sure you got them both there.”
Holding no animosity toward the cowboy, she replied. “Thank you.” Despite the encounter, she truly hadn’t wanted to arrive back at the Chaney residence without either the calf and the cow, or the eggs and beans. Cecil would have been furious. That wouldn’t have bothered her as much as failing Emma Sue. “It’s not too far,” Bridgette said, setting the plow horse in motion again. “Only a few miles.”
“Don’t rightly matter to me how far it is,” Brad said. “I’m glad to get away from those cows even for a bit. Reckon I didn’t realize what I was getting into when I signed up.”
“This is your first cattle drive?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Ain’t never been outta Texas afore.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
Over the years, she’d encountered people of all ages, and had figured out that age didn’t mature a person as much as the life they’d lived, despite the number of years. She stopped the plow horse when the calf bellowed again. “Go ahead and put him on the ground. He’ll be happier walking next to his mother.”
“Reckon he will.”
She waited as he dismounted and then lifted the calf down. The baby latched on to nurse almost instantly. “Let’s wait a bit,” she said as Brad climbed back into his saddle. When he glanced around nervously and twisted the reins in his hands, she asked, “Why’d you decide to join a cattle drive?”
He bowed his head and shrugged. “Mr. McCain is somewhat of a legend down by San Antone, and I wanted to be like him.”
“Do you mean San Antonio, Texas?”
“Yes.”
“What sort of legend? Why would you want to be like him?”
“He’s the youngest trail boss ever. Been leading drives north for over six years. He started out as a cowboy, but within two years, was leading drives. Has been ever since.” With another shrug and while twisting the reins in his hands, he said, “Guessing I got more to learn than he did.”
“Some people take more readily to things than others.” Forgetting Garth might be easier if she knew a bit more about him. “How old was Garth—Mr. McCain when he became a trail boss?”
“Seventeen. Some folks didn’t believe it, but Mr. Johansson, that’s the rancher he worked for, said it sure enough was true. That Garth McCain was only seventeen when he became a trail boss. One of the best, too. If not the best.”
Seventeen. Garth had been fourteen when they’d traveled on the Orphan Train West together. The last time she’d seen him, when he’d been called out to the platform at the rail station, he’d told her he’d see her again. That she just had to follow the rules, be good, and that he’d find where she ended up as soon as he could.
That was a broken promise if there ever had been one. Had she known that he’d forgotten all about her, she wouldn’t have stayed here all these years. Waiting for him.
“That calf could nurse all day if we let him,” Brad said. “We best get moving again. I don’t want to be too late getting back. Gotta take my turn at night watch.”
“Of course,” Bridgette agreed. After the cow and calf were tranquilly following along, she asked, “How much is that cow worth?”
“Can’t say until we get to Dodge,” Brad answered. “On average the yards pay nine bucks for a young steer and eight for a heifer. But that’s an average. Some go lots higher and those were last year’s prices. Mr. McCain wants his cattle to be the first to arrive. That’s when the prices are the highest. Top dollar can go upwards of fifteen a head. By the end of the season, the prices drop. Course it also depends on the cows. McCain has good cows and doesn’t push them too hard. We came across some good grass and water near the state line and he let them eat and rest up for two days. We had time to do that because we left McCain’s place two weeks ahead of everyone else.”
“McCain’s place?” The bitterness that had set roots inside her turned to fury. “He has a ranch in Texas?”
Brad nodded. “Must be next to Mr. Johansson’s place. That’s where we headed out from. Maybe they’d partnered up or something. That’s how I figure it since these cows are McCain’s. Years past he’s driven cows north for Johansson. But not this year. This year he’s driving his own cows north.”
“Is that so?” Bridgette muttered, mainly to herself. Boy, was she mad now. Increasingly so. If Garth thought he could break his promise without retribution, he’d soon discover how wrong he was. After all, he’d been the one to teach her an eye for an eye.
“Ain’t those about the best green beans you ever ate?” JoJo asked, dumping another spoonful onto Garth’s plate. “That little gal told me how to make them. Said to boil them until tender and then give them a toss in the frying pan with bacon grease. Cain’t believe I never thought of that before.”
Garth didn’t comment. He’d eaten the beans because whether he was hungry or not, he needed to eat, but couldn’t say he’d actually tasted a bite. The rest of his men had. The beans and the eggs had the entire outfit grinning and asking for third helpings.
His attention wasn’t on the men any more than it was on the food. It was on the horizon to the northwest, watching for Brad’s return. He still couldn’t see out of one eye, but the other one was doing better. His face wasn’t. JoJo had scraped off a generous amount of skin trying to get out the stinger. Garth had put a stop to the scraping, but not soon enough. Rather than burning from the hornet’s sting, the entire side of his face stung as if he’d shaved with a dull razor and no soap.
The pain though wasn’t what he was thinking about. It was her. That woman. She’d been snippy and uppity, and he just couldn’t get her out of his head. He hadn’t thought this long and hard about someone in a long time.
Actually, he’d only ever thought this much about one person.
Bridgette.
“You ain’t heard a word I said, have ya?”
Garth focused his good eye on JoJo.
“I didn’t think so,” JoJo said.
Handing his plate to the cook, Garth stood. “When you say something worth hearing, I’ll listen. Until then, I’ll just let it go in one ear and out the other.”
“You got that right,” JoJo said. “There ain’t nothin’ betwixt those ears in your noggin ’cept air. You oughta have a constant earache from the wind blowing through your head.”
Normally he gave JoJo back as much as the man gave out, but he wasn’t in the mood, and turned about.
“Where you goin’?” JoJo asked. “I was only telling you we got enough eggs for breakfast, too.”
“Good,” Garth replied. “I’ll go relieve the last two cowboys.”
JoJo
