"How would you feel about being bait?"
On Wednesday, after two days of nothing happened, I stared at Joe in disbelief for several seconds before I pinched my own arm. "Well, I'm not dreaming, so I know I am not asleep. However, I thought you just asked me about being bait. I must have misheard you. What did you want to ask me?"
With a scowl, he shook his head. "Be serious, Rosemary."
"I am being serious. I'm not so sure you are."
"Look." he leaned against the arm of the chair where I was sewing. "We're getting nowhere like we are right now. I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder and waiting for Alpheus Troy to make his next move."
Piercing the shirt with my needle, I gave a slight laugh. "Rest of your life? How dramatic you are, Joe. Given that Mr. Troy is a man who could easily be in his sixties, I think it would be reasonable to assume that you will outlive him by many, many years."
"You know what I mean." Joe crossed his arms with a huff. He looked very much like a sulking toddler in that moment and I tried not to laugh at him. "I say we need to give him the opportunity to reveal himself and then trap him."
"By having me be the bait?" This was exactly the kind of plan I'd come to expect from my friend. Waiting was not his strong point, even when his father advised it. It was inevitable that he'd want to take matters into his own hands. "No. I'm not going to let you talk me into trouble. Again."
"You can't tell me you plan to stay on the Ponderosa forever."
Part of me wished I could do just that. I felt safe and valued when I was in the Ponderosa house. But I knew I couldn't say it or act on those feelings. "Just because I don't want to walk out where I would be in danger doesn't mean I want to stay here," I said, tying off my thread. "Your father would never agree to your plan, you know."
"He doesn't have to find out about it until after."
"Hoss and Adam won't let it happen."
Joe paused. "Well, they won't find out either."
I stared at him for a moment and then cut my thread. He seemed to believe every word he was saying. "You expect to take on an unknown number of men all by yourself?" I asked skeptically. "Do you at least know how stupid and arrogant that sounds?"
"Unknown number... It would be just me and Cal Wilson!" Joe protested. "I think I can handle him. What makes you think I can't?"
Raising an eyebrow, I refrained from mentioning "You can't tell me you think Cal Wilson is working alone; that whoever hired him is content to have one man working for him."
"How are we supposed to know anything if we don't go out and find someone who can tell us what we want to know?" Joe asked, frustration creeping into his tone. "Are we supposed to just sit and wait for Troy's men to attack?"
I'm not sure what answer he expected me to give him. Hop-Sing hurried in then, a paper wrapped package in his hands. "Here, Missy," he said with a beaming smile.
"Oh, thank you, Hop-Sing!" I exclaimed, stretching my hands out to take it.
Though I had wanted to make the purchase myself, I hadn't wanted to disrupt anyone's daily work to escort me into town. Once I heard that Hop-Sing was going to the general store, I had consulted with him about the wool fabric I wanted and given him the money from my savings. He was, as Ben had once said, a pretty good outfitter.
"What is that for?" Joe asked, momentarily distracted.
"I am told that winters here can be hard," I said, unwrapping the paper. A scarlet red wool came into view. The bright color was both cheerful and daring. "So I am improving my wardrobe with warmer layers."
His face wrinkled with an expression of disgust. "You could have just bought what you needed."
"I suppose I could have, but this is a project I want to do myself." Of course a man wouldn't understand. Sewing was a calm pastime that I was fond of, and it would not cost as much if I did it myself. "But," I said, wrapping the paper back up, "I don't have to start it today."
His face brightened. "You'll go along with my plan?"
Hop-Sing who had lingered to get my approval, turned to Joe with narrowed eyes. "Absolutely not," I said, securing my needle. "But I will let you take me out to get some target practice."
Joe gave a huff. "Oh, fine. It will be something to do."
"If Lil' Joe need something to do, have many things to do," Hop-Sing informed him sternly.
But as much as Joe respected Hop-Sing, he wasn't about to give up his free time. "Nothing that needs to be done right now," the young man said, grabbing my wrist. He ignored my squeak of protest as he pulled me out of my chair. "Rosemary needs to practice. That's important with Alpheus Troy planning something. We'll be behind the barn."
"Wait," I protested as Joe pulled me across the room. "Aren't we supposed to warn your father before we start shooting at targets?"
"We can't do that if he's not here," Joe answered, keeping a firm grip on my wrist. "It will be fine."
I saw Hop-Sing turn away with a grin. Content that I had at least distracted Joe from an insane plan for one that wouldn't land us in too much trouble, I let him pull me to the gun rack.
There was something calm about loading, aiming, and then pulling the trigger. Maybe it was the repetition? Joe set up cans as targets, placing them at varying lengths from where we stood. He, of course, rarely missed, while I somehow managed to shatter a few of the glass bottles that were closest to us.
As I had proved earlier in the year, aim wasn't important when the threat stood only a few feet away. Someday, though, I might need better aim to defend myself or someone else. So I endured Joe's advice and corrections, though he quickly grew frustrated with me.
When he took his turn, he would practice his fast draw. I could understand his impatience with how long it would take me to take aim when he would do it in a matter of seconds. He wanted to hone a skill and I just wanted to be as accurate as possible. After all, I was never going to be in a situation where I'd need to be a fast draw.
At least, I hoped as much.
Before long, a few of the Cartwrights' hired hands joined us to try their hands at the targets. I took a seat on the side to watch. All of them were skilled, especially when someone suggested adding rifles to the mix. One of the hands, an older man by the name of Jud, informed me that a rifle was more accurate and dependable than a pistol.
Why hadn't Joe shown me how to shoot that? More accuracy and dependability sounded like what I needed. Of course, a rifle would be more difficult to hide from my students than the pistol I had been given.
Leaning forward, I studied how even with the larger gun, several of the hands were able to bring it up, aim, and fire in a matter of seconds. They seldom seemed to miss what their target was.
Maybe I would be able to convince him on another day to show me what the difference was. I wasn't about to ask Joe in front of all these other men. All of them would no doubt offer to help and I wouldn't be able to take all of them advising me on what to do or how to hold the gun.
The merriment came to an end when Ben came upon us. Aloof the hands scattered to clean up the mess left by the broken bottles. "I thought," Ben said, his tone serious, "that you promised to inform me before you scared half the ranch with target practice in the middle of the week."
"We didn't scare anyone, Pa," Joe said immediately. He gestured to the other men, who were making a concerted effort not to look in our direction and continued in a wheedling tone, "And I would have told you if I knew where you were, but I didn't. Isn't it important that we make sure we're all as good as we can be with a gun?"
"Joseph, we are going to do everything we can to avoid a range war,{ Ben said with more seriousness and patience than I expected. "And I doubt Rosemary would be part of it, even if things did come down to a shoot-out."
Joe glared at me as though I were to blame for this turn in the conversation. "No. She'd probably do more damage to us than she would to the other guys," he said lightly, though his hazel-green eyes showed his annoyance.
"I would not!" I protested, crossing my arms. Though I understood his irritation at being scolded, I did not feel I deserved such an insult. Not that I wanted to be considered good with a gun.
"Let's hope matters never reach that point," Ben said before Joe could apologize or defend himself.
As Joe kicked at the dirt, the atmosphere grew even more tense. It wasn't the first time I had seen father and son at odds with each other, but I'd seen it more often between Adam and Ben than any of the others.
Clearing my throat, I checked my pistol to make sure it was unloaded. "Well, i should see if Hop-Sing needs my help with supper," I said, knowing it was the most unbelievable excuse I could have uttered. The cook ran things like a tight ship and he seldom needed anyone's help. But sometimes he tolerated my assistance, such as it was.
With a huff, Joe turned on his heel and marched away. Ben shook his head before focusing on me. "Joe has always been eager to do things," he said as if he felt the need to explain his son's actions. "Even when he was a child, it was rare to see him still for longer than a moment."
"Waiting is never easy to do," I said, unable to think of anything else to say.
Ben chuckled. "Very true, especially for the young. By the time you are my age, Rosemary, you will have spent a great deal of time waiting for one thing or another. It doesn't make it easier, but it does make a person more resigned to it."
I couldn't help but think of how I had waited for Slim Henry to speak. The last hand nodded as he passed with battered tin cans in his hands. "Well," Ben said, just as I had a few moments earlier. "Let's go inside, shall we?"
As I turned, the back of my neck prickled. But when I glanced around, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Ben didn't react, so I tried to put it from my mind. I must have simply been on edge.
The feeling didn't fade until the door closed behind me.