High Plains Bride. Valerie Hansen

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СКАЧАТЬ amazed it’s come this far in such a short time.”

      “Hey,” Zeb drawled with a lazy grin, “you told me this was the perfect place to build. I’m just glad to see that so many others agree with you.”

      “So am I. Start my order out with forty boards, as long as twelve feet if you’ve got ‘em. Once I’ve used those I’ll see what else I need.”

      “Done. Where you headed now?”

      “Home. I’ve got plenty to do. Those heifers are dropping more calves every day. See you Sunday?”

      “Of course. Can’t miss church or Cassandra would have my hide.” He chuckled. “I think my sister wants an escort more than anything else so she can show off those new dresses and hats of hers. What better place than in church?”

      “And it also might do your soul some good,” Will gibed.

      “You just mind your own soul and I’ll look after mine,” Zeb shot back. He eyed the sky. “Take care riding home. The weather looks a bit changeable.”

      “Will do. And you try to keep the sawdust out of your boots.”

      “That’ll be the day.”

      Will was still laughing at their parting exchange when he mounted up, gave his horse its head and let it start home without much guidance.

      It was just as well that the sorrel was used to the trail, he mused, because he was preoccupied by thoughts of the pretty young woman he’d just met in Johnson’s mercantile. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty years of age, yet she’d had the sober bearing of a much older person, as if she were carrying the weight of the world on those slim shoulders.

      “And little wonder,” he muttered, recalling the way she’d had to keep the children in line and handle the shopping while her father wasted time talking with other men. Will frowned as he thought of the derogatory references he’d overheard her father make about her as he’d passed the raucous group of men on his way out of the store. The old man was obviously cruel and vindictive. If he also drank to excess, as Will’s own father had, that poor young woman was trapped in an unspeakable home situation. And so were her siblings.

      Racking his brain, Will tried to recall the girl’s name and failed to come up with anything except that her father was Amos Carter, her brother was Johnny and the orphans had similar names that each started with an M. She must not have mentioned her own name, he concluded, because he surely would have remembered. Everything else about her, from the deep blue eyes that matched the color of her dress to her dark, silky hair was crystal clear.

      And speaking of dark things, he added, growing concerned as he glanced at the sky, it was starting to look as if Zeb’s weather prediction was right. The previously empty sky was beginning to cloud up and show signs of an impending storm. Will could see for miles once he topped the hills to the southwest and it was obvious that the weather was about to change for the worse.

      Pausing, he looked back at the beautiful, placid river valley and the fledgling town he’d helped found. The church spire to the east and Zeb’s mill to the west framed a Main Street lined with half a dozen stores. Across Main, backed up against the river and parked beneath a grove of cottonwoods, sat the ragtag group of temporary tents, shacks and wagons that Zeb had mentioned.

      Those shelters would offer little protection against the upcoming storm. Will could only hope that the settlers would find refuge somewhere safe. The frequently occurring severe storms on the open plains could be dangerous—even deadly. And it looked as if they were in for another deluge within the next few hours.

      Spurring his horse, he headed for his ranch at a brisk canter. There wasn’t a lot he could do for the longhorns he had grazing on the open prairie on both sides of the river, but it was sensible to send a few hands, including himself, to try to prevent a stampede among the critters closest to his house and barn. He just hoped a herd of nervous buffalo didn’t decide to run over his corn plot or trample his corrals the way one had during a bad lightning storm last summer. This storm was coming in fast, and would probably hit hard, pushing the livestock into a frenzy.

      He pressed onward, hoping and praying that his instincts were wrong, yet positive that they were not.

      The wind had increased and the sky had darkened menacingly by the time he reined in between the main ranch house and the barn. Several of his hands were already mounted and had bridled an extra horse, apparently awaiting his return, while the rangy ranch dogs barked excitedly and circled the riders.

      “Clint, you and Bob take the south ridge,” Will shouted. “I’ll ride more west, then circle back to you.” He gestured as he dismounted. “This looks like a bad one.”

      “Yeah, boss,” the lanky cowhand replied. “It ain’t gonna be pretty, that’s a fact. You want a fresh mount?”

      “Yes.” Will threw a stirrup over his saddle horn and began to loosen his cinch. “Where’s Hank?”

      “Already forded the river to try to round up the stragglers over there.”

      “Good man.”

      Clint nodded and passed the reins of the extra horse to Will, then spurred his mount and headed south with his partner as instructed.

      Left alone, Will switched his saddle to the fresh horse, turned his tired sorrel into a corral and mounted up. He’d thought about taking the time to close the storm shutters on the house but had decided he shouldn’t delay getting to the herd. A building could be replaced fairly easily and besides, Hank was no longer inside where he could be hurt if it collapsed. Should this weather spawn a tornado, as Will feared it might, the old ranch cook would be much safer riding the range with him and the others, anyway.

      Spurring the new horse, he raced toward open country. “Thank the good Lord I don’t have a wife and family to look after, too,” he muttered prayerfully.

      His mind immediately jumped to the settlers in town, and the ones in the wagon train—to the pretty young woman in charge of so many children. Surely her father, or whoever was leading their party, would be wise enough to tarry in High Plains until the weather improved.

      Emmeline was walking beside the family’s slowly moving, ox-pulled wagon while her mother lay inside on a narrow tick filled with straw and covered by a quilt.

      Ruts in the trail made the wagon’s wooden wheels and axles bind and squeal as they bounced in and out of the depressions and jarred everyone and everything. Pots rattled. Chickens hanging in handmade crates along the outside of the wagon panted, squawked and jockeyed for space and footing on the slatted floors of their wooden boxes. The team plodded along, slow but sure, barely working to move the heavy wagon on the fairly level terrain.

      Glory had quickly tired of walking. Emmeline had carried her on one hip for a while, then put her inside with their mother, in spite of the ailing woman’s protests that she simply could not cope with even one of her offspring.

      Hoping that her father couldn’t hear her softly speaking, Emmeline gripped the top of the rear tailboard to steady herself and whispered hoarsely, “Hush.” She raised her head and gestured toward the man walking beside the oxen and prodding them with a staff when they faltered. “You know you’ll make Papa mad again if you raise a fuss.”

      She hated having to be so cautious all the time, but the alternative was a beating for СКАЧАТЬ