“Sure, Papa, that’s a great idea,” she said. “And when we come back in, I think Mama’s got some lemonade, if Dan hasn’t drunk it already.” She rose and gestured for Amelia and Abigail to join her, and they seemed happy enough to do so, excitedly asking what color the kittens were, and how many, as they left the room.
She wished she could be a fly on the wall, so she could hear the dressing-down Jack Collier was about to get. Her father wasn’t one to suffer fools gladly.
Caroline stayed out in the shed with the girls and played with the kittens as long as she dared, purposely staying away from the parlor. Then they came inside via the kitchen door and found her mother working on supper.
“Jack’s agreed to spend the night with us, him and his girls,” her mother announced happily and beamed when the girls cheered.
Caroline stifled a snort. He’d “agreed,” as if he was bestowing a favor on them? Her mother didn’t know she had already invited them. But who was she to complain about something that obviously made her mother so happy? Mama had enjoyed helping Caroline cook special meals for Pete, and now she was clearly overjoyed at the prospect of having girls to spoil, at least for one night.
Caroline had found she was enjoying Abby and Amelia’s company, too. Was it because they looked so much like Pete? It was like seeing the children she and Pete might have had together, which made her confusingly happy and sad at the same time.
So she snapped beans and made corn bread while her mother plied the girls with lemonade and got them to talk about themselves.
The rain came at last, pounding on the tin roof with an intensity of a marching army, but neither girl seemed to notice.
Caroline didn’t hear any raised voices coming from the parlor, which she thought was a good sign. Of course, it could mean the two men had reached a stalemate, with Jack refusing to admit his idea of taking the girls on a trail drive was foolish beyond words, and her father glowering in silent disapproval.
The kitchen door was flung open and Dan burst in, dripping rainwater. “It’s comin’ a gully washer out there,” he announced. “What’s for supper? I’m hungry enough to eat an iron skillet.” Then he spotted the girls, who smiled at him from over their lemonade, and he headed for the table to meet the newcomers.
Caroline stepped between him and the twins. “A skillet is all you may have to eat unless you take those muddy, smelly boots off, Dan,” she told him tartly, pointing at the offending articles. “You can meet our guests after you go take them off outside.”
For once, he did as he was bid, without grousing at the sisterly reprimand, and was introduced when he returned. But the twins didn’t get much time to talk to him, for as soon as he learned the girls’ father planned to drive a herd to Montana, he dashed toward the parlor.
“Montana? Great stars an’ garters! Can I go, Ma?”
Caroline caught her brother by his collar. “Dan, you stay out here—Papa and Mr. Collier are talking.”
“Oh, let him go, Caroline. They’re probably done by now,” her mother said calmly, but as Dan wrenched free, she added, “And no, son, you may not go on a trail drive. You’re too young yet.”
An hour later, when they all sat down to supper together, her father and Jack seemed to be in perfect amity, much to Caroline’s mystification. If Jack had received a dressing-down, she couldn’t discern it from his relaxed, amiable manner as Dan pestered him with questions about cattle drives. And yet her father had looked so upset when he’d heard Jack’s plan…
As it turned out, her father had been biding his time. The twins and Dan ate quickly, then proclaimed themselves full. Once they’d been excused, so Dan could show the girls his collection of arrowheads, Caroline saw her father turn to Jack.
“You know, Jack, late in the year as it is, you won’t no more than get to the Panhandle with them beeves before the snow’s apt t’ start fallin’. And that’ll leave you in the Llano Estacado—the Staked Plains—right where the Antelope Comanches set up winter camp, so you don’t want to be lingerin’ around there, no sirree.”
He bit off a large chunk of his corn bread, buttered it and sat chewing while he waited for Jack’s response.
Jack took a sip of lemonade before he replied, his tone considering. “Oh, I was thinking we could get to Colorado or at least Kansas, depending on the trail we took.”
“It’s my opinion you wouldn’t,” her father said. “And you ought not to gamble with those girls of yours along.”
Caroline realized Papa and Jack Collier must not have even spoken about Jack’s plan when they’d been left alone. Her wily father must have spent the time speaking of some related topic like ranching in general, drawing Jack out, creating a relationship—“softening him up,” he’d call it—before broaching this difficult topic now, after Jack and his daughters had been treated to a delicious supper and were about to spend the night.
“Please, won’t you leave the girls with us?” her mother pleaded. “You could always send for them once you were settled, as you originally intended.”
To Caroline’s surprise, Jack’s only response was to look at her.
Was he waiting for Caroline to give permission before he agreed, since they’d had a confrontation? She was willing to bend, if it meant the girls would be left in safety with them. She said, “Please, Mr. Collier. We’d be happy to have them for as long as you need them to stay. Let them stay with us.”
Jack’s eyes were unreadable as he finished chewing before answering, but before he could do so, Caroline’s father spoke again.
“I’ve got a better idea than that. You don’t want to lose half your cattle to a pack of hungry Indians, even assuming they’d let you pass safely. Why not spend the winter here in Simpson Creek? You could stay with your girls that way, and set out in the spring, when you’d have the best chance of actually getting to Montana with your herd intact.”
That was obviously the last thing Jack Collier expected to hear, for he blinked and set down his fork. “And where would I keep a thousand head of ornery longhorns around here, Mr. Wallace?”
The fact that Jack hadn’t refused to consider her father’s suggestion surprised Caroline. Maybe he was beginning to see reason.
“There’s a ranch south a’ town that’s come vacant recently,” her father said. “The owner died.”
Caroline knew he was referring to the Waters place, next to her friends Nick and Milly Brookfield’s ranch. Old Mr. Waters had died in a Comanche attack two years back, while his nephew from the east, who had inherited it, had fallen victim to a murderous bunch of men bent on taking over the area this summer. The Comanches had damaged the ranch house badly, but the conspirators had finished the job, burning it to the ground, along with the Simpson Creek church.
“No buildings on it just now, but you and your men had reckoned on camping out anyway. Seems to me it’d be a perfect place for you to stay the winter, then make a fresh start in the spring,” Mr. Wallace went on. “The bank is trustee for the property, since the heir back east wants no part of it.”
“And they’d be willing for us to keep the herd there for the winter? How much
