Quil's Careful Cowboy (Tales from Biders Clump Book 2) Read online

  Quil’s Careful Cowboy

  Tales from Biders Clump

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “It happened again, didn’t it mother?” Aquila Adams’ voice was chagrinned as she gazed at her mother’s downcast face.

  The older woman did not speak, only nodded, making the loose, gray bun on the top of her head wobble.

  Aquila’s hand shook as she reached out and laid it on her mother’s shoulder. She could see how hard the bad news had hit Maud Adams and wanted to help, but inside it felt like a storm was pulling her apart.

  “We’ll be alright, Mama,” the young woman said, pushing a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “We always manage and we’ll do it again. You’ll see.” She tried to make her voice sound positive, but watched helplessly as tears began to stream from her mother’s eyes.

  “It’s different this time,” Maud replied. “You know, Quil,” her voice shook on her oldest daughter’s name, “we have so little left.”

  No one was in a better position to know the family’s difficult financial situation than Aquila. Since her father’s death nearly five years ago, Quil had been keeping the ranch books and helping with payroll. Each year, their herd had grown even as their coffers had shrunk. Now, both were depleted, nearly gone.

  Taking a deep breath, she forced the worries down and looked at her mother. “We’ll manage,” she said firmly. “One way or another, we’ll manage.”

  “I have to think.” Her mother sounded tired. “We’ll go have a cup of tea at the Grist Mill.” She forced a smile. “I’ve got an extra penny somewhere.”

  Taking her mother’s hand, Quil led her across the street to the little café and found a seat in the warm, aromatic restaurant.

  After ordering tea and waiting for her mother to regain her composure, Quil spoke again. “Can I read it, Mama?” she asked tentatively, nodding toward the paper that Maud still held in her hand.

  Looking down at the yellowed page as if she wasn’t sure how it had gotten there, her mother lifted it across the little table, covered in a cheerful blue and white tablecloth.

  Aquila looked down at the short missive and cringed:

  Dear Mrs. Adams,

  It is with true regret that I must tell you that Mr. Austin has absconded with the pay packet provided upon the sale of your cattle. Deputies have sought the miscreant with great diligence, but have not been able to ascertain his whereabouts.

  Wanted posters have been issued, but I must warn you that these things seldom reach a happy conclusion, and if the man has lived up to his reputation, he has most likely squandered the sum in question on women, whiskey and song by this time.

  If further information comes to my attention or if, by some luck, Mr. Austin (if that is indeed his name), is found, I will let you know.

  Regretfully yours,

  Sherriff Carl Budding

  A deep sigh escaped her as Quil laid the hand-written note on the table. It looked exceptionally bad. The herd they had been building for three years was gone, as were the profits from their sale, again. Another foreman the year before had done almost the same thing, only that one had at least paid off the help.

  For a long moment, Quil closed her eyes, running over the figures in the books she tallied each day. Her quick mind reeled at the implications. On one hand, they had few cattle to care for, only breeding stock that numbered a few hundred, and they would be able to manage on what grazing was available without supplemental feed.

  On the other hand, the few cowboys they still had working for them would need to be paid off and let go. Some of those men had been on the ranch as long as she could remember.

  As for supplies, the large log cabin her mother and father had built so many years ago, was well stocked and the kitchen garden was yielding a fine fare of vegetables. At least they wouldn’t go hungry.

  “You’re thinking again,” Maud’s voice on the other side of the table was finally steady.

  “Yes, we’ll have to let the men go.” Quil’s voice was calm but direct. “We’ll see if Mr. Brody and his boys want to take on the back forty in exchange for watching our herd.” Quil turned serious green eyes toward her mother.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to sell the riding stock as well,” she continued, her voice surprisingly unbroken at the thought. “We’ll need the money to pay the taxes and for other necessities.”

  “All of the horses as well?” Maud asked, her eyes sad.

  “Yes, all of them.” Quil compressed her lips and swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. Slowly she took a sip of tea until she thought she could speak again. “We’ll keep Sadie, she’s too old to earn us much anyway, and we’ll need a buggy horse.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Mrs. Adams said. “It’s going to be a very rough Thanksgiving this year,” she added, taking her daughter’s hand and giving it a squeeze, “but we’ll all get through it together.”

  Chapter 1

  “Biders Clump! Next stop Biders Clump!” the conductor called as the train began to slow, puffing smoke and clattering as it rocked back and forth.

  A lean cowboy unfolded his large frame from a bench seat, pushing his brown Stetson back on his head and blinking into the brightness that, up until that point, his hat had been shielding him from as his boots clomped to the floor.

  Cameron Royal scratched his beard and climbed to his feet, grasping the rail of the luggage rack to steady himself as the train came to a reluctant, screeching stop. Grabbing his rucksack and throwing it over his shoulder, he waited patiently for the women and children to disembark before stepping into the aisle and ambling to the exit, his hazel eyes taking in his surroundings.

  A bright sun dappled the little town in daylight as soft clouds scuttled across a blue sky. Cameron pulled his old corduroy jacket tight against a stiff spring breeze as he ambled toward the back of the train.

  A dark brown, hand-tooled saddle landed on the platform with a thunk as bags, boxes, and bundles were unloaded from the baggage car. Cameron stepped up, handing his ticket to the porter, who checked the tag on the familiar piece of hardware before letting Cam depart with it.

  Biders Clump looked like a dozen other towns he had been to, except for the astounding back drop of the Rocky Mountains that towered above it. It had a dusty street lined by simple wooden buildings, dotted with horse troughs and hitching rails.

  A warm trickle of anger ran up the back of his neck as he looked at the horses standing cow-hipped near several buildings and he hitched his saddle up his leg, using its weight to counter that of the heavy bag in his other hand. What was a cowboy without a horse?

  “You lookin’ for someone, son?” a thickset gray-haired man asked as he walked by carrying a crate, “we got a mighty fine boardin’ house if you need a place to stay.”

  “I’d be obliged if you could point me in the right direction,” Cameron spoke, his soft baritone deep.

  “No need for that. I’ll take ya along myself.”

  “You don’t need to do that, I’m sure I can find it on my own. I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”

  “No trouble at all,” the older man said with a devilish twi
nkle in his brown eyes, “especially since I live there.” He tossed his head toward the town. “You come along with me son, and we’ll see ya right,” he added with a grin.

  Cameron smiled, turning to follow the older man into the street.

  “I’m George,” the old-timer said. “Been here in Biders Clump a long spell, so if you need anything, you just ask.”

  Together they walked along a wooden boardwalk, taking a bend in the street and arriving at a two-story building with a wide, front porch.

  “Got a guest for ya, Polly,” George called. “You step around there, son, and my wife’ll put you up. I got to make a delivery.”

  He turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner of the house so quickly that Cam didn’t have the time to protest, so he headed to the front of the house where an old woman sat in a dark, wooden rocking chair.

  “Don’t be shy, young man,” she called, waving him closer. “Let me have a look at you.”

  Cameron ducked his head and stepped up on the porch with a grin as bright blue eyes examined him knowingly.

  “You come looking for work?” the old woman asked, raising a white brow as her eyes came to rest on his saddle.

  Cameron eased his saddle to the floor and tipped his hat. “Ma’am,” he intoned, giving himself a minute to think.

  He had not replied to the ad he’d seen, instead choosing to turn up and look the place over before he made his decision. “I’ve got a line on a job,” he finally answered. “I’ve also got ready-cash, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can pay for my room and board.”

  A bright smile broke out on the old woman’s face, rolling back the ravages of time by years. “Nah, I’m not worried about that. I can always put a strapping young man to work to pay for his keep.” Again, her blue eyes skewered him. “Pull up a seat and I’ll see if you get a room or not,” she grinned devilishly.

  Easing his pack to the floor, Cameron settled onto another rocker and took off his hat. He wondered when the woman would comment the length of hair, but she didn’t. He had not bothered to cut it on the last drive and didn’t see the need to spend the money until he had a feel for the way things in the town with the funny name might go.

  Polly Esther Olson studied the young man as he situated himself in a chair and stretched out his long legs. He was a tall fella, that was for sure, and his mahogany hair was long, but neat where it was tied at the back of his neck. She did feel his beard could use a good trim, though; she never liked a fuzzy face.

  “You sit here a spell,” Polly said from the blue, rising from her chair with a grace that belied her years.

  Out of habit, Cam rose to his feet as well, but she waved him back and stepped through the door into the house, giving Cameron time to study the town of Biders Clump.

  Down the street, he could see a general store and a post office. Across the street, a little café with a long, front porch connected to the boardwalk bore a sign that read “The Grist Mill.”

  Overall, it looked like a nice little town and the small, white church on the hill on the edge of town spoke of people wanting at least some sort of order.

  “Here we are,” the old woman’s voice caught him by surprise as she stepped back out the door with a tray bearing two cups of what he hoped was strong coffee and a plate of cookies. “You look like you could use somethin’ to nosh,” she added with a smile.

  “Thank you.” Cameron was starting to wonder about this little old lady with the sharp blue gaze.

  “So, what do you think of our little town?” she asked, settling back into her chair with practiced ease and lifting a cup of coffee to her lips.

  “Seems like a nice place,” he offered non-committedly, “sure has some nice views.” He lifted his eyes to the jagged peaks still capped with snow above a thin yellow line of Aspen trees at their base.

  “Them there mountains is the reason we got this little town,” Polly said, squinting into the sky as she looked for the top of the range. “Ya see, as pretty as those mountains are to look at, they’s a slight less easy to climb.”

  She paused, sipping her coffee. “People would be all excited like when they’d first see the mountains growin’ closer as they traveled the trail to Oregon or California, but as they got closer and closer, those mountains sure did look high.”

  Cameron tipped his hat back and looked toward the highest peak. He could see how the sheer size of the range could be intimidating to weary travelers.

  “Back in ’56 some folks got here and just couldn’t seem to find the will to take on the South Pass.” Mrs. Olson’s voice was placid but rich. “One fella told his wagon master that he thought he and his family could use a rest.” She looked along the street toward the little white church and a grove of trees growing thick on the slopes further behind it.

  “He left the train, telling the others that he’d just bide a while until the next train came along.”

  The old woman’s voice stopped and Cameron thought over the tale. He’d been along enough trails to know how hard it was to keep going sometimes. “So, he never moved on?” he asked curiously, “that man who was biding his time?”

  “Nope, never moved on,” Polly Esther agreed, “he ended up building a little cabin near that clump of trees where the church is now and later, when some other folks came and they looked at them mountains they decided they’d bide a bit right along with him. Pretty soon folks that was too weary, or too scared, or had enough travelin,’ were told they could stop here in what came to be known as Biders Clump.”

  Cameron watched as the old lady in the rocker next to him picked up a cookie and took a bite. “Been called Biders Clump ever since,” she added. “Have a cookie, young man.”

  With a grin, Cameron Royal lifted a creamy cookie and bit into it, feeling the taste of cinnamon and sugar tingle on his tongue. They sure beat cold sandwiches and tepid coffee from the train.

  “You sit here and enjoy your cookies,” Polly said, rising to her feet again, “and I’ll get your room fixed up. George’ll be along shortly to help you with your gear.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Cam replied, standing again.

  “And quit poppin’ up every time I try to leave the room,” Polly groused. “You’ll wear yourself out,” she finished, but her eyes twinkled.

  Cam stretched his legs out and leaned back in the rocker, enjoying another cookie and sipping the good, hot brew. A soft breeze teased a horse’s mane where it stood by the store, a white stockinged leg, cocked, its red coat still shaggy from the winter’s chill.

  Noting action near the store, he watched as, one by one, three young women come through the door, each carrying a small sack and placing it into the wagon, before an older woman exited, pulling a pair of kid gloves over her hands.

  “Them’s the Adams.” George’s voice caught Cam by surprise and he turned to see the older man step up on the porch. “They live out past the church on a nice little ranch,” George continued, picking up a cookie and settling into his wife’s rocking chair.

  “Adams?” Cameron queried. “Good folks?”

  “The best. That there is Sara,” George pointed with his cookie, “the one with the reddish tint to her hair, and the blonde girl behind her is Prissy, she’s a sweet little thing and a good cook to boot.” The old man smiled affectionately.

  “Who’s the other girl?” Cam asked, studying the tallest of the three young women. She had brown hair that glinted gold in the sunlight as her purple skirts furled in the breeze.

  “That’s Quil,” the older man said with a chuckle. “She’s the oldest and smart as a whip.”

  “George,” Polly’s voice drifted through the door, “Bring that young man in so he can get cleaned up a bit before dinner.”

  The old man chuckled, “Leave your saddle here and I’ll put it up in the barn. I’m sure Polly gave you a nice room. We even got a bath in the house.” He grinned, turning toward the door.

  George led him past a parlor and up a flight of stairs to th
e second floor, where a door stood open on a pretty room with blue wallpaper and a large old wooden bed, beautifully hand carved and polished to a deep, red sheen.

  “You put your things in there and go on down the hall to the bath at the end of the hall,” George said with a smile. “There’s plenty of hot water from the boiler down stairs.” He nodded, closing the door behind him and leaving Cameron alone.

  ***

  Cameron sauntered down the stairs of the boarding house, feeling relaxed and clean as he pulled his long hair back into a hank at the base of his neck, securing it with a leather band. The sound of voices drew him along the hall and into a warm cozy kitchen and dining area.

  "Oh Polly, these cookies are amazing!" a woman's voice enthused. Cam lifted his head to see the woman and her three daughters he'd seen in the street gathered around a long table.

  "Just the usual," Polly Esther replied modestly. "Oh, there you are,” she smiled up at Cameron. “Mrs. Adams, I'd like you to meet our most recent guest, Cameron Royal. This is Mrs. Maud Adams and her three daughters," she finished, not introducing the girls.

  "Pleased to meet you," Cam said politely. He felt like he needed to tip his hat, but had left it hanging in the hall.

  "These are my daughter's," Maud Adams spoke. "This is Prissy," she indicated a plump blonde-haired woman in a blue dress, "and Sara," she continued, as the girl with reddish hair smiled and offered him a subdued hello, “and my oldest Aquila, but we call her Quil for short."

  "Pleased to meet you ladies," Cameron answered, his eyes ranging over each daughter, noting their mother reflected in different ways in each of them.

  "Have a seat," Polly invited, "I'll get ya a cup of coffee." She smiled at the young man, setting him at ease in the presence of so many women.

  "Are you in town for long, Mr. Royal?" Mrs. Adams asked, lifting a cup of tea as she spoke.

  "It depends," he offered cautiously, "I thought I'd get the lay of the land and then decide."

  "What do you do?" the young woman called Quil asked. She was sitting quietly on the other side of the table, her green eyes intent on his face.