The Cattleman's Unsuitable Wife

by Pam Crooks

  Different from Allethaire, he mused. About as different as two women could be.

  Allethaire went to great lengths to keep the sun off her face, and Zurina, well, she seemed to welcome it. She didn’t appear to notice how the wind had tossed her hair, that it all dangled loose and free down to her waist. Allethaire kept hers pinned up close around her head to keep a single strand from escaping. Hell, Trey had never seen it any other way.

  Zurina drew closer, and he chastised himself for comparing the two women. Wasn’t fair to either one of them, and their differences shouldn’t matter, besides.

  He rose slowly to meet Zurina, and their gazes met. She had a strange pull to those eyes of hers. They kept hold of his and wouldn’t let go.

  “What happens next?” she asked coolly.

  “We get him to a hospital.”

  “Yes.” A tinge of impatience colored the word. “But how? They took our horses.”

  Trey had noticed the team was gone. He’d hoped the horses had simply run off into the hills in last night’s chaos and would’ve found their way back to water by now.

  But no such luck. Whoever attacked the Vascos’s camp had a price to pay. Trey wasn’t going to tolerate the crime on his land, and he would see to it whoever was responsible would suffer the consequences.

  He just had to get Gabirel to the hospital first.

  Then, he had to find Allethaire—and his father’s murderer, too.

  Helluva a list, for sure.

  “We’ll make a travois. Nubby is out looking for some stout branches,” he said. “Won’t take long, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Her lips thinned, and she gave him a curt nod, then knelt next to her father, still sleeping off the whiskey and the effects of Trey’s surgery.

  She caught the hem of her skirt, which dripped wet from a dunking in the river, and gently dabbed at his sweaty forehead, his flushed cheeks and along the curve of his neck.

  Trey knew he should leave. Help Nubby find those branches. It’d cut the time in half if he would, but something compelled Trey to stay right where he was.

  A reluctance.

  He knelt, too, beside Gabirel and watched Zurina minister to him. His gaze followed her hand, noted the slenderness of her fingers, the short, clipped nails. The tender way she cared for him.

  Was clear as red paint how much she loved her father, and words to assure her he’d likely be all right, that Trey intended to do what he could to help them both with the loss of their flock, hovered on his tongue.

  But before he could say them, she speared him with a hard glance.

  “I will never forgive you for this,” she said.

  Startled, he drew back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Her glance dropped to her father again, her cooling strokes never faltering. “Exactly what I said.”

  “What?” he insisted. “Taking out the bullet? Making him hurt?”

  “No.” Her expression revealed she considered him an idiot. “This.” Her arm swept outward, indicating the lifeless mounds scattered over the range. “What you have done.”

  His eyes narrowed while his brain wrestled with confusion. “What have I done?”

  For a long moment, she didn’t respond but kept her attention fixed on a lamb, roaming aimlessly over the grass. Looking lost. Bleating for his mother.

  But no ewe responded. No mother went to him.

  Zurina’s eyes welled, and she smoothed back the hair from her father’s forehead.

  “Do you think I’m so stupid that I don’t know, Mr. Wells?” she said.

  To demand again that she explain herself would only make him appear like the idiot she already considered him to be. Trey held his tongue, but he leveled her with an unrelenting glare.

  She emitted a sound of disgust, released her skirt hem and stood. She would’ve strode away from him if Trey hadn’t stood, too, stepped around her father and grasped her elbow before she could.

  His fingers firm, he turned her toward him. She wriggled beneath his grip, and he almost lost his hold, but in a quick movement, he grasped both her shoulders and kept her firmly in front of him.

  He scowled. The top of her dark head reached his chin. Beneath the soft cotton of her blouse, he could feel the warmth of her skin, the tension in her muscles. The strength in them, too, gained from her daily routine of work.

  “I hate you,” she spat.

  “Sorry to hear that, Miss Vasco,” he said, letting the sarcasm creep into his drawl. “But I guess I don’t much care if I don’t even know why you would.”

  That she showed no gratitude for what he’d done to save her father’s life didn’t surprise him much. Whatever stirred up her hate and got it to festering would’ve pushed gratitude to the bottom of her list.

  “Does it make you proud to show kindness to the sheepman when you know deep in your heart you’re a hypocrite?” she taunted.

  He stared down at her. “A hypocrite?”

  “And yet you send others to hurt him. The flock that he needs to survive.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Trey Wells. Who is no more than a coward and a hypocrite!”

  “Hell.” He gave her shoulders a shake. Whatever the hell she was accusing him of made no sense. And made him just plain mad, besides.

  “Listen here, woman. You’re talking crazy. If you’re saying I was responsible for what happened out here, you’re wrong. Dead wrong. Y’hear me?”

  Scorn darkened her expression. “You lie. I saw—”

  “What?” he cut in sharply. “What did you see?”

  Her chin jerked up. “Horses with the Wells Cattle Company brand.”

  Stunned, Trey released her. “What?”

  “It’s true.”

  “The men who did this to you, to your flock, rode WCC horses?”

  “Yes.”

  “Impossible.”

  Or was it?

  The entire outfit had attended his father’s funeral yesterday. Every man, down to the youngest wrangler. Trey knew it for a fact, had seen them with his own eyes, both at the church and afterward at the ranch, at the luncheon.

  Each man in his outfit had been on the WCC payroll for a good long while. Trey would’ve known if one of them hated sheep so much that he would have massacred the Vasco flock.

  While the likelihood wasn’t impossible, it was damned unlikely.

  Wasn’t it?

  Chapter Five

  F or the tiniest of moments, she was tempted to believe him.

  Zurina stopped herself in time.

  Of course, Trey Wells would deny his involvement in the killing of her sheep. Wasn’t that the coward’s way? To send his men to do his dirty work and save himself from sullying his precious reputation?

  But even as her mind accused him, her instincts puzzled over his reaction.

  Impossible.

  He spoke the word with conviction. With thinly veiled anger. As if he took grave offense that she thought him—or his men—capable of such a crime.

  “I don’t know what game you’re playing with me, woman,” he growled. “But I’ve got no patience with it.”

  “What’d she say, Trey?” Nubby paused in midstride with the two long branches he’d been dragging behind him. “That them sheep killers was riding WCC horses?”

  He appeared so appalled, Zurina’s hatred wavered again.

  “That’s right, Nub.” Trey’s features filled with disgust, and Zurina knew every bit was directed at her. “That’s what she claims. Ever hear anything so far-fetched?”

  “None of the boys would—”

  “I know.”

  Trey pivoted on his boot heel, strode toward his horse and untied the wool blanket rolled tight behind the cantle.

  “I saw their brands.” Her mind replayed the horrors from the night before. “There were two men, both wearing bandannas. One rode an Appaloosa, the other a spotted gray. The man on the gray did the killing, and the other—”

  Her fingers flew to her lips.
And in that moment, like a slew of angry crows, doubt pecked at her convictions, tearing holes into her hate for Trey Wells. If he had indeed planned the massacre against Vasco sheep and sent his men in his place, why would they kidnap the woman he intended to marry?

  Had she been wrong about him all along?

  She fought a horrified sting of tears.

  “The other what?” Trey demanded.

  “He took her. Your betrothed. I am sorry.” Regret spiraled through Zurina in leaps and bounds. “I am so sorry.”

  For a moment, neither man moved. Then, the blanket slipped from Trey’s fingers and landed on the ground with a dull thud.

  “Allethaire? She was here?” he thundered.

  “Yes.” Zurina’s head bobbed.

  Nubby dropped the branches, one after the other. He pointed toward the ground. “Here? As in right here?”

  “Yes.”

  The men exchanged stunned glances. A muscle ticked in Trey’s jaw, and he turned back toward Zurina. Took a slow purposeful step toward her. And then another.

  He looked so furious, tendrils of fear sprouted inside her. He was a powerful man. Lean and strong and obviously capable of great violence. Did he intend to hurt her, like his masked cowboys had done last night?

  She took a wary step backward and barely kept from tripping over her father, still sleeping on the ground behind her.

  “Start from the beginning.” Trey halted. “Tell us everything.”

  Nubby strode forward, too, and stood at his side. “When did you see her?”

  “Last night. She was lost,” Zurina said, gathering courage from the information she had—and they needed. “She couldn’t find her way back to the main road.”

  “Into Great Falls?” Trey asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How did she get off it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “All she had to do was—”

  “I don’t know.” Zurina refused to speculate. “But she’d been drinking.”

  “Drinking!” Nubby exclaimed.

  Trey cocked his jaw. “How much?”

  She hesitated. “Too much.”

  His darkening expression revealed he could hardly comprehend it. “Keep talking.”

  “She wanted my father to take her back to the road, but it was too far. And soon too dark,” Zurina said.

  “He refused?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t care if Trey felt Gabirel Vasco should have done as his betrothed demanded. “Papa insisted she spend the night with us. I made her supper, but before we could eat, they came.”

  “The men who killed your sheep,” Trey said.

  “Yes.”

  “The ones who were riding WCC horses.”

  Did he believe her now? Or was that skepticism she heard in his tone?

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And then what happened?”

  “He shot Gorri and—”

  Zurina’s voice broke. After the massacre, after the cowboys had left, it’d been incredibly hard carrying the sheepdog’s furry body away from the wagon, out of Papa’s sight. And her own. Their grief had been strong, overwhelming. Somehow, it’d been easier to lay him with the sheep who had suffered the same fate. It was how Gorri would’ve wanted it—to be with the flock he loved so much.

  “Who’s Gorri?” Trey asked.

  “Our dog.”

  He nodded once, grimly, but said nothing.

  “After he shot Gorri, he shot Papa, then he set the wagon on fire.” She trembled from the nightmare, the haunting terror that would never in a million years leave her. “Allethaire was inside, hiding—”

  “Hiding?”

  “They were your men.”

  “They were not my men.”

  “She thought you’d sent them to find her.”

  “And if I had?”

  “She would have refused to go.”

  “The hell she would.”

  Clearly he considered the notion unbelievable.

  But Zurina had no intention of debating the point with him. Whatever problems he had with the woman were his own.

  “When he learned who she was, when he found out she was your betrothed, he—he grabbed her,” she said.

  “God Almighty,” Nubby breathed.

  “Did he say why?” Trey demanded.

  “He said—” she clawed through the horrific sequence of events in her mind “—that you would bargain for her.”

  “He’s looking to line his pockets,” Nubby muttered.

  “Whoever ‘he’ is.” Trey slashed his attention back to Zurina. “Was she all right? Did they hurt her in any way?”

  An image of how the cowboy backhanded Allethaire surfaced. For Trey’s sake, Zurina schooled her features. “She was as well as could be expected.”

  His mouth tightened, and Zurina knew he wasn’t fooled.

  “Where were they headed?” he growled.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t see which direction?”

  “No.”

  Miserable, Zurina admitted the truth. The nightmare—it wouldn’t end. The merciless shooting of the sheep, the roar of the fiery flames, her father’s cries, and oh, the terrible fear that the masked cowboys would kill them, too.

  Zurina had been powerless to save Allethaire. The cowboy had ruthlessly ridden off with her into the darkness—and Zurina had been so afraid for Papa, for the sheep…for herself.

  If only she could have helped Allethaire. Could have foreseen what the cowboys intended. Could have been quicker to react.

  But she hadn’t. She’d failed everyone, including her flock.

  And now, she’d even failed Trey Wells. Despite her opinion of the man, and his of the sheepman, his concern for the woman he intended to marry ran deep. Zurina’s heart hung heavy in her chest.

  “Did you get a good look at either of them?” Trey demanded.

  “No.” She endured a new wave of regret.

  “Nothing to remember them by? A scar? What they were wearing?”

  “They were wearing bandannas. I noticed no more than that.”

  “Nothing to help us find them?”

  He sounded so desperate, so keen on some detail that Zurina’s sense of failure intensified.

  “No.” She swallowed. “I am sorry.”

  Again that muscle leaped in his cheek. His glance swung toward Nubby. “They could be anywhere.”

  Looking overwhelmed, the old cowboy blew out a breath. “Yeah.”

  “And they have half a day on us.”

  Zurina could almost forget the dislike she’d long felt for Trey Wells as a cattleman, so great was her guilt.

  “Let’s get moving,” he said.

  Zurina’s pulse jumped with sudden trepidation. What did they plan to do? Leave her? With Papa so sick? She had nothing with which to care for him, not anymore, and if they left her alone out here, he would surely die—

  But at Trey’s terse order, Nubby grabbed one of the branches he’d dropped. “Won’t take long to rig the travois.”

  Trey retrieved the wool blanket and tossed it toward him, then untied his lariat from the saddle. “Hand me the ends, Nub. I’ll lash them together.”

  Her stare fixed on the strange contraption they set out to build, and her instincts assured her they wouldn’t take the time to do so if they didn’t intend to use it for her father’s benefit.

  “I don’t know what a travois is,” she said carefully, unfamiliar with the word.

  “It’s the best we can do for a wagon,” Trey said. He didn’t bother looking at her while he settled the crisscrossed ends over Nubby’s saddle horn and tugged them into place against the horse’s neck. “We’ll stretch a blanket over the branches to make a bed. Gabirel can rest on it while we ride into Great Falls.”

  The unlashed ends made a wide “V” and would drag on the ground during the ride. Perhaps it wouldn’t jostle him unduly, but even so, it was better than nothing and would get them where they needed to go.


  A hospital, as fast as they could.

  “See what you can salvage from your wagon,” Trey commanded. “We’ll be heading out soon.”

  For a moment, incredible relief held Zurina rooted.

  Until the realization slammed through her that she was beholden to Trey Wells for his help. That she was completely vulnerable and helpless without it, without him, and how could she do anything else but accept it?

  Accept help from a cattleman.

  Zurina swallowed her pride and hurried to comply, all the while very much aware that they only had two horses. If Papa rode on the travois hitched to Nubby’s, Trey Wells intended to have her ride with him.

  And her belly unexpectedly fluttered at the prospect.

  “Is there anyone you should send word to?”

  Trey’s low voice swirled near her ear and raised gooseflesh on her skin. Zurina blamed her foolish reaction on her place in front of him. On his horse.

  An intimate position, for sure, the way their bodies rocked together during the ride, their thighs pressed against the other’s. Trey’s hand gripped the reins near her hip.

  Much too intimate.

  The proximity of him so close behind her left her muscles stiff from tension. Made her ache to put distance between them, to give herself room to breathe. To relax.

  But mostly, so she could think.

  She didn’t know what to do with her feet, since his claimed the stirrups, and her legs dangled and bumped into his again and again. Worse, fatigue had been unrelenting. Despite her haste to get her father to Great Falls, she had an almost overwhelming urge to lean backward into Trey Wells’s chest, help herself to the solid warmth of his body and fall asleep.

  Almost.

  To do so would be the biggest mistake of her life. Leaning on him—literally or figuratively—would mean she trusted him.

  She didn’t.

  She couldn’t.

  She would never forget he was Sutton Wells’s son. A cattleman’s son.

  “Miss Vasco?”

  He leaned inward, and the brim of his Stetson appeared in the tail of her eye. His chest pressed into her shoulder, and startled that he’d spoken, she jerked back, gripping the saddle horn to steady herself.