Silver Hearts. Jackie Manning

the harsh reality of life.

      “Come here, precious,” she whispered to the orphaned calf. She knelt beside the furry animal. She rubbed the calf’s velvety white face, and checked the animal’s rib cage for broken bones. She winced at the frail little body, but the animal appeared not to be injured.

      “Wait until Uncle Luke sees you,” Noelle said, smiling. She set the lantern on the ground and slung the rifle over her shoulder. When she gathered the calf in her arms, she was surprised at how tame the calf appeared to be. Poor thing. Probably too weak from hunger and thirst to protest.

      “You won’t have to worry about those bad coyotes any more,” she whispered.

      Its saucer-size brown eyes gazed up at her with such innocence, that Noelle felt her throat strain with unshed tears. She hugged the calf and strode purposely in the direction of the wagon.

      When she arrived at the camp, the horse whinnied, but there was no sign of Luke. Her worry returned. Although she wanted to search for him, she decided she’d wait until the sun rose. By then, she wouldn’t need the light, but she wouldn’t forget to retrieve the lantern where she left it in the prairie. She put the rifle down near the wagon.

      The calf uttered a weak, mooing sound. She patted its head while she thought. It would be dawn within the hour. If Luke wasn’t back by then, she’d follow his tracks to see where he’d gone.

      The calf nuzzled against her warmth, and she rubbed her fingers across the pink nose. The animal grabbed her finger, sucking hard. Noelle felt a pang of sympathy for the starving animal. She felt inside its mouth; a row of teeth protruded along the lower gum, but the upper gum was bare. She picked up the calf and placed it down inside the wagon, then she rummaged through the sparse food supplies. The only suitable food she had was canned milk and cornmeal.

      She jumped down from the wagon and opened the trail box, but nothing she found would provide a container to give the calf a drink. The buckskin whinnied nervously, pawing the ground, as though jittery that its master hadn’t returned.

      Noelle glanced toward the horse, then noticed Luke’s leather gloves shoved under the ties on the saddle. She took one of the large gloves and tried it on her right hand.

      Yes, this would do nicely. She smiled as she strode to the water barrel. First, she’d poke a hole in the finger, then fill the glove with milk mixed with water. At least it would provide the calf with immediate nourishment until she made a gruel out of cornmeal. When they were on the trail and into better pasture conditions, she’d cut needle grass for the poor little thing.

      With a knife, she poked a small hole in the fingertip of the sturdy leather. She winced at what Luke might say. But when she arrived in Crooked Creek, she’d ask Uncle Marcel to advance her enough money to purchase a pair of gloves for Luke from her first week’s wages.

      

      Luke’s long strides gained ground as he strode in the direction of the prairie schooner. Coffee. Black and hot. Sizzling bacon and a pile of feathery flapjacks as only Hoot, the cook at the Crooked Creek’s café can make ’em. Luke groaned at the tempting images in his mind as his stomach growled louder than a grizzly.

      If only Luke had kept riding instead of following the dead man’s tracks back to Noelle’s wagon. By now, he’d be waking up beside Jubilee at the Silver Hearts Saloon, well rested, with all of his needs deeply sated.

      Instead, he’d have one more day of walking through prairie, back to town, leading a team pulling a busted wagon, with nothing to quiet his appetite but beef jerky. He swore as he shoved the binoculars back in the case and looped the strap around his neck.

      Appetite, hell. What bothered him wouldn’t be satisfied by food, damn him. Noelle Bellencourt was a hindrance he couldn’t afford. Yet she ignited a flame in him that grew each time he saw her.

      He swallowed, remembering how she’d looked when he crawled into the wagon, drenched from last night’s storm. He’d made the mistake to steal a glance at her after he’d fashioned a makeshift bed from his saddlebags and blanket.

      Her flaxen blond head nestled against the pillow of blankets where she lay, asleep. Even in the darkness, he’d been able to see her lovely face, framed in the white lace of her nightgown, like an angel in repose.

      He’d tried not to stare, but damn, he couldn’t help himself. The memory brought an unbidden rush of feelings, feelings he didn’t want to feel. Women like Noelle Bellencourt came with a high price. Marriage. Home. Children.

      He drew a deep breath. She needed a responsible man to take care of her, and she wouldn’t find him in a rough mining town like Crooked Creek. She’d learn that lesson sooner or later, and he didn’t want to be around when she did.

      Early streaks of sunlight began to appear along the hilly horizon. The chimney of a lantern glimmered in the sun. Luke’s eyes narrowed as he strode toward the familiar object. When he recognized it as Noelle’s lantern, his mind raced. What the hell had she been doing this far from the wagon? And where was she now?

      Luke charged toward the prairie schooner. Deuce tossed his head, nickering a welcome as the animal sensed his master approach the camp. Before Luke reached the unlit wagon and tore open the curtains, he heard Noelle’s humming from inside the wagon.

      Relief, as monumental as he’d ever felt, coursed through him. When he returned his rifle into the saddle scabbard, he realized his hands were shaking. He took a calming breath, while he scratched along Deuce’s neck. The sweet sounds of Noelle’s voice drifted on the sage-scented air, and he could hardly keep himself from running inside, holding her to be sure she was all right.

      What are you doing, Savage? He took another deep breath, but nothing seemed to burn the image and the resulting thoughts from his mind. He forced himself to face her.

      “Miss Bellencourt. I’m back,” he called before climbing onto the tailgate and peeking inside.

      Noelle glanced up from her place in the center of the wagon. In her lap was a calf, not much bigger than a large dog. She was spooning a thin, yellow liquid down the animal’s throat.

      “Jeezzo, woman—”

      Noelle’s smile faded, and she stiffened. “I found him while I was searching for you. His mother had died.” She frowned. “And where have you been? I was worried to death.”

      “I’ve been out checking the trail ahead.”

      “Why didn’t you take your horse?”

      “Too noisy.”

      “How could you see in the dark?”

      “I was looking for campfires.” Luke studied the scrawny calf. “Besides, I can see in the dark as well as an animal.”

      Her brows lifted in skepticism. “Did you see any Indians?”

      “Indians are too smart to leave signs. We can only guess that they’re out there. I did see a campfire up ahead, about three hours away. With any luck, they’ll be gone by the time we get there.”

      “Do you think they’re friendly?”

      “Prepare for the worst.” He glanced toward her. “We’ve got to be on our way. Let the calf go.”

      “What do you mean, let him go?”

      Luke sighed. “We can’t take the calf. It’ll slow us down. Most of the grass around here is pale green. That means alkali. We’ll have all we can handle to keep the team away from the bad grass, without having to play nursemaid to a calf.”

      Luke jumped down from the wagon and strode toward the oxen.

      Noelle shot her head out the rear curtains. “Mr. Savage, may I remind you that this is my wagon and my calf.”

      “The calf or me, Miss Bellencourt.” Luke’s long-legged stride didn’t falter. “It’s your call.”

      Chapter