He mollified her with a smile that started with his eyes. “I’m sure they haven’t, ma’am. Guess I’ll drop my things and go take a look at where I’ve landed.”
“Fine.” Harriet gave him a crisp nod. “It’s room five. Breakfast’s at seven-thirty, lunch is at one, and supper’s at six. You’ll find it pretty quiet here. It’s a small town.”
Mr. Munroe turned to the window and studied the street for a moment. “Small for now, I guess. I understand people have been moving in around here. Usually livens a place up a bit.”
His limp showed more plainly as he climbed the stairs. A Southerner by the sound of him and, unless Harriet missed her guess, born a gentleman. Not an uncommon type out here. Mr. Munroe made her curious, but she’d learned a long time ago that it was bad business to quiz her boarders. One way or another, her questions would be answered in time.
* * *
Nathan Munroe dumped his bag and spared the room a quick glance. The iron bedstead boasted a red and white quilt; the chest of drawers in the corner would be more than ample for his meager belongings, and a comfortable-looking overstuffed chair sat by the window.
How long has it been since you slept in a real bed and ate a woman’s cooking?
He stepped out, locked the door behind him and headed for Garrett’s saloon, empty at this hour except for a few customers who didn’t appear to be the town’s leading lights. One man, barely visible in the shadows at a corner table, looked like he hadn’t moved since the previous night. He lifted his head for a moment, then slouched in his chair again as Nathan settled himself on a barstool.
“Coffee, please. Black. Are you Mr. Garrett?”
“Yeah. Call me Neil.” The scarred redhead filled a cup and slid it across the bar. “Here you are.”
Nathan took a sip, then swallowed more. It tasted good, hot and strong. “Nice little town you’ve got here.”
Neil’s green eyes sized Nathan up as he refilled his cup. “You passing through?”
“I’m looking for a place to settle. Looks like decent country. All it needs is some good people and maybe a little more water.”
Neil flashed a gap-toothed grin. “Mister, a few good people and a little more water would turn hell into heaven. You can raise cattle around here, though, if you hold your mouth right.”
Nathan sipped his coffee and considered something stronger, then thought better of it. “How many people in town?”
“Three hundred, maybe three twenty-five.”
He felt someone’s gaze on him and turned around. A young woman stood in the entrance to the saloon’s back hall. Her tousled chestnut hair tumbled around her shoulders, which the stained blue dress she wore left bare. When she caught Nathan’s eye, her lips curved in a slow, inviting smile. He hadn’t seen a woman who looked that good for quite some time.
“You keep women here?”
Garrett’s grin widened. “Not me. Don’t you know that’s illegal? I just rent rooms to them. What they do in them’s none of my business, as long as they pay their rent. Lena never has a problem doing that. She’s real popular.”
“Bet she is.”
Lena disappeared down the hall, leaving Nathan reflecting on his slim purse. This town had better be a lucky one for him.
Three hundred and twenty-five people. There’d been a hundred at Cedarhill all told when he was growing up. A small town, really, in its own right. The largest plantation in Morgan County, next to the Sinclairs’.
Nathan wouldn’t go back to that life if he could. He’d enjoyed spending money when he had it, but it didn’t bother him to be without it any more. The war had given him a different view of what he needed. At home, he’d often been restless to the point where it became anger. Now he had freedom. He’d always enjoyed a good scrap and he’d survived a real dandy, only a little the worse for wear. He’d fought long and hard enough to learn to appreciate peace.
That’s what a growing town like this needs. Someone who appreciates peace.
CHAPTER 4
The morning sun slanted through the side windows of the cabin and up into the loft, waking Beth early. She smelled coffee and frying ham, and heard the faint hiss of a fire in the stove, but no sounds of anyone moving about. Trey must be already up and out. She put on her brown gingham, brushed and re-braided her hair, and climbed down the ladder, wishing she felt brave and determined.
One day at a time.
When she saw the thick, gently sizzling slice of ham in the skillet at the edge of the stove, she decided it needed an egg. Beth had learned to fry eggs on camping trips as a child. She found a bowl and headed for the chicken coop, but when she stepped inside an angry, squawking bundle of feathers flew at her face. She just managed to put the door between herself and the rooster.
Right, then. You’re going to learn some manners, or you’ll find yourself in a stew pot. She marched to the barn and grabbed the first bridle she came to, with Trey watching from Cheyenne’s stall. He put down his currycomb and leaned on the half-door. “Morning. Problem?”
“D’you think that rooster’s too tough to eat?”
A teasing light gleamed in Trey’s eyes. “I’ve wondered that a few times myself. I heard him out there. Need some help?”
Beth doubled up the reins in her hand and lifted her chin. “No, thank you. I’ll deal with him. I want an egg with my ham.”
In spite of his restless night, Trey’s face showed no sign of lost sleep. It seemed he liked early mornings. An image of him sitting at the table in the lamplight, shirtless, sprang to Beth’s mind. Her blood began to run a little faster. “Did you have trouble sleeping last night?”
Trey turned back to Cheyenne, reached for the soft brush on the window ledge and ran it along the mare’s side. “A little. How about you?”
“Yes. Strange bed, I guess.”
He kept his back to her while the silence lengthened. It made sense that Trey felt awkward around her after years of living alone, but it only made Beth’s loneliness worse.
“Wish me luck,” she said.
“Give ‘em hell.”
Trey left Cheyenne’s stall and crossed the aisle to Cloud’s, brushing by Beth without a glance. Dismissed, she marched back to the chicken coop and stepped inside, bridle in hand. When the rooster flew at her again, he got a sound slap with the reins. That was one effective way to deal with a prickly male.
After breakfast, while Beth was up in the loft making her bed, Trey called to her from the cabin doorway. “You said you could ride. I’ve got time to show you around the place this morning, if you’d like.”
Her Uncle Robert had taught Beth young how to sit a horse, and she’d taken to it as naturally as she had to drawing. She’d show Trey that she had one useful skill at least. “Sure. I’ll change. It’ll only take me a minute.”
She reached for her denims, then lost her nerve and put on the tan divided skirt and white blouse she’d brought with her for riding.
Out in the yard, Trey had the horses ready.
Beth smiled when she saw that he’d saddled spirited Chance for her instead of quiet Cheyenne.
Fine, Mr. McShannon. You’ll see.
She swung lightly into the saddle. The mare must not have been exercised for a while. Full of pent-up energy, she danced and sidestepped. Appreciation showed on Trey’s face when Beth kept her seat and easily reined Chance in. Cloud fell into step beside her. Once the horses were warm, Trey threw Beth a challenging glance.
“Want to run, Philadelphia?”
Beth returned his challenge with a grin and a toss of her braid. “Why not?”
She shifted her weight and urged Chance to a gallop, with Cloud only one jump behind her. The stallion was years older, much heavier and carrying a lot more weight, but he had the advantage in power. Beth had to ask Chance for everything she had to stay ahead. The mare responded, instinctively lengthening her stride and putting her all into the race. Trey and Cloud couldn’t run her down.
They let the horses run together
for a mile, neck and neck. When they pulled back to a walk, Trey saluted Beth with a tip of his cap. “You can ride, and that little lady can run. I’ve never had a chance to try her like this with another horse.”
Beth had to catch her breath before she could answer. She hadn’t ridden that fast since the day when, aged thirteen, she’d blackmailed one of the exercise boys at Uncle Robert’s farm into letting her ride one of the colts in training. “Yes, she can. Has she ever raced?”
“No. I couldn’t afford to buy proven winners. I had to go by bloodlines alone and buy yearlings. Her foals will, though, and if breeding means anything they’ll do well. Believe it or not, there are people out here who are interested in good horses.” Trey reached down and tugged at a handful of the stallion’s black mane. “Cloud’s thirteen now, but there’s still plenty of time.”
Beth understood Trey’s pride. Flying Cloud might be well into his maturity, but he certainly had some legs left, and still enjoyed using them. He stepped along, looking very pleased with himself.
“You’ve raced him, haven’t you?”
“Yes, for a couple of years at county fairs, and a few times at larger meets. He lost his first race and he didn’t like it. He never lost another. I swear he still misses it.” By his tone, so did Trey. “We stopped when I turned eighteen. I’d gotten too big. I’d have broken him down. I should’ve gotten Dad to ride him. He’s not much taller or heavier than you, but pound for pound he’s one of the toughest men I’ve ever known. At fifteen I was already a head taller than him, but he was boss all right.”
Beth had to admire the man. She didn’t imagine Trey had been easy to bring up. “You said your father grew up around racing stables. Was he a jockey?”
“Yes. He rode in his first race when he was fifteen. He spent seven years riding other people’s horses. I remember what he said to me before Cloud’s first start. ‘I never raced a horse of my own, but when I went out on the track, it never mattered to me who the horse belonged to. If the bond is there between you, it’s you he’ll kill himself running for.’”
Beth liked the affection behind the words. Though he’d chosen to fight for the Union, Trey’s bond with his family hadn’t been shattered by the war, nor had it grown weak with time and distance. “How did your father end up coming over here?”
“Luck. He liked betting on the horses as well as he liked riding. He won a few times in a row, then he quit while he was ahead. He wanted to own Thoroughbreds one day, and he couldn’t do it at home. I guess he passed on a bit of his gambling urge to me. On my way west, Cloud helped me earn my grubstake.”
Wanting to keep Trey talking, Beth nudged Chance forward to bring her alongside the stallion. “How?”
Trey’s grin held a dash of pure devilry. “Before I started west, I bought the wagon and broke him to harness.” He shook his head at the memory. “Broke is a good word for it. I wondered what was going to get broken first – the wagon, Cloud’s legs, or my neck, but we worked it out after a while. Then, whenever we came to a town I made sure he was all covered in dust, hitched to the wagon. I’d find a place to have a drink or two and start going on about my fast horse. When enough people had put their money and their horses up against me, we’d leave them in the dust.”
Beth let out a peal of laughter, picturing the shocked faces on race day. “Didn’t anyone catch on?”
“Not often. Now and then, someone would look closer than the others and bet on me, but Cloud still looked pretty rough from the war and most people didn’t give him more than a glance. Some of them didn’t take losing all that well. A few times we left town in a hurry.”
They rode in silence for a while over the rolling landscape. It reminded Beth of the ocean, with the breeze rippling the grass and an immense openness around them, punctuated only by occasional clumps of pines and cottonwoods. It intimidated and inspired awe at the same time. Beth saw shades of green and gold she knew she’d never be able to mix on a palette, and they changed with every cloud that passed by.
They came to the crest of a hill and looked down into a shallow river valley where cattle grazed.
Trey pulled Cloud to a stop. “Mine and Logan’s.” He pointed to the far end of the valley, where the ground dipped a little lower. “I grow oats and cut hay down there, and there are a couple of meadows up in the hills that grow good grass as well. Logan and I drive the cattle that are ready for market to Denver twice a year. Money’s always tight, but I haven’t starved yet.”
Maybe not, but with his obvious affinity for Thoroughbreds, why wasn’t he working at a racing stable back east? It would make more sense than trying to raise blooded horses in homestead country. What people needed out here was a good plow horse or cow pony.
“Where will you sell your horses? Will you ship them east? And aren’t you worried about thieves?” Beth wouldn’t have questioned Trey at the house, but out here he seemed so at ease, so much in his element that she took the chance.
He kicked his feet from the stirrups, stretched his legs, and gave her a rueful smile. “I know. I’ve been told I’m crazy so often I’m almost ready to believe it. Half the kids in town still call me ‘Englishman’ because I rode in one time with a racing saddle on Cloud. I doubt if anyone in Wallace Flats had seen one before. As for thieves, no one’s likely to steal a horse that’s going to stand out a mile if they try to sell it. I probably will ship horses east when the railroad comes, and someday there’ll be a market on the west coast, too. Everyone likes a good horse race. Meanwhile, I’ll get by. I’m not in it to get rich, and I could never have afforded land back east. This is home now.”
Beth saw the determination on his face, heard it in his voice. “This place is very important to you, isn’t it?”
Too important to share?
“Yes, it is. The land here can’t be farmed like it could at home. Overwork it and it dries up and blows away, but respect it and it’ll feed you. It feels good to have a place I built myself. Maddy and Logan’s place is just over there.”
They splashed through the shallow river, cantered up the opposite slope and stopped, looking down at the Kinsleys’ homestead. The house was a larger version of Trey’s, made of the same weathered, hand-split logs. Maddy had planted a rosebush under the kitchen window, but everything else was plain and functional.
Beth recalled the house she’d grown up in, with hardly an empty space anywhere. It had always seemed cluttered to her. Life there had often seemed cluttered as well. Comparing that house to the Kinsleys’ wasn’t really possible. They represented two completely different ways of living.
Trey’s gaze met hers. “That’s what I hope to have in five years, Beth. Probably it’s all I’ll ever have. Do you think you could live in a house like that for the rest of your life?”
Beth turned away and looked down at the Kinsleys’ place again. “I don’t know, Trey. It’s a different world. I need you to tell me what you expect from me.”
The words hung in the air between them for a long moment before he answered. “I’ve been going from sunup to sundown, just doing what has to be done. Cooking meals, looking after the house, the vegetable garden – it all adds up. I don’t want you to work yourself to death, but I need you to take over those things. The mares don’t get enough exercise. Having you ride them will be a real help.”
“That’ll be a pleasure. And there’s no reason why I can’t help with the barn work, too.”
Trey’s mouth set in a stubborn line. He pulled Cloud’s head from the grass and turned him toward her. “No. That’s no place for you – not yet, anyway.”
Beth kept her annoyance hidden for the moment. She hadn’t been here a full day yet, but she could already see that Trey needed help outside the house as well as inside. She appreciated him not pushing her, but since she’d offered… “Why not? You have plenty of other work – work that I can’t do.”
“Yes, but you’ve never worked with horses on the ground, and my horses don’t know you. Have you ever been kicked?
I have, and it isn’t entertainment. Leave the barn work to me until I have time to teach you.”
“Teach me what? How to swing a pitchfork? How difficult can it be? I suppose Maddy does barn chores and milks the cows?”
Trey let out an exasperated sigh. “Maddy’s been a rancher’s wife for thirty years. You’re a lady.”
Beth’s temper got the better of her. This was exactly how she’d always been treated at home. “Oh, Elizabeth, I’ve been looking for you. I’ve invited guests for dinner and your aunt wants you to see to the dining table. Go and find her. Graham and I have business to discuss.”
“Beth, dear, your paintings are lovely, but a public showing would look far too forward. That is for professionals.”
She wasn’t going to listen to this kind of thing again from Trey or anyone else. “You’re no different than Graham and Uncle Robert. Trey, to be the kind of lady you’re thinking of – decorative and useless – takes a lady’s income, and I don’t have that anymore.”
Trey’s voice turned harsh. “Beth, what’s the matter with you? I just told you there’s plenty for you to do.”
“Fine. I think your pride’s getting in the way of your common sense, but I’ll stay out of the barn if that’s what you want. I’m not a five-year-old, you know.”
“I know,” Trey muttered, “so stop acting like one. Let’s go home.”
By the time they got back to the homestead, Beth was as angry with herself as with Trey. She had been a bit childish, and she had a lot to learn, but it hurt to have Trey reject her offer to be a real working partner, if not a real wife, while she was here. She dismounted in the yard, left Chance standing there for Trey just as she would have done for Graham’s stable hand back in Denver, and hurried inside.
At lunch she stayed as bright and frosty as a sunny January day, then after doing the dishes she took her sketchbook, easel, and a chair outside.
It wasn’t the best time of day for landscapes, so Beth began a charcoal sketch of Cloud standing in the corral. She got so caught up in trying to capture the sheen of his coat, the suggestion of motion he gave even when he was still, that she jumped when Trey spoke from behind her. She had no idea how long he’d been standing there.
To Capture the Sky (Choices of the Heart, book 2) Page 4