A Cowboy's Pride

by Karen Rock

  Cole stepped off the porch and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Aunt Susanna! It’s Cole. Your favorite nephew. The one who doesn’t talk much or bother you.”

  Katie-Lynn snorted.

  With a swish, the window sash rose. Aunt Susanna poked out her permed head of gray hair. “You’re bothering me now.”

  “It’s one-thirty.”

  “Time for my afternoon nap,” she snapped.

  “Only plan on taking a bit of your time.”

  His aunt held up a hand and wagged her fingers. “Five minutes.”

  “Thirty and I’ll bring you fresh strawberries when they’re ready for picking,” Cole promised.

  The window slammed shut.

  “You sure know how to sweet-talk a lady.” Katie-Lynn’s arched brow appeared above her sunglasses’ frame, the same sassy expression he’d always found so attractive.

  “It ain’t hard if the lady’s sweet already.” He placed his hand on the wall beside her face and breathed in the fresh, clean cotton scent of her skin. He preferred it to the insect repellant masquerading as designer perfume she’d worn yesterday.

  She pulled off her sunglasses and narrowed her eyes. “Am I sweet?”

  “Nah.” He cupped her cheek. “You’re tart as unripe raspberries.”

  He watched, fascinated, as she chewed off a bit of her bright lipstick, revealing the rose beneath it. “Those used to be your favorite.”

  “Still are.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and he leaned closer, tempted to see if she still tasted like tart raspberries. The door beside them creaked open.

  “If you two lovebirds are finished canoodling, come on inside,” Aunt Susanna groused. Her housecoat billowed as she pivoted and stomped away.

  Katie-Lynn ducked under Cole’s arm, her face aflame, and fled indoors. He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed.

  He’d almost kissed Katie-Lynn...

  Keeping his distance was going to be harder than he thought.

  Turning sideways, he edged through a hallway narrowed by stacks of boxes overflowing with knickknacks, electrical cords and unopened mail. When he emerged into the living room, it only got worse. Clothes, broken electronics, abandoned home improvement projects, trash bags and old newspapers piled around the room in four-to five-foot mounds.

  A dozen cats stared balefully from atop a frayed couch. Or he guessed it was a sofa since books, record albums, an empty violin case and pictures covered it. Nearby, a dachshund chewed on a stained pillow’s stuffing. It lifted his head and woofed halfheartedly before returning to his task.

  “If I’d known you was coming, I would’ve fixed you some lemon bars,” Aunt Susanna called from the kitchen. Through a large archway, he glimpsed her at a sink filled with empty cartons of juice and soda bottles. “You want something to drink?”

  “Don’t go to any fuss.” Cole watched as Katie-Lynn turned slowly, her wide eyes cataloging the space, her horror mirroring his. It’d been a long time since he’d been inside his aunt’s house. Did his pa know his great-aunt was hoarding? They needed to help her. Immediately.

  “How long have you lived here?” Katie-Lynn asked when Aunt Susanna returned, carrying a jug of sweet tea and red Solo cups.

  “Since I moved off the ranch.” Aunt Susanna poured them each a glass, then tossed the empty jug onto a stack of magazines. “About fifty years ago when our aunt Gemmy left it to me. Boyd inherited the ranch, so I got this house.”

  “How long’s it been in your family?”

  “One hundred and fifteen years,” Cole supplied.

  Aunt Susanna’s eyes gleamed beneath drooping eyelids. “Was built by Theodore and Reginald Loveland, a couple of bachelors who’d left the family ranch to work at John Osgood’s marble quarry in Yule Valley. As younger sons, they didn’t stand to inherit, so they made their own way.”

  Katie-Lynn cocked her head. “I didn’t know marble was quarried here.”

  Aunt Susanna’s shoulders lifted and fell beneath her housecoat. “You’re not from around here.”

  “She used to be.” Cole struggled not to make a face as he downed a gulp of the lukewarm, bitter tea.

  “That right?” Aunt Susanna’s raised eyebrows communicated her disbelief. “Well, Yule Marble’s the best in the world. Look at any government building or bank and you’ll see it—white and smooth, polished like glass. Was even used to create the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington Cemetery.”

  Katie-Lynn sipped her tea, her expression serene. If her drink tasted as nasty as his, she hid it well. “You know quite a bit of history.”

  Aunt Susanna’s chin wobbled in a jerky nod. “I was the local historian at Carbondale Museum for over forty-five years.”

  Katie-Lynn flashed her trademark warm smile. It said, “I like you. We’re going to be friends.” It drew others to her...had drawn him, once.

  Still did.

  “We’ve got a lot in common, then. I’m the host of a history show and—”

  Aunt Susanna’s raised hand forestalled the rest of Katie-Lynn’s words. “Heard it in your messages. You’re a pushy thing, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment?”

  Cole’s lips twisted into a smile. Katie-Lynn had pluck, as his grandma used to say.

  “It is,” Aunt Susanna said firmly, approvingly.

  “She’s Gary and Brenda Brennon’s daughter,” Cole said. Everyone feared and avoided formidable Aunt Susanna. Yet Katie-Lynn thawed her with ease.

  She could charm the birds out of the trees... Another one of his grandma’s expressions that fit Katie-Lynn.

  “Of course!” Aunt Susanna clapped a hand on top of Katie-Lynn’s. “Didn’t recognize you. You used to cut my lawn with an engineless mower. Could never figure out how a scrawny little thing could push that metal contraption, but you never quit.”

  Katie-Lynn nodded. “I never do.”

  Except on me. Cole forced down the last of the tea and gagged as a few unidentifiable bits hit the back of his throat. Katie-Lynn was persistent when going after something she wanted. She didn’t wait for things to happen like he did; she made them happen. And he still liked that quality about her. A lot.

  “Your ma gave me that magnet on my fridge. Your brother Keith’s got some miracle cure for arthritis.”

  Cole followed his aunt’s finger point and spied a marijuana leaf cutout. Beside him, Katie-Lynn made a choking sound, cheeks bulging as she held in a laugh. When her dancing eyes met his, he clamped his lips shut to keep from chuckling.

  “We’re all so proud of him,” Katie-Lynn intoned a moment later, shooting Cole a quick sideways glance, communicating a private joke. His brief frown expressed mock-outrage.

  Aunt Susanna’s eyes swung from Katie-Lynn to him. “And you two were engaged. How could I have forgotten? I still have your save-the-date picture.”

  “Where?” Cole’s heart tapped a strange beat. He’d thrown out everything that reminded him of Katie-Lynn long ago.

  “It’s on the fridge.”

  Cole strode through the path to the kitchen and stopped in front of the refrigerator. The photograph of him nuzzling a laughing Katie-Lynn beside a slatted wooden fence struck him like a blow. He’d looked so...happy. In love. At peace.

  Who was that young man with hope in his eyes? Such faith?

  He was gone now.

  Long gone.

  Cole tugged the picture free and cupped it in his palm. He read the “Save the Date” he’d painted on the fence. He glanced over his shoulder, pocketed the picture, then strolled back to the living room.

  “You come from good people, Ms. Brennon,” his aunt said. “How can I help you?”

  “Please call me Katlynn. And I’m hoping you might help me with the Loveland-Cade feud. I’m investigating its origins and what happened to Cora’s T
ear.”

  “Whistling Dixie, that be quite a find. A fifty-carat sapphire. Be worth millions today.”

  “What can you tell me about it?” Katlynn pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “May I record you?”

  Aunt Susanna nodded, drawing in a deep breath. “Jeb Cade, a prospector, hit a lucky streak in 1887. Lots of silver and a fifty-carat sapphire. He used the funds to buy land for his ranch and sent the stone to Oberstein, Germany, a famed gem-cutting city. They created a tear-shaped brooch for his mother, Cora.”

  A keen light gleamed in Katie-Lynn’s eyes. “Quite a history.”

  “I’m just getting started. How about we sit outside?”

  Cole followed the jabbering pair. They stopped beneath a large oak where Aunt Susanna lowered herself onto a wooden bench encircling the trunk. Katie-Lynn perched beside her on the worn seat. Cole’s gaze wandered back to the dilapidated house. They had to gut the place. Raze it possibly, though it’d be a shame given its age and importance to his family.

  Katie-Lynn primly crossed her ankles and placed her phone on her lap. “Who was the first Loveland settler in the area?”

  “Wyatt Loveland.” Cole tested the bench’s soft wood before lowering himself to it. “A cavalry man who fought in the Colorado War. He deserted rather than take part in the Sand Creek Massacre.”

  Katie-Lynn shuddered. “An entire village of Cheyenne and Arapaho were ambushed and killed.”

  “No glory there,” Aunt Susanna observed, picking up the story. “Just a plain tragedy. Anyways, Wyatt was a loner. Bucked the system. Did things his own way.”

  “Apples don’t fall far from their trees, do they?” Katie-Lynn asked, her eyes on Cole. The pocketed photograph crinkled as he moved, restless, under her stare.

  Aunt Susanna chuckled. “Nope. Lovelands keep to themselves unless there’s help needed. Then we’re first to arrive.”

  “Speaking of help, Aunt Susanna, I’d like to—”

  “Shush, boy.” She cut Cole off with a wave of her hand. “Wyatt fell for a Cheyenne gal, Ayiana, who was Chief Black Kettle’s daughter. He rescued her from Sand Creek, married her and brought her to Carbondale, where he used his pension and savings to buy Loveland Hills. Was quite the scandal.”

  “Seems to be a theme for the Lovelands.”

  “We don’t go looking for drama, but it finds us. That there’s the truth,” Aunt Susanna avowed. “Unlucky in love, too. Ayiana died giving birth to their one and only son, Terrance.”

  “Such a shame.”

  “Lots of sad stories when it comes to the Lovelands.”

  The save-the-date picture burned in Cole’s pocket.

  “What can you tell me about Everett Loveland?”

  Overhead, leaves rustled in the slight breeze. Cole yanked his gaze off Katie-Lynn and peered upward, ignoring a familiar pang, his weakness for her friendly, determined, persistent nature. Backlit by the sun, the leaves glowed neon green.

  “Not much other than what was passed down from my grandmother.” Aunt Susanna’s house slippers scuffed the dirt. “Everett was Terrance’s youngest boy. Didn’t stand to inherit anything. Had no prospects. Certainly not the kind of man able to go courting, especially not the sheltered daughter of a prosperous rancher. It’s a mystery why he was holding Maggie Cade’s body at the bottom of McClure Pass.”

  “What’s your theory?”

  “Hard to say.” Aunt Susanna toyed with a tarnished silver locket hanging from her neck. “I don’t think he murdered her or stole the gem. If he did, they would have found it on him.”

  “Didn’t make any difference to the Cades.” Cole waved away a hovering cloud of gnats. “They hanged Everett from the nearest tree when they discovered him with Maggie. But that’s the Cades for you...hot-tempered, impulsive outlaws.”

  Katie-Lynn’s eyes flicked to his. “Travis mentioned some of them had hid out and harassed the Lovelands.”

  “Two of Maggie’s brothers. The sheriff, Everett Loveland’s brother Earl, arrested them, but relatives broke them out of jail.” Aunt Susanna rose from the bench and brushed off the back of her housecoat.

  “Typical,” Cole muttered, thinking of all the skirmishes between his family and the Cades. It’d be a flat-out miracle if the wedding went off without a hitch, no one hurt or worse.

  “Was Maggie betrothed at the time of her death?”

  Aunt Susanna dropped back to the bench at Katie-Lynn’s follow-up question. She sure knew how to coax people into talking. Most important, she was an excellent listener.

  The thought wrenched him back to their Say Anything tree after his mother’s suicide. Her soft hand had curled in his as they’d perched on a branch. The horror of discovering his ma had struck him mute. They’d simply sat for hours. Days. Until eventually, he’d begun to speak. The secrets, the anguish, the shame he’d bottled up as an alcoholic’s child, had poured out.

  And she’d listened.

  It’d meant everything.

  Aunt Susanna rubbed her chin then snapped her fingers. “Came across an engagement announcement with Maggie’s name when I was archiving old newspapers.”

  “Who was her fiancé?”

  “Name slips my mind, but it’d be on file at the museum.” Aunt Susanna supplied them with dates to check.

  “Would you have any old family records, pictures, maybe the family bible?”

  Aunt Susanna nodded. “Might be hard to get to them. I’ve been meaning to organize...”

  Cole saw his opportunity and jumped at it. “We’ll help.”

  His aunt’s face paled. “Oh. I don’t know. It’d be an awful lot of work. Wouldn’t want to put anyone out.”

  “It’d be no trouble,” he insisted. “Plus, it’d help solve an old mystery.”

  “Which would bring a lot of attention to the rich history of this area,” coaxed Katie-Lynn, reading his aunt with spot-on accuracy.

  Aunt Susanna’s head whipped between them. “No throwing anything out.”

  “We’ll sort it and let you decide,” Cole assured her, taking her veined hand in his. “You have my word.”

  Aunt Susanna’s shoulders lowered. “Well, then...” She brushed at her eyes. “Don’t want any strangers in here. Just family.”

  “You got it. What about Katie-Lynn?” His eyes lingered on her earnest expression. As much as he wanted to keep his family’s secrets private, she deserved to be here.

  “She’s practically family, ain’t she? Or was...maybe I should ask you some questions.” Aunt Susanna tapped him on the knee. “How’d you let a gem like Katlynn get away?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder that myself.”

  * * *

  “THERE IT IS!” Katlynn exclaimed when the grainy image of a newspaper engagement announcement filled one of Carbondale Museum’s computer screens. “Mr. and Mrs. Jeb Cade, of Carbondale, Colorado, announce the engagement of their daughter Maggie Elizabeth Cade to Clyde William Farthington, previously of Chicago, Illinois,” she read aloud. “He is the only son of the late Mr. and Mrs. Prescott Farthington. Mr. Farthington is a graduate of Harvard University and owns the Crystal River Railroad Company. The wedding will take place June 1, 1907.”

  Cole placed a hand on the back of Katlynn’s chair and leaned down for a closer look. Her eyes closed as she breathed in his clean, masculine scent: pine, leather and sandalwood. Delicious. And forbidden. She snapped her eyes open. Focus.

  “He looks a lot older than her.” Cole’s deep voice rumbled by her ear.

  “At least twice her age or more. He could be her father. Grandfather, even.” Katlynn scanned their faces, looking for hints of the story behind their stern expressions. “She doesn’t look happy, either.”

  “How can you tell? Nobody smiled in pictures back then.”

  “Her eyes. They’re sad.” Katlynn studied the young woman’s pretty fac
e, noting her drooping bow-shaped mouth and the despair in her large brown eyes. Thick, honey-colored hair swept upward into a top knot, and she wore a blousy white shirt with lace edging the high-neck collar. “She doesn’t like him.”

  “Now you’re making stuff up.”

  “I’m serious. Look at how she’s sitting. She’s on the edge of the chair, as far from Clyde as possible. And see how he’s kind of looming over her, standing behind the chair?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Cole’s slow nod.

  “He’s possessive,” Cole observed.

  “Yes. You can see it in the way he’s gripping her shoulder.” Katlynn peered at the pinch-faced, mustached man who wore a three-piece suit and a derby hat over clipped white hair. “His fingers are denting her shirt. It looks almost painful. Like he’s forcing her to sit and take the picture.”

  “Arranged marriages were common. He was a wealthy man. It would have been considered a good match.”

  “For him,” Katlynn countered. “He was getting a young, beautiful woman.”

  Cole pulled up a chair. “And she’d be marrying a man of means and gaining a privileged life. Isn’t that what women want? Fame and fortune?”

  Katlynn turned and sucked in a fast breath when their noses almost touched. “What about love?”

  Cole blinked. “For some, it’s not enough.”

  Her heart seized. “Are we still just talking about Maggie and Clyde?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “What you want to talk about.”

  “Oh. Well,” she faltered. “Let’s stick to Maggie, Clyde and Everett for now.”

  Cole’s steady blue eyes bored into hers. “If that’s what you want.”

  “I don’t think she wanted to marry him.”

  Cole shrugged. “Maybe not. But people were practical then.”

  “No, they weren’t,” she insisted, fierce. “Everyone wants to find their special someone.”

  “Maybe it’s not possible for everyone.” A sad note entered Cole’s voice as he stared at the picture once more.

  Her pulse stumbled in her veins. Was Cole right? Her focus on her career left her little time for love. Would she end her life without ever finding it again? What a depressing thought...worse than losing her show. What good was success if you had no one to share it with?