The Cattleman Meets His Match. Sherri Shackelford

she’d lost her usefulness, he’d run. He’d run from his wife and his children. His responsibilities. He hadn’t run far enough. He’d been killed in a factory accident three months later.

      Moira had been in charge of herself for as long as she could remember. Her mother had worked herself sick, and Moira had cared for her little brother. When her mother could no longer even care for herself, a woman from the Missouri State Charitable Trust and Foundling Society had arrived.

      Never outlive your usefulness, her mother had said.

      Moira had felt her mother’s death somewhere along the way, although she’d never received proper notice. One day she’d finally accepted that no one was coming for her. The realization had hardened her heart and made her more determined than ever to prove her worth.

      Shortly after the Charitable Trust had found them, she and Tommy had been taken in by the Giffords. Mrs. Gifford had fancied herself a society lady, except Mr. Gifford had never made enough money to keep her in the style she figured she deserved. Moira had initially been humbled, awed by their fine house and brocaded furniture. She’d soon learned it was all superficial luxury.

      From the beginning, the Giffords had treated them like hirelings. To her foster family, she was a servant. Mrs. Gifford took great pride in parading her charity before her friends. The truth was far less charitable. The Giffords had put them to work. The siblings rolled cigars for ten hours a day, sometimes more. Pacing and frowning, Mr. Gifford had timed them with his ever-present pocket watch. More cigars meant more income for the Giffords.

      Making Moira work from sunup to sundown for nothing more than a roof over her head and a castoff dress each spring didn’t place Mrs. Gifford in the annals of sainthood, though she acted as if it did. After Tommy ran away, Moira had marked off the days until her eighteenth birthday and left that morning.

      Mr. and Mrs. Gifford had figured she’d be back in a week, begging for help. She’d never doubted her decision. Tommy hadn’t returned and neither would she.

      The cowboy stretched and yawned. “When did you see Tommy last?”

      “Five years ago. He was fifteen and I was almost seventeen. He ran away. I, uh, I thought he’d come back. I’d given up ever seeing him again until I received the telegram. It was the sign I’d been searching for all along.”

      She’d find him and make things right. She’d apologize for taking the watch, for getting him in trouble. No one had loved her, truly loved her since that fateful day when she’d hidden Mr. Gifford’s infuriating pocket watch behind a tin of crackers in the pantry and let Tommy take the blame.

      She was supposed to take care of him, and she’d failed. She’d failed in the worst way possible. The cowboy dug his heels into the soft earth. “That’s a long time to look for someone.”

      “Not very long when you love the person.”

      “Point taken.”

      “We’ll be a family again.”

      The cowboy resumed his stargazing. “You’re what, twenty-one, twenty-two? He’s almost twenty? That’s a long time apart. People change. Maybe you should think about starting a family of your own.”

      Moira shook her head. “Not until I find Tommy.”

      “Well, he’s probably looking for you, too. I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

      The cowboy’s casual words buoyed her fragile hope. Would her brother accept her? He’d never returned to the Giffords. He must have known it was her fault. She’d have told the truth, except she’d been too much of a coward. By the time she’d screwed up her courage, Tommy was gone. She’d waited for him at the Giffords then stayed on working at the hotel in St. Louis, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

      If he’d been looking, surely he’d have found her. Yet this past month she’d finally been given proof, courtesy of the Gifford’s maid, that he’d tried to contact her. His concession had to mean something. “Everything will be better when we’re together as a family again.”

      He’d forgive her. If she found him, if she explained, he’d forgive her. Then she could finally be whole again. They could finally be a family again. She’d have a purpose once more.

      John stood and dusted his pant legs. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.” He held out his hand. “You did real well tonight. You tie knots like a trail boss. Those girls are lucky to have you.”

      As she took his proffered hand, her heart stalled beneath his unexpected compliment. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping us?”

      No one ever did anything without an ulterior motive.

      “Didn’t have much other choice,” he answered easily.

      Moira kept her own counsel. He’d want payment for his help. She only hoped the price wasn’t too steep.

      Either way, she hadn’t the energy to sort out his motives. She’d find Tommy, she’d settle for nothing less. Lord knew she’d pave a street to his doorstep brick by brick with her bare hands if only she knew the way. There was an empty space inside her, and she wouldn’t be whole again until they were family once more. This was merely a detour in her journey. She wouldn’t be distracted by the handsome cowboy and his deceptively kind eyes. Not now. Not ever.

      She’d never open up her heart to the disappointment her mother had faced. She wouldn’t spend her life proving her worth just to be abandoned in the end. Sooner or later everybody left. The first year at the hotel she’d tried to make friends, but no one ever stayed long. One by one all the people who’d been important to her were plucked away. She’d learned her lesson well—she was better off alone.

      Moira glanced around and realized John was heading for the horses and not the tents. “Where are you going?”

      “Keeping watch. Checking the remuda.”

      Champion scrambled upright. John pointed a finger. “Stay. Keep watch over the camp.”

      The animal immediately lay down and rested its head on its paws.

      Moira followed the cowboy’s shuffling steps and her earlier animosity softened. His shoulders had slumped since she’d first seen him striding through the darkened alley. He must be exhausted. If he didn’t find a crew tomorrow, what then?

      Thoughtful, she gazed into the darkness. Those cattle sure didn’t care if she was a boy or a girl. Why should anyone else? If a dozen boys could drive twelve hundred head of cattle, couldn’t a few girls drive this bunch? If they were useful, maybe that would be enough payment.

      Moira shook off the crazy thought. She’d find another way.

      Alone.

      The less time she spent in the company of John Elder, the better. She’d only known him a short while and already her resolve was weakening. His shoulders were strong, and it had been a long time since she’d had someone to lean on. She was exhausted, that was all. After a good night’s rest she’d be stronger. And after tomorrow, she’d never see him again. She was used to being on her own. Life was easier that way. Lonelier, perhaps, but she’d rather be solitary than grow fond of someone who would only be in her life a short time.

      * * *

      As the lavender fingers of dawn branched out from the east, John braced his hands against the saddle horn and locked his elbows. A faint haze on the horizon showed the first signs of the morning sun. He’d kept watch all night, dozing off and on, and was so exhausted he could hardly think straight.

      Outside of Texas, the terrain had leveled. John had never considered himself a sentimental man, yet the changing landscape left him melancholy.

      His longhorns would thrive on the rich buffalo grass of the plains. Cities like Wichita were growing while Dodge City faded. Kansas was shutting out the Texas cattle, but folks still needed to be fed. If an army marched on its stomach, then nations flourished on a full belly.

      Pops