Geoff did as he was bade, closing the door, and then immediately wished he'd left it open. There was a damp, smoky, rancid smell inside the tiny dwelling. The walls were crumbling, the floor was a mixture of dust and mud, and the furnishings were pitiful. Next to the hay-burning stove stood a pale, thin woman with huge blue eyes and flaxen hair braided neatly into a crown atop her head. She was stirring something in a pot. When Geoff nodded to her, she dropped her eyes but managed a smile.
"How do you do, madame," he said, hoping she hadn't seen his expression of disgust, and introduced himself once more.
"This here's my wife, Vivian," Bart put in as he pulled on his dirty coat. "I guess you could call her a mail-order bride."
"Indeed!" Geoff affected cheerful interest at this news, when in truth he was shocked. Why would a passably pretty young girl marry a cranky old geezer who offered her a home that was no better than a squalid hut? "And where do you come from, Mrs. Croll?"
"St. Louis," she replied softly. "My parents were killed at Christmas in a fire, and I had no one... until Mr. Croll offered me marriage."
Against his will, Geoff's eyes wandered to the narrow bed against one dank, sod wall. Neatly covered with a hand-stitched quilt, the bed was barely wide enough for one person, yet there were two meager pillows. It was almost enough to make him sick.
"Let's go," Bart said, draining his tin cup of coffee and heading out the door without a word of good-bye to his young wife.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Croll," said Geoff.
"Likewise, Mr. Weston. I do hope you'll come back, and bring your wife if you have one!" There was a note of urgency in her voice, and her eyes were bright with pain.
Outside, when the two men were on horseback, Croll came alongside Geoff's buckskin and barked, "Stay away from my wife, you smooth-talkin' limey! She don't need yer sympathy!"
"I can assure you that my only intention was to be polite," Geoff replied coolly.
They followed the fence lines together for a bit, while Geoff chatted as amiably as he could about his new life. They traded horror stories about the recent blizzard, and he asked Croll's advice regarding the Sunshine Ranch's first roundup, only a week away. How many extra men might he need? He tried to think of other meaningless questions that would make the old man think that Geoff was too much a novice to suspect him of keeping any of their cattle that might have wandered onto his property during the storm.
Bart Croll waxed nostalgic about the old days on the range, before barbed wire, when cowboys knew no boundaries and slept under the stars with only a blanket.
Finally, sensing that he was sufficiently softened up, Geoff said, "Well... I won't take any more of your time, sir, but—I don't suppose that, by chance, you might have seen a half-dozen or so Hereford cattle on your land—unbranded?"
Rolling a cigarette, Bart narrowed his eyes at Geoff. "What're you gettin' at, mister?"
"Since the storm, we are missing eight head of cattle. The ranch is new, they haven't been branded yet, and it occurred to me that they might have wandered over here—and that you might not have noticed they weren't carrying your brand." He smiled. "Perhaps you'll let us know if you happen to come across them."
"Why wouldn't I?" Bart growled.
"Why not indeed?" Geoff was just about to bid the old grouch good day and ride away when he noticed Croll squinting toward some cattle herded together farther north along the fence. Shading his eyes, Geoff saw that there was a horse in the midst of the cattle—a pinto pony that he recognized all too readily. Its petite rider had dismounted and appeared to be hiding among the animals, but clearly there was one pair of legs that were human.
"What the hell's goin' on over there?" Bart Croll snarled, dragging on his cigarette. "I don't take kindly to rustlers, 'specially ones who come on my land in broad daylight!" He began loading his rifle.
Geoff didn't see that he had a choice. Sighing, he confessed, "Mr. Croll, I know that this will seem suspicious to you, but I think that horse belongs to the Matthews girl, Shelby. She's a scamp and I would venture a guess that she was bored this morning and decided to follow me over here. I'm certain she's only having a bit of fun. No harm intended!"
As the two men approached the cattle, Shelby climbed back onto Gadabout's back and waved, smiling brightly. "Good morning! Are you wondering what I'm doing in the middle of a lot of cows?" She guided the pinto out into the open and gave Geoff a winning smile. "Don't be angry with me, Mr. Weston! It was just a game, to see if you wouldn't notice me!"
"I don't take kindly to folks playin' games on my property!" Bart Croll put in. "If it'd been upta me, I'd've shot first and asked questions later! Remember that next time, missy!" He glared at Geoff. "Take her home. I gotta get to work; ain't got no more time for you crazies."
Watching them leave, his dark eyes burned like coals.
* * *
Too angry to speak to Shelby until their own house was in sight, Geoff finally slowed Charlie and allowed her smaller pony to catch up.
"Good grief!" she cried breathlessly, when they were nearly even. "I've been chasing you for miles!"
Having eased Charlie into a brisk canter, he glanced down at her with an expression of dark fury. "I could wring your neck! You are the most foolhardy, contrary—"
"For a titled gentleman, you sure are free and easy with the double-barreled insults!" Shelby protested. "Didn't you learn manners from all your governesses and private schools?"
"My manners are not the issue!" His jaw clenched as he tried to reel in his temper. "Your madcap behavior is. Don't you realize that you could have been killed back there? I didn't even know you were on that ranch, sneaking around, until Bart Croll saw you himself! He would have shot you, for God's sake, if I hadn't intervened!"
"Could, would, might! I'd rather talk about what is!" She reached over and caught his coat sleeve. "Slow down and listen to me—this is important! Don't you see, I had to go over there this morning. I knew he'd never tell you the truth, and I was hoping that you two would stay in the house, or nearby, and talk, so that I would be free to check his cattle—"
"Well then, why didn't you tell me? I could have concocted an excuse to stall him from riding the fences!"
Shelby widened her eyes. "Why didn't I think of that? Maybe because I didn't think you'd let me! Maybe because I was afraid you'd chain me to our hitching post before you agreed to such a scheme!"
Fuming, Geoff looked away. For a person who was accustomed to feeling nothing, these forceful responses were almost more than he could endure. "If you'd just behave yourself in the first place, you'd save us all a lot of trouble...."
"But then we wouldn't know that... Bart Croll has our cattle!" Shelby stood up in the stirrups, wearing her most incandescent grin. "Oh, Geoff, I saw them with my own eyes—all eight! I'd just about given up hope, when I came to that last batch—and there they were!"
"And how can you be certain? Our animals hadn't been branded yet."
"Why, I recognized them!"
"What!" he cried in exasperation.
"It's true! He doesn't have many Herefords, especially any as fine as ours. Didn't you see how thin his cattle were? But beyond that, I was able to definitely identify nearly every one of the eight, and the others were right by their sides."
The Sunshine Ranch buildings were in sight now, and Charlie eagerly picked up his pace. Looking back over his shoulder, Geoff demanded, "Devil take it, how could you possibly make a positive identification of a steer?"
"They have faces, too, you know. Markings that set them apart! And our cattle know me." Stubbornly, she came alongside again, long enough to touch his sleeve and add, "They miss us and their home—and they made cow eyes at me!"
In spite of himself, Geoff started laughing.
* * *
After considering the situation overnight, Geoff decided to speak to the town marshal in Cody, a fellow by the name of Burns, about Bart Croll and their cattle.
He would have liked to
ride into town alone, but by now he knew better than to attempt to exclude Shelby. If he did, she'd only pop up at the worst possible moment. So, over breakfast the next morning, Geoff casually mentioned that he would visit Marshal Burns that afternoon. Would she like to come along and do some shopping at the Cody Trading Company?
Shelby felt that it was a waste of time to bring the marshal into their affairs, but refrained from arguing. After all, Geoffrey was from England, where one assumed that the justice system worked properly. Law and order in the West was another matter. But she humored him, and that strategy earned Shelby a place beside him on the buckboard at midday.
They shared a festive mood as they set out, for the weather remained splendid, the snow was nearly gone, the sunshine had helped to dry up the mud, and birds were singing as if intoxicated. Sitting next to Geoff on the buckboard's padded seat, Shelby was filled with a sweet happiness and she savored it. Spring had bounced back, its magic more potent than ever.
Even from a distance the little town of Cody seemed to be infused with all the vigor of its namesake, the celebrated Buffalo Bill. There appeared to be a lot of activity under way, as if fueled by the vitality of spring.
"As I understand it," Shelby explained, "Colonel Cody has had two primary projects in mind to get his town on its feet. First, he has been determined to build a road connecting Cody to Yellowstone National Park's eastern entrance, about fifty miles away. He sees the town as a jumping-off place for visitors to the park—"
"Quite farsighted of him," Geoff remarked as they came to the edge of Cody.
"Indeed, and I believe they expect to finish the Cody Road this summer! His second project is his grand hotel—over there...." She pointed to the corner of Fourth and Sheridan streets, where a huge sandstone building with a spacious veranda was nearly completed. The hotel already dwarfed every other structure in sight. "Colonel Cody means to name it for his daughter, Irma. I heard every room will be heated by steam and lit by gas—and Uncle Ben says it will cost nearly eighty thousand dollars when it's finished!"
Drawing gently on the reins, Geoff slowed the buckboard and stared at the magnificent two-story hotel. "I'm impressed by Cody's vision... but who will stay in all those rooms? There are only a few hundred people in this entire town. What need have they for such a huge hotel?"
Shelby laughed. "Colonel Cody doesn't think that way! I believe that, for him, the hotel is a symbol of his hopes for Cody. It's almost as if by building this he has willed prosperity for his town."
There was plenty of other news that May afternoon. Two telephone companies had been granted franchises by the town council, and now poles and wires were going up everywhere. The Cody Enterprise had just opened its offices across from Dr. Chamberlain's residence. When Geoff went in to buy a newspaper, he discovered that the telephone exchange was being set up in a little back room of the Amoretti and Parks Bank, and everyone was anxious to ring up "Central."
"I perceive that even the West isn't safe from progress," he remarked dryly as they leaned against the buckboard and scanned the newspaper together, both hungry for information. "Soon enough everyone will want a motorcar, and horses will be obsolete...."
Shelby sensed that his thoughts were elsewhere and she was about to be put off. "Will you take me with you to your meeting with Marshal Burns?"
"If it were a simply matter of principle and fairness to you, I would, certainly, but I don't think your presence would aid our cause." When Geoff pushed back his gray Stetson, a lock of hair fell across his brow. "Frankly, I think that if we're together, he'll wonder what's afoot—and I don't think he'll speak as freely. I promise to tell you everything that's said, however—and I further promise to pay for anything you want to buy at the Trading Company!"
Her eyes flashed. "Why do men believe that shopping can defuse all conflicts with women?"
Vastly amused, he turned his palms up in a gesture of mock despair. "I'll meet you at the Cody Trading Company no later than one hour from now—much sooner, I hope."
Geoff tipped his hat to her then sauntered off down Sheridan Avenue toward the marshal's office. Against her will, Shelby found herself staring at him. It was hard not to, for Geoffrey Weston was an exceptionally fine-looking man, and there was another quality about him that she couldn't describe but that multiplied his attraction.
It had to do with the way he was gradually adapting to their western ways. Shelby found that endearing—the sight of him from behind, walking more like a ranch hand than a nobleman. And she loved the gleam in his soft brown eyes, the curve of his cheekbones, and the way he was laughing more, and getting tanned and hard in the western sunshine.
His shoulders were straight and wide, heart-meltingly appealing in the flannel shirt he wore. His hips were lean, and the muscles in his thighs were long, shaped by a different sort of horseback riding than they did in the West, Shelby suspected. Sometimes, she imagined Geoff in proper riding attire, sailing over a hedge or a stream during a fox hunt.
But for now, he was here with her in Cody, Wyoming. Shelby scolded her heart to be still as Geoff disappeared into the new jail where Marshal Burns had his office.
Did he really expect her to go shopping at a time like this?
Biting her lip, she contemplated the Cody Trading Company, then set off in the opposite direction. There was more than one way to skin a cat, wasn't there? Surely the marshal's office had windows, and surely they'd be open on a beautiful day like this!
Why should Geoff care if she just listened—as long as no one knew she was there?
Chapter 8
"I remember you," said the old man sitting at the roll top desk inside Marshal Burns's office. His bald pate was sunburned, and his large stomach and bulbous nose betrayed his affection for strong spirits. "I was at Purcell's Saloon the day you come to town and won the Sunshine Ranch."
"I see." Geoff wasn't sure whether this fellow was Burns or not. He didn't wear a badge. "Well, everything has worked out quite agreeably between the Avery-Matthews family and myself. We've developed a good partnership." He extended his hand. "My name, incidentally, is Geoffrey Weston. It's a pleasure to meet you...."
"I'm jest the deputy." He pretended not to notice Geoff's hand as he shuffled papers on the desk and aimed a stream of tobacco juice toward a battered spittoon. "You kin call me Ted."
"Ah, rather like your President Roosevelt!" Geoff rejoined, hoping to coax a smile from the fellow.
"Uh-huh." He found a match on the cluttered desktop and began to pick his teeth. " 'Spose you're lookin' for Marshal Burns..."
"Yes."
"He's out collectin' fines, and buryin' a dog, I think. He gets an extra dollar for every dog he buries."
"Very interesting." Unwilling to pursue that subject, Geoff glanced at the oversized clock ticking on the wall. "Given the distance I have to travel to town, I'd rather not make two trips. Perhaps I could explain my problem to you, Deputy Ted, and you could then tell Marshal Burns."
"Mebbe."
At times like these, his restrained British upbringing served him well. He drew up a chair next to Ted's and said, "You see, during last week's blizzard, we lost eight cattle that had not yet been branded. Our ranch hasn't had its first roundup, and although we had finished the fences, a tree fell on one section, and it seems that these cattle must have slipped out during the storm."
"That was mighty careless of you folks."
"Actually, we did everything possible to make certain that the cattle got back to the corral—short of losing our lives. But when a count was made the next day, we were eight short."
"You makin' an accusation, mister?"
"Shelby Matthews and I have reason to believe that our cattle are now on the Bar B Ranch, which adjoins our property to the south. I asked Bart Croll about it, and he assured me that he hadn't seen our animals, but Miss Matthews identified them among his steers."
Deputy Ted fixed Geoff with a watery eye. "Oh, yeah? How'd she do that when they ain't been branded yet?"
"She... recognized them. Unique markings." He shrugged. "You know how women are. They remember the most amazing details."
A loud crashing sound interrupted their conversation.
Determining that it had come from the alleyway next to the jail, the deputy heaved himself out of the chair. "Geez-us! Sounds like our bank robber from Sheridan's tryin' to escape!"
Pure instinct made the fine hairs on the back of Geoff's neck stand up. "Let me check for you, sir. It might be a cat in someone's garbage." Before the fat old man could move, Geoff was out the front door. He caught up to Shelby with just a few long strides, grabbed the collar of her flannel-lined jacket and pinned her against the jail's brick wall. "I knew it! This time I really am going to thrash you! I suggest that you run for your life!"
"But you mustn't tell him anything else, Geoff!" she whispered excitedly, not frightened a bit by his threats. "Ted is Bart Croll's cousin! I've seen them together more times than I can count! I completely forgot that Marshal Burns had hired him."
Geoff's eyes changed as he took this in. "All right, I'll take care of it, then, and you make haste to the Cody Trading Company. I'll see you there momentarily."
She went tearing down the muddy alley, her coppery braid flying behind her, and Geoff had a funny sensation of warmth in his chest as he watched her. It went away, though, when he thought about Deputy Ted. Grimly, he went back inside and found the old geezer sneaking a swig of whiskey from a bottle in the desk drawer.
"Was it a cat?" he asked as he licked his lips.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, I believe so. It knocked a crate over."
"Oh." He yawned. "Well, nothin' left for you and me to talk about, Weston. I kin tell you that Bart Croll is as honest as the day is long. Prob'ly the finest, most upstanding citizen in the Bighorn Basin, an' you're mighty lucky to have him for a neighbor. Helluva man."
"I see." Geoff nodded slowly. "And the cattle...?"
"Like you said yourself—we know how women are. And everybody knows Shelby Matthews is crazy as a bedbug." Ted tapped the side of his head with a stubby finger. "I wouldn't waste my time worryin' about this if I were you, Weston. Folks lose cattle from time to time out here. Plenty of bad luck to go around fer everyone."
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