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Broken O Cattle Company Ranch
Llano Estacado
“THAT MUST BE THE HOUSE.” Katie craned her neck to take in the full expanse of the wooden abode. “I didn’t know ranchers had such big houses.” She turned on the seat and adjusted her covering. “You don’t suppose they let the cows sleep inside at night, do you?”
Peter stifled a laugh. “I believe what we’re seeing is quite a few buildings, but from way back here they all look like one big house. There’s probably the main ranch house where Mr. Adams lives with his wife—”
“Marge,” Katie and Annie interrupted together.
Peter smiled. “Yes, of course, Marge. Then those there are probably bunk houses for the cowboys that Mr. Adams has hired on to work the cattle.” Peter snapped the reins over Sookie’s back and pointed to a row of buildings. The black mare’s high steps were closing the distance between them and the ranch house quickly. “And don’t forget the barn, stables, tack houses, loafing sheds—”
“I think I understand now.” Katie patted his exposed wrist and dropped her voice low. “Welcome to Texas, Peter.” She hoped he caught her underlying meaning. The sideways wink he flashed her spoke of his quiet understanding.
Annie piped up from the backseat. “The first thing I’m going to do when we reach the house is to get a big, cold, wet drink.”
Katie forced a swallow at Annie’s mention of water, her dry throat scratchy. The fact that their water had run out the day before had kept any mention of drinking to a minimum. However with the sight unfolding before them, the talk of water that had been suppressed began to flow freely.
“I think I’ll pour a dipperful over my head first,” Peter mused. “It won’t be rain, but almost as good. How about you, Katie?”
Katie glanced at the faithful buggy horse that had brought them from the gentle Indiana woods out to the middle of nowhere, all on her prayer. “First thing I’m going to do is lead Sookie up to the most inviting watering hole. Or trough. Whatever they have for horses to drink from on Texas cattle ranches.”
“Here we are.” Peter didn’t even attempt to rein in Sookie as they passed the bewildered cattlemen but drove her, buggy and all, right up to the trough in front of the bunkhouse. The black mare wasted no time in dipping her nose right in and sucking up the sweet liquid. Only then did Peter climb out of the buggy himself.
The group of young cowboys, decked out in hats, spurs, boots, and pistols, gathered around. As Peter helped Annie climb out of the buggy, Katie noticed a few cowboys elbowing and pointing. Their curious smiles turned their lips upward on their weathered faces. She recognized their obvious inquisitiveness right off, as it had been her own that led them here in the first place.
With Annie safely out of the buggy, Peter turned his attention back to Katie. “Are you ready?” He offered her his arm.
Feeling a bit self-conscious beneath the weight of the cowboys’ curious stares, Katie took it cautiously. “Where are we going?” Her voice came out little more than a whisper.
“Now with the horse watered, you’re free to drink your fill.” He winked at her again, relaxing all the knots that had formed in her stomach over the course of the journey. The butterflies took flight again and Katie welcomed the strange, comforting warmth that spread through her when Peter was near.
Normally quick-witted and armed with a snappy comeback, Katie was at a loss for words with his sweet gesture. “Thank you,” was all she could muster through her blustery brain. I love you, Peter. I’ve always loved you...
Finally, one of the cowboys summoned up the gumption to introduce himself. Stepping forward, he jingled musically. His smile, wide on his tanned face, spoke the universal language of friendliness. “Howdy y’all. I’m Guthrie, George Guthrie. Welcome to the Broken O Cattle Company.”
Peter took his proffered hand and shook it hard. “Thank you for the welcome. I’m Peter Wagler and this is Katie Knepp and her sister, Annie.” Peter gestured with his free hand, but Katie had slipped off his arm, unnoticed. She snickered from behind the cowboy’s wooden water barrel on the porch.
“Katie?”
Seizing the moment, Katie sprang up, the filled dipper in hand. “Here’s your treat, Peter,” she cried. In an instant, she had tipped the dipper as close to the top of Peter’s head as she could manage, giving a fair soaking to her beau.
Peter’s eyes registered the surprise for only a moment before a wide grin overtook his handsome face. Reaching out, he swept Katie into his arms. She didn’t resist as Peter pulled her close, closer than she’d ever been before, with a glorious and triumphant shout. “We’ve made it, Katie girl!” Twirling her around, tiny droplets of water sprayed from the both of them, no doubt giving a sprinkling to those nearby. Katie threw her head back and laughed. “We’ve made it!” Peter’s echoing shout brought a cheerful whoop from the cowmen.
“A long time on the trail will do that to a body,” one whispered to another.
The world was spinning when Peter finally sat her down. “We’ve made it,” he whispered again, his mouth so near to her ear that goose bumps cropped up on her neck as his warm breath caressed her face and neck.
We’ve really and truly made it. Thank you, God. Thank you.
Annie coughed from the porch. “I think I’ll take the dusty water jugs from the buggy and go draw some fresh water from the well. This water barrel seems to be tainted or something.” The ghost of a knowing smile flickered across her lips.
Breaking from his trance, Peter looked up at Annie. “I can do that, Annie.”
Annie waved her hand and hurried to the buggy, which was attached to a still-drinking Sookie. “I made it most of the way here without a man’s help. I expect I can find a well on a ranch by myself.” She had a light skip in her step as she trotted around the corner of the bunk house.
Suddenly very aware that she was clasped in Peter’s arms in front of an army of cowmen, Katie flushed. “I’d best go help my sister,” she muttered. Shaking her head to clear the Peter-induced fog from her mind, she rounded the corner. Maybe the moment will return when Peter and I find ourselves alone together at some point, she figured. Searching the area for the well house, Katie got an eyeful. Skidding to a halt and almost tripping over her own feet, she watched her unobtrusive sister Annie capture the full attention of the handsome cowboy George Guthrie.
George, taller than Annie by six inches or so, reminded Katie of her first crush back at Gasthof Village—Joseph Graber. She licked her lips and took in the tall drink of water as he brought a blush to Annie’s cheeks. Lanky, he looked like a rope, knotted in all the right places, giving him the air of what a cowboy should be, but she had only ever heard about. Reaching into the well, George drew up the splintery bucket and filled Annie’s empty water jugs, his shy smile matching hers. Handsomely dimpled, George’s angular jaw gave him a likable quality immediately, like someone you could turn to if you were in trouble—or if you simply needed a friend.
George said something, his dark eyebrows arched thoughtfully. Annie answered with a nod, and George tipped his chin upward and turned. Seeing her chance, Katie dashed to her sister’s side as the cowboy, his chest puffed and a swagger in his hips, marched toward the corral.
“Annie!”
Annie’s eyes glistened with a never-before-seen spark when she finally managed to pull her attention away from the retreating cowboy. “He’s boss wrangler, whatever that means,” she whispered, clearly wanting to watch George instead of talk to her. Annie’s gaze fluttered back toward the corral. “He’s like no man I’ve ever met, Katie.”
Peter’s face filled Katie’s mind the same way a reminiscent dream fills the homesick thoughts of a traveler. “I understand, sister.”
“He said I have an adventuresome spirit. And asked if I’d like to watch what he does for work.” Her voice was wistful. “Then if I was up for it, he would take me on a tour of the ranch.”
Are those tears in Annie’s eyes? “Well, what did you say?”
“I said okay!” Annie squeaked, reaching for Katie’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go see what he does.”
As if on cue, a handful of equally lanky cowboys meandered over to the busiest end of the corral. Katie and Annie peeked through the fence. “What are they doing?” Katie asked.
“I don’t know, but that horse they have in that little, tiny piece of the corral looks angry. And wild.” Annie’s eyes glistened as George and his fellow cowboys did things all around the skittish horse. Climbing up to the top rung Seeing them staring, one cowman broke from the bunch and sauntered over to where they stood.
“Howdy ladies, I’m Jim. Jim Guthrie, George’s brother.”
Katie studied him. “Younger or older?”
Jim rested his booted foot on the lowest rung of the pole fence and leaned against it. A bemused twinkle in his coffee-brown eyes, he studied Katie right back. “Well younger, but that don’t mean nothin’. I’m the smarter Guthrie of the pair of us.”
“Oh?” Annie asked a dash of haughtiness in her voice. “Is that so?”
Katie hid a smile. She is quite taken with George.
Jim nodded, the brim of his straw hat brushing the fence. “Yup. You certainly don’t see me gettin’ up on that wild mustang, ma’am.”
“Ride a wild—mustang?” Annie glanced from Jim to where George was perched on the fence above the snorting and stamping horse. “Katie, he’s going to ride it!”
The world ground to a halt as George lowered himself onto the back of the angry horse. When the mustang felt George’s weight on her back she went wild, bucking and pawing at her enclosure, whinnying in a way Katie had never before heard from the tame, gentled Indiana horses. Her eyes widened thoughtfully. I’m liking Texas more and more.
Grinning, George flashed a wink at Annie from beneath his angled, sweat-stained black hat. “Let ’er go, boys!”
The gate to the chute exploded open as man and horse, in an epic showdown, each struggled to best the other. The mustang, small in stature but big in willpower, sought to throw George high and hard.
“If he’s thrown, the mustang will stomp him to bits,” Annie breathed, a look of awe on her wide-eyed face.
George proved a worthy opponent to the bucking and leaping mustang.
“Why is he doing this,” Annie asked, mostly to herself.
Katie steeled her jaw. “He wants to feel it, to share it for just a few fleeting seconds.”
“Share and feel what?”
Katie looked at her sister. It was high time she opened the door that Annie was still hiding behind. “A moment of true wildness. The wild whirlwind offered by the mustang. The same thing I prayed for and followed my heart south for. To feel wild. And alive.”
The sense of a fog cleared from Annie’s eyes. At once, Katie knew her sister now truly understood, thanks to handsome George and one wild mustang.
Both girls focused their attention on the scene unfurling in the corral. “I’m sure the seconds feel like hours,” Annie mused.
“You’re sure what feels like hours?”
“Every second George is on that horse.”
Katie nodded. “I never knew a horse, mustang or not, that could move in such a manner,” she whispered. Sure enough, the little ball of fire jumped with all four feet off the ground so high, that Katie was positive she could run underneath both George and horse without being touched.
Amazingly, George’s hat had successfully stayed on his head even as his body whipped back and forth, round and round with the motion of the mustang. One hand held high above his head, George’s grin flashed every time the mustang spun round their way.
Jim let out a whoop as the mustang, now covered in foam, quit bucking and trotted around the fence in a nervous circle. “That’s why we call you Crackerjack, brother,” he shouted over the din of the cheering cowboys.
George slid off the green broke filly and swaggered over to where they stood, tucking in the front of his shirt. I see why he’s so proud, Katie thought. Anyone who can do that...
Though completely out of character, Annie spoke first. “That was very impressive.” She grinned at the rosy-cheeked cowboy. “Crackerjack.”
“That horse came in this morning with the other horses we rounded up to get ready for the drive,” George “Crackerjack” Guthrie explained. “Bucked off everyone else who tried to ride her so far.” He ducked his head, but his grin still shone. “Guess you brought me luck, Miss Annie.”
Katie noticed her sister’s fingers start to tremble. “Now what happens to her?”
Crackerjack’s grin melted into a friendly, crooked smile. “Well, now she’s mine. I’ll ride her on the drive to Santa Fe.”
Katie glanced around the dusty ranch. It seemed everything was dusty since arriving in Texas. She watched as some cowboys shod horses outside the barn, while others banged at scraps of metal for reasons unknown. This life could certainly become addicting... A flash of Logan Dawson’s handsome face and swirl of hair swept through her mind. I wonder if Logan will be roping and gentling wild mustangs up at the Powder River Ranch in Montana?
Feeling a bit guilty for letting her mind wander to another man, Katie pushed the rogue thought of Logan and his swirl back far away to the deepest recesses of her mind, where it belonged.
There. Now what was I looking at... At once, Katie’s gaze fell upon another larger pen. Inside, one cowboy tossed a looped rope into a throng of clumped up, jittery horses while other cowmen sat on the fence and cheered him on.
“And those men there,” Katie tilted her chin. “Are they trying to settle their mounts for the journey to Santa Fe, as you did?” She glanced back at Crackerjack, who still looked longingly at her sister and appeared not to have even heard her.
Jim nudged him. “What? Oh, yes. Yes ma’am,” Crackerjack stammered. “Say, would you ladies like a tour of the Broken O?”
Katie opened her mouth to accept, but Annie beat her to an answer. “I’d love to.”
Sucking in her bottom lip to hide her smile, Katie nodded. “So would I. Thank you.”
***
“WHY IS THE BROKEN O driving cattle to Santa Fe when you’re right here next to a railroad that goes, well, to Santa Fe?” Annie never took her eyes off Crackerjack as they roamed the cattle ranch.
Tipping his hat up with one finger, Crackerjack looked down at her. His auburn eyes were remarkably gentle and reminded Katie of hot cocoa on cold winter mornings back in Gasthof. “Well, Miss Annie, there’s been a heap of trouble along the railway lines.”
“Really? Like what?”
Katie watched quietly as her twin sister proceeded to fall for an English cowboy.
“Well,” Crackerjack began, “bandits will pile rocks on the rails. When the train derails, they have men waiting to round up the cattle. They steal them, then drive ’em on and sell ’em at market.” His natural smile still graced his lips. It looked as though he would explain anything Annie wanted to know, and gladly, however many times she needed to hear it.
“That sounds so dangerous.” Annie’s eyebrows crept up her forehead. “Could you be hurt?”
Crackerjack ducked his head as his smile transformed into an embarrassed grin. “Well, that’s why we’re driving them the old fashioned way. A lot easier to fight off a band of rustlers from the back of your horse than from the back of a train car.”
Unwilling to be left out of the conversation any longer, Katie asked the question that had been burning on her tongue since the display in the corral. “George—er, Crackerjack—what are you going to call that horse?”
“Hmm?” he asked, still gazing at Annie as though she were a priceless painting.
“Your new horse. The mustang. What are you going to name her?” Katie tried to use the same gentle tones as he had, but failed in keeping the indignation out of her voice.
“I’d be much obliged if you’d name her, Miss Annie. Boys around here, well, the names we come up with aren’t fit to be repeated in front a lady.”
Annie drummed her fingers on the pasture fence they’d been following. “I like Parker,” she said softly.
Katie wrinkled her nose. “Parker? For a girl horse?” She never could name animals. It was her who named our milk cow Floppy...
Annie nodded, a familiar twinkle in her eye. “The woman who saved my sister’s life was an Indian. Actually, she was the wife of Quanah Parker, the Comanche chief. And your horse is an Indian pony, right?”
Crackerjack nodded, his neck scarlet.
“Well, then it only makes sense to name her Parker, after Quanah’s wife. She saved my best friend, my sister, from the grippe.”
Feeling foolish and more than a bit selfish, Katie bit her tongue. The threat of tears burned in her throat. “Parker’s a fine name, Annie. Thank you.”
“Parker it is,” Crackerjack agreed. “The name is settled then.”
“There you are,” Peter said, trotting up behind them. “Nice place you all have here, George,” he said, offering a nod to the young cowman.
Annie didn’t acknowledge Peter’s arrival. “His name may be George,” she breathed, “but we can call him Crackerjack.”
Peter cut his eyes over to Katie, his brow furrowed. She nodded and shrugged lightly. Yes, my sister is smitten with an Englishman.
“Thank ya,” Crackerjack answered. “Say, when’s your party here planning on rolling out?”
Peter glanced at the sun. “Well, we’ve watered our horse and ourselves, so I reckon we could go on this afternoon.”
Katie noticed Annie’s bright smile fade a touch. She shifted her weight and studied the pasture fence.
Crackerjack adjusted his weight, too. “Well, the boys and me, we’re not pullin’ out till the morning.” He glanced at Annie, who tilted her face to catch his eye. “We’ll go at first light, to head for Santa Fe. Most all the chores are done, we’re just relaxing until it’s time to go.” He flashed a dimpled smile at the woman who’d commanded all of his attentions since arriving at the Broken O. “Maybe you’d all like to spend the night and start fresh in the morning?”
Peter glanced at the sun, then back toward the north from whence they’d come. “You think that’d go over with Mr. Adams?”
Crackerjack, who had been fiddling with his fingers, stopped and stood straight. “I reckon he wouldn’t object. He let you on his land, so that’s sayin’ somethin’.” He pointed off to the north where Peter had looked. “Had some rustlers come in through that far fence line on several occasions. Heard tell he’s buryin’ anyone else out that way who cuts through his fence.” He grinned. “Since that’s the way y’all came from, I reckon he made an exception.”
Peter shifted his weight. “I reckon he did.”
Nervous chills chased down Katie’s backbone and clawed at her stomach. Reaching in her dress pocket, she produced the little book of sonnets the snowy-mustached rancher had given her. “He gave me this, too,” she added.
Crackerjack’s eyes widened. “Well, little lady, that’d make you pert near family. He’s never let that little book out of his sight.”
The cold chills that had settled in Katie’s gut thawed until they were replaced by a familial warmth resonating through her body. Family already. I knew I would like Texas.
Crackerjack sobered. “Whenever you do decide to head out, fill your jugs from our well. Don’t stop at the next spread and sure as he—” He paused and considered his audience. “Sure as shootin’ don’t drink from their well. Or cistern.”
“Why’s that?” Peter and Katie asked in unison before sharing a smile.
Crackerjack pulled his hat down and nodded off to the south. “Fellow that owns that place is called Pappy Simmons. Runs the place with his son and his son-in-law. He’s a bad man, Peter. Muy malo.” Crackerjack plucked a pinwheel weed from the swaying grass and popped it in his mouth, shaking his head. “He’s very bad. Won’t go into detail, but suffice it say his son-in-law caught him red-handed and sent a ranch hand into Amarillo with word for the sheriff to come out to the spread and take care of the matter, nice and law-like.”
What crimes must he have committed to have been turned on by his own family?
“Well, Pappy Simmons must not have liked the idea of being strung up or something, because he put arsenic in his cistern.”
Katie leaned forward. “Why?”
Crackerjack smiled. “Because his son-in-law stopped there for a cool drink every day on his way in from work. He was brandin’ cattle out on the back forty.” He nodded to Peter and continued. “So Pappy Simmons sat on his porch and watched that cistern, so I’ve been told. But his son-in-law didn’t stop at the cistern that day, just kept on going.”
Katie glanced at Annie, who stared at Crackerjack through wide eyes.
“Pappy got disgusted and went inside. Wasn’t till some workers came by after dark that they found Pappy’s son out there—mostly dead. He’d drunk from the cistern instead.”
Annie shivered. “He is a bad man, isn’t he? Did his son, well, die?”
Crackerjack shook his head. “Not yet. Rumor is Simmons will be selling his spread soon.” Glancing back down to Annie, Crackerjack smiled sweetly. “Just don’t go a-drinkin’ from his well.”
