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Buster Waite, Fiona’s husband, turned out to be the selected individual to make the risky trip to Bozeman to wire the territorial marshal. A stocky, sturdy individual in his mid-twenties, Buster was the son of Buck’s original foreman. He had grown up on the Davis ranch and had idolized the slightly older Thad. Together with Thad and Rose’s feisty daughter, Fiona, they had called each other, “The Three Musketeers” and throughout their childhoods they, occasionally joined by Abigail, had shared many adventures, the true natures of which would have sent their parents reeling.

 

Both he and Thad had, as they attained puberty, been strongly attracted to the tomboyishly pretty Fiona but to his happy surprise, it had been Buster who had ultimately prevailed. The two of them had married much to the delight of all the ranch residents and a year later had welcomed a child.

 

Buster, Fiona, and the child, little Davy, along with Fiona’s mother, Rose lived in a quaint rambling farmhouse not far from the main house where Rose held court over the main house kitchen and Fiona helped whenever she could.

 

The choice of Buster to send the wire was due partly because he could be trusted and partly because he just happened to know code.

 

Jess and Dick had carefully composed a message and had Buster commit it to memory. Leaving before daylight, he was to take a long and circuitous route to Bozeman. If caught and questioned he was to plead that he was fed up with ranch life and was making his escape. To bolster his cause, he would be carrying saddlebags containing large amounts of food and cash. Once at the telegraph office in Bozeman, he was to offer to spell the operator – even to give him money for a meal – anything to get him away for a short time and at the same time not arouse suspicion. After he got the wire out he was to wait for the reply – hopefully worded with the discretion asked for in the initial message. Receiving that, he was to quietly slip out of town and make his way back to the ranch as quickly as possible. If discovered returning, he was to say he’d had a change of heart and was returning to his wife and family. It wasn’t the tightest of plans but it was all they could come up with.

 

After he left, one of the hands returned with Paddy’s old wagon. It turned out to be serviceable enough and yet still disreputable as befitted a junk dealer. They filled it with old leaky washtubs, broken farm implements and the like.

 

Feeling it best to have someone go whom the rancher’s knew, Dick elected to make the trip himself. Abigail had to stifle a giggle when he appeared decked out in old ragged garments gleaned from the bunkhouse and a two-day-old beard growth. He bore scant resemblance to the nearly military bearing he normally favored.

 

That settled, they all waited tensely for Buster’s return. The expected forty eight hours turned into sixty five but amazingly he returned unharmed and with word that the marshal and at least half a dozen of his men would be at the ranch in four days time. They would bivouac just outside of Ruby Creek and follow Dreb and his men to the ranch when the time came.

 

Dick readorned himself in what he called his “tinker suit” and left with Paddy’s old wagon to drum up support amongst the neighboring ranchers. Jess and Buster then busied themselves with Thad’s mother’s old buggy. Completely enclosed so that only the driver could be seen, it was lightweight and more than road worthy. In the interest of speed they decided to hook up Buck’s old trotter, Tessy. Apparently thrilled to be recalled from retirement, she threw herself happily into the traces.

 

The next morning at dawn found Jess and Abigail on the road heading out in plain view of any riders heading out of or towards Ruby Creek. Under her bonnet, Abigail’s face was pale and tense. Traveler, sensing his rider’s tenseness as well, jigged nervously.

 

Jess looked up at the sky anxiously. For several days now there had been the smell of rain in the air. Now thick clouds bore down on them and the wind was definitely picking up. The miles sped by, however and they reached Zachary’s ranch well ahead of schedule and without mishap. ‘It was all too easy,’ Jess thought, worried that he might be about to let his guard down.

 

Zachary Bishop was a tall lanky fellow who bore a striking resemblance to his younger sister. He had an easy smile and was overjoyed to see Abigail. Jess liked him immediately and was sorry they wouldn’t be able to spend more time there.

 

Quickly they explained the situation. Naturally, he had known of Dreb Farley and the desperate state the Davis Ranch had been in. Long frustrated at his inability to help, he was more than happy to aid them in anyway he could. The three of them enjoyed a quick meal together and then mounted on two of his quarter horses and supplied with food for the road, Jess and Abigail were on their way long before dark.

 

The storm clouds gathered ominously as they sped north towards the ranch. A few hours out the heavens opened and a cold hard rain pelted them. By the time they reached the familiar branch river, they could see through the darkness that it was rapidly flooding its banks. “We’ll never make it through there tonight,” Jess yelled to Abigail over the howling wind.

 

“I know,” she yelled back. “I think we can make Paddy’s cabin though. It can’t be more than another five miles or so.”

 

They struggled onwards, hats pulled down in a vain effort to keep the water from their eyes. Finally as lightening flashed, they were able to just make out the tiny stone cabin with its cluster of outbuildings on a small rise above the river.

 

Pulling up in front of the cabin and dismounting, Jess handed the saddlebags to Abigail. “Why don’t you go on inside and see if you can get a fire goin’. I’m going to see to the horses.”

 

Abigail nodded and taking the bags, went inside. Jess turned to see a lamplight come on in the tiny paned front window.

 

In the barn, he was gratified to find reasonably fresh hay and good bedding. The horses were exhausted. He rubbed them down thoroughly and made sure they had hay and water before pulling up his collar and heading for the cabin.

 

He must have been gone longer than he had thought because as he opened the door a cheery fire greeted him. Abigail’s outer clothing was neatly hung before it drying. Clad only in chemise and petticoats with a thick blanket over her shoulders, she sat on a long bench before the fireplace trying with some difficulty to pull a hairbrush through her wet and tangled hair.

 

Desperately, he struggled for the right words to say. He blushed and stammered and attempted to offer to take himself back to the barn for the night. His brain, having taken up residence somewhere south of his belt buckle, refused to respond and he found himself simply standing dripping by the door staring red-faced at the floor and wishing with all his heart that he were dead.

 

Abigail looked up from her hair brushing and smiled at him. “Well there you are! I was just about to go looking for you. I’ve got a blanket all warmed up. You just slip out of those wet clothes and wrap yourself in it before you catch your death. I’ve got some coffee brewing and there’s pie that Zach sent.”

 

He looked at her with disbelief. Did she honestly expect him to just peel off his clothes right there? He shivered. Looking up Abigail cocked her head. “Do you need some help or can you manage by yourself?”

 

Backing into a chair he sat down and removed his boots – then his gun belt and finally stepping just out of her sight, he stripped down to his faded long johns which were thankfully still dry and taking the blanket she had offered, wrapped himself modestly in it.

 

He sat in the chair for a while watching her and then as if in a dream, he rose and joined her on the bench sitting beside and slightly behind her. He took the hairbrush from her hands and began to gently run the bristles through the long heavy hair all the while watching the play of firelight on the rich honey colored strands. The smell of fresh coffee filled the little room and a great feeling of peace and well-being enveloped him. Laying down the brush, he buried his face in the fragrant hair and then took her in his arms.

 

They sat like that for a long time. She felt the brush of his lashes on her cheek – his breath warm on her throat. He ran his large hands along her spine and kept drawing her ever closer. She could feel his heartbeat and his breathing quicken, her own moving in time to his. Finally, she whispered in his ear, “We should drink some coffee first to warm us up.”

 

“Don’t know about you, darlin’ but I’m feelin’ pretty warm as it is.”

 

She laughed softly and drew away just long enough to pour coffee into two tin cups. Swaddled in their blankets, they quietly sipped the hot liquid as the storm continued to rage outside.

 

When the coffee was gone, he took her cup from her and set it along with his own on the roughhewn table behind them. Then, gathering her up, he pressed his forehead against hers and asked, “This place gotta bedroom?” Not the most provocative line he’d ever uttered but he figured under the circumstances it would do.

 

Smiling, she pointed over his shoulder to a door. Smiling back, he pushed it open with his foot and carried her across the threshold and laid her down on the small quilt covered bed.

 

Sliding down beside her he again took her in his arms and this time he kissed her deeply. She kissed him back as he separated her from her chemise and petticoats. Then he sat up and divested himself of his long johns – feelings of modesty but a vague memory.

 

She reached up to him, caressing his face. Then, she lay back against the pillows and opened her arms wide offering herself to him. An offer he accepted with both gratitude and hearty enthusiasm.

 

Later when the initial fierce passion had abated a bit and they had rested, they made love again. This time long and languidly. Exploring each other’s bodies – sharing small secrets – murmuring gentle words of endearment and finally at last falling asleep secure in each other’s embrace.

 

Abigail awoke several hours later as the very first blush of dawn lightened the eastern sky outside the bedroom window. The storm had blown itself out and the trees by the cabin rustled with the brisk clearing breeze.

 

Lying on her side she watched as Jess continued to sleep. She ran her hand through the sparse dark hair that grew at his breastbone, then down over his hard flat belly before coming to rest on his lean narrow hip. He stirred and moved closer to her without waking. What heaven it would be, she thought, to just stay right here. Safe and warm and loved. But the real world would be intruding soon enough and they had to be on their way as quickly as possible. Sadly, she kissed him again before rising to dress and put together some breakfast.

 

She was just packing the saddlebags when Jess appeared at the bedroom door wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Mornin’,” he said shyly.

 

“Mornin’ yourself,” she responded. She handed him his coffee which he drank as he pulled on his now dry clothing. There was a washbasin on the table with fresh water in it and he cleaned himself up as she finished putting the cabin to rights.

 

“Nice place,” Jess remarked, looking around as if seeing it for the first time. “It has a good feel to it.”

 

“We’ve tried to keep it just as it was when Paddy lived here,” she said. “I don’t know why really, but it seems like the right thing to do.”

 

“I’m glad you did,” Jess replied kissing the top of her head. Then, giving her shoulder a tender squeeze, he went to the barn to feed and saddle the horses.

 

They rode swiftly through the crisp clear morning and arrived at the ranch by eight o’clock.

 

Dick Austin met them as they rode up to the barn. He was smiling broadly. “Good news!” he exclaimed.

 

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Chapter Fourteen