Wyoming Brave

Most of the outbuildings, Delsey had told her, were made of steel. It was durable, and even snow that packed several feet in winter couldn’t collapse the roofs. There were lean-tos out in the sweeping fenced pastures, for the cattle to shelter in when the weather got rough, and those were also made of steel, with sloping roofs. Heated water troughs were everywhere. The men carried hay out to the cattle when snow got deep. It was placed in troughs with grates, so there wasn’t so much waste as the cattle ate. There were many corrals where horses were worked. Some were used to contain animals when they were due to be branded, tagged, castrated and inoculated. Those had loading chutes. Animals were herded down them either to trays used to work the calves, or to loading docks where the beef steers were loaded en route to other pastures or buyers.

Merrie had read about spring roundup on ranches, and she really would have loved to see the process. But it was October. No roundup was going on now. Instead, she found a DVD that showed the process on Skyhorn, the name of Ren’s big ranch.

While he was out, she put it in the DVD player, gathered up her knitting basket and settled back to watch the men work.

She was knee-deep into knitting a hat and watching Ren talking to a reporter about how branding was done when she heard a door open. She thought it was Delsey and paid no attention, until she heard a deep voice behind her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ren asked curtly.

She jumped, and looked up from her knitting with red cheeks. “Sorry. Was it okay if I use the DVD player?”

He scowled as he noticed her subject matter. He swept off his hat and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “I’d forgotten about that,” he murmured. “A reporter for a local station was doing a story about ranches and wanted to interview me. I don’t usually do them, but he was known for fairness in journalism.”

Her eyes asked the question.

He dropped into the leather armchair that nobody else was supposed to sit in and stared at her. “We get a lot of people who want to shut down the beef industry entirely.” He shrugged. “Opinions are like...well, everybody has one,” he said, amending what he’d been about to let out.

“I guess so,” she said. “The cattle industry may be an artificial use of land, but buffalo and other ruminants have been around for a very long time. Animal gases may contribute to climate change, but I’d put nuclear testing and volcanic eruptions at the top of any list I made about gases in the atmosphere.”

He raised one dark eyebrow. His attention was drawn to the interview she was watching. They were using the branding iron on the steers.

“That doesn’t bother you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I know about branding. Some people said freeze branding was better, but it sheds off with the coat. A burned brand lasts forever.” She glanced at him. “I even know what a running iron is. But I didn’t learn that from the video,” she said, nodding toward the screen. “I love to read Zane Grey novels. I guess I have every book he ever wrote.”

“Me, too,” he confessed. “What’s your favorite?”

“The Light of Western Stars,” she said. “You know, the hero was loosely based on a real person, Red Lopez, who fought on the Arizona border during the Mexican War in 1910.”

Both his eyebrows went up. “You know your history.”

“I would have studied it,” she said. She lowered her eyes to her knitting. “But I was tired of people shadowing me. Daddy wouldn’t let us leave the house unless somebody was with us. I took art classes at our local community college instead of doing a degree.”

“Why did he have people following you?”

“He was afraid we might meet a boy and try to go out with him,” she said on a hollow laugh. “This nice cowboy asked me out once, when I was sixteen. I’d met him in school. His sister was in my class. He worked on a ranch. He was just a little older than me.” She shifted on the sofa. “Daddy found out. The cowboy suddenly left for Arizona.” She lowered her eyes back to the hat in her lap that she was knitting while Ren gaped at her.

“Why didn’t he want you dating?”

She bit her lower lip. “He had very definite ideas about what sort of men he wanted us to marry, and when.”

“Then how did you meet my brother?” he asked curtly.

She went back to her knitting. She didn’t answer him.

He leaned forward. “How?”

She let out a shallow breath. “He had a good friend who was in my art class. I’d seen him around town when he was visiting, and when he came to see the exhibit at our college, we started talking.” She smiled. “He wasn’t scared of Daddy. Just the same, I could never invite him to the house, and I had to make sure we were always in a crowd at college when I talked to him. Daddy was...not quite normal.”

He’d already figured that out. “Your sister is married, though?”

Randall must have told him that. “Yes. Just recently. Paul’s a senior agent with the FBI in San Antonio. He used to work for Daddy, long ago.” She stopped. She didn’t want to talk about her father or his fortune.

“What does your sister do?”

She smiled. “She’s an assistant district attorney in Jacobs County.”

“Didn’t you want to have a profession? Some way to earn a living?”

She didn’t want to talk about that, especially. “I hope to do that with my art, one day,” she said. She looked up into a faintly disappointed face. She knew he thought she had no ambition. It hurt. But she wasn’t telling him anything more about Graylings. Not yet. “That reminds me,” she said softly. “Is there a room I could use to paint in? I have paints and canvases coming. I don’t want to make a mess...”

“There’s a studio,” he said. “It belonged to...my father’s wife.” He never called her his mother. “She used it for painting. There’s a drop cloth in there, as well.”

“Thanks,” she told him. She wondered if Ren had loved his mother, before their sad parting. She’d have to ask Randall. She wouldn’t dare ask Ren. He was already fuming about something; perhaps a bad memory of the woman. She was certain that he wouldn’t have referred to his mother at all if she hadn’t asked the question about the studio.

He waved away the gratitude. His eyes went to the quick, efficient movement of her hands. “What are you making?”

“Hats,” she said with a smile. “I make dozens and give them away, to children I meet on the street, to old people in the waiting room when I have dentist appointments. I gave some to a woman who helps Mandy in the house, who works with an outreach program as a volunteer.” She hesitated. “I mostly do it when I’m watching television.”

“You make hats?” Delsey asked from the kitchen. She came into the living room, stirring something she was making in a bowl. “Could you make me one?” she asked. “I’m forever going in and out to take trash, and my head gets cold even when I put on a coat.”

“Sure. You can have this one when it’s finished.” She held it up. It was green and gold and tan.

“I like that!”

She laughed. “Thanks.”

“I’ll just finish getting this cake ready to go in the oven. Apple pound cake, Mr. Ren, with vanilla frosting.”

“Something to look forward to tonight,” he said, and smiled at her.

“It’ll be ready by then.” She went back into the kitchen.

“I thought you’d be squeamish,” Ren remarked as Merrie’s attention went back to the screen.

“I like cattle,” she said sheepishly. “I don’t know much about them. There are ranches all around the house where Sari and I grew up. Most of the people in Jacobs County either run cattle or work on ranches.”

“Sari?”

She laughed softly. “Her name is really Isabel, but only Paul calls her that. To the rest of us, she’s Sari.”

“Are you like her?”

“Oh, no,” she replied. “Sari’s redheaded and has really blue eyes. Mine are sort of a washed-out version of hers. And she’s very smart. She graduated in the top of her class from college and law school.”

He cocked his head and studied her. She was pretty and sweet. Smart? He didn’t care if a woman was smart or not. He liked Merrie. Even though he really didn’t want to.

He got to his feet, slapping his work gloves into his hand. “You can come back for spring roundup,” he mused. “I’ll take you out and you can see the process firsthand.”

“You’d do that for me?” she exclaimed, her face radiating joy. “Oh, I’d love to see it!”

He smiled faintly. “Okay.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Delsey, I’ll be back late tonight. Fred and I have to ride out to the line cabins and check on the men.”

“All right. It’s going to snow kittens and you’re already sniffling. Don’t stand out in the cold.”

“Stop worrying,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine,” she shot back. “You sound stuffed up.”

“I’m going now,” he replied. “See you later.”

“Okay. Go kill yourself and see if I care!” she called back.

He just laughed. He glanced at Merrie, tipped his hat and went out the door. It was really coming down outside. Snow seemed to come often in autumn here in Wyoming. Merrie wondered if the weather was always like that.

* * *

MERRIE WAS ON TIME for supper. She and Delsey ate a nice stew with biscuits, then Merrie went up to her room to sketch some more. She’d gone to bed when she heard Ren’s footsteps come up the stairs. Odd how slow they sounded. His step was always quick and confident. Probably he was just tired, she thought. She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

The next morning, she was on time for breakfast, but Ren wasn’t sitting at the table, as he usually was.

Delsey frowned as she put things on the table. “Not like him to be late. I’m going up to check on him.”

“I hope he’s all right,” Merrie said.

“Warned him about being out in that snow when he was already feeling bad. He never listens.” She was still muttering as she went out the door and up the staircase.

Delsey was back very soon. She went directly to the phone in the living room, picked it up and dialed.

She told someone Ren’s symptoms, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll have Tubbs drive him right into town. Thanks, Sylvia.”

She hung up. Then she called down to the bunkhouse, asked for Tubbs and had him come up to the house.

“Ren’s sick?” Merrie asked, worriedly.

“Yes. He sounds as if he’s breathing water,” Delsey said worriedly. “He almost never gets sick, but there’s that virus that was going around, and he won’t take care of himself. Out in the freezing cold and wind for hours...” She stopped. “Go eat, child. He’ll be all right. He’s tough.”

Merrie managed a smile. She felt sad. When Ren walked in the door, the house came to life. It was an odd thing to feel about a man she barely knew and didn’t really like. But he seemed to fill the house up with color just by being in it.

* * *

MINUTES LATER, DELSEY propped him up with her shoulder and helped him walk down the staircase. His face was a pasty white, and he looked terrible. When he coughed, the congestion was audible.

“I’m all right,” he was protesting.

“You’re not all right. Merrie, can you hold on to him for me while I see if Tubbs is out there? I think I hear the truck...”

“Of course.” Merrie took Delsey’s place under Ren’s arm and felt the hard muscular body closer than she ever had before. He was warm and strong, and smelled of fir trees. She liked the feeling she got, being near him like this. It was something she’d never experienced.

Ren liked the softness of her young body. He liked the feel of her. He liked it too much, he thought to himself. He moved restlessly. He felt really sick.

“It’s okay,” Merrie said softly. “The doctor will give you something, and you’ll get better.”

“I’ve got work to do...!”

“It will get done when it gets done,” she said firmly. “You can’t work if you’re dead, now, can you?”

He looked down into her soft pale blue eyes. “Pest,” he muttered.

She grinned up at him. “Certifiable.”

He managed a laugh, but it made him cough.

Delsey motioned to them. “Tubbs is right outside. Come on, Mr. Ren.” She looked out the door. “Tubbs, come help, he’s heavy!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Tubbs came shooting in the door, grinned at Merrie and took Ren under the arm. “Come on, boss man. You can’t die. We’ll all have to go looking for work and we’ll never find anybody else who’ll yell at us and threaten to soak our blankets in vinegar.”

“Tubbs...” Ren began irritably.

“On the other hand, if you die, I want that nice watch you have, the one with all the dials,” Tubbs continued.

Surprisingly, Ren burst out laughing, which caused another coughing fit.

“In you go, boss man. You’re not dying today.” He waved to the women, got in beside Ren and drove away.

Merrie went back inside the house with Delsey, rubbing her arms because it was bitterly cold outside.

“You need a winter coat,” Delsey said firmly.

“I’ll go shopping. But not today.” Merrie laughed. She followed Delsey into the kitchen. “He’ll be okay, won’t he?” she added, worried and not able to hide it.

Delsey suppressed a smile. “He’ll be fine. Dr. Fellows will make sure of it. He delivered Ren.”

She cocked her head. “How long ago?” she wondered.

“Almost thirty-seven years,” Delsey replied. “He was born December 6.”

“I see.” He was older than she’d thought. Thirty-six, to her twenty-two. Well, she’d be twenty-three in November. It was still fourteen years. She supposed a mature man like that would think of her as just a child. It depressed her. She wondered why. He was hot-tempered, irritable, impatient, overbearing... Well, she had to finish that knitting, and adding to the adjectives would take a long time.

* * *

REN CAME HOME LATER, with Tubbs still supporting him.

“We have medicine and orders from the doctor,” Tubbs said, helping Ren up the staircase. “I expect him to take the first and ignore the second.”

“You can bet on it,” Ren muttered.

Tubbs just laughed.

After he got Ren settled, he came back down the staircase. He tipped his hat to the women. “I have to go ride the fence line and look for breaks.”

“Button that coat,” Delsey said firmly. “One sick man is enough.”

Tubbs grinned at her. “I never get sick.” He glanced at Merrie and started to speak.

“Out,” Delsey said, because she had a feeling he wanted to ask Merrie out. Ren wouldn’t like it.

He made a face. “You’re as bad as he is,” he remarked, nodding up the staircase.

“Where do you think I learned it from?” Delsey returned, and she grinned.

“Ah, well, fair maiden, there’s always tomorrow,” Tubbs said, and made Merrie a sweeping bow before he left. “Parting is such sweet sorrow!” he added on his way out.

Merrie looked after him, but not with any real interest. She turned back to Delsey. “Will Ren take the medicine, you think?”

“I would bet money that he sticks it in his medicine cabinet and closes the door,” Delsey replied. “It’s what he did the last time, and he ended up right back in Dr. Fellows’s office.”

Merrie hesitated. “Does he wear pajamas?” she asked, flushing.

“Ah. I see.” Delsey smiled gently. “He wears the bottoms,” she said. “Think you can get the medicine in him?”

“I got medicine in an outlaw horse once,” Merrie replied.

Delsey smiled gently. “Let me heat up some soup for him, and we’ll both take it up.”

“Great!” Merrie said.

Delsey kept her thoughts to herself. It was a relief, however, to notice that dashing Tubbs hadn’t made an impression on the young woman. The boss looked at Merrie in a way he hadn’t looked at a woman since that she-cat took him for the ride of his life. It was a start.

* * *

REN WAS IN BED with the covers pulled up to his waist, looking miserable, when Delsey and Merrie walked in.

“I just need rest,” he muttered, glaring at them. “Not mothering!”

“Nobody’s mothering you,” Merrie promised. “Where’s the medicine?”

He glared at her.

“In the medicine cabinet, I’ll bet,” Delsey told her.

“Traitor!” Ren shot at her.

Merrie walked into his bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There were two prescriptions. One was an antibiotic, one was a powerful cough syrup.

She carried them both triumphantly back into the bedroom and started to open the antibiotic.

“Is that the cough syrup?” Delsey asked, reaching for it. She had a spoon in her hand. She read the directions, poured some into a spoon and pushed it toward Ren’s defiantly closed mouth.

“Open up, or I’ll roll you in a towel and shove it into you,” Merrie said forcefully.

The words, and the tone, caused him to burst out laughing. He opened his mouth, and Delsey spooned the cough syrup in.

“Very nice,” Merrie said. She held a pill in her hand. “This one, too,” she said.

He stared up at her. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.

“Delsey, have you got a really big towel and two strong men...?”

“Hell.” He opened his mouth and glared at Merrie as she put the pill on his tongue.

He swallowed it down with some of the milk Delsey had brought him.

“Milk causes more mucus, you know,” Merrie commented.

“It’s all he’ll drink when he’s sick.” Delsey sighed as she put the tray with legs over him and set the soup and spoon and napkin on it.

“He needs to drink lots of water, to thin the secretions so he can cough up the mucus,” Merrie added.

“I’m right here,” Ren muttered. “I can hear both of you.”

They both stared at him.

He grimaced and picked up his soup spoon. “All right, you had your way. Now get out of here and let me eat my soup in peace.”

“It’s not soup. It’s oyster stew. Your favorite,” Delsey added with a warm smile.

He made a face at her, but then he smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You get better. If you need anything, use the intercom,” Delsey added, indicating the unit on his bedside table.

“I won’t. But thanks.” He included Merrie in that. “Don’t think that threat about the towel made any difference,” he added firmly.

She grinned at him. “Liar,” she said mischievously.

He just chuckled.

* * *

THAT NIGHT, MERRIE went in to see Ren before she went to bed. She was still fully dressed. She didn’t want to be seen by a man in just pajamas and a robe, even if it was a modern world.

She knocked lightly and peered in the door. “Doing okay?” she asked.

He glared at her. “Close the door, from the outside,” he said icily.

“Yes, sir.” She closed it, wincing at his angry tone, and went down the hall to her own room.

He was so unpredictable. One day he was almost nice to her, the next he snapped her head off. She looked at herself in the mirror and realized the cause of his sudden irritation. Her cross was visible around her neck, outside the sweatshirt she was wearing.

She fingered it gently. Her mother had given it to her when she was a little girl. She’d changed the gold chain many times over the years, but the cross remained the same. It was something from her mother, her childhood, something priceless. Ren didn’t have to like it. But she wasn’t taking it off.

His coldness hurt her. She wondered why. He was just Randall’s brother. He wasn’t even nice most of the time. Ah, well, she thought, she wasn’t going to be here long anyway. No use wasting thoughts on a man who’d probably pay to see her breaded and deep-fried.

* * *

IT TOOK HIM two days to get up enough strength to leave his bed. He was a little unsteady on his feet when he came down to breakfast, but his bad attitude was back in full force.

He pulled out a chair and glared at the women. “I don’t need babying, in case you had that in mind. I feel fine.”

Merrie stared at him. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Delsey agreed.

He popped his napkin out and folded it in his lap on top of his immaculate jeans and chaps. The spurs on his boots made a jingling sound when he moved his feet under the table.

“Is that sausage?” he asked suddenly, pointing his fork at the platter next to the bacon and eggs.

“Yes. Merrie likes it.”

“I hate sausage,” he said curtly.

“I love it,” Merrie replied, just to irritate him. She gave him a long, steady look. “It just makes me feel good, thinking of pork being shoved through a sausage grinder.”

His eyebrows went up. It was the way she said it, eyeing him the whole time. “I would not fit in a sausage grinder,” he said abruptly.

She sighed. “Pity,” she said, with a blithe smile.

He choked back a laugh and reached for the coffeepot.

* * *

SHE WALKED OUTSIDE before he left, enjoying the previous night’s fall of new snow. It lay like a blanket over the hills and mountains in the distance. She wrapped her arms around herself, because it was below freezing and her coat was more decorative than functional.

“I thought I told you to go to town and buy a coat,” Ren muttered as he came outside, sliding his hat over his brow.

“There hasn’t been time,” she replied.

“I’ll have Delsey drive you in tomorrow,” he said. His eyes gave the old coat a speaking glance. “Don’t you own a decent winter coat?”

She flushed and lowered her eyes. “We had a very strict clothing allowance when Daddy was alive,” she said with stinging pride. “He thought coats were a waste of money. He only gave us enough money to buy jackets, but I found this coat on sale.”

“I’m surprised they weren’t giving it away for free,” he said haughtily.

She frowned at him. “Not everybody is rich, Mr. Colter,” she said shortly. “Most people in the world just do the best they can with what they have.”

He lifted an eyebrow and slid his eyes over what he could see of her trim figure. “How old are you?” he asked suddenly.

“Twenty-two,” she returned.

His eyes darkened. Too young, he was thinking. Years too young. Twenty-two to his thirty-six. She was striking. It wasn’t so much beauty, although she had that, as poise and grace. She moved like some graceful fawn, barely leaving traces of her footsteps when she walked.

“You’re just a kid,” he said quietly, thinking out loud.

“It’s the mileage,” she said suddenly.

He frowned. “What?”

“It’s the mileage. Some people are old at twenty and some are young at eighty. It’s the mileage.”

“I see.” He cocked his head and studied her openly. “You aren’t old enough to have much mileage, just the same.”

She smiled. “I don’t let it show. It takes a lot fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown.”

He cocked his hat low over his brow. “Don’t expect to see many smiles around here in winter.”

“Not true,” she said pertly. “Delsey smiles all the time. So does Tubbs.”

At the mention of the younger man’s name, he froze over. “Tubbs is here to work, not to make calf’s eyes at you,” he said, his tone biting. “Don’t encourage him. He likes blondes.”

“I haven’t encouraged anybody,” she protested.

“See that you don’t.” His smile was colder than the snow around them. “After all, you’re Randall’s...friend, aren’t you?” he added, a note of contempt in his tone.

“Yes,” she said, not understanding. “Randall’s my friend.”

“You remember that.”

He turned and marched off toward the truck, where one of the men was waiting for him. “Tell Delsey I’ll be late,” he called over his shoulder. “We’re going quail hunting.”

He was gone before she could even answer.

“Well, he’s in some great shape to go out hunting,” Delsey said irritably as she puttered around the kitchen. “Hunkered down in a snowbank waiting to spook a covey of quail! He’ll catch his death!”

“He really doesn’t listen to reason.”

Delsey laughed. “No. He doesn’t.”

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