Chapter 7 #2
"Mind your horses, Cookie."
He only laughed harder, the sound shaking his massive frame.
Around mid-morning, Ripplan wheeled Starlight around and rode directly toward the flank where Dutton and Carter were riding whenever they were not chatting with me.
He leaned down from the saddle, his expression dark and unyielding, and spoke a few sharp words that I could not hear over the lowing of the herd.
Both young men slumped in their saddles, nodding with subdued expressions before turning their horses toward the far rear of the line.
"What was that about?" I asked Cookie.
"Looks like the boss just handed them drag duty," Cookie said.
"What is drag duty?"
"Riding at the very back of the herd to eat everyone's dust and push along the stubborn stragglers. It is the dirtiest, most miserable job on the drive."
A spark of irritation flared inside me. Dutton and Carter had been working hard all morning, and assigning them punishment detail simply for talking to me was blatantly unfair.
When we paused at a wide mountain stream to let the horses and cattle drink, I guided Daffodil through the shallows toward where Ripplan had dismounted to inspect Starlight's hooves.
"That was completely unnecessary," I said, pulling up beside him.
He did not look up from the stallion's leg. "What was?"
"Putting Dutton and Carter on drag duty. They were doing their jobs."
"They were distracted," he replied, his tone clipped and cool.
"They were being friendly."
"They are here to work, not entertain you." His voice remained flat, but I heard the sharp edge underneath.
A rush of heat flared through me, blending anger with another emotion I did not care to name. "I never asked to be entertained. And I do not need you deciding who I am allowed to talk to."
He straightened to his full, imposing height, his amber eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air feel suddenly thin. "They have a job to do."
"So do I, and I am doing it just fine while also being someone who enjoys conversation and camaraderie."
"Noted."
"You're being a turd."
His dark eyebrow arched slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his rugged features. "A turd?"
"Yes. A stubborn, unreasonable, colossal turd."
Something subtle passed behind his eyes, a momentary flash of amusement that vanished before I could fully pin it down. "Get back to your position, Tammy."
I wanted to push harder, wanted to call him out on the glaring possessiveness that everyone on this trail could plainly see, but the herd was already beginning to move again.
"Fine," I shot back, wheeling Daffodil around. "Just remember what you are being."
I rode away with my face burning and my heart hammering against my ribs, but even as I fumed, I could not stop myself from glancing back over my shoulder.
He had already remounted, his broad silhouette outlined against the bright sky.
The sun illuminated the strong line of his jaw and the sheer breadth of his shoulders as he moved with the stallion in flawless, powerful grace.
He was infuriating and overbearing, yet my traitorous heart pounded simply from being near him.
I pulled my hat lower and forced my attention back onto the trail ahead.
Cookie was grinning broadly when I returned to the side of the wagon.
"Do not even start," I warned.
"I did not say a word, Doc."
"You are thinking it loudly enough."
He chuckled and flicked the leather reins, urging the draft team forward.
By noon, we halted in the fragrant shade of a towering stand of ponderosa pines.
The dry temperature had climbed into the seventies, making the cool mountain shadows a welcome relief.
The cowboys dismounted to stretch their aching limbs, while Cookie began distributing thick sandwiches, crisp apples, and canteens of cold water.
I sat on a fallen log beside Cookie, ravenously eating the sandwich he handed me. The thick roast beef and cheddar on crusty bread tasted like the finest meal in the world.
"You make everything taste incredible," I said around a mouthful.
"The secret is seasoning, plus the fact that you are hungry enough to eat a horse," Cookie replied with a chuckle.
"Do not let Daffodil hear you say that," I warned.
He chuckled softly.
Dutton and Carter started walking toward our log with their food, clearly intending to sit with us, but Ripplan appeared out of nowhere.
He said a few quiet words that made both young men immediately veer off toward another group of cowboys.
His gaze swept over me in a thorough, assessing check before he positioned himself against a pine tree barely ten feet away, crossing his massive arms over his chest.
He did not touch any food. He simply stood there, watching.
Every time another ranch hand glanced in my direction or thought about stepping near, Ripplan's heavy stare would lock onto them, and they would suddenly remember a pressing chore elsewhere.
"Real subtle," Cookie muttered under his breath.
"He is being ridiculous," I whispered back.
"He is being territorial," Cookie corrected gently. "There is a big difference."
"I am not his territory."
Cookie gave me a long, knowing look. "Are you sure about that, Doc?"
I stared down at my hands, unable to find an answer. The truth was that I wasn't sure at all, and the uncertainty thrilled me just as much as it frustrated me.
After lunch, we mounted up and continued our climb northward.
The landscape grew rockier and steeper as we gained elevation, the pine trees thicker and the air noticeably cooler.
We splashed across clear mountain streams that ran over smooth stones, winding through high meadows blanketed in purple lupine, golden arnica, and white columbine.
The sheer beauty of the high country made my chest ache with wonder.
Late in the afternoon, we reached the river camp, a wide, flat clearing nestled inside a gentle bend of the mountain stream. Towering cottonwoods and quaking aspens bordered the water, and the rushing current provided a soothing soundtrack after hours of bellowing cattle.
Above the western peaks, however, the sky had turned menacing. Dark, bruised clouds were stacking against the summits, their heavy underbellies carrying the unmistakable weight of a summer storm. The atmosphere carried that electric charge of ozone, and the rising wind smelled strongly of rain.
"Storm is coming fast," Cookie announced, eyeing the dark ridge line. "Let us get those canvas stakes driven deep, boys."
The hands scattered into urgent motion, unloading supplies, pitching tents in a wide circle, and ringing a central fire pit with heavy stones. I helped where I could, but mostly I stayed out of the way as the men secured the camp.
The river called to me with an irresistible pull. I was covered in trail dust, sweat, and the grime of the day, my hair escaping in wild wisps from its braid. I grabbed my small backpack containing clean clothes and toiletries, slipping quietly away from the camp to follow the river downstream.