Summer Breeze

by Catherine Anderson

  “Stop swinging that lariat at him, you damned fool! Make him afraid of it and you’ll ruin him forever as a cow pony!”

  Joseph seconded that opinion; the man was a damned fool. Chasing the terrified horse around the corral, the hired hand swung the rope like a whip, hitting the animal on its tender nose and rump. The poor, confused mustang flinched and darted, trying frantically to escape.

  The sight made Joseph furious, and he wanted to put a boot up the man’s ass. Sadly, there were more incompetent horse trainers than there were good ones, and it was the horses that paid the price. Too many greenhorns went into a corral thinking to mimic the technique of a good trainer, but taming a mustang wasn’t that simple. Horses were large, very powerful animals and could be dangerous when cornered. Proper handling demanded a lot of experience, a host of little tricks, a measure of good sense, and a lot of compassion.

  Amanda Hollister came up out of her wheelchair. Shaking so badly that it was difficult for her to keep her feet, she advanced on the rails. “Out of there. If you strike that animal again, I’ll take a whip to you, I swear.” She turned to Ray Meeks, her foreman. “Cut this imbecile his pay. I never want to see him on this ranch again.”

  Ray sent the trainer an apologetic look and motioned for him to exit the corral. Joseph caught the exchange and wondered why Meeks felt bad. When a man couldn’t do the work that he’d been hired to do, he was damned lucky to get any back pay, and the apology was his to make.

  Still oblivious to the arrival of guests, Amanda Hollister grasped a post to steady herself and took stock of the men who ringed the corral, some sitting on a top rail, others leaning against the fence. In Joseph’s opinion, none of them looked highly energetic. At his place, a hired hand was expected to stay busy until daylight waned. It was Saturday, though. Maybe it was the men’s day off, and they hadn’t chosen to go into town.

  “Does anyone here know how to tame a horse, or must I do it myself?” Amanda asked.

  None of the men raised a hand. Amanda caught sight of Joseph just then. Without so much as a howdy-do, she said, “You’ve got the look of a horseman. Do you know anything about taming a mustang?”

  Joseph shot David a wondering look, then plucked off his hat to give his head a scratch. “I know a little.”

  “Don’t be modest, young man. How much is a little?”

  Joseph almost grinned. Damned if he didn’t like the old lady. She had a lot of sass in her frail old bones, and he admired that in anyone. “I’ve been working with horses most of my life.”

  “Well, don’t stand there with your thumb up your butt. Get to work.”

  The next thing Joseph knew, he was inside the corral working with the mustang. Though relatively new to cattle ranching, Joseph knew horses and loved the animals as he did little else. As a fatherless boy in San Francisco, he’d hired out as a stable boy at liveries until Ace had mastered the fine art of gambling and started to rake in winnings. After seeing to his family’s comfort, Ace had begun spending a portion of his winnings on horses, one of his stepfather’s greatest passions. As a result, Joseph had finished out his childhood like a proper young Virginian, working with the animals when he didn’t have his nose in a schoolbook.

  The first order of business was to get the mustang to stand, and that was tricky business. Never striking the horse, Joseph swung the lariat much as his predecessor had, only with precision, technique, and a purpose in mind, namely to shrink the equine’s radius of movement until standing was the only option left to it. An hour of hard work for both him and the animal ensued.

  “That’s enough for today,” he informed Amanda Hollister as he swung a leg over a rail to exit the corral. “He’s exhausted.”

  Back in her chair, Amanda inclined her head at the mustang. “Exhausted, yes, but not terrified. He’s beginning to understand what you’re asking of him.” She turned amazingly clear and beautiful blue eyes on Joseph. “You’re very good, young man. What’s your price?”

  Joseph dusted his Stetson on his pant leg, resettled the hat on his head, and said, “I’m not for hire, ma’am.”

  “There isn’t a man here who holds a candle to you.”

  Joseph glanced at a nearby holding corral, milling with range-wild mustangs. “Wish I were available. I’d enjoy the challenge. But I have a spread and my own horses to train.”

  Her eyes sharpened with interest. “Where’s your place?”

  “Due north of the Circle Star.”

  “Nice property,” she said. “You’ll do well there if you put enough sweat into it.”

  Joseph nodded. She was familiar with the land, certainly. The Hollister place adjoined it to the north. “Sweat’s cheap.”

  Her brilliant gaze came to rest on David’s badge. “Marshal,” she said by way of greeting as she thrust out a gnarled hand. “Dare I hope that this is a social call?”

  David stepped forward to shake her hand. “I’d just like to talk with you for a bit if you can spare me some time.”

  “Time is a commodity in short supply around here, but I can spare you some.” She smiled at Joseph. “One good turn deserves another. Maybe these yahoos learned something. I know the horse did. Please, come to the house. I’ll put some coffee on and scrounge up some cookies.”

  She struggled to move her chair over the uneven ground, her trembling, arthritic hands barely able to grasp the wheels. Joseph grabbed the push handles. With a thrust of a leg, he got the chair out of a rut and soon had his passenger bumping along toward the house. Her voice shook as she talked. He wasn’t sure if that was due to the rough ride or the palsy.

  “I never got your names,” she said. “Forgive my manners. You caught me at a bad moment.”

  “David Paxton.”

  She nodded and glanced around at Joseph. “And you, sir?”

  “Joseph Paxton. We’re brothers.”

  “I’m assuming that you know my name, or else you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” David replied.

  “Well, it’s pleased I am to make your acquaintance.” She settled in the chair. “So, Joseph Paxton, how many acres do you have?”

  “Twelve eighty.”

  “Ah, two full sections. That’s a great start. I only have one sixty here, but with the open range, I manage to keep the wolves from my door.” She sighed and smiled. “As time wears on, you may be able to pick up more property, Joseph. In this country, you can eke out a living on two sections, but to do really well, you’ll need a larger spread.” She waved a blue-veined hand. “No worries. For every enterprising man, there’s a lazy one, and lazy men can’t make it in this country. It’s a harsh environment and demands hard work.”

  Joseph’s favorable first impression of this woman hadn’t changed. He couldn’t help but like her. He found himself wishing that he’d met her under other circumstances, that instead of asking her about the Hollister shootings and the attack on Darby yesterday, he could pick her brain about cattle ranching. He sensed that she had more knowledge in her little finger than he had in his whole body.

  By the time she’d served them coffee, the three of them had moved past the awkward stage. Amanda settled back in her chair, gave David a questioning look, and said, “Well, young man, it’s time to state your business. What can I help you with?”

  David sat forward on the red leather sofa, propped his elbows on his knees, and steepled his fingers. “Have you heard about the shooting yesterday?”

  “Shooting?” Amanda glanced at Joseph. “No, I can’t say as I have. Did one of my boys cause trouble in town last night?”

  “No, ma’am,” David replied. “Darby McClintoch was tracking down a stray heifer yesterday afternoon. He was at the north end of the Hollister ranch, between the rock promontory and the creek. Someone up in those rocks shot him in the back.”

  Amanda’s face went ghastly white, and for a moment Joseph feared that the old lady might faint. Instead, she straightened her shoulders, raised her chin, and only closed her eyes briefl
y. “Darby,” she said softly. Her lashes fluttered back up. “He’s dead . . . ?”

  “No, no, he’s not dead,” David rushed to clarify. “Not yet, at any rate. Doc patched him up and thinks he stands a fine chance of pulling through.”

  “Praise the Lord.” Amanda passed a trembling hand over her eyes. “Darby and I go a long way back. He came to work for my father down south when I was just a girl. I hope he makes it. The world will be a poorer place without him.”

  David nodded. “He’s a fine man. The problem is, Darby has no idea who shot him.”

  Amanda’s gaze sharpened. “And you think I do.”

  It wasn’t a question, and her eyes suddenly became guarded.

  “I’m hoping you can give me some leads,” David clarified. “It happened in almost exactly the same place where Henry and his family were attacked. Darby is convinced the two incidents are somehow connected.”

  “And since I was the prime suspect five years ago, you’re back to pester me with questions again.”

  David held up his hands. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything, Miss Hollister. Just to see if you can tell me anything. Do you think Darby’s right? Could there be a connection? And if so, do you have any idea who hated Henry enough to kill him?”

  Amanda leaned forward on her chair to pick up her half-filled coffee cup. Her hands shook so badly that she almost slopped liquid over the brim before she could take a sip. “If I had any idea, do you truly believe I would have kept it to myself these last five years?” Her blue eyes fairly snapped with outrage as she returned the cup to its saucer with a clatter and clack. “I had problems with my nephew. Everyone in this valley knows that. But my problems ended with him. His wife, Marie, was a lovely person, like a daughter to me, and I loved those children like my own, Rachel especially. If I knew who opened fire on them, I’d hunt him down myself.”

  Joseph searched Amanda Hollister’s face for any sign of artifice and found none. She had loved Marie Hollister and the children. There was no doubt in his mind about that.

  “I totally agree that it was a heinous crime,” David said. “And, please, don’t take offense. I’m just trying to do my job. Someone shot Darby in the back. I have to find out who.”

  “So you start with the person who stood to gain the most by Henry Hollister’s death?” Amanda rolled her chair back and wheeled it away from the library table where she’d set out the coffee and cookies. “Good day, gentlemen. You know the way out.”

  David shot to his feet. “Miss Hollister, please wait!”

  “For further insult?” She struggled to turn the chair. “There isn’t a piece of land on earth worth spilling blood over, marshal. Now, please, get out. You’re no longer welcome under my roof.”

  Chapter Seven

  During the return ride to No Name, Joseph and David went back over their conversation with Amanda Hollister. David was of the opinion that her abrupt departure from the sitting room had been unduly defensive. Joseph’s impression had been just the opposite, that Amanda Hollister was a fine woman who had been deeply offended by the implication that she might have killed members of her own family over a piece of land.

  “Think about it,” Joseph challenged. “She can’t take a swallow of coffee without damned near scalding herself. How the hell could she have aimed a rifle at Darby yesterday and hit him in the back?”

  “Maybe she hired somebody to do it.”

  “When it comes to killing, a smart person does it himself,” Joseph argued. “Too much risk of being found out, otherwise.”

  “Maybe she’s faking the palsy.”

  Joseph didn’t think so, but he had to concede the point. “Maybe.” He thought of Pritchard with his greasy hair and filthy body, a snake if ever he’d met one. “My money’s still on Jeb, though.”

  It was David’s turn to make a concession. “He’s definitely capable of murder, no question there.” He slumped in the saddle with a weary, frustrated sigh. “I guess from here on in, it’s a waiting game. We’ve shaken things up. Now we’ll see what falls out.”

  Joseph drew his watch from his pocket. It was going on four o’clock. “I need to get cooking. Ace has been at Rachel’s place for over four hours.”

  “You heading straight there?”

  Joseph clicked his tongue to quicken Obie’s pace. “I have some things to take care of in town first, and then I need to swing by home to see how Johnny and Bart have been fairing, running the ranch without me.”

  “Isn’t Esa overseeing things?”

  Esa normally worked full-time as a hired hand at Ace’s place and knew as much about ranching as Joseph did. “He’s getting Bart and Johnny lined out each morning and trying to monitor their work. But taking care of Darby keeps him in the house most of the day. Can’t hurt for Bart and Johnny to know that I’m still keeping on top of things. Johnny is on the lazy side. If there’s an easy way to do a job, he’ll find it. And Bart is too mild-natured to say much if the quality of Johnny’s work falls off.”

  David shook his head. “Used to be that a man took pride in a job well done.”

  Joseph grinned. “Only when the boss is around. That being the case, I want to drop in on them as often as I can to keep them on their toes. I also need to check on Darby and pick up some stuff.”

  An hour and a half later, Joseph dismounted in front of Rachel Hollister’s barn and led Obie into his stall. After rubbing the stallion down, he forked some hay into the enclosure, filled the trough with fresh water, and then measured out a portion of grain before turning his attention to the evening chores. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the horses had been brought in from the paddock and fed, the two cows were already in their stalls and had been milked, the sow was still standing in the trough, finishing her evening meal, and someone had recently scattered millet and cracked corn for the chickens. Ace. A fond smile touched Joseph’s lips.

  Shakespeare, Ace’s black stallion, and two workhorses from the Paradise had been staked out to graze near the oak in Rachel’s backyard. Joseph was puzzled by the presence of the two extra equines until he saw the buckboard parked at one side the house. Caitlin. She very seldom argued with her husband, but she had this morning, about coming to see Rachel. When Joseph had left, Ace was laying down the law, forbidding his wife from risking her safety by entering a house where a crazy woman might open fire on her with both barrels of a shotgun. Evidently Caitlin had taken the bit in her teeth, driven over here in the wagon, and somehow convinced Ace to let her go inside.

  The thought made Joseph smile. There wasn’t a man alive who could push Ace Keegan around, but one small redhead with pleading blue eyes got the better of him every time. Ace seemed content and happy. That was all that truly mattered, Joseph guessed. He was glad for his brother and equally pleased for Caitlin. With Conor O’Shannessy as her sire, she’d had a horrible childhood and an even worse girlhood. It was high time she got to have her way the majority of the time and had a man who loved and cherished her as she deserved to be.

  As Joseph climbed through the bedroom window, he heard voices coming from the rear of the house. Curious, he made his way up the hallway. As he drew near the dining room, delicious smells made his mouth water. Fried chicken? It was one of his favorites.

  Ace sat at the dining room table, a plateful of food in front of him. He grinned and saluted Joseph with a half-eaten drumstick. Joseph was about to say hello when a burst of feminine laughter came from the kitchen. Amazed, he went to the barricade, bent his head, and peered inside.

  Rachel’s tidy world had been turned topsy-turvy. Little Ace was playing with an array of store-bought canned food, Van Camp’s pork and beans, Campbell’s soup, and some other stuff Joseph couldn’t identify, the cans scattered around him helter-skelter. Behind him, an array of pots and pans littered the floor, with Buddy and Cleveland taking a snooze amid the debris. Caitlin and Rachel sat at the table having supper, but it looked as if they were doing more talking and laughing than eating.


  “Well, I’ll be. Is this an invitation-only party?”

  “Joseph!” Rosy cheeked, her red hair attractively mussed, Caitlin sprang up from her chair. “You’re late for supper. We didn’t expect you to be gone so long.”

  Rachel came up from her seat more slowly and blushed when she met Joseph’s gaze. “Caitlin came to call,” she said, fluttering a hand at the mess around her. “We’ve had a lovely visit.”

  “I can see that.” And Joseph truly could. Despite the blue shadows of fatigue under Rachel’s eyes, she beamed with happiness. It made him feel good to know that he’d played a small part in making that happen by encouraging Caitlin to come calling. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

  “How is Darby?” she asked anxiously, her heart shining in her eyes.

  Joseph chose not to tell her that the old foreman was running a slight fever. Doc had stopped by to check on his patient, and although he’d been concerned that the fever might worsen, he’d also stressed that it was to be expected. When a bullet invaded the body, it carried with it germs, and a fever indicated that the body was fighting off infection.

  “He’s doing as well as can be expected,” Joseph settled for saying. “Esa made him some beef broth, and he kept that down. Doc stopped by and said the wound looks good. Darby’s not quite ready to dance a jig yet, but I think he’s on the mend.”

  Little Ace registered Joseph’s voice just then and scrambled to his feet. Chubby legs scissoring, he came running toward the barricade, tripped over a can of pork and beans, and did a face-plant on the floor. Shrieks of distress ensued. Rachel reached the child first, Caitlin not far behind her.

  “Oh, no, Ace, he’s really hurt!” Caitlin cried. “He’s bleeding. I think a tooth went through his lip.”

  Ace abandoned his meal to bolt toward the hole in the doorway. Such was Ace’s momentum that Joseph feared his brother might plow right through the boards. Fortunately, Ace caught himself short, grasped the jagged edges of wood, and thrust his head through the hole. Peering over his shoulder, Joseph saw Rachel hand the screaming child off to Caitlin and rush to a kitchen drawer. A second later, she plucked out an ice pick and scurried to the icebox.