A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas (18 page)

Dude ranches had popped up all over the Rockies and in the valley, and the Covington Ranch was missing that opportunity. Sam took a swig of his drink and glanced to the front of the store where someone came in as the woman exited with her purchases.

He needed to gain the confidence of the well-paying big-game hunters this winter to outfit and guide them and, in the meantime, convince his father to let him try. He might be twenty-eight and could strike out on his own at any time, but having the Covington name behind him made all the difference. And, well, he couldn’t just walk away from his family.

Unfortunately, with his competition, he was already behind the game. But Sam figured there would be plenty more coming to the valley looking for a guide.

He would be ready. That is, if he could convince his father before it was too late.

“Bob.” The sheriff stepped up to the counter and spoke to the store clerk. “This is Miss Kirkland.”

“Hello, miss,” Bob said. “What can I help you with?”

From the shadows at the back of the store, Sam watched the introductions. That gave him a chance to take in the small-framed woman in her decidedly fashionable V-necked purplish frock, a matching scarf hanging over one shoulder. A cloche hid her hair, except for the few soft brown curls that clung to her face and the nape of her neck. Her demeanor and fashion told him she wasn’t from around here, no doubt there. He knew a little of such things like fashion and culture from listening to his mother back when she tried to teach his sister, Emily, how to act like a lady. That was before Emily got a mind of her own.

“Any news from Frankston? Miss Kirkland paid him in advance to guide her. He’s not back yet from his packing trip. May be another week.”

Curious, Sam edged closer. Bob was the man’s cousin and might have some news.

He scratched his scruffy jaw. “Don’t reckon you’re interested in big game, are you, Miss Kirkland? Or are you looking to just ride horses?”

“The purpose doesn’t matter,” Miss Kirkland spoke up, her tone confident, and yet Sam didn’t miss the slight tremor.

Uh-oh, Sheriff Daniels spotted him in the back of the store.

“Sam.” He grinned. “Just the man I was looking for.”

Sam stood right where he was and nodded. “Sheriff.”

The Covingtons and the sheriff went way back, the man a good friend to Sam’s father, and to Sam, as well.

“You’re looking to guide, aren’t you?”

Last night’s argument still fresh on his mind, Sam’s mind scrambled for a reply. “Depends on who’s asking.”

Though he knew exactly who, he needed to know
what
she was asking. Sam took the last swig of his soda.

“Miss Kirkland here needs a guide. She’s a photographer.”

Sam coughed, choking on his soda. He needed his first guiding opportunity to be one that his father would take seriously. Though pretty, he’d give her that, he wasn’t sure he should take on guiding Miss Kirkland.

Her brown eyes grew darker, sending poison arrows through him. He needed to build his reputation. This photography frivolity wouldn’t do that for him. His selfishness burned, but his future business, though nonexistent at the moment, was at stake here.

Sam tallied up in his head all the chores his father had given him as they prepared to bring in the herd from grazing the free range, so they could ship them to market in early October before the first snow. The head of cattle they’d keep would need an ample supply of hay. The winter shelter needed repairs. Postholes dug. The list went on. No wonder his father had been fit to be tied when Sam mentioned his idea. Even so, he couldn’t take her out for at least a week, and Frankston would be back by then.

But Miss Kirkland gave her own mind before Sam could say a thing.

“Never mind, Sheriff. I wouldn’t expect this man capable of providing me with the kind of experience I require for my photographs, considering he obviously doesn’t understand the important role photography has played in this region.”

She lifted her chin and marched from the store.

The sheriff’s frustration glanced off Sam. What now, his longtime confidant Sheriff Daniels had to be disappointed in him, too?

“There are other guides that will take this opportunity, Sam. You told me last week you wanted a chance to prove yourself.” He shook his head and followed Miss Kirkland out, leaving Sam standing there, holding his empty soda bottle.

T
he Covington Ranch encompassed well over six hundred acres and four hundred head of cattle, and meant that ranching was a never-ending job, especially with only five ranch hands. “Boots” Williams helped Sam mend the fence and finally corralled their forty-five horses. During the summer and fall, their cattle grazed in the national forest on a sizeable allotment. But preparing for the winter months meant days on end cutting and stacking hay. As a result, Sam hadn’t seen his father or his brother, John, all day, though John had married years ago and had a home of his own for his family on the property—same as Emily—and Sam didn’t see him every day.

That was best, until he found a way to bridle his frustration.

He still fumed at himself for rejecting Miss Kirkland outright. If it weren’t for the argument he’d had with his father, he would have heard her out, at the very least.

Finished with his chores, he needed to wash up and entered the back of the sturdy log-cabin ranch house built by his father when he decided to settle in the valley several decades ago. They’d since added to the structure and made modern-day improvements over the last few years—electricity from a water-powered plant over at the canyon near Flat Creek. As for the necessary supplies for building and plumbing, they were freighted over the pass.

Even so, the ranch hands still had to use the privy out back since their quarters weren’t plumbed yet, if they ever would be. Sam’s father had dragged his feet when it came to progress, and Sam hadn’t been the only one surprised when the man had agreed to upgrading the plumbing—but Sam’s mother had a way with her husband.

Sam doubted he’d ever meet a woman who had the power to sway him like that, but if he did, he wasn’t sure that making her his wife would be the best idea. Then again, who better to be his wife than a woman who could persuade him when he needed persuading? Except he’d already tried that, and it hadn’t worked.

His mother appeared, pulling Sam from his melancholy. She’d changed into a fresh set of trousers and cotton work shirt, typical ranch-hand clothing. Years ago, his mother had started a finishing school for young ladies. She finally gave it up after Emily fell in love with dogsledding. The last few years, his mother began to prefer trousers over skirts.

Women in these parts worked beside their men, and just as hard. He wouldn’t even have thought about it except an image of Miss Kirkland in her fancy dress trotted across his mind. Did she think she would traverse the backcountry of the Tetons like that?

Admittedly, he’d been hard pressed to take her request seriously. So much for his progressive thinking—he should have been more open-minded. She wasn’t the first person from back East to arrive in unsuitable clothing. That fact had kept the Jackson Mercantile and Outfitters busy for years, especially during the cattle slump.

“I’ve been thinking about that woman you met—Miss Kirkland, was it?—all afternoon,” his mother said. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Sam grunted.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Sounds like the sheriff was determined enough to see this woman found a guide. Why don’t you go in to town in the morning and make an offer.”

“All the way into town?” He hated to think of that wagon ride years ago before his father had bought their first Ford truck.

He squeezed her hand. She was the only one on his side these days. He’d shared his hopes and dreams with her, and unlike his father, she’d listened. A man his age shouldn’t have to depend on his mother so much for moral support, but she’d started her own business at one point and understood his need.

“But I can’t agree to that without Pa’s approval. I work for him, remember? Taking a woman on a Sunday afternoon photographing jaunt isn’t exactly my idea of guiding big-game hunters.” Or even a first step in progressing to dude ranch status.

His mother sighed. “You have to take the opportunities the Lord sends your way. I can’t help but think that was it. You didn’t go seeking her out, she came to you.”

“I talked to the sheriff, told Bob, people know. So that’s not entirely true.”

He’d put the word out before talking it through with his father. Mostly he’d talked to people to gauge their reaction. See if they thought it was a good idea. He couldn’t help but think his father had been hurt that Sam hadn’t come to him with his idea first.

“I need to get supper on,” she said. “Let me take care of your father.”

Sam would never say it out loud, but he’d always had the feeling he was her favorite. Maybe that was because he was the youngest. But before he could consider it further, a plume of dust rose from the road leading to the ranch, drawing his attention through the front of the cabin. His mother stood next to him and peered through the window.

“Who do you suppose that is?” she asked.

Sam stepped onto the expansive porch held up by pine logs. The sun had already dipped behind the Tetons, though several hours of daylight remained. The white Hupmobile drew near. “The sheriff.”

How many times over the years had he looked out this same window to see a horse and buggy coming up the dirt drive to the ranch, or a horse and rider? Seemed strange that within the last few years, most folks drove motorcars—least in the summers. Winter? That was another story here in the valley.

“Looks like he has a passenger, too,” his mother said. “A woman. You’d think he’d be too busy trying to get a foothold on the bootleggers, gamblers.”

She stepped from the porch in a welcoming stance.

As the motorcar approached, Sam’s heart galloped.
Lord, are You giving me another chance?

Relief swept through him that his father and John were still out working. He’d have to endure teasing otherwise. In fact, he’d be embarrassed if they were here to watch. Guilt slithered through him, longer and wider than the Snake River curved through the valley.

But he jumped to conclusions. He couldn’t know if she would ask him again, the way he’d insulted her at the grocery store. In the end, if he didn’t want to herd cattle or work the ranch under his father and brother the rest of his life, this could be his chance, as meager as it appeared. In that case, he should apologize and offer to guide her.

Sheriff Daniels steered his Hupmobile around the drive and stopped in front of the house. Before Sam could make it over and assist Miss Kirkland, she stepped out and produced a soft smile to go with her soft hair peeking from her hat. Now that he thought about it, her skin looked … uh … soft, too, against that pretty lavender dress. He rebuked the unbidden thoughts, but they reminded him of his initial reaction to her request—this wasn’t the place for her.

His mother stepped forward and introduced herself. Sam couldn’t help but compare the two women. They were both beautiful flowers, except his mother had proven that she could be a tough weed that could hold her own in this land, and Miss Kirkland looked like a dainty orchid, delicate and unable to survive in a harsh environment. At least she wasn’t decked out in the outrageously colorful western clothing of the dudes and dudines populating certain ranches. He wasn’t sure why, but that made him smile. Nor was he sure why he wished she would remove her hat so he could see more of her shiny hair.

The sheriff stood next to Miss Kirkland and cleared his throat. Sam realized he’d been staring.

He nodded. “Sheriff, Miss Kirkland.”

“Mr. Covington,” she said. “I wonder if I might have a word with you.”

“You folks come inside,” his mother said. “I’ll make a pot of coffee, while I get supper on. You’re welcome to stay.”

The sheriff shook his head. “Thanks, Belle, but I’ve taken enough time assisting Miss Kirkland and need to get back as soon as possible. No time for supper. But a cup of coffee sounds good.”

Inside the cabin, the sheriff hovered in the kitchen with Sam’s mother, talking about days gone by. Shame flooded Sam that Miss Kirkland had spent the whole day looking for someone to take Frankston’s place, all because Sam had refused her.

He needed to remedy that and fast. He’d hoped they could finish with their business before his father got home, but the telltale sounds of his return resounded out back.

Ann sat on the Davenport sofa, a small lamp on the side table. Light spilled through the large front window that framed Grand Teton.
To live in this house in the shadow of those mountains
—Ann’s breath hitched. How very blessed this family was, the people living in this valley were.

She could stare at the view all day but tore her gaze from the window and took in the rustic decor and the walls covered in family photographs on one side, and both elk and moose heads on the other. Barbaric, if they asked her. But they didn’t. Regardless, the home was opulent, but in a completely different way from her father’s home in New York. Realizing she might look rude in her ogling of the eclectic style, she focused on her hands, pressing them into her lap to keep from wringing them.