Texas Lonesome

by Caroline Fyffe

  Winston glared.

  “If you remember, John and I busted up a restaurant in San Antonio on the night of his wedding. We both apologized and paid restitution. Halford did mention—”

  “I knew it!” Winston shook his head vehemently. “So, this debacle does come down to your temper—again. You’ll never learn, will you? And don’t you dare lay any of that blame at John’s door. It was his wedding night. I’m sure he wasn’t out looking for a fight!”

  His mother appeared from the hallway. “What in heavens is going on out here, Winston?” she asked, cinching the tie of her robe around her middle.

  Her concerned gaze searched the room, and when she spotted him and Chaim, safely back from their trip to San Antonio, she smiled briefly before looking again at him. Her long hair fell freely around her shoulders, and thick socks covered her feet.

  She hurried over to Chaim, pulled him down to kiss his cheek, and then did the same with him. Becky and Madeline shuffled into the room, their sleep-filled gazes wide with anxiety.

  “Welcome home, boys,” his mother added, her brows pulled together in worry. A look Dustin knew well passed over her face. “Well? Has something happened?”

  Something had happened, all right. And she was about to knock on their ranch house door at any moment.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The buggy rounded a bend in the road and the Rim Rock Ranch came into view. The name of that ranch was burned into Sidney’s heart. Even in the moonlight, the grandeur of the place was easy to see. So splendid, so rich—so prosperous. Several windows glowed from a light within.

  Nerves tickled deep inside her stomach. Would Dustin be there? Would Mr. McCutcheon? Where was Noah, and was he safe? Could she dare hope they’d all gone to bed, and only the maid would be waiting, as Dustin had alluded to? Facing Winston McCutcheon tomorrow morning sounded so much better than facing him now.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered under her breath, knowing the words she spoke came straight from the same angry heart that cursed the day Winston McCutcheon had been born.

  The sprawling ranch house had white adobe walls, large glass windows, and an array of flowering potted plants she knew would be even more gorgeous in the light of day. Her stomach muscles bunched. Their ranch back in Santa Fe was beautiful in its own right, as well. But her home wasn’t nearly as large, and the place didn’t speak to the soul as this ranch seemed to be doing to hers.

  She pushed away her envy. This wasn’t about their success, but the way their riches were won at the expense of her father. Winston McCutcheon was to blame for her father’s scars, inside and out. Jock Calhoun had been left with a limp, a twisted spine, and half an ear gone. And those were only the outside scars. Inside, he was much worse. He still functioned on the ranch, to a point. Not a second went by that Sidney didn’t see the scorn he held for Dustin’s father burning deep inside. She couldn’t blame him one bit.

  People around here might think Winston innocent, but she knew better. And so did Noah. As much as she was hardened to the McCutcheons, she prayed her younger brother wouldn’t do anything foolish during his sentence here. Something that would really land him in trouble. She wondered where he was. In the house? Certainly not.

  “Whoa, Chester,” Cradle crooned softly to his gelding. “Here we are.”

  He hopped out of the buggy and hurried around to her side, offering her—a woman dressed in dust-covered pants, a shirt smelling like horse, and a sweat-stained cowboy hat—his hand.

  Feeling very small in the shadow of the large home, Sidney had to clasp her fists tightly to keep Cradle from seeing them shake. Why hadn’t she listened to Dustin and rode in with the men, with Noah? The confrontation would be over, and she would have had Dustin at her side. What if Winston was the only one awake? She’d go toe-to-toe with him, but she wouldn’t like it. She had no other option but to knock on the front door and see who was there.

  She glanced at Cradle, thankful for his presence and friendship.

  “Don’t be scared, Miss Calhoun. No one will bite your head off, despite what you may think. The McCutcheons are a fine family. If I know Winston and Winnie, which I do very well, they’ll welcome you with open arms, despite your last name.”

  They walked up to the front door that must have been over nine feet tall. Cradle picked up the cactus-shaped iron knocker and gave it a gentle rap-rap-rap. He turned and smiled.

  Sidney breathed in deeply, trying to fortify her nerves.

  As if he’d been waiting by the door, an imposing man appeared at the instant the barrier opened. He was every bit as tall as Dustin, and looked every bit as strong. Gray streaks lightened his thick chestnut-colored hair. Lines born of hard work, responsibility, and heartache, she was sure, fanned out from his dark brown eyes. His firm expression held parts of Dustin and Chaim.

  Winston McCutcheon in the flesh!

  Too late! Too late to explain that Noah’s older sister was traveling with him to make sure they treated her brother fairly.

  Dustin stood behind his father, his nerves pinging from tension. Who knew Cradle would get out here so quickly?

  After the first heated exchange with his pa where the news about Noah rattled him more than Dustin had ever seen, he’d hoped the livery owner would take his time arriving at the ranch. If he had, maybe his pa would have been in bed before Sidney came through the door.

  Not so.

  Several uncomfortable seconds dragged out. His pa stood there for a moment before glancing back at him, his eyes filled with questions. Sidney’s back was so straight, they could have used her as a level. His pa was a smart man. He’d already put two and two together.

  “Please, come in,” Winston said, his deep, commanding voice filling the room. He looked from Sidney to Hupton. “Cradle. Miss Calhoun, isn’t it? Don’t stand out there on the doorstep.”

  A surprised murmur sounded from his sisters, and his mother joined Winston at the door.

  Despite her bravado, Dustin knew Sidney must be frightened, facing down her father’s adversary with nothing more than her tongue, sweat-covered clothes, and a pound of trail dust. She’d never say so, of course, but she didn’t have to.

  Dustin’s conflicting emotions tied his tongue for a moment, but he felt Chaim’s support at his shoulder. Could he himself handle this situation as gracefully as his father was doing, after all the years of heartache and anger Sidney’s father had caused this family? Hearing her knock, Dustin had wanted to answer the door himself, but Pa had halted him in his tracks with only a look. Had Sidney heard the angry exchange only moments before?

  The gun! He’d forgotten about her .45 Colt still strapped to her thigh. No crazy possibility existed that she’d use the weapon on his father, was there?

  As Sidney stepped through the door as regal as a queen, Cradle waved a greeting to the family and stepped back.

  “The hour’s late. I best get back to town.”

  Quickly, Sidney turned. “Thank you so much, Mr. Hupton. I appreciate the ride a great deal. Your chivalry speaks volumes.”

  Several moments of silence encompassed the room after Cradle closed the door on his way out, and everyone digested the awkward turn of events.

  “Dustin and Chaim have told me of your brother’s situation in San Antonio. How he landed in jail,” his pa said, going straight to the heart of the matter. “And how Judge Halford took liberties in designating Dustin as his guardian.”

  Even though the muscle in his father’s jaw clenched several times, Dustin was amazed at his civil tone and stoic countenance. A gentleman through and through. Pride for the man who had raised him filled Dustin’s chest.

  “I can assure you,” Sidney replied, looking Winston in the eye, and then toward the others, “Noah is innocent of the charges. He told me so himself. He didn’t break up the Morning Star Saloon. The regulars just wanted someone to blame so they wouldn’t have to pay for damages. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing more.” Her gaze traveled the room.
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  Despite her upward-tipped chin and the obstinate set to her mouth, Dustin knew she must be exhausted. It was late, already ten minutes past two. The memory of her clinging to his back behind his saddle as she peppered the outlaws with bullets, all without a moment of protest or fear, brought a squeezing to his throat. Who knew? Maybe he owed her his life.

  “We’re not any happier with this arrangement than you are,” Sidney said. “Rio Wells is the last place we want to be. And especially on the Rim Rock Ranch.”

  Dustin wished she’d gentle her tone, at least a little. His father had done so for her.

  Her gaze, although appearing arrogant, was shadowed with vulnerability as it skimmed over him once more, as if he were no more important than a cow patty left in the field to dry.

  “If I hadn’t lost my horse and saddlebags in a gunfight your sons assured me wouldn’t happen, I’d still have the ability to stay in the hotel tonight. I’m sorry to impose.” Her voice wobbled when her gaze touched his mother’s face.

  “Dustin!” his mother said, her tone rebuking him.

  “I offered her money, Mother, but she wouldn’t take it.”

  Please don’t mention not accepting charity from a McCutcheon. Not tonight. Not now.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll send a telegram home,” Sidney went on, thankfully skipping over that bone of contention. “My family will send funds.”

  Dustin didn’t know how much more his father could take, although it seemed as if she were steering away from the topic of her father on purpose. He appreciated that, at least.

  “Surely, the hotel will give me credit until then.”

  Her regard kept returning to his mother and sisters. Something there, in the back of her eyes, made Dustin’s heart beat a little quicker. A defenselessness of sorts. Like a baby bunny searching for its mother in a den of wolves.

  Winston tented a thick brow. “We’ll make sure that happens. Dustin?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You really have no need to stay in the hotel, my dear,” his mother said in her warm, gentle voice. “Housing two of Jock’s children is the least we can do for an old friend. We have plenty of room and are happy to do it. Isn’t that right, Winston?”

  Several heartbeats passed before his pa nodded. “Indeed. The very least we can do.”

  If it were possible, Sidney’s back straightened even further. “You and my father are not friends.”

  “So you say.”

  “Winston, Miss Calhoun is tired.” His mother looked around for Maria, who had come into the room a few minutes earlier, rumpled from sleep with a lantern in her hands. “I’m sure the ride from San Antonio was long and dirty, as well as exhausting. Let Miss Calhoun go to bed, and the two of you can resume this conversation in the morning.” She smiled, her eyes lighting in invitation. “If you choose to. You’ll be fresher then and have something hot in your bellies.”

  Dustin nodded. “That’s a good idea, Mother.”

  She turned to the maid. “Maria, will you see to the lavender room and make sure everything is in order? Turn down the coverlet, and warm a pot of water so Miss Calhoun can clean away the trail dust before slipping into bed. I’m sure she’ll feel much better when she’s bathed.”

  If I’d said that, Sidney would have my head on a platter.

  The tightness of his pa’s jaw was so imperceptible, Dustin was sure everyone had missed it except him.

  “You’re right, Winnie,” Winston replied, slipping his arm around her back and pulling her close. “Whether Jock and I are friends is of no never mind to anyone at two o’clock in the morning. Good night, everyone.” His tone put an end to the discussion. “Miss Calhoun.”

  Looking a bit confused, Sidney widened her eyes when his mother approached and gently took her arm.

  “Come along, dear. There’s a bed waiting just for you. And I’m sure between Madeline and Becky, we can find something for you to wear. In the morning, when you’re rested, we’ll all get better acquainted.”

  Sidney’s gaze flicked over to Dustin with a look that was so quick, he wondered if he’d imagined it. He was sure he saw wonder in her eyes, as well as uncertainty. Thoughts of her behind his saddle, her arms gripped around his waist, made him swallow.

  Good night, Sidney Calhoun, he thought as his mother and sister led her down the hall. Rest well. Tomorrow should prove interesting.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Somewhere a rooster crowed, and Noah opened his eyes. He hadn’t been asleep but lying on his cot, listening to the cowhands already up and moving about in the large common area of the bunkhouse on the other side of his door. He’d lain awake the entire night, wondering what he should do about the cockamamie situation he’d landed himself in. Under Dustin McCutcheon’s thumb, and living on the McCutcheon ranch.

  The trip to San Antonio had sounded good at the time his friend Harry Brennon suggested it. Blow off a little steam before earnestly launching into his studies. Reading, comprehension, and retention were easy for Noah; he took half the time to do what others did all year. He didn’t study for tests and still earned top marks.

  Harry was the opposite of Noah. His bulky friend avoided his academics like the plague; he struggled with every subject. He also liked trouble. He’d been the one who insulted several rabble-rousers full of whiskey, starting the fight in San Antonio. Noah hadn’t lied to the judge, but he’d just left out the part about Harry. Now he was the one made to work off months of recompense.

  Noah wondered where his friend was now. He hadn’t seen Harry since the saloon fight when the sheriff was slapping a pair of cuffs on Noah’s wrists.

  He locked his fingers behind his head and stared at a knothole in the ceiling. What was so all-fired important about him going to college anyway? No one in his family had gone before, and the reason certainly wasn’t for the engineering degree he was working toward.

  Jock Jr. had heard St. John’s had adopted compulsory military training into their program. How convenient. His brother didn’t think him tough enough, man enough, or gutsy enough to ranch with the rest of them. Even without asking Noah, the decision had been made.

  So what? He’d comply. Then when he was finished, he’d make a life of his own, somewhere off the ranch.

  Sidney was his main concern. He’d get through the days, do whatever McCutcheon wanted, even if eating crow was involved. Wouldn’t make much never mind to him at all, but not so for his sister. She’d practically raised him, and her being here in Rio Wells hampered her chances of finding a suitable husband in Santa Fe.

  Each time she traipsed after him, her reputation as a hellion grew. A few of the women in town had begun to give her the cold shoulder. Twenty-four and unmarried. That status didn’t seem to bother her at all, but the rest of the family never seemed to forget. Pa especially wouldn’t be happy with the news. And Jock Jr.? Noah didn’t even want to think about his reaction.

  With eyes gritty from the lack of sleep, Noah glanced at the tempting window above his head. He could be out and on his horse in five minutes, assuming he could find the animal without raising suspicions. He’d not steal a horse from the McCutcheon ranch. They’d like nothing better than to hang him as a horse thief.

  Besides, he couldn’t leave Sidney.

  From the other room, a resounding burst of laughter filled the bunkhouse plenty loud, even with his door closed. The clink of forks against plates mixed in with the aromas of bacon, butter, and coffee made his stomach rumbled. Breakfast was well under way.

  Somebody rapped hard on his door. “If you want any eats, Calhoun, you’d better roll out of the sack. Lazybones go hungry.”

  He was at a disadvantage. They all knew him and knew his name. Certainly knew the history between the two ranches.

  Annoyed, he stood, pulled his shirt over his sweat-stained undershirt, and opened the door before the man who’d called him lazy had a chance to move away.

  “You callin’ me names?” he asked as he buttoned his shirt.

  Th
e cowboy, surely a good ten years older, smirked. “Just calling a spade a spade. We’re all finished, and you’re—”

  “Lay off, Paulson,” a skinny fellow at the stove barked. He wiped his hands down the front of his apron, then took a large spoon and scooped something from a black cast-iron skillet onto a plate. “Remember what Dustin said. We’re to give the kid a wide berth until he settles in.”

  The cook brought the plate, now heaped with food, to the table. “Here you go,” he said not kindly and not unkindly.

  While he listened to the cook, Noah took in the large square room. Ranch hands lazed around drinking coffee, already finished with their meal. Two continued to dress, three stared, some sauntered out the door. The ceiling, crisscrossed with sturdy beams, was used for hanging possessions—a heeling rope, a few hats, and several papers tacked from the top that moved when someone walked by.

  Noah stepped over to the long bench and sat himself at the table. The plate of flapjacks, eggs, and bacon looked better than gold bars in the amber light of the lantern. A bowl full of chocolate bars sat in the center of the table that had seen better days. He forked in a mouthful, chewed, and swallowed.

  The cook brought over a cup and gestured to the stove. “Help yourself to coffee, and also one of those, if you have a mind,” he said, gesturing to the candy. “Boss brought ’em all the way from San Antonio. Says there’s one for each man.”

  That doesn’t mean me.

  Wiping his mouth with the napkin next to his plate, Noah stood, stepped back over the bench, and went to the stove in the corner of the large room. He eyed the coffeepot’s wire handle, knowing it would be hot.

  Am I being set up?

  Taking a rumpled dishcloth, he folded the checkered fabric several times and used it as a hot pad. The last of the dark brew trickled into his cup and stopped halfway to the brim.

  “Guess you’ll be up a little earlier next time,” Paulson said from across the room. He chuckled, pulled on his hat, and headed for the door. “By the way, you’re riding with me today,” he said over his shoulder. “And I’m riding out in about,” he glanced at the clock over the white enamel stove, “three minutes.”