Cowboy to the Rescue. Louise M. Gouge
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and the name Four Stones Ranch. A long drive between two fenced pastures took them toward the two-story white ranch house built on a stone foundation. To one side were a giant red barn and numerous outbuildings. Susanna noticed the addition Nate had mentioned, also two-storied, on the north end of the main structure. A wide brook ran some fifty yards from the house, and young elm and cottonwood trees grew in clusters around the property.
Nostalgia swept through Susanna at the sight of the beautiful ranch. Back home, magnolias would be in bloom, and maybe a few spring gardenias would still be filling the air with their lovely perfume. Catching a whiff of roses, she searched without success for the source of the fragrance.
As if someone had blown a trumpet to announce their coming, several people poured forth from the barn, while a solitary man emerged from the house.
Nate jumped down from the wagon and gave instructions to his cowhands, who took charge of his wagon and drove it toward the barn. Then he turned toward the other man.
An older version of Nate, and just as tall as his son, the dark-haired Colonel exuded authority before he even spoke a word. Susanna could hardly breathe as she listened to Nate’s brief explanation for the presence of the prairie schooner and its inhabitants. All the while, the older man glared at her through narrowed eyes. No one had ever looked at her with such disdain, perhaps even hostility. Yet she didn’t dare reveal her own bitter feelings against this Union officer. Maybe it was just those feelings speaking to her mind, but he looked like someone who would chase women and children from their plantation house and burn it to the ground.
“So I thought they would make a fine addition to our community, Colonel.” Nate sounded a little breathless, and from the way his right hand twitched, Susanna thought he might salute his formidable father. “Being homesteaders, that is.”
The Colonel walked to the back of the schooner and threw open the flap, then returned to face Nate, eyeing his son with obvious disgust. “What’s the matter with you, boy? These are no homesteaders. Where’s their furniture? Where are their clothes? All I see is a pickax and two gold pans. Can’t you tell a money-grubbing prospector when you see one?”
Nate saw the hurt in Susanna’s eyes and the way she cringed almost as if she’d been slapped. He ground his teeth as protectiveness once again roared into his chest. He had long ago learned that arguing with the Colonel was a useless exercise, but he’d never tried to beat some sense into the man. His hands ceased their nervous twitching and bunched into involuntary fists as if they wanted to do that very thing. Only by hooking his thumbs over his gun belt did Nate manage to control the impulse. How would he ever learn to control his temper when his father continued to rile him this way?
“Nathaniel!” Mother bustled out of the house and down the front steps, her fuzzy brown hair streaked with flour and her white cotton apron stained with jam. “You’re home at last.”
At the sight of her, Nate’s anger softened, replaced by the joy her presence always brought him. Spreading his arms, he welcomed her eager embrace. “Mother.” He held her tight and savored the aroma of fresh-baked bread that clung to her like perfume. Her nicely rounded form reminded him of Susanna’s need to put on a few healthy pounds. But if the Colonel had his way, the Anders family wouldn’t be enjoying any steaks at the Four Stones Ranch.
Mother leaned back and brushed a flour-covered hand over his cheek. “Angela and I have been baking all day, but I didn’t know when to have her cook your favorite— Oh! What’s this?” She broke away and moved toward the prairie schooner. “Why, Nate, you’ve brought us a guest.” She glanced at the Colonel. “Frank, help this young lady down so we can be properly introduced.”
Nate gulped back a laugh. His father never tolerated so much as a grin when Mother took charge this way.
“Of course, my dear.” His face a mask, the Colonel stepped over to the wagon and held out his hand. “Miss?” Even his offer sounded like an order.
Susanna eyed him with confusion, then gave Nate a questioning look. He returned a short nod, hoping she would accept the Colonel’s curt invitation. With a graceful elegance Nate hadn’t known she possessed, she lifted her chin like a duchess, then rose and stepped to the edge of the driver’s box to place her hand in his father’s.
“Thank you, sir.” Her posture stiff, her voice coldly polite, she permitted him to assist her to the ground beside Mother.
Nate usually waited to be addressed by his father. This time, however, he approached the little group and said, “Mother, Colonel, may I present Miss Susanna Anders? Miss Anders, Colonel and Mrs. Northam.”
Her expression filled with warmth and hospitality, Mother gripped Susanna’s hands. “Welcome, Miss Anders. Do come in the house. Supper will be ready shortly, and I’m sure you would welcome a chance to—” She started to usher Susanna toward the house, but the young lady gently resisted and turned back toward the wagon.
“Thank you, ma’am, but my daddy requires my attention.”
“Oh.” Mother didn’t bat an eyelid. “Another guest. Is he ill?” She shot a look at the Colonel. “Frank, my dear, don’t just stand there. We must help these people.”
The Colonel also didn’t bat an eyelid. “Of course, my dear.” His expression unchanged, he once again walked to the back of the wagon. “Nate, get over here and help me.”
Nate had to turn away and regain his composure before obeying. Mother and the Colonel rarely did battle, but when they did, Mother never lost.
* * *
Susanna threw dignity aside and pulled down the tailgate so she could scramble into the back of the schooner. Finding Daddy sound asleep, she lifted a prayer of thanks he hadn’t heard that awful Colonel’s rude words. Daddy wasn’t the slightest bit money-grubbing. He didn’t need to be because he already had plenty of money. And what on earth was wrong with being a prospector? Suddenly, camping beside the road they had just traveled seemed a better idea than accepting the hospitality of this Yankee family.
“Dearest.” She gently touched Daddy’s cheek. “We’re here at Nate’s house.” Only by thinking of it as Nate’s could she consider going inside.
“Hmm?” Daddy raised a bruised hand and swept it over his eyes. That medicine Mr. Williams had given him had probably muddled his thinking. He inhaled deeply, then winced. “What?”
Susanna glanced at the three Northams, who were peering into the wagon with varied expressions. She decided to ignore the pity in Nate’s eyes and the hostility in his father’s, and concentrate on the warm concern beaming from Mrs. Northam’s sweet, round face.
As if the older woman realized how the situation appeared from Susanna’s viewpoint, she gave Nate a little shove. “Go on inside, son. Tell Angela to get your bed ready. We’ll put Mr. Anders in your room. Then come back and help your father.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He disappeared, and the thumps of his hurried footsteps resounded through the canvas walls of the wagon.
Daddy caught sight of their hosts and tried to rise. “Help me up, daughter. I should greet our company.”
A faint growl sounded in the Colonel’s throat, and Susanna gulped back sharp words, while Mrs. Northam shushed her husband. As she helped Daddy to a sitting position, Susanna gave a little laugh that sounded a bit too high and a bit too nervous in her own ears. “Actually, dearest, we are the company.”
As if he finally grasped the situation, Daddy’s eyes cleared. “Ah, yes, of course.” He nodded toward the Yankee couple.
Susanna briefly considered presenting Daddy to them, as would be proper, since they were the hosts, but something inside her refused to comply. After all, the prairie schooner was her and Daddy’s home. “Daddy, may I present Mrs. Northam and Colonel Northam?”
If he noticed her breach of etiquette,