real reason he hadn't hired her. Because he'd thought she was a scrawny girl.

“Telling him you knew how to herd cattle when you don't didn't sit too well with him,” he added.

Relief swamped her with the realization that her secret was still safe, that he hadn't figured out anything of worth. She also realized that since he knew so much about Jake Vaughn, he must have worked with him for
a while. He hadn't just been hired, as she'd thought. Envy speared her. To have the opportunity to earn a decent dollar…it just wasn't fair. “I
do
know how to herd cattle.”

She grew uncomfortable under his harsh scrutiny as he captured her with his intimidating gaze.

“All right.” She relented. “I know how to herd
one
cow. Our milk cow. To pasture and back.”

His lips twitched, and for a heartbeat, she thought he was going to smile.

“It's not exactly the same,” he said.

She jerked up her chin. “But I could learn.”

“Why did you lie?”

“I need the hundred dollars. Bad. I'd do just about anything to be part of this outfit.” And that was the honest-to-gosh-truth. “Besides, I'm a fast learner.”

Nodding, he settled his black hat back into place. “The herd's camped about ten miles north of town. Just follow the road and you can't miss us. Report to Jake there at dawn tomorrow if you're serious about being part of the outfit.”

Startled, she took a step back. He couldn't be saying what she thought he was saying. He couldn't be hiring her on. “But he said no,” she reminded him.

“You just leave the trail boss to me. If you truly want the job, it's yours. Just don't ever lie again. We
don't cotton to liars. If Jake finds out that you haven't been honest with him, he'll toss you on your butt and leave you to the vultures without giving you a penny. Understood?”

She nodded jerkily. She was going to lie during the entire journey…lie that she was a boy. As long as they didn't find out, where was the harm in her pretense? “Give you my word that I won't tell you another lie.”

“And you're going to have to learn everything you need to know on your own. I've got no interest in being a teacher,” he said.

Surely she could find an experienced cowhand who wouldn't mind taking a young boy under his wing and teaching him the ropes. And if she couldn't find one, she could learn by watching everyone carefully. How hard could trailing cattle truly be?

“I'll learn what I need without bothering you,” she promised.

“Then we'll see you in the morning.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” she called out.

He glanced back at her over his shoulder.

“I-I don't even know your name.”

“Matthew Hart.”

Matthew Hart.
He disappeared around the corner, and Sam sank to the ground as her legs finally gave out.

She'd actually done it. Somehow she'd managed to get hired to work on a cattle drive.

Now she just had to convince her mother to let her go.

 

Clank, clank, clank.

Leaning against the opening to the livery, Matthew Hart fought not to twitch every time the blacksmith pounded his hammer against the red-hot iron. Ever since the war, he was as skittish as a newborn colt whenever he heard a loud noise. Even when he was expecting the sound, his body did this quick jerk as though it was surprised by the commotion. It aggravated the daylights out of him.

Made him feel as though he was still a little kid instead of a man fully grown at eighteen. Although, truth be told, he figured he'd become a man at fourteen, when he'd marched into his first battle beating a drum to signal out the commanding officer's orders.

The roaring cannons and mortars had caused the ground to reverberate beneath his feet. He'd clutched the sticks he used to beat the drum so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He thought he might have even cried the first time with the hail of bullets and the wailing of men surrounding him.

But there had been so much black smoke swirling around and dirt flying that if he had cried, no one had
noticed. He figured a few of the older boys had probably been crying as well. War was a hell of a thing.

He remembered a time when he'd thought that tears were a sign of cowardice. Before the war ended, he would have sold his father's ranch just to be able to work up a solitary tear, to be able to feel anything except weary and eager to get home.

“Be just a few more minutes,” the blacksmith said, snapping Matthew out of his reverie.

He nodded. “I'm in no hurry.”

Hurry had no place on a cattle drive. They'd been moving the cattle up from the southern part of Texas for close to four weeks now. They were a couple of weeks shy of reaching Fort Worth.

Jake had heard rumors that the farmers in Kansas weren't too keen on cattle coming through. Some were sneaking into herds at night and starting stampedes. So Jake had decided to see if he could pick up a few extra hands.

If Matthew's horse hadn't thrown a shoe last night, he might never have had a chance to watch the trail boss hire the newest hands. Jake would have left him to tend the cattle.

Not that he would have minded. He was comfortable with the loneliness that crept over a man while he was watching a herd.

But then, if he'd stayed with the cattle, he wouldn't have spotted the kid.

He was having a difficult time understanding what had possessed him to follow the kid after Jake had dismissed him. Maybe it was because he reminded Matthew of the boys he'd come to know during the war. Frightened. Homesick. Pretending to be brave, hoping that if they convinced others, they could convince themselves. Boys like himself—growing up too dang fast, dying too dang young.

The boy had a face like so many others before their first battle: innocent looking, hopeful. Full of dreams that had yet to fade with the harshness of reality.