The Beholding by Dia Hunter

Author:Dia Hunter [Hunter, Dia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: HISTORICAL ROMANCE
Published: 2012-05-09T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

“Did you hear that?”

“The coyotes?” Tess listened to a lobo bay at the now visible stars. The rain had stopped a half hour ago as the wind drove the storm clouds south.

Tess strained to separate the night sounds and finally heard not only the mournful bay but a low singing. A good singing voice crooned “Beyond the Heather Morn,” a song from the Scottish Highlands about star-crossed lovers.

A faint breeze stirred, bringing the unmistakable odor of cattle and upturned prairie beneath their hooves. In the distance, dark forms took shape on the horizon. The coyote stilled, silenced by the cowboy’s song and the answering bawl of cattle.

Suddenly a big longhorn trotted into sight. Then another and another. The lead steer halted, lifting his head sharply.

“Don’t move,” Luke warned, reining the mule to an abrupt halt in front of Daggert’s mount.

Tess felt Jim’s arms tighten on the reins and his stomach clench against possible danger. She strengthened her hold around the gambler’s waist in the event they must run. “Is it a stampede?” she asked innocently.

Luke’s voice cracked in a half-joking, half-warning tone. “Not yet. And we don’t want to give them reason.” The long-horn walked a step or two toward them.

Tess watched Jim’s right hand slide slowly to his gun, lift it and ease back on the hammer. The click echoed into the night. The big steer twitched an ear at them but kept his eyes trained on Luke’s mule.

“That’s not a smart thing to do, Daggert,” Luke condemned Jim’s action. “You shoot and we’ll all be trampled.”

A man in a yellow rain slicker rode into view, still singing below his broad-brimmed hat. He took a look at them, wiped a sleeve across his handlebar mustache and kept right on singing. But the words no longer followed the Scottish tune.

“The herd’s uneasy; speak low and confident,” he crooned. “Ol’ Get-Me-There’s full of sass and a bit skittish tonight.”

The big steer ducked his head as he moved up a step. Tess almost saw his nostrils flare. Well, Get-Me-There, old fella, I’d like nothing better than to get me out of here.

“It’s the woman,” the drover sang. “They’re used to the wild smell of my drovers. Osage, Cheyenne, Creek. Hardly get nervous ‘bout a bear or cat anymore ’cause the men wear skins. But they’ve had no dealings with a lady and her scents. So just bring the mules in slow and sit powerfully still, ma’am. A rustle of skirts and you’ll set off the whole lot of ’em. They’ll run you clear into Tuesday.”

“We need your help, sir,” Tess insisted, careful to keep her voice calm. “My son is ill.”

Luke spoke in an equally low tone. “Jesse Chisholm, this is Mrs. Contessa Harper, the woman you asked about.” He nodded toward the gambler. “You’ve met Daggert. Now, if you will, this boy’s burning with fever and he needs to get dry or he’s gonna be powerful sick.”

Jim had said their trek across Indian territory made news in Wichita, but she thought he meant to flatter her in some odd way.

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