Unbridled Dreams Read online

  “Yes. I’ve been meaning to discuss that with you. Your mother said you got lost?”

  Irma sighed. “Embarrassing as that is to admit, it’s the truth.” She looked past Daddy and scanned the group of cowboys watching as a potential rider approached the pinto bronc christened Outlaw. “I didn’t tell Momma, but I met someone here this morning—a greenhorn, in fact—and I promised to help him understand what would be going on today.” She tugged her father’s arm. “I’ll tell you all about it later.” She pointed to the cowboy in the corral. “Isn’t that Monte? Let’s hurry!”

  “Here you go,” Uncle Charlie said and waved Irma to a spot in front of him even as he said to Daddy, “Wait ’til you see this. I was right about that pinto. It’s taken them half an hour to get a saddle on him. Cody’s going to want him for sure, and I bet he pays me top dollar.”

  “Where is Bill?” Daddy said, craning his neck.

  “Socializing. Monte said Cody gave Shep Sterling the go-ahead to check out the broncs and riders this morning.”

  Irma didn’t have time to find Sterling in the crowd, because at that moment Monte finally got one toe in a stirrup and the wranglers who’d been holding Outlaw’s head let go and dove for the fence, scrambling under the lowest rail as the pinto exploded into a frenzy of bucking. The bronc was good, all right, but Monte wasn’t giving up easily. Even when the horse sunfished, sending a cloud of dust toward the side of the corral where Irma and the rest of the Mason family stood, even when he left the ground with all fours and landed with a jarring thud that made Irma wince, even then, Monte stuck in the saddle.

  Finally, a nasty spin sent Monte’s hat flying in one direction and Monte in the other. When he didn’t move for a moment, Irma’s hand went to her mouth and her heartbeat quickened. After what seemed at least part of an eternity Monte opened his eyes and scrambled to his feet. Irma joined the crowd in applauding with relief.

  A few feet away, a tall cowboy ducked between the corral poles and retrieved Monte’s hat, then walked toward him. Clapping his hand on Monte’s shoulder, he said something that made Monte shout with joy and look over to where the Mason family, Daddy, and Irma were standing. He gave the thumbs-up, and the Mason girls and Irma cheered. Aunt Laura smiled and waved her approval.

  Irma put her gloved hand on Uncle Charlie’s arm and pointed. “Is that—”

  Uncle Charlie nodded. “Must be. Shep Sterling in the flesh.”

  He was handsome. Broad shoulders. Nice eyes. Scruffy beard. Irma couldn’t tell if he was still wearing the new boots or not, but the ridiculously large buckle was evident. Watching Hank Mortimer— who apparently really was Shep Sterling—saunter back to his spot just outside the corral, Irma wondered if he still smelled of bay rum cologne. And she blushed.

  CHAPTER 5

  LOVE IS PATIENT, LOVE IS KIND, AND IS NOT

  JEALOUS; LOVE DOES NOT BRAG AND IS NOT

  ARROGANT, DOES NOT ACT UNBECOMINGLY;

  IT DOES NOT SEEK ITS OWN . . .

  I Corinthians 13:4–5 NASB

  Shouts and whistles sounded in the distance as part of Buffalo Bill’s crowd of guests, the Mason girls among them, watched the ongoing action. Daddy, Uncle Charlie, and a half dozen other guests were among those challenging fifteen-year-old sharpshooter Lillian Smith at the shooting range. Irma and Monte watched for a few minutes before ducking through the crowd and making their way toward a smaller corral behind the bunkhouse. As they approached, Irma— who had misplaced her parasol hours ago—shaded her eyes with one hand to watch the small herd biting, snorting, half-rearing, and kicking its way through the equine ritual that would eventually decide the pecking order by which the herd would function.

  “Looks like the chestnut with the blaze is vying with that roan to be lead mare,” Irma said as they neared the corral fence.

  Monte nodded “She’s a feisty one. The roan doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Irma gripped the top pole of the corral fence with her gloved hands and watched the horses mill about. After a few minutes she wondered aloud, “Isn’t she just about the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

  “I do believe she is.”

  Irma started at the sound of the voice behind them. She didn’t have to look to know who it was. She’d been trying to avoid Shep Sterling for most of the day. First of all, she was embarrassed that she’d refused to believe him when he’d introduced himself after finding her asleep in the barn. And second, if Momma ever learned that Irma had been alone with a stranger in Bill Cody’s barn . . . Whew.

  Sterling spoke over her head to Monte. “Aren’t you gonna introduce your little lady?”

  “Sure,” Monte said with a grin and nodded toward the mare. “Go get your rope and we’ll reel her in.”

  “I don’t believe in using a rope, pardner,” Shep said, grinning down at Irma. “At least not until we’ve been properly introduced.”

  “Shep Sterling,” Monte held out a hand toward Irma, “Irmagard Friedrich. Irmagard—”he motioned toward Sterling—“Shep.”

  “Friedrich?” Sterling repeated, cocking his head as he looked down at Irma. “As in Otto Friedrich—the banker from North Platte?”

  “As in,” Monte nodded. “He’s my uncle. Irma’s my cousin. My favorite cousin, as she so often reminds me. Also my only cousin.”

  How does Shep Sterling know about Daddy? And when, exactly, did he and Monte get to be on such friendly terms? Irma didn’t remember Monte saying all that much about the cowboy, even though Sterling and a few of the wranglers from the Wild West had participated in the spring roundup last year before the show season started. Monte had said almost nothing about the event—mostly, she thought, because he’d known how badly she wanted to be part of it and just how insistent Momma had been to prevent it. But if Monte and Sterling were friends—Irma could just hear the teasing she’d have to endure if he learned about this morning. And Monte wasn’t above blackmail, either.

  Irma met Sterling’s gaze with a silent plea. Please . . . please . . . please don’t say anything about this morning. Sterling smiled a conspiratorial smile even as his gaze followed the line of lace spilling out of her jacket down to her waist and back up again. Irma could feel her cheeks growing warm.

  There was a decided twinkle in the man’s eyes as he touched the brim of his hat before asking, “Could we possibly have met before, Miss Friedrich? You look somewhat familiar.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Irma said. “My father and Bill Cody have been friends for years. Although I can’t say that I recall our being introduced before.” It wasn’t a lie. They hadn’t been introduced by anyone else. She did what she could to intensify the unspoken plea in her expression.

  Sterling nodded. He was clearly enjoying her discomfort, and it made Irma want to— Well, she didn’t quite know what she wanted other than to catch her breath and change the subject. She cleared her throat and nodded toward the horses. “Monte brought me over to see the chestnut mare with the blaze. He’s been talking about her ever since he and my Uncle Charlie sorted some of the prime stock out.” Finally. Finally the man stopped staring at her and looked at the horses. “I don’t know when I’ve seen movement like that. She’s going to be something special.”

  “She’s nice,” Sterling agreed. “Although I usually reserve my judgments until after I’ve ridden ’em. Sometimes they look like silk and ride like a sack of rocks.”

  “Irma’s got an uncanny way about her with horses,” Monte said. “I’ll wager the mare glides like a rocking chair.”

  Irma smiled at him. “Why, Monte Mason, I do believe you’re my favorite cousin, too.”

  Monte nudged her. “Aw, you’re just saying that because I think your parents ought to back off and let you ‘Wild West’ all you want.”

  “This is that cousin?” Sterling asked, looking at Irma with feigned surprise. “The one you told me about during roundup?”

  “Yep,” Monte said.

  Shep swept his hat off and bowed.

/>   What on earth had Monte said about her? Sterling must have barely managed not to laugh in her face this morning while she went on about being Liberty Belle.

  “I don’t quite recall,” Sterling said with a little smile. “What was it Monte said you were working up as an act?”

  He was enjoying this way too much. Well, he wasn’t the only one who could pretend. Irma decided to give Shep Sterling/Henry-Hank Mortimer a dose of his own medicine. “Oh, nothing that would impress someone like you,” she simpered. “I mean—you being a headliner for Buffalo Bill and all. I’m just a little old country girl with a lot to learn.”

  “You don’t say?” Sterling looked past her to Monte and then back again. “You didn’t sound like some ‘country girl with a lot to learn’ this morning in Bill’s barn.”

  Irma let out a protest just as Sterling ducked between the corral poles and, retrieving a rope looped over a fence post a few feet away, tied a knot to form a noose as he walked toward the horses.

  Monte looked down at her. “Did he just say ‘this morning in Bill’s barn’? ”

  Irma shook her head.

  “Yes,” Monte insisted. “He did.” He turned his back on the corral and folded both arms. “Is there something you forgot to tell me about your little adventure getting lost out on the big wide prairie. . . . cousin?”

  Annoyance sounded in her voice as Irma confessed. “Oh, all right.” She pointed toward Sterling. “He found me sleeping in one of the empty stalls. Said his name was Henry Mortimer. The varmint.” She groaned. “He actually told me his name was Shep Sterling at first. But I didn’t believe him. I called him a drugstore cowboy.”

  “You did?” Monte smiled, clearly enjoying her embarrassment.

  “Well, he . . . he had that belt buckle on and shiny boots, and he—” She waved her arm toward Sterling. “He just looked too fine to be a real cowboy. And he let me go on and on about how I was going to be Liberty Belle, a headliner for the Wild West. And all the while he didn’t say one word about knowing you.”

  “You went on and on? Why, I’m . . . so surprised, Irma. Shocked, really. You’re usually so shy . . . so reluctant to speak up.”

  “You,” Irma said, as she punched his arm, “are having entirely too much fun with this.”

  Sterling had roped the chestnut mare. Irma put a hand on Monte’s shoulder and pressured him to turn around. “Pay attention while he works. You might learn something. After all, he’s the King of the Cowboys.”

  Together Monte and Irma watched Sterling handle the mare. Bracing himself against the inevitable fight, he held on, all the while talking in a low, calm voice. In record time he was standing next to the horse rubbing her neck while she bobbed her head up and down, nervous but apparently willing to give the stranger a chance.

  “Would you look at that,” Monte said with a low whistle.

  “I can’t believe it,” Irma said. “The way she was rolling her eyes and dancing around, I expected she’d put up a fight.” She shook her head. “Maybe the man actually earned his royal title.” She paused. “But I’m still not forgiving him for not telling me who he was.”

  “He did tell you.” Monte nudged her shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe him.”

  “He should have made me believe him,” Irma said.

  “He doesn’t exactly have the title branded on his backside,” Monte blurted out, then gulped. “Oh, Irm . . . I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Irma giggled. “Backside is a perfectly accurate anatomical term.” She glanced past Monte to where Sterling was standing, quietly talking to the mare. The horse was almost eating out of his hand. How did he do that? As she watched, Sterling began to stroke the mare’s head. Slowly, he moved his hands up to her ears, down her sleek neck, across the withers. The mare shivered and took a step away. Sterling went back to her head and talked some more. Finally he took a step toward Irma and Monte. The horse followed.

  He took another step. So did she.

  “I believe,” Sterling said to Irma, when he got within earshot, “this fine lady was hoping to make your acquaintance.”

  Irma reached up to pull her hatpins out, then took off the hat and handed it to Monte along with her dress gloves. Ever so slowly, she bent down and slipped between the corral poles and stood with her hands at her sides. “Hello, beautiful,” she said.

  “Thank you very kindly, ma’am,” Sterling teased, “but I believe her name is Blaze. Or Lady Blaze, if you prefer.”

  Without taking her eyes off the horse, Irma said, “And how would you know that?”

  “I asked her,” Sterling said. He seemed half serious.

  “Well then, Lady Blaze,” Irma said gently, “I am more than pleased to meet you.” Slowly, continuing to talk to the horse as she moved, Irma raised her right hand. When the mare rolled her eyes and tossed her head, Irma stood still, her hand poised in midair. “Sshh, sshhh,” she said. “Now, what are you afraid of? Nobody here’s gonna hurt you. Nobody, nobody.” As she talked, Irma took first one step and then another toward the trembling horse that, in spite of flaring nostrils and an occasional snort, was staying put. Until, that is, someone screamed.

  The first thing Irma noticed was that she was no longer out-of-doors. The second was pain—a lot of pain every time she tried to take a breath. Her hands slid to her midsection. There was no corset restricting her, so why was it so hard to breathe? She inhaled again, this time more slowly. There. Not so agonizing. Opening her eyes, she stared up at the ceiling. At the sound of Momma’s exclamations of joy, Irma remembered. A human scream followed by an equine scream and then a flash of white as Blaze’s head went up, and then, as the mare spun around to flee, a hoof lashed out. How embarrassing. She’d been kicked while two expert horsemen looked on, all thanks to the infernal petticoats and the whalebone corset that kept her from being able to move quickly. This never would have happened if—

  “Oh thank God, thank God,” Momma said. She was sitting beside the narrow bed where Irma lay. It was a small room with simple furniture and only one window obscured by plain muslin curtains. A Wild West broadside hung on the otherwise bare wall, a gingham apron on a hook beside the door. With a little grunt, Irma tried to sit up.

  Momma’s hand pressed her back down. “No. Don’t move. Not a muscle. Not until Dr. Sheridan has a chance to examine you.”

  Beneath the covers, Irma slid her right hand up under her chemise. She could feel an especially tender spot. Some swelling. No . . . a lot of swelling. Had she broken a rib? And how many shades of green and purple would she be in a day or so? “I’m fine,” Irma protested and tried to ignore the pain and force herself to sit up. “Just a little kick—nothing serious.” But her best intentions meant nothing. As pain rocketed through her body, she gasped and lay back.

  “I don’t know what he could have been thinking, letting you in a corral with a wild animal!” Momma dipped a cloth in a bowl and, wringing it out, laid it across Irma’s forehead.

  “She wasn’t completely wild, Momma. And I’m the one who got in the corral. There wasn’t any reason to think anything would happen.” Irma puzzled for a moment. “What did happen, anyway? What was all that screaming about?”

  Her eyes snapping with anger, Momma said, “Well, apparently Mollie was coming to find you and Monte when Jason Zigler dropped a garter snake down her dress.”

  Irma closed her eyes and stifled a smile. “He did?” She put her hand over her mouth.

  “It isn’t funny,” Momma said.

  Irma shook her head. “It’s just that you’d think Mollie would know to watch out for Jason by now.” Jason Zigler had had a crush on Mollie Mason since the two of them were eight years old. The last seven years had been one long prank that included all kinds of critters. But to Irma’s knowledge the garter snake approach was new. “He must really love her,” Irma said, grinning.

  “If that’s love, heaven help Mollie if the boy ever decides he hates her!” Momma almost smiled, then recovered her indignance. “You could ha
ve been killed,” she insisted. “This is no laughing matter, Irmagard. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

  “And what lesson would that be?” She would have sighed if inhaling didn’t hurt so much.

  “That associating with those Wild West people is more than just unwise. It’s dangerous.”

  “Perfectly nice people get kicked by horses all the time, Momma.

  I hardly think the fact that Shep Sterling was there when this happened justifies a character judgment on the entire Wild West troupe. And besides that, from what I saw before I got kicked, the man is flat-out amazing with horses.”

  Momma got up. “I’ll get your father. He’s been pacing back and forth outside like a crazed man.” Taking the cloth from Irma’s forehead, she grabbed up the basin of water she’d been using and bustled out of the room.

  Daddy came in. Alone. “Your Momma’s gone outside to wait for the doctor with the others.”

  “The others?”

  “Aunt Laura, Uncle Charlie. Monte. Minnie. And Shep Sterling—although now that Momma’s outside I expect he’ll hightail it. Even Ned Bishop came running when he heard what happened.”

  “Ned? How long have I been in here? Did I miss the last of the auditions? Did they get hired on?”

  Daddy cleared his throat. “Yes, yes.” He waved one hand in the air. “Monte and Ned both got hired. I can’t believe you’re asking about them when—”

  Irma noticed his eyes were red. And watering. “Hey,” she said, holding out her hand. “You don’t have to look so worried. It’s not that bad.”

  Daddy dropped into the rocking chair beside the bed. “I will never forget the sight of you being carried unconscious—”

  Whoa! Carried unconscious? “Carried?”

  Daddy nodded. “Apparently Shep Sterling had you scooped up before Monte could so much as blink. Monte opened the gate and Sterling carried you up to the house bellowing for a doctor at the top of his lungs. I’d just come to the house to check in with your mother.” He brushed his forehead with a trembling hand. “You were so pale when Sterling laid you down on this bed. I thought . . . I thought . . .” He gulped and covered his eyes with his hand.