Suzanne felt a weight on her shoulder, pressing down, pressing harder. Someone was shaking her. Her eyes, gritty from trail dust, dragged open. Rosa’s toothless smile greeted her.
She popped up on her elbow, looking around. Some of the men were already up, moving about the herd, checking the horses. She bolted from her bed and fumbled for her boots. Rosa began to motion her toward the back of the wagon. There waited a pan of water and a clean towel.
“Thanks, Rosa, you’re a dear!”
Suzanne smiled at her. Suzanne turned and began splashing water onto her face. Her skin tingled from the coolness of the water, and slowly her brain began to clear. She found her mirror, whisked her hair back into a braid, then joined Rosa at the fire.
Although she had spent the night sleeping on the ground, she felt surprisingly well. She fell quickly to the task of mixing biscuits, then relieving Rosa at the big frying pan, where slabs of bacon sizzled. The smell drifted over the cool spring morning, and Suzanne quietly prayed for a good day.
After breakfast, Mr. Parkinson came up, taking the chuck box from Suzanne’s hands and fitting it into the wagon for her.
“You ladies, hurry up,” he said. “With luck, we’ll make it into Pueblo by dark.” He held himself erect, squaring his shoulders as though preparing to go to battle.
Pueblo served as a crossroads for travelers flooding into Colorado. It also provided a railhead for shipping cattle. It was a bawdy, dusty settlement nestled in a wide valley, looking rather plain to Suzanne compared to her hometown of Denver. But Suzanne and all the others on the cattle drive considered it paradise after another day beneath a blazing, merciless sun.
During lunch break tempers started flaring among the cowboys. Luke looked out of sorts. Even Art seemed rather sullen. Rosa, usually cheerful and pleasant, had lapsed into silence until the dust-layered chuck wagon lumbered into the outskirts of Pueblo. Then she blew a huge sigh and turned to give Suzanne a wide smile.
“Mr. Parkinson said to look for the Antlers Hotel,” Suzanne instructed her. “That’s where we’ll be staying tonight.”
Both women squinted into the setting sun as the wagon clattered down the narrow main street. A couple of general stores, two banks, a livery, and a narrow, two-story hotel were scattered about with a number of saloons sandwiched in between. Music drifted through the saloon’s swinging doors, as women in colorful dresses beckoned cowboys inside.
Suzanne turned on the seat and glanced around the town.
“That’s the only hotel I see.” Suzanne pointed to the building on the comer. Trail dust gritted against her teeth as she spoke. “Yes, there’s the sign, Antlers Hotel!”
Rosa carefully guided the wagon onto the side street that paralleled the hotel and stomped a boot to the brake. Suzanne leaned back in the seat, wondering if she could possibly walk after another day of sitting on the hard wagon seat.
They were just getting their feet planted solidly on the ground when Mr. Parkinson rode up.
“I’m going in to pay for your rooms,” he called to them. “The others can fend for themselves. Art and I will be staying here, too, if you need anything.” His eyes lingered on Suzanne.
“We’ll be fine.” She smiled back, wishing he would stop worrying about her.
“In the morning, Johnny, my best cowhand, will escort you back to the ranch. The rest of us will be staying on to sell the cattle and take care of business.”
“Thank you, Mr. Parkinson,” Suzanne called after him, but he was already around the side of the building. “He’s always in a hurry, isn’t he?” she commented to Rosa.
As the women entered the hotel, Suzanne could tell from the shocked stares of those in the lobby that she and Rosa looked a mess. The desk clerk took a step backward as she and Rosa approached the counter, and he shoved the registration form across for their signatures. They must smell like cattle, too!
“You do it.” Rosa handed her form to Suzanne, who signed for her.
“Second floor, last room on the right,” the desk clerk quickly instructed, handing each of them a key. “Will you be wanting a tub of water? It comes with the room.”
“That would be wonderful,” Suzanne replied.
They hurried up the steps, trying to ignore the shocked faces of two proper women, on the arms of their husbands. On the second floor, Suzanne found her room and pointed Rosa toward hers. She unlocked the door and stepped into a small yet nicely decorated room with polished mahogany furniture. A marble-topped nightstand held a kerosene lamp beside a lush bed. She stared at the bed for a moment, taking a deep, long breath. She couldn’t wait to hop in!,
Then her eyes fell to her dusty boots. Out of respect for the carpet, she reached down and removed her boots, careful not to add any more dust to the mounting pile. Depositing her overnight bag, she slipped off her woolen socks and sauntered to the window to raise the shade.
Below her, the busy street was filled with horses, wagons, and an assortment of people. She recognized two cowboys from the cattle drive. They were pushing through the bat wing doors of a saloon across the street. She pressed her face against the window, peering from right to left. Where was Luke? she wondered. Probably in the saloon already. She lowered the shade and sighed. She had hoped he wouldn’t forget the lesson he had learned from his last poker game.
The knock on the door turned out to be her tub, carried by two stout men who eyed her curiously. Suzanne didn’t notice their stares, as her eyes drifted longingly to the tub. The men then brought up pails of hot water. As soon as they left, she forgot about Luke, the long trail, and everything else for the next glorious hour as she soaked in the tub.
When finally Suzanne felt squeaky clean and presentable in a floral cotton she had tucked into her satchel, she left her room. She knocked on Rosa’s door, planning to invite the older woman to dinner, but from the sound of the snores audible through the wooden door, Rosa had forgotten food.
Suzanne ventured cautiously down the stairs, wondering what Mr. Parkinson expected them to do about supper. She had brought the last dollar from the cookie tin, hoping it would be enough to cover her expenses until Mr. Parkinson paid her.
As she stepped into the crowded lobby and glanced around, she heard her name shouted above the murmur of voices.
Art Parkinson came, fresh from a bath and shave, dressed smartly in a topcoat over black trousers. From the looks of the crisp white shirt, she suspected his first stop in town had been the general store.
“I was on my way to your room to see if I could buy you supper,” he said, beaming at her.
Suzanne hesitated. Automatically, her eyes slipped over the lobby. Luke was nowhere in sight.
“The dining room is filling up fast,” he continued, “but we can still get a seat.”
She smiled up into Art’s angular face. She should be grateful someone wanted to escort her to the dining room.
“That’s very sweet of you,” she said, taking his arm.
She dragged her eyes from the lobby of strangers and walked with Art into the dining room, unaware that Luke was just entering the hotel. And now he was watching her walk away with Art.
Luke entered the opposite side of the dining room, carefully selecting a table in a far corner. He sat in back of Suzanne so he could observe her without her knowing it.
Taking a deep breath, he studied the menu that had been handed to him. He had been starved when he had arrived at the hotel, half-hoping to invite Suzanne to eat with him. Mr. Parkinson had given them a slight advance to see them to Pueblo, and he hadn’t spent any of it. There was enough to buy dinner for two this evening.
How could he have forgotten about Junior? he wondered, glaring in their direction.
The young idiot hadn’t stopped talking since they’d sat down. He squinted, trying to see how Suzanne was reacting, although it was hard to tell, with her back to him. And yet she was tilting her head, nodding, acting like what he was saying was the most fascinating speech she’d ever heard.
“Ready to order?”
The waiter stood by his table, waiting.
Luke looked back at the menu. Well, he had enough money for two, so he’d eat enough for two.
“I’ll take the beefsteak, potatoes, and whatever else comes with it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The menu was whisked from his hand. Immediately, his eyes shot back to the couple. Then, with firm resolve, he turned in his seat and concentrated on looking through the window to the busy street. He would not look their way again, he promised himself. It was a matter of pride, and he knew he could be tough enough to keep that promise.
Suzanne had listened intently as Art had given a lengthy account of his year at Harvard. He had managed to talk his way through their delicious meal. Suzanne began to wonder if all this talking was a nervous habit or if he was this loose-jawed all the time. “I would have flunked out if not for Papa pulling a few strings,” he stated proudly. “One year was more than enough for me. I was born to be a rancher,” he boasted.
She listened and forced a smile. From what she had observed, Art spent more time lounging on the porch than at the corral and stables. She supposed when your father owned the ranch, other things mattered—like wearing good clothes and supervising the ranch hands.
Maybe life with Art wouldn’t be so bad, she told herself, recalling the satiny feel of the fine hotel soap, not the rough lye she’d had to rub on her skin for months.
“…and I would be honored,” he finished with a flourish.
Her eyes moved from his bobbing Adam’s apple to his flushed face. He had obviously said something very important, but she had no idea what it had been.
“So… how do you feel about that, Miss Waters?” He was such a gentleman, always addressing her formally.
“Well…” She hesitated, wondering how to react so he wouldn’t know she hadn’t been listening.
“I guess I’m speaking prematurely,” he rushed on. “I know you have to see to your father, but, like I said, next year when I turn twenty-one, I’d like to ask for your hand.”
She gulped, wondering how she could have possibly missed his proposal. She mentally scurried to recapture her wits, knowing the importance of choosing precisely the right words.
“Art—and please call me Suzanne from now on—you understand how worried I am now, with Pa and all.”
“Oh yes! I hope you don’t think I’m being improper.”
“No, not at all! I appreciate everything you’ve said, and I’m honored that you—” She broke off, swallowing. “I just think we should wait awhile longer to discuss this. But thank you.” She gave him her best smile.
He was staring into her gray eyes, transfixed, blithely unaware that his size-twelve feet blocked the passage of the drunken cowboy stumbling past.
Suddenly, a crash just behind her jolted Suzanne, and she whirled to see a huge man sprawled across the adjoining table. A goblet shattered against a china plate; silver clattered to the floor.
Sputtering profanities, the man gathered his considerable bulk upright and whirled on Art, spitting fire. “You tripped me!” he roared, slamming a huge hand around Art’s throat.
Suzanne stared at the hammy hand, crushing Art’s Adam’s apple. Why, he could choke in seconds, Suzanne thought and panicked.
“I… didn’t…” Art choked out the words between gulps for air.
“Turn him loose,” Suzanne cried. “You fell over your own feet, not his.”
The man turned raging eyes to her. His companion had now joined the ruckus, snickering in the background. Suzanne glanced at Art, whose bulging eyes could pop from his face any minute.
“Well, you’re a feisty one,” his companion said. “I’ll see to her, Buster.”
The proprietor rushed up, desperate to settle the matter quietly.
“Step aside,” the bully growled at him. “Me and this idiot will settle our differences outside.” He yanked Art from the chair and hauled him from the dining room.
“Come on.” The companion breathed whiskey into her face. “We don’t want to miss the fun.” He was every bit the bully his friend was, Suzanne decided, as his fingers bit into her arm.
“Stop this,” she cried, looking back at the proprietor, who was trying to quiet the disrupted diners, assuring them everything was under control. There had merely been a small disagreement.
Didn’t anyone care? Couldn’t anyone stop these bullies?
Suddenly the ugly man who had grabbed Suzanne was shoved back and knocked flat. Luke stood over him, glaring down threateningly.
“Leave the lady alone,” he warned through clenched teeth.
Suzanne gasped, looking from the man to Luke, then back again. Suddenly, she remembered Luke’s sore shoulder, and the desperation she had felt for Art was nothing compared to the concern that rushed through her now.
The man was scrambling to his feet, his fists balled, when a commotion in the front of the lobby brought a dead silence to the group.
The sheriff and two of his deputies stood with guns drawn. “Buster, you and your no-good partner saddle up and ride out of town,” he ordered. “Otherwise, you’ll spend the night in jail. I warned you, there’d be no more fights!” The big bully loosened his hold on Art, and now Art’s long legs buckled and he crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath.
“Your boyfriend needs you,” Luke drawled.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she hissed under her breath.
“Then you have no right leading him on the way you do.”
She threw her head back, staring into Luke’s face with flaming cheeks and flashing eyes. “How dare you speak to me that way!” she sputtered, forgetting that he had come to her rescue. She suddenly seethed with anger toward Luke. How could he be so stupid? Then she saw Art sprawled out on the floor, clutching his throat. She ran over to kneel down beside him.
“Are you all right?” she asked, smoothing Art’s rumpled coat.
He was still gasping for breath, but at the sight of Suzanne leaning over him—her face flushed with concern—a bruised smile touched his purple face. He leaned against her, luxuriating in the comfort of her arms.
The crowd had begun to disperse. When Suzanne ventured a glance over her shoulder, Luke was gone.
“Uh-oh,” Art muttered, and Suzanne followed his worried eyes to the direction of the stairs. His father was charging toward them, his eyes boiling with anger.
“Here are your wages,” he snapped at Suzanne, shoving a wad of bills into her hand. “You and Rosa be ready to leave first thing in the morning. And Art”—he whirled on his son—“you and I have business to take care of.”
Art didn’t utter a sound as his father waved toward the front door, and the two marched out without a backward glance.
Suzanne had stared after them, thinking that was how it would be if she were ever foolish enough to marry Art, whose father barked out the orders and Art snapped into place.
Embarrassed and close to tears, she hurried to her room, yanked off her clothes, and jumped in bed. Taut with nerves, her aching body lay rigid on the feather mattress for several minutes. Then, stretching her sore limbs, she told herself to forget the disaster downstairs and enjoy a comfortable bed, a luxurious room. The crisp sheets caressed her skin, and a pillow of softness cradled her head.
Still, she could not sleep.
She judged it to be midnight when finally she crept across to the window, sneaked the shade up, and peered down at the sidewalk.
Cowboys still milled about in twos and threes, talking and laughing. She didn’t recognize any of the men from the ranch, and she wondered where everyone had gone. Her eyes settled on the swinging doors of the saloon across the street. She squinted down, trying to make out a familiar form in the blur of people. It was hopeless. In the smoky haze of the saloon, it would be impossible to recognize anyone.
Was Luke in there? she wondered, creeping back to bed. She closed her eyes. In her memory, she saw the look of scorn on his face, heard his scalding reproach. What troubled her even more, however, was her own behavior. She had rushed to Art’s side, merely to spite Luke. She had wanted to hurt Luke—she had tried. Tears of shame filled her eyes. What had gotten into her?
Art shouldn’t have let the man bully him that way, one side of her brain argued. Why, she had shown more nerve than Art. At least she had stood up to the men, while Art had done nothing to defend either of them.
How could he, when he was being choked? the other voice argued. Luke would have defended himself and her. He had come to her side even though she had been with another man. He’d been ready to fight for her, and would have, even with an injured shoulder.
She stared at the plastered ceiling, wondering exactly how Luke felt about her. As much as she wanted to believe he cared for her, she could find nothing of substance on which to pin her hopes. He probably would have come to any woman’s defense. He was, after all, a gentleman, even though he could be gruff and argumentative. Like Pa. Was that one reason she was drawn to him?
Tears trickled down her cheeks in the darkness as the strain of the past week took its toll. Her mind jumped from concern for Pa to concern for Luke. And finally, she had one more thing to worry her. For days she’d tried to explain away her reaction to Luke. Tonight the truth had caught up with her.
I’m falling in love with him, she thought miserably, and I might as well admit it. It seemed hopeless, for Luke was obviously still brokenhearted over his wife; maybe he would never love another woman the way he had loved… G. Suzanne didn’t even know her name.
She saw in her memory the wedding band with the two hearts linked together. She cried harder.
“Lord, touch his heart, please… and heal the broken places,” she prayed.