"I've heard it before," she said. Not that she liked hearing it, but she could think of far worse things.
He turned back to his brother. "Tell them to bring the actual count to me after they get some food and rest."
Jared touched the brim of his hat in the way of a salute and exited through the kitchen. The smell of bacon and biscuits baking escaped through the open door into the great room. Cynara's stomach growled.
"Hungry?" Barclay smiled.
"Apparently I am." She fumbled under the blanket, then pushed it away and brought Connor to her shoulder for burping. "But this fellow isn't, any longer."
"He doesn't act sick," Barclay said. "In fact, he seems happy."
"Babies can't tell you how they feel so it's hard to know. That's what makes it so frightening."
The baby burped.
"Here, I'll put him in bed." Barclay took the boy and tucked him in, then lifted Gage and took him to Cynara.
"Do you ever get tired of this?" he asked as she nestled the baby under the blanket.
"No." She smiled. "I don't think I could ever get tired of this. I only wish the babies were different ages so when one was weaned, I'd still have another one to nurse." What she'd never become accustomed to was having to bury babies she'd watched suckle at her breasts. Twice was enough. She couldn’t deal with that devastating loss again.
Julia stuck her head out through the swinging kitchen door. "Breakfast."
"You go ahead," Cynara told Barclay. "I have more to do here."
"Can I help?" Julia asked.
Cynara laughed. "Not unless you have milk."
"Hold it right there, Mister." Dirk held his Colt .45 steady on the rustler's back. He'd caught the thief red-handed, driving High Mountain beef across the range to the border between ranchland and free range.
The man put up his hands, reins dangling from one, a willow prod in the other. "Dirk? Is that you?"
Taken aback, Dirk hesitated then ordered the rustler to turn around.
Boots McKinney slowly turned his horse until the men faced each other on horseback.
"Boots!" Dirk felt surprise but not shock. "You're stealing High Mountain beef?"
"Why not? I only take a few head at a time. Been keeping them in our old hideout. Why don't you come in with me? I could use the help."
Dirk thought about it. He felt no particular loyalty to the Givens brothers. They'd been fair with him, but he'd taken the job for one reason—to kidnap Minnie's baby. It sure wouldn't hurt to stash away a bit more cash before he put his plan into action. "Where are you selling them?"
"When I get enough to bother with, I figure to drive them to the Indian reservation. The agent there will take whatever I bring in and keep quiet about it."
"Nice setup. How do we split it? Fifty-fifty?" Dirk asked.
"Since it was my idea, and I already have fifteen head hidden away, how about I get sixty?"
Dirk's horse shook his head trying to get rid of a pesky dragonfly. He brought the gelding back under control. "Fifty-five."
Boots scowled. "All right."
"We going to take a certain number each day or what?" Dirk asked.
Boots shook his head. "Just helping myself to a few when I find 'em off by themselves where I can easily transfer them to the hideout. If we each take two a day, it will cut down on the risk and we'll end up with a higher count in less time than I can do it by myself."
"Sounds reasonable." Dirk eyed the three steers Boots had already rounded up. "Looks like we're good for today. I'll help you get these to the canyon. Tomorrow, I'll bring in a couple more."
"Good. Come on." Boots nudged his horse to turn around and used his willow prod to get the cattle moving.
Dirk followed. "What about the Double Z herd? We taking from either one, or are you just stealing High Mountain steers?"
"I'll take them wherever I find them," Boots said with a grin. "I don't care who owns them."
"What about the brands? The Indian agent doesn’t care about that?"
"He won't see them," Boots answered. "I have a special brand that blocks out the original so no one can tell what herd they came from. I call it the No Name Brand."
"How's Connor?" asked Barclay, entering the great room by way of his office. "I saw Doc leave."
"Doc says he'll be fine." Julia folded a dress and placed it in her satchel which sat on the settee.
"Are you packing?"
"Yes, dear." His mother added her brush and comb to the bag's contents. "Doc Willoughby offered to take me home. I'll be able to attend church tomorrow this way."
Inside Barclay, disappointment vied with pleasure. He'd miss ma but he'd also have Cynara more to himself. A purely selfish thought he would never express. "What about your buggy?"
"I thought maybe one of you could come and get me in a few days for another short visit and I could take the buggy home then." Julia snapped the bag shut and set it on the floor.
"Of course. Be happy to do that, Ma."
Cynara came in carrying a cup of coffee. "All finished, Julia?"
"Yes."
A buggy pulled up outside.
"There's Doc now." Julia went to Cynara and pulled her into an embrace, not even letting her put down the coffee cup first.
"Oh, my." Cynara didn't laugh but her voice held amusement and pleasure. "Thank you, Julia, dear. I'll miss you terribly."
Stepping back, Julia smiled. "As I will you." She went to the three cradles in front of the fire. "I know you'll take good care of these little darlings until I see them again."
She glanced at her son. "I just hope they'll still be here."
"We'll see, Ma," Barclay told her. "I don't know where else they'd be. Doc says they're too fragile for traveling."
"They'll get stronger and bigger before you know it." Going to Barclay, she went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "You take care too, of Cynara and yourself. I've so enjoyed my visit."
"I'm glad, Ma. I know Cynara appreciated your help and companionship."
"Yes," Cynara said. "I certainly did. Having you here was like having the sun light up. Our talks and the time we spent together sewing and knitting have cheered me up considerably."
"That makes me feel good, dear." Julia patted the younger woman's hand. "Where are my other two sons?"
"Outside waiting by the buggy, Ma." Barclay picked up her satchel and escorted her to the door. Cynara got as far as the porch before one of the babies began to cry, then another, calling her back inside.
The voices of the Givens brothers and their mother came clearly through the window, and Cynara swallowed hard as she picked up Vella. She truly hated to see Julia go. How far she'd come since that day at the farm when she stood watching her home burn and her husband's grave being dug. Yes, a month later, she'd watched her infant daughter interred in the cemetery. In some ways that was the worst.
Yet she must have done something right to end up here with this wonderful family. She had no doubt that she would recover faster here than anywhere else.
Standing at the window with Connor, she watched as Doc's buggy carried Julia away. The brothers watched too. Then Chase broke away and headed toward the stable. Jared aimed for the bunkhouse. She held her breath, waiting to see what Barclay would do.
Just as she'd hoped, he returned to the house.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes." She realized then that she had tears at the corners of her eyes and quickly wiped them away.
"I'm glad you and Ma get on so well with each other." With his finger, Barclay wiped away a tear she'd missed. "I'm sure it made your time with her here more pleasant."
"Immensely."
Gage woke then and began hollering to be fed. Smiling, Barclay took Vella while Cynara fetched the tiny boy from his bed. While she sat on the settee, drawing the blanket over her, Barclay went to the kitchen, taking Vella with him.
Cynara drew in a long breath. It would be a quiet night at the Givens house, but that was all right
. First, there would be a boisterous supper with Jared, Chase, Barclay and Oysters. Chase would likely drag out the checkers set, and the boys would argue over whether they got red or black. Barclay would smile indulgently at his brothers and settle in a chair with a book. Cynara pondered how to spend her evening. The creek seemed to call to her. Perhaps she'd take a walk.
Two hours later, the babies fed and tucked away, Cynara let herself out of the house. Crickets sang everywhere, birds chirped goodnight songs and somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled. It seemed a lonely sound, until his pack howled back. Then the night fell silent again except for the chuckle of the stream, a horse nickering in the pasture next to the stable, and the dogs chasing a squirrel.
The water in the creek flowed high and a little wild due to rain higher up in the mountains. Cynara watched it for a long time, letting the peace and tranquility settle over her. The sun set, painted the sky and vanished, taking the lovely colors with it. Turning, she wandered downstream. A brown mottled frog hopped out in front of her and she paused to watch as it jumped into the water.
Hearing another sound not far away, she stayed still, waiting to see who it was. A boy she'd seen working around the stable marched down to the edge of the water, carrying a gunny sack. The cries of young kittens reached Cynara.
As the boy began to swing the bag, she realized his intention and broke into a run. "Don't! Please."
He turned to look at her. Too late. He'd released the bag which flew out and plunked into the water.
"No. No." Cynara never hesitated. She slipped off her shoes and waded in. The bag had landed in a deeper pool where the current grabbed and ran with it.
Desperate to reach the kittens, she went deeper and deeper until it came to her waist. The next thing she knew, the swift water swished her feet out from under her and covered her head. A moment later, she popped back up again and began to flail. The bag lay just ahead snagged on a rock and frantic mews came from inside.
"Ma'am," the stable boy called. "Ma'am, come back."
But she couldn't go back. Not only had she not rescued the kittens yet, but the current refused to release her. She did her best to dog paddle, but mostly the water tossed her about, slammed, poked and battered her.
Someone was racing along on the shore yelling to her. "Cynara! Cynara!"
Barclay. Did he know where she was? Could he see her?
A wave washed the kittens off the rock even as she reached for them, but she managed to grab hold of the sack. She tried to float on the water, lifting the bag as high as she could. Soon, she realized she couldn't do that forever. Her arms quickly tired. She had to get out.
Something large splashed beside her. Then strong arms circled her.
"Hang on," Barclay shouted in her ear. She barely heard.
Still clinging to the bag, she wrapped one arm around his neck while he towed her toward shore.
Then they were out.
Barclay hugged her tightly. "Are you all right, Cynara? How much water did you swallow?"
She hated to let go of him, but the kittens were crying. "I'm fine. Help me with the bag."
"What's in it?"
"Kittens."
"Kittens?" He took the sack from her and tore it open. "How did they get in the creek?"
"The stable boy tossed them in, and I had to get them out. It's a horrible thing to drown kittens like that." She fought to get hold of the bag again. "Get them out so we can make sure they're all right."
He laid the gunny sack on the ground and untied and widened the opening. Tiny balls of wet fur tumbled out. Cynara insisted on examining them all. Only one was unresponsive. Thanking God for saving the rest, Cynara gathered them up in her skirt and hurried toward the stable to reunite them with the mother.
"Here," Barclay said, following. "Let me have them before you trip and hurt yourself out here. You have no shoes and it's dark."
She stopped so suddenly, he slammed into her. As she started to tumble, he latched onto her arms, keeping her upright, but some of the kittens fell through a rip in her skirt.
"Get them, Barclay," she cried, breathless from her efforts. "We need to get them to their mother."
"All right."
Together they collected them and hurried to the stable. The mother cat was darting from one spot to another, searching and calling for her babies. As soon as they had the family reunited, the mother picked up one kitten after another and took them to a new bed in the straw.
Suddenly exhausted, Cynara sat on the hay-littered floor, too weary to move. Barclay sat next to her. Their eyes met and he chuckled.
At first, she was incensed that he could laugh at such a time. Then, a picture formed in her mind of all that had happened. She realized how she must look, wet and bedraggled. A giggle erupted from her.
Barclay tipped back his head and roared with laughter.
The thought of how ridiculous they must appear rolling over the floor laughing made them laugh even more.
Until Cynara found herself in his arms.
She froze.
He froze.
For a long moment they stared at each other. The world stood still. Their urge to laugh vanished. She felt confused, frightened, excited and hungry for something she had no right to take.
Barclay's head lowered toward hers. Their lips met, brushed and returned for more. Barclay's full, supple lips molded hers to suit his own and she gloried in it. Nothing else existed. Cynara's thoughts and emotions all centered on that kiss, on the feel, the taste, the implications. And she gave back full measure. Never had she experienced a kiss like this one. It lifted her to the clouds, cradled her in softness, aroused and enthralled her.
"Mr. Barclay?" the stable boy called.
Barclay broke away from her. Embarrassed, Cynara scrambled to her feet and sprinted for the house. Realizing her state suddenly, soaked and bedraggled by her dunking in the creek, she stepped behind a tree. From there she could hear Barclay ask the boy what he wanted.
"Sir, I think Miss Cynara is angry with me, and I'm worried about her. She went into the creek after some kittens. Dirk said we had way too many of them already and told me to drown them. Now, I can't find her. What should I do?" His trousers dripped water, apparently from going in after her.
"You threw the kittens in the water?" Barclay asked. So much for Dirk's honesty and respect for animals.
"Yes, sir."
"That's not how we handle such things, Roy. Kittens have as much right to live as you or me. Don't do that again."
"I didn't want to." The terror in Roy's voice caused it to quaver. "Are you gonna fire me, sir?"
Barclay didn't answer.
Behind her tree, Cynara almost cried out, No. No. She didn't want to see the boy fired. He was young and had only been following directions from an older hand.
Then Barclay said, "I'll discuss it with your father. Now get back to whatever chores you have yet to finish. Check the traps for a mouse to feed the mama cat, and from now on, you don't take orders from Dirk. You come to me if you're unsure what to do."
"Yes, sir. Thank you for not firing me right off."
Relieved, Cynara sucked in the fresh air. In that minute, her feelings for Barclay soared to new heights. He'd known nothing would be served by letting the boy go and getting him in trouble with his father.
But it was the kiss her mind couldn't let go of. He'd kissed her. She should regret having allowed it, but she couldn't. She wanted to do it again.
Chapter Twelve
"P ass the potatoes, Chase," Jared said, holding out a hand. The entire household sat at the table eating a breakfast of biscuits and gravy, fried potatoes, ham and scrambled eggs.
Barclay sat opposite Cynara, waiting for her to look at him. When she avoided meeting his gaze, his heart sank. She must regret their kiss last night in the stables. He didn't, not by a long shot. He'd lain awake half the night savoring the memory, the feel and taste of her, the small animal sounds that emitted from her throat. She could deny
it to herself, but not to Barclay—she'd enjoyed it as much as he did.
Chase passed the potatoes.
The second she finished her meal Cynara carried her dishes to the sink and rinsed them off. Then she left the room. For the first time, she didn't sit on the settee to nurse the babies. She took them into the sewing room. The temptation to invade her privacy niggled at Barclay the rest of the morning, but he respected her wishes.
The rest of the ranch hands who'd been out counting cattle for the past week, trickled in. The only ones who didn't report a shortage were those whose territory sat the farthest from the Double Z.
There could be no doubt. They had a rustler raiding the High Mountain Ranch. One that might well work for the Double Z.
Barclay considered going to see Beau Hodson to ask if he'd found any cattle missing but couldn't bear the idea of seeing either Beau or Annabelle.
"Why don't I go?" Jared suggested. "You've already faced him once over Annabelle. No use scrapping that issue up again."
"Beau won't make it easy for you," Barclay said. "He'll likely do some ranting and raving about me not marrying his girl."
"Let him. No hair off my chest," Jared said. "I'll take Chase with me as a distraction. He can tell Beau the latest jokes."
"All right. Do it." Barclay stood and offered his brother his hand. "But don't take any guff from him. Or from Annabelle. If she gives you a bad time, tell her to deal with me. Meanwhile, I'll check with Al Richards out at his spread."
Jared accepted his handshake and went to find Chase.
Barclay saddled his horse. He couldn't help noticing the kittens frolicking through the hay, climbing over their mother, snatching at her flickering tail and suckling. It still angered him that Dirk had taken it upon himself to send Roy to the creek with them. When the man came back from his stint riding the ranch's border and watching for strays the others might have missed, Barclay would have a talk with him.
Al Richards owned the Lazy L, to the north and east of High Mountain. The man wasn't home, and his wife couldn't recall hearing anything about missing steers. Barclay headed home.
A good wind blew the tall grass growing along the main road. Barclay enjoyed the sound it made, like a song. No one owned the property and Barclay had thought about buying it to add to High Mountain. About half a mile from the ranch road, a bullet came out of nowhere and zinged past his head, knocking off his hat. Instinctively, he dove off his horse, at the same time, grabbing his rifle from the scabbard. He crawled into the grass for cover and checked his six-gun while searching for sign of the shooter.
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