The broken boy - healed by innocence

Shooting rattlers

6 years ago

*Cooper*

With great amusement, I sit astride my horse, watching as Faith bosses the oilmen around. While Moonshadow money and land are making the search for the inky black pools possible, Faith has her opinions on the matter and a way about her of making folks listen. She takes after her father in that regard.

I don't know if in the middle of the jaw wagging someone says something to her regarding my presence or if she just senses it, but suddenly she swings around, smiles broadly, and waves. "Cooper!"

Her strides eat up the ground separating us. Like her mother, she is tall, only an inch or two shorter than me. A man doesn't have to wonder about the length of her legs because when she is out on the range, she wears denim pants that outline that sweet little backside.

I shove that inappropriate thought into a dark corner. More and more lately, I'm beginning to view her as a she-wolf in her own right, and those thoughts are entirely wrong coming from me. I shouldn't be thinking about the way her white shirt tucks into her pants at her narrow waist, leaving very little regarding her shape to a man's imagination.

The long braid of her ebony hair is draped over her shoulder, flaps against her chest with the quickness of her steps. I remember her lamenting the absence of a bosom when she was about fourteen. She certainly has no reason to complain about that now since her chest is far removed from resembling a plank of wood. She's all curves.

To avoid her throwing her arms around me like she usually does when we cross paths… a habit from her growing-up days when I had cart her around because she was too small to keep up… I stay in the saddle and wait.

When she reaches me, she lays the flat of her bare hand on my thigh. Even knowing it's an innocent gesture doesn't stop the shock of pleasure from traveling through me, not that I give any indication I hold anything other than companionable feelings for her.

"Are you pondering the notion of coming over to our side?" she asks, grinning up at me, her brown eyes teasing with mischievousness.

"Hell no. I can't believe Chase is letting you poke holes in his land." I say with a shake of my head.

"You will feel differently when they discover oil." She digs her fingers into my thigh. "They will be drilling by the end of the month."

I chuckle, "It's a fool's errand, Faith."

"They found that gusher in Spindletop." She says stubbornly.

I have known about the pockets of oil that have long pooled on the surface in some areas of Texas, but two years earlier, when that gusher hit, oilmen started taking a real interest in what the state might have to offer below the ground.

"That's miles away, on the other side of the state. Out here it's only land, cattle, and windmills." I tell her.

"You never did have much imagination." With a sigh, she crosses her arms below her breasts, twists about, and leans against my leg. "There's oil out there. I feel it deep in my bones."

"Then I hope you find it." I tell her.

Tilting up her face, she looks at me. "The cattle industry is changing. You are the last of a breed, Cooper. Cowboys aren't going to be riding the range for much longer. You don't even have long cattle drives anymore. You just herd those little dogies to the train depot."

Where they are simply led onto the cattle cars and carted to the slaughterhouse. It's a little too sterile for me, but it's also a lot less work and required fewer nights trekking across dangerous terrain. "Still plenty of work to be done. Like fencing off these few acres of land so the cattle aren't bothering your drillers."

The bright smile she bestows upon me always causes the dark storms threatening my soul to retreat for a while. "And I appreciate that."

Fighting back the urge to lean down and capture her mouth, I merely bring the brim of my hat lower, hoping the shadows will camouflage the yearnings that sometimes overtake me when it comes to her.

I have spent a good bit of my life knowing she's destined to break my heart. Reaching into my shirt pocket, I pull out a sarsaparilla stick.

"Gimme," she says, holding up her hand.

"It's my last one." I groan.

She half rolls her eyes, "It's always your last one."

Breaking it in half, I hand her a piece, just as I have for most of her life.

Shifting my gaze, I watch as the leader of this drilling outfit begins sauntering toward us. Cole Berringer. I know my dislike for the oilman stems from the fact he's spending his days in Faith's company, and she's taken a fancy to him.

Berringer had approached Chase a few months ago with his belief that oil was to be found on Moonshadow land. While Chase hadn't been that interested, Faith had embraced the prospect of possibilities.

Normally, I support Faith's enthusiasm for trying out new things and would have encouraged her in this endeavor if Berringer wasn't such a handsome devil, with his wheat-colored hair and blue eyes. He has half the she-wolves in town swooning over him.

"Cooper," the man says, stopping a few feet away. His brown pants and jacket show little wear, the sign of a man who prefers giving orders to doing the hard work.

“Berringer,” I respond.

“Don’t see a lot of men who still go around with a six-gun strapped to their thigh.” He says.

I shrug, not feeling the need to defend myself but determined to follow the code of politeness under which I have been raised. “I do a lot of solitary riding. It brings me a measure of peace.”

“It’s not as though there are any outlaws or rogues lurking about.”

“We have had a few heads go missing the past month or so. I would say we still have thieves.”

I say.

“But the state is civilized now. You let the law handle it.” He tells me.

I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye.

My gun is drawn, palmed, and fired before my next blink. And I take great satisfaction in Berringer squealing like a pig whose tail had been yanked. He is crouched down, his hands over his head in a protective gesture.

“What the hell, Cooper?”

Having been trained by Wade, who sells horses to the military, not to bolt at a gun’s report, my stallion has done little more than give a slight sidestep.

All the men have stilled. Faith merely stares at me questioningly, waiting to determine if I'm in need of a scolding for terrifying a man she obviously thinks well of. I point the barrel off to the side a bit, before sliding the six-shooter back into the leather. “Rattler.”

In horror, Berringer stares at the mutilated reptile, then glares at me. “I didn’t hear it rattling. You could have given some warning.”

“They don’t always buzz before they strike. I have run across enough of them that struck without making a sound not to take a chance on its mood. Besides, it was coiled and lunging your way by the time I saw it.” I tell him.

“That’s true, boss,” a fellow with a shovel says as he approaches. “I was trying to get over here to kill it without making any noise. Didn’t want to alarm it, cause it to attack, but then it shot toward you... I would say it meant business.”

“Fine, Jones,” Berringer says impatiently. “Get back to work.” He removes his hat, slaps it against his leg, stirring up a cloud of dust.

I take no pleasure from seeing the man’s hand trembling. Or at least I fight not to. I do experience a bit of satisfaction in unsettling Berringer. I'm going to burn in hell for my unkind thoughts, but then I'm headed there even with kind thoughts, so what does it matter?

“Reckon I owe you,” Berringer says grudgingly.

“Just making sure cowboys stay relevant.” I say with a smile.

The man’s jaw tightens. “Will you be at the party tonight?”

They are celebrating Faith’s birthday. All the ranch hands and a good number of the townsfolk have been invited. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“See you then.” With that, Berringer gives a nod toward Faith. “I have some things to show you over here.”

“I will join you in a minute.” After he walks off, she tips back her Stetson, meets my gaze, and plants her hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn you had brought that rattler here in a burlap sack and then released it so you could show off.”

“I don’t mess with rattlers. Ever.” Not that her idea hadn’t crossed my mind a time or two, but I'm not going to risk a bite just to make a point.

She sighs, “I don’t know why you two always seem at odds.”

Because of you. “I have got nothing against him personally.”

She pats my leg, gives me another one of her disarming smiles. “That’s good. Because I like him a lot.”

Watching as she struts toward the group sharing her plans, hopes, and dreams, I wonder if it's time to move on and find my own dreams.