by Pam Crooks
But of anyone, she yearned to tell Mikolas most. Except she had no idea where he was or where he’d been these past weeks. She missed him and needed him, terribly. More than ever.
He would know what to do. He’d help her make the right decisions and find a way to pick up the pieces. To start over.
But mostly, he’d help her get even.
Now, Zurina had to do all those things herself, once Papa received the medical care he needed.
At the thought of him, she twisted and peered down the road. In the distance, Nubby followed at a slower, more careful pace with the travois attached to his horse,
Zurina had agreed with Trey’s decision to ride into Great Falls ahead of them. By the time Nubby arrived with Papa, Zurina would have found a doctor to care for him, and Trey would have set into motion a plan to hunt down Allethaire.
Justice, at its fiercest.
Zurina sensed the fury he kept coiled tight inside him. She could almost taste the heat of it. Trey refused to tolerate the wrongs done to him and the woman he intended to marry, and Zurina knew it was only a matter of time before he settled the score.
She might have marveled at his control if she hadn’t been all too aware that she was responsible for his troubles. If they hadn’t left Sun Valley and ventured onto his range to graze their flock, then Allethaire Gibson would never have been kidnapped.
Kidnapped.
The immensity rocked through her. Just thinking the word and all it implied unearthed ugly memories from a time deep in Zurina’s past that she’d learned not to think about, but she thought of them now, in all their horror. Her heart curled with anguish for what the poor woman was going through. She knew how terrified Allethaire would be. How helpless. And anxious. How desperate for escape.
Zurina willed Allethaire strength and hope. But mostly, she prayed for Allethaire to trust in those who loved her, especially the man who would do all he could to find her.
Trey Wells.
Zurina knew she and her father were a burden to him, a certain and frustrating delay in his need to find Allelthaire. That he made the effort to see to their needs first when he easily could have abandoned them out on the range to see to his own, well, Zurina had to concede it was a streak of honor she never expected to see in him.
“Do they live nearby?” Trey asked. “Your uncle and cousin?”
A deep breath helped clear her head. She couldn’t dwell on the past, nor could anything from last night be changed.
She must concentrate instead on the future, for she had a score to settle, too. Her own share of wrongs to right.
“Yes,” she said, pointing into the distance. “Over there.”
The city of Great Falls lay sprawled before them, but beyond its boundaries, into the hills, was a small settlement comprised of her people. The majority of them were Basque sheepherders, like Papa.
Zurina had never lived anywhere else but in that little village. She was related in some way to almost everyone who lived there. If word of her flock’s massacre hadn’t reached her family and friends by now, it would soon, and they’d be terrified for her and Papa’s welfare.
Outraged, more.
“I’ll make sure they’re notified,” Trey said as they approached the main street in Great Falls. “They’ll want to ride in and see you and Gabirel.”
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”
Zurina spoke her gratitude, though she was perfectly capable of notifying her family herself. Yet the crisp, businesslike tone in Trey’s voice kept her from telling him as much. Clearly, he played out a strategy in his head. She would do well to listen.
“When we get into town, I’ll take you to Dr. Shehan’s office. He was my father’s physician for years. He’ll give Gabirel good care.”
Zurina stiffened. Sutton Wells’s physician?
“Afterward, I’ll head over to see the police chief and report what happened, then I’ll round up a posse.” His fist clenched over the reins. “I’ve lost too much time already.”
Knowing he had, that they both had, Zurina said nothing to his plan but instead murmured a guilt-ridden prayer that Allethaire was all right. If not altogether safe, at least free from harm and soon reunited with Trey Wells.
But more than that, Zurina prayed the men who attacked her and her father would one day soon burn in hell.
Chapter Six
Oblivious to the trouble in Trey’s upended world, Great Falls bustled with its normal routine of activity. Rigs rumbled up and down the dirt streets. Boardwalks clattered from the footsteps of women and children hurrying through errands and appointments. Storekeepers propped open their doors to let in the day’s freshness and beckon customers. Dogs barked. Horses whinnied. Men shouted.
Trey hardly noticed. He reined in at the front of Doc Shehan’s medical office, dismounted and tied the leathers to the hitching post. By the time he turned back to help Zurina out of the saddle, she was already down on the ground.
Clearly, she wasn’t accustomed to a man’s assistance.
Or maybe she had no desire to accept his.
Trey had few misconceptions about her resentment for him. From the moment she’d first aimed that rifle barrel at his chest, she’d made her dislike pretty damn clear.
Trey could understand her reasons. Seeing those brands on the horses last night, believing the men who killed her sheep worked for the Wells Cattle Company and were sent by him—yeah, he could understand her resentment.
But she had to understand he wasn’t the lowlife she thought he was. Somehow, he had to find a way to prove to her the truth about who those men were and why they had WCC horses in the first place. Why they chose to attack the Vasco flock. Why they kidnapped Allethaire. And another wild thought to add to the bunch—if they had anything to do with his father’s death.
Trey couldn’t figure any of it, though he’d considered every angle, up one side and down the other. After his father’s murder, to have this happen—did it all fit together? Or were they random incidents?
Trey itched for answers. For revenge. He intended to get both, not only for his own sake… but for Zurina Vasco’s, too.
He stole a moment to study her while she stared down the road on which they’d ridden in, looking worried for Nubby and her father to appear. The scent of smoke and charred wood clung to her clothes, her skin, her hair. But somehow that smell suited her—like the outdoors. Natural and unpretentious.
Trey could see the weariness in her heavy-lidded gaze and the paleness of her cheeks, but her spirit still ran strong. Easy to see that, too. Not once had she complained. In spite of all she’d lost and the burden of despair that weighed on her shoulders, she carried her chin high, thinking more of her father than of herself.
Seeing it, knowing it, something moved in Trey’s chest. He allowed himself to stop thinking of Allethaire—and to think of this Basque woman instead.
Gently, he gripped her chin and turned her face toward him. “Zurina.”
Her startled glance flew to him, but she didn’t pull away.
“Do you mind if I call you by your first name?” he asked.
Her shoulder lifted in a tiny shrug. “It’s what I am used to.”
A difference between their people, he realized. His own preferred more formality in using the term ‘Miss’ when addressing someone they’d just met.
“Call me Trey,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to trust me.”
Her brow shot up. “Trust you?”
The way she said it, slathered with derision, left him with the distinct feeling he was wasting his breath.
But he kept going.
“I’m hoping your calling me by my first name will be the first step in doing that,” he said.
Her gaze sharpened. “I don’t think so. Not until I find the truth.”
“You think I don’t want to find it, too?” he demanded roughly.
“Trey! Trey Wells!”
At the woman’s voice, Z
urina stiffened and pulled her chin from his grasp. Hiding his frustration and vowing to find another opportunity to convince Zurina, he turned and spied Emma Hill hurrying toward him on the boardwalk. Martha, her large-boned mother, lumbered beside her.
Trey hid a grimace. The women were the daughter and wife of James Hill, a railroad magnate with the Great Northern Railway. James, along with Paris Gibson, hoped to partner with Trey in building the hydro-electric plant. And Martha, well, she hoped to wrangle a marriage with Trey for Emma. The fact that he’d chosen Allethaire didn’t seem to matter most days. Martha had more nerve than she could hang on a fence. And Emma was a bona fide flirt.
“Hello, Emma. Martha.” He lifted his hat in curt greeting.
“Why, Trey, I never expected to see you here!” Slightly out of breath, Emma halted and peered up at him with sagely wide eyes and a practiced pout. “Is everything all right?”
Trey thought through a reply. He had no idea how much they knew—they couldn’t have heard about Allethaire’s kidnapping yet, could they?
Instinct told him no. After all, he’d only found out himself a short time ago. They were far too calm, besides, and he had precious little time for hysterics.
“Been better, I reckon.” He forced a smile.
She reached out and boldly laid a gloved hand on his chest. “You two had another spat, didn’t you? That’s why she left yesterday without saying goodbye to anyone.”
“Allethaire?”
He played dumb. The Hills had gone to the funeral for his father and afterward attended the luncheon at the ranch. Obviously, Allethaire’s absence hadn’t gone unnoticed, and speculation about his going after her would have been rampant.
Inevitable there’d be gossip, he knew. Some claimed Trey’s marriage to Allethaire was the best love-match in all of Montana, ensuring construction of the hydro-electric plant along the Missouri.
“Of course, ‘Allethaire,’ silly.” Emma laughed, a little too gaily. “Really, you have such patience with her, Trey. Let me guess. She still wants you to move with her to Minnesota, doesn’t she?”
“Running off from the funeral luncheon like she did with your daddy just barely in his grave and his killing still a mystery.” Martha sniffed. “Why, her behavior is scandalous, if you ask me, Trey.”
Which he hadn’t. Trey kept one eye on the door to Doc Shehan’s office and held back the retort.
“She’s acting only for herself, that girl. Why, can you think of anything more selfish than expecting you to go back east with her? When Montana needs that power plant? Of course, you have your ranch to run, too, and you’re needing to find Sutton’s murderer. But she doesn’t care about any of that.”
“I’m in a hurry.” Trey took Zurina’s elbow and pulled her forward, so that she stood next to him. “I have a couple of matters to attend to.”
But Martha kept her matronly body rooted in front of him. She waggled a finger at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You know Emma loves Montana, Trey. She’ll live in no other place. Isn’t that right, Emma?”
“Hush, Mother.” Emma slid a vaguely accusing glance at Trey. “Trey has a—a lady-friend with him, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear our business.”
“What?” Startled, the woman’s glance slashed toward Zurina.
Mother and daughter took a discreet step backward. Their unified glances dragged over Zurina, from the top of her dark head with hair blown around her shoulders, past her plain blue cotton dress stained with her father’s blood, and down to her feet, encased in dusty sandals.
“Sheep.” Lips pinched, Martha drew herself up. “That’s what I smell, Emma. Sheep.”
Zurina sucked in a breath, as if the woman had spat in her face.
Trey gritted his teeth. “Mind your mouth, Martha.”
“No, it’s more smoky, Mother. I’d noticed it, too.”
“It’s both,” Zurina said and yanked her elbow from between Trey’s fingers. She speared him with a scathing glance, clearly blaming him for the Hills women’s irreverence. “Excuse me.”
Zurina shouldered her way between them with some irreverence of her own, and the pair were quick to give her room, but there was something about the way she all but ran into Doc Shehan’s office that had Trey’s feet moving after her.
“She’s Basque, isn’t she, Trey?” Emma asked, looking utterly confused.
Trey tossed her a cold glance. “Yes. She is.”
“But you’re a cattleman!” Martha protested. “And she’s—”
“That seems to be the problem, doesn’t it?” Trey shot back, impatient with their narrow-mindedness.
There wasn’t much he could do about the prejudices between them, but he had to try. He left the two women gaping after him, pushed the good doctor’s door open and strode inside.
The small sitting area held no waiting patients, but an elderly woman sat at a desk. She glanced up expectantly. Trey latched the door closed and ignored her.
Zurina stood with her back toward him, furiously finger-combing the tangles from her hair. In clipped, agitated movements, she swept the entire mass over one shoulder and separated the long strands into equal parts, her fingers flying as they formed a fast braid, and if she heard him come in, she pretended she didn’t.
He knew her mad attempt at grooming herself was stung feminine pride stirred up by Emma and Martha Hill. After their behavior, Trey couldn’t much blame her. The two women had no idea what Zurina had been through, why she looked—and smelled—as she did. Bad part was, he wasn’t sure it’d matter if they did know.
Suddenly Zurina spun toward him.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
She was a firecracker ready to explode, and he wasn’t quite sure he could keep from getting burned.
His mouth pursed. He shouldn’t be here, trying to soothe her wounded feathers, but he was, and he couldn’t much help it. Time was ticking. He had to find Allethaire, but he delayed, just a little longer….
Zurina held the end of her braid between her thumb and finger to keep it from loosening. The way she glowered at him all but chased away any explanation he could muster up about following her in, and his brain scrambled for something intelligent to say.
He cleared his throat. “Looks like you need something to hold your hair together.”
He rooted in the right pocket of his Levi’s and pulled out a suede drawstring bag he used to hold the few coins he carried. Grasping one end of the drawstring, a narrow strip of leather, he gave a swift tug and the strip came free. He stuffed the little bag back into his pocket.
Zurina might appreciate using the strip, considering she had nothing of the sort with her. But by the scathing way she glared at the thing, Trey feared it’d disintegrate into ashes. Her pride again, warring with indecision on whether to accept it from him. Or not.
Making the decision for her, he reached out and wrapped the narrow leather around the braid’s end himself, right above her fingers. Slowly, as if she determined he made no more threat than that, her hand lowered. He fashioned a respectable-looking knot and gave it a testing tug, then let the tails dangle.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
“You’re welcome.”
He laid the secured plait gently against her shoulder and noted the contrast of leather against the deep obsidian strands that even tightly braided felt like silk against his fingertips.
Suddenly his imagination formed a hauntingly vivid image of what her hair would feel like, smooth and shining and fully unrestrained, sliding through his fingers, past his wrist and over his arm—
An image he had no business having, and he abruptly drew back.
“Did you have a reason to follow me in here, Mr. Wells?” she asked, her tone cool. Blatantly challenging. “If not, I must make arrangements for my father.”
“Trey,” he growled. “Call me Trey.”
Doc Shehan’s secretary announced her approach with a brisk click of heels on t
he wooden floor.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Wells?” she asked.
He dragged his glance off Zurina. “I’m bringing someone in. Gunshot wound.”
“Gabirel Vasco,” Zurina said, twisting toward her in appeal. “My father.”
“The bullet’s out, but Doc needs to take a look at him. Give him something for pain,” Trey added.
“Certainly,” the woman said with a quick, compassionate nod. “But where is the patient?”
“I think they’re here now,” he said.
The clomp of horse hooves compelled Zurina to swivel toward the sound. Nubby appeared on the other side of the plate glass window, drew up and prepared to dismount.
By the time the cowboy’s boot soles hit the ground, Zurina was outside, depriving Trey of the opportunity to apologize for Emma and Martha Hill’s insults, to make promises he wasn’t entirely sure he could keep, and to tell her he would do what he could to find the men who killed her sheep.
But he couldn’t reveal the unexpected longing which found its way inside him, a slow-growing fever to see her again. A need he could only acknowledge was there, now that it was time for him to leave.
To find Allethaire. He had to track his father’s murderer, too, which left no room for this foolish reluctance burrowing into his blood.
It shouldn’t matter he’d likely not see Zurina again. He had no choice but to shift his attention to matters far more dire. He’d done all he could for her and Gabirel. Besides, she didn’t care whether he stayed or went. She’d made that as plain as the horn on his saddle.
Knowing it, he shot the secretary a terse glance. “Send me the bill for Doc’s services.”
Then, before she could agree, he left.
Chapter Seven
Two Days Later
Trey had all but given up hope.
He squatted along the banks of the Missouri River and splashed his face with cold water. The crispness of the sensation helped ease his fatigue, drained away the dust and grime from the trail, and cooled his sun-beaten skin—but did little to salve his worry.