The Heart's Frontier (27 page)

“No, swing it the other way. From right to left.”

She dropped her arm too fast. The momentum of the rope continued, and circled once around her neck. The end of the loop caught her in the face.

“Ow!” She couldn’t help gasping at the stinging slap.

“Are you okay?” Luke’s concerned eyes scanned her face. “That’s gonna raise a welt.”

Terrific
.

She managed a smile. “I’m fine. Let me try again.”

As he backed away once more, she untangled the rope from her neck and recoiled it around her arm. She checked the size of her loop and grabbed it in the same place he had instructed. This time when she raised her arm, she swung the rope right to left, the way he said. The rope whirled above her head.

“You got it.” Luke’s encouragement heartened her. “Swing a little faster.”

She did as instructed. The loop failed to open, stubbornly remaining shut. She might as well have been swinging a clothesline over her head.

“Your wrist is locked, Emma. Loosen it up.” Luke’s voice, raised enough to cover the distance between them, sounded every bit as patient as it had a moment before. Why, then, did she feel like an unteachable dunce?

Rebecca’s shriek of success pierced the air. “I did it! Look, Luke. I lassoed my stump!”

The watching men responded with applause and whoops of congratulations. Luke turned to award her a big grin. Emma let her rope drop again, but this time she released the other side and covered her face with her hand. One welt was too many already. As the rope lost momentum, it wrapped around her body.

Wonderful. I’ve managed to hog-tie myself
.

The expression on Luke’s face when he turned from Rebecca back to her was carefully clear of pity. She flushed hotly. The complete lack of visible emotion said it all. Behind her, the audience fell silent. The fact that they didn’t laugh at her expense was probably meant kindly, but their silence was even more humiliating than their jokes.

“I guess I’m better at cooking and sewing than roping stumps.” Her gaze avoided his face as she unwound the rope from her body.

“It takes practice.” He took a step forward to help her recoil the rope. “Come on. Try it one more time.”

Giving up and slinking off to nurse her embarrassment alone sounded like a much better option, but Emma bit back a sigh and repositioned her feet.

“That’s good. Take hold of the noose here.”

When he positioned her hand this time she was too miserable to feel a single tingle. She did as instructed, gripped the rope in exactly the right place, and when he stepped back she swung the loop up above her head, right to left. Her wrist was loose. Her body swayed slightly on her feet in motion with the circling rope.

“That’s it! You’ve got it going.”

Griff and Jesse and the others echoed Luke’s cheer. Emma risked a quick upward glance and saw that her loop had, indeed, begun to open up. Not a wide circle like Luke’s, but sort of a long oval in the shape of a giant cucumber. She increased the pace of her arm, remembering to keep her wrist loose, and the cucumber became a watermelon.

“Good,” Luke shouted. “Can you feel how your movements affect the lariat?”

“Yes, I feel it.” She focused more on making her wrist work like the axle of a wagon and the lariat the turning wheel.

The watermelon became a pumpkin.

“Now look at your target. Take aim, and when you’re ready, you’ll release the lariat when it swings around to the front. Keep your movements smooth. Have you got your eye on your target?”

A movement a little ways beyond the stump drew Emma’s attention. A line of steers wandered past on their way to the watering hole. An idea took shape and bloomed in an instant. Leave the stumps to Rebecca. She would lasso a cow.

An oblivious steer stopped and lowered its head to tear up a mouthful of grass.

“Yes,” she shouted back to Luke. “I see my target.”

“Okay. Whenever you’re ready, let her fly.”

She did. The release wasn’t quite as smooth as she planned, but at least the lariat sailed through the air and didn’t slap her in the face. The pumpkin shriveled back into a cucumber, and the long loop wavered unsteadily before dropping toward the ground.

When it landed, Emma could hardly believe her eyes. The loop had managed to snag on the point of one long steer horn. Startled, the animal raised his head, and the rope slid all the way over the horn.

With a shriek of victory, Emma pulled the rope tight. She turned her head to grin at Luke.

In the next moment she was jerked off her feet. Instinctively, she grasped onto the rope and was pulled face first across the ground as the startled steer took off in a run.

“Emma!”

Luke’s voice sounded from somewhere behind her, but she couldn’t look back at him. Her eyes squeezed tight as she was dragged across tall grass and prickly sagebrush bushes. She was dimly aware of other voices joining Luke’s—Rebecca’s and Papa’s—and farther away, Jesse’s and Griff ’s.

Her body sailed over dips and ripples in the land like a stone skipping across a pond. Her shoulders felt as if they had been pulled from their sockets with every ditch. The shouts behind her persisted, and she managed a backward glimpse.

A parade of people ran after her. In the lead, Luke’s face shone blood-red, and his hands cupped his mouth as he shouted. Behind him, Rebecca had gathered her skirts above her knees and seemed intent on proving that she could still outrun the boys. Papa was close behind Rebecca, and Charlie brought up the rear. Every mouth was open as they screamed in her direction.

Finally, Luke’s voice rose above the chaos, and she heard what he was saying.

“Let go of the rope! Let go!”

Until that moment, she had not realized that she still clutched the rope in a death grip. Well, of course. What a dunce.

She let go with her left hand first, and dropped her arm behind her back. When she’d freed herself from the coil of rope, she released her right hand. Her wild ride across the prairie ended abruptly, with her face planted in sagebrush.

Luke caught up with her first. She found herself being lifted off the ground by strong hands, and in the next instant her body was turned and crushed to his. His arms encircled her with such force she couldn’t manage to get air into her lungs.

She didn’t care in the least.

“Emma!” She heard his voice break. He relaxed his hold and held her at arm’s length. “You scared the dickens out of me! You could have been killed.” His eyes moved as he searched her face. “Are you okay?”

Okay? Well, mostly yes, except for her head ringing from his embrace. She took a quick inventory. Her hands stung from where the rope had burned them. Her shoulders ached. Where was her apron? Gone somewhere. Grass and dirt and even sticks clung to her dress, and a large rip along the side seam showed that Papa’s trousers would need to be mended as well. Her face stung as though she’d scrubbed it with a thorny rosebush. But all her bones appeared to be in one piece.

“I’m not hurt,” she said as Rebecca arrived, followed shortly by Papa, huffing and puffing and scanning her head to toe for signs of injury.

A huge sense of victory welled up inside her as Charlie arrived. She grinned at Rebecca, and then she turned a look of triumph on Luke.

“I lassoed a cow.” She didn’t bother to filter the pride out of her voice.

Luke grinned, and Emma’s heart twisted in response. “Yes, you did. But your technique needs a little work before you try that again, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, and then she allowed him to lead her back to the wagon.

At least she’d proven she wasn’t a complete fool.

L
uke hovered nearby as Mrs. Switzer attended to Emma’s wounds. She sat on the tongue of the chuck wagon, her posture stiffly erect, and winced as the scrapes on her face were washed with a clean cloth dipped in a cup of murky liquid.

“What is that stuff?” he asked.

Mrs. Switzer answered without looking away from her task. “Violet tea.”

“You mean, like the flower?”

The woman nodded. “The leaves. Keeps infection away.”

“Doesn’t do anything thing for the pain, though.” Emma winced again as the cloth scrubbed at a scratch on her cheek.

McCann stuck his head out of the chuck wagon’s canvas cover. “It’s an old granny remedy. Won’t do a thing to help. The only person who feels better is the granny who uses it.”

Creased lips tightened into a line as Mrs. Switzer daubed at the last remaining abrasion, but at least she didn’t snap back a reply.

With the dirt washed away, the wounds on Emma’s face didn’t look nearly as bad as Luke had feared. When she stood, he saw that she had changed into a different dress, this one with obvious signs of mending. It must have been one recovered from the rustlers’ attack and stitched up by Mrs. Switzer. Strips of cloth were wrapped around each palm.

“Rope burns?”

When she nodded, he cringed. Nothing was more painful than a rope burn.

Griff sidled up to join them and peered into Emma’s face. “You okay, gal?”

Emma replied without hesitation. “Yes. Sore and stiff, but everything will heal.”

A chuckle started down deep in his belly and twitched at his lips. “I’ll never be able to get that picture out of my mind. That steer running scared, and you dangling along behind him at the end of that rope. And you.” He slapped a hand across Luke’s back. “You running after her screaming your head off, and the other girl after you, and then their pa, and then Charlie bringing up the rear.” All effort to suppress his mirth evaporated, and Griff gave himself over to laughter. He bent over, hee-hawing and slapping a hand on his thigh. “That was the funniest thing I ever saw in all my born days.”

Luke’s first instinct was to flare up on Emma’s behalf. But then he saw her laughing right along with Griff, even bending over with a hand across her middle. The sound of her laughter bubbled like water over a rocky creek bed, and for a moment all he could do was listen. Even Mrs. Switzer was having a hard time not joining in, her lips twitching like an antsy child that itches to break free from the firm grasp of his mother and run for the open.

Actually, the whole thing was kind of funny, now that he thought about it. He joined in with a chuckle.

Griff managed to recover himself. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay, gal. Good job lassoing that steer.”

“Thank you.”

Still chuckling, he wandered off, taking the laughter with him and leaving an awkward silence in his wake. Mrs. Switzer hung close to her granddaughter’s side, while Luke cast about for something to say. The sight of the scrapes on Emma’s smooth skin, and the slightly purplish welt on her cheek, bothered him. All his fault, of course. The rope lesson had been his suggestion, and a stupider one he couldn’t imagine. And what was the point? An excuse to get closer to her for a little while, and look what came of it.

The funny thing was, those scrapes and bruises didn’t detract from her beauty even a mite.

Aware that Mrs. Switzer’s eyelids had narrowed as she watched him, he tore his gaze from Emma’s and nodded toward her hands. “Those have to hurt.”

Her head dropped as she looked at the bandages, and her shoulders lifted in a shrug.

“Well, obviously you don’t need to worry about riding the herd anymore. You can take the wagon beside your grandmother. Griff can handle the left flank by himself.”

With a jerk, her head rose and her gaze snapped to his. “But I want to ride.”

His eyes squinted as he took in her scratches and her patched dress. “You’ve had quite a ride already today, Emma. By nightfall you’re going to be sore and bruised all over. You ought to take it easy.”

“On a wagon?” She scoffed. “The wheels going over bumps and ditches jar me straight through to my bones. A saddle will be far more comfortable.”

Mrs. Switzer wrung the cloth she’d used to bathe Emma’s wounds and remarked casually, “A folded quilt will cushion the hard bench.”

Emma’s forehead creased as she watched her grandmother snap the cloth straight and fold it into a neat square. Then she turned to look directly into Luke’s eyes. Her chin rose.

“I want to ride the horse.” Her tone left no room for argument.

For some reason, Luke couldn’t stop a slow-spreading grin. There was something extra appealing about a woman who knew what she wanted and insisted on getting it.

After another hour of rest, Luke gave the orders for the outfit to get the cattle moving. The herd had spread out as they grazed, so the riders urged them into a tighter pack and set out on another long march. Shallow streams snaked throughout this part of the Chisholm Trail, so the cattle stayed well watered even though they were not given time to graze.

A few hours into the afternoon, Luke spotted a couple of long land swells in the distance. Between them lay a fairly narrow pass. They could easily navigate around the low hills, but he decided to take the opportunity for a head count. They would arrive in Hays tomorrow evening with their expanded herd, and he wanted to have a good number to report.

Signaling to McCann to follow, he applied his spurs and his horse leaped forward. The chuck wagon surged after him, the cook applying his whip to the team. The others would know exactly what he intended and lead the herd appropriately.

When they approached the pass, McCann pulled the wagon to a halt on the left and climbed down from the bench.

Luke pointed to the hill and said, “You take that side.”

McCann climbed to the top while Luke directed his horse toward a position across from the cook. They were in place before the front edge of the herd arrived. Then the count began. With part of his mind, he wished that they could have hauled that rocking chair up here and set Jesse to counting so he could be down there in the lead. But that thought was quickly forgotten as he concentrated on keeping track of the number of cattle that surged past him down below.

Griff and Morris had galloped ahead to take the point positions. Between the two of them they kept the herd moving through. Jonas’s oxen blended in obediently and marched through. When Jesse passed below, he folded his hands behind his head and stretched out long, a leisurely, teasing grin on his face. Luke took a moment to grimace at him and then kept counting. He heard Griff calling instructions to Emma and Rebecca, and the girls moved through the pass in the midst of the cattle without incident.

When the last steer was north of the pass, Luke called across the gap. “How many do you make it out to be?”

The reply was instant. “Two thousand five hundred and twenty-four.”

“Twenty-one,” he corrected with a shout.

McCann shook his head. “You must have blinked.”

Laughing, Luke swung up into the saddle. They had started out back in El Paso with two thousand and fifteen head of Triple Bar beef. It wasn’t unusual at all to add or lose a few head along the way, as less hearty cattle succumbed and range cattle joined the herd unnoticed. But they had increased their count by twenty-five percent. Some had been rustled, of course, but because their brands had been sliced off, the proper owners couldn’t be identified. And he had custody of the rustlers to prove his outfit innocent.

He kneed his horse down the hill and followed the chuck wagon through the pass. On the other side, a horse and rider waited. Jonas urged his mount forward to fall in step with Luke’s.

His mood light, Luke awarded the man a smile. “Well, Jonas, it’s almost over. We’ll be in Hays by tomorrow evening.”

Jonas’s serious expression did not lighten. “And then?”

“Then you can go home. You said your farm isn’t too far from there, but if it’s late you’ll want to stay the night. My treat,” he added. “I’ll buy your supper too.”

The man did not turn his head but kept his stare fixed ahead. “What happens then for my Emma?”

Jonas’s meaning slammed into Luke. If he’d been walking, he would have stumbled. This wasn’t a friendly conversation between men. This was a father determined to discover Luke’s intentions for his daughter. And judging by the look on Jonas’s face, he wasn’t too happy to be having it.

“What are you talking about?”

A stupid answer that made him look dimwitted, but it gave Luke a few seconds to gather his thoughts.

“I see the way she watches you, the way she smiles when you smile.”

Emma’s image rose in Luke’s mind, that engaging smile on her lips and reflected in her eyes.

Jonas turned his head and caught Luke in a direct glance. “You watch her the same.”

He couldn’t deny the words. From the moment he opened his eyes back in Gorham and found himself looking up into her face, he couldn’t stop watching her, trying to figure out what went on behind that impassive expression that she obviously learned from her father. But when she let an emotion peek through, he felt it all the way to his core.

“I suppose I do,” he admitted.

Saying the words gave them extra weight. Jesse had sensed it from the very first, and though Luke denied any attraction between them, he’d known. He’d chosen to ignore it until his responsibility for the Triple Bar herd, and the men of his outfit, were met.

“My Emma, she is a Plain girl. Do you know what this means?”

“I know she’s Amish, Jonas. Anybody can tell that by looking at her.”

He shook his head. “Being Plain is more than our dress. It is more than the
kapp
our women wear, or the beard our men grow when we marry. It is more, even, than the church we attend. Being Plain is our life. We dedicate every action, every thought, to the Lord who saved us. We agree to live by the
Ordnung
under the direction of our church leaders
.” The gaze he fixed on Luke became compassionate, almost pitying. “Being Plain is something you will never understand, and Plain is what my Emma is.”

A protest rose in his mind.
No. Emma is so much more than that
. But he found he couldn’t form the words, not in the face of Jonas’s stare. So he merely nodded and said nothing.

“You are a good man, Luke Carson.” Jonas’s voice dropped low. “But you are not a good man for my Emma.”

The words hit him like hailstones pounding the prairie during a storm. He’d barely become aware that the feelings he had for Emma might be something deep, something lasting, and already he’d been rejected by her father. A man Luke respected enormously.