THIRTY
MARY carried little Cheyenne in her left arm, and smiled at the sight of the mule Ira when the liveryman brought him out to hitch him to the buggy. Blacky was making excited circles around them.
“Mrs. Baker,” Thurman said to her. “We can still sell Ira’s worthless hide and take the train back to Texas.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “This is fine. I want to go home on my honeymoon like we came.”
He took off his hat and scratched his head. “Why are you so damn stubborn?”
“I enjoyed the ride up here with you. I want to enjoy it going back.”
“Fine, fine, just don’t complain about the buffalo-chip fires.”
“Oh, my man will find lots of wood for me.”
“Maybe he will.”
She hugged his arm. “I am lucky to have you. Those girls about stole you from me. Especially over that bald-face horse you gave Kate, and the Welsh pony for Nina.”
He laughed. “That’s what grandfathers are for—spoiling them.”
“Do you think that Herschel and his family will ever come to Texas and help you run the ranch?”
“I don’t know. Montana is a great place. He’s such a dedicated lawman now, it would be hard for him to ever leave both the county and the job.”
“Who else do we need to find?”
“My daughter Rosie.”
“I figured that. What do we do first?”
“Go find my boys and take over that ranch.”
With her on the buggy seat, he paused to look off at the hills north of Cheyenne and the wide azure sky as he hitched the dun and the bay horse on behind. He’d sure never regret this trip—coming or going.
They had a long ways to go. Hell, he’d better stop thinking about all that sentimental stuff and go back to chasing sundowns.