Dakota Cowboy

He jerked his thoughts back to reality. Nice hair did not change the cruelness of her heart.

“You’re Lucy Hall, I take it.”

“Where you plan to take it, mister?”

He grinned. She’d given him the perfect opening. “I’d like to take it and you to see your father.”

She stepped back and curled her lips like he had a bad smell.

“My father sent you?”

Coming here had been his idea, not Scout’s. “He figured you hadn’t received his letters.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “You tell him I got them just fine. You tell him I don’t care to hear from him. You tell him—” She gasped in air like a horse that had been rode too long and too hard.

He wasn’t about to give up just because some little filly was all tangled up in some sort of hornets nest. “He’s sick. Wants to see you. Seems reasonable enough.”

She leaned forward, her chin jutted out, her eyes warning of approaching thunder. “Mister, you had your say. I suggest you move on.”

“Trouble, Lucy gal?” The big man Wade took to be the owner breathed down his neck. Every nerve in his body jerked to full alert. He knew better than to mess with a man that size and with that warning note in his voice.

“I’m on my way.” But he’d be back.

He left the dining room and swung into the saddle. He rode past a rowdy bar. Knew the cowboys would be filling up the hotel rooms come nighttime. He could buy himself a bed but he was used to his own company. Preferred it to the sort he’d find crawling around town.

He reined his horse toward the thin stand of trees where he intended to set up camp. He unsaddled Two Bit and tossed him a handful of oats. He’d let him roam, picking what he could. The horse would come as soon as he whistled.

After finding a rock to lean his back on, Wade settled down to think. The heat beat at his skin. It caused the landscape to sway like grass in the wind. Nothing blocked his view of the town. A struggling prairie town with high hopes, few trees.

Nothing about this scenery compared to the ranch in the hills, to the west. There, grass grew high as a horse’s belly, a house sat in the shade of cottonwoods, and a pretty little creek made a beautiful sound as it washed over rocks. No one could see the ranch without loving it. Not even someone like Lucy. He was equally certain that if she saw Scout she would forget whatever little tiff had made her shut him out of her life.

He could drive a herd of cows and rope a wild mustang but how did a cowboy persuade a reluctant, beautiful woman to go where she didn’t want to go?

He intended to find a way. Maybe he could even use some help from God. He hadn’t put much stock in the faith his mother had taught him until last winter, but there was no denying God had answered his desperate prayer back then. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to ask anything more of the Man up above but figured it wouldn’t hurt.

God, Scout looked about to die when I left. He hoped he could fulfill this task he had given himself before the man drew his last breath. Seems only reasonable that he get the chance to see his daughter before he does. Might help if You show this Lucy gal that she should pay her father a visit.

He returned to town a few hours later and passed some time nosing about. As the evening shadows lengthened, he thought of riding to the front door of the dining room and going in for supper, but Harry had been a little less than welcoming in his final goodbye. But having asked around, he knew Lucy would be done as soon as the supper crowd left. He’d not been able to discover where she lived. People tended to be a little suspicious if his questions were too direct.

He decided he’d wait at the back of the Dry Creek dining room and reined his horse in that direction. Sooner or later he’d get a chance to talk to her, persuade her to visit her father. Once she knew the precarious nature of Scout’s health, there’d be no way she could refuse.

He slid from Two Bit’s back, and let the horse lounge in the shade provided by the board fence at the side of the alley. He leaned back against the rough lumber and got himself comfortable, pulling his hat low to shade his eyes. Anyone seeing him might think he slept on his feet. They’d be wrong. His ears registered every skittering bit of dirt, every creak of the fence, every footfall.

He cracked one eye at the patter of running feet. A small ragamuffin of a boy skidded to a halt fifteen feet away and stared from Wade to Two Bit. He heard the boy’s sharply indrawn breath, took note of his sudden wary stiffening and hid a smile as the youngster just as quickly donned a sullen expression and a slouch before he plucked a blade of grass from beside the fence, stuck it in his mouth and swaggered to the door of the dining room to lean back as bold and unconcerned as if he had his name on the deed.

Wade used one finger to tip his hat back. “Howdy.”

“Howdy.” The boy gave a barely there nod and a bold, uncompromising stare.

Wade lowered his hat again and settled back.

“You waiting for something?” For a youngster so scrawny Wade could practically count his ribs through his thin shirt, he sure did have a challenging way of talking.

“Just waiting.”

“You hoping to see Lucy, ain’t ya?”

“It concern you if I am?”

The boy scowled something fierce like a kid used to fighting his way through life. “Lucy don’t care for drifters hanging about.”

“Can’t say as I blame her.”

The boy snorted.

Wade shoved his hat back and came off the fence so fast the boy flattened himself to the wall. “Name’s Wade. Wade Miller.” He shoved his hand toward the boy.

“Roy. Just Roy.” He took Wade’s outstretched hand. His grip surprisingly firm for such an under-nourished-looking body.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Roy.” He leaned back, studying Roy. “You waiting for Lucy?” Did the boy have some claim on her? Too old to be her son. Maybe a brother, though Scout had never mentioned such.

“Just waiting.”

Wade gave him a steady look. He didn’t say it but he thought, Kid, don’t bother trying to whitewash the truth with me.

Roy must have read the unspoken words in Wade’s eyes. He rolled the end of the grass around in his mouth to inform Wade he might or might not choose to tell him more. “Lucy gives me a plate of food every night.”

Wade ran his gaze over the scrawny kid. “Looks like you could do with a good feeding.”

“Lucy says it’s impossible to fill a growing boy.”

“How old are you, Roy?”

“Ten. But I can do a man’s work. I work over at the livery barn. Mr. Peterson gives me a place to sleep in exchange for cleaning the barn and seeing the horses have feed and water.” The words came out in a rush as if Roy needed Wade to understand his value.

“Where’s your ma and pa?”

Roy’s expression grew indifferent. “Ain’t got none.”

A rattle at the doorknob pulled their attention to the Dry Creek dining room. Lucy stepped out with a plate piled halfway to the roof. “Hettie said there were lots of leftovers today. You’ll get a good feed tonight.” She ruffled Roy’s hair and beamed at him. “I see you washed up.”

Roy had his face buried in the food but spared her a pained look. “’Course I did. What you think I am? A…a…?” He couldn’t seem to find a fitting word and tilted his head in Wade’s direction instead. “Who’s he?”

Lucy jerked back, finally realizing his presence. Her expression grew a whole lot less welcoming. “What are you doing here?”

Wade snatched off his hat. “Ma’am, I just want to talk to you.”

“I think you already said all I want to hear.”