Hmmm. Now that she had milk, perhaps she could make a pudding, though she had no recipe for it. Would Rosie remember how? Her sister had never enjoyed time in the kitchen, though as the oldest, she’d spent longer there than the rest of them. Juniper had always been the best cook among them. Was she getting to use those skills as she and her husband trekked across the mountains? Or were they subsisting only on roasted meat and fresh berries?
As Lorelei moved from the work counter to the hearth, she glanced through one of the openings between logs they’d left unchinked to act as a narrow window. This particular gap showed a view of the barn ... and two strange horses standing in front of it.
Her chest tightened as she moved to see better. Four horses in total. Two saddled and two heavy-laden with furs and packs. She shifted sideways for a glimpse of the corral where Curly stayed. Two men had draped themselves over the fence, watching the calf. No, three men. Which must mean there were more horses she couldn’t see. Maybe more men too.
Had White Horse seen them? Rosemary and Faith were out working with the new colts, but they’d all decided White Horse should stay close to the house and barn in case more visitors came to see the calf. He’d been behind the barn splitting rails for more fence the last she’d seen him.
Should she go out and speak to these strangers who’d come to gawk at her young charge? Or watch from this protected spot? Maybe as long as they didn’t climb through the fence, she could stay out of sight.
But she’d like to know exactly how many were there, and she couldn’t tell for sure through this tiny window.
After brushing the flour from her hands, she stepped to the door and lifted the latch as soundlessly as she could manage. The leather hinges opened much more quietly than the metal version they’d had on the doors back in Richmond. She cracked the door just wide enough to get a clear view but hopefully not so much the men would notice her if they glanced this way.
Three men, the third one a slight distance from the other two. He held his mount and pack mule with him, the reins still in his hand. The horse eyed Curly with a suspicious look, nostrils flared, as though the mount might bolt any moment.
No wonder the man kept a grip on him. The pack mule stood with its head drooped, not even pricking a long ear toward the calf.
The murmur of the men’s voices drifted across the yard, but she couldn’t make out any words. Then the fellow in the middle straightened and lifted a gangly leg up to the middle rail.
Her body tensed. Surely he wouldn’t climb the fence.
With a quick movement, he answered her question, hoisting himself up and swinging a foot over the rail.
She grabbed her rifle and swung the door wide, marching out to cover the distance between them with long strides. “Get out of that corral, sir.” She had no time for pleasantries. Not until a fence separated him from her calf.
The men spun at her shout, and even over the distance, she couldn’t miss the grins that split their beards.
Unease tried to press through her, but she didn’t have the luxury of scurrying back to the house now. Where was White Horse?
She kept her stride purposeful as she charged forward. “Sir, that calf cannot be handled. Please climb back over the fence.”
His smile turned into something more like a leer. Instead of retreating, he turned toward Curly. “I just wanna touch him. The Indians think he’s got some kinda special powers. I’m hopin’ they’ll rub off on me.”
The man’s loud voice—or maybe the stranger himself—spooked the calf. Curly darted to the far corner and eyed him warily. The man merely turned the new direction and crouched a little lower as he stomped forward.
Lorelei reached the fence, but what should she do? Aim the rifle at him and command him to get out? Go into the corral and brace herself between him and the calf as she pointed the gun at him?
When he came within an arm’s length of Curly, the calf bawled and darted down the fence line out of reach. Good fellow.
The man swore, then spread his arms wider and closed in on the calf with a determined step. She had to intervene before he actually caught Curly. He’d likely do so any second, for the little guy was too young to outwit a grown man for long.
She raised the gun to firing position and aimed it at the scoundrel who was closing in on her charge. “Back away from him, or I’ll shoot.”
The man glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw her gun, he finally ceased his advance. To her left, a chuckle rumbled from one of the men. She couldn’t shift her focus to him, though. What if either of the bystanders tried to stop her? They would stick up for their friend, even though hewas in the wrong. She couldn’t fire and reload fast enough to take on all three at once.
Lord, protect me.
The man in the corral narrowed his eyes at her. “Aren’t you a spiteful little thing? The buffalo ain’t yours. He’s a wild animal, belongs to the land. If I wanna touch him, I can do just that without permission from no skirt. You just point that gun somewhere’s else.” He turned back toward the calf and moved closer.
A weight pressed on her lungs. He wasn’t going to stop unless she did something to make him. Could she really put a bullet in his flesh? She’d never shot a person before. Was she good enough aim to hit one of his legs so the wound wouldn’t be mortal? Even if she didn’t hit him, a near miss like that would certainly show him she spoke in earnest.
“I wouldn’t do that, miss.”
She glanced sideways at the man who spoke, and her heart hitched at the sight of his rifle pointed at her.
“Nook may be a might teched at times, but I can’t stand by and let you burn a hole in his hide. Lay aside that gun, and once he’s had his fill, we’ll be on our way.”
She forced a swallow, but it didn’t dislodge the weight on her chest that kept her from breathing.
