course,” Nate continued, “you understand that the ladies sometimes have to take on men’s work, too.” He sent her another teasing wink. “Milking cows, plowing fields, breaking horses, that sort of thing. If you’re out here to homestead, you have that to look forward to.”
“Well, I never,” she huffed, turning away to hide a grin. “The very idea.” This was getting entirely too silly. She’d just met this man. But how could she stop when their teasing back and forth encouraged her so much? Should she tell Nate that Daddy was a prospector, not a homesteader?
Nate saved her from the dilemma. “Go look after your father.” His soft tone and gentle touch on her arm made her pulse skip in an entirely different way. “I’ll bring you something to eat before you know it.”
Not trusting herself to answer, she went to tend Daddy, only to discover him watching the whole thing. He said nothing, and his mild expression, marred only by an occasional wince, held no censure. With his strong sense of discernment, he would warn her if her behavior was improper or if Nate did not appear to be a gentleman.
In a short while, Nate brought them each a tin cup of steaming coffee and then a tin plate of beans and bacon, with a wedge of corn bread on the side. Susanna had been eating beans all across the prairies and mountains of this wide land, but never had they tasted so good. Even Daddy grunted his approval. Susanna struggled not to eat too large a portion, but the desire to make up for missing last night’s supper almost overwhelmed her. Fortunately, Mr. Northam—Nate—had busied himself dividing his team between the two wagons and had no idea how much she devoured.
In just over an hour, the horses were hitched up and ready to roll. Even the campsite had been cleaned up and the fire doused. Nate and Zack lifted Daddy into the cleaned-up schooner, and Susanna tucked him in. They made him as comfortable as possible on his canvas cot, supplementing the torn ticking and reclaimed straw with evergreen branches and providing pillows from their own bedrolls. Susanna climbed in beside him and settled back to endure the ride. In spite of the bumpy trail and an occasional groan from Daddy, she managed to drift off into a light slumber.
* * *
Once Nate’s two-horse team got over the initial surprise of pulling the extra weight, they settled into a slow, steady pace. He wouldn’t have tried this arrangement if they were on the east side of the mountain pass, because it took all four horses to make it up the many inclines. But the worst of the trip was over, and the valley floor was just another two hundred yards or so downhill. If all went well, they could make half of the journey today and arrive home tomorrow.
Following behind the prairie schooner, he waved away the dust it stirred up, at last resorting to tying on a kerchief over his nose and mouth. Had he made the right decision to tell Zack to drive the schooner? If he were up there right now, maybe he could learn more about Susanna and her father. But the Colonel would be angry enough over this arrangement, so Nate had chosen to drive this specially rigged wagon with its irreplaceable cargo. If anything happened to Mother’s anniversary gift, he would need to take the blame, not Zack. What was he thinking? If anything went wrong, the Colonel would blame him regardless of whose fault it was.
As the morning wore on, the sun beat down on Nate’s back, so he shed his light woolen jacket. A quarter mile north of the trail, the Denver and Rio Grande train sped along on its daily run, sending up a stream of black smoke that draped behind the engine like mourning crepe.
Up ahead, Susanna poked her head out the back of the schooner and honored him with a wave and a smile. He didn’t fault her for her response to his teasing at the campsite, even though they’d just met and hadn’t really been properly introduced. Once again, if there was a fault, it was his. From the state her father was in, he figured they both needed all the encouragement they could get. He’d always found that humor lightened a person’s load. Fortunately, just like his sister, Susanna cheered up when she was teased and gave back a bit of it herself. Besides, teasing her kept his thoughts in the right place.
He wouldn’t put too much into her friendly waves and smiles. After all, she was likely motivated by gratitude. Of course, that didn’t keep Nate from hoping to further their acquaintance. They would arrive in Alamosa by midmorning tomorrow and there part company. Somehow he had to figure out a way to have a nice long chat with the young lady to find out whether they had any interests in common. Once he got home, the Colonel would keep him busy for the rest of the summer, and he wouldn’t risk his father’s anger by coming back for a visit unless he had a good enough reason.
He blew out a sigh of frustration, and his kerchief fluttered in front of his face. Thoughts of his father’s controlling ways never failed to ruin his day, and humor rarely worked to cheer him up. The Colonel had it in his mind that Nate would be marrying Maisie Eberly from the ranch next to theirs as soon as she turned eighteen. While Maisie was a nice girl, he’d never felt a desire to court her, nor had she shown any interest in him. The Colonel didn’t seem to think that mattered, nor did any of Nate’s other opinions.
A familiar anger stirred in his chest. One of these days he would find the courage to take a stand against his father’s control, even if it meant he had to leave home and give up his share of the ranch. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the land he’d worked so hard to cultivate, the community he’d helped to build, but a man could only take so much and still call himself a man. He would make his decision by mid-July, when the whole community would gather for his parents’ anniversary party.
As if a boulder had come to rest inside him, setting that deadline sat heavy on his soul. But what other choice did he have?
“What do you put into these beans to make them taste so good?” Taking a ladylike bite, Susanna leaned back against the wagon wheel to savor it. Nate had provided a stool for her so she didn’t have to sit on the ground, making this meal all the more pleasant. With Daddy fed and taken care of, she could finally eat her own supper—beans again, but wonderfully mouthwatering.
“Now, don’t go asking about my cooking, young lady.” Seated on the ground, his back against a bedroll, his long legs stretched out in front of him, Nate spoke in that teasing tone so much like her brother’s. “Angela—she’s our cook and housekeeper—would tan my hide if I gave away any of her secrets.”
“Humph.” Susanna sniffed with a bit of artificial pique. “As if I didn’t have a few secret recipes of my own.” Not many, but enough to impress folks back home, especially at church dinners. Like Nate’s family, hers had employed a housekeeper who’d taught her some basic cooking skills, which had come in handy on this journey. But she wouldn’t mention that they’d had servants, for that would reveal their financial status.
“I’m sure you have some very fine recipes.” He chuckled and shoveled in another bite.
On the other side of the campfire, Zack whittled on a stick, his empty plate beside him. He stretched and yawned, then took himself off toward the horses grazing nearby.
Susanna busied herself with finishing her meal before sitting back to relax. After a long, hot afternoon of riding into the sun, they sat facing the trail they had just traversed, taking refuge on the shady side of the prairie schooner. Now as the sun went down behind them, it cast a deep purple hue over the eastern range bordering the San Luis Valley.
“What a wondrous sight,” she murmured. “We have our beautiful Appalachian Mountains back home, but these are so much higher. They’re truly awe-inspiring.”
“They are indeed.” Nate pointed his fork toward the tallest peak, which still wore a snowy white crown from last winter’s snow. “That’s Mount Blanca, and the whole eastern range is called Sangre de Cristo.”
“Sangre de Cristo. That’s Spanish, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Just about every place around here has a Spanish name because Spaniards were the first Europeans to settle here.” Nate’s soft gaze toward the east bespoke a love of the scene. “Sangre de Cristo means blood of Christ, an allusion to that deep, rich