The Heart's Frontier

TWENTY-FIVE





Luke hovered nearby as Mrs. Switzer attended to Emma’s wounds. She sat on the tongue of the chuck wagon, her posture stiffly erect, and winced as the scrapes on her face were washed with a clean cloth dipped in a cup of murky liquid.

“What is that stuff?” he asked.

Mrs. Switzer answered without looking away from her task. “Violet tea.”

“You mean, like the flower?”

The woman nodded. “The leaves. Keeps infection away.”

“Doesn’t do anything thing for the pain, though.” Emma winced again as the cloth scrubbed at a scratch on her cheek.

McCann stuck his head out of the chuck wagon’s canvas cover. “It’s an old granny remedy. Won’t do a thing to help. The only person who feels better is the granny who uses it.”

Creased lips tightened into a line as Mrs. Switzer daubed at the last remaining abrasion, but at least she didn’t snap back a reply.

With the dirt washed away, the wounds on Emma’s face didn’t look nearly as bad as Luke had feared. When she stood, he saw that she had changed into a different dress, this one with obvious signs of mending. It must have been one recovered from the rustlers’ attack and stitched up by Mrs. Switzer. Strips of cloth were wrapped around each palm.

“Rope burns?”

When she nodded, he cringed. Nothing was more painful than a rope burn.

Griff sidled up to join them and peered into Emma’s face. “You okay, gal?”

Emma replied without hesitation. “Yes. Sore and stiff, but everything will heal.”

A chuckle started down deep in his belly and twitched at his lips. “I’ll never be able to get that picture out of my mind. That steer running scared, and you dangling along behind him at the end of that rope. And you.” He slapped a hand across Luke’s back. “You running after her screaming your head off, and the other girl after you, and then their pa, and then Charlie bringing up the rear.” All effort to suppress his mirth evaporated, and Griff gave himself over to laughter. He bent over, hee-hawing and slapping a hand on his thigh. “That was the funniest thing I ever saw in all my born days.”

Luke’s first instinct was to flare up on Emma’s behalf. But then he saw her laughing right along with Griff, even bending over with a hand across her middle. The sound of her laughter bubbled like water over a rocky creek bed, and for a moment all he could do was listen. Even Mrs. Switzer was having a hard time not joining in, her lips twitching like an antsy child that itches to break free from the firm grasp of his mother and run for the open.

Actually, the whole thing was kind of funny, now that he thought about it. He joined in with a chuckle.

Griff managed to recover himself. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay, gal. Good job lassoing that steer.”

“Thank you.”

Still chuckling, he wandered off, taking the laughter with him and leaving an awkward silence in his wake. Mrs. Switzer hung close to her granddaughter’s side, while Luke cast about for something to say. The sight of the scrapes on Emma’s smooth skin, and the slightly purplish welt on her cheek, bothered him. All his fault, of course. The rope lesson had been his suggestion, and a stupider one he couldn’t imagine. And what was the point? An excuse to get closer to her for a little while, and look what came of it.

The funny thing was, those scrapes and bruises didn’t detract from her beauty even a mite.

Aware that Mrs. Switzer’s eyelids had narrowed as she watched him, he tore his gaze from Emma’s and nodded toward her hands. “Those have to hurt.”

Her head dropped as she looked at the bandages, and her shoulders lifted in a shrug.

“Well, obviously you don’t need to worry about riding the herd anymore. You can take the wagon beside your grandmother. Griff can handle the left flank by himself.”

With a jerk, her head rose and her gaze snapped to his. “But I want to ride.”

His eyes squinted as he took in her scratches and her patched dress. “You’ve had quite a ride already today, Emma. By nightfall you’re going to be sore and bruised all over. You ought to take it easy.”

“On a wagon?” She scoffed. “The wheels going over bumps and ditches jar me straight through to my bones. A saddle will be far more comfortable.”

Mrs. Switzer wrung the cloth she’d used to bathe Emma’s wounds and remarked casually, “A folded quilt will cushion the hard bench.”

Emma’s forehead creased as she watched her grandmother snap the cloth straight and fold it into a neat square. Then she turned to look directly into Luke’s eyes. Her chin rose.

“I want to ride the horse.” Her tone left no room for argument.

For some reason, Luke couldn’t stop a slow-spreading grin. There was something extra appealing about a woman who knew what she wanted and insisted on getting it.





After another hour of rest, Luke gave the orders for the outfit to get the cattle moving. The herd had spread out as they grazed, so the riders urged them into a tighter pack and set out on another long march. Shallow streams snaked throughout this part of the Chisholm Trail, so the cattle stayed well watered even though they were not given time to graze.

A few hours into the afternoon, Luke spotted a couple of long land swells in the distance. Between them lay a fairly narrow pass. They could easily navigate around the low hills, but he decided to take the opportunity for a head count. They would arrive in Hays tomorrow evening with their expanded herd, and he wanted to have a good number to report.

Signaling to McCann to follow, he applied his spurs and his horse leaped forward. The chuck wagon surged after him, the cook applying his whip to the team. The others would know exactly what he intended and lead the herd appropriately.

When they approached the pass, McCann pulled the wagon to a halt on the left and climbed down from the bench.

Luke pointed to the hill and said, “You take that side.”

McCann climbed to the top while Luke directed his horse toward a position across from the cook. They were in place before the front edge of the herd arrived. Then the count began. With part of his mind, he wished that they could have hauled that rocking chair up here and set Jesse to counting so he could be down there in the lead. But that thought was quickly forgotten as he concentrated on keeping track of the number of cattle that surged past him down below.

Griff and Morris had galloped ahead to take the point positions. Between the two of them they kept the herd moving through. Jonas’s oxen blended in obediently and marched through. When Jesse passed below, he folded his hands behind his head and stretched out long, a leisurely, teasing grin on his face. Luke took a moment to grimace at him and then kept counting. He heard Griff calling instructions to Emma and Rebecca, and the girls moved through the pass in the midst of the cattle without incident.

When the last steer was north of the pass, Luke called across the gap. “How many do you make it out to be?”

The reply was instant. “Two thousand five hundred and twenty-four.”

“Twenty-one,” he corrected with a shout.

McCann shook his head. “You must have blinked.”

Laughing, Luke swung up into the saddle. They had started out back in El Paso with two thousand and fifteen head of Triple Bar beef. It wasn’t unusual at all to add or lose a few head along the way, as less hearty cattle succumbed and range cattle joined the herd unnoticed. But they had increased their count by twenty-five percent. Some had been rustled, of course, but because their brands had been sliced off, the proper owners couldn’t be identified. And he had custody of the rustlers to prove his outfit innocent.

He kneed his horse down the hill and followed the chuck wagon through the pass. On the other side, a horse and rider waited. Jonas urged his mount forward to fall in step with Luke’s.

His mood light, Luke awarded the man a smile. “Well, Jonas, it’s almost over. We’ll be in Hays by tomorrow evening.”

Jonas’s serious expression did not lighten. “And then?”

“Then you can go home. You said your farm isn’t too far from there, but if it’s late you’ll want to stay the night. My treat,” he added. “I’ll buy your supper too.”

The man did not turn his head but kept his stare fixed ahead. “What happens then for my Emma?”

Jonas’s meaning slammed into Luke. If he’d been walking, he would have stumbled. This wasn’t a friendly conversation between men. This was a father determined to discover Luke’s intentions for his daughter. And judging by the look on Jonas’s face, he wasn’t too happy to be having it.

“What are you talking about?”

A stupid answer that made him look dimwitted, but it gave Luke a few seconds to gather his thoughts.

“I see the way she watches you, the way she smiles when you smile.”

Emma’s image rose in Luke’s mind, that engaging smile on her lips and reflected in her eyes.

Jonas turned his head and caught Luke in a direct glance. “You watch her the same.”

He couldn’t deny the words. From the moment he opened his eyes back in Gorham and found himself looking up into her face, he couldn’t stop watching her, trying to figure out what went on behind that impassive expression that she obviously learned from her father. But when she let an emotion peek through, he felt it all the way to his core.

“I suppose I do,” he admitted.

Saying the words gave them extra weight. Jesse had sensed it from the very first, and though Luke denied any attraction between them, he’d known. He’d chosen to ignore it until his responsibility for the Triple Bar herd, and the men of his outfit, were met.

“My Emma, she is a Plain girl. Do you know what this means?”

“I know she’s Amish, Jonas. Anybody can tell that by looking at her.”

He shook his head. “Being Plain is more than our dress. It is more than the kapp our women wear, or the beard our men grow when we marry. It is more, even, than the church we attend. Being Plain is our life. We dedicate every action, every thought, to the Lord who saved us. We agree to live by the Ordnung under the direction of our church leaders.” The gaze he fixed on Luke became compassionate, almost pitying. “Being Plain is something you will never understand, and Plain is what my Emma is.”

A protest rose in his mind. No. Emma is so much more than that. But he found he couldn’t form the words, not in the face of Jonas’s stare. So he merely nodded and said nothing.

“You are a good man, Luke Carson.” Jonas’s voice dropped low. “But you are not a good man for my Emma.”

The words hit him like hailstones pounding the prairie during a storm. He’d barely become aware that the feelings he had for Emma might be something deep, something lasting, and already he’d been rejected by her father. A man Luke respected enormously.

Jonas urged his mount forward to take his place in the drag position at the rear of the herd. Luke allowed his horse to slow to a creep. The sun overhead did nothing to pierce the misty gloom that muddled his thoughts.

As the distance between him and the herd lengthened, he couldn’t help seeking out the form of the black-clad flank rider who had somehow managed to capture his heart.