1
Linda Louise Rigsbee
Chapter One
Cassie leaned forward on the wagon seat, squinting anxiously into the incandescent sunrise. The riders were a blur in the heat waves, but she was sure one was Pete. More than likely the unidentified rider was only another drifter. Still, her stomach would be tied in a knot until she was sure it wasn’t her father. Not that she was likely to see him again - especially out here in the desert, hundreds of miles from their little Texas ranch.
As she watched, the horses plunged down a dune, sending a spray of white sand into the dry air. No, it wasn’t her father. Even at a distance it was obvious that the man was much taller and he rode with a proud kind of grace that her father never possessed. Her breath escaped in an unexpected sigh. That familiar yet annoying pang of disappointment took its place. Was it the little girl deep inside of her that still longed for daddy to come home - even after being abandoned?
She removed her sombrero and mopped her forehead with the rolled up portion of her shirtsleeve. Ridges of sparkling white sand surrounded the camp like a sleeping dragon, soaking heat from the sun - resting now so it could spit its fiery breath at them later in the day. The gypsum sands of New MexicoTerritory were relentless in their search for new victims.
Tucking a wayward strand of curly brown hair back into her bun, she replaced her hat and wrapped the lead lines around the wagon break. With a final glance at the approaching figures, she dropped from the wagon seat and sauntered over to join the men at the cook fire.
Davis handed her a scalding cup of coffee, his chocolate gaze scrutinizing - probably searching for some indication of congeniality. A resolute shrug indicated his search was futile. Undaunted, he opened the conversation.
“It looks like we’ve got company.”
She accepted the coffee and scowled into the tin cup.
“Probably another greenhorn Pete had to pull out of a scrape. We’re already late getting started on account of him and the saddle bum will probably use up another half-hour of daylight eating our food.”
Fritz shot her a sour look.
“What made you so bitter about men?”
The big German accepted a cup of coffee from Davis and squatted beside Royce at the fire. His dark eyes reflected the disapproval in his tone.
“A woman your age ought to be looking for a husband – or already married, not chasing all over creation in pants, trying to act like a man.”
“I wouldn’t think of acting like a man,” she answered flippantly. “I can do better than that.” His caustic expression served as a catalyst to her boredom. “Anyway, what’s so terrible about a woman wearing pants?”
Fritz glared at her. “Don’t you ever read the Bible?”
Nothing made the hours pass faster than a lively discussion, and Fritz was always fair game. She tossed out the verbal bait and waited for him to strike.
“Of course I read the Bible. In no place does it say a woman shouldn’t wear pants.”
Fritz pointed a stubby finger at her.
“Not in so many words, but it says women shouldn’t dress in men’s clothing.”
Yes, he took the bait and he was running with it. She smiled sweetly.
“So who says pants are men’s clothing? Didn’t Jesus wear a robe?”
Davis chuckled softly. “I believe she has you there, Fritz.”
Fritz shot Davis a warning look and abruptly stood, glaring down at Cassie.
“You’re deliberately missing the point. Women aren’t supposed to assume a man’s role.”
She shrugged. “Maybe that’s what it means, maybe not. Anyway, what is a man’s role?”
Fritz studied her warily. He hated it when she won an argument. He gave the question some thought before responding with an illusive and general answer.
“A man’s role is to feed his wife and family.”
“And if he doesn’t? Then who is supposed to feed them?”
He focused his attention on the coffee in his cup, swirling it while he avoided her probing gaze.
“Then a woman has to do the best she can on her own.”
He knew he was being backed into a corner. His determined gaze finally shifted to her face.
“I’m not against a woman having a job, as long as she sticks to work meant for women.”
Cassie’s brows arched. “You mean like cooking? Or helping with the plowing or hitching up the team? Or maybe driving the family wagon in for supplies or . . .”
“I get the point,” he interrupted brusquely. You hired on as a cook. We’re short handed so you wind up taking care of your own team and wagon. Why Pete hired you instead of a man, I’ll never understand.”
That wasn’t the point she was trying to make, but maybe a man would never understand what she was talking about. She didn’t mind tending the team. In fact, she enjoyed it. What she didn’t like was the idea that when she finished paying for the ranch, her father could come back and claim it. A woman could do all the work but somehow the man got the credit and benefit. It wasn’t fair but that was how the law read – and how most men felt. Not surprising, since they made all the laws. Getting upset about it wasn’t going to change anything, though, so she forced a grin as she met the troubled gaze of Fritz.
“Maybe Pete didn’t like your cooking. Anyway, my point was that women are expected to do all the things I’m doing on this job. They just aren’t expected to stray too far from the homestead in the process – or get paid for it.”
Fritz smiled wryly. “You’re a mighty fine cook, but it isn’t safe out here for a woman.” He sobered and watched her intently as he spoke. “Don’t you know people talk about a woman who spends weeks out here with men - and men start to get ideas.”
That last statement strangled the life out of the discussion. Of all things, why did he have to bring that up? She met his accusing gaze coldly.
“Men get ideas when their wives are at home trying to be everything a man expects of them. Anyway, why do men have to act on every idea that crosses their mind?”
He almost winced at the rancor in her tone.
“Did some man deal you a lousy hand?”
She shrugged and turned away from him. The conversation was getting too personal.
“Let’s just say I learned the hard way that I can take care of myself.”
Royce snorted, unfolding his tall gangly frame from the ground.
“Sure, ‘til someone snatches that whip out of your hand and gives you the spankin’ you’ve been asking for.”
She ignored his implication that women should be punished like children. She let her stern gaze rest on each of the men before responding.
“Until men learn the meaning of the word no, I’ll protect myself in the way that has proven most effective.”
Davis gulped the last of his coffee and turned the cup up side down on a rock so it would drain.
“Cassie, a woman as good looking as you should be used to saying no.” His dark eyes twinkled. “Tell me the truth. If we all treated you like one of the guys, wouldn’t you be a little disappointed?”
She stared into her cup, not wanting to say anything that would add fuel to the torch she suspected he was carrying for her. At forty he was still an attractive man, but a romantic relationship with him was the last thing on her mind. Valuing his friendship, she had developed a knack for turning the conversation on a less perilous course.
“I appreciate the fact that you guys watch your language around me and make sure you’re all busy at the camp fire when I need privacy. It’s nice to have that special respect.”
Davis rubbed his jaw reflectively. “Sure.”
His gaze shifted to Royce. “Let me make one thing clear. If any one of you lays a hand on her, you’ll be answering to me. A woman has a right to protect herself – any way she can.”
Royce snickered. “Davis, don’t you think you’re a little old for her? You and Fritz are both old enough to be her father.”
Three pair of hostile eyes turned on the sandy-haired youth. Cassie sent him a measured look over her coffee cup before she spoke.
“And you’re too young.”
“Too young?” Royce sputtered, puffing up his chest. “I’m pert near twenty-one. Anyways, yer only a few months older than me.” The freckles stood out on his pale face.
She shrugged. The day was getting hot and it took too much energy to argue. Not that it needed hashing out anyway. Her age must have been mentioned at least a half-dozen times in the last six trips. Boys younger than Royce were working unsupervised. Yet working girls his age were usually either wives or soiled doves.
Fritz tossed the rest of his coffee at the fire and stood.
“Here’s Pete.”
Pete joined them, waving a gnarled hand to indicate his companion.
“This here is Chauncey Bordeaux. He’s going to be ridin’ with us to Ashley.”
The statement was flat, obviously intended to discourage argument, but Cassie couldn’t resist.
“Eating whose food?”
Bordeaux dismounted, surveying the camp, landscape and men in one rolling glance. He appeared unperturbed by her caustic question.
“I’ll live off the land,” he responded casually.
Her laughter lashed out in the clear air, seizing his attention.
He tipped his hat back, fixing her with a bright blue gaze that stunned her vocal cords.
The laughter gurgled to a halt in her throat. His eyes were captivating, by far the most attractive feature in his darkly handsome face. There was something familiar about that face, yet she was certain she had never met him before. She couldn’t have forgotten those eyes.
He took a visual survey of her from the boots up, his unabashed gaze lingering on her straining shirt buttons. A flood of heat washed up her throat to stain her cheeks. He lifted one dark brow quizzically.
“I said something funny?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. He wasn’t the first to use that tactic to intimidate her. She inclined her head to indicate the endless sand, broken only by an occasional yucca or chickweed.
“If you can find anything out there to eat, you’re welcome to it.”
Hopefully her voice sounded more composed than she felt.
Davis was watching Bordeaux intently with an unreadable expression. He started to speak and then Pete cut in.
“Bordeaux, this saucy little peach is Cassie Rinehart. She’s got a sharp tongue, but she could make shoe soles taste like fine steak.”
Bordeaux raised his brows again. “Oh?”
He walked back to his horse and untied something from the saddle. Returning, he tossed two rabbits to her.
“See what you can do with those.”
She made no effort to catch them, letting them fall at her feet. She ignored the meat, fixing him with a cold stare.
“You killed them. You cook them.”
Turning on one heal, she stalked off to her wagon.
The men guffawed until Davis’s voice broke in, low and steady.
“I don’t think she’s as impressed with your hunting skills as you are, Bordeaux.”
She climbed into her wagon and dropped onto the hard seat. Davis should know such needless defense was embarrassing for her. She sullenly glanced back at the group of men. Bordeaux was retrieving the rabbits from the sand. She should have accepted the rabbits. The fresh meat would have been a welcome change, but nobody was going to get away with throwing food at her - least of all an arrogant saddle bum. She noted the worn but relatively new clothes that clung to his lean frame. Maybe he wasn’t a saddle bum, but only a greenhorn would think he could live off the barren land that surrounded them.
She shifted her attention to his mount. One thing was obvious about Bordeaux. He was an excellent judge of horseflesh. His bay gelding had the sleek lines of a racehorse and the look of endurance as well.
Pete’s gravely voice cut through her thoughts like sand on a frying pan.
“Bordeaux, this is Casey Fritz, Hank Royce, and John Davis.”
If Pete had another name, nobody knew it. He was just Pete. At sixty-two, he was as wiry as any of his men, and twice as cagey.
Cassie tapped her boot toe against the footrest and shifted restlessly in the seat while the men exchanged greetings. How did men have the gall to criticize women for being talkative? She cleared her throat.
“If you guys are through socializing, we’d better get moving. The day isn’t getting any longer.”
Bordeaux chuckled. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up after I cook these rabbits and clean up the camp.”
Pete nodded complaisantly. “See you later, then.”
Apparently Pete wasn’t concerned about Bordeaux getting lost. Of course, even a greenhorn could follow the wagon tracks they would leave in the sand. Hopefully he wouldn’t wander off and get lost. She had to decline the last trip because it coincided with her monthly cycle - and this trip was cutting the time close. She had come prepared for such an emergency, but any delay might prove embarrassing.
When all the wagons were ready, she snapped the whip over the back of the mules. The wagon groaned into a slow roll. The four freight wagons pulled into a single line behind her. Each day they changed positions in line so that no one ate the dust from all the wagons every day. Today it was her turn to be in front. Being in front carried its responsibilities. She watched for soft areas where a wagon might get stuck. If one wagon got stuck, the rest would have to stop while one of the other teams was unhitched and added to pull the wagon out. Then they would have to hitch them back up again. Since each wagon had three teams of horses,that could become time consuming - and time was their enemy.
The going was slow on the sandy trail. The heavy wagons pushed on. The wheels of the Conestoga wagons had been modified with wide rims to even the load on the sand. As the big wheels turned, they tossed sand up and over the rim. All that churning of sand and dust disguised their trail to some degree, but nothing could hide the trail of five heavy wagons.
It didn’t take more than a few hours of sun for the desert to become an inferno. The white sand was almost as blinding as snow. Cassie folded the lip of her sombrero down to protect her face from the scorching sun.
Her thoughts turned to Bordeaux. What was he doing out here alone in the middle of the desert? Their freight wagons used this route to deliver supplies to the tiny town of Ashley, but few people traveled the desert. That was why Pete chose the route - less risk of being robbed.
She mopped her forehead again. Only a few more trips and the loan on the ranch would be paid. Actually, she had enough money to finish paying the loan if she depleted her bank account at Bradley. That was something she didn’t want to do. The money she earned from each of the trips across the desert was devoted entirely to paying off the loan, but the money she earned working at the bank was set aside to purchase supplies until the ranch started paying for itself.
Two times she had been back to visit her siblings, both times at Christmas. It had been two years since their mother had died - three since their father had run off with that harlot. Unable to locate him, Cassie had finally agreed to leave the twins with Mr. & Mrs. Hertz, their neighbors. The Hertz’s had not been blessed with children and were adamant that they would love taking care of the twins. Tammy and Timmy would be thirteen this fall. Before long they would be grown.
As it always did, memories of the twins sparked a fire of anger at her father. She had been so certain he would return - at first. At first she had hoped, even prayed he would return. But after Mother died everything changed. No one could be that hard to find unless they didn’t want to be found. As far as she was concerned, he had relinquished his right to the ranch. But that wasn’t how the law would see things. He might show up any time to claim the ranch. Once she wouldn’t have thought him capable of something so unfair. But that was when she was naive and he was her idol.