Beyond the Trail. Six Short Stories Page 8

Luke suppressed a laugh. Like any rancher’s daughter, Amy thought most problems could be solved by a good horse. “Don’t worry, you two. Santa doesn’t need snow. His reindeer can fly.”

  “Ooh!” Nattie stared at her with wide-eyed awe.

  Amy glanced back and forth between Luke and the rain outside, one eyebrow forming a skeptical arch. “Hannah says there ain’t no Santa Claus.”

  Nattie stomped her foot. “Yes, there is! Take that back.”

  Quickly, Luke stepped between them. “No arguing on Christmas Eve, girls. Why don’t you wait until tomorrow morning? If there are gifts in your stockings, then I guess we’ll know Santa really exists.” Luke wanted them to believe in Santa Claus for a little while longer, maybe because she had never gotten to celebrate Christmas as a child. Christmas was a family celebration, and living with her drunken mother in a brothel, Luke hadn’t been part of a real family. Now she enjoyed the wonders of Christmas through her daughters’ eyes.

  She put on her coat and gloves and took her hat from the peg next to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Amy left her place next to the window.

  “Looking for a Christmas tree.”

  “Ooh!” Amy’s eyes shone. “The picture in Mama’s book looks so pretty. Can I come and help pick one?”

  Nattie hurried over. “Me too?”

  Luke stood helplessly staring down at them. Normally, she loved taking the girls with her, but if she said yes now, she’d spoil the surprise of Amy’s Christmas present. “Not this time. It’s raining too hard.”

  The two disappointed little faces made her flinch.

  “Who wants to lick the spoon?” Nora called from the kitchen.

  “Me!” Nattie shouted.

  “No, me!”

  As their daughters rushed from the parlor, Luke blew out a breath. Good timing, love. She put on her hat and stepped out into the rain to hunt for the perfect Christmas tree.

  * * *

  Luke carefully directed Measles down a muddy slope. The mare was getting older, but she was still sure-footed. “Where is that grandson of yours hiding, old girl?”

  Measles flicked her ears back but didn’t answer.

  Rain dripped off her hat’s brim. Shivering, Luke pulled up her coat collar.

  Finally, beneath a stand of trees, she made out a band of horses. Three mares stood with their heads together, seeking shelter from the wind and rain. A few yearlings chased each other through the wet grass. Two of them rolled around in the mud. When they saw Luke, they scrambled to their feet and shook themselves. Mud spattered in all directions.

  Luke’s gaze skipped from horse to horse, searching for a particular one—the red-dusted colt Nattie had named Cinnamon. “There he is.”

  At Luke and Measles’s approach, Cinnamon lifted his head and looked up from his mouthful of grass. His gaze veered to his mother, the lead mare, but he didn’t run.

  Good. A calm horse is just what I need for Amy.

  When his mother, a red mare named Cayenne, had been born, Luke had promised Amy that the mare’s first foal would be hers. Cayenne’s colt had been born late in the year. When the other foals were weaned from their mothers, he hadn’t been old enough, but now it was time. She’d check him out now to make sure he looked his best, and then tomorrow she would ride out with Amy and bring him home.

  Just as Luke swung her leg over the cantle, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. One foot still in the stirrup, she paused and scanned the area.

  Nothing moved. Only the Molalla River gurgled on its way north.

  Had she imagined the movement?

  Luke had long since learned to trust her instincts. She grabbed her rifle and dropped down. Over Measles’s back, she again slid her gaze over the valley. Her skin prickled with the feeling of being watched.

  She focused on the line shack near the river. She had built it three years ago, when she hired her first ranch hand. But right now, the ranch’s riders were repairing the fence on their south pasture, so the line shack was supposed to be empty.

  Nothing moved in the small corral, but smoke curled up from the cabin’s chimney.

  Someone’s in there. She checked her rifle before she made her way over to the line shack, using the cover of the trees. Her rifle raised, ready to fire, she nudged the door with one boot.

  The door creaked open.

  Luke held her breath and peeked inside.

  The cabin’s one room lay empty.

  She released the air from her lungs and lowered her rifle but kept it cradled in the bend of her arm as she entered the cabin.

  Wood smoke engulfed her. A quick touch showed that the hearth was still warm. Water dripped from the logs in the fireplace.

  Luke frowned. Had someone quickly doused the fire when he’d seen her coming, not realizing that dousing the fire would create even more smoke?

  A blanket had obviously been used and now hung over the edge of the cot as if someone had hurriedly tossed it there.

  Had a traveler slept in the line shack and left in a hurry to make it home in time for Christmas? She had nothing against strangers using the cabin for a night or two. They were even welcome to some of the food as long as they left enough money to replace it.

  She stepped over to the rough-hewn shelf and checked the provisions.

  Some of the smoked bacon was gone, and the bag of dried peaches was missing.

  But whoever had helped himself to her food had left no note and no money.

  Luke gritted her teeth. Even though they weren’t struggling to survive anymore, she still hated when someone stole from her family. She’d have to ride to town right after Christmas Day and replace what was missing.

  Grumbling, she marched to the door and stepped outside. She was just about to close the door when she paused.

  Every instinct screamed at her not to turn away. Something wasn’t right.

  She banged the door shut, then opened it slowly, trying to avoid the creaking sound.

  The blanket hanging from the cot moved.

  Luke lifted her rifle. “Come out of there, thief!”

  The rustling of the blanket stopped, but the heel of a scuffed boot peeked out from under the cot.

  “I can see you. Come out, now!”

  The rest of the boot appeared from under the cot, followed by a pant leg that was too short and stopped halfway down the worn bootleg.

  Luke cocked her rifle, ready to defend herself should the thief jump out with a weapon.

  “Please don’t shoot,” the thief called as he crawled out from under the cot feet first.

  “Turn around,” Luke said. “Slowly.”

  Seconds later, Luke stared at a thin boy. Disheveled, blond hair fell into a hollow-cheeked face but couldn’t hide the bruises around his blue eyes and on his jaw. His hands, which he held out to show Luke he was unarmed, were dirt-stained and shaking.

  Anger crawled up Luke’s belly until she felt her face flush. Someone had hit the boy even though he’d barely reached puberty and couldn’t defend himself. She lowered her rifle, but the boy kept his wary stance. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  The boy just stared at her, watching her every movement with a rebellious scowl. His trembling hands gave away his fear, though.

  “What are you doing here?” She nodded at the table and the cot.

  “I just stayed the night. I wasn’t gonna steal anything, I swear.”

  Except for the food. Luke decided not to mention it. “Where’s your family?”

  The boy shrugged.

  “Do you have a place to stay? Any relatives in the valley?”

  Another shrug answered her.

  Luke knew what that meant. The boy was as alone as she’d been at his age. She remembered sitting on the backstairs, shivering in the cold, praying for morning to come soon. No child deserved to go through that on Christmas.

  “Come on,” she said. “You’re coming with me.” She would make sure he’d at least get di
nner and spend Christmas in a warm, dry place before he moved on. Nora would never scold her for bringing one more hungry mouth to the table.

  But when she opened the door, the boy slipped past her and ran.

  “Stop!” Luke set down her rifle and sprinted after him. “What are you doing?”

  The boy raced up the hill, slipping and sliding through the mud and the wet grass, running as if the devil were after him.

  Luke struggled to keep her footing. Mud splashed her calves and slid inside her boots, and she lost her hat as she leaped over a creek. Cold rain lashed her face.

  Damn, he’s fast. She gritted her teeth and tried to speed up. It wouldn’t do for Lucas Hamilton, successful rancher, to be outrun by a mere boy.

  The boy reached the top of the hill. His foot slipped out from under him, and he fell. He slid down the hill on the seat of his pants. When he skidded to a stop at the bottom of the hill, he jumped to his feet.

  Luke leaped and tackled the boy just as he regained his footing.

  They both went down and rolled around in a tangle of limbs and mud.

  Instead of lying still, the boy fought like a cougar.

  A fist hit Luke’s ear.

  “Ouch. Stop fighting me.” She managed to capture his wrists in both hands, but she needed her full weight and all her strength to keep him from bucking her off. Once again, Luke was reminded that in a physical fight, she was no match for a grown man. She had enough trouble keeping this boy from bashing her head in. “Goddammit, lie still. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not even handing you over to the sheriff. I just want to—”

  He thrust his knee between her legs.

  The padding in her pants softened the blow, but pain still shot through her. Groaning, she lost her grip on the boy.

  He slithered out from beneath her and struggled to his feet.

  Air returned to Luke’s lungs just in time for her to grab his leg.

  The boy went down again.

  Panting, Luke rolled around and held him down, this time making sure to immobilize his legs by sitting on them. Whoever said a kick between the legs is only painful for men is a goddamn liar.

  Despite her firm grip, the boy never stopped struggling. His blue eyes were frozen with fear, and his wild gaze seemed to stare right through her, maybe seeing something in his past.

  “Stop! Stop it, boy. I won’t hurt you. I’ll let you up if you don’t try to run away again.”

  The boy threw his weight against Luke once more, then sank into the mud and lay still. His chest heaved as he sucked in a breath. “All right.”

  “Promise not to run?”

  His mud-crusted lashes blinked up at her as if he was surprised that anyone would trust his word. Finally, he nodded.

  Luke rolled off him.

  Gasping, they sat side by side in the mud.

  “Why did you run?”

  The boy shrugged.

  He doesn’t trust me. Probably doesn’t trust anyone. “Come on. Let’s go get cleaned up and get some food in you.” She got to her feet and reached down to help him up.

  The boy hesitated, but then he took her hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.

  * * *

  Luke stepped onto the porch and dragged off her mud-covered boots. She gave a nod to the boy, who stood silently watching her. “Take off your boots outside,” she said, “or my wife will have both our hides.”

  Visibly paling, the boy took off his boots and placed them next to Luke’s on the veranda.

  When Luke opened the door, Amy hurried over. Her gaze traveled over Luke’s empty hands. “No Christmas tree?” The welcoming smile slid off her face and was replaced by a frown.

  Oh. Luke had forgotten all about the tree.

  Then Amy saw the stranger. Fearlessly, she stepped forward and looked up at the taller boy. “Hello. I’m Amy. Who are you?”

  The boy looked at Luke as if asking for help, and she gave him a nod of encouragement.

  “I’m Phin.” He shook the hand Amy held out to him and then stepped back.

  Nora stepped out of the bedroom, one arm around Nattie, who was shyly clutching her mother’s skirt. She took in the scene in her parlor. “It looks like you two need a change of clothes.”

  Luke smiled. How typically Nora. She didn’t ask who the boy was and what had happened for them to be covered in mud; she just saw a boy in need and offered help, trusting that she’d get the whole story later.

  And Luke knew she would tell her everything, not even leaving out the embarrassing mud wrestling and the kick between the legs.

  * * *

  Luke leaned back in her chair at the head of the table and watched Nora heap ham and potatoes onto Phin’s plate.

  The boy shoveled down food as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, barely chewing or looking at what he was eating. His gaze darted back and forth between the two ranch hands, who were regaling Amy with stories about wild horses, and Nattie, who chatted on and on about the gifts she might find in her stocking tomorrow.

  “Phin.” Nora touched his arm to get his attention.

  Phin paused with the fork half way to his mouth and stared at the hand on his arm. He didn’t lean into the gentle touch, but he didn’t move away from it either.

  He doesn’t trust men, but he’s got no problem with women, Luke thought. How ironic that Phin had flinched away from her.

  “Where are you from?” Nora asked.

  The noise level at the table instantly went down, and silence spread as everyone waited for the answer.

  Phin slowed his chewing and swallowed heavily. “Up north,” he said, pointing vaguely with his fork.

  “Canada?” Nora asked.

  Phin moved his head in a half-circle that could mean yes or no.

  “And no one is traveling with you? You’re all alone?”

  This time Phin nodded. “I’m almost fifteen. I can take care of myself.”

  Luke had been on her own at an even younger age, but she still remembered the many nights she went to sleep with an empty stomach and the many nights she’d forced herself to stay awake, listening into the early hours for bandits out to steal her belongings. She’d finally joined the dragoons to end her loneliness and aimless drifting. Of course, with the Mexican War still going on, becoming a soldier had been a jump out of the frying pan right into the fire.

  “And you’ve got no family left?” Nora asked. “No one who’d worry about you when you don’t come home?”

  “No one,” Phin said between two forkfuls of ham.

  Nora took in the fading bruises on his face and exchanged a glance with Luke. Her green eyes shone with unshed tears.

  Luke reached out and squeezed her hand beneath the table. Don’t take this on yourself, darling. You can’t suffer with every homeless child who comes along, or it’ll break your heart.

  “Do you want a roast apple?” Nora asked.

  The tense set of Phin’s shoulders loosened when the questions about him stopped. He nodded eagerly.

  Nora took an apple from its place over the fire, sprinkled cinnamon over it, and set it down in front of Phin.

  “Don’t burn your tongue,” Nattie said, sounding so much like Nora that everyone laughed.

  Hamilton Horse Ranch

  Baker Prairie, Oregon

  December 25th, 1857

  Little fists pounding against the bedroom door jerked Luke awake.

  “Mama! Papa,” Nattie and Amy shouted, but, as they had been taught, the girls didn’t open the door.

  Nora slipped out of bed. She leaned down to kiss Luke’s cheek. “Go get dressed. I’ll distract them until you’re ready to join us.”

  Ten minutes later, when Luke stepped out of the bedroom, breasts bound beneath her shirt and vest, Amy and Nattie jumped up and down in the parlor.

  “Papa.” Nattie grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the window. “Look. It snowed.”

  It wasn’t the mountains of snow Luke had grown up with back east, but a bit of snow had fallen ov
ernight. Now three inches of snow covered the corral, the tree branches, and the hills around the ranch. “So Santa shouldn’t have had any problems delivering presents last night,” Luke said. “Maybe you should go check your stockings.”

  “Wait.” Nora laid one hand on each of the girls’ shoulders, then glanced at Luke. “Can you go and get Phin first? From the look of things, I bet he never got to celebrate Christmas before.”

  Luke went over to the bunkhouse, where Phin had spent the night.

  When she opened the door, Toby was putting a new log into the cast-iron stove. Hank sat on his bunk, but the two other beds were empty.

  “Where’s the boy?” Luke asked.

  “Gone,” Hank said. “He’d already left when I woke up.”

  Luke trudged back through the snow to the main house, trying to find the right words to explain it to her family. The girls would be disappointed. They had wanted to show off their presents to the newcomer, and Nora had wanted to spoil him with good food and motherly warmth on Christmas.

  A strange noise from the ranch yard made her turn around before she reached the veranda.

  There, in the middle of the ranch yard, stood Phin. Sweat shone on his brow, and one sleeve of his threadbare coat was ripped. Both of his hands were wrapped around the slender trunk of a young white oak.

  Luke squinted over at him. “What are you doing?”

  Slowly, Phin crossed the ranch yard and propped the tree up against the veranda railing. Brown leaves bobbed up and down on the ash-gray branches. “Thought since you forgot the Christmas tree because of me, I’d get one.” He nodded down at the tree, cautious pride glowing in his eyes.

  Oh, Lord. Luke bit back a laugh. Guess we should have told him that Christmas trees are usually pines or firs. She reached out to give him a pat on the shoulder, but when he flinched back, she settled for a nod of appreciation. “Let’s get your tree inside. You’re just in time for presents.”

  * * *

  A tug on her sleeve made Luke look away from Phin and Nora, who were trying to find the best place for their Christmas oak.