They reached the Tidwell home, and the next several minutes were spent listening to William's mother detail nearly every breath his father had taken in their absence and her certainty it would be his last.
"If I could just see William settled with a wife and children," she said to Ida when Ida had coaxed her to sit down and eat some dinner, "his father and I could die happy."
"Hasn't he mentioned Hetta Gwynne?" Ida asked.
"Why should he mention a maid?"
"Hetta isn't exactly a maid."
"She cooks and cleans, doesn't she?"
"Yes, but--"
"Then she's a maid. I want William to marry someone like you. He talks about you all the time. Just yesterday he was saying what he could do if he could get you to invest with him."
"But that's business, not--"
Mrs. Tidwell pushed aside her plate, grabbed Ida's hands, and pulled her forward.
"I know he likes you. All you'd have to do is let him know you're interested. I'd take care of the rest. I'd--"
"William doesn't want to marry me," Ida said, looking straight into Mrs. Tidwell's eyes. "He wants to marry Hetta."
Mrs. Tidwell looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "Nonsense."
"He's been seeing Hetta for almost a year."
"Has he asked her to many him?"
"No, but--"
"There! That proves it. He's only seeing Hetta so he can get close to you. He's been in love with you since he was a little boy."
Ida was certain William wanted to marry Hetta, but the idea that a man would have harbored a secret love for her since boyhood thrilled her. Many men had admired her or schemed to get her money, but no one had ever loved her.
The whole time she was growing up, her mother had told her how beautiful she was, how men would fight over her, how she deserved only the most handsome and richest husband. But her one attempt to make a life for herself in San Antonio had been a failure. She'd fled back to Pinto Junction and the safety it offered.
In her flight she'd left behind her dream of romance. Now Mrs. Tidwell was offering it to her again.
But William was in love with Hetta. "You're wrong," Ida said.
"Don't tell me I don't know my own son. I know everything about him. He likes that Gwynne gal well enough, but it's you he's set his heart on. He's been happier than I've ever seen him since you've been talking with him."
"We talk about my investing some money with him."
"You ought to marry him and give him all your money. He'll make you a rich woman."
"William doesn't--"
"He adores you. He'd work his fingers to the bone for you."
"Hetta's my best friend. I couldn't--"
"It's you he wants. Has he never told you he dreams about you?"
"That would be most improper."
"But it's not improper for me to tell you. He says--"
"I don't want to know," Ida said as she jumped to her feet. "I have to be getting home. I don't like for Hetta to be in the house alone with Mr. Wheeler."
"That gal can take care of herself."
"If you would just talk to her, get to know her, you'd see--"
"She'll never be William's wife. You will be."
"Hetta's my best friend. I couldn't betray her even if I wanted to, which I don't."
"She'll never have him, so you might as well. He'll keep you rich. Remember that. He'll keep you rich."
Ida hurried home, wondering how the things she did with the best of intentions nearly always turned out to be mistakes. Her aunt had told her not to go to San Antonio. Her uncle had told her to stay out of Hetta and William's relationship. But if William liked her instead of Hetta ...
She'd been jealous that Hetta had an admirer when she didn't. But William wanted to marry Hetta--she'd heard him say so with her own ears. Mrs. Tidwell didn't know her son as well as she thought.
But if she did?
Ida didn't let herself think about that. She liked William better than she'd expected, but she didn't love him. And even if she did, she couldn't betray Hetta. Not even to remain rich.
"Do you really think we'll catch any rustlers?" Myrl asked Owen.
"Maybe not. But I know we wouldn't have just sitting in the saloon."
Owen's patrols had been in operation for a week. There hadn't been any confirmed cases of rustling in that time, and already the ranchers were complaining about the waste of time and lack of sleep.
"I could use a drink right about now," Myrl said.
The country they rode over was a mixture of grassland and tangled brush. Small trees and bushes were gradually taking over where overgrazing had thinned the native curly mesquite, bluestem, grama, and wheat grasses. Owen used the cover these thickets provided to survey the open savannahs. Their horses' hooves made a swishing sound as they walked though the dry grass. The night was warm, the sky clear, and the moon very bright.
"I still don't see why you're so interested in clearing out the rustlers," Myrl said.
"I told you. I'm looking to buy a ranch."
"You don't look like a rancher. Don't act like one, either. You live in a rooming house, dress like a tenderfoot, gamble like a professional, and use a gun like you growed up with it."
"Chalk it up to my Virginia heritage."
Myrl didn't appear convinced. "Folks are suspicious of you. They say you don't look like a man who's likely to settle in a place like this."
"I can settle anywhere as long as I find what I want."
But did he know what he wanted?
He'd been running from his mother, his father, even himself, for so long he didn't know what he was running toward. He'd been looking over his shoulder, never ahead. He judged everything by the way it affected the demons that tormented him. He didn't know what he'd do if he ever managed to outdistance them.
He didn't know what he would do if he didn't.
How could he have reached the age of twenty-six and have no more idea what he wanted than he had when he was six? No, he had been more certain at six. He'd wanted food, safety, and parents he could depend on. About all he knew now was that he didn't want to be weak like his father or wanton like his mother.
"Ain't any females around here for you to marry, either," Myrl said.
"What about Ida?"
"She won't marry no stranger."
"There's Hetta."
"If she don't marry William, she'll end her days an old maid."
"She'd make some man a wonderful wife."
"She don't like men. Everybody was surprised when she took up with William."
"Probably because he doesn't resemble a man."
"Why don't you like that boy?"
"I don't dislike him. I just think he's boring." That wasn't exactly right. He thought William was too boring for Hetta.
"How could he run a mercantile and not be a bore?" Myrl asked.
Owen started to answer, but the smell of a mesquite fire quivered in his nostrils. "Smell that?" he asked Myrl in a loud whisper.
"Yeah. Somebody's cooking."
"No, somebody's branding steers."
Chapter Thirteen
"Keep under cover," Owen cautioned Myrl, "and don't make so much noise."
"How am I supposed to ride through this tangle of trees and vines without making any noise? I'm too old to be crawling through brush trying to get the jump on men young enough to be my sons."
"Then what the hell are you doing out here?"
"I didn't count on running into rustlers. I thought you'd be so grateful to me for keeping you company, you'd buy me a couple of beers."
Owen laughed silently. "You mean to tell me you were so desperate for a beer you took a chance on running into rustlers?"
"Sounds downright stupid when you say it that way."
"It's stupid any way you say it. Now, either you buck up and come with me or go back and wait."
Owen headed off through the brush. He wondered why no one had found any signs of rustling during the last week. M
aybe the rustlers were lying low until they figured out his system. Only they ought to know by now he didn't have a system. Not even he knew what he was going to do until the last minute. Maybe the rustlers had gotten tired of waiting. After all, they had to keep stealing to pay for their drinking, gambling, and women.
Especially their women. Females never came cheap. His mother had cost two men everything they had.
Hetta wouldn't be like that. She was one woman who wasn't afraid of work. Or being on her own. He couldn't understand why she wanted to marry William. She wasn't in love with him. She probably thought they'd be comfortable together, be able to work together, have a peaceful life together, that William would never get close to her because he loved his store better than any human. There wouldn't be any sex. It would be the same as living with a good friend.
There was nothing really wrong with William, but Hetta was too warm-blooded, too vital, too alive to marry a man who would spend his life devoting his attention to his ledgers. William would never adjust to living on a ranch any more than Hetta would adjust to living in town.
It would be better for both of them if she let Ida steal him away.
The sound of voices broke in on his thoughts. He couldn't see the men. They were hidden in a dry wash, but the firelight reflected off nearby trees. Owen dismounted, ground-hitched his horse, and crept forward on foot to where three men were gathered around a fire. This was no fly-by-night operation. They were using a branding iron rather than a cinch ring or a running iron.
They were rustling mavericks. Once the animals were branded, it would be impossible to prove they were stolen.
He heard something crawling through the brush and turned as Myrl crept up next to him. "It's rustlers, all right," the old man said when he got a good look at what was going on.
"Tom Manly is one of them. Ever seen the other two?"
"They look like a couple of men I've seen with him in the saloon."
"How good are you with a gun?"
"Decent, but I'm hell on wheels with a rifle." He grinned as he pulled his rifle up next to him.
"Good. Stay here. If anybody tries to get away, put a bullet in him."
Owen worked his way through the tangled, thorny brush along the wash. He had nearly reached a spot on the bank opposite the men when he heard the ominous sound of a rattle.
No, several rattles.
He'd disturbed a nest of rattlesnakes. He couldn't see them, but he could hear their dry scales brushing against rocks as they slithered out of the nest to look for the enemy that had attacked them. Gathering his muscles, Owen threw himself into the wash ... away from the snakes but almost into the middle of the rustlers.
All hell broke loose.
A bullet smashed into the sand next to Owen's face, throwing dust in his eyes. Half blinded, he fired in the direction of the gunfire. He heard additional gunfire as well as the pop of a rifle.
Then almost as quickly as it had started, the gunfire stopped. The only sound to break the stillness was of a horse galloping away.
"Owen, you okay?"
Myrl. Owen still couldn't see for the dust in his eyes. He was afraid to move in case the rustlers were still there.
"Yeah," Owen replied as he tried to clear his eyes. "Where is everybody?"
"Two of them are dead. One got away."
"Manly?"
"I aimed for his shoulder, but he moved."
Owen cleared the last of the dust from his eyes, to find himself looking into the eyes of a dead man he didn't know. Manly lay less than ten feet away, the branding iron on the ground next to him, a gun still in his hand.
"I promised you a rustler," Owen said, his tone harsh. "I keep my promises."
"I wish it hadn't been Manly," Myrl said.
"He was a rustler."
"People won't believe it. They'll be afraid diViere will go back on his promise to keep the army and Reconstruction away."
"Laveau has no control over the army. Reconstruction, either."
"Ain't nobody going to believe you. They're going to want your hide."
"What do you suggest I do, leave his carcass here for the coyotes?"
"Tell everybody Tom was helping us. You got one rustler and a branding iron to show somebody's rustling."
"And planning to do more." Owen dusted himself off. He bent down and picked up the branding iron. "Ever seen this brand before?" he asked Myrl.
"Nope."
He hadn't expected Myrl would. He was almost certain the calves would be held at some distant ranch--one very much like Hetta's--until the rustlers collected enough to drive them to Mexico.
He stared down at Manly's body. It went against the grain to pretend that a crook was innocent, but maybe this was the best way. If he exposed Manly as a rustler, Laveau would never come back to Pinto Junction. But with Manly dead, Laveau would have to return to hire a new foreman. That was when Owen would expose him for the murderous traitor he was.
"Help me load up the bodies," Owen said to Myrl. "And think up a good reason for Manly to have joined us. Everybody knows he didn't leave town with us."
"Everybody was just about to give up," Hetta said to Owen.
"I knew it was only a matter of time before we caught somebody."
They were seated in the parlor. Hetta had been checking the list of materials for her house. She was worried she couldn't afford to purchase enough materials to repair the whole house and still have money to buy necessities like food. But she couldn't continue working for Ida. Every time she cooked a meal or made a bed, her servitude chafed a little more until she could hardly control her temper. Now that Manly was dead, there was nothing to keep her from moving back to the ranch.
"I was surprised Manly was riding with you," she said to Owen. "I thought you two didn't like each other. At least, now you know he had nothing to do with the rustling. That means Mr. diViere doesn't, either."
"I--"
"I know you don't like Mr. diViere, but he's been good to Pinto Junction."
"Would you be quiet long enough for me to get a word in!"
Hetta jerked back as if she'd been slapped. She hadn't realized she was talking so much or that she kept interrupting Owen. It was just that ever since they'd had dinner in the restaurant, she was uncomfortable around him.
From the tales Pearly was spreading, people were speculating that she was interested in Owen, that Ida had gone to get William so he could defend his woman. Just being called any man's woman was enough to make her spitting mad, but the injustice of the gossip made her so angry she had failed to control her tongue on at least two occasions. As one matron said, "You wouldn't be getting so upset if there weren't some truth in it."
Hetta figured people would change their minds in a few days, but in the meantime, she avoided Owen as much as possible. She should have stayed in her room, but the more she thought about her being punished while Owen had the run of the town, the angrier she got.
Ida usually acted as a barrier between them, but she had spent the afternoon with her uncle. Hetta knew that money was tight when Ida said she might leave the ROOMS TO LET sign up all the time.
"Sorry. What did you want to say?" Hetta asked Owen.
"Manly wasn't riding with me and Myrl. He was one of the rustlers. The leader, I imagine."
She set her work aside and directed her gaze full on Owen's face. "You told everybody he was riding with you."
"I know, but--"
"Why did you do that?"
"If you'll stop interrupting, I'll tell you."
He got out of his chair, stalked across the room, and bent over her. She stood. She wasn't about to be bullied just because she was a woman. She stared back at him, eye to eye, practically nose to nose. His eyes opened wide, and his breathing paused before resuming its normal pattern.
She'd never actually looked into Owen's eyes. Now, with their faces only inches apart, she could see that his eyes were such a dark blue that from a distance they almost looked black. For the first time, she
realized his eyebrows were several shades darker than his hair, almost a light brown. His skin was fair, his nose straight, his lips full, his jaw prominent--even more so now as he clenched his teeth. All of which proved what she already knew.
Owen Wheeler was one devilishly handsome man.
With a major effort of willpower, Hetta turned away from Owen and walked to the window that faced the street. The heavy lace curtain made it difficult to see out, impossible to see in. "I promise I won't interrupt you again," she said, then turned to face him.
"Myrl said people in town wouldn't like me saying Manly was a rustler."
He paused, but Hetta didn't say anything.
"I was going to use his being a rustler to prove Laveau was behind the rustling, but Myrl says people won't believe me, that they'll be angry I'm trying to ruin the reputation of a man who's protected them from the Union army as well as from Reconstruction. You going to say anything?" he asked when Hetta nodded her agreement.
"Was that your only reason?" she asked.
"No. I realized if I exposed Laveau, he'd never come back."
"What makes you think I believe he's a rustler?"
"I just told you Myrl and I caught Manly and two of his friends trying to brand yearlings."
"Why did you tell me?"
"Because I wanted you to know the truth."
"Where is your proof?"
She didn't understand why he should tell everybody one story and her another. She didn't like the feeling in the pit of her stomach. She kept thinking about his blue eyes and firm lips. She couldn't ignore the impact of his presence in the room or its effect on her, no matter how hard she tried.
"Would you believe it if William had told you?"
She hesitated, but she had to be honest. She would have asked questions, but she'd have believed William. "Yes."
"Just like that? No questions?"
"I'd have asked questions, but I'd believe him."
"Why?"
"I've known him all my life. I trust him not to tell me lies."
"Do you trust everybody you've known all your life?"
"No."
"Then why William?"
"Because he wants to marry me."
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