“Easy, boy,” he told his horse. “It ain’t likely they’ll take after me in town.”
The Yankees drew up at the far end of the street, then turned and started back to town. As they thundered toward him, Carl noticed a young girl opposite him, evidently trying to decide whether to cross. She hesitated a moment, then bolted out into the street. In the middle, she looked around at the approaching soldiers, tripped, and fell into the road.
Without thinking, Carl spurred his horse into the street, leaned out from his saddle, and plucked the arising girl from the muck. Sherando carried them across the road while the Yankees whooped and whistled as their horses rushed by, venting their disappointment. Carl got down the street, turned a corner, then pulled up and set the girl on her feet and slid off his horse.
“Hush my mouth! That was the foolest thing I ever seen a body do!” Carl made no attempt to stop the hot words from tumbling out of his mouth. He glared at the girl, standing in the street with her chin up and her eyes flashing, auburn hair disheveled, the front of her clothes mud-caked and dripping. “You surely could have been killed, and that’s a fact! You keep clear away from that gang of Yankees, you hear? Darn fool girl, anyhow.” He got on his horse and left her standing there, pridefully biting back tears of relief. Then he rode away, shaking mud and slime off his arm, and muttering to himself.
~~~
Carl dismounted at Rulon’s fence and tied his horse, then rapped on the door. Marie answered and looked him over a moment before letting him enter.
“Did you fall off your horse, brother?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
Carl glared at her. “Don’t start in a-teasing me, Marie,” he warned, stalking into the room. “Where can I clean up?”
“The well is in the back. I’ll bring you soap and a towel if you’ll tell me how you got so dirty.”
“Keep them. I ain’t going to give you the satisfaction.” Carl left through the kitchen.
Marie heard the squeak of the windlass as she headed toward the stairs. “Stubborn,” she proclaimed. Before she had gone up two steps, someone rapped in the front door again. Marie sighed, came back down, and opened the door.
“Ellen Bates! Whatever happened to you?”
“Please let me come in. I’m afraid those nasty Yankees will bother me again.” Ellen’s voice quivered dangerously, and Marie stepped back to admit her. Then she closed and bolted the door.
Ellen Bates was covered in the front with a slimy layer of mud. She stood by the door, shaking and dripping on the floor. Marie grabbed her arm and led her to the fire.
“Set here by the hearth while I get some water to clean you up.” Marie went toward the kitchen, then halted. “Ellen, my brother Carl just went into the back yard with his arm all covered with mud, and in such a rage. Does he have anything to do with the state you’re in?”
Ellen moaned and covered her face with her hands. “Is that who he was? I’ll never be able to face him.” She got up and moved toward the door. “I have to leave.”
“Oh now, you ain’t going anywhere.” Marie barred her way. “I won’t let you go out there looking like you fell down in the road. Oh lawsy! That’s what happened, ain’t it.”
“I was crossing the street in front of those stupid Yankee soldiers running their horses down the way, and I tripped and fell. Your brother kicked that big horse of his and fetched me out of there. Then he set me on my feet and cussed me up and down. He really flapped his tongue some at me,” she mumbled. “You’ve got to hide me before he comes in.”
“You’re not afraid of Carl, are you?”
“Not afraid. Just shamed. It was highly foolish of me to try to beat those Yankees across the street, and to get plucked out of the mud like a rag doll.” She shuddered. “I’ll never be able to hold up my head around him my whole life long.”
“That’s likely, but you can’t keep from seeing him. He’s here to take me on home. Ma needs
me right now. We’re going….” Marie looked sideways at Ellen. “I mean, we’re going to be busy with…the planting.”
“Marie, you’re telling a fib. What’s happening?”
“I’m sorry, Ellen. I can’t say.” She sighed. “But I will tell you, real soon, I promise. We’ll clean you up, and I’ll find some clothes so you can go home.”
Marie left Ellen by the fire and went into the yard. She found Carl washing his shirt in a bucket of water. As she approached the well, Carl flicked drops of water at her and grinned.
“I’m sorry I was so fierce with you,” he said. “Seems like ever since I got home, I’ve been muddy more than clean, and it’s wearing on my nerves. Once, a cow knocked me into the mud, and now I’m filthy on account of a dumb girl.”
“Well, that ‘dumb girl’ was coming to visit me, and she’s out in the parlor dying of fright that you’ll cuss at her again. Carl, how could you?”
“What? She’s here?”
“She’s my best friend.”
“You surely do pick dumb friends.”
“I ain’t looking to fight with you, Carl. You had no business yelling at her, though.”
“She nearly got us killed by a bunch of Yankees I had trouble with once before.” He held up his dripping shirt. “Look at that. I was on my way home and they cut off all my buttons. Claimed I was violating my parole. I do not favor them casting their eyes on me again, seeing as how they’re running the show hereabouts.”
“Ellen knows she done a fool thing, but she’s sorry. You’d best come in and make amends for yelling at her.”
“Not me, Sis. Let her die of fright. I ain’t apologizing for giving her something she earned.” Carl put on his wet shirt and tied it closed with some bits of string.
“I see. Well, she needs to clean up, so if you don’t aim to meet her, you’d best remain out here.”
Carl mumbled something.
“What did you say?”
“You don’t want to hear it.”
###
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Ride to Raton
Chapter One
As soon as James Owen heard the Spanish priest’s final amen, he stepped back from the makeshift altar in the Colorado meadow and made his legs carry him to the edge of the forest. Behind him he knew Ma, Pa, and the rest of the family and guests were crowding around to congratulate the bride and groom.
The bride was Ellen Bates—who’d been his fiancée.
And the groom was his brother, Carl.
His own brother...
James gagged.
When his stomach had emptied itself over the pine needles and columbines, he straightened up, chest heaving, and gripped a sapling until the quivering left his legs. He yanked his high, stiff collar loose and threw it on the ground, wiped his mouth with the back of his shirt sleeve, then threw a quick glance behind him.
Carl now sat down on the chair his brothers had used to bring him to the meadow. The bridegroom’s gunshot wound was bleeding; a crimson stain spread across the hip of his trousers. Ellen fussed around, pointing at his brothers, Rulon and Clay. She shooed off the other cowboys, who seemed eager to put her on their shoulders for a shiveree.
Ma was looking toward James, her forehead furrowed with worry. She took two steps toward him, then stopped. He cleared his throat and spat, straightened his shoulders—which ached from the strain of keeping himself tightly under control—and took the path that led through the forest to the ranch headquarters.
He heard Ma call out, “James!” then “Rod, go see—”
“Leave Pa out of it,” James grunted so low that she couldn’t possibly hear him, and kept moving. He stamped through the trees, pounding his fist into his open hand and wishing it was Carl’s face. He approached a holding pen, where a wild horse wheeled and snorted, upset by the young man’s noise.
James swore at his brother for getting injured. When he gets well— He pressed his lips tightly together, as though to
restrain his vengeful thoughts.
The black horse watched every move James made, its wary eyes following him as he approached. It snorted, sniffed the air, then whirled around to track his progress along the fence line. James looked at the beast that Carl had caught as the Owen men returned from Texas with a herd of cattle and a crew of cowboys. When a gang of ruffians had kidnapped two young ladies, the Owen crew had confronted them in a gun battle. Carl had been sorely wounded.
A harsh sound escaped James’s throat. It wasn’t quite a laugh. He took Miss Ellen. I’ll take the mustang.
James stalked into the shed, snatched a rope from where it hung on a peg pounded into the wall, and stalked out again. Entering the enclosure, he leaned against the gate and built a loop in his rope. Let’s see if the Texan’s roping trick works. He looked up.
The black snorted and moved off as far as it could get in the pen. James stepped toward the horse, holding the rope behind him. He crowded the animal to one side of the corral, then flipped the loop up from the ground and around the horse’s neck.
Gripping the rope with one hand, he ran to the horse, grabbed a handful of mane, and hauled himself up. The horse tried to shake him off, but he got his right leg over its back just as the animal reared on its hind legs, bellowing. James stayed on, clamping his knees against the rough hair and bending low over the neck.
You’re not so easily rid of me.
The black met the ground stiff legged, screaming, and James felt his stomach crowding his throat. He swallowed hard, digging his boots into the barrel of the animal as it whipped up its heels, tucking its head toward the earth. Then the two of them were airborne, and James braced for the shock of landing against the black’s spine. His teeth jarred together, then again and again and again as, pitching, bucking, whirling, the beast tried to get James’s weight off its back.
“Blasted devil horse,” he muttered as he came down hard, a little off center, and grabbed for a new fistful of the stiff black mane hairs. But the horse was in the air again—head and heels together, back arched—and James lost his grasp on the mane and the rope. Flying off, he landed on his left shoulder in the center of the ring.
“You fool, you’re like to be killed!”
James shook his head to clear away his father’s strident voice, looked for the horse, then rolled clear when it dove at him with stiff front legs. Rising from the dust, he ran after the animal, grabbing for the trailing rope with his left hand as he kneaded his sore shoulder with his right.
“Don’t you know when you’ve had enough?” yelled his father as he opened the gate. “Get out of there, you—”
James had the rope in his hands and wrapped it around his left arm. Then he dug in his heels to bring the horse under control.
“You’re crazy,” Roderick Owen shouted, shutting the gate and lending his weight to the end of the lariat whipping free behind his son.
“Get off my rope!”
“You’re double dumb crazy.” Rod held on, hauling backward.
“Get off! You’re cutting my arm!”
Rod let go of the rope, and James was jerked forward, scrambling to keep his feet under him. Suddenly the animal quit fighting, its head drooping. It stood against the fence, quivering, its slick black sides heaving as it filled its lungs.
James flipped the noose off the animal’s neck and dropped it in the dust, to the accompaniment of catcalls from a line of spectators along the fence. Doubled over, hands on his knees, his gasping matched the horse’s. When he finally got his breath, he spat the grit from his mouth, surveyed the men peering through the fence, and waved his arms at them.
“This ain’t a free show,” he yelled. “You’all get away from here!”
The crowd broke up, each man muttering his displeasure as he drifted back toward the meadow. James watched them go as he kneaded his shoulder again. He turned on his father.
“Why’d you butt in on my business?”
“You were next to getting killed, trying to ride that outlaw horse.”
“I’m not talking about the horse. I’m talking about Miss Ellen. And Miss Jessica! You forced me to leave her behind in the Shenandoah and hatched a scheme to marry Miss Ellen to me. You got her pa to agree for a few sacks of provisions and a wagon!” James spat on the ground.
“It wasn’t quite like that.”
James ignored his father’s response as his words rushed on. “You dragged me across the country, preaching duty every day. I obeyed you. I put off Miss Jessica to court Miss Ellen. I did my duty, Pa, and I even grew fond of her. I looked forward to settling down, having a little house, raising up young—”
“Stop it!” Rod’s eyes narrowed. He squinted at his son’s left sleeve, watching a line of blood seep through the fabric. “You’re hurt, boy.”
James glanced at the sleeve, then shook his arm, wincing as pain lanced through the shoulder. He looked up, glaring. “Carl had no claim to Ellen, yet you let him take her from me. Did you think I wouldn’t mind?”
Rod Owen’s face resembled a limestone outcrop bristling with fire blackened buffalo grass stubble. His voice came out in a whisper. “It was Ellen’s choice, James. She loves Carl.”
“No!” James sucked in a ragged breath. “She wouldn’t gainsay her pa’s pledge.”
“James, there’s no telling what’s in the mind of a woman. Maybe Miss Ellen didn’t cotton to the idea of being traded for a wagon. I thought it was a good deal for both her and her folks. Somehow she didn’t come to care for you.”
“That didn’t matter to me!” James shouted.
“She came to love your brother, and when he saved her life, that was good enough for her pa.” Rod shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Set your mind to keeping peace, now, and we’ll get back to ranching.”
The young man’s breathing tore at his throat, and pain seared through his belly. “Peace?” He looked square at his father, then fury rose up and he jabbed the man’s chest with his forefinger. “My pride and my affection for that girl is stomped into the ground, and now you call for peace?” He swore, his voice venomous, and his finger jabbed harder.
Rod knocked down James’s hand. His voice was quiet, yet rumbled around the corral when he spoke. “Keep your place, son.”
James reared back, gathered himself, then spat on the ground. “There is no place for me here.”
Silence stretched like silver cobwebs between the peeled logs surrounding the two men. Even the horse was quiet. A bushy tailed squirrel rushed up a nearby pine tree, found a limb, and held its breath. Suddenly it chattered, scolding the frozen humans, then flicked its tail as it scuttled away up the tree trunk.
“Once you leave go of that anger, your place will be as large as your brother’s. We got a big job of work ahead, son. Now settle down and let’s get back to the party.”
James stood still, his head thrown back. He was silent.
Rod scowled. “I’ve preached peace amongst my sons as long as I’ve had them. It makes the work go smoother.” He rubbed his beard. “I need you here, James, but if you can’t keep…” His voice trailed off to silence.
James squinted at his father.
Rod pulled in a breath and held it a long time before he let it go. His words came out soft as a breeze down the mountain. “Son, I reckon you’re too prideful and angry right now to keep peace. Until you get free of that, the best thing is for you to light a shuck for someplace else.”
Chapter Two
As Amparo Garcés y Martinez wrung another rivulet of soapy water from the twisted white blouse she held in her brown hands, she gazed above the roofline of her home toward the sun-bathed mountains notching the horizon beyond Santa Fe. Puffy white clouds hung above the hills as though they were pinned on a clothesline stretched across the brilliant blue sky. Vegetation painted the slopes in variegated hues of greens and browns.
This is beauty, she thought, sighing, and glanced toward the shrine tucked into a niche in the corner of the courtyard. María Santísi
ma, is Heaven so lovely a place as Santa Fe? Is my dear papá there? Tell me it is so, Holy Mother. If I know he is happy, I can bear to live without him.
Amparo wiped one eye with the back of her hand, then gave the blouse another twist. I miss him so much, Little Beloved Mother. I never got to tell him goodbye.
She took a deep breath and let it escape slowly from between her full lips. Oh, Madre de Dios, give me a little of your strength. Help me to bear my burdens with a light heart.
Amparo remembered the blouse clasped in her slim hands, shook it gently to uncoil it, then thrust the garment into the rinsing pool of the stone laundry basin. A few drops of water splashed onto her richly embroidered green satin skirt. She frowned, exclaimed, “¡Vaya!” and grabbed for a dry rag to sop up the liquid before it spotted the stiff cloth. She dropped the rag to the flagstone beneath her soft slippers and raised her arm to her head to push back the fringe of soft black hair clinging to her damp forehead.
I am sorry, Virgen Santa. I became distracted. I know it is absurd to wear my best clothes for this task. But they are the only clean clothes I have left, and if I am to have anything else to wear, I must do the laundry myself. You see, the woman came home from her errand this morning and dismissed the maid before she could even begin the washing.
“¡Chica!” cried a disapproving voice from a doorway. Amparo jumped. The voice continued. “Why do you wear your good clothes to do the wash? You will ruin them, and I cannot buy you any more fine things.”
“Señora Catarina, you startled me!” The girl turned from the washtub and snatched up another blouse from a woven basket at her feet. “I could not help but wear these clothes. They were all I had left when you sent Lupe away.” She rubbed the blouse with a bar of soap smelling strongly of lye, then began to scrub the garment against the stone washboard in front of her.
A slender woman with thin red lips and wide eyes fringed with spiky black lashes stepped into the courtyard, her long black taffeta skirt swishing with the motion of her hips. She approached a pot of geraniums hanging from a bracket against the kitchen wall and, plucking a blossom, inserted it into the black knot of hair coiled at the back of her head.