Waltz with the Lady Page 20

  She wanted him to kiss her. Every nerve and fiber of her body ached for his lips to cover hers. But the stark realization of the consequences, fired by the look of no return she saw in his eyes, sent her struggling to her feet.

  She turned away, arranging her hat and dusting off her skirt. She went swiftly to remount her horse, but all the time she was aware of Ransom staring at her back.

  Nearby the orphaned calf lamented piteously.

  Without another word Gat mounted his horse and with the help of Coyote, he successfully moved the yearling calf towards the main herd.

  All the while he felt like he’d swallowed a bull snake that wouldn’t keep still. He’d take her on any terms and he’d seen the look of desire in her eyes. Not even the blind, deaf and dumb could miss the lightning that was striking between them. He’d almost kissed her then; only some innate sense of self-preservation had kept him from it. It was something neither of them wanted to happen—but it would happen.

  The rest of the afternoon while he herded cattle back toward the ranch Gat kept his distance from her, but she never left his sight or his mind. They’d both been bit, just how deep he couldn’t reckon.

  It was after sunset by the time the herd was bunched up and settled on the outskirts of the Hedemen ranch. Gat shadowed India, amazed she could still sit upright in the saddle. He was dog tired himself and even Bess had ridden in hours before. He watched her pull up Charlie by the corral and slide off. Her legs seemed to buckle when she hit the ground, but she held onto the saddle a moment and through sheer determination began to uncinch the girth strap. A cowboy offered her his help, but in a barely audible voice she politely refused the offer.

  Meanwhile Gat unsaddled his own horse while still keeping an eye on India. She uncinched her saddle and then collapsed under its weight when it slid off. He bit back a grin. He should have helped her, but he knew she had just enough spirit left in her not to accept his help. Breathing deeply a few times, she managed to get back on her feet to drag the saddle over to the corral fence. Around her, cowboys easily hefted their saddles up on the fence. Stubbornly struggling amid offers of help, she finally got her saddle up. She led Charlie into the corral and slipped off his bridle. Gat was surprised to see Charlie follow her to the gate; then he understood when she gave him a lump of sugar. Each cowboy forked a load of hay from the haystack into the corral for the horses and India followed in turn.

  A few minutes later, when Gat lined up with the hands for supper, Eugenie called to him.

  “Where’s India? You boys did bring her back with you, didn’t you?”

  Gat looked around a little puzzled. “She came back all right. She was over by the corral last I saw her.” He eyed the outhouse, the door opened and a cowhand stepped out. He set down his plate and headed for the corral. Nobody there had seen her. Perplexed, he scanned the darkness, then he walked around the haystack. There she was, collapsed and sound asleep in the hay.

  Gat smiled to himself. This was no place to leave a lady, especially a lady who could do a man’s work. He picked her up in his arms. She snuggled comfortably against his chest and mumbled an incoherent phrase.

  He carried her inside the cabin and laid her gently on the bed where little Sarah was curled up in sleep. To his mind beauty and innocence lay side by side. For a long moment he studied her face, holding back the desire to touch the dust caked, tangled, auburn hair and taste her sun-chapped lips. Letting out a low whistled breath, he rubbed his neck with his hand. He’d been bit all right, and if he didn’t stop the venom from spreading, the woman would turn him as crazy as a coyote yodeling at the moon.

  Chapter 14

  When branding finally began, over a thousand head of cattle milled around the outskirts of the Hedemen ranch. India readily volunteered to help Eugenie and Clarett with the cooking, for branding calves was where she drew the line in doing men’s work. To India’s mind cowboys weren’t human, but a separate species. They prided themselves on not making things comfortable, so as to enhance the “roughing it.” After four days of riding in the four directions rounding up cattle, she’d had her fill of cattle, men and men’s work. During the days she had chased bellowing critters, and in her dreams at night they had chased her. There were other things in her dreams: a face that haunted her in daylight and sensations that left her blushing in the dawn.

  Her dreams came often and always stopped at the same place, where Gat fell to his knees before her and confessed his unworthiness. India thought about it as she gazed across the dooryard, spying Gat at work in the branding corral. More comfortable in the saddle than in a cushioned chair, he went about his work of heeling and branding calves like a schoolmistress writes the ABCs. He possessed a rugged arrogance which could never be misconstrued as conceit. She knew he would never get on his knees to anyone, especially her. So why did the dream always end that way, leaving him impotent and her hanging on the edge, wanting more? The limits of her experience became the only answer and her own ignorance of the mysteries of love always brought the dreams to a halt. Lady Jane had offered to enlighten her on the subject and now India was deeply sorry she had passed up the opportunity. If by never marrying she was going to miss something, at least she wanted to know what she would be missing.

  “We’d better get started,” Clarett called from inside the cabin.

  India turned back inside and walked over and sat down in the pine rocker.

  “Give Miss Simms the slate board, Elizabeth, and she can write it all down,” Clarett said, kneading bread on the table, while Eugenie, peeling apples, acted as counsel.

  “They’ll soon be hungry as crickets at harvest time,” Eugenie said. “We need to figure how many loaves of bread, corn cakes and biscuits, how many chickens, prairie hens and quail, how much beef, boiled, fried and stewed, we’ll need to feed the hands twice a day.”

  “I don’t think I can throw another plucked chicken in the pot,” Clarett said, sighing.

  Young Elizabeth leaned dejectedly against the loft stepladder. “And I don’t think I could pluck another chicken. I’d rather help with the brandin’.”

  “That’s men’s work, young lady,” Eugenie pronounced.

  “Then how come Bess gets to help?” complained Elizabeth.

  “Because she’s a good hand at it.” Eugenie straightened up with a long intake of breath.

  “Then if a woman is a good hand at it, it must be women’s work too,” said Elizabeth.

  Eugenie started to answer, but her voice broke in mid-sentence.

  “Are you all right, Eugenie?” India asked suspiciously.

  “Well, for the time being, but I think it’s beginning. Elizabeth, you’ll have to help Clarett bake. Send Jacob to gather eggs, and tell Samuel to fetch water. Emma, Cora,” she called through the door.

  The pair came scampering inside. “Yes, Mama,” they chimed in unison.

  “I want you girls to kill three chickens and pluck them for the stew pot.”

  “Oh Mama, do we have to? You know how we hate that,” whined Cora.

  “Listen, you do it, we can’t ask Miss Simms. She wasn’t bred to farm life.”

  India didn’t want special treatment. “I can help the children.” She stood up and followed them out the cabin door to the chicken coop by the barn. She opened the gate and without any warning a rooster, talons arched, flew at her. India ran. The rooster chased her around the barnyard in vindictive pursuit.

  “Hit ’im with a stick! Hit ’im with a stick,” cried Emma and Cora, jumping up and down.

  India didn’t have a stick, but she discovered she had an audience. The cowhands were lined up on the corral fence watching as if it were a Sunday cockfight. Soon they would be placing bets.

  Emma came running with a hatchet. At the sight of the hatchet the rooster seemed to become even more infuriated. Dust and feathers flew. Like a gladiator, India swung the hatchet through the air, missing wildly at first, then on the odd swing she knocked the chicken out. Whoops and whistles sounded fro
m the corral fence.

  Feeling triumphant, India turned and took a bow. “You don’t think I’d be run off the place by a chicken, do you?” The cowhands hooted with laughter.

  “Chop off its head, quick!” cried Cora.

  India swallowed. She might be able to knock it out, but she knew she’d never be able to chop off its head. The rooster twitched.

  “Hurry, hurry, he’s comin’ ’round,” declared Emma.

  India’s eyes swept the faces of the onlooking cowboys, then stopped short on Gat’s. His glinting black-eyed gaze aggravated her predicament. He had an infuriating “I dare you, lady” grin on his face.

  She could just hear him: If you want to vote like a man, you have to chop chicken like a man. That did it! Gritting her teeth, India picked up the rooster and carried it over to the chopping stump. She lifted up the hatchet, took aim, pinched her eyes shut and swung. Upon opening her eyes, she nearly collapsed on the spot.

  The headless rooster flopped and wing-flapped off the chopping block and across the barnyard. India leaped back from the spattering blood and swallowed back rising nausea. But her tribulation wasn’t over, for Emma and Cora had caught two more squawking chickens which they held by the feet near the execution stump.

  If she didn’t do it quickly she would never do it. “Emma, Cora, put the chickens on the block one after the other.”

  She brushed a feather from her face, clamped her lips tight and swung. She missed! Rowdy advice sounded from the cowboys. Again she drew up and swung the hatchet. The chicken’s head flew off as its body in turn flopped like the rooster’s. Cora quickly laid the other chicken on the block, and India, more experienced now, lopped off its head first try. She was no longer able to stomach the spectacle of headless, flopping chickens, and with the pretext of putting the hatchet away she left the yard and went into the barn. Here she let loose her revulsion and vomited in the straw. She doubted she’d ever be able to eat chicken again. If chicken killing was left to her, everyone would eat bread and milk.

  After gathering her composure she walked back into the yard. Luckily the cowhands had returned to their work. Emma and Cora were dipping the chickens in boiling water so the feathers would come out easier. That task completed, the three sat down to pluck feathers.

  Before they could finish, Elizabeth came out of the cabin. “Mama says things are goin’ faster than she thought. I’m ridin’ out to fetch Pa.” She leaped up on a saddleless horse and galloped off with skirts and hair a-flying.

  India set aside the chicken and hurried into the cabin. Clarett was putting a kettle of boiling water on the stove. “I think we’re going to have us a baby today.” She smiled.

  “What should I do to help?” India asked.

  “Just convince her to stay down. She thinks she has to help get things ready,” Clarett said, on her way out to the water pump.

  “Oh, Eugenie,” India hurried over to the bed. “Now’s no time to work. You need to rest.”

  “If it’s rest I need, I’m sure livin’ in the wrong place.” She gave a half-laugh and then sobered. “I sure miss my mother at times like this.”

  India fluffed the tick feather pillow and put it behind Eugenie’s back. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took Eugenie’s hand in her own. “I just don’t understand how you could leave your family and come out west? Hasn’t it been hard?”

  “Oh yes, it’s been hard. The day we left Kentucky I wept hankies full over leaving my family and friends for the wild and woolly West, and I’ve cried an ocean of tears since.”

  “Why is it the woman who must follow the man? If you didn’t want to come West, you shouldn’t have had to. You should have a say in the matter,” said India.

  “Oh, I had a choice. I’ve always had a choice. When I married Russ, I already had ideas of my own about the husband being the head of the family. I took the precaution to sound him on “obey” in the marriage pact. Approval or no approval, that word “obey” would have to be left out, I said to him.

  “I’d served my time of tutelage to my parents as all children are supposed to. I was a woman and capable of being the other half of the head of the family. His word and my word were to have equal strength. Still, I would have walked barefoot behind the wagon if he had told me I couldn’t come with him. Russ was what I wanted, not a fancy house in Kentucky. So I came and I’m not sorry.”

  Eugenie’s breath quickened with the onset of a labor contraction, and then with its passing her breathing became even again. “Can I help you?” India asked, distressed at the obvious travail Eugenie was going through.

  “No, when you get this far along, there’s not much anyone can do. The pain will come and go and I’ll just have to ride it out.”

  India moved so she could massage Eugenie’s shoulders and back. “Eugenie, would you stop having children if you could?” She couldn’t forget Mary Beadle’s plight.

  Eugenie laughed, humorlessly. “Don’t ever ask a woman in childbirth if she’d stop having children. Of course she’ll say yes. But then after it’s all over and the pain is forgotten, you see the little darlings and think it’s well worth it.”

  “I’ve heard there are ways to keep from having children. Someone I met…” India hesitated slightly, “who said…”

  “I suppose she told you about the ‘French Secret,’” said Eugenie.

  “Yes, she did, but she didn’t tell me what it was.”

  “Well, I know about the French Secret. Some of my children are French Secrets,” Eugenie chuckled. “It isn’t too dependable, but on occasion it serves its purpose.”

  “But…but what is it?” India asked, still thinking of Mary Beadle, for whom such knowledge would probably do little good because her husband would construe it as a wicked notion.

  “The French Secret is a silk hankie,” said Eugenie with a grin.

  “A silk hankie?” India’s curiosity overrode her embarrassment. “I still don’t understand.”

  “I guess a woman has to be married to understand,” said Eugenie.

  “Since I don’t intend to marry, at least tell me what I’m missing. We trade recipes for pound cake and remedies for laundry stains, but no one says anything about what goes on between a man and a woman. What is it like to love a man, Eugenie?”

  Despite her discomfort Eugenie released a soft knowing laugh, and then she said thoughtfully, “It’s like being thirst-parched on a devilish hot day and then finding all the cool water you can drink.”

  “That’s all? Won’t you tell me anymore?”

  Eugenie’s green eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Has Gat Ransom touched you?”

  India shifted uncomfortably. She looked at her hands, then up at the pine log ceiling. “I don’t think he respects me. I…some things have happened on the trail.” Her eyes began to cloud. She swallowed and blinked back her emotion. “I had to strip down to cross a river and…there was a storm and I got soaked…at a mining camp…” As she confessed to Eugenie all the events that had happened between her and Gat, she felt wretched. “Believe me, Eugenie, I didn’t mean to compromise myself.”

  “Has he touched you?” Eugenie’s question was more insistent.

  “No…yes…well, at the river he kissed me. He said…well, never mind what he said. We had a fight. Now he’s polite, but distant. That’s what I want, but he’s lost his respect for me, and then the dreams keep coming.”

  Eugenie swore under her breath. At first India thought she was having a labor pain, but then she realized Eugenie was still intent on their conversation. Suddenly, India regretted saying anything. She would never have dared tell even Sissy the whole of it.

  With a slow sigh, Eugenie pursed her lips and then patted India’s hand. “I won’t say nothin’ against Gat, only he’s a loner and a heartbreaker. He’s the best and worst kind of man to fall for. For your own sake I’ll tell you what you want to know, but not now.” She clutched the bed quilt tightly and began breathing deeply. “I’ve got my own bread to bake.”


  After the contraction had passed she said, “Where is that man? Just because he takes his own sweet time with cows and horses doesn’t mean he can with me. We ain’t the same!”

  She asked India for a drink of water. Clarett had returned and so, after fetching the water, India went outside and looked toward the hills hoping to catch sight of Russ.

  Gat had seen Elizabeth ride out for Russ minutes before and when he looked up again from his work he saw India outside watching the horizon. He thrust the branding iron back into the fire, pulled off his gloves, climbed the corral fence and walked toward her. Ever since that day in the mountains during roundup she’d avoided him. When he went in the cabin she left, when he left she went in. Around the corrals she’d visit with the boys, but if he walked over she’d find an excuse to leave. Let her deal her cards, he’d concluded. They’d come back to her threefold.

  “How’s Eugenie?” he asked.

  “Doing her best. But she would feel better if Russ showed up.” She turned to go back inside the cabin.

  He caught her hand and led her around the corner of the cabin, out of sight of the corrals and barnyard. A look of misgiving crossed her face, but she leaned up against the split logs where he braced his hands in a relaxed stance on either side of her. His face hovered above hers, the fragrance of wild mint touched his nose and he saw a tiny bouquet clipped in the upsweep of her hair. He felt a tightening in the groin and resented the power her nearness wielded over his body.

  “Have you something to say or are we just taking in the sun?” she said, feeling weak in the knees. Everything about him exuded masculinity. His broad shoulders and muscled chest strained beneath the leather of his vest and woolen shirt, while his unwavering black eyes gave her no quarter.

  His lips curved into a slow smile that eventually touched his eyes. “I wanted to talk to you in private.” He paused, prolonging the moment. There was a tranquillity about her he’d missed and now, looking into the serenity of her sapphire eyes was like coming home. “I wanted to thank you.”