Beyond the Broken Road, page 16
As she washed the dishes, she heard the sound of an ax striking wood and couldn't resist looking out the window. Sam had taken off his shirt, and already his skin was slick with sweat as the ax rose and fell. As he lifted his arms, the muscles rippled down his back, his biceps tightened and expanded, then the ax would descend and the wood fall as if magically into chunks. God, he was beautiful.
Abigail swallowed, sucking in a breath. She would have to be careful, or she'd be finding herself in love with a man who could bring her nothing but misery. She had to remind herself that she could learn from him, but these moments were to experience, not to keep. Sam was not hers. She could never let herself forget that.
To take her mind away from the man she’d married but with whom she had never intended to stay, Abby decided to scrub the floors. She changed into the boy's pants he'd bought her, pleased that they fit loosely. Back in the kitchen, she set about doing the job much as she remembered seeing Serafina do it. The first pan of water was too full of soap, but little by little she got the idea.
Outside, she could hear Sam clumping onto the porch, stacking the firewood where it would be convenient to the kitchen. She smiled as she thought how pleasurable it was to both be working on tasks around the home, together but not together.
When the door opened, she was on her knees and looked up to order him to take off his boots.
"Take off my boots?" he repeated, his shirt under his arm, his muscular torso still gleaming with sweat.
"I just washed it. I don't want it to get dirty already."
He looked down at the floor. "Abby, I can’t take off my boots every time I come in here.”
"But when your boots aren't dusty, and the floor isn't wet, it won't matter so much."
He grinned and obeyed. “You using that rose water lotion I bought you?”
"Well, I will. If I remember it later.”
He came over and pulled her to her feet, claiming a hand, checking it for redness. "You ought to wear gloves."
"To wash a floor?" she asked with disbelief.
"Ladies should have smooth hands. I don't want yours looking like you're a washerwoman."
"Why not?"
He shook his head. "Don't know. I just don't want it." He smiled then as he ran his hands down her back and cupped her buttocks. "I like these," he said.
She frowned. "You think the men will approve?"
"I think no man in his right mind would disapprove." That thought gave him a new worry. He didn't want the men to approve too much. "Maybe you shouldn't wear them when they’re around.”
"Should I wear them when I meet our neighbors?" she asked. “How would they feel about a woman in pants?”
"Won't meet them," he said, heading for the pump to wash up.
"Why not? Neighbors get together. They help each other."
"The nearest family speaks Spanish. They wouldn't give much help because they still think this land is theirs."
"What do you mean?"
He shook his head to rid himself of the excess water. "They’re still steamed. The original land grants were declared invalid. They didn’t agree. The Montoya family thinks it’s still theirs no matter what the courts say."
"That's terrible though. You mean Mr. Gray stole this land from them?"
"No, I mean there are disagreements over how valid a Mexican land grant is, especially for a family that already owns a million acres. At any rate, over fifty years ago the matter was settled by U.S. courts. The Montoyas hold a grudge."
"Oh." She didn't understand so much. She remembered then the problem in Tucson of similar land grants. Issues that the bags Sam held could resolve. She wanted to bring it up but decided there would be better times.
"How about north of here. Surely there must be some families around that we could visit?"
"You miss other women that much?"
"I'm used to talking with friends.” She thought how much she missed Priscilla. “It’s just very different for me to only have men around."
She saw his jaw clench. She had again disappointed him. "It's all right," she said, putting her hand on his arm, aware of the texture of his skin, the feeling of dampness and hard muscle under her fingertips.
"The Reimers own the nearest ranch to the north. I think there's a family there, with a woman, but I've never met them."
"Why not?"
He shook his head and smiled. "Abby, I'm a rustler. I haven't had a reason to meet neighbors, and besides, you don't think other men would want to know me, do you?"
"But you said big cattlemen bought from you."
"I'm the kind of man you use, not claim as a friend."
"Is that because of how they feel or you?" she asked. "Have you given people a chance to be friendly?"
His eyes were stony and unyielding. "I won't argue with you. I've got to get down and check on the boys."
"But what about lunch?"
He shook his head. "I'm not hungry." He collected his gun from the peg by the door, belted it around his hips, slung his shirt on and with that was gone. No good-bye, no quick kiss, not even a backward glance as he strode off.
"Well," she said to the walls. "He's sensitive on that one." She went back to her scrubbing, trying to reason through Sam's attitude, but she couldn't. She decided that the first chance she got, she'd find a way to ride to the Reimers and meet them, maybe invite them to supper. She was sure Sam was wrong. Maybe knowing neighbors, finding friends that were normal people, with normal goals would be good for Sam, make him see life could be other than it had been for him.
Her opportunity came sooner than she'd expected when that night Sam told her he'd be gone before first light. He and most of the men would ride the hills to the south driving the cattle into the main corrals where they would brand this year's calves.
“You really do run cattle then?”
“A few.”
"Do you have to do that now?"
"I'm late this year. If I don't get them marked, they'll be picked off by the little ranchers."
She looked at him with disbelief.
"Lady," he said, "in this country, a cow is a trade item. They're on the hoof, easily moved and worth money. To some, branded only makes them a little less negotiable."
CHAPTER 13
The next morning, she got up early to fix him breakfast. She was unsure if he was grateful or not, but he did eat the hotcakes. At the door, he said, "I left Sandy behind to do errands, keep an eye on things." She smiled, kissed him lightly in front of his men, and watched them all ride away. She would wait until it was a bit lighter before she took the ride she planned.
In waiting for a more acceptable hour for visiting, Abby wrote a note to leave on the table just in case Sam returned before she did. She scribbled a few words about going for a ride and hoping to meet the neighbors, then headed out the kitchen door, wearing her boots, riding skirt, her new shirt, her hat, and her gun in her pocket.
She expected Sandy to question her right to ride off and wasn't surprised when he came up to her in the lower barn as she was saddling Belle.
"Where you going?" he asked, frowning.
"For a ride. Want to come?"
"Sam didn’t say nothing about this," Sandy grumbled, saddling his own horse.
"I left him a note explaining everything. I'm glad you can come because we can get better acquainted as we go.”
Sandy’s frown deepened as he swung onto his horse. She was glad Sam had found him, had kept him from harm because Sandy seemed like the sort of boy who would grow into a good man, despite his misadventures with Sam's gang. Time with him was what she wanted so she could give him some ideas that might redirect his goals.
"You're riding like you got a place in mind. Mind telling me where?" Sandy asked as they headed north at a gentle jog.
"I have a general idea. I am going to visit the Reimer family.”
He looked more disturbed. “What for?
“Just being neighborly.”
“We don’t go there, not never.”
“We do today.”
“Sam say it’s all right?”
“Did you have the idea I needed permission from Sam?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“All right. Just don’t see why.”
“People visit each other.”
“Why?”
“It’s friendly. Sandy, you are wasting your energy if you continue this way, and in the process, ruin our beautiful morning. I am going anyway. I am not a prisoner here, am I?”
“Course not.”
"Then? I am assuming their ranch house is a bit northeast." She pointed toward the low-lying ridge she had been told were the start of the Canelo Hills.
"Guess so,” he said muttering under his breath.
“What’d you say?”
“Nothing."
She decided a bit of reassurance was in order. She didn’t want Sandy pouting the whole day and ruining this for both of them. “I couldn’t know of them if Sam hadn’t told me, now could?”
He considered that. “Guess not.”
“Well, then this would be all right with him, wouldn’t it?” He had no answer for that. She pointed off to the west. "Look a jackrabbit. Are there many wild animals up here?"
He grew more animated as he told her about the small creatures that lived in the San Rafael Valley, the badgers, javelina, foxes, skunks, rabbits, bobcat, deer, coyotes, then cougar and bear in the hills.
"It's a beautiful place," she said. "Was your home much like this?"
"If you ever seen Kansas, you'd know better’n that. Leastwise the part I lived in. Nothing but trouble there.”
"You said the other day that you had lost your whole family."
"Not much of a loss to me. I never knew my brothers. One killed in Civil War or so my uncle said. I was a lot younger. Not sure why my folks even had me They were too old. My birthin' was the end of my ma. Pa lived a few years more, just set around though from the little I remember, then cholera took him. For a while, my ma's brother took me in, but he was the mean kind. Kicked his own kids, me more than them. I ran away only to find out there's a lot like him—some worse."
"I'm sorry for all your losses."
Sandy smiled. "Folks say stuff like that, but it's the way life is, you know. Things happen. Ain't nobody's fault."
"Did Sam teach you that?"
His chuckle held no humor. "Sam's taught me a lot of things, but neither him nor me had to have someone else teach us that. We both know what it's like."
She stared at the grasslands. There was nothing to say to that. Sadness nearly overwhelmed her as she thought of the life they had known. And she had dared complain about her own problems. Her father had done his best. She thought of how he must feel now-- his losses piling up. Somehow, she had to get the mails back to him.
"You help Sam a lot. Did you help him stow away the mailbags from the last trip?" she asked with no attempt at subtlety.
He looked at her without understanding, and she wished she had never brought it up. Sandy hadn’t been with them. She shouldn’t have been trying to get information from him anyway. It wasn’t fair to Sandy or Sam. She’d find those bags though, one way or another. They likely were on the ranch somewhere. “Never mind,” she said and to change the subject. "Why haven’t you ever thought of riding over to meet the Reimers?"
He looked uneasy again. “Why would I?”
“Might be young people your age living there.”
He shook his head. “Don’t need nobody. I got Sam and the gang.” He pointed to a wisp of smoke on the air. “Looks like we’re getting there.”
She sighed and hoped her visit with the Reimers would go better than her attempted conversations with Sandy. As she and he rode into the ranch yard, dogs came out from under a log house and began barking, yipping at the heels of the horses. Good thing Belle wasn’t skittish.
The door to the house opened, and a heavy-set, red-haired woman stepped out onto a small porch. She held a rifle pointed at them.
"What you want?" she asked without a hint of friendliness.
"I'm your new neighbor." Abby tried to make her voice friendly but didn't much like having the gun pointed at her. It didn't look like these people appreciated neighbors any more than Sam did.
"Living where?"
Abby pointed back toward Sam's ranch.
"What's your outfit called?" the woman asked, not lowering the gun.
Abby was not sure she’d ever heard and was grateful when Sandy said, "Circle R."
"I heard of it." The woman moved farther out where she could see them better. Abby could see now that although she was probably no more than in her mid-thirties, her hair was graying in front, her face lined. "Who are you then?"
"I'm Abby Ryker," Abby said, not attempting to dismount until she saw that rifle lowered, and the dogs called off.
"What’d you want here?"
Abby forced a smile that she didn’t feel. "I just wanted to get to know my new neighbors. I'm recently married."
The woman's eyes widened. "A bride?"
Abby smiled. "Of less than a month."
The rifle was lowered. "Well, that's right nice of you to come calling." She looked then at Sandy. "This your husband."
Abby laughed. "No, this is my husband's... adopted son. My husband was out working today. I thought it would be a good chance to meet you. He mentioned the Reimers lived this way, and I took the chance you might be home. I couldn't send a card ahead.” She decided some humor might defuse the uneasiness.
The woman chortled, and children appeared out on the porch. "We don't stand much on formality out here. Come on; get down. I got some tea I been saving for something. Never knew what 'til now."
Abby could see Sandy was still uneasy, but he took the horses and tied them to the railing. The men of the Circle R had been isolated. Sam might not approve, but Abby meant to make her mark where she lived. Maybe there'd been a time when Sam had a reason not to know his neighbors, but the world was changing. He could change with it.
In the main room of the cabin, Abby was surprised to find well-kept furniture, a nice oil lamp and a worn Oriental rug on the floor. One of the girls, who she guessed to be fourteen, told them to sit on the sofa, and her mama would be right back. Sandy took a straight chair, his eyes scanning the room, his manner showing his discomfort.
When the woman came into the room, she'd taken off her apron, attempted to tidy her hair, and had a tray with teapot and cups on it. "Sorry about out there. What must you think of me? We don’t get a whole lot of visitors though. Forgot I had manners.” She smiled. “My name's Margaret Reimer."
Abby took the chipped china teacup that was presented to her. "I am sorry if my visit is at a poor time."
"Not at all. Good time. Just my husband, Ralph, and our oldest boy rode to Harshaw for supplies. You know that man of yours been living there almost five years now, never come to see us. The time or two Ralph said he rode over that way, nobody was around."
Abby decided there was still a note of suspicion in the woman's voice and knew she was probing for information. She didn't need to see Sandy give her a telling glance to warn her to be careful in what she said.
"Sam's a hermit," she said, using the tone she'd heard women use to put their husbands down at the same time they were indicating affectionate tolerance. She decided a bit of a deception was in order. “Courting takes some time too.” She smiled. “I expect you’ll see more of him now."
"That's good to hear. Out in this country, a woman misses other women. Need a chance to talk about those things menfolk don't care much to hear. Glad your man found you and brought you to the valley. We need women and families out here."
Margaret introduced her children. Abby saw that the oldest girl, Cindy, at fourteen, had eyes only for Sandy. Likely young, good-looking males were in as short of supply as women to share conversation. The other children were eleven-year-old Milly, George who was seven, and Sarah three, watching Abby from behind her mother's skirts. Rafe, who was sixteen, was the one off with his father.
"Why don't you children shoo on out of here," Margaret suggested smiling at Cindy. "Take Sandy there and show him the creek."
Cindy smiled shyly at him, but Sandy remained seated. Clearly, he was determined to protect Abby or at the least keep an eye on her.
"It will be fine," Abby insisted. “We just want some woman talk. You go with them."
He frowned but had no choice. “I’ll be outside then,” he said with unhidden reluctance. Abby watched as they walked across the yard. Cindy maneuvered the other children aside and was walking by the lanky Sandy.
"He seems like a nice lad," Margaret said, watching them also.
"He is. Your children are well-behaved."
"It's a struggle all the time to keep them that way. No school neither, but I do the best I can teaching them what I know."
"That must be difficult, but you appear to have done well.”
Margaret nodded proudly. "Ralph helps. They can all read and do numbers. Ralph, he's an educated man. Went all the way through upper school."
"A school would be nice out here."
“It’s a ways off. Not many children this far out. Maybe you’ll change that though,” she said with a grin.
“Well, we did just get married.”
Margaret poured tea into their cups. “Tell me about your man. Don’t recall what you said his name was.”
“Samuel."
“Know each other long?”
“Not a real long time.”
"Ralph and I knew each other practically from the crib. Our families weren't friends or nothing, but we came from the same little town in Kansas."
"Did you by any chance know the Prescotts?" Abby asked. Margaret shook her head. "That was the name of Sandy's family," Abby explained. "He was orphaned quite young."
"Which is how your husband come to adopt him?"
"Yes."
“I feel bad to think we never went over to meet him and say howdy. How’d he happen to settle here in this valley?”
Abby hadn’t thought of having to answer questions regarding Sam or the ranch. She could begin to see why Sam hadn’t favored knowing neighbors. Not only was he not a conventional man, but she had not come to the ranch under the usual route. She thought on the topics Margaret had brought up and tried to decide which was safest to comment on. “You will have to come visit me also now.”
