Lone Star Bride
* * *
A few days later, Sofia made her way through the tree line in the dark, an old work saddle on her hip. She had to move slowly in order not to trip. The boots were a size or two too big and made moving awkward.
A few shirts and a pair of pants, along with extra strips of cloth to keep everything hidden, were stuffed into a worn leather saddlebag. The bag came from a raid of her brother’s room. With a rolled-up blanket, a hunting knife and his prized Hawken rifle she had everything a cowboy would need to survive.
From her own closet, she pulled out the rawhide rope she’d made herself a few years ago. The vaqueros who helped her make it taught her that it was even more important than the horse under a person. It was an extension of the vaquero’s arm.
She loved working with the rope. Her brother got mad whenever her skill outdid his.
Her left hand went to the back of her neck, bare of the long braid she had since her earliest memories. Now it was gone. In the bottom of her brother’s drawer along with a note to her father. She had heard him in there late at night. It seemed once a month her father had developed the habit of going through every corner of her brother’s room. What if he didn’t?
Maybe if he found it with her cut braid, he would understand how important this was to her.
A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of the cold metal scissors pressed to the base of her neck.
The thick hair had fought the destruction. In chunks, the braid came loose in her hand. Soft curls sprang around her face, choppy and uneven until she ran a handful of hair grease through it.
She could imagine her brother teasing her about still looking like a girl. Choking back tears, she buried her thoughts of him. At times, she still expected him to walk into the room, make a joke about her being a girl and hug her until she was laughing. He would have loved this adventure.
A moment of sadness overcame her as she rubbed her bare neck.
Then anticipation rolled in her stomach. She was about to start a whole new adventure on the open range.
Sofia stopped at the edge of the trees. The sun wasn’t up yet, but a group of American cowboys moved around the old shed, getting ready for the day. She was about to live with them on a daily basis. Could she do this?
Yes! If she started doubting herself now, she might as well go back to the house.
Connected to the building was a covered cooking area, open on two sides. The smell of bacon and beans made her stomach rumble. Between her nerves and getting out of the house without being caught, she had missed the last two meals.
She still couldn’t eat anything at this point. Fear tangled her in its net. Air had a hard time finding its way to her lungs.
Would she be able to pull this off? She was relieved to find none of the men were from around the area. It would have been hard to hide her identity from someone who knew Sofia De Zavala, the rancher’s daughter. What would the trail boss do if he found out?
Boots that had been worn by her brother helped her take the first steps to this new journey. All she needed to do now was introduce herself to the cook and cowboys. She would be living with, working with and traveling with these rough men.
“Santiago?”
The sound of her brother’s name caused her to jump.
Jackson stood behind her. “What are you doing hiding out here?”
“I’m here to join the drive.”
For a few heartbeats, he stared at her. Not sure what to do, she studied her boots.
“You’re early, but that’s good. I’ll introduce you to Francisco Luna. He’s the cook.” Jackson nodded at a man who walked out from the back of the building.
Not wanting to hear her brother’s name over and over again, she had to come up with something else. She needed a nickname. “Call me Tiago.”
His gaze narrowed. “You’re changing your name?”
“No, it’s what I want to be called. It’s shorter, and this is a new adventure. I need a new name.”
“Okay, Tiago. Follow me. By the way, your English greatly improved since I saw you last.”
There was nothing to say to that, so she trailed behind Jackson, walking faster than she was used to in order to keep up with him. Stepping out from the protection of the trees, she took a deep breath and reminded herself she was a boy.
Cook was wider than he was tall, not that it was a difficult feat. Straight up on his toes, he might be five feet tall. Under a bushy mustache and white beard, he had a smile that stretched from ear to ear. He called out to the cowboys to come get their meal.
When Jackson introduced her, the little man lifted his chin and looked down at her. “You know how to work hard, mijo?”
“Sí, señor.” She forced herself to nod with confidence she didn’t feel. Sweat ran down her spine.
He looked apprehensive.
“Whatever you need, I’ll do it. You won’t know how you did it without me on all those other drives.”
He laughed and reached up to pat Jackson on his shoulder. “I think I like our little Tiago.”
“Yeah, he has that effect on people. I’m going to talk to the boys before we head out.”
Without pausing, Cook handed her a knife. “Take care of the bacon.” He moved quickly around her, getting several things done at once. All the while, making jokes she didn’t understand.
He explained her job was to tend the mules and chickens along with hauling, fetching, cleaning and anything else he needed doing.
This was happening. She was part of the crew that would drive cattle to New Orleans for her father. She might be cooking right now, but she was cooking outside, not in the kitchen like a woman. She was ready to ride over the country and out of Texas. She wanted to sing and dance.
Head down, she flipped the bacon and whistled as she checked the pot of beans. She was a boy on a trail drive.
In front of the bunkhouse, her new trail boss talked to a few of the men. She forced herself to look away. He could be her biggest threat to this new life.
When he was around she’d have to keep her head down and make sure not to look like, talk like or act like a woman. Jackson McCreed might make that difficult.
Chapter Four
The sun started peeking over the hills and highlighted the details of the rugged camp. Several cowboys walked outside, their boots hitting the old wood of the porch. They gathered around Jackson. After a few minutes, they started heading directly toward her as a group.
She wanted to find a place to hide. She hadn’t really thought what it would mean to live as a boy for the whole trip.
“It’s a kid. Where’d you come from?” She had never heard that cowboy’s accent before, and she wasn’t sure what he looked like because she kept her eyes down, focused on the sizzling bacon.
“I could use someone to polish my boots.” Laughter followed.
Someone pulled her hat off. “Not sure I’d trust him. He has the look of a scamp who would steal everything he could and sneak off in the night.” The new one speaking had a very strong Southern accent.
“Give me back my hat.” She grabbed for the black felt hat that belonged to her brother.
The cowboy laughed and held the hat high above his head. Even if she jumped, she wouldn’t be able to reach it. All she could do was glare.
“He looks more like two bit of nothing than a cowboy.”
“Boss, we running an orphan camp now?”
“Hey, Two Bit, you gonna stare at your boots or actually pass out the bacon?”
All the excitement she felt earlier drowned under a wave of doubt. She had been stupid to think that putting on her brother’s pants would immediately help her fit into the world of men. These cowboys would never talk to her like this if they knew she was a De Zavala. She was tempted to tell them, just to see the look on their faces.
The closest cowboy to her spat on the ground by her feet.
Jackson joined the group. “That’s enough, Will. This is Santiago. He goes by Tiago. He’ll be helping Cook and only answers to him.” He took the hat from the man named Will and handed it to her. “You stay with Cook. We’ll be heading out to the cattle station as soon as these yahoos finish eating.”
Standing as straight as her spine allowed, she used the knife to pass the bacon onto their plates, along with a ladle full of gravy and a biscuit.
Under the mesquite trees, she made a resolution. No matter what they threw at her for the next few weeks, she would ride and learn with these men.
As they sat on the ground to eat, they joked and harassed each other. Jackson stood in front of her.
“You sure about this?”
She couldn’t back out now, just because the cowboys teased her. That would only prove she didn’t belong here, and she knew she did. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She added a shrug to make sure he knew she could be one of the cowboys.
“Okay. Once you get everything packed, you and Cook will head out first thing in the morning. The horses, then cattle will follow the wagon.” His eyes narrowed. “This is it. There is no way out once we start moving the cattle.”
She hesitated. To the core of her soul, she knew the next step would decide the direction of her life. Independence she never dreamed possible would be hers, along with all of the dangers.
Could she move back into the safe world her father had created for her? Where he also had an unknown groom waiting.
The men who worked for him, the business, the family...everything would be better off with her being a true partner of the ranch. In order to prove it to her father, she had to first prove it to these men. And herself.
Looking around the bare bunkhouse and outside cooking area, she knew this was easy living compared to the trail. She’d be sleeping on the ground, surrounded by wild animals.
Jackson looked at her expecting an honest answer. He didn’t rush her, just stood waiting. He didn’t know it, but she just put her life in his hands.
With a quick nod, she ran to the spot she had dropped her things.
The minute she walked back to the wagon, carrying her saddle, rifle and lasso, laughter erupted from the wranglers on the porch.
“That there’s some pretty fancy equipment for Two Bit of a cook’s helper.”
“Two Bit, you going to be riding the big stew pot over hills and hunting down our dinner?”
“Naw, he’s going to use his papa’s rope there and saddle the biggest bull. You going to lead us all the way to New Orleans.” They laughed at their stupid jokes.
They weren’t even funny.
Cook put dirt over the fire. “Toss your gear in the wagon. And start hooking up the mules.”
If Cook ignored the cowboys, so would she.
Jackson grabbed a saddle off the porch railing. “We’ve got work to do.” All the men went to the round pen and picked a horse to saddle.
The wagon was the biggest one she had ever seen. Usually, they used one with two wheels. This monster had four large wheels and siding that was taller than her. De Zavala was painted on the side. Leave it to her father to make a grand statement.
The mules for the wagon grazed nearby with long ropes attached to their leather hackamores. There were six. One of her jobs would be hitching them to the wagon that carried all the food supplies. Cook told her the placement was important to keep everything balanced.
She bit her lip and put her hands on her hips.
For years, she rode with her father, learning how to handle a horse, rope and brand cattle. Not once did she wonder how it all came to be. That had been someone else’s job.
Now she was expected to harness mules that didn’t look very cooperative. She could do this. Really, how difficult could it be? She knew tack and how to...she lifted the pieces of leather.
Long lines, straps, loops and the large collar with loose pieces that she didn’t have any knowledge of.
When Jackson realized she didn’t even know how to do her first job, he would leave her behind.
Maybe if she got the mules in line, the pieces would come together. The mules ignored her when she tried to move them. “Boys, this would be a great deal easier if you would stand in front of the wagon.”
After pulling and pushing, coercing and urging, she stood with her hands on her hips. It appeared that figuring out how to arrange the tack was not her biggest problem.
The creaking of leather warned her she wasn’t alone. “It helps if you attach the mules to the wagon.”
At the sound of Jackson’s deep voice, her shoulders sagged. She was caught. With a deep breath, she turned, making sure to stand tall.
Confidence was all about how the world saw you. Leaning across the saddle horn, the grim set of his mouth was at odds with the merriment in his eyes.
Everything about Jackson confused her.
He dismounted and let the reins drop to the ground. “Here.” From his pocket, he pulled wedges of apples. “Make friends with them, and they will do whatever you want. A good wrangler can get his mules to line up in order with one signal. They like routine and treats.” He laid his hand flat, and the dark gray mule followed him to the wagon.
“Cook wanted oxen, but the mules move out faster and are easier to train.”
She approached the one closest to her. It reached for the apple with its large lips and nudged her. Taking the rope, she placed him next to the gray mule in front of the wagon.
As they moved the six mules, Jackson explained the importance of their order. Step by step, he walked her through attaching the collars and lines.
“Make sure to use the pads, and that all the straps are lying flat. If they develop sores, they can’t pull and we can’t move.”
“How does this look?” She stepped back and watched him check her work.
Testing the cinches and traces, he nodded. “This is good. You want to make sure they don’t get tangled. Once you get this down, it will go by much faster. You’ll be doing this on your own from now on, so make sure to do it correctly.” He went on to explain all the things that could go wrong if she messed up.
Not that she didn’t already have enough to worry about. This was it. Now it was her responsibility.
Once the mules stood ready, Jackson leaped onto his horse with one swing of his leg. He tipped his hat and left for the cattle station.
Alone, she turned to the gray long-eared mule. “I can do this.”
Chapter Five
Teams of cowboys gathered small groups of steers into holding pens to finish the last brandings. Jackson leaned over the saddle horn and watched the ranch’s Mexican cowboys lasso and brand. They were doing two to three for every one steer his cowboys covered. The Americans were proficient. They just weren’t as fast as the Mexicans.
One of his men, Rory Brosnen, went over to see how they were moving through the herd so quickly. The local men seemed to anticipate what the longhorns were going to do every step of the way.
From behind him, the boy yelled a warning. With a sharp movement, Jackson turned to see a two-thousand-pound bull charging at him.
He pulled on the reins to move his horse, but before he had time to do anything else, Tiago had his rope swinging over his head and caught the bull by both back legs, causing it to stumble. The vaquero who had been showing one of the American cowboys some tricks, had his rope around the bull’s wide sharp horns.
The angry animal forgot his original target and turned to the horseless vaquero. Jackson swung his rope and caught a front leg of the bull, bringing him down for a short time. The cowboy joined the vaquero and looped his rope over the horns.
Once the bull was down, the horses and men set back and kept the rope taut, the boy jumped from his horse and ran to the bull, ready to tie him. Worried about the kid’s size, Jackson did the same and met the boy at the sharp hooves. “Give me the tie, and I’ll do it.” He held his hand out. Without hesitation, the kid dropped the short tie into his grasp.
While the others kept the dangerous horns out of the way, he tied the legs and stepped back. Turning to the newest member of his crew, he slapped him on his small shoulder. The kid’s chest moved in double time, and his whole body had a slight tremor. He might have been scared, but he reacted quickly. He was stronger and faster than his height would indicate.
“Good work. You saved my horse and me from a tussle with an angry bull.”
Head down, the boy took a step back and cleared his throat. “What’s a full-grown bull doing here? I thought we were driving steers?”
“Good question.”
“Don’t worry, jefe.” One of the vaqueros yelled over his shoulder. Jackson wasn’t used to being called boss, in English or Spanish. “He’ll be a steer before you leave mañana.”
The boy was already back on his horse. Jackson watched him as he coiled his rope and left the work area. He narrowed his eyes and studied the boy’s movements.
Something was off. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the young Santiago moved like a girl.
He frowned and shook his head. There was no way, with those kinds of skills, that he was a female. He’d hardly seen grown men act so fast with such precision. It would be impossible for a young female.
The crews worked together, starting to mix and talk. He hoped his cowboys learned a few tricks before going on the drive.
He scanned the area and decided now was a good time to solve the Tiago mystery. He hated surprises.
They had a tendency to turn good days into bad ones in a blink of an eye, especially when the warning signs were ignored. He would not let his impulse to help someone override his instinct that something was wrong. Not again.
Making his way to the wagon, he planned an in-depth chat to get this feeling in his gut settled. The kid was hiding something, but he didn’t have time to find a new assistant for the cook. He sighed. If it came down to it, he’d rather be shorthanded there than run into unforeseen trouble later.
Dismounting, he paused behind the wagon loaded with supplies. Jackson was sure the kid had come this way, but didn’t see him.
A sweet giggle came from inside the wagon. Jackson looked for the cook. He knew the man had several daughters, but he said they were all back in Mexico with his wife.
Looking between the canvas flaps, he only saw Santiago. The kid’s head was bent over a wood box, curls falling forward, hiding his face. Chirping noises mixed with soft girlish giggles floated through the warm air. It was Tiago.
The giggles came from Tiago.
Looking up, the youngster had a small chicken cupped in his hands. Jumping from his knees, he walked to the back of the wagon. With one hop, he stood next to Jackson. Without a hat, the kid barely reached Jackson’s chest.
“Cook has a few hens and some half-grown chicks. I have to keep the crate clean.” Lifting the awkward looking bird up for his inspection, the giggle came again. The chicken was half yellow chick fuzz, and half new red feathers. It looked like an experiment gone wrong.
“This one hopped on my shoulder and wanted to sit under my hair. I never knew chickens had personalities.” Tiago brought the chicken to a rounded cheek, and it cooed as it rubbed against the soft skin.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed and disbelief flooded his thoughts. How had he missed it? The orphaned boy he hired...was a female.
* * *
Sofia looked up at Jackson, and her heart slammed against her chest. The fire in his normally cool eyes warned her that she forgot who she was supposed to be.
This close, she could see the details in his irises. The green as bright as the new growth on the cypress trees. Now they burned with suspicion.
Stepping back, she tucked her head and locked down her lungs. If he discovered she was a girl now, he’d make her pack her saddlebag and send her back to the ranch, back to the plans her father had for her.
This adventure would end before it even began, and she’d be married to a stranger by the end of the year.
How could she be so stupid?
Turning to the wagon, she tried to climb inside and hide, but he reached for her arm. His strong hand holding her in place without effort.
“I think you have some explaining to do. Remember, I don’t do well with liars.” He started walking away from the safety of the wagon, pulling her along behind him.
Boots planted, she tried to stop him, but he didn’t seem to even notice.
“Please.” Lowering her voice, she wasn’t above begging. “Please, release me. I need to return the chick and finish my job.”
He didn’t slow. “You need to answer my questions. And think about your answers, because it’s starting to look like you don’t have a job.”
The chick squirmed in distress. Relaxing her hold, she tried talking to him again. “Please, let me return the chicken to the wagon.”
Halfway to the trees that lined the Frio River, Jackson stopped. He released her and crossed his arms. “Make it fast, and come straight back here. Don’t even try to run...again.”
With boots planted wide, and his forearms over his chest, he made an impressive sight. A sight she would be better off not appreciating.
Hurrying to the wagon, she talked to calm the chick. To be honest, it was more to calm herself. What could she say to convince Jackson she was a boy? Picking up her brother’s hat, she scanned the interior of the wagon, searching for anything that would help her.
“Santiago!” The command made it clear time had run out.
She had nothing.
Hat back on her head, she stepped out of the wagon and saw Jackson still standing the way she left him. She’d seen stone carvings softer than his face.
Taking her time to get out of the wagon, she was at a loss as to what to say to him. How could she convince him she was a boy?
The boots became heavy as she walked, each step a chore. She was more scared now than when she saw the bull charging. Dealing with Jackson was new territory. Being a boy was out of her experience.
A few feet from him, she stopped and looked at her boots. He was the one who wanted to talk, so she’d let him. It gave her a bit of time anyway.
“Follow me.” Without waiting, he turned and walked past the trees to the riverbed. Away from the cattle station. No one would see them there. She didn’t know if that was good or bad.
At the edge of the smooth rocks that made up the riverbed, he finally stopped. “What’s your name?” His jaw was tight.
Threads hung loose where they began to unravel at the end of her long sleeves. All her attention now focused on them as she rolled them between her fingers. Not knowing what else to do, she shrugged. “Santiago. Tiago.”
He snorted. Stepping closer, he cupped her jaw in one large hand and lifted her face, turning it to the right, then the left. His stare cut through her as if he saw right to her core. She had nowhere to hide.
One movement and he had the hat off her head. His eyes moved as he scanned her features. He shook his head. “How did I ever think you were a boy?”
Biting the inside of her cheek, she worked to keep her breath slow and steady. Showing fear was not an option.
“How old are you?” He moved in an inch closer.
“Twenty-two.” Forcing herself to keep eye contact, she didn’t blink. “Old enough to make my own decisions.” There had to be a way to save her job. She refused to admit she was a woman.
He dropped his hands as if they were burned. “Are you married? Is there an angry husband who will run us down and shoot us?”
“No. I’m not running from anyone or anything. Returning to the ranch after the drive is the plan, so I can work there. That’s all I want, and the only reason I’m here.”
He didn’t look convinced.
It was time to remind him what she had already done. “Just like I did when the bull was about to gore you. All that matters is I can handle the work. I’m fast at learning, too. One lesson, and I hitched the mules.”
“The trail is not the same as the ranch. It’s even more dangerous and unpredictable. It’s no place for a female of any age.”