Free Emmy's Equal by Marcia Gruver

seat, her lips pinched. “No more questions, Emily. You need to sit back and rest.”
    Emmy’s face warmed. “I’m feeling much better.”
    Mama smiled grimly. “I’m relieved to hear it.” She turned to the front, muttering that it wouldn’t be much help to Mr. Marcelo’s hat.
    The heat increased in Emmy’s cheeks. The handsome young man rode a short distance in front of the wagon, squinting against the sun. He had pulled the red bandanna from around his neck and twisted it into a rope that he tied around his head. Still, the wind whipped his long curly hair in his face. Guilt squeezed her heart that he battled with the elements while she sat sheltered beneath the canopy of the two-seater.
    They made camp at dusk, their two hosts graciously tending their every need, and were up and back on the trail as the sun peeked over the horizon. Emmy could hardly believe it when Papa grunted then nodded at the acres of plowed rows along the road. “We’re getting closer now.”
    Mama shot him a quizzical glance. “How can you tell?”
    “We’re beginning to see tilled ground. Carrizo Springs is rich in farmland.”
    Frowning, Emmy voiced her confusion. “How can that be? I thought the south would be barren and desolate.”
    He shook his head. “Not these parts. The fields are watered by spring-fed creeks.”
    Aunt Bertha stretched closer to Papa. “What kind of creeks did you say, Willem?”
    “Spring-fed. The area sits atop underground fountains called artesian wells. They bubble to the surface and create ready sources of fresh water.” He shrugged. “That’s not to say it’s all lush and green. The ground is still dry in most places.”
    As if to vouch for his word, the wind bore down and snatched up a puff of sand. Invisible fingers fashioned a whirligig that danced across the open plain.
    “Look!” Emmy cried. “Have you ever seen a dust devil so big?”
    Grinning, Aunt Bert watched it wend its way toward them until it collapsed ten feet shy of the wagon in a shower of sand. “Will you look at that?” she hooted.
    Emmy smiled. “I’ve never seen anything like this country. Lush here, desolate there. I guess it can’t decide what sort of terrain it ought to be.”
    Mama and Papa laughed, and to her surprise, Emmy joined them. She had determined to despise South Texas, expected to have a miserable ride to the ranch, yet against her will the rugged charm of the land had worked its way under her skin and softened her resolve. Instead of enduring the long journey, the miles and hours swept by unnoticed.
    She pointed at a staggered line of brush. “What are those curious spiny bushes?”
    Her papa shook his head. “I can’t answer that one. Perhaps one of our escorts can shed some light.”
    To her dismay, he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Both men’s heads whipped around.
    “My daughter has a question, gentlemen.”
    Since the dark-skinned fellow was closer, the one named Cuddy grinned and waved him over.
    Emmy couldn’t recall his name from their introduction because her head had started to whirl. She only remembered hair the color of raw sugar on his forehead and matching brown eyes—knowing, thoughtful eyes that must have witnessed things Emmy would never see. Yet the last expression she’d seen in their depths as she bowed her head to be sick was one of startled amazement. Luckily, she got a good glimpse because she didn’t dare look at them again.
    He angled his horse up beside them. “What can I do for you, miss?”
    His voice, as rich as Christmas pudding, drew Emmy’s attention to his mouth against her will. When he made an unconscious move to take off his hat—which wasn’t there, thanks to her—the gesture broke the spell. Emmy dropped her gaze to her clenched fists.
    Thankfully, Papa came to her rescue. “She’s asking the name of that scrub brush yonder.”
    “Those old, straggly trees? Miss Emily, those are mesquite.”
    So he remembered her name. But then he would.