Dorothy Garlock Read Online Free Page B

behind them. Laura, with her hand on Tucker’s shoulder, walked confidently, and they took their place in line behind Lottie.
    A woman was dishing out stew from a large iron kettle. Another removed a pan of corn bread from a portable oven and was slicing it with a broad knife. A squat, bowlegged man, his face covered with
whiskers, and a dilapidated hat on his head, was poking sticks beneath a black pot suspended over a blaze. Coffee boiled over and he cursed.
    Tucker turned and smiled at the woman standing behind her. She was a tall, handsome woman, with dark hair pulled back severely and fastened at the nape of her neck. The beautiful gold earrings she was wearing didn’t seem to go with her worn clothes. She nodded, but didn’t smile. A tall boy stood silently beside her. He had her dark eyes and hair and her quietness.
    The woman dishing out the stew took Laura’s plate from her hand, filled it, and put it back into her hand. She smiled shyly when Laura thanked her. Tucker led her to the far side of the campfire to sit beside Lottie and went to get coffee for the two of them.
    The drover looked out from beneath his tattered hat and grinned at her. His smile was almost toothless, but his blue eyes were bright.
    “Howdy. Name’s Mustang. We been a waitin’ on ya and the little missy to get here.”
    “Tucker Houston.”
    “Figgered it. Ya got the purtiest hair I ever did see. Comanches’d give six ponies fer ya.” He gave her a sly, mischievous wink.
    “Only six? I think I’ll hold out for ten,” she said in a confidential whisper.
    The old man chuckled and tilted the pot to fill the cups. Tucker looked over his head and saw Lucas
standing at the end of the grub wagon. His eyes were on her, and she looked away quickly.
    Tucker attacked the meal with relish. The stew was surprisingly good, the coffee strong and bitter. She emptied her plate and sat quietly watching the women. They were in groups of two, three, and four, all except the woman and the boy who had stood behind them in line. They sat alone.
    “Where are the rest of the men?”
    Lottie eyed her sharply. “Why?”
    Tucker bristled. “Not for the
why
you’re thinking. I just wondered. I know Mr. Steele can’t take us to California by himself.”
    Lottie grinned, if you could call it a grin. Her weathered face wasn’t used to smiling.
    “Got yore back up, don’t ya?”
    “Maybe,” Tucker admitted.
    “No maybe about it,” Laura said and giggled.
    “Someday I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap, Laura Foster.” Tucker’s mood could switch from resentment to tenderness to teasing all in a matter of seconds.
    “The men is comin’ in now. They been out with the remuda. The horses ’n mules done et up all the good grass ’round here, we been a waitin’ so long,” Lottie finally explained.
    Tucker heard the sound of running horses. The riders pulled their mounts to a sudden halt, leaped from the saddles, and draped the reins over a rope that had been stretched between two trees. There were eight of them, some older, whiskered, range-toughened, and a
few were young Mexican boys. They crowded around the grub wagon, filled their plates, and squatted down on their haunches to eat. They ate swiftly and went back for second and third helpings. It was comforting to hear the quiet rumble of masculine voices keeping up a steady stream of talk while they sipped at the hot coffee Mustang poured from the squat black coffee pot.
    Everyone was quiet and waiting. Tucker found it hard to believe she, Laura, and the others were seated out in this field on the edge of nowhere. They sat with their backs to the darkness, looking at each other’s faces in the flickering light of the fire. There was a certain tension, and all eyes turned to Lucas as he stepped out and away from the other men.
    “Ladies.” He had removed his hat and the white streak across his forehead stood out in bold relief from his suntanned face. “Ladies,” he said again after