“But you have some experience. Good. Here’s the routine. The minute you’re packed up, you follow the pilot to the nooning camp. The trail to Abilene is well marked, so we’ll rotate the pilot’s assignment. Some days it will be me. Most days the pilot will be someone I trust to choose a good site, usually beside water if we can manage it. And we’ll always set up camp to the left of the bedding or grazing ground so the hands know where the food is and where to find their bedrolls. After the pilot decides on the campsite, he’ll leave you and hightail it back to the herd.”
Her face paled. “I’ll be alone out there? On the range?” She couldn’t think of anything worse.
“The remuda follows you. Grady won’t be far behind.”
Her relief was followed by concern. “Just how fast will I be traveling to stay ahead of the herd?” How fast did cattle move? She had no idea.
Frisco grinned and her heart plummeted. “The pilot sets the pace, and your job is to keep up with him. You’ll see.”
The next two hours were the most harrowing Alex had endured since the accident that killed Payton and crushed her leg. The minute she followed Frisco out of the yard and onto the open range, she lost control of the galloping mules and could only hang on for dear life. The mules sighted on Frisco’s horse, and the race began. Alex braced her leg against the wagon’s front fender, clutched the reins, and prayed she wouldn’t fly out of the seat. The din of pounding hooves and rattling utensils crashed in her ears, she bounced around the seat like dice in a cup, dust plumed around her, and she was absolutely and completely terrified.
When Frisco finally stopped, and she managed to halt her team, she covered her face and burst into hysterical sobbing. He didn’t say anything, just leaned against the wheel, smoked, and waited her out.
“I can’t do this,” she said when she could speak. She’d lost her hat, the sleeve of her jacket had ripped loose, her leg was trembling violently from bracing against the front fender, and she was certain that she had a dozen bruises. Finding her handkerchief, she blotted her eyes and blew her nose. “That was the most horrifying ride I’ve had since… all I could think about was the accident! And Payton, and…”
Now Frisco reached up and lifted her down, handing her the crutch to lean on until he unloaded her chair. “Each one of you insists that you can’t do anything… and then you do it.”
“Not this time. Dal, please. I don’t ever want to have a ride like that again.” She turned her face toward the side of the chuck wagon because looking out at a sea of open space made her feel dizzy. Too late she realized that she’d called him by his first name. “I kept reliving that terrible moment when the carriage began to tip, and I knew it would go over.” Shuddering, she closed her eyes and felt hot tears swim up against her lids. “Then seeing Payton lying there so still, and the rain coming down in his face…”
Frisco rolled her chair up behind her. “Do you want me to tell you that you don’t have to go? Is that what you’re looking for, Alex?” he said, walking around the chair to look at her. “All right, stay at the ranch, go back East, do whatever you want. No one is forcing you to participate. That’s your choice. But if you do choose to go on this drive, then stop fighting and do what you have to do.”
She sank into the chair gratefully, taking the weight off her leg, which was still shaking. When she’d fought down the tears, she opened her eyes and stared at him. He was sitting on the ground in front of her, his wrists crossed on top of raised knees.
The accident that had ruined her life meant nothing to him. He didn’t care what she was feeling, or how hard it was to do the things he demanded. “All you care about is the money.”
He nodded after a minute. “I’m here for the same reason you are.”
A flush lit her cheeks, and she looked away from him, embarrassed that a moment of superiority had made her forget that the money drove them all. There was no choice about whether she would participate in the drive, and he knew it. Angry, she pressed her lips together and rolled forward a few feet, hating it that he would watch her crawl out of her chair and creep on the ground. “I’m going to dig a fire pit.”
“Good,” he said, leaning against the wagon and patting his pockets, looking for a cigar. “Pretend that a dozen hungry punchers will show up in about four hours.”
The soil was compacted here and heavier than it was behind the ranch house. By the time she hacked out the sod, she was sweating and her arms ached. But she had a fire pit. Turning to tell him, she realized her position on the ground gave her a good view of the hammock beneath the wagon, the cooney, they called it. A gasp caught in her throat.
“The wood is gone!” The wild ride across the range must have jolted out the supply of kindling and firewood and left it scattered behind them. Her mind went blank, and she couldn’t conceive how it would be possible to build a fire.
Frisco lifted down a sack and a stick with a nail exposed at the end. Alex had noticed this peculiar tool before and hadn’t a notion what it was or how it might be used.
“You aren’t the first cook to find himself without firewood.” He dropped the sack in her lap and handed her the stick with the nail. “So, you build a fire with prairie coal.”