Beyond the Trail. Six Short Stories Page 4

  For a while, they forgot about the snow, the hens, and the lack of flour. Only love existed in their cabin.

  Hamilton Horse Ranch

  Baker Prairie, Oregon

  April 1854

  Nora set the pot on the stove. While she waited for the water to heat so that she could scrub the wooden floor, she watched Nattie from across the room.

  Her youngest was curled up in Luke’s favorite armchair, a slate on her knees. She didn’t know how to write yet, but she moved the piece of chalk over the slate in a fairly good imitation. With her black hair, gray-green eyes, and the frown of concentration on her little face, she looked like a two-and-a-half-year-old version of Luke.

  “Where’s your sister?” Nora asked. Half an hour ago, before she had gone to sweep the bedroom and wash the windows, she had left Amy with the slate to practice her ABCs. As always, Amy seemed to have lost interest quickly.

  Without looking up, Nattie shrugged and mumbled, “With da horses.”

  It was as good a guess as any. Nora still remembered the last time Amy had disappeared. They had finally found her sleeping next to one of their draft horses.

  Outside, their dog started to bark.

  It wasn’t the furious barking meant to chase off a coyote or an intruder. Nora smiled. She recognized the dog’s greeting. Luke was home. “Hush, Bear,” Nora called.

  The sound of Amy’s crying drowned out the barking of the dog.

  Nora’s smile withered. Her heart lurched into her throat. She had rarely heard such anguished cries from Amy. She pulled the pot off the stove and rushed outside.

  Luke reined in her horse and dismounted, a frown on her face and a red-faced Amy in her arms.

  “What happened?” Nora hurried over and ran her hands over every inch of Amy. She didn’t seem hurt, but she was still sniffling.

  “She climbed up on the top rail of the corral,” Luke said. Her voice trembled.

  Nora took one hand off Amy to squeeze Luke’s arm. “Did she fall down?” It wouldn’t be the first time that happened.

  “No,” Luke said. “She tried to climb onto one of the yearlings.”

  “What?” While far from being grown up, the yearlings had the unpredictable energy of adolescents and certainly weren’t safe for a six-year-old to ride. “What happened?”

  “She got thrown off,” Luke said. “Sailed right over the corral rails.” The horror of that scene was reflected in Luke’s troubled gray eyes.

  Once again, Nora’s hands flew over her daughter’s form. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  Her lips pressed together, Amy shook her head.

  “She’s fine,” Luke said, but her voice still shook. “She landed on a patch of grass. I made her move her arms and legs and looked her over before I let her stand up. There’s not a scratch on her.”

  “Then why is she crying?”

  “She’s not crying because she’s hurt.” Luke joined Nora in brushing the grass off Amy’s clothes. “She’s crying because I didn’t let her get back on the horse.”

  Nora stopped in her attempts to dry Amy’s tears. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Where on God’s green earth did she get that? Certainly not from me. Nora had always been careful around horses, even a little afraid in the beginning. When she opened her eyes again, she looked right into Luke’s and had to smile. While Nattie might look like Luke, Amy was the one who had caught her horse fever. Then Nora looked at her daughter sternly. “Amy Theresa Hamilton, I know you remember what Papa keeps telling you about the horses.”

  Amy continued to stare at the ground.

  Nora glanced at Luke, waiting for her to deliver the lesson again.

  “Horses look tough, but they get scared easily,” Luke said without missing a beat. “And they’re really big animals, so if they run and you get in the way, you could get hurt.”

  “But they’re my friends,” Amy said, sniffling.

  “Do you remember the time you bowled Nattie over when the two of you were racing to be the first to pet the puppy when we first got him?” Luke asked before Nora could think of anything to say.

  Nora smiled. Two years ago, Luke would have let her handle this while she slunk away to take care of her horse. Now all awkwardness regarding the children was gone. Luke had learned to reason in a way a child could understand.

  Amy nodded.

  “You didn’t mean to hurt your sister, did you?” Luke asked.

  “No.” Loud sniffles almost drowned out Amy’s answer before she finally calmed down enough to talk. “But now she has a bump, like you.” She pointed at Luke’s nose, looking a little jealous as if that bump were a badge of honor.

  “See?” Luke reached down and tapped Amy’s nose. “So the horses could hurt you without even meaning to, just because they’re so much bigger than you. No going off to see the horses without permission. And especially no riding. All right?”

  “All right.”

  “Promise?” Luke held out her hand.

  With a solemn expression, Amy laid her small hand into Luke’s bigger one. “Promise.”

  They shook on it.

  As soon as the handshake ended, Amy asked, “Can I go check on Measles?”

  Luke exchanged a glance with Nora, then nodded. “Yes, but stay outside the stall. Don’t get her riled up.”

  When Amy ran off to greet Measles, Nora stepped closer to say a proper hello to Luke. At the last second, she jerked back. “Eww. I thought it was Amy who reeked like that, but it’s you.” Instead of the comforting mix of leather, horse, and Luke, the strong smell of manure wafted up from Luke.

  Luke pinched a piece of her shirt and pulled it away from her skin. “I dove out of the saddle, hoping to catch Amy. Guess I landed in something not quite sweet-smelling.”

  “Guess so,” Nora said and kissed her anyway. “Now go change shirts, hero.”

  * * *

  Carefully breathing through her mouth, Luke slipped off the soiled shirt. She poured water into the washbowl and wet a cloth. Habit made her hurry through her ablutions. They had taught the girls to knock before they entered the bedroom, but a lifetime of getting dressed quickly was hard to forget.

  She strode across the room and pulled a fresh shirt from a dresser drawer.

  The door swung open without warning.

  “Luke!” Nora rushed into the bedroom.

  Luke’s heartbeat doubled. She pulled up the shirt and pressed it against her bound chest.

  Nora stared at her, looking as startled as Luke felt. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “No, it’s all right. Just ...” Luke gestured at the door, then at her state of undress. “It’s an ingrained reaction. If something startles me, I just can’t help it.” She forced herself to move slowly as she lifted up the shirt and slipped it over her head. Nora had earned her trust, and that meant not hiding anything from her—not even her body.

  Nora’s gaze followed the path of the shirt as it slid down.

  Over the course of the past three years, Luke had slowly gotten used to Nora studying her body, but now Nora continued to stare. “What?” Luke asked.

  Nora’s gaze flitted up to meet Luke’s. A blush rouged her cheeks. “Sometimes, during the day, I almost forget what’s under your clothes,” Nora said, her voice low.

  With stiff fingers, Luke jerked on the leather lacings that tied the opening of her shirt.

  Two quick steps brought Nora within touching distance. Gently, she tucked the tail ends of the shirt into Luke’s pants, letting her hands caress the body underneath. “It’s not that I want to forget. I know most people would consider it wrong,” Nora leaned forward to whisper into Luke’s ear, “but I really like what’s underneath your clothes.”

  Warm breath brushed Luke’s ear, making her shiver. She slid her hands over Nora’s hips and pulled her closer.

  Their lips met.

  Finally, Nora pulled away, panting. “Oh!” She blinked. “You’re so distracting. I came in to tell you that Measles had her foal while we were bus
y berating Amy for her little adventure.”

  “What?” Luke ran for the door, for once not bothering to put on the vest over her shirt.

  As she bounded off the front porch, two hens hopped out of the way, flapping their wings, and the rooster crowed indignantly.

  “I knew it.” Luke had suspected that Measles would go into labor the minute she turned her back. Like many mares, Measles preferred to give birth when she was alone. Horses could stop the foaling process for days if they felt uncomfortable with being watched.

  Luke bolted to the horse barn, not waiting for Nora who had stopped to pick up Nattie.

  A week ago, she had put Measles into the large stall at the far end of the barn, where it was quieter. Today, curious horses poked their noses over the stall doors as Luke hurried down the center aisle.

  “Papa,” Amy whispered urgently. “Look!” She had long ago learned not to shout around horses, no matter how excited she was. She was clinging to the stall door with both hands, standing on her tiptoes on an overturned bucket so she could see into the stall.

  Luke stopped next to her and peeked inside. Her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dim light, but then she made out the contours of Measles, who was already back on her feet. The mare nosed through the straw, rubbing her soft lips over the foal that lay on its side.

  “Look, Papa. The foal got red hair, just like me.” Amy fidgeted on the bucket, almost knocking it over.

  Luke heaved her up, into her arms. The girl was getting too big to be held like this for much longer. “I see it,” she said, not as enthusiastic. While the sorrel coat was nice, she’d hoped for a multicolored foal. Measles’s first foal didn’t have any spots as far as Luke could see.

  Measles nickered softly to her foal and pushed at its rear end with her nose.

  Its long, thin legs splayed and trembling, the foal stood.

  Luke grinned.

  A small white blanket, littered with reddish dots, covered the foal’s hind end.

  Nora stepped up next to her, balancing Nattie on one hip. Now four pairs of eyes were watching the newborn foal stagger through the stall until it found its mother’s teats and began to suckle. “Oh, how beautiful,” Nora whispered. “A multicolored foal—just like you hoped for.”

  Luke’s heart sang. She wrapped her free arm around Nora and pulled her close against her side. Could life get any better?

  “Papa,” Amy’s voice broke the comfortable silence. “Can the foal be my horse? I can teach her to be a good horse, like Measles.”

  Luke nearly choked on her own spit, almost making her drop the girl. “Um.” She looked at Nora.

  Nora stared back. “Sweetie, you’re just six years old. You’re too small to take care of a horse, much less train a foal.”

  Tears glittered in Amy’s pleading green eyes.

  This was the one thing Luke still hadn’t learned: how to face tears from one of her daughters. “You can help me with the foal,” she said. “And if you do a really good job, in a few years, when the foal is grown up and has her own foal, that’ll be yours and you can train her. All right?”

  Their neighbors would talk and shake their heads at Luke for letting a girl train a young horse, but Luke didn’t care. She had promised herself that their daughters would be allowed to do whatever they wanted.

  Amy threw her arms around Luke’s neck in a strangle hold.

  “Luke Hamilton! That girl has you wrapped around her little finger,” Nora said, but her voice sounded affectionate, not really scolding. She glanced down at Nattie. “Both of them do.”

  Luke leaned over and kissed her cheek. “All three of them.”

  “Papa?” Nattie tugged on Luke’s sleeve.

  “Yes, little one?”

  “I want baby,” Nattie said.

  Nora’s groan made Luke chuckle. “You want a baby horse too?”

  Nattie shook her head.

  “Then what?” For Luke, it was often easier to understand Amy’s needs and interests than those of her younger daughter. Never before had she seen two siblings more different than these two.

  Amy rolled her eyes. “She wants a baby sister because I don’t want to play with her.”

  Heat shot up Luke’s neck and suffused her cheeks. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and shot Nora a helpless glance.

  Now Nora, equally red-faced, was the one who chuckled. “That’s what you get for spoiling them. Try to talk your way out of this one.”

  “Thanks so much,” Luke mumbled. She looked into Nattie’s gray-green eyes, which were watching her expectantly. “Um, how about a kitten?”

  Nora laughed so loudly that even Measles looked up from her nursing foal.

  “Sssh, Mama!” Amy poked her in the shoulder. “No loud noises around the horses.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Nattie said, quite seriously. Thankfully, she seemed to have forgotten all about her wish for a baby sister—at least for now.

  Phew. Luke wiped her brow. A child was the one thing she could never give her family, no matter how hard she worked.

  “Hey,” Nora whispered into her ear. “Don’t look so glum. You think either of us could survive a third little one like this? Let’s try raising these two without going crazy, all right?”

  She’s right. Luke turned, touched her lips to Nora’s, and said, “I’ll give it my best.”

  ###

  The Art of Pretending

  Independence, Missouri

  September 12th, 1856

  What a pity. Frankie Callaghan glanced at the cards in her hand again. Ten of hearts. Jack of hearts. Queen of hearts. King of hearts. If she drew the ace, she’d have a chance at a royal flush. I haven’t had a hand that good in, well, forever. She suppressed a sigh and threw down her cards. “I fold,” she said to the men playing poker with her.

  The gray-bearded man to her right clapped her on the shoulder. “Maybe you’d have better luck at the faro table, young man.”

  Luck is not the problem. Frankie wasn’t here to win. Winning the pot with a royal flush would draw attention, and that was the last thing she needed. At least folding gave her a chance to lean back and look around while the poker game kept the men around her busy.

  She glanced toward the mahogany bar and the man who was responsible for Frankie’s visit to Independence. Jeffrey Donovan was deeply in conversation with a golden-haired beauty. It wasn’t hard to guess that she was Tess Swenson, the brothel’s madam. She was older than the other women in the room, and the quiet confidence in her gaze told Frankie that she was a woman used to being in a position of responsibility.

  Tess Swenson stood and adjusted the low-cut bodice revealing a still firm body. She gave Jeff Donovan a nod and pointed at the stairs. To anyone watching, she would look like a prostitute inviting a customer up to her room.

  Frankie wasn’t just anyone, though. Her trained eye noticed that Tess’s gestures were neither seductive nor submissive; they had the resoluteness of a commanding officer. Tess was practically ordering Donovan up to her room.

  He’s not just a customer to her. They know each other in more than the biblical sense.

  Tess trailed after the man. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned back around. Her vigilant gaze swept the room, making sure everything was all right with her girls.

  Frankie quickly looked away, not wanting to be noticed. She chugged down her lukewarm beer, hiding behind the glass until Tess had turned back around.

  The old man next to her grinned at Frankie. “You had your eye on her, huh? No luck on that front either, young man.”

  Frankie would be keeping an eye on Tess Swenson, but not for the reason the old man was thinking.

  * * *

  “Vanish?” Tess repeated. She stared at her business partner through narrowed eyes. “How can five thousand dollar just vanish—for the second time this month?”

  Jeff Donovan shrugged. “Every cent of the money was there when we sealed the box, but when the stagecoach arrived in Salt Lake City, the mo
ney was gone.”

  Tess had understood that the first time he had said it, but she bit her tongue and curbed her impatience. She couldn’t afford to antagonize Donovan. His name was on each of the businesses Tess owned, except for the brothel. He didn’t provide even half the money or the business acumen in their partnership, but Tess hadn’t chosen him for that. She had enough money and business sense on her own, but no one in town would do business with a woman, much less with the madam of the brothel. To the world, Jeffrey Donovan was the sole owner of a stable, a boarding house, the best restaurant, and the biggest saloon in Independence, while Tess pulled the strings behind the scenes.

  “Any idea what happened to the money?” Tess asked, fighting to stay calm.

  “There’s a lot of things that could have gone wrong between Independence and Salt Lake City,” Donovan said. “Twenty days is a long time.”

  Sending the money by stagecoach wasn’t exactly safe. Tess knew that. Sometimes boxes got lost, but twice in a row was more than just a coincidence. “Did you send an armed guard to accompany the stagecoach like I told you to?”

  “I even sent two, but it was of no use. By the time the stagecoach reached Salt Lake City, the money was gone.”

  “What about the stage driver and the people running the stage stations along the way?” Tess asked. “Do you trust them?”

  Donovan ran his hand through his thinning hair. “I don’t know them well enough to trust or distrust them.” He looked at her like a soldier awaiting his commander’s orders.

  What now? Tess silently considered her options. Turning to the sheriff for help was not one of them. The brothel was a thorn in the sheriff’s side already. If he took a closer look at her businesses, he would discover that Donovan wasn’t the sole owner. Tess couldn’t risk that. “I’ll think of something,” she said. “Until further notice, don’t send off any more money or goods.”