Pemberley Ranch - Jack Caldwell [30]
Lucas was resolute. “I know you’re a hired hand at Pemberley.”
“Surely, you’ve got nothin’ against Darcy?” Lucas just stared at him and realization hit the ranch foreman. “Oh, it’s me. What’s the matter, Lucas, don’t think I’m worthy o’ courtin’ your daughter?”
Lucas stared him right in the eye. “Charlotte’s my only kin—she’s all I got. She deserves everything good in the world. She deserves a man who can provide for her better than me, you understand?”
“So, I ain’t good enough?” Fitz spit out between gritted teeth.
“No, you ain’t.”
Fitz flinched, but he never broke eye contact with Lucas. “Well, you made your sentiments clear.”
Lucas nodded. “Nothin’ personal, Fitz. I gotta do what’s best.”
Fitz didn’t respond until he replaced his hat and climbed aboard Jeb Stuart. He then turned to the sheriff. “I’ve said my piece, an’ I’ve taken account o’ your opinion. Only one thing remains.”
“And what’s that?” Lucas demanded.
“Hearin’ Miss Charlotte’s opinion o’ the matter. That’s the only one that counts in my book. Be seein’ you.” Fitz pulled Jeb Stuart’s head about and set off at a trot towards the Long Branch Bridge and Pemberley.
“You’re wastin’ your time, Fitzwilliam!” Lucas shook his fist as he walked into the street. “Mine is the word she’ll listen to. Don’t come around here! You hear me?” He stood in the middle of the road in the dark, continuing to yell at the retreating figure.
Any passerby would question whether the man was trying to convince the rider or himself.
April
EARLY ON A BRIGHT, sunny spring morning, Will Darcy walked up to a tall, brown horse and reached up to shake the rider’s hand.
“Take care, Fitz! See you in June!” Gaby called out from the veranda.
Fitz tipped his hat to Miss Darcy, his silver band flashing in the sun. He put the spur to Jeb Stuart, crying, “All right—let’s move ’em out!”
The Pemberley riders began to shout, swinging their coiled lariats about their heads as they rode around the vast herd of cattle. Hundreds of longhorns moved ponderously to the north-northwest, a huge cloud of dust rising in their wake. The drovers dashed about watching for stragglers; the cook in the chuck wagon and the wrangler with the remuda, or spare horses, brought up the rear. The mass moved at a steady pace towards the river. It wasn’t long before the head of the drive reached Thompson Crossing.
By then, Darcy on Caesar had overtaken the herd, and he and Fitz splashed across the river to Bennet Farm. They rode up to the farmhouse’s porch, where a group of people awaited them.
“Mornin’, ladies, Mr. Bennet.” Darcy tipped his hat. “Are your cattle ready?”
“Yep, they’re waiting in the corral,” Bennet replied as he walked towards it, Hill standing by the gate. “Twenty-five head. You won’t lose them, will you, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”
“I’ll do my best to get ’em all to Abilene, Mr. Bennet,” Fitz said with a grin.
“You’ll get paid the same for what gets there just like the rest of us, Mr. Bennet—less the per head fee—just like we agreed. We won’t cheat you.” Darcy’s face was far more relaxed than his words. He had not taken offense at Bennet’s comment; he was just reciting their deal.
Bennet looked up at Darcy. “If I thought you would, Mr. Darcy, I wouldn’t have your people drive my cattle.”
Darcy nodded, pleased that they understood each other. “Wait until we get the rest of the herd across the river before you open the gate. My boys will take it from there.” Fitz rode back to the crossing while Darcy looked towards the northeast. “Fitz will take them across the B&R, pick up their cattle and some extra hands, then cross Rosings Creek. Ought to make ten miles today and hook up with the Chisholm Trail by tomorrow.”
The men watched the enormous herd pass south of the homestead after crossing the Long Branch. Hill waited until a couple of riders approached before opening the corral gate. The cowpokes expertly guided their charges towards the mass of walking beef.
Bennet was impressed. “Smartly done, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy wore an easy smile. “Thank you; they’re good men. You wouldn’t think this is Fitz