She couldn’t quite see all the details of his expression, but she thought she heard a smile in his tone. “It will help you with your article writing.”
The front door of the ranch house opened. “Olivia?”
Ryan raised his hand and dug his heels into his horse’s sides. The animal lunged forward, gained its footing, and settled into a gallop.
She set the wagon into motion. Her father waited until she pulled the horse to a stop. His hand touched her elbow and aided her descent. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Was somebody with you?”
“A neighbor, making sure I got safely home.”
If her father suspected anything amiss, he didn’t question. “Been waiting supper for you. Got some leftover beans on the stove and a biscuit. You get on inside; I’ll put the horse up.”
Olivia raised on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I missed you, too, Father.” Before he could form a response, she hustled past him and into the house.
fourteen
The sun beamed down unmercifully. Ryan’s mother had insisted he take an extra hat for Olivia to wear when they went out for their ride. He now wished he’d never said a word about Olivia’s request. His mother treated it like the official announcement that they were courting. Even as he dropped her off at the general store that morning, she’d trilled and chattered and moved with such a light step and quickness that he knew her hopes were soaring. Probably itching to knit baby booties.
He did his best to ignore all her mama-flapping ways, but when she eyed his head critically then asked him to bend down, her attempt to smooth down his cowlick right in front of the general store for all to see was the last straw.
“Never could tame that patch of hair,” she groused.
He stuffed back his embarrassment, hoping the red-hot heat on his neck wouldn’t climb higher. Ryan did his best to remain stone-faced, imagining the stares of a thousand townspeople spearing into his back and smothering grins of laughter. Bad enough he had to bring his mother into town, but for her to make a spectacle of him as if he still wore short pants and suspenders. . .
He adjusted the hat on his head lower over his eyes and hauled himself into the wagon. He left the conveyance at the livery and paid for the use of a dun. The Wyoming sunshine beat down hot on his shoulders, but the breeze against his face from the forward momentum of the dun eased the sweats. He and Olivia had never discussed what time to do the tour, cut off as they’d been by her father’s appearance. As he made his way down Main Street, he figured he’d duck into Landry’s and the newspaper office to see if Olivia was in town.
Landry’s came up first.
Phoebe greeted him with an index finger pointing at an empty table in the corner and a nod of the head. The woman had her hands full in what was either a late-breakfast rush or an early lunch. No, too early for lunch he decided as he slid into the chair. At least from the table he had a clear view of the street and the comings and goings of people. Should Olivia pass, he could meet up with her and put a time on their planned ride.
Phoebe brought him water and dashed away when he held his hand up to indicate he wanted nothing else. When the crowd had dwindled somewhat, she slumped into the chair across from him. “I’ll be so glad to be out of this place.”
“Don’t let Robert hear you.”
She snorted. “He’ll have someone to take my place before the door shuts behind me.” Phoebe plucked at her apron and drew in a deep breath.
“You’re leaving?” He recalled Olivia saying something about it.
“Got a place outside of town. By Bowman’s. Me and Jacob Isley are hooking up to run it.”
Ryan nodded. Jacob Isley wasn’t a man he remembered, but he could see Phoebe hitching up with a rancher. “You know much about what’s going on ’round these parts?”
“You mean the shooting of your father.” It wasn’t a question, and the way her eyes hardened told him she knew quite a bit on the subject. She tugged a rag from the pocket of her apron.
“Seems Sattler is getting too big for his britches.”
“He’s sure not the affectionate type. Olivia’s hurting something awful. He’s turned cold since his wife’s. . .” She clamped her mouth tight and gave a little shake of her head. “But I guess that affects Olivia more than it does you.”
If Olivia was hurting over something, Phoebe was right, it wasn’t any of his business. “Olivia and I are supposed to ride around the town. She wants to meet her neighbors.”
Phoebe had been rubbing a chunk of hardened yolk off the table when her head jerked up. “You and Olivia?” Her brow knit. “Riding around where?”
“Is something wrong with that? You thinking we might need a chaperone?”
Phoebe returned to the yolk, alternately scraping at the sunny patch with her nail and rubbing over it with a damp cloth. “Could arouse some talk, but I don’t expect talk will worry Olivia. Or you for that matter.”
“Got a mind to ride around myself. Check out Sattler’s property more thoroughly, especially that section that butts up to our ranch.”
Phoebe tugged at the lobe of her right ear. Her tongue darted out over her lips, and she would not meet his eyes. “Just be careful. Keep Olivia safe.”
She didn’t give him a chance to ask for an explanation before she scraped the chair backward and hurried toward the kitchen. Conversation over.
❧
When Olivia emerged from the general store garbed in her first new piece of western clothing, a riding skirt, she felt like she had finally shed her city-girl ways. It felt good. As soon as she opened the door to the Bulletin, Marv’s gaze caught hers then lowered to the floor. At least now he would look at her. Tom rose from the desk at the back of the room and motioned her forward. His smile stretched from ear to ear. Hair pulled back taut and wet with a generous amount of hair oil, Tom Mahone looked every inch a charming personality, except for the dark shadow of his eyes and the scar on his right cheek.
“Mr. Mahone.”
“Olivia. I’ve been meaning to speak with you. How are you coming on your first article? It’s due Friday, as I’m sure Marv has told you.”
Tom’s eyes slid to Marv, and she didn’t miss the way the older man responded with slack-jawed amazement.
She bided her time forming a response. Thick tension buzzed in the room. “I haven’t been in very often,” she said, eyes on Marv. Did she imagine the release of tension in his thin shoulders?
“I see.” Tom leaned forward, the squeak of his chair loud in the room. “I don’t tolerate lateness, Olivia, and I won’t accept just anything to run in this newspaper.”
His smile was fashioned to take the sting from his words, she was sure, but his message came through loud and clear. If she did not write what suited his tastes, her articles would not be run, and she could be fired. He leaned forward, and she braced herself.
“Have you thought any more about having dinner with me?”
Olivia lunged upward, disgusted by the man’s taciturn per-sonality. Though she’d never met the editor of the Philadelphia newspaper, there had been no such pressure to report styles according to the fashion editor’s taste. And that was the difference she realized. This wasn’t the city where several editors headed different sections of the newspaper. The Buffalo Bulletin was run by one man, and she must not forget that. Attractive though he might be, she did not approve of the way he shifted and twisted to fit his own purpose.
She started for the door, calling over her shoulder. “I bid you a good day, Mr. Mahone. I’ll have my article on your desk Thursday.” There. Take that.
“Miss Sattler.” She could tell by the squeak of his chair that he was on his feet. Next thing would be a protest from him, something calculated to smooth matters over. She didn’t stop to listen.
fifteen
Ryan called himself every kind of fool for sitting around doing nothing while waiting on a woman. The dun stood three-legged at the hitching post, dozing in the heat of the afternoon sun. He was p
aying good money for the horse, and here he sat. Doing nothing. Waiting on a woman who might or might not show up in town just because she asked to ride with him. His brain was becoming as brittle as a cow pie in the sun.
Phoebe checked on him one more time, probably hoping he would just leave. With the beginnings of lunch, the crowds would explode, and she would need his table. He would check the paper’s office. Decision made, Ryan flicked a coin onto the table and stretched to his feet. Dust hung in the air outside the restaurant, residue of the passage of a fast-moving wagon down Main. He unhitched the dun, who seemed uninterested in anything other than staying right where he was.
He glanced once more at the office of the Buffalo Bulletin. A slender form ducked from the newspaper office. Soft strawberry hair, a delicate complexion. . . His heart beat harder at the sight of her, and he kicked the dun into motion.
“Been looking for you.” He wished the words back as soon as they left his mouth. He sounded like some pathetic sop. Leaning forward, he rested his hands on the pommel and finally noticed the thin line of her lips and the dangerous flash pulsing from her eyes. Though she stopped, she acted as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. Good.
“Something wrong, Miss Sattler?”
Her skirt skimmed along the road, and her feet left a small trail of smoky dust with every step that drew her closer to him. “I can’t wait to get out of this town and get some work done on my first article.”
He covered his grin as she scurried up into her wagon and backed the horse up. He enjoyed seeing her rankled. He bet Tom Mahone was just now realizing what a spirited filly he’d employed. But how she figured on exploring rough terrain in a wagon was beyond him.
“I’ll drop the wagon off and get a horse. Daddy left a list of some things to pick up,” she said. Her words came out like an explosion of buckshot. “I’ll meet you at your place.”
Whatever emotion had her in its grip, it sure wasn’t the joy of riding with him that he’d hoped to elicit. Still. . . “Sounds good to me.” He turned the dun as she struggled to back the horse.
“Harder to learn a wagon than a saddle,” he said as he dismounted. He put a toe on the step up and hesitated. She grinned, put the reins down, and slid over to make room for him.
“Lesson number one. Make sure you put even pressure on the reins. The horse’ll know how to back up, but he needs some time.”
❧
She took in his words and ways, studying how he handled the reins as he backed the wagon far enough away that she would be able to turn out onto the main road. Without another word, he handed the reins to her and jumped down. He lifted his head, and one side of his mouth curled upward. “You look nice. Just like you never left Buffalo.”
“Your mother’s doing. She’s going to make a name for herself in this town.”
“Not all her doing.” And this time she saw the appreciation in his eyes. He lifted his brows and winked, and she felt her blood warm at the attention.
“You, sir, are a flirt.”
Ryan didn’t respond. He was too busy settling himself in the saddle. He motioned her forward and allowed the dun to fall into step alongside the wagon, far enough back that she would have to turn to see him.
It took her some time at the stable to find a hand available to saddle a bay mare that looked gentle. The hand worked slow enough that she could follow his moves as he settled a blanket on the horse’s back then threw the saddle on and put a belt around its belly that reminded her of a corset. As he gave her a hand up, she was grateful that her father didn’t appear to ask where she was headed.
Ryan was at the place where the Rocking S touched Laxalt property. His back was to her, and he held the reins of his horse loose in one hand. She studied his silhouette until the beat of her horse’s hooves alerted him to her presence and he turned.
“Are you ready, cowboy?”
When his gaze met hers, a smile creased the corners. It softened the hardness in his face.
“You should smile more often. It makes you look younger, gentler.”
“Since when is a man supposed to look gentle?” He turned and fiddled with something behind the saddle then held out a battered hat to her. “It’ll keep the sun off your face.”
She accepted the hat, chagrined that he might have noticed her freckles. The hat was big on her head and slid down over her eyes until she angled it back. “Don’t most mothers want their sons to grow up to be kind and loving?”
He ran his knuckles along his cheek, and she followed the motion. “You’ve got me there, though too much of that can smother a man.”
“Guess that’s why God gives us a father and a mother. We learn different qualities from each.”
The horses picked their way down a rock-strewn path that emptied into a grassy plain. A stream rushed through on its way to the horizon. They stopped their horses, dismounted, and let them drink. The quietness of the rangeland was comfortable, almost sacred. It seemed a shame to break it, but she had to ask the question uppermost in her mind.
In slow, measured moves, he helped her get back into the saddle then did the same. “Why do you think my father killed yours?”
He lifted his hat and pushed a hand through his hair. His lips formed a frown. “Some wire was cut.” He moved the dun ahead of her bay. “I’ve no doubt my father saw that. My best guess is he confronted your father and came out on the short end of the stick.”
“Couldn’t it have been anyone? One of Daddy’s ranch hands?”
“They work for him.”
“Guilt by association?”
❧
The edge in her voice showed what conclusion she was jumping to. Funny how after such a short time knowing her he could envision the clouds coming over her face. A beautiful face. Beautiful hair. She was dainty, and he wondered if she would feel fragile in his arms. . . .
Crushing his wayward thoughts, Ryan slowed the dun until Olivia came even with him. Sure enough, her expression was severe, and she looked just like a woman ready to bawl. Ryan adjusted himself in the saddle and cleared his throat. “Didn’t we just settle this yesterday? Friends, I think, was the final offer.”
“Good.” She angled her face away from him and tilted the broad brim of her hat to further obscure her face. “But sometimes we’re going to have to ask each other hard questions. We should be ready for that.” She rested her hand against the pommel. “It could have been one of Daddy’s ranch hands who took it upon himself to handle things.”
Ryan wanted to protest but could not. Hadn’t he just come to the same conclusion?
“Evidence is gonna be scarce,” he said. “There’s been too much rain, and too much time has passed.”
“Then we’ll have to rely on people.”
Rankled by her logic even as he was forced to acknowledge the soundness of it, Ryan stuck his hat back on his head. “Bobby saw the wires cut—”
“Who’s Bobby?”
“My foreman.”
“He saw the wires being cut, or he saw the cut wire? One indicates he saw the deed done, the other that he saw only the evidence.”
Ryan closed his eyes, already lost in the labyrinth of her reasoning, no matter how sound it was.
“Our problem, Ryan, is we need facts. Someone knows who pulled the trigger. It’s figuring out who knows what or who saw the deed done—that’s the trick.” She tossed him a look, all vestiges of vulnerability gone. This was the face of a woman with a task that needed done. “Before we go to the obvious people for help, let’s ride north of here.”
“That would be Hector Maiden’s property.”
“Big rancher or small?”
“A farmer mostly. A few head from what I’ve heard.”
She nodded. “It’s a place to start.”
He’d lived a good portion of his life being directed by the whim of a man’s belief in his own version of the truth. It had been a shot at a man who later turned out to be innocent that turned his stomach. An innocent man laboring under an
accusation, only to be found innocent long after his body had grown stiff and cold.
She kicked her horse into motion. Left with little choice, Ryan got the dun moving, feeling his lead in this fight slipping through his fingers. Worse, it didn’t bother him near as much as it should. Her lithe body seemed to take to the gait of the horse easily. No sir, it wasn’t near so hard to follow her lead as he’d thought it might be.
sixteen
“They’ve shuffled their big boots all over my farm trying to stir up trouble.”
Olivia nodded over the cup of coffee Hector Maiden had supplied. She’d let the farmer know right off who she was, that she wrote for the Buffalo Bulletin, and that she wanted to know the truth.
Hector obliged her, even though his coffee was weak and the slice of corn bread he offered looked like he’d had to scrape off the mold before putting it on a plate for her. Ryan sat across from her. He glanced at the corn bread then back at her, one eyebrow raised. He’d no doubt seen her reaction to the corn bread.
Hector sat at the head of the table, fingers drumming the surface with one hand, stroking the length of his bushy, yellowed beard with the other. “Don’t own much, but what I have is mine.” He made a fist and slammed it down on the table. “I don’t aim to give it over to them just because Bowman thinks his cows might need a nibble of my corn.”
Olivia nodded in agreement. “What about Martin Laxalt? You heard about—”
“Martin was a good man. Helped me get up the fence in the back for some cows. Reckon on starting to build a herd. That’ll stir a rattler’s nest with Bowman.” Hector barked a laugh that showed his teeth—or lack of them.
She snatched a glance at Ryan. She realized in the noise of Hector’s diatribe just how quiet Ryan was by nature. A listener, her aunt would call him. Hurt lines traced a path between his brows, and she knew the mention of his father had twisted a fist in his grief.
“Do you know about the shooting?” Olivia asked.
Hector continued to chomp on his mustache. “Know what I heard. Sattler did the deed. Accused Martin of rustling his cattle. Two met out by that fence, and Sattler took the opportunity to pull the trigger. Reckon he thinks it’s just a matter of time before Martin’s widow packs up and leaves.”
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