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CHEYENNE, WYOMING TERRITORY, August 1885
It was with a fair degree of reluctance that Chase returned to the train that carried the show that was as much his family as anything. In the time since his departure earlier in the day to see if he could somehow explain himself to Leyla, the other performers and laborers had disembarked their essentials from the train, a small town of tents springing up alongside the engineless cars and the tracks they sat upon.
After he had cleared the gate that marked the McNeal ranchland, Chase had slowed Cannonball to a slower pace so that he might give his mind a chance to comb through different plans on how he might try to talk to Leyla again, preferably without John Baldwin or Margaret McNeal putting a bullet in him.
By the time he arrived back at the train, the sun was slowly sinking toward the western horizon, bidding this part of the world farewell for another day. Campfires had sprung up all along the colorful train, the flames casting flickering shadows against the painted cars and humble tents.
Even before he had reached the car he shared with the other show riders, Chase could already see that they’d been making “productive” use of their newfound free time.
Bull was currently shirtless and bootless, the southerner clad in his trousers, the braces that held them up, and his hat. Chase could see that he had one of his moonshine jars in hand and it looked as though it was just about depleted.
A grin fought its way across Chase’s features as he watched his friend dance around the fire the show riders had built as he drunkenly sang some song about the Confederacy’s glory or how it would rise again and overtake the Yankees. The other riders sat around and watched, laughing and tapping their feet in rhythm with Bull’s odd performance.
Chase hitched Cannonball alongside the other horses near the stock car, a hastily erected hitching post keeping all of the mounts from wandering off. As he drew closer to his show-riding brethren, Phillipe “Philadelphia” Ruiz spotted him first.
“Oy compadres,” he cheered, “look whose back! It’s our fearless leader himself.”
A laugh and a cheer greeted Chase, which he waved off as he sat down on one of the small crates that served as seats. Even Bull managed to pull himself momentarily out of his drunken revelry to wander over and welcome his friend back with a slurred greeting.
“So tell us, boss man,” Phillipe continued, “how did it go with Senorita McNeal? Has she forgiven you yet?”
Chase turned to look at the Mexican show rider in surprise. He didn’t remember having told any of the other show riders where he was going or what he had planned to do.
As if reading his thoughts, Phillipe laughed good-naturedly. “You not as slick as you think are, amigo,” he said with a grin, his bright teeth and sparkling eyes standing out in stark contrast to his heavily tanned skin. “We all figure out fast where it is you went. So the Senorita show rider? She forgive you, yes?”
Chase felt the urge to tell Phillipe to mind his own business, but he knew that the rider meant no disrespect. Once more, Chase cursed and praised the fact that he and his show riders were such a closely knit group that there was little that escaped anyone’s notice when it came to problems.
The brown-haired show rider stretched his legs out before him, his eyes staring into the flames and the chicken that was being roasted on top of it. “Sadly, Phillipe, no, Miss McNeal has not forgiven me. She didn’t even talk to me.”
Phillipe made a show of shrugging before he handed an unmarked bottle of liquor over to Chase. “Is no problem, boss,” he reassured. “You get your chance soon enough. Just need new idea to use, si?”
“Si,” Chase replied lamely, taking a pull from the bottle and letting its fiery contents wash down his throat.
Across the fire, Bull had finished his song and had slumped backwards onto one of the crates, his body forming an arch as his top half spilled over the other side. All of the other show riders went quiet for a few moments until they heard the telltale snoring that Bull made whenever he was passed out drunk. A round of chuckles rose up from the group at the southern rider’s antics.
With Bull’s performance decidedly over, Phillipe reached behind himself and produced a worn but well cared for six-string guitar. His thick fingers took a moment to make sure it was tuned before he slowly began strumming it, humming along with the tune that his fingers were coaxing so fluidly from the instrument.
Chase found himself nodding gently along with Phillipe’s humming as the rider continued to play.
“That’s real pretty, Phillipe,” Chase commented before he took another pull from the bottle. “What’s the song about?”
Though he stopped humming, Phillipe continued to play the instrument as though he still were. “Is an old song, one my papi taught me back in Mexico,” he replied serenely. “Is a song about a peasant who promises a lady de luna and makes good on his word.”
A man who promises a lady the moon and delivers, Chase thought idly. I’d give Leyla the moon, and more, if only she’d listen.
Once more, Chase felt his mind become seized by an idea, one that he wished he’d thought of earlier.
That’s it! he thought triumphantly. I’ll sing to Leyla and get her to come outside and talk to me. She couldn’t possibly resist a moonlight serenade!
Convinced that this new idea was the best way to go, Chase fixed his guitar-strumming friend with a hopeful smile. “Say, Phillipe,” he crooned slowly, his confidence returning like a rejuvenating breeze. “Would you mind teaching me the words to that pretty song you’re singing there?”
***
THE SKY HAD GIVEN WAY to more darkness and stars by the time Chase had learned enough of the song to confidently sing it to Leyla. Though he would have to sing it without the accompaniment of Phillipe’s skilled guitar playing, he was reasonably sure that he’d be able to carry the tune himself.
He had remounted Cannonball and was just about to bring his horse onto the main road out of Cheyenne and toward the McNeal Ranch when he spied the last person he wanted to see: John Baldwin.
There was no mistaking the man’s features, hat, or the ebony horse he rode. Even worse, the ranch boss wasn’t alone as he was accompanied by at least a dozen of the ranch hands he oversaw every day.
Despite his anger at John for the trick shot he had pulled earlier, Chase couldn’t completely begrudge the man his position. As he had ridden back toward Cheyenne earlier in the day, he came to accept the fact that John had just been protecting Leyla from further heartache. Sure, the way he did so may have been a touch heavy-handed, but Chase knew that he’d have probably done the same were he in John’s boots.
Still, John’s sudden appearance with what looked like a posse in tow was worrisome. Or at least it would have been, if Chase hadn’t noticed one little curious detail—a blindfold.
John Baldwin was currently riding his horse blindfolded, the ranch hands leading him along into Cheyenne.
What in the name of Lincoln’s beard? he wondered. What are those boys up to?
Curiosity getting the better of him, Chase spurred Cannonball to follow behind the group to see what they were planning.
***
HOW DID I LET MYSELF get talked into this?
For what must have been the hundredth time since he’d left the ranch in the company of his ranch hands while wearing a blindfold, John Baldwin wondered just what kind of mess he was being led into.
Not long after the ranch hands had returned with the herd, they’d cornered their boss and told him that they had a special surprise planned for him that very night. John had initially planned on remaining at the McNeal Ranch that night to make sure Chase McAllister didn’t come back around, but the ranch hands had been quite insistent.
When he brought this news to Margaret, his bride surprised him by telling him that she was siding with the ranch hands and he should follow them to whatever it was they had in store for him.
So, with much trepidation and a gut tying itself into knots, John Baldwin had allowed himself to be blindfolded and led on horseback to some mysterious destination and for what purpose he had yet to discern.
“Alright boss, here we are,” said Amos Lee, his Virginia twang recognizable through any kind of racket.
John felt Longbow guided to a stop, and someone helped him off of the horse. He could tell that his feet landed in soft dirt, but that could have put him in any number of places throughout the area. As he felt himself guided further and further, he heard the unmistakable clack that a boot heel made when it impacted on wood. That, combined with the slight rise in elevation that came with stepping up onto something, told him that the boys had brought him somewhere into Cheyenne.
He was moved forward on the wooden floor for a few more paces before he was stopped. Without warning, the blindfold was pulled from his eyes and a rousing cheer met his ears as he looked around to find himself in the center of Finnegan’s Grand Saloon.
As his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the lamps inside, John looked up and felt his heart swell with pride as he saw a hastily made banner stretched across the railings on the upper floor that read CONGRATULATIONS BOSS.
The ranch hands—and Fergus, the wily old devil—were apparently throwing him a celebration in honor of his engagement to Margaret.
Before he could even say a word, he felt a pair of strong hands grip his shoulders and spin him around before pulling him into a friendly embrace.
John felt the bushy chops brush his face as the figure pulled back to reveal the beaming face of Fergus Finnegan himself.
“Congratulations, Johnny-boy!” the old Irishman crowed. “Yer goin’ to be a married man, and the boys, Margaret, and I figured you deserved a night off! There’s no getting out of it now, and that goes for this party as well as the marriage, so don’t even try to run.”
“Fergus, I—,” John started to try and speak but his words failed him as he looked around. Fergus, the ranch hands, riders from other ranches, a few from the show and a multitude of other people he’d met since he came to Cheyenne were all gathered in the saloon to congratulate him on his engagement.
Trying to keep the emotions welling up within him contained, John simply turned and looked to all gathered with the biggest smile any of them had ever seen. “Thank you,” he said, just loud enough for everyone gathered to hear him. “From the bottom of my Kentucky heart, thank you.”
Fergus threw his head back and laughed before leading everyone in singing a round of “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow.”
As John looked around once more, he felt a strange sensation rise above the others he had been feeling, one that he didn’t recognize at first. But as he thought it over, he realized that it was a familiar feeling that he hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing in quite a while.
It was the feeling that he belonged and that he had once more found a home where he could be happy.
***
CHASE COULDN’T BELIEVE his luck.
He had followed the ranch hands to a saloon and had listened as the purpose of their journey had been made clear: they were throwing John Baldwin a party to celebrate his engagement to Margaret McNeal.
‘That means the ranch is relatively empty, and I can talk to Leyla without fear of Mr. Baldwin catching me!’ Chase thought excitedly, though he still remembered that if Margaret McNeal caught hold of him, then John Baldwin would likely be the least of his worries.
Still, with John and the ranch hands in Cheyenne and drinking like it was payday, they were unlikely to return until morning and even then they likely wouldn’t be back up to full steam until the next night. That gave Chase the opening he needed in order to try and make things right with Leyla.
Throwing caution completely to the wind, Chase spurred Cannonball forward and out of Cheyenne as quickly as he could, intent on reaching the McNeal Ranch and Leyla before the night got much older.
***
MCNEAL RANCH LAND, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, August 1885
The rest of the afternoon following Chase’s forced departure from the McNeal Ranch had moved slowly for Leyla as she spent it locked up in her room, refusing to let her mother or sister in to see her. She had spent a majority of it curled up in a ball atop her bed, trying to force the memories of her time with Chase from her mind.
One memory that continued to roll around in her mind was the look of shock on Chase’s face after it had registered in his mind that John had shot the hat clean off of his head. She wasn’t sure what to feel about the display of force from John—though she was given to chalk it up to his having spent time with her sister—but she did feel a prick of worry in her heart after she herself had realized what had happened.
I wonder if this is how Margaret felt after John left? she wondered, hoping that her sister hadn’t experienced even a fraction of what she was feeling now. Whatever it was she was feeling, Leyla decided that she wouldn’t wish it on anybody on earth, not even Chase McAllister.
Even within her grief soaked isolation, Leyla occasionally allowed herself to wonder just why Chase hadn’t left with the rest of the traveling western show. Surely the show meant everything to him, didn’t it?
The problem with those thoughts was that they eventually brought up the possibility that Chase had let the show move on without him and that he had stayed behind in order to try and apologize to her. The thought that she had made him give up that life he loved so much for her sake made Leyla feel like crying even more.
At some point, exhausted from all of her crying, worrying, and wondering, she had fallen asleep. She had awoken to find it dark outside and a plate of food left on her bedside table, evidence that her mother had come and gone while she had been sleeping.
Though the food was lukewarm at best, it still helped her feel slightly better following all of the energy she had expended since the afternoon focusing on her anger and sadness. Once she was finished, she decided that dressing for bed would be the wisest move to make. Despite having slept for the better part of the afternoon and evening, she still felt exhausted.
She made short work of shedding her day clothes and replacing them with one of her nightgowns, the light material perfect for sleeping in the warm temperatures of late summer on the plains.
Her hair was a matted mess. She retrieved her brush from her bureau, opened her window as high as it would go, and then sat on the windowsill brushing her hair beneath the light of the moon and stars.
I wonder where Chase is right now? she pondered, feeling neither anger nor sadness as she drew the brush through her lustrous hair, taking care to readjust whenever she encountered a knot or a tangle. Maybe he actually has left and is trying to catch up with the rest of the show. They’ve gotta be in Laramie by now.
The night was quiet, the only sounds coming from the crickets chirping in the grasses and the occasional sound of a moo from a steer in one of the nearby pens. In many ways, it mirrored Leyla’s current internal situation—quiet after what was a restless day.
She was just preparing to return to her bed when she heard something that was entirely unexpected—singing. Cocking her head to the side and pulling her ear back, she could definitely hear the distinct sound of a man singing something in what sounded like Spanish.
Who could that be? she wondered in slight alarm, quickly running through the mental list of Mexicans employed by the ranch. It’s not deep enough to be Miguel, and not gravelly enough to be Marco.
The tune itself was quiet, almost as though it were being carried on the breeze in a gentle caress. The more Leyla listened to it, the more she started picking out other little clues about the singer.
He sings beautifully, but I’ve heard enough Spanish to know it’s not his native language, she deduced, trying to discern more and more from the song. Indeed, despite how well the singer was carrying the song, he stumbled in a few places. Still, it was a beautiful melody all the same and she found herself being slowly mesmerized by it.
She was just about to slide out of the window and take a look to see just who it was when the singer appeared around the corner of the homestead, his identity clearly visible in the bright moonlight.
There stood Chase McAllister, his shirt unbuttoned and exposing his muscular chest and his long brown hair left to flutter in the gentle night winds. He was singing the Spanish song and he nearly stopped when he spotted Leyla hanging out of her window in search of the mysterious singer.
Leyla’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. Once more, the heat and passion of the memories of what they’d done came flooding back to her, but this time neither sadness nor anger followed with them. If nothing else, it was intrigue that made itself known this time.
Just what are you playing at, Chase? she wondered as Chase continued to serenade her with the song that was haunting and sweet all at once.
***
SHE’S EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL than before, Chase thought dreamily as he spied Leyla McNeal perched on her windowsill clad in a simple flowing nightgown with her long red hair let down in a cascade.
Still, the show rider focused on the song that he was singing, hastily learned from Phillipe and practiced as much as he could in the time that it took him to ride from Cheyenne back to the McNeal Ranch.
Getting back onto the ranch had been relatively easy, but as he drew closer to the homestead, Chase realized that, once again, he had failed to think his plan all the way through. Though he rode Cannonball as quietly as he could onto the McNeal’s land, he had no idea what to do with his trusty steed after he’d reached the homestead. The house had been dark, so he took a chance and hitched his horse to the post in front before making his way around and beginning his song.
He had figured that singing as loudly as possible in the middle of the night was a good way to get himself into trouble, so he started by singing quietly as he made his way around in the hopes of stumbling onto the window that was Leyla’s. As for the open shirt baring his chest to God and everyone else, the idea had been Phillipe’s.
“Is muy romantic, boss,” he recalled the tanned rider explaining. “Back in Mexico, a cabron who bares his chest when he sings is baring his heart to the world.”
You better not have been lying to me about that Phillipe, Chase mentally noted.
Still, he had located Leyla and the two were now locked with one another’s gaze as Chase continued to sing sweetly to her, the words, though rough in parts, coming naturally as though he had been singing the song for years.
***
LEYLA’S INITIAL SURPRISE at Chase’s appearance in the middle of the night was slowly tempered as she listened to him sing more and more. Despite the incongruity of the entire situation, she couldn’t help but listen to him continue singing.
What words she could pick out—such as “luna” and “amor”—told her that the song had something to do with the moon and love. Though she could only understand a little of its meaning, she listened with every bit of hearing she had.
The song finally came to an end with a sustained note that Chase held for ten seconds. As he drew in a breath to replace what he’d lost, he looked up at Leyla expectantly, something akin to hope shining in his eyes.
With the song no longer lulling her into docility, Leyla gave her head a shake as the emotions that had been ruling her for the better part of the last two days returned in full force. She narrowed her eyes at Chase in a fierce stare that would have easily rivaled anything that her mother or sister could produce.
“What are you doing here, Chase?” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down as best she could. “I thought I told you to never come back her again and go back to your wife.”
The word “wife” seemed to hit Chase like a physical blow and he winced as she all but spat it out. But the show rider gathered his resolve and met Leyla’s heated stare with his own apologetic one.
“Leyla, please just give me a chance,” he whispered in a pleading tone. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you the entire truth about me, but I was trying to forget about that part of my life as well. Not telling you the truth was wrong and I’m real sorry about it, but please let me make it up to you.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“But she ‘ent dead, I heard you tell John that she wasn’t dead.”
Chase shook his head.
“Either she’s dead or she’s still your wife, Chase McAllister!” Leyla crossed her arms over her chest. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t scream and wake everyone from here to the next county up.”
She should have just told him to leave. She should gave gotten Maggie’s shotgun when she heard the first notes of his love song, but for whatever Chase’s faults, he had come back. She needed to hear his reasoning, his side of it, before she washed her hands and sent him packing.
If she sent him packing.
Foolish, naïve girl.
Chase reached up and scratched the back of his neck in an awkward manner. “I know I hurt you bad, Leyla,” he began earnestly. “And I promise that it was never my intention to hurt you. All of our lessons together were real and when you agreed to perform in the show with me, I felt like I was flying like an eagle. Once you know everything there is to know about me, then you can decide whether you want me to stick around or hit the trail.” He was pleading now, and it softened her heart all the further. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do if you’ll please just give me a chance.”
“Before I do anything, tell me something: why aren’t you heading further west with the rest of the show?” she asked.
Chase looked down at the ground momentarily, but when his head tipped back up he was wearing a sheepish smile on his face.
“You might think I’m crazy, Leyla, but I think somebody up there likes me,” he whispered. “The truth is I was travelling west with the rest of the show this morning, resigned to probably never being able to see you again and make up for my mistake, when the whole dang engine threw a fit and busted before we were even out of Cheyenne!”
“Oh my!” Leyla squeaked, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in order to silence herself lest her mother or sister hear her. “Was anybody hurt?!”
Chase shook his head in the negative. “No, nobody was hurt and that was a miracle if ever there was one, but the mechanics told the professor that the train isn’t going anywhere for four days or so.”
A spark of anger flared to life inside Leyla’s mind at the knowledge that his coming back was all due to a coincidence. “So you only came back because you had nothing better to do for the next four days, is that it?” she accused venomously, her eyes burning like hot coals once more.
“Confound it, woman, no!” Chase defended. “I genuinely wanted to explain myself and it looked like the Good Lord himself gave me the opportunity to do so!”
“Then explain.”
“Well—“
“Wait.” Leyla held up a hand to interrupt him. John would be back soon, and as furious as she was at Chase, she didn’t want him dead in front of the house. Especially if Maggie heard them. It was a miracle the singing hadn’t woken the rest of the household. “Not here, Chase,” she whispered, looking around to see if anyone had spotted them. “We’ll go somewhere where Maggie is less likely to spot us. Did you ride here? Where’s Cannonball?”
“I hitched him quiet as a church mouse around the front when I arrived,” he explained, keeping his voice just as quiet.
“How did nobody see you?” Leyla asked, wondering where all of the ranch hands could be.
“Another stroke of good luck for me,” Chase whispered with a grin. “Just as I was getting ready to come back here, I saw Mister Baldwin and at least a dozen of the ranch hands ride into town and go into one of the saloons. From what I could tell, looks like the hands and your sister planned him a celebration in honor of his engagement. Probably won’t be back ‘til morning.”
“You go fetch Cannonball and bring him back around here,” she ordered quietly. “Nothing moves inside the stable without Maggie knowing about it, so I can’t get Whirlwind out. We’ll just have to share a saddle on Cannonball.”
“Right, right,” Chase agreed. “Won’t be but a minute.” And with that he sprinted quietly back around to fetch his horse.
Leyla sighed as she realized what she was about to do. Here she was in the middle of the night, and she was about to go riding off into the night with a man who had already lied to her once.
Well, I guess he didn’t lie so much as he didn’t tell the whole truth, she conceded. But that’s not much better. This better be a good story, Chase McAllister.
Quickly slipping into a pair of riding trousers and a loose shirt, she grabbed her hat, put on her boots and carefully climbed out through her bedroom window.
Thank Heaven that no one has heard us, she thought gratefully.
***
AS SLOWLY AND AS QUIETLY as he possibly could, Chase unhitched Cannonball from the post he had secured him to and led him back around the homestead to Leyla’s window. He arrived to find her hastily dressed in riding breeches, a loose shirt, and her hair pinned up with a few tresses escaping to frame her face. She had a shotgun slung over her back.
He couldn’t help but stop and stare a moment.
Leyla quickly noticed his gawking and she flushed in a combination of embarrassment and indignation. “This is my sister’s shotgun, and I know how to use it, so don’t think of trying anything.”
“My apologies, Leyla,” he whispered, his own cheeks reddening from being caught staring.
Again, keeping as quiet as he possibly could, Chase mounted Cannonball’s saddle and drew himself up into it. Once he had his feet secured in the stirrups, he turned slightly and lifted Leyla up and behind him so that she sat behind him.
“You sure you don’t mind riding back there?” he asked, his concern plain as day in his voice.
Leyla simply nodded and without another word Chase quietly spurred Cannonball forward and a gentle trot toward the eastern pasture.
