The Sunstone Brooch : Time Travel Romance by Katherine Logan (i am reading a book TXT) 📕

here. I’d be perfectly safe. He must have forgotten he gave me a rifle.” TR knew she could shoot. So why leave her behind?

She could ride after them. Yeah, right. That sounded like one of those heroines who was “too stupid to live.”

“Why didn’t you ride out with them?” she asked.

“I’ll be dragging the steers to the branding irons today. Not my favorite job, but I’m one of the few who knows all the brands.”

Since the thick-headed men didn’t want her with them, she had the day to herself, but that was a waste. She wanted to be part of the action, not sitting around Norman’s wagon, rewriting the notes from her interview with him about the Civil War and the role he played. At first, he’d been reluctant to talk about his experiences, but he slowly opened up, and as he did, an idea for another book started to bloom.

“How about I hang around with you? I can rope ’em and drag ’em to the branding fire just as well as anyone else.”

Bill jumped, raising his arms in self-defense. “No! Those cowboys won’t let a gal anywhere near those fires. And besides,” he puffed up his chest, “you don’t know the brands.”

“That’s ridiculous. They know I can ride, and I know all three of TR’s brands. I can cut his calves and steers from the herd.”

“Roosevelt said no. And if you get hurt, he’ll for sure blame me.”

“No, he won’t. He’ll blame me! He didn’t want me to go with him today and left me to fend for myself. So that’s what I’m going to do.”

“What are you goin’ to do?”

“Saddle Lucky.” And that’s what she did. Then she rode over to the branding fires and hung out for a couple of hours, watching the action until she knew the procedure and had all the brands memorized.

When she was confident she knew the process, she rode over to the hot branding fires. The smoke burned her eyes. The smell was so familiar to her, and it brought back memories of the ranch and her father. She took a few deep breaths along the way, as she would when preparing for any job interview.

“Hey, guys. I’ve been watching, and your horses need a rest.”

I can do this job if you’ll give me a chance.

She squared her shoulders and continued. “Lucky’s fresh and ready to work. Let me cut out some steers for you.”

“It’s dangerous work, ma’am,” one of the cowboys, whose leathery skin made him look the oldest, said. “And it ain’t suited for a gal.”

I’m not letting you bully me.

She relaxed her shoulders and crossed her hands over the saddle horn. “Ever heard of Annie Oakley?”

“Ain’t she that gal in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show?”

“She sure is. So if she can shoot well enough to be in Buffalo Bill’s show, surely I can drag some steers to the branding fire. C’mon, give me a chance. If I mess up, I’ll walk away. Promise.”

The corner of the old cowboy’s mouth twitched, but she couldn’t count it as a real smile. The beginning of one, maybe. Or it was the beginning of a smirk, expecting her to fail.

I won’t fail.

“Start with the calves, Miss Ensley. Leave the steers for the men. But if you tell us the wrong brand to use, you’ll have to deal with the rancher.”

“Sounds reasonable.” She mounted Lucky and headed into the herd, confident of Lucky’s skill as a cutting horse. She spotted a cow with her calf, confirmed the Maltese Cross brand on the mother, and cut the calf away from her. Lucky was almost on his knees, dancing back and forth to keep the mooing calf from returning to its mother.

Ensley swung her rope, lassoing the calf, catching his two hind legs. Then she dragged him over to the branding fire. “Use the Maltese brand on this one.” Branding wasn’t an easy job, and you had to be fast and careful because no one wanted to hurt the animals. She’d learned how to do it without watching because the smoke rose into your face, blinding you. And the air stank, making it hard to breathe without throwing up.

She lost count of the number of calves she dragged to the branding fire, but the men hadn’t lost count and kept a record of which brand each calf received.

“The calves are done, Miss Ensley. If you want to rope the cows, go ahead,” the old cowboy told her. “Just be careful out there.”

“Sure.” Feeling like the cool kids had invited her to sit at their lunch table, she and Lucky galloped off to find her first one.

The first one she cut wasn’t having any of what Ensley had planned. She forgot to lasso its legs and instead got her around the neck. Lucky backed up until he was almost on his haunches, digging in his hooves. When the rope was taut, she jumped off, rushed over to the animal, tied three of her legs together with a piggin’ string she’d been carrying in her teeth. When the tie was complete, she threw her hands in the air to stop the clock.

“What are you doing?” the old cowboy hollered. “Drag her over here.”

Oh, God. This isn’t the rodeo.

She mounted up and dragged the cow to the branding fire. “Sorry about that. I thought you were timing me.”

“What for?”

“I thought we were competing for the best time. Playing a game, you know.”

Good try, Ensley.

“A game? I’ll play,” one of the other cowboys said.

“Bring another one down, and we’ll time you. Who’s got a pocket watch?” the old cowboy asked.

“I got one,” another cowboy said, opening up his pocket watch. “This belonged to my pa. It works good.”

She collected her rope and piggin’ string. “Start the count as soon as I cut a cow.” She rode off to find another one to rope. Her best time was ten seconds. Let’s see how she could do now.

She cut out a cow, chased after her, lassoed, then dismounted. Seconds were ticking in