Hawke's Pride, page 3
But previous to the war Ben had met and married gentle, brown-eyed Sara. From that day he'd never looked at another woman with lust in his heart. "While Ben sired two children and worked his father's farm, Hawke had continued on in much the same manner as before. His dissolute lifestyle caused his father to worry, to wonder where the wild streak in his firstborn had come from, and would he ever tame down.
The war had been over about a year when Ben started dreaming of going West. The old family farm was worn out, he claimed, and each year he worked harder and grew less in the depleted soil. He wanted something better to leave his son someday.
He'd had little trouble convincing his footloose brother to come along, only his father had been reluctant to make the move. At Jeb Masters' advanced years he didn't like change. Also he was loath to leave their mother's grave in the small local cemetery.
How Pa had loved his wife, Hawke thought, shutting out the scraping sound of the shovel as he remembered the two of them together. Pa had aged terribly since Ma's death a few years back. The pain of losing her still lingered in his eyes.
"Why was it, Hawke wondered, and not for the first time, that the other two Masters men had found undying love, while he at thirty-two had never had his heart touched by a woman? At least one appealing enough to spend the rest of his life with. Once Pa had said that Hawke never gave a woman a chance, simply because he didn't want the responsibility of a wife and family. Also that the type of woman he seemed drawn to wasn't good wife material anyway. Pa had ended by predicting that if Hawke managed to make it to an old age he'd be sorry he hadn't married.
"You'll be mighty lonesome, son. I'm thinkin' it must be terrible to die alone, with no one to grieve your passin'."
Hawke looked at his father again. The twisted pain on the thin face made Hawke wonder if it wouldn't be better to die alone, to leave no one to endure what this fine old man had when he lost his beloved wife, and the agony he was enduring now.
His lips twisted stubbornly. His way was best. He had no desire for marriage, so why should he tie himself down to a woman just because it was accepted as the normal thing to do? Besides, didn't he have Lillie? She fired his blood, gave him a satisfaction that few women ever had. And being his neighbor's wife put her out of bounds for matrimony for which he was thankful. Lillie wasn't good wife material either. She was good in bed, he'd give her that, but a man couldn't stay in the blankets all the time. But actually, Lillie was a little on the stupid side. She was fox sly about a lot of things, but he couldn't remember them ever having a normal conversation of any importance.
Hawke kept his thoughts on Lillie, anything that would remove him from the painful present. He drifted back to the first time he'd seen Lillie, and the two years that had led up to their meeting.
He had left Pa and Ben on the Nebraska border where they had settled down to farm once again, and had headed across to Colorado.
Staring at a mule's rump day after day was still not for him. So, for over a year he did odd jobs as he wandered. He drove a stagecoach for a while, then dealt poker in a fancy saloon, punched cows for a few months, in other words, just plain drifted.
However, as he journeyed across the beautiful country he'd seen thousands and thousands of wild cattle grazing, belonging to the man strong enough to corral them. There was born in him the desire to have his own ranch. He did not want marriage and a family, but he was tired of his lifestyle and wanted to settle down to something. Pa had insisted he take a share of the money received from the sale of the old farm in Ohio, and Hawke had decided he would invest it in something tangible, a worth he could see, could touch.
He had then spent a week intensely scouring the terrain, looking for the right spot to start his, what he laughingly called, empire. One day he had found some abandoned buildings nestled at the edge of the Rocky Mountain foothills. Inquiring at the government agency in the small town of Raffin, he learned that the deserted ranch consisted of five thousand acres. That it was mostly all prime land, two-thirds grassland and containing a narrow river that never dried up.
He had hurried to file a claim, then almost winded his stallion in a race to take over his property. His first action was to paint in big letters on a weathered board, "Hawke's Pride," then to place the sign about a mile from the ranch house. The next day he had gone over the roof of his new home, replacing rotten shingles, insuring that he wouldn't be leaked on the next time it rained. His next chore had been finding men to help him run his ranch.
It had taken a couple weeks. He wasn't going to hire just any man; he wanted trustworthy men, ones not afraid of work, ones who knew what they were doing. Finally he had hired six cowpunchers and started rounding up the wild longhorns.
He had worked harder than any slave the following year, but his physical effort had paid off He now had a herd of over two thousand, not counting the thousand head he had driven to Abilene this past spring.
It was in Abilene he met Lillie.
It was dusk when he stepped out of the saloon where he and his men had stopped for a drink of whiskey to cut the dust of two weeks from their throats. He had paused a moment outside the swinging doors, wondering which bordello to visit. It was then he spotted a female figure strolling down the wooden sidewalk, her voluptuous figure very inviting as it swung along.
Hawke had thought her a whore when he went in pursuit of her. Her mode of dress, the way she walked, all said that clearly to him.
And when he overtook her and looked into a painted face of coarse attractiveness, he was surer than ever. But as he walked alongside her, hinted at what he was looking for, the woman turned insulted eyes on him.
Flashing a wedding band on her left hand, she snapped, "I'm a married woman, Mister."
Nevertheless, there had been an invitation in the eyes that had swept over him, and in less than ten minutes he had talked the woman into accompanying hir to his hotel room. Hawke smiled thinly. Lillie had entertained him in such a way that there was no doubt that, though she no longer worked her trade, she had at one point in her life.
Before Lillie left him a couple hours later, he learned that her husband was twice her age and was no longer very active in bed, and that his ranch lay only thirty miles from Hawke's Pride. Since that first encounter, he and Lillie met once a week in an old line shack halfway between the two ranches. There they spent a couple hours on a pallet of hay, wearing each other out.
A hand on Hawke's shoulder brought him back to the present and a shamed blush to his face. He shouldn't have been thinking about Lillie and the line shack, he swore silently in self-disgust as his father said, "Come on, son, it's over. Go thank our neighbors for attending, then let's get these younguns' back to the house. They're worn out. Besides, Tommy has to get off alone so that he can cry."
Hawke shook hands with the scattering of people who had gathered for the burial, thanking them, then picked up his young niece. Jeb led the way from the cemetery, an arm around his grandson's shoulder as they walked down the hill to the neat set of buildings nestled in a stand of cottonwoods.
They entered the house that was strangely empty, the absence of Ben and Sara leaving a lonesome void. A shuddering sigh escaped from Jeb's mouth before he said, "Let's change into our work clothes, Tommy. It will be dark before long."
Hawke shook his head as the elderly man and his grandson headed for their bedrooms. Life must go on. There were hungry animals to be fed and watered, cows to be milked and chickens to be tended. Tasks that couldn't wait, even for death.
"When his father and nephew headed for the bam a short time later, Hawke built a fire in the kitchen range. Then with his niece's big eyes watching him, he started preparing supper.
As Hawke sliced ham into a skillet and peeled potatoes to fry, he remembered all the good times he and Ben had enjoyed together, and deeply regretted that he hadn't been able to see his brother before typhoid fever took him and his wife. But Pa's letter hadn't arrived in time for him to ride across Colorado and say all the things that were in his heart.
An hour later Hawke breathed a sigh of relief when his two male relatives entered the kitchen, a pail of milk in Tommy's hand. Little Susie had begun to cry for her mama, and he was at a loss how to console her.
He watched his father pick up the little girl and, sitting down in a rocking chair, cuddle her close and set the chair in motion. Smoothing the brown, curly hair with a work-calloused hand, he explained gently to the child that her mama and daddy had gone away for a while, but that she would see them again at a later time. That in the meantime she had Grandpa, her brother, and Uncle Hawke to love her.
All three men smiled their relief when red-swollen lids slipped over wet eyes and Susie drowsed. Jeb continued to rock the small body until Hawke announced that supper was ready.
An hour later the meal, mostly picked at, was over. While Hawke cleaned the kitchen, Jeb helped the children to get in bed. Darkness had set in by the time the two men sat outside, having a last smoke before retiring too.
"So, Pa," Hawke broke the silence that had fallen over them, "what happens now?"
"I don't know, son." Jeb rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "I'm gettin' too far on in years to raise a couple younguns', especially a little girl. I probably won't live long enough to see them become adults."
Hawke knew a gut-wrenching pain at the thought of his father also dying someday. He was ready to exclaim, "Don't talk that way, Pa, you've got a lot of years ahead of you," when Jeb spoke first, stunning Hawke with his words.
"I been thinkin' it would be a good idea for you to live here with us. Take over the farm, be a daddy to your brother's children."
While Hawke gaped at his father, there flashed before him his ranch, his big herds of cattle, the long green valleys, the tall rugged mountains. He loved that wild country, could not visualize ever leaving it for good.
He looked at his father and said gently, "Look, Pa, you know how I feel about farmin'. I still hate all aspects of it. Besides, I have a very prosperous ranch in the makin'. My dream is to become a land baron someday."
"I can understand that." Jeb looked up at the stars that were beginning to appear. "And I want you to know that I'm proud and happy that you've finally found an interest in life. I wouldn't for the world jeopardize your chance to realize a dream. Dreams are important in this cockeyed world. Sometimes they are all that keeps a man goin'."
Hawke continued to smoke his hand-rolled cigarette in the silence that developed, his green eyes narrowed in thought. Then, as though coming to a decision, he flipped the cigarette into the dusty yard, its lit end making a glowing arc in the darkness. "Pa," he said, "I have a better idea. "Why don't you and the kids come live with me?"
Jeb was stunned now. He could only look blankly at his son. Hawke hurried to take advantage of his father's temporary loss of speech. Fired by the idea of having his remaining family with him, he rushed to say, "The house needs some repairs, but it's big, plenty of room for us all." Hawke sat very still, hardly breathing as he tried to read the expression on the face turned in profile to him.
Maybe I should have waited until morning to spring my idea on him, Hawke thought when Jeb made no answer. A sleepless night of worrying would make my suggestion more conducive, to going west with the children.
Yes, I should have, Hawke decided when a moment later Jeb shook his head and declared softly, "I couldn't go off and leave more of my family in the ground, Hawke. There'd be no one to visit Ben's and Sara's graves. At least there are relatives back in Ohio to look after your mama's resting place, say a prayer, bring flowers."
Hawke was uncertain what to say next. He understood what the gray-haired man meant, knew that besides his grief there would be guilt at leaving the two lonely graves. But, damn it, Pa couldn't stay here alone with Susie and Tommy. Like he himself had said, he was getting too old to raise them by himself.
"Look, Pa," he said earnestly, "I know the thought of moving on again is a hard decision to make, but bear this in mind. The way you've always carried Mama in your heart no matter where you were, the same will be true of Ben and Sara."
He laid a hand on Jeb's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Your grief will be easier to bear in new surroundings. And it's beautiful country, Pa. Rough and wild. The kids will love it."
Hawke saw the wavering in Jeb's eyes and pressed on. "Tommy especially will fall in love with the land. He can have his own horse, ride the range with me. By the time he's grown, he'll be a fine cowman. Ready to inherit the ranch when I retire."
Jeb looked at his son affectionately, although frowning a little. "That's right fine of you, Hawke, thinkin' to make Tommy your heir. But, surely, you plan on marryin' someday, have sons of your own."
Hawke shrugged dismissively. "Stuck with one woman is not for me, Pa. I'm too old, too set in my ways to let a woman take me over. I'll be content raisin' Ben's children."
Jeb laughed softly. "Thirty-two is far from bein' old. Someday you just might run into a woman who would make you like it just fine if she took you over."
"Ha!" Hawke snorted. "There's not a woman alive who could make me give up my independence."
"We'll see." Jeb grinned. "I hope I'm around to see it if it happens. You men who hold out so stubbornly fall like a rock dropped in a well when love hits you. You'll go stumblin' around like you've been smokin' locoweed."
"It's a bet, Pa." Hawke grinned. "Come back to the ranch with me, and if that happens, you can crow your heart out."
Jeb made no response to the half-jokingly made bribe. Instead, he gazed out into the moonlit night, occasionally drawing on his cigarette. Hawke knew he was mulling over everything they'd said, weighing each argument put to him. Again Hawke held his breath, waiting for his father's decision.
Finally Jeb broke his silence. "What about Susie? Who would take care of her while we're out chasin' them cows of yours? A five-year-old can't be left alone."
"That'll be easy," Hawke answered eagerly. "I'll hire a housekeeper," then added silently to himself, damned if I know where I'll find one though.
Jeb fell silent again, and from the concentrated look on his face, Hawke was aware that he was still turning over in his mind the pros and cons of disrupting the children's lives.
Finally Hawke couldn't bear the suspense any longer. "Well, Pa," he prodded, "what about it? Are you cornin' back to the ranch with me?"
A sigh of relief whistled through Hawke's teeth when Jeb answered, "I reckon it's the sensible thing to do, Hawke. I'm not goin' to be around forever. Sooner or later the younguns' would end up with you anyway."
The gray-haired man grew silent again for a moment, then, his voice husky, he added, "I like the idea of spendin' my last years with my firstborn. Never did get to see much of you since you was sixteen. Seems like you was everywhere but at home."
Unhappily conscious of the neglect of his parents over the years, Hawke couldn't speak over the lump that rose in his throat. He could only gnp the knobby hand that lay on a bony knee.
Sensing his son's choked emotions, Jeb said matter-of-factly, "It'll be two to three weeks before we can come, though. There's the farm to sell, the furniture. The livestock to get rid of, some of the crops still to be harvested."
Hawke's blood raced joyfully. He'd have a family with him again, family that he hadn't realized how much he had missed. There would be company when the long winter set in, keeping a man mostly housebound. He wouldn't be so damn lonesome like all the previous years.
"Better bring the furniture, Pa." He laughed. "I've only got a few sticks, and they should have been thrown away years ago. Truth be told"—he smiled crookedly—"the house is pretty much a boar's nest I'm afraid."
A frown wrinkled Jeb's forehead. "Are you sure you can get a woman to work in the kind of place you just described?"
"Don't worry about it, Pa, I'll get someone." The confidence in Hawke's voice wasn't shared by his thoughts. Damned if he knew where he'd find a woman willing to take over his household, plus a couple of youngsters.
I'll think of something, he told himself, then yawned loudly. "I'm beat, Pa. I think I'll go to bed. I made the trip here in three days where ordinarily it takes at least five. Anyway, I'm headin' back tomorrow and I want to get an early start."
Both men stood up. "I don't know where you can sleep, Hawke." A worried frown creased Jeb's forehead. "You can't use Ben and Sara's bed, you might catch the fever. I'll be bumin' the mattress and linens tomorrow."
"That's all right, Pa." Hawke shrugged indifferently. "A pile of hay in the bam will be fine. Most of the time I sleep on the ground anyway." He held out a hand to his father. "Actually it's better I sleep in the barn. I won't wake up the kids when I leave. So I'll say good-bye now."
Jeb took his son's slim hand and held it. "I'll fill you a bag of grub and put it just inside the barn door."
Hawke nodded, squeezing his father's hand before saying, "I'll see you in two or three weeks then."
"God willin', we'll be there," Jeb answered, and released his hand.
"Pa." Hawke paused, his hand going to his hip pocket. "I brought along some money in case you'd need it. Five hundred dollars. I want you to take it."
Jeb shook his head. "Thank you, son, but I don't need it. Me and your brother have made out real good with the farm."
The sun was barely above the tree line when Hawke left the farm in Nebraska and cut across the state line into Colorado. As he kept Captain, his stallion, at an easy lope, his lean face wore a worried frown. It had struck him fully that raising his brother's children was a grave responsibility and the thought hung heavy on him. Until now his only obligation had been to himself.
Was he capable of putting himself second, he asked himself, cater to the needs of others for a change? Yes, he decided. For Ben's children he could, and would, do it.
Now, the next question. Where would he find a woman who would be willing to live with the loneliness of his ranch? Pa and the children wouldn't be much company for her, and the nearest white woman was Lillie Meyers. A wry grimace twisted his lips. That one wouldn't bother herself with a female.
