A Timeless Romance Anthology: Old West Collection Read online

  “Leave my hair alone.”

  “Children!” Faith indicated a boy on the end of the front row. “And you are…?”

  “Joey. Joey Perkins. My pop is the grocer. I’m seven.” Joey had a bit of a lisp. He turned and pointed to a chubby boy a row back. “That’s my brother Curtis. He’s ten.”

  Curtis scowled at Joey. “I can say that for myself.”

  “Thank you, Joey. Curtis, have you anything to add?”

  “Yes, miss. I do sums best.”

  Faith smiled. “Then you must help me with the younger pupils. Next?”

  The other children each took a turn. Charley, Hortense, Mary, Thomas, Paul, Christine, and Martha. Faith tried to keep their names in her head until she had a chance to write them down.

  “Now that I know who you are, I will tell you a little about myself,” Faith said. “I come from New York City, far away in the east. New York is located principally on an island between the East River and the Hudson River. Can anyone tell me the name of the island where I live?”

  Several pupils raised their hands. Martha knew the correct answer. After giving a lesson on geography and wishing she had a better map, Faith moved on to arithmetic. She allowed Curtis to tutor the four youngest pupils while she taught the older ones a lesson she hoped he could catch up with later. Recess followed. Faith caught her breath, made note of the pupils’ names in a seating chart, ate her lunch, and straightened the room a bit. Then she rang the bell to call the children back into the schoolroom.

  The rest of the day went swiftly, and when four o’clock came, it took her by surprise. She released the pupils. They went to the back of the room where they found their belongings and left, running as soon as they hit the ground.

  The next day was much the same as the first, although Faith also made assignments for cleaning the blackboards and carrying in stove wood.

  “You’ve done well today, children,” she said as four o’clock approached. “Thomas, it’s your turn to clean the blackboards. The rest of you may go, but remember to clean your slates tonight.”

  The pupils hurried out of the room, laughing and chatting with their friends. Thomas asked if Miss Bannister wanted him to lay a fire for the next day.

  “I don’t think we’ll need it yet, Thomas. The weather is still quite warm. Perhaps tomorrow?”

  As Thomas started his task at the blackboard, a masculine voice spoke from the doorway. “The weather can turn bad in fifteen minutes, miss.”

  Faith turned to see a handsome man standing at the back of the classroom. He removed his hat and held it in one hand while, with the other, he smoothed his black hair carefully to each side of his head from a center parting.

  “Rance Hunter at your service, miss.” He made a slight bow. “You’d best have wood laid up in case of a storm,” he added, his black eyes snapping with deviltry.

  Faith admired the man’s thick, full-bodied hair. Then her eyes returned to his face, and she noted that his Roman nose was perfectly symmetrical beneath black brows. She began to smooth wrinkles from the front of her skirt.

  “I’ll put a few sticks in the stove for you, if you’d like,” Mr. Hunter said.

  She nodded. Realizing how easily the man had entered the schoolroom without her hearing him, she glanced at Thomas. He had nearly finished with his job, as he was cleaning the erasers. She got his attention with a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Thomas. You’ve helped a great deal.”

  The boy looked up at her, then at the man. “Is it okay if I leave now, if you don’t need anything else?”

  She meant to say, “Please stay here with me.” She couldn’t think of another task to set for him, however, so she replied, “That will be fine. Thank you.”

  As the boy left, Mr. Hunter backed away from the stove, brushing his hands together after laying the fire. “That bundle of sticks should be easy to light if a storm blows up.”

  His gaze went on too long and became a stare; she repressed the desire to squirm.

  At length, he asked, “Have you made plans for supper? It’d please me to take you to the restaurant and buy your meal.”

  Faith’s eyes went a bit wide. He has a high opinion of himself. After recovering from her surprise, she said, “I must decline your kind offer, Mr. Hunter. I have several matters to attend to this evening.”

  The man frowned, said, “Have it your way,” and left the schoolhouse.

  Faith watched his departure, slowly relaxing. I suppose I haven’t seen the last of Mr. Hunter.

  To Slim’s consternation, the cottonwood lay across the corral fence all week long, and Mr. Ramsey hemmed and hawed every day about it, still seeing visions in the branches. More than once, Slim had to send a cowhand to round up escaped horses.

  On Saturday morning, the boss’s head seemed to have cleared enough to give Slim orders. “McHenry, today is a half-work day because of the social. Get that damn cottonwood cut up and stack the wood in the back lot where it won’t burn anything down when we light it up.”

  “That’ll make a fine bonfire, boss.”

  Slim couldn’t get anybody to do the job. Every cowhand had a reason why he couldn’t use the old two-man saw on the tree. Seeing the excuses stacked against him, he shrugged and assigned himself and Curly to the job.

  Curly wasn’t much pleased with the hot, sweaty chore, but he dug in after a little persuasion from Slim’s cash hoard.

  The day was hot for September. By midmorning, both Curly and Slim were puffing and blowing with the heat of the exercise and the slowness of the chore.

  At this rate I won’t get to the dance social before the last set’s over, Slim thought. Another trickle of sweat ran down past his ear. It must be eighty degrees in the shade.

  Curly frowned at him. “Slim, you pulling on your side, or am I doing all the doggone work over here?”

  “I was thinking the same thing about you.” Slim eyed Baldy Babbitt going by with a couple of buckets of wash water. Dang that lazy Babbitt! He’s headed for the bunkhouse to slick up for the party. Slim pushed harder on the saw and hoped the man would stumble over the black dog lying in the shade by the door and spill his water. No such luck. He stepped over the dog and through the door. Maybe on his way out...

  Disgusted with the man, Slim jerked on the handle.

  Curly grunted with exertion. “This old saw must be duller than a butter knife,” he wheezed.

  Slim checked the time by the sun. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” He put more muscle into the effort.

  “We ain’t gonna get this done before quittin’ time?” Curly did more work on the next pass.

  “Yup.”

  They sped up, and the stringy trunk finally separated. Both of them took a quick breather, then started on the next cut.

  At least the horses get to rest for a while, Slim thought. The team was tied to the fence in the shade until he and Curly cut more sections of wood to haul away. One horse moved in the traces, switching his tail to keep off flies. The other nickered and shook his head.

  About 11 o’clock, they commenced dragging wood again, one or two sections of trunk at a time, whatever the chain would fit around. When they’d hauled all of the sections they’d cut, Curly sat down, taking a breather and letting the horses do the same, while Slim freed up the logs. He unwrapped the last turn and tossed the chain behind the team.

  Morning and the best part of the afternoon evaporated before they finished, and when they’d put up the team and were washing themselves, it was so late that Curly said he maybe was too exhausted to go into town.

  Slim shook his head in disbelief, water droplets flying off his hair. “Aw, you won’t miss that dance social for nothing. You always have too much fun at them.”

  “What’s the use of going to a dance if I can’t move my aching body enough to do the hoedown?” Curly whined.

  “You’re just bellyaching. Stay here if you’ve the notion. Nothing’s keeping me home tonight.”

  In the end, Curly found enough s
trength to fork his horse and accompany Slim after all.

  That’s too tight, Faith thought, and re-tied the sash of her dress. It wouldn’t do for the school teacher to faint at her first outing.

  She fluffed out the bow and looked back toward the glass hanging on the wall of her bedroom, wondering if she fit the picture of— what had Charley called it?— a schoolmarm.

  I know I can do the job well enough, she thought, smoothing the front of her dress. She checked the slight tilt of her hat and pinched her cheeks, just a little. A faint rosy glow responded, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “A perfect schoolmarm,” she said, and nodded. She turned to the door, picking up her drawstring reticule. Then she cast another glance in the direction of the glass. “Bitter Springs, here I come,” she whispered, and blew out the lamp.

  Slim and Curly arrived late to the dance and spent most of the first fifteen minutes leaning against the wall, watching the girls as they danced by in their best clothes.

  Slim saw one gal he’d almost decided to court, Edith Longstreth. The man dancing with her now had laid a claim on her before Slim got up the nerve to ride to her poppa’s house and ask if he could come calling. That was too bad, ’cause she was the best-looking of all the girls around. A doleful regret settled on him for letting her get away, and he vowed that wouldn’t happen to him again.

  He was just peeling himself off the wall, aiming to see what the town ladies had provided for refreshments, when Ralph Perkins banged on a pie tin to get everyone’s attention then said he had an announcement. He beckoned for someone to come forward out of the crowd, smiled expansively and said, “This little lady coming up here is our new school teacher, Miss Faith Bannister. She comes to us from New York City and has a wonderful knowledge of the arts and sciences, as well as mathematics and grammar. Let’s make her feel welcome.”

  Mr. Perkins proceeded to clap, and several other people around him joined in. By this time, the lady in question had made her way through the throng and turned to face in Slim’s direction. His jaw went slack.

  Miss Faith Bannister was quite a sight for a country boy to take in. She wore a white dress with those large, puffed, leg-o-mutton sleeves. She sported a light-blue ribbon tied around her little waist and had a sort of hat on her head. It wasn’t big enough to hide the fact that her hair was the color of goldenrod in a meadow. A little bag hung from her wrist by a pair of strings. Slim stared, shifted his feet, and forgot Edith Longstreth. The only woman on earth stood before him across the room.

  Curly came up behind Slim and gave him a nudge with his shoulder. “Close your mouth. You’re droolin’ all over the floor.”

  Slim obeyed and swallowed hard. He couldn’t be drooling, ’cause his mouth was dry as sand. He couldn’t even raise enough spit to bicker with Curly. He only shook his head and adjusted his hat low over his eyes.

  A voice called from the crowd. “How much ’perience does she have?”

  A flush crept over the lady’s face. Slim bristled, wanting to offer a challenge to the man who had besmirched her reputation by asking such a question, but he couldn’t tell who had spoken. He heard grumbling in front of him. Others had the same question in mind.

  “Miss Bannister is well educated,” Mr. Perkins avowed, somewhat heatedly. “You won’t be disappointed in my selection.”

  “I will do my best for your children,” Miss Bannister said in a clear, soft voice. She moved through the crowd, coming in his direction as she greeted folks. In a moment, a milky-white hand extended into his eyesight. “I’m Faith Bannister,” said the soft voice. “Have you children in the school?”

  Slim raised his head and looked into misty-blue eyes surrounded by a fair face on which the flush had not totally abated. He pulled off his hat and shifted it from hand to hand before deciding which mitt to put forward to meet hers. “Howdy, miss. No, miss. I’m Slim McHenry of the Four Rivers Ranch. Pleased to meet you.” After giving her hand one pump, he let it go.

  “It’s a pleasure indeed, Mr. McHenry.” Her voice was so soft that he strained to hear it over the hubbub.

  “Ah, I’m— I’m just Slim, miss.”

  Miss Bannister raised one hand to cover her mouth. He could tell she was smiling. Did I make a joke?

  “Why, yes, that’s quite correct.” She lowered her fingers to chin level. Sure enough, she was smiling at him. “I’ve no doubt you’re very nice, also.”

  Slim’s face burned as though he squatted next to a branding fire. He gulped, said something nonsensical, and hoped Miss Bannister would walk on by.

  Instead, Curly elbowed him in the ribs and chuckled. “You’ll have to cut him some slack, miss,” he said to the lady. “He’s working with only half a brain. Our boss made him foreman a couple weeks ago, and he’s still finding his way.” Curly winked at the schoolmarm. “Now take me, miss. My name is Curly Price. I have all my brains in place, and I’m the best rider and cowhand in the whole valley.”

  Slim glared at Curly. Bragging like that was underhanded and self-serving, and besides, he was dead wrong. Slim was the best cowhand in three counties, and Curly darn well knew it. Slim had to get the lady away from that rascal.

  Just then, the musicians played a chord.

  “Would you care to dance, Miss Bannister?” Slim crammed his hat on his head and held out his hand.

  “Why yes. That would be lovely,” she replied, putting her smooth little hand into his rough one. “I would be honored.”

  Slim did his best to bow gracefully over it, then led her onto the sawdust-covered floor.

  What a wonder that dance was. Slim swore that a higher power led his legs around the room, for he hardly stumbled at all. Miss Bannister smiled and waltzed and seemed happy to follow his lead.

  At one point, she gazed into his eyes and asked, “Did I understand your friend correctly? You’re the foreman of the Four Rivers Ranch?”

  “I am.” He missed a step and almost trod on her toes. “I’m still learning the job.” How long would the dance last? He was torn between running off in shame at his stumble and holding the lady in his arms forever.

  “Perhaps someday soon you could show me around the ranch, Mr. McHenry.”

  “That would be my great pleasure, miss.” Slim smiled at her, and something warm welled up in his chest. “I can show you around the whole area, if you’d like.”

  She smiled. “Let’s start with your ranch first.”

  “How about next Saturday? I’ll bring a wagon and pick you up about eight in the morning.”

  “That sounds delightful indeed,” she said, looking thoughtful. “Do you mind if I ask Mrs. Perkins to come, as well?”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ll meet you in front of the general store, then. Eight o’clock.”

  She smiled again, and then the dance came to an end, and he released her from his arms.

  “I will be waiting,” she murmured. Then she was gone, and his arms felt empty, robbed of her warmth and grace.

  Shortly thereafter, Slim was drinking punch from a little glass cup when he looked up to see Rance Hunter making an entrance. Slim couldn’t miss him. Hunter guffawed at something Nick Bray said then made a protest that there was no liquor bar set up. He weaved a bit as he walked.

  I reckon he’s already had a snoot full of strong drink.

  The problem was, he walked right up to Miss Bannister. He asked her to dance, but she looked reluctant. Then Hunter loudly bragged on his close kinship to Amos Ramsey, owner of the largest ranch in the valley. The schoolmarm finally agreed to dance with him.

  Hunter spun his way around the room with the lady in his embrace. She was trying to make conversation, and he smiled down at her with a smooth look that made Slim’s stomach queasy. He didn’t know what it was about Amos Ramsey’s stepson that set his teeth on edge, but the fact was, Slim detested the man.

  Slim disposed of his cup so that as soon as the musicians stopped playing, he was on hand to rescue Miss Bannister. “Would you like refreshments,
miss?” he asked, taking her by the elbow.

  “Yes,” she said, looking a bit confused, for Hunter still held tight to her other hand. “That would be lovely.” She turned to Hunter. “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Hunter. I’m sure it was delightful.” She got her hand free and turned her attention to Slim. “Where is the refreshment table, Mr. McHenry?”

  “In the schoolyard, miss.” He put pressure on her elbow to steer her away from Hunter, who looked at Slim as though he wished him dead. Slim hustled the girl toward the door.

  They stepped outside, and Miss Bannister looked at Slim’s fingers gripping her elbow. He let go, feeling abashed that he’d been clutching at her so tight.

  “I like this better,” she said, slipping her hand onto the crook of his elbow. His mood changed some as they strolled into the glare of the torches set around the yard. With her on his arm, he felt ten feet tall. She pointed out what she fancied among the array of tasty tidbits the ladies of the town had provided, and Slim juggled two plates and served up the food.

  They sat on a bench built for the youngsters under a stand of cottonwoods alongside the schoolyard fence. Slim made certain Miss Bannister was settled before he went back to the line for liquid refreshment.

  He returned carrying two cups of fruit punch. Miss Bannister picked at the food on her plate. He presented her the cup with a slight bow.

  She smiled and took a sip. “That’s very tasty. Thank you. I was becoming a bit parched.”

  Slim thought he grew another foot taller.

  He sat beside her. Miss Bannister asked about the work he did as foreman. Her interest made him feel special. Soon he forgot his sweaty hands and gawky feet and talked his fool head off. He scarcely touched his food, and when the musicians signaled the commencement of the second half of the dance, he had nearly an entire plate load left to eat.

  When Miss Bannister said she didn’t have a partner for the next dance, and asked if he would kindly oblige her by whirling her around the floor— or words of the same meaning— he gladly abandoned the plate.