Women, Whiskey & Gold Page 2

  “But what about the Gabrielle and Sydney?” Alexandra asked.

  Harmon glanced dismissively at the younger children. “They can work on dinner, do some chores.”

  “They’re too little to be left alone,” Charlene argued. “What if the raiders come back?”

  Oppressive silence descended. Harmon had been off working his beloved cattle when the raiders had come the first time. Charlene had hidden the girls in the root cellar under the house, but their mother hadn’t made it there in time. She’d covered the trapdoor with a rug and gone for the shotgun. They’d been forced to listen in horror as the Aztecs raped their mother, right above their heads.

  No one ever talked about it, but the anger in the house grew palatable as months later, their mother swelled with child.

  Sometimes Charlene thought her mother wanted to die to avoid birthing the evidence of her attack; the second she’d endured. The first one resulted in Sydney and had happened when her husband was off panning for gold. Shortly after that, he’d left for good.

  When the fever came, she went down in days. She didn’t even fight it.

  “So we’ll take them with,” Harmon said after an uncomfortable pause.

  “It’s too dangerous, and they can’t ride.”

  “Then one of you can baby-sit and I’ll get some cattle dogs,” he snapped, losing patience. “Now get to bed! Last one up rides an extra half hour.”

  If possible, the second day was worse. Charlene felt stiff as a post, and the sores on her bottom bred like locusts.

  Maxine had been the last to rise, and she grew sullen and teary about the extra riding Harmon punished her with. “You’re a hateful old goat!” she yelled, rebelling as she fell off for the third time. Clouds of dust rose around her, making her cough. “I won’t do it again. I won’t!”

  “Get back in the saddle before I nail you there!” Harmon chased her back up on her horse with a persistence born of herding stubborn cows for decades.

  Charlene shook her head as she watched through the bars of the corral. Harmon was crazy, and not just a little. Still, a part of her admired him. This was never going to work, but he didn’t care, wasn’t about to give up. Life had given him a basketful of roses instead of the tough hickory whips he’d ordered, but he was determined to make those flowers sprout thorns.

  Maybe he should have done it sooner, a rebellious part of her murmured. She’d recognized the futility of breeding belles in the desert and quietly chafed at her mother’s genteel lessons. Harmon could have saved them a lot of grief if he’d been willing to offend her mother. They ought to have learned how to shoot and ride before now.

  He’d tried after their stepfather left, but Anne stubbornly refused to let him teach the girls “manly things”. Instead they’d learned to crochet lace doilies and embroider samplers; which were all very well, but it hadn’t given them the skills to stop the raiders, or to run the farm after their mother’s death.

  Something shifted inside Charlene, a rebellion that had been a long time coming. Suddenly she wanted to learn everything Harmon could teach, because it was painfully clear that their entire future rested on it. Harmon was old. Accidents happened around cows; failure to learn what he could teach could be fatal.

  Charlene tugged her hat down and moved toward her horse. She had a sudden urge to practice riding.

  One year later.

  “I’m in love,” Dakota Eagle said, his sky-eyes riveted on Charlie Lions. He watched in awe as she roped a calf and swiftly tied its legs. Her sister Max stepped in to brand while Harmon and Alex cut cows from the herd.

  “Bit young for you,” his cousin Levi observed. They watched from the canyon top on the Eagle side of the boundary.

  Dakota shifted as his body reacted to Charlie’s display of athletic prowess. “She’s seventeen, I’m twenty-two. Some would say that was good enough.” He’d known she was his since they were kids, though they’d been too young until now to pursue mating rituals. The coyote shifter’s need to claim his mate was growing daily, and he took every opportunity to press his suit. Unfortunately, she either didn’t share the attraction or was better at hiding it.

  Levi smirked. “Not Harmon.” Harmon couldn’t look at them without a silent death threat. Thanks to him, the Lions girls treated Dakota and Levi like snake oil salesmen. They blamed Dakota’s father for buying up old Harmon’s territory. The move had been completely legal and sound business. Dakota wasn’t about to apologize, but he ruefully acknowledged it had complicated his love life.

  Charlie pulled off her hat and put her hands on her lower back in a stretch. The move did interesting things to Dakota’s pulse. “I’m going to marry that girl one day.”

  Levi grinned and turned his horse. “That I’d like to see.”

  Max was sick with red fever the spring Gabe turned twelve. Max was well enough to direct Sydney, so she stayed home during her lengthy recovery and Harmon drafted Gabe as his latest apprentice. She begged him to reconsider.

  “Let me make you some cattle dogs,” she begged as he shooed her out to the corral. “I’ve got great parts in the shed.”

  He grunted as he selected a horse. “Your inventions never work. Besides, your sisters need the help.” He was slowing down as he approached 80, though he was still heavily involved in the day to day operation. His eyes weren’t as good as they’d been and he didn’t have his old strength, but he’d seen to it the ranch was bringing in a profit.

  “That’s not true! My windmill keeps the waterhole filled in the summer,” she protested hotly.

  “Yeah, and your boiler blew up the first shed,” Harmon shot back. As punishment, Gabe had to help build a new one.

  Gabe grumbled the entire morning, and it got worse on Sunday when Maxine joined in.

  Gabe banged the door shut on the chill and went to stoke the stove. Her sisters followed, carrying supplies from the trip to town. Harmon rolled in a small barrel of salt pork and left to put up the horses. He’d bellyached about bringing all the girls, grumbling about the chores that would go undone, but Charlie had been stubborn. “The girls hardly ever get to go to town. They’d be disappointed.”

  He rolled his eyes, exasperated. “All they do is moon around the shops and buy foofaraw.”

  “Girls like foofaraw.” she informed him firmly. “And they hardly ever go on holiday.”

  They’d taken the wagon so the girls could wear dresses; not that it mattered.

  The men who saw them castrating and branding cattle had spread the tale far and wide. The girls were too busy to go to town and hadn’t known about the talk. Harmon hadn’t mentioned anything.

  Gabe slammed a cast iron pan on the stove and Sydney jumped. The others looked at her, and Charlene cleared her throat. “Well, at least we know we aren’t a queer bunch.”

  Gabe viciously shoved a log into the firebox she’d rigged with mechanical legs so it could carry a load of wood inside. It walked like a drunk and occasionally shuddered for no reason. The sisters agreed it was creepy, but no one wanted to hurt Gabe’s feelings by removing it. “Everyone was staring!”

  Alex put away the supplies with great concentration. “It’s new to them. We’re not doing anything bad. Other girls help their fathers.”

  “Other girls don’t wear pants. They might know how to shoot and ride, but they don’t wear pants and they don’t cut cattle.” Gabe got out bowls and slammed them on the counter with unnecessary force. “I heard a woman say Harmon was turning us into a bunch of wild tomboys.” Gabe put her hands on her hips and scowled. “The women were gossiping in the pews behind us, too. They said that no man would ever marry a Charlie.”

  Charlie straightened and said defiantly, “I wouldn’t have any of the men around here, anyway. Someday I’m going home to Bluegrass to find a real gentleman. I won’t be stuck on a dirt farm all my life.” The idea had just occurred to her, and it suddenly sounded good. Escape. Respect. No one would know how she was raised. She’d never have to chase another cow.

/>   Gabe looked at her with new respect. “Really? I’m coming, too,” she said, determined.

  “I want to come,” Maxine announced, looking excited. “When can we go?”

  Charlie blinked and looked around. She took stock of reality. They needed money. To do that, they had to work cattle for a little while longer. Her jaw firmed. They could manage. “We’ll save up for a couple of years and see about it then.”

  Alex caught her eye and shook her head, but she didn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t approve of setting Gabe dreaming. No doubt Gabe would talk of nothing else for weeks.

  It seemed she was right. Gabe was full of talk about Bluegrass the next morning as they rode off. “Someday I’ll be a grand lady. I’ll wear nothing but silk and satin and dance all night. I’ll have servants to do the dishes and laundry.”

  She chattered on and on until Charlie was forced to tune her out. Finally, after a long morning and afternoon of listening, Charlie finally peered at the sun and said, “You know, I think you could go in early today. Help the girls get dinner on. I’ll finish riding this section and be in soon.”

  Gabe sent her a grateful grin. She wasn’t one to question good fortune. “Thanks, Charlie!” She rode off, the glimmer of daydreams still in her eyes.

  Charlie shook her head. In her present state, they'd be lucky if Gabe didn't rub down the cow and milk her horse. The girl never could concentrate when she had an idea.

  Harmon stormed in the next morning, ready to kick butt. Like twin rifle sights, his glare fixed on Gabe, who was waiting for him at the breakfast table with her sisters. “Did you notice anything wrong with your horse when you put it up last night?” he asked in a low growl.

  “Nooo. Why?”

  “Your horse is down with colic. He’s down in the corral, rolling around, nipping at his flanks…and you know nothing about it?”

  Mouth open, Gabe shook her head and ran past Harmon, followed closely by her sisters.

  Charlie pulled up at the rail and hissed in sympathy. Gabe’s ugly little roan was lying on the ground, occasionally nipping at its hindquarters. Before anyone could ask any more questions, Gabe rounded on Sydney.

  “What did you do to my horse?” Gabe demanded, looking as if she wanted to shake poor Sydney.

  Sydney darted behind a confused Charlie. “Nothing! I gave him a drink like you said.”

  Harmon’s voice broke through the argument like a cracking whip. “What do you mean, you gave him a drink? Why didn’t Gabe put him up?”

  Guilt and defensiveness flashed across Gabe’s face as she retreated a step. “I wanted to check on the house. I thought Sydney might be burning dinner again and I wanted to save it.”

  “So you made Sydney put your horse up.” The quiet fury in Harmon’s expression boded ill. “Get out there and walk your horse, girl. We’ll give him a drench. He might yet come around. If not, I’m taking his suffering out on your hide.”

  Chagrined, Gabe grabbed a rope halter and a lead line and ducked through the rails.

  It took all day, but at last the horse recovered. Harmon finally grunted his satisfaction and supervised as Gabe made the horse comfortable for the night.

  Then he took his belt to Gabe.

  Charlie flinched as she sat in the house, listening to the crack of leather on denim. It didn’t last long, but Gabe howled enough to make those inside cringe. None had ever been spanked, even Gabe, often richly deserved it. It was too savage, their mother said, too rough a method of discipline for gentle young girls.

  Obviously Harmon never heard that philosophy.

  About the time when Charlie thought about stopping things, Gabe stormed in and scurried up the ladder to the loft. The sound of muffled sobs drifted down.

  Harmon strode in the door and yelled up to the loft, “You got ten minutes, girlie, so get that bawling out of your system. I hear it all day from calves and I won’t put up with it from you.”

  Charlie cringed in sympathy. It was apparent that management had changed at the Lions’s residence.

  Charlie sat stiff in the saddle, holding her rifle steady on the man in front of her. The winter wind chapped her face, and she shivered from cold and nerves. They’d ranged far off the usual grazing grounds, tracking the rustler. Unfortunately, they’d found him.

  The rustler thought he had her measure. “You going to shoot me, boy?” At her silence, he sneered and started to lower his hands.

  “Make one move and it’s your last.”

  His hands inched back up.

  They’d found the camp before sunset. His fellow rustlers fled, pursued by Harmon and Alex. When this man’s horse stumbled and he fell, she stayed behind, thinking to capture him. Now she wished she’d allowed him to escape.

  Cold sweat trickled down her back as she considered what to do. She was lucky he’d taken her for a boy in her bulky winter clothes and concealing hat. She had no illusions about what a man like him would do to a woman he caught alone.

  “Keep your right hand on your head and remove your gun belt, nice and slow.” He glared at her, and that’s when she saw it.

  His eyes flashed before he threw himself forward and down, rolling toward her horse’s hooves. At the same time, he drew his gun. She fired her rifle and the concussion rocked her in the saddle, causing her horse to sidle. The raider slumped like a sack of flour.

  Harmon found her dry heaving. “You hurt, Charlie?” He dismounted, sounding worried. She shook her head, and he glanced at the body with the gory hole where once a heart had beat. “Good shooting.”

  She gagged again. He gave her his canteen to rinse her mouth. As soon as she wiped her lips on her handkerchief, he handed her a battered hip flask. “Drink up. It’ll steady your nerves.”

  Charlie took a swig and gasped as the liquid burned a trail down her throat and lit up her belly. She pulled back and stared at the flask.

  “What is it?” she croaked. “Lye?”

  He snorted and saw to the body. By the time they reached home, Charlie was weaving in the saddle, drunk as a squirrel. She fell on Alex when she tried to help her down, landing on her sister with a hard thump.

  “Gol ding it,” Alex muttered breathlessly as she shoved her off. Charlie giggled helplessly at the forbidden swear words.

  “What’s wrong with Charlie?” Max demanded, drying her hands on a dishtowel as she came outdoors.

  “Too much Southern Comfort,” Alex grunted, blinking at the fumes. She had Charlie’s arm slung over her shoulders, so she got a good whiff. “Here, take her other arm.” Together they dragged her into the house and got her into bed, pulling off her boots and leaving the rest. She grumbled once and passed out cold.

  Harmon took a swig of whiskey and glanced at Alex, who was also at the kitchen table. Everyone else was asleep. “You want some?” he asked, gesturing with his glass to the half full whiskey bottle. The seventeen year old, who’d killed two men today, shook her head and went back to staring at the table. The clock ticked and the fire crackled, filling the silence.

  “It could have been me,” she whispered, and he looked at her sharply. “It could have been you or Charlie.”

  “You can bet your boots it was almost you! I told you what would happen if you ever let a rustler take off with my cows.” He frowned. She barely heard him. “Go to bed, Alex.”

  She obediently stood up, but as she turned to go, he added one more thing. “God won’t hold it against you, girl, for defending what’s yours.” She looked at him, a touch of hope in her eyes. He nodded. “Go on, now.” Then he took another swig of whiskey.

  Alone, he sat and wondered, not for the first time, what he was doing. What did he know about coddling a bunch of girls? He didn’t know a thing about women, and all he knew was to raise them the way he’d raised his son and his daddy raised him.

  Of course he knew that the town folk thought he was doing wrong by them, but at least he was providing a roof over their heads and keeping worthless cowboys from sniffing around the place. Someday
, they’d find decent men of their own to see to that, and that day couldn’t come too soon.

  He shook his head and took another swig of whiskey.

  Chapter 2

  1860

  “Oh, you’re dreaming.”

  Dakota Eagle ignored his cousin Levi and continued to watch the young woman across the street. Charlie Lions might have been wearing men’s clothes, but there was nothing manly about her body. Sweet curves and lots of them, that was Charlie. At times innocent, sometimes defiant and mouthy, she was the hot-blooded woman of his midnight fantasies.

  Today she’d brought her sister Alex, not that the girl earned more than a glance from him. Alex stayed outside the store, watering the horses while Charlie took care of business.

  As if it didn’t matter, Dakota said casually, “We’ve got history.”

  Levi laughed and gave the tie down rope on their wagon a sharp tug, securing the load. “Yeah, a history of clashing.”

  Two years older and full of mischief, the black-haired cowboy knew how to torment his friend. Like his Crow father, he knew how to use words like fire ants to get what he wanted. “Even if your father hadn’t bought up the canyon land Harmon was using to graze his cattle, that girl wouldn’t like you. You come on like a herd of thundering mustangs and stick like a gob of muck on her shoe. It’s a miracle she hasn’t shot you.”

  “She smiled at me in church last Sunday.” While Dakota honored his father’s beliefs, he also practiced his mother’s faith. Besides, Charlie could be found in his mother’s church.

  “She smiled at your mother. You stuck your head in the way and caught some of it.”

  Yeah, but he’d grinned and winked, surprising a silent laugh out of her before she’d turned away. The good feeling carried him for three days.

  Remembering that fleeting smile, Dakota crossed the street to the feed store and leaned against the porch railing, giving Alex a dazzling grin.