The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches Read online

  He couldn’t help it. Rhyming lines began to form in his head.

  What makes a man not care if he’s thought a fool?

  Why does he open himself to ridicule?

  Ridicule. Now, that was a large word for rhyming. Bat felt slightly mollified.

  Is it the sight of a woman, fair and refined,

  Pretty and earnest, filling his mind?

  Bat gave a low moan. He was hopeless. Would he ever stop thinking in poetry now? He would not commit those words—those thoughts—to paper. Cyrus would make his life miserable if he stumbled upon them.

  He crunched up the paper in his hand and paused. Was this the frustration Rilla had felt when she crumpled her poem? If so, they had something else in common.

  “Watch it,” he told himself. “Those are dangerous thoughts.” He rose and shoved the paper in his pocket. He would make sure it made it into the stove later.

  Outside, Mr. Lane stood at the corral fence, admiring his new horse. Instead of saying what a fine animal he’d purchased, he was chewing out Dwight and Cyrus.

  “You should have been back here three hours ago.”

  Dwight nodded. “Yes, sir, but we had to wait for Mr. Deering to come in off the range. Mrs. Deering wouldn’t let us take the horse until he got there. She wanted to make sure everything was right.”

  Mr. Lane grunted. “All right, go get your chow. But I want all of the equipment gone over tomorrow. We need to start getting ready for the roundup.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dwight headed for his house and Cyrus for the bunkhouse.

  Bat thought he could just keep his head down and follow Cyrus, but Mr. Lane had other ideas.

  “What are you doing, Wilson? You didn’t go with Baker.”

  “No, sir, I was out in the barn when they rode in. I’m just heading over to the bunkhouse now.”

  “Hmm. Well, Mrs. Lane says we need to move the privy. You can do that tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The boss reached out to pat the new horse’s muzzle, ignoring Bat. He decided he could go.

  When he opened the door to the bunkhouse, Zeke looked up from his poker hand and grinned.

  “Well, howdy, Bat. Have you writ any good love poems lately?”

  Bat wheeled and stalked out to the corral. He would take a good, long ride tonight and not come back to the bunkhouse until the others were long asleep.

  Chapter 4

  The night air was hot, almost thick. Even with the windows wide open, Rilla could scarcely get a breath in her bedroom. She had hated the bitterly cold winters of Philadelphia, but she hadn’t missed the muggy, suffocating summer weather of southern Texas.

  She left her bed and sat on the cushion Mama had stitched years ago for her window seat. The near-full moon made the barnyard almost as light as day. A few horses grazed in the pasture. She could pick out the white patches of a pinto gelding. The others were a uniform gray tonight.

  Hoofbeats coming slowly in surprised her, and yet she had almost expected to hear them. She drew back a little and watched. Sure enough, Bat came down the trail from the north range on one of the remuda ponies and rode to the corral.

  Every night this week, Bat had come home long after everyone else had retired—at least, three nights she knew of. Surely he hadn’t been to town every night this week. Bat wasn’t the sort of man who haunted the saloons every chance he got. The foreman would put a stop to that sort of behavior.

  Besides, Bat didn’t come down the road from town. He rode down off the range. Had Dwight given him some work that kept him away late every night?

  Sitting in the darkness of her room, she watched as he unsaddled the pony and turned him out to pasture. He picked up the saddle and headed for the bunkhouse, his steps dragging a little. What could Dwight be making him do that would tire him out so?

  She sent up a quick prayer as the bunkhouse door closed. “Father, take care of Bat. Keep him safe, whatever he’s doing, and give him a good rest tonight.”

  Rilla wished she had the right to talk to Bat, to ask him what was going on. The way his shoulders drooped when he went into the bunkhouse told her he was either discouraged or bone tired—or both.

  Bat hadn’t expected to spend so much time away from the bunkhouse, but the boys couldn’t seem to quit poking fun at him. During the day, while they were working, it wasn’t so bad, but at night, they sat around with nothing better to do than rile him. It had gotten so bad, Bat was afraid word would get back to Rilla or, worse yet, to Mr. Lane. He couldn’t bear the thought that Rilla might get into trouble with her father because of him.

  The last few nights he’d taken to praying while he rode. A man’s thoughts turned to God out there under the big night sky. At least his did. He wasn’t sure about Cyrus and Zeke and the others. All Bat knew was that he’d begged God to show him what to do. He was afraid if they didn’t stop it, he might have to quit. Leaving his job wasn’t a choice he wanted to make. The Lanes’ ranch wasn’t the softest or the best-paying place, but it had been his home for two years, and he’d settled in. The idea of starting over at a new spread unsettled him. Maybe he should talk to Dwight about it—but Dwight joined right in with the other boys when they teased him.

  He rode out with Zeke and Billy on Friday morning, to move a herd of yearlings to another pasture. When they got back, it was nearly suppertime. They put their horses up, tuckered out and ready to rest. Bat wondered if he’d have to leave the bunkhouse again tonight to escape the ragging they usually gave him. Billy had made a couple of jibes during the day, but mostly they’d kept too busy for heckling.

  They walked into the bunkhouse, and Rolly called out, “Hail to the bard!”

  Dwight was already sitting at the table with a couple of other fellows, ready to eat. He usually ate breakfast in his little house but took his other meals with the men. “How did it go, boys?” he asked.

  “Just fine,” Zeke said.

  “See anything inspiring?” Cyrus asked, and they all laughed.

  “I seen a bird,” Billy said. “It almost made me burst into verse, but I couldn’t come up with anything to rhyme with buzzard.”

  They all hooted with laughter. Bat scowled and walked over to his bunk to dump his saddlebags and hat.

  Rolly carried his stew kettle over to the table. “I got one. ‘Saw a buzzard on the wing, and I looked around for a rotten thing.’”

  When the new round of laughter petered out, Rilla said sweetly from the doorway, “My goodness, you boys are jolly tonight. What’s got you all so amused?”

  Zeke jumped up, kicking his chair over in the process, to take the pan of apple cobbler from her. “Let me help you with that, Miss Rilla.”

  “Oh, now don’t that smell fine?” Dwight said, leaning over to sniff the dessert.

  “Do I get to hear the joke, or isn’t it suitable for ladies?” Rilla eyed Dwight a bit sternly, and he shrugged.

  “’T’warn’t nothing, ma’am. We were just discussing Bat’s literary efforts.”

  “Bat’s…”

  Across the room, Rilla’s eyes met Bat’s. He couldn’t hold her troubled gaze and turned away. Now he’d done it. He’d caused her pain. She would probably think he’d shared with the men about her poems and they were laughing at her.

  “Well, I never!”

  He stole another glance at her.

  Rilla plunked the baking pan down on the table and faced Dwight, her shoulders stiff as a major general’s. “You ought to know better than to ridicule someone. I happen to like literature, and I don’t think you should make fun of somebody who is trying to contribute something meaningful to this world.”

  She turned and stalked out the door.

  Utter silence ruled for a long moment, then Zeke drawled, “Well, now don’t that beat all.”

  “Yeah,” said Cyrus. “I didn’t know epigrams about buzzards would make the world a better place.”

  They were all off in gales of laughter once more. Bat sighed and put his hat back on and
slipped out while the other cowboys tried to top each other with doggerel about buzzards, cactus, and rattlesnakes.

  When he came back, near midnight, he turned out his horse and looked toward the bunkhouse. He hated to even go in. Next time, he would bring a bedroll and bunk down under the stars.

  He glanced over at the house and paused. He’d almost thought he saw movement at the window of the corner bedroom—where Miss Rilla slept. He knew, because he’d helped move her trunk up there when she came home from school.

  It was probably just her curtain stirring in the breeze. She’d have her window open these warm nights.

  He turned and leaned on the top rail of the corral fence. His mind was pretty well made up. He would give Dwight his notice in the morning. Maybe at the next ranch he would find some better friends. And he sure wouldn’t write any poetry.

  Bat gave a big sigh. Who was he kidding? The biggest reason he didn’t want to ride out of here was Rilla Lane. He’d likely never see her again. Not that anything could come of it. Her father treated him like dirt. Of course, he treated all his employees like that, but it was no consolation to Bat. Mr. Lane would never consider letting a cowpoke with empty pockets court his daughter. So what was the sense of sticking around and pining for Miss Rilla?

  He’d be doing them both a favor if he quit and rode out. The other men were not going to let go of this poetry thing. Unless something else happened to grab their attention—something really huge—they would continue to rag him about it, and that could only wind up hurting Rilla.

  Bat approached the foreman after breakfast the next morning, before they rode out to do their assigned chores. Dwight was saddling his buckskin gelding.

  “I want to put in my notice, Dwight.”

  “You what?” The foreman stared at him like he was loco.

  “I’ll be moving on at the end of this month.”

  “Just like that?”

  Bat shrugged. “I reckon it’s best.”

  Dwight frowned as he tightened the cinch strap on his saddle. “Is this about the poetry thing? You got to be a man, Bat. A little teasing never hurt anyone.”

  Bat hesitated. “I think it could hurt Miss Rilla, and I don’t want that.”

  “You sweet on the boss’s daughter?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just don’t want her pa to be riled at her. If I stay, the boys might make such a to-do over this that it’ll get back to him, and he might draw conclusions. But if I leave, that won’t happen.”

  Dwight eyed him soberly for a moment. “Funny thing, she lit into us so hard last night, I thought maybe she had a soft spot for you.”

  “I doubt that. But it doesn’t matter, does it? What her pa thinks is what matters around here.”

  “Yeah, you got that right.” Dwight heaved out a deep sigh. “All right, Bat, if that’s what you want to do, I’ll tell the boss you’re leaving after you draw your next pay. Better now than in the middle of roundup.”

  Bat nodded and went to get his horse. The exchange left a little gap in his heart. What had he expected, though? Dwight wasn’t the type to protest and tell him what a great worker he was. No one around here would try to talk Bat out of leaving, so he’d better get used to the idea. Maybe he could go into town Sunday afternoon when he had his half day off and ask around. There might be another opening on one of the other ranches in the county.

  Or maybe he didn’t want to stay that close. If he did, he’d keep wondering how Miss Rilla was doing and thinking about the possibility that he might run into her in town someday. No, he’d better figure on riding up to Wyoming or Montana. He’d find something up there.

  Pa was quiet at the supper table that evening, but Rilla could tell he wasn’t happy.

  “Everything all right with the cattle, Papa?” she asked gently as she refilled his coffee cup.

  Her father grunted.

  “What is it, Ed?” Mama asked.

  Rilla moved to her side with the coffeepot. “Coffee tonight, Mama?”

  “No, thank you, dear. It upsets my stomach. But I would like to try that lemon meringue pie you made. Just a small slice.”

  Rilla smiled. Her mother wasn’t yet eating as much as a healthy person would, but her appetite was definitely returning.

  “I’ll get it right away. Yours, too, Pa.” She hurried out to the kitchen and cut three slices of the pie. She set the small plates on a tray and carried it back to the dining room.

  As she entered, Pa was saying, “So now I have to hire another hand before the roundup. Inconsiderate of Wilson, if you ask me.”

  “Wilson?” Rilla set the tray down on the end of the table. “Did Bat do something, Pa?”

  “Nothing except hand in his notice. I’ve a mind to pay him off tonight and tell him to leave, but I need him.”

  “I don’t understand. Did something happen?” Rilla set a plate of pie next to her father’s coffee cup and picked up his dinner plate.

  “The fellow just up and quit.” Pa took a swallow of his coffee. “One of my best workers. I had my eye on that boy for Dwight’s spot.”

  “Wait a minute,” Rilla said. “What do you mean, Dwight’s spot?”

  Pa shook his head and moved the pie over in front of him. “That’s a whole other thing. Dwight told me about three months ago he wants to be done after fall roundup. That’s fine; I don’t begrudge him moving on. He says he’s saved up enough to go halves on a small outfit with his brother.”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Ma said. “Of course, it means we’ll need a new foreman.”

  “And you wanted Bat to have his job?” Rilla handed her mother a dessert plate and plunked down in her chair. “I didn’t know anything about it.”

  “You don’t need to worry about ranch business,” Pa said.

  Ma gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s always stressful when we have to break in new hands.”

  “Well, yes, but… why is Bat leaving?”

  Pa shook his head. “Who knows? These young fellows—you just get them trained to do things the way you want them and they up and quit. I expect he’s got the wanderlust.”

  “He’s the third man who’s left this year,” her mother said.

  “Well, if you count Henry. He was beyond being useful to the outfit anyway.” Pa took a big bite of pie.

  Rilla wished he’d say something about her pie, but that wasn’t Pa’s way. If he didn’t like something, he wouldn’t eat it, or at least he wouldn’t ask for seconds.

  “I’m sure Bat has a good reason for leaving,” she said. “Did he know you were considering him as foreman?”

  “Of course not,” Pa said. “I play my cards close to the vest. And this just proves I was smart to do it. If he’s a quitter, I don’t want him in charge of my business.”

  Rilla finished her dessert in silence. She wanted to point out that Bat might not have given notice if he’d known he had a future at the Lane ranch. But there was no use arguing with Pa. He always had an answer for everything.

  “Well, I’d better get the dishes done. Mama, didn’t you like the pie?” She eyed the half-finished slice on her mother’s plate.

  “It’s very good, dear. I just can’t eat the way I used to. Save it for me in the pie safe, will you? I might have it later.”

  “All right. I’d better get the other pie out to the bunkhouse before I pour my dishwater. The boys will be wondering if I forgot them tonight.”

  “You spoil those men,” Pa said. “I pay Rolly to cook for them.”

  “You also pay Rolly to pitch in on the ranch work,” Rilla pointed out. “He gets a stew or a pot of beans going in the morning, but he doesn’t usually have time to bake.”

  “He could make time,” Pa insisted. “I see him loafing around plenty in the middle of the day.”

  Rilla escaped into the kitchen and set the dirty dishes in the dishpan. Some days, being around Pa was like standing in the middle of a cattle stampede.

  When she got to the bunkhouse with the lemon meringue pie
, the cowboys expressed their appreciation with cheers and whistles.

  “Your pies are the best, Miss Rilla,” Cyrus said.

  “You sure are good to us,” Rolly added.

  Across the room, Bat was sitting on the edge of his bunk, cleaning his pistol. He didn’t meet her gaze. Rilla gave the others a tight smile.

  “You’re welcome, fellows.” As she went out on the veranda, Bluebell nickered from the corral. Rilla walked over to stroke the old mare. “Feeling neglected, Bluebell? I’ll see if I can get out tomorrow, and we’ll ride to the bluff.”

  She lingered, though she knew the dishes wouldn’t wash themselves. A few minutes later, the bunkhouse door creaked open and Bat came out, with his saddlebags over his arm.

  “Hi,” she called.

  He hesitated and then strolled over to join her at the fence.

  “That was a mighty fine pie.”

  Rilla smiled. “Thank you. I’m glad you got a piece.”

  He absently patted Bluebell’s muzzle, his expression sober.

  “Pa says you’re leaving us,” Rilla ventured.

  Bat nodded but offered no explanation.

  “We’ll miss you.”

  His eyes flickered. “I don’t know about that, ma’am.”

  They stood in awkward silence for a minute, patting the mare from each side.

  “Are you going somewhere now?” Rilla nodded toward the saddlebags. “I thought you were staying until payday.”

  “Just going for a ride.”

  She nodded. “Look, Pa said—” She stopped and looked away. No use telling Bat now that Pa had thought of promoting him. It was too late. Pa wouldn’t take back a man who had given his notice. He considered it a personal betrayal.

  “He said what?” Bat asked.

  Rilla gulped. “That you were one of his best workers.”

  He eyed her for a moment, as though he couldn’t believe Pa would actually say something complimentary about a man.

  “Well, I do my best.” Bat nodded and walked to the corral gate. He whistled and his favorite bay pony trotted over to let Bat put his bridle on.

  Rilla glanced toward the house. Someone was watching from the parlor window. Pa, no doubt. He would probably scold her for socializing when the dishes weren’t done.