Seasons of Glory

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Naked? Riley glanced at Glory. His gaze stuck. Naked? Him, perhaps? She’d told Biddy about that? Yep. Her wide-eyed, stricken expression spoke volumes. She stared at him and then became intent on her meal.

  “Just as I thought,” Biddy pronounced, settling down some and turning her attention and a change in subject on Riley. “Ye didn’t sound too convinced a moment ago, either, about that new hand’s Christian intentions.”

  His forearms resting against the table’s edge, Riley met her gaze squarely. “I like to give a man the benefit of the doubt.”

  Glory snorted her opinion of that. “The truth is, Riley, he had no business out there. None. Where was he supposed to be?”

  Riley focused on her. “I’d set him to work in the tack room.”

  “Then that’s where he should’ve stayed.”

  Riley’s eyes narrowed. He knew a rebuke when he heard one. “Was that a Lawless commandment? You’re saying I should’ve kept my eye on him?”

  “You hired him,” Glory came right back. “And I’ve been thinking about him. The first words out of his mouth were condolences to me about my folks. How’d he know about our troubles here?”

  Riley stilled, speaking carefully. “The Lawless name is a well-known one. He could’ve heard talk on the grub line, traveling from one ranch to the next.”

  She made a face, allowing him that point. “I suppose. But he couldn’t see the crosses readily from the bunkhouse or the barn. He’d have to do some snooping to find them.” She then leaned forward to make her next point. “Same as Carter Brown right before that. He was out back of the house, too, when he spooked me at the kitchen door.”

  Her words met with silence, which Biddy broke. “Merciful heavens. Are ye thinking the two are in some sort of cahoots, child?”

  Glory shrugged. “They could be. Carter Brown did tell me he’s from Boston.”

  Biddy gasped and turned to Riley. “That’s where Hannah is at this moment. With her mother’s family. And the Lord knows the Wilton-Humeses are a sorry lot. Except for my Catherine. And her grandmother Ardis.”

  Before he could digest that, Glory caught his attention. “I’ve been wondering … did Brown and Justice ride in together, Riley?”

  Uncomfortable with where this was headed, he shook his head. “No. About an hour apart.”

  Glory nodded, as if deep in thought. Then she tilted her head at him. “No reason why they couldn’t have split up and ridden in separately, right?”

  “You’ve made your point, Glory.” Riley’s jaw tightened against his clenched teeth. “I hired them, and I’ll be responsible for them. If they need firing, I’ll take care of that, too.”

  Chapter 8

  In the next two weeks, Glory had more than one disastrous reason to recall Riley’s words about firing the two new hands. Or not firing them, more accurately, since both of them still rode for the Lawless brand. Standing in her father’s office, her arms crossed under her bosom, she peered out at the blackened wall of the horse barn. A fire. The latest reason.

  The gray day was no match for her mood or for the smoke rising from the hay the men pitchforked out into the barn’s service court. When heavy, booted footsteps announced someone’s approach, Glory turned from the window and toward the sound.

  Bringing an acrid smell with him, Smiley turned into the room, his hat held in his hands, his face grim and soot-smeared. Without preamble, he launched into his report. “We were lucky. We caught it early and there wasn’t much damage to the barn itself that some nailed-up boards won’t repair.”

  Glory nodded. “And the horses?”

  He shrugged. “Skittish but none burned or lost. Thorne’s got some of the men turning them into the far corral while we clean up.”

  Glory exhaled her breath in relief. “Thank God the horses were spared.” Then she stared down at her brown lace-up shoes, giving them undue consideration. Keeping her gaze lowered, she asked her foreman, “What’s your thinking on this, Smiley?”

  He was quiet for so long that Glory finally looked up at him, taking in his dingy denims tucked into his muck-smeared boots and his unbuttoned coat. He wasn’t going to tell her a thing—not without being prodded. Glory eyed him levelly and encouraged, “I asked, so you may as well tell me.”

  Frowning, obviously uncomfortable, Smiley ran a hand over his balding pate and voiced his opinion. “The fire was set, plain and simple, Miz Glory. Fires in three different parts of one structure just don’t start on their own. Somethin’ or someone has to spark ’em. And there sure-as-shootin’ wasn’t no lightning about to do the job.”

  Glory pressed her lips together, which seemed to constrict her chest. “No, there wasn’t. And that fire in the cook shack last week—I’m not so sure anymore that was an accident. Or an oversight on Sourdough’s part, like we’ve been thinking.”

  Smiley nodded and quirked up a corner of his mouth. “I never have knowed him to set his own kitchen on fire.”

  “Me either.” Glory took a deep breath and let it out. Above the knotted bandanna tied around his neck, Smiley’s expression spoke volumes. Her spirits dragging, Glory prompted, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  “Afraid so. A fight broke out last night in the bunkhouse.”

  His words slumped her spirit. She needed to sit down. Circling the desk, she pulled out the leather chair and sank gratefully onto its padded seat. Rubbing her temples, she said, “Go on.”

  “Carter Brown and Heck Thompson got into it over some missing money. Heck said he caught Carter going through his things and then found some money gone, money he’d set aside to send his folks. Carter said Heck’s saddlebags fell off his bunk, and he was just putting them back and didn’t know nothin’ about no money. I made both men turn out their belongings.”

  Glory nodded. “What’d you find?”

  Looking disgusted, Smiley made a gesture of helplessness. “Nothing. It’s one man’s word against the other.”

  “Like every other incident in the past two weeks.”

  Smiley sniffed, giving her a sidelong glance. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Pretty sure she knew what he was thinking, and what he wouldn’t say, Glory pressed on. “All starting about the time Mr. Thorne hired Brown and Justice.”

  Now Smiley stared at her straight-on. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Glory waited, but Smiley didn’t offer more. So she urged, “Smiley, I know if Papa was here, you’d tell him everything you’re thinking, and you wouldn’t hold back. You’re going to have to treat me the same way, if we’re going to survive. I promise you, I won’t break.”

  Smiley considered his hat a moment, scratched his stubbly jaw and then nodded. “I reckon yer right.” He met her gaze. “There’s no solid proof that either man had a guilty hand in these troubles. Not the sabotaged equipment or the downed fences and loose cattle we had to round up. Not even this here fire or the one in the cook shack. But I do know this—none of these things was happenin’ before those two came.”

  Glory frowned as she sorted through everything Smiley told her. Then she admitted, “I’ve thought the same things. Still, I hate to fire just one of them. What if I don’t get the right one?”

  “Then you fire the other one, too, Miz Glory. It’s that simple.”

  A prick of temper flushed her cheeks and sharpened her voice. “It’s not that simple. Not for me. Yes, Brown and Justice always seem to be in the area when the troubles happen. But so are a lot of the other men. You want me to fire them all? Would that be fair to any of them with winter coming on?”

  Smiley pinched his lips together. Whitened lines appeared at each corner of his mouth. “Miz Glory, you got to be hard-nosed about this—just like yer pa was. You got to think like a man. You cain’t worry yerself about every drifter that rides through. Now, I know yer no more’n a girl, and yer trying to do yer best. And I know you ain’t got no experience runnin’ this place. But I’ve been hirin’ and firin’ men since before you was alive. Yer pa trusted my judgment. And my gut te
lls me these two hands hired on by Riley Thorne are trouble.”

  The foreman paused, as if allowing Glory to absorb that, and then added, “You can trust the men I’ve brought onto the place. We ain’t never had no trouble outta any of them.” Despite her best efforts, Glory felt the sting of hot tears at his rebuke. Perhaps Smiley saw them glitter in her eyes because he looked down at his hat, twisted it in his hands, and then jammed it back on his head.

  From under its brim, he considered her in a sober fashion. “Well, I’ve had my say. Except to add that it ain’t helped none that you’ve placed Riley Thorne over me. The men don’t like it, but they respect you. And that puts ’em smack-dab in the middle betwixt me and Thorne. As a result, there ain’t much gettin’ done without first a heap of cussin’ and discussin’. Now, I don’t know what can be done about that, but just think long and hard on it, if you would.”

  Lowering her gaze to the desktop, Glory swallowed a fistful of emotion. Smiley’s words sounded like they came straight from Papa’s mouth. And everything he said was true. Sitting there in her father’s too-big chair, feeling his absence like never before, Glory forced herself to meet her foreman’s eyes. “Are you telling me that you’re thinking of quitting?”

  Smiley ducked his head. “No, ma’am.”

  Glory exhaled, but the moment stretched out, became too long. She stood up. “Thank you for that. I know you have a lot to do. I won’t keep you.”

  Smiley glanced up at her, surprising her with a whiskery smile. “Look, Miz Glory, it’ll take some time, and yer goin’ ta make mistakes. But you’ll find yer way. An’ we … all us men … we’re behind you. We ain’t a one of us leavin’ you.”

  Tears sprang again to her eyes. He should’ve said he quit and was taking all the men with him. That’s what she deserved. Sniffling, clearing her throat, Glory all but whispered, “Thank you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll just go see to … the men now.” With that, he turned and strode out of the room.

  The second his retreating footfalls no longer echoed across the hardwood floor, Glory relented on her earlier promise to Smiley. She broke. Falling limply back onto her father’s chair, she covered her face with her hands. And cried.

  * * *

  Riley backed away from the kitchen porch, making room for Smiley, who shoved open the door from inside and came stomping down the well-worn steps. Riley nodded his tight-lipped greeting to the foreman, who returned it and wordlessly stepped past him. Riley spared the man a glance and a hard thought as he entered the same way Smiley had just exited.

  Inside the orderly kitchen, Riley stopped. Empty. He frowned. Hadn’t Smiley been in here speaking with Biddy about the fire? That’s where he’d said he was going. But the clean, dry counters and cold stove told another story. No one had disturbed this room since breakfast. He knew, because no one could talk to Biddy without getting fed or at least having a cup of coffee.

  Not liking the feel of this, Riley reasoned where Biddy might be. Most likely, that sweet old lady sat in the parlor doing her mending—and looking out the window, hoping for a glimpse of Smiley. What she saw in the man, he’d never know. Well, it was none of his business. But what was his business, the way he saw it, was what Smiley must have been in here telling Glory about the fire today and the altercation last night in the bunkhouse.

  Every story has two sides, and she needed to hear both. Cursing this state of affairs, Riley went in search of Glory. He checked the other rooms as he passed them, but he figured she’d be in J. C.’s office—the last place he wanted to be. That room, to him, still smelled of the former outlaw’s cigars and his greed. But if that’s where Glory was, then so be it. As he approached the open door of the office, Riley became aware of a sound inside. He stopped out in the hall and frowned. Was that somebody crying?

  His mind flashed him an image of Smiley, showing him the man as he’d looked just now—stiff, grim, unspeaking. If he so much as—Not even taking the time to finish his thought, Riley crossed the threshold and stepped into the room. Greeting him were the oversized desk, two facing armchairs, a wall of books … and one curled-up and crying Lawless girl in a chair meant to hold a much larger man.

  Dammit. Guilt over his part in her tears had Riley scrubbing a hand over his face. Then he lifted his Stetson off his head, flung it to a chair, and shed his coat, sending it the same way. Finally, with great tenderness welling up inside him, he went to Glory and picked her up in his arms. She clutched at his shirt, and clung tightly to him, turning her face against his neck. Careful of his fragile, precious burden, Riley turned, sat them both in J. C. Lawless’s chair, and held the man’s daughter next to his heart.

  More undone by her tears than he’d ever thought possible, Riley remained still and stared at nothing across the room. Every now and then he’d kiss the top of Glory’s head and maybe rest his cheek there a moment. But for the most part, he let her cry it out. It’d do her good. She’d been holding in a lot lately.

  Lately? Two whole weeks now. She’d avoided him except when it was impossible to do so, like at the evening meals. There’d been no more hungry kisses in the kitchen or lustful scenes on the leather couch. Only polite distance and sidelong glances. He could name about fifty reasons why they’d come to such an impasse, but probably the main one was that she blamed him for the troubles on Lawless land. And looking at things from her point of view—or even her foreman’s—Riley figured she had every right to.

  Glory shifted her weight on his lap. He looked down at her. And smiled. Her cheek snuggled against his chest, her arms loosely encircled his waist. She sniffed and blinked and stared—like he’d been doing—at nothing across the room. A sudden shuddering breath escaped her and nearly shattered him. Tightening his grip around her, he gritted his teeth against the sudden bolt of protectiveness that shot through him. If Smiley had hurt her, he’d kill him. That’s all there was to it.

  Edging a shoulder up to get her attention, Riley looked down into her splotchy face and grinned at her red and runny nose. “You want to tell me about it, sweetheart?”

  She sniffed loudly, scrubbed a finger under her nose, and then curled her hand into a fist, which she buried in her skirt’s folds. “I’m nineteen and alone and it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

  Her hurt and watery voice, as much as her words, brought a frown to Riley’s face. “What wasn’t supposed to be like this?”

  Without lifting her head from his chest, she waved her arm in a big arc that encompassed the entire room. “This. All of it. Mama and Papa. Jacey and Hannah. This ranch. The men. I can’t do it. I let everybody down. I don’t make good decisions. I don’t have anybody to talk to about it—”

  “You can talk to me.”

  She shook her head. “No, I can’t. You’re part of what’s wrong.”

  Riley exhaled, knew the truth of her words, and said, “You think so?”

  “Smiley does. Or says he does.”

  “Smiley.” Riley snorted. “I could be a foot-deep solid vein of gold lying exposed on the ground and he’d find fault with me, Glory. You know that.”

  She nodded against his chambray shirt. “I do. He also found fault with me. He said I need to think like a man—the same thing you said two weeks ago. I don’t know how to be a man, or think like one. I don’t even know what you mean by that.”

  Riley quirked a grin. Well, you asked for this, now didn’t you, old son? he thought wryly. Then, sobering, thinking about what he wanted to say, he launched into his explanation. “I mean you make decisions with your head and your gut. Not your heart. Know what you want, decide, and stick with it. This isn’t a contest for likeability. It’s about being the boss. It’s hard. And you have to be, too.”

  Glory didn’t say anything for a minute. Riley contented himself with the cozy feel of her on his lap, with her warmth snuggled against him. Then she raised her head and met his gaze. “Then I know what I’m going to do.”

  He smiled down at her. “That fast, huh?”


  She nodded. “Yes. I’m going to replace Heck’s money that was stolen. And then, at first light, I’m going to fire Abel Justice and Carter Brown.”

  Her words stunned Riley into a second’s stillness. He then slowly shook his head from side to side to emphasize his words. “You can’t do that, Glory.”

  Her head cocked to one side, her face mirroring stubbornness and maybe a trace of suspicion, she asked, “Why can’t I? I’m the Lawless here. Not you.”

  * * *

  Standing out in the darkened hallway, right outside the closed door of Riley’s bedroom, and knowing he was in there, Glory clutched at her chemise nightshirt. Her own words from that afternoon came back to haunt her. I’m the Lawless here. Not you. Poor Riley. All evening he’d slouched on the leather sofa and stared at her so hard she hadn’t been able to keep her mind on the book she’d been reading. Even Biddy had noticed the tense quiet between them and had excused herself early.

  Glory blinked back to the present, to the closed door, and put a finger to her mouth, thoughtfully biting the nail. She couldn’t just knock. She couldn’t. This was wrong. No matter what she told herself her real reason was for being here, her pounding, fluttering heart told her otherwise. You want to kiss him. You want him to kiss you. You want him to hold you in his arms and—

  The door opened. Framed in the doorway, his hands moving to his lean waist, Riley didn’t appear the least bit surprised. But Glory—wide-eyed, barefooted, and trapped—couldn’t move. Or speak. Then Riley chuckled and shook his head, as if at some joke. “Glory.” That was all he said. Just Glory.

  The man’s quietness irritated her. She never knew what he was thinking. Well, you’re caught now. Say something. “Umm, I thought you were asleep.”

  Undressed down to his combination suit and denims, his feet bare, Riley raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m not.”