“Your brother shared that with me,” he said. “I’m very sorry it didn’t work out like you hoped.”
They stopped at a wooden split rail fence and leaned against it. On the other side of the split rail was where he held the other side of his business − training horses. Out in the ring, one of his men was trying to break a mare who had proven to be more than a little spirited.
“Do you think that will happen to Stephill?” she asked. “Do you think it will dry up and die?”
He pulled his hat down lower over his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun. He considered her question a moment before shaking his head.
“Don’t think so. Stephill’s been around for near a hundred years already,” he said. “There are some deep roots here. And the deeper the roots, the harder it is to pull out. No, I think Stephill’s gonna be around for a long while.”
“Pastor Rawlins thinks the town will explode once Wyoming is granted statehood,” she noted.
“Probably will. More bodies, more money,” he said. “Don’t mean it’s the best thing for us though. More people mean more opportunities for outlaws.”
She nodded as if she understood. But then, coming from a place like Grimepass, a place that had become infested with crime and depravity, she probably did.
“What is that?” she asked.
Harvey followed her gaze and on a hill that sat on the far side of his land, situated in the grazing land for his cattle, he saw the silhouette of a man. He was too far away to make anything out clearly or see any distinguishing features but Harvey was almost certain it was a man. The sunlight glinted brightly off something and it took Harvey a minute to realize whoever was out there was surveying his spread through a pair of field glasses.
A bolt of apprehension immediately shot through him as he made the connection to the hole that had been cut in his fence and he feared the presence of Indians.
“We need to get you out of here,” he said.
“What? Why?” she questioned. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he replied. “But I don’t like the look of that.”
“Do you know who it is?”
Harvey shook his head. “No, and that’s part of the problem,” he said. “Now come on, I want to get you somewhere safe.”
Isabelle looked at him aghast. “Do you think we are in danger?” she pressed. “Do you think it’s Indians?”
He realized he had probably set a river of fear loose within her and immediately felt bad. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her.
“Honestly, it’s probably nothing you need to worry about. It’s probably nothing at all. Could be old man Potter who owns the next plot of land over,” he said. “But I’m a cautious man by nature and I don’t like taking chances. I’d rather have you somewhere safe just in case. But like I said, it’s probably nothin’ to get worked up about anyway.”
She looked at him curiously for a moment and opened her mouth like she was about to argue. But then she closed it again and gave him a nod. Harvey quickly escorted her back to her gate and sent Isabelle on her way to her house with instructions to lock the doors behind her.
He gave a brief look around for Mark but did not spot him right off. Deciding he did not have time to look for him, Harvey ran to the barn and saddled his horse. He quickly strapped on his sidearm and slid his rifle into his saddle sheath. Mounting up, he headed out of the barn at a gallop, startling some of the workers who were coming in from the fields.
Harvey circled around to the south. It made the trip a little bit longer but he wanted to approach the spot from the rear, not wanting to be seen until he had gotten a good look at who was watching them from the rise.
As he came out of a thick copse of trees, he grumbled to himself under his breath. He was out of luck − whoever had been on that rise watching them through a pair of field glasses was gone.
“Blasted,” he growled.
Harvey turned around in his saddle, looking in every direction of the compass but saw nothing and nobody. He took a pair of his own field glasses out of his saddlebag and scanned the area. Nothing. Whoever it had been was gone. Like a puff of smoke on a stiff breeze, they had just vanished.
He slid down out of his saddle and walked his horse to the top of the rise. He kept his free hand near his sidearm just in case. He was not lying when he had told Isabelle that he was a cautious man by nature and although it had been many years since he had actually had to pull his weapon, let alone fire it, he knew he could still outdraw most men.
When he crested the rise, he knelt down. There were footprints in the soft earth − bootprints, actually. He saw the trail of crushed grass and divots in the dirt that led up and down the small hill marking the trail his mysterious visitor had left behind. Down at the bottom of the rise, he saw the hoofprints of a mount in the soft dirt.
Frowning, Harvey puzzled over it for a minute as he stared at the clearly marked impressions. He walked his horse back down the hill and mounted up, following the trail of hoofprints that led away from the rise and toward the edge of his land.
When he reached the wire fence that marked the boundary of his spread, he climbed down out of the saddle and approached the hole that had been cut.
“Well would you look at that?” he murmured to nobody but his horse who whickered in response.
Reaching out, Harvey touched the edges of the wire that had been cut, pursing his lips and nodding. The cut was identical to the hole that had been sliced in the fence between his land and Mark’s.
“Clean through,” he said.
It set Harvey’s mind spinning in a thousand directions − and in the opposite direction he had been focused on since he had discovered the first cut fence.
Of course, the presence of bootprints didn’t mean it was not Indians but in all his years, he had not seen many Indians out here in the open land wearing boots. He had seen plenty in town in boots − but not in the open country.
Still, that did not exclude the Sioux from being looked at. But in Harvey’s mind, it took them from prime suspect to potential bit player. He knew from his years in the open country that the Indians preferred to move light and swift. He just did not see them wearing clunky boots for a nighttime raid. Nor did he believe they would allow themselves to be seen scouting the area.
But if not an Indian, if not one of the Sioux raiders, who had been standing on the rise?
Chapter Nineteen
The air in the room was tense and Isabelle shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Mark and Harvey sat in their usual spots at the table across from each other as she and her brother digested what Harvey had just told them − as well as what her brother had reported.
Isabelle tried to keep her face neutral, doing everything she could to keep her emotions in check. But with the information on the table before them, she was having a hard time with it.
“Makes me wish I hadn’t gone into town today,” Mark muttered.
“Can’t blame yourself for it,” Harvey said. “Ain’t like you planned it.”
Her brother had gone into town to take a load of the cider and wine Mr. Wilson had placed an order for. As he was unloading, he was approached by a couple of goons he recognized as being Elmer Alford’s men who began to verbally harass him. He told them that a couple of minutes later, Elmer himself showed up and got in his face as well.
The older man was outraged that Mark was doing well for himself and was, as he put it, stealing the food from his mouth. Elmer ordered the goons to destroy what was left in Mark’s wagon.
Thankfully, Sheriff Waits had gotten wind of what was happening and arrived in time with his deputy and put a stop to it. But after being forced to leave by the Sheriff, Elmer had told Mark he had made a big mistake in coming to Stephill and that he was going to not just regret it, but that he would pay for it.
The only silver lining in the whole mess was that Ruby’s name was never brought up so it seemed unlikely that Elmer knew about their stolen moments together.
That bad news was followed by Harvey reporting what he had found after he had sent Isabelle away. All of that combined was enough to set a terrible roiling in Isabelle’s belly − one that she could not quiet down.
A knock sounded at the door and Isabelle jumped up to answer it,
“I asked Chenoa to join us,” Harvey said. “I thought she should know what’s going on.”
“That’s a good idea,” Mark said.
Isabelle opened the door to see the tall, dark woman she’d met in Harvey’s barn standing in the doorway with a child in her arms. The baby fussed and squirmed, making a string of noises that did not sound pleased at all.
“Welcome,” Isabelle said. “Please, come in.”
Chenoa gave her a small smile and a nod then walked in. She walked through the great room and into the dining room where the men were sitting. She took the seat next to Harvey and when she saw how grim the expression on his face was, she frowned. Isabelle disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a glass of lemonade. She set it down in front of the Indian woman and smiled.
“You look like you could use a drink,” she said.
Chenoa offered her a grateful smile but the fussing, squirming baby was making it difficult for her to pick up her glass. Isabelle smiled.
“You also look like you could use a break,” she said and gestured to the child. “May I?”
Chenoa cut a glance at Harvey who looked slightly alarmed but as he looked up at Isabelle, the trepidation faded away and he smiled.
“Of course,” he said.
Chenoa handed the wriggling baby to Isabelle who immediately scooped him up and held him to her breast. She walked around the room, softly cooing in his ear, a wide smile on her face. She felt Harvey’s eyes on her and felt the concern wafting off him. She turned back and gave him a roguish smile.
“This isn’t the first child I’ve carried you know,” she said. “You need not worry yourself.”
“Charley is not an egg. He will not break in her arms,” Chenoa said. “He grows stronger by the day.”
Harvey grinned and looked away as Chenoa and Isabelle laughed at his overprotectiveness. Isabelle understood though. This was his child and she could tell he felt out of his depth. He wanted to do everything in his power to keep Charley safe and worried over every last thing. It was a habit Chenoa was obviously trying to break him of.
As Isabelle carried him around the room, gently bouncing him, she smiled as a rush of maternal instinct washed over her − as it always did whenever she was near a baby. She had always wanted to be a mother but as the years went by without a proper suitor, she fretted that it might never come to pass. She was just twenty-three years old but some days, she felt twice that.
Harvey had been right about Charley though. He was small for his age and did not yet seem to have the strength or vocabulary other children his age that Isabelle had known. His birth and infancy must have been very hard on him indeed. But in his wriggling about, she felt the strength Chenoa had said was growing in him and in his eyes, she saw that spark of intelligence. Maybe Charley would not grow up to be the biggest or strongest but she was sure he would grow up to be the smartest.
“You are good with him,” Chenoa said from her seat at the table. “He likes you.”
So caught up in her own musings, it was only then that Isabelle realized Charley had stopped fussing and was looking up at her with a smile on his face. She felt her heart swell as she smiled back at him, running the tip of her finger around his lips.
“He is perfect,” Isabelle said. “Just perfect.”
Harvey looked at her appreciatively and smiled. It was a smile that to Isabelle made the world feel like it was tilting on its axis and set her heart melting like a snowball in the sun. It warmed her from the inside out and sent a wave of sensations rolling through her in places she had never felt them before. It made her cheeks flush and she quickly looked away before Harvey could intuit the thoughts she should definitely not be having flashing through her mind.
“Sorry to be the one to kill the mood,” Mark started, “but are we thinking that one of Elmer’s men was the one up on the hill earlier?”
Harvey looked back at her brother, his expression growing darker and grimmer once more.
“It seems to fit with what you told us happened in town,” he said. “It also fits with the cuts in the fences. His men can get through the north fields without being seen.”
“But the first cut fence you found was well before what happened to Mark in town today,” Isabelle said.
“That was my thought too,” Mark replied. “But maybe he was doing some scouting beforehand. Trying to get a lay of the land.”
“But he had to know you would find the cut fence,” Chenoa added. “It makes no sense for him to announce that he was on your land before confronting you in town.”
“Also, I don’t know that he would allow his men to be seen scouting the area,” Mark said.
“And I can guarantee you, no Sioux would allow themselves to be seen,” Chenoa said. “They would not scout a farm they were going to raid in broad daylight.”
Harvey ran his hands over his face, his stubble making a dry and scratchy sound. He dropped his hands to the table, a look of frustration on his face.
“We have a bunch of different parts here,” he said. “And none of ‘em fit together in any way I can see.”
“It is like a jigsaw puzzle,” Isabelle said. “The pieces do fit together and when they do, it will form a complete picture.”
Mark scoffed. “I was never any good at jigsaw puzzles,” he said. “That was always your specialty.”
It was true. Mark never had the patience to work a puzzle from start to finish. It had always been Isabelle who had done them. And she enjoyed a challenge so the more pieces and more complicated the better.
She had to admit though, at the moment she was stumped. Harvey was right. There were a lot of disparate pieces that did not seem to fit together in any discernible fashion. There were the two cut fences − at least one of them well before Mark’s confrontation with Elmer. That told her whoever was making use of them had been doing so for a little while now. But with nothing missing, what had been the purpose of the incursions onto their land?
If it had been raiding Indians, they would know. According to Mark, their previous raids had not been subtle and much had been taken. And yet, not so much as a bushel of apples had been taken that they could tell − and Mark had done a very thorough inventory after Harvey initially found the cut in the fence.
There was also the mystery man on the hill who had been watching them. Standing up on that hill in broad daylight had been sloppy and careless for somebody who had gone to all the trouble to cut secret holes in a fence and had taken great care to avoid being seen when using that path. Something about that man’s appearance did not seem to fit.
The puzzle itself was a mess, and Isabelle could not help but feel like there were some pieces missing. There was just too much that did not add up in her mind.
“Is it possible we are looking at two separate events?” Isabelle posed. “And one has nothing to do with the other?”
“What do you mean?” Mark asked.
“I mean, is it possible the man we saw on the hill today had nothing to do with the cuts in the fence?” she pressed, feeling like she was onto something. “What if he just took advantage of the hole to get through to the hill − but was not the one who made the original cut?”
Harvey scratched his chin, his face screwed up in thought. “Suppose it’s possible,” he said. “I didn’t check the boundary fences on that side of the property yet. Hadn’t had time. So it’s possible that hole in the fence has been there the whole time.”
“But who would come looking for a hole in the fence just to stare at us through field glasses?” Mark asked.
“Somebody who wants to destroy you, maybe,” Chenoa added glumly. “It’s what the tribes always do − quietly scout first before attacking.�
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“And who wants to destroy you?” Harvey asked rhetorically.
Mark held his hands up. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said. “We don’t even know he was looking at our place. He could have been scouting you, Harv. I mean, he was on your land.”
Harvey shrugged his broad shoulders. “Suppose it’s possible,” he admitted. “But I don’t have anybody actively trying to take me down. And from where I was standing, it looked like his glasses were trained on this place.”
Isabelle nodded her agreement. “That is how it looked to me as well.”
Mark leaned back in his seat and blew out a loud breath. The room fell silent and Isabelle continued her circuit around the table with Charley murmuring contentedly in her arms.
A Healing Love For The Broken Cowboy (Historical Western Romance) Page 12