Real Cowboys. Roz Denny Fox
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Ray dusted off his work jeans before dropping into another chair. “Marge is fussing because I had to take her SUV to town for engine work, leaving her without wheels. The board hired the Steele woman on Marge’s recommendation. Since Sikes’s reserve unit was called to active duty and left our kids teacherless midterm last year, I think she feels…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Marge cut in. “Responsible. I feel responsible. Can you blame me? We found Ms. Steele so late, the Martins already sent their twins to board with Sue’s sister in Elko. The district superintendent says if we dip under twelve kids, the county will suspend our funding. By my calculations, we’re at an even dozen.”
“Counting the teacher’s kid? Did I dream you said she’s a widow with a school-aged son?” Trueblood gestured with his mug.
“That’s right. Her boy’s ten, the same age as Jeff, our youngest.” Marge still sounded worried.
Ray patted her on the butt. “Hon, you’re determined to fret.”
“If homeschooling our boys had fallen to you after the army took Sikes, you’d fret, too. Not a family in the valley is anxious to go on tryin’ to teach their kids at home. How much of the curriculum did you teach Clover?” she asked Ben, looking over at the elfin eight-year-old girl with long, black hair who was chasing butterflies through a cow pasture. Every now and then the child stopped to pet one of the massive, white-faced Herefords.
“Now, Marge. Sikes got called up when I was bogged down with the first lawsuit brought by that conservation group who wants the BLM to revoke all grazing leases on public lands. I had to turn Clover’s homeschooling packet over to Bobbalou.”
Marge scoffed. “What can Lou Bobolink teach a girl?” She used the given name of Ben’s old friend and longtime camp cook.
Ben grinned. “How to make beef stew and sourdough biscuits? Hell, Marge, after the recreational ATVers jumped into the land squabble, I had no choice. Vida got sick and couldn’t keep house for a while, or she might’ve helped with lessons. Although, Clover likes trailing the herd.”
“Because you let her do as she pleases. You have, Ben Trueblood, from the day she turned up a crying bundle in your barn.”
The sharp, sometimes brittle obsidian eyes jerked up at Marge’s harsh accusation, but almost as quickly the lean lines of Ben’s bronze face softened. “Look at her. She’s happy. And a damned sight brighter than some folks give her credit for. Clover’s got a way with animals like nobody I’ve ever run across. One day she’ll make a great veterinarian.”
“Not without education and discipline,” Marge said.
Ray cleared his throat. “Don’t rag on Ben, hon. Everybody knows Clover’s way better off with him than those teens from the Shoshone or Paiute reservation who dumped her at his place.”
“Leave it,” Ben said, cutting Ray off. Ben had been born on one of those reservations. No one had to tell him about the harsh existence faced by those two kids he’d caught sight of running from his property that icy night.
“Marge, I’d like to devote more time to Clover. But I figure the best thing I can do for her is fight like hell to hang on to a ranch Bobbalou and I started carving out of this unforgiving land when I was fourteen. I’ve never blamed Clover’s mother, whoever she is. I broke free of the bad crap that perpetuates itself on reservations. Percy and me, we had Lou, and he knew to leave the res and buy his own land. It’s not as easy for kids today, what with our land being gobbled up or fought over.”
“This land is sucking us all dry,” Marge said.
Draining his mug, Ben set it on the porch rail. “Bud Martin, Percy Lightfoot, me and a scant few others are damned lucky to keep ranching the way it’s meant to be done. Letting cows roam free in the tradition brought here a hundred years ago.”
Ray tipped back in his chair. “It’s a hard life for men. Nigh on impossible for women and kids to survive that way, Ben.”
“Which is why you don’t see me trying to find a wife.”
“You need one,” Marge said. “For your own sake and to provide a bit of softness for Clover.”
“Now, Marge,” her husband said. “It takes a hard man to raise four thousand cows, bulls and steers, alongside a thousand mixed mustangs and quarter horses without irrigation, especially now that grazing lands are getting scarcer and scarcer thanks to the likes of damned tree huggers and ATVers.”
“That brings us back to the point I’m trying to make, Ben,” Marge persisted. “Clover needs more. More than blue jeans, boys’ shirts and chaps and being turned loose to learn from your crew, who don’t know anything but living on the range eleven months a year. She’s never gonna be a hard man, Ben Trueblood. That’s the God’s honest truth you need to deal with.” Marge snatched up his empty cup and the one her husband had set down and stomped into the house, slamming the screen door.
“Phew,” Ray muttered. Climbing to his feet, he said, “Let’s go have a look at the beet harvester I picked up at auction last week.” As the men left the porch to mosey toward the barn, Ray said, “I hope you don’t hold hard feelings against her for butting into your business. The dwindling number of wives left in Owyhee are counting on this new teacher. Winnie Lightfoot said if we lose the school it’ll be like losing a chunk of civilization. She’s right. Successful, thirty-seven-year-old bachelor ranchers like you, Ben, are anomalies. It’s families that bring in businesses to sustain a ranch community. We can’t afford to lose another church, grocery, hardware or feed store.”
Ben glanced at Ray in bemusement. “Marge isn’t the only one on a soap box, I see.” He sighed. “Hell, Ray, it takes time to socialize—time I spend trying to prevent our public lands from breaking up. The committee needs to say what’s more important, keeping a million acres from being overrun by environmentalists and all-terrain fanatics, or me hunting up a woman who may or may not civilize me.”
Ray flushed crimson to the roots of his sandy hair. “Enough on that subject. I can’t imagine you with a missus anyway.”
“Why not?” The comment rocked Ben back. He didn’t want a wife, but he didn’t think he was so objectionable. “I own a home. Granted, I’m rarely there. But it stays decent thanks to Vida. I don’t drink or gamble. I cuss a little,” he confessed, tugging an earlobe.
“You have to want a wife. Finding someone to fit your lifestyle won’t be easy. Might be, if you didn’t run a straight-up buckaroo outfit, or if Owyhee had an excess of single women…which it don’t. Or if we didn’t depend on you to represent us in this land fight and organize our Rope and Rides so we’ll have funds in our town coffers to pay a sheriff and hang on to a clinic, such as it is. It’s a cinch taxes don’t cover our needs.”
His friend stopped Ray from droning on. “I get the message. It’s best all around if we keep this new teacher happy. We’ll build the town up by showing we’re prosperous enough to warrant a school, and other revenue will follow.”
“So, does this mean you’ll swing past your old line shack and see if Ms. Steele arrived?”
“Aw, dang it! You led me right into that.”
“Yep.”
“Why can’t Marge take your pickup now that you’re home?”
“She would, except her quilting club meets here in a half hour. I’m not asking you to sweet talk the woman, Ben. Marge hasn’t heard a word since the teacher left Texas. We’ve gotta be sure she arrived so kids can start school tomorrow.”
“It’ll be dark soon. Who’s to say if I blunder in there after dark that a Texas woman won’t shoot first and ask questions later?”
“I’d give a dollar to see that.” Ray grinned, pumping Ben’s hand as they prepared to part. “Letting a little lady blow your ass off would seriously tarnish your image, Ben.”
“You saying