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“No, thanks. I get enough bumps and bruises from the wagon seat. I don’t need to get more falling off a horse,” she refused firmly.
With a sigh, Lorna turned away. Even if she had been able to persuade Mary, there was still only one sidesaddle, which meant they wouldn’t be able to ride together, and that would have been half the fun.
Unless she was accompanied by Benteen on one of his forays in advance of the herd, her rides were restricted to staying with the wagons. The wind whipped her long skirts, spooking the cattle, so she wasn’t allowed to ride anywhere near the herd or to venture out of sight of the wagons. Despite the strict limits, just the change from driving the wagon all the time made it more than worthwhile.
Her mount was a buttermilk-colored buckskin. By nature, it was a calm, steady animal, but with plenty of life. There was nothing plodding or sedate about its way of going. He seemed more surprised than uneasy with the unusual saddle on his back and the many layers of skirt and petticoats constantly brushing his side, but he settled down to it quickly. Lorna named him Sandman because of his color and his gentlemanly ways.
As she cantered the buckskin alongside Benteen’s mount, the prairie gave way to rough, broken country that marked the Red River Valley and the Texas boundary. Lorna was awed by the wild land. There was certainly nothing like it around Fort Worth, but she’d never ventured more than a day’s drive from there in her life until now.
When they reached the Red River, its sluggish water was thick with the clay-red silt that gave it its name. Stopping on a knoll overlooking the river, Benteen studied the river like a general looking over a battlefield before the battle starts.
“Is something wrong?” Lorna asked.
She wasn’t aware how treacherous river crossings could be to cattle and men. So far, they had forded only tame streams that had offered them no trouble. Benteen didn’t enlighten her about the difference.
“No.” His gaze traveled beyond the river to the land on the opposite side. “Once we cross that, Texas will be behind us.”
The satisfaction in his voice sobered Lorna, because she didn’t share his desire to cut all ties with this country. There were many things she didn’t allow her mind to dwell on; missing her parents was one of them. She had tried so hard to get through each day without complaining, to show Benteen that she was game enough to take it. She kept telling herself that everything would be all right when they finally reached Montana and they had a real home instead of a covered wagon. But would it?
“Wait here,” Benteen ordered. “I’m going to ride down for a closer look.”
Checking the buckskin’s attempt to follow, Lorna watched Benteen ride down to the fording place. It seemed he was always thinking about the cattle and the trail ahead. There was hardly room for anything else. Even when he took her along, like this afternoon, it seemed to be a token gesture—just like when she was a little girl and her father used to let her come to his store as long as she promised to sit and be very quiet and not make a nuisance of herself. The only time she had Benteen’s undivided attention was at night—and that hadn’t been very often lately. In irritation, Lorna realized he was saving his strength and energy for the trail drive.
Benteen had swum his horse to the other side and was on his way back when she heard the sound of a horse and rider approaching the river. Lorna turned, not recognizing the burly man on the sorrel horse. It wasn’t anyone from their outfit. Lorna was more curious than alarmed by the sight of the stranger riding up to her. He was only one man, and Benteen was within shouting distance.
When he stopped his horse a few yards from her, he swept off his hat in a gallant gesture of respect and held it to his chest. He seemed to be all chest, shoulders, and neck. Lorna inclined her head in a silent acknowledgment of his action.
“Good day to you, Mrs. Calder,” the stranger said, taking her by surprise when he used her name. There was a boldness about him as he smiled. “We’ve never met, but you’ve been described to me, so I recognized you right off.”
“You have the advantage, sir,” she murmured.
“My name’s Giles. My friends call me Bull,” he introduced himself. “I’m bossin’ a herd a few miles back down the trail.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Giles.” Lorna had heard the men talking about one herd following them, although there were many ahead and behind. “Would you be driving Mr. Boston’s cattle?”
“That’s right enough, ma’am.” He was blatantly admiring. “You not only sit a horse pretty, but you got a bright mind, too.”
No one—not even Benteen—had complimented Lorna for her intelligence and ability to think. Ever since her marriage, she’d felt incredibly ignorant and naïve. But this man had just made her feel clever and smart. It did wonderful things for her self-esteem.
“You’re very kind, Mr. Giles.” She was glowing.
“How can a man be anything else in the company of a beautiful lady?” His gallant flattery seemed such a contradiction to his muscled, pugnacious appearance. Perhaps that’s what made it seem so sincere, Lorna thought.
Cantering hooves signaled Benteen’s approach. The man named Bull Giles gave a considering look in her husband’s direction and shoved his hat back onto his head. The smile went from his face as it took on that closed-in expression Lorna had noticed men wear when they met each other. When Benteen halted his horse, it was positioned between Lorna and the Ten Bar trail boss.
“Giles.” Benteen greeted the man with a nod of his head.
“How’s the river?”
“A little soft on the other bank, but otherwise it’s in good shape.” River water dripped from Benteen, and his horse was shiny wet with it.
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sp; “When’re you figurin’ to cross?” the big man asked.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t be all day at it,” Giles said. “Else I’ll have to push you aside to take my cows across.”
