Texas Blue (9 page)

Rose looked confused for a moment, then laughed. “You mean Em.
E-m.
She’s taking care of the horses while Papa is away.”

“Em,” he said. “Short for Emily?”

“I guess,” Rose said before taking a bite, then adding when she finally swallowed, “Maybe they started calling her Em so they wouldn’t get her confused with our Emily. Two Emilys on the ranch could be confusing.”

Lewt had spent his life reading people, and he had no trouble realizing that if Rose wasn’t lying, she was definitely leaving something out. He didn’t want to push it. After all, Em was just someone he needed to reach a goal. As soon as he figured out enough to bluff his way through a conversation about the ranch, he’d never see the tall woman who dressed like a man again.

He gave Rose his full attention. “I hope I didn’t miss anything today while I was out riding.”

She smiled sweetly. “Oh, you did. We planned a party for Friday night. Beth is so kind, she never wants to leave anyone out, so we’ll have the house full of people. She’s even thought of organizing a small band so we can dance. If Beth is in the room, everyone always has a grand time.”

Back to singing Beth’s praises. Lewt was starting to wonder if something wasn’t wrong with the girl if her big sister had to keep pointing out her good side.

“And”—Rose beamed—“this afternoon, we all gathered round the piano and sang songs. You should have heard Mrs. Allender. She has a voice angels would envy. Boyd joined us for a few minutes, then spotted a book on horse breeding he hadn’t read. We didn’t see him for the rest of the afternoon.” Rose giggled. “Just between you and me, I’ll bet he was sitting just outside the door listening.”

“Did Davis and Emily join in any of the singing?”

“Davis did, but Emily said she’d be our audience while she sewed.”

Lewt leaned back. Apparently, he’d missed nothing. He would have had a hard time not looking bored, and the only songs he knew were not proper for anywhere but saloons. This act of being a gentleman wasn’t as easy as he thought.

Rose tugged at his sleeve. “Tomorrow, if it doesn’t rain, we’re going riding and plan to have a picnic on the summit of the hill the Apache named Whispering Mountain. Did you know there is a legend that my ancestors used to believe that says if a man sleeps on the summit of Whispering Mountain, he’ll dream his future? My papa tells a story about how his father climbed to the summit when he was just married and settling here. He dreamed his death in a battle beside a mission. He spent the next twelve years of his life building the ranch and preparing his three sons to take over when he died.”

“I’ve heard that story.” Lewt smiled. “Duncan talks about how three little boys, his father one of them, took over and held the ranch against raiders.”

“My papa was twelve when his father was killed at the Battle of Goliad. Teagen McMurray had to become a man the day they learned his father was dead. My mama, when she met him years later, said he was hard as granite. She was a widow with three tiny girls who saw his heart from the first. Even today when she looks at him, anyone can see the love in her eyes.”

Lewt lowered his voice. “So Teagen McMurray isn’t your real father?”

“He’s our real papa and he’d shoot anyone who questioned it. Our ‘real father’ lived in Chicago and was given to drink. I don’t remember much about him except that he liked to yell at my mother. When he died of pneumonia one winter, Mama brought us here. She married Teagen and we became a family. Sometimes Papa grumbles and complains that it took us too long to get here. He says he was lonely for a long time waiting for us to come.”

Lewt felt an ache deep down, as if a wound had bruised his heart. He didn’t know Teagen, the head of the McMurrays, but he knew what the man meant. When he’d been a boy he used to dream that he belonged someplace else, with other people. He’d dream that somewhere there was another world where people cared if he was warm or had food. Once in a while he’d almost believe that if he stepped sideways or jumped around a corner that world would be waiting for him, welcoming and warm.

Only it never appeared, and survival left little time for dreams.

He smiled down at Rose as she handed him a slice of pie. He had to marry one of these women. They knew how to build that comfortable loving world he’d never known. He told himself he wasn’t using them. Whichever one he married, he’d be good to. Better than good, he’d be caring. He never make her sorry she’d married him. Somehow, he’d figure out how to be the kind of man who’d marry a lady.

As they left the dining room, shy Emily took his arm. “We thought we’d all play cards tonight, Mr. Paterson. Do you play cards?”

The day’s exhaustion vanished as he said, “Now and then.”

Playing cards with this group was like fishing with a shotgun. Lewt offered to deal and as he did, he took control of the game.

First, he let Boyd Sinclair win. The rancher puffed up and informed the girls that they were no match for him. Lewt resented his superior attitude, but the ladies seemed to think it funny.

When Lewt shuffled again he tossed Boyd the winning hand, but to Lewt’s surprise, Boyd folded. The girls consoled him once again.

Lewt frowned. Apparently he didn’t understand the rancher as well as he thought he did.

Halfway through the evening he dealt a few hands where Beth won. She giggled with delight. Everyone, including Boyd, congratulated her on her brilliant play.

As the night aged and they all enjoyed the card game, Lewt found himself enjoying the game he was playing. He could tell a great deal about a man by how he acted when he was winning and, more important, how he acted when he lost. In life everyone wins and loses. The man who doesn’t handle himself well at losing usually can’t handle himself much better at winning.

Davis Allender rarely won a hand, but he never complained. In fact, he cheered the others on. By the end of the evening all three women were giggling and showing him their hands, and then he’d advise them. Boyd fought to win most of the time, but Davis walked away from the evening the real winner.

When the women said their good nights, Beth kissed Davis on the cheek for helping her. Lewt would have thought he’d be jealous, but to his surprise, he wasn’t. Beth was beautiful, but he had two others to pick from, and if she liked Davis, he didn’t mind.

The young man had kind eyes and a gentle way. He’d make the youngest McMurray woman a fine husband.

Lewt climbed the stairs to his room and collapsed. His leg still hurt, and hiding the fact through dinner and the card game had cost him energy he didn’t have. He was a man who needed little sleep, but this time he planned to take the night.

When he rolled over an hour before dawn, the throbbing in his leg finally woke him. He stood slowly, testing his weight on the leg, then tiptoed down the back stairs to the kitchen and stirred up the fire in the stove. A gentle rain tapping against the windows washed away any sound he made. He guessed it would be a while before the others woke. He planned to soak the bloody bandage off in a hot bath.

He found all he needed in the room they called the mudroom. Towels, a medicine box, a big tub, and lye soap. While the water heated, he lit one lamp in the kitchen and another in the mudroom. Then he put on a pot of coffee that would be ready before he finished his bath.

When he lowered his aching body into the tub, he couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh. Every muscle had been strained while working with the herd.

The water felt wonderful, and the slow rain outside settled his nerves. Lewt closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

S
OMETIME IN THE NIGHT DUNCAN MCMURRAY WOKE to the news that the cavalry wouldn’t be coming to help them. They received orders that if McNelly and his band had attacked the Mexicans on Mexican soil, the U.S. Army was not to render him any assistance.

Thirty rangers outside their jurisdiction. Thirty rangers against a mounted force of two hundred. The captain’s bluff wouldn’t last much longer, and they didn’t have their horses to outrun bullets this time.

Duncan counted his bullets and waited. This cloudy November day seemed as good as any to die. He heard firing now and then but kept his head low, waiting. He had no ammo to waste, no food for the past two days and little water.

Through the blackness, a bullet came out of nowhere and hit him in the leg as if the gods of battle just wanted to kick him while he was down. It sliced through the muscle just below his knee like a freight train on fire. Duncan swore and tied his leg with his dirty bandanna so he wouldn’t lose too much blood, but within an hour blood had pooled in a foot-wide circle by his leg and was soaking into the soil.

“You all right, Duncan?” Wyatt shouted from fifty feet away.

Duncan could feel the pain of the wound all the way to his scalp, but he yelled back, “Fine.”

“Good, I’m moving in some for a better possession. You got enough cover?”

Duncan glanced at the hollow he’d made beneath the rock. “I’m digging in,” he answered. With trouble calling, he lowered his body into the hole at least far enough to not be seen easily by someone riding past. “I’ll be all right.”

He felt like he was getting weaker, but calling out for help would pull another out of the fight and they needed every man standing his ground. “If the shooting starts, I may move back some.” He knew he’d need a head start to the Rio if they retreated. With his leg he’d be lucky to walk, much less run to the river. “Once the fighting starts, don’t worry about me. I’ll catch up to you on the other side of the Rio if we have to make a run for it.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Wyatt moved away.

Near dawn Duncan began to run a fever, and blood continued to drip from the soaked bandanna just below his knee. Now and then, if he remained perfectly still, he could almost feel a cool hand touch his brow. If he were home, the girls would take care of him. Emily would fret over him like she did a sick horse. Rose would boss him around, demanding he eat right, and Bethie would sing to him and pat his hand. They’d apologize for all the things they’d done to him and forgive him for all the things he’d done to them.

He and the girls might always fight and they’d been adopted into the McMurray clan just like he had, but Duncan considered them blood and he knew they felt the same way about him. If they knew he was in trouble they’d probably all three be riding like the wind to his aid. If something did happen to him, he knew without a doubt they’d see that his body made it home.

Duncan could almost hear them, and he felt a kind of peace knowing that he’d be buried on the side of a hill where for the rest of eternity he could look out over the ranch.

He slowly slipped into sleep, no longer concerned about the battle beyond the rock. No longer worrying about the fight.

As the sun touched the western horizon, Captain McNelly demanded that the cattle and the thieves who stole them be handed over to the rangers. He planned to stand his ground. No negotiations.

McNelly gave the bandits one hour to comply, and as darkness fell, the rangers prepared to fire.

All except one. As the cold wind howled, Duncan McMurray turned his back to the world and into the crevice beneath the rock and vanished as he drifted between life and death.

E
M LEFT THE SEWING ROOM WITH BLANKETS FOLDED neatly in the corner and made her way through the sleeping house to the kitchen. In a few minutes it would be dawn and her long day would begin. With the rain, she planned to make a quick journey for mail and supplies, then work in the barn. She doubted Lewton Paterson would want to join her there. It had been interesting having him tag along yesterday, but she didn’t want company today. The man made her nervous. She’d taken risks she shouldn’t have, and it seemed he’d been the one who always paid.

When she stepped into the large kitchen, she was surprised to find coffee already made. Rose usually woke early to start the bread, but not quite this early. Maybe, if her sister was up, they could have a few minutes to talk before anyone else crowded around. The only thing wrong with Em’s great plan to avoid the potential bridegrooms lay in the fact that she had to miss most of her time with her sisters. They’d developed a habit, these weeks alone, of each listing everything they did each day. Em found it interesting and she knew that when each finished describing her day, none would have traded with the other.