Cattle Baron's Daughter

by S. Dionne Moore

  As much as he wanted to head back to Olivia, he couldn’t. In spite of the secret Phoebe had kept from Olivia, the woman had been a friend. He didn’t agree with the way she’d handled things, but neither did he agree with Robert, and there was no changing any of it now. What he could do was counter the sheriff’s casual disregard for upholding justice, and he would have to do it alone.

  Following Robert’s directions, Ryan headed out of town the same way he’d come in, at a fast gallop. If Jacob Isley was laid low by a bullet, he would head out there to check on the situation, let the doctor know of Olivia’s need, and help Phoebe keep Sheriff Bradley in line.

  The face of his father loomed in Ryan’s mind, and he thought Martin Laxalt just might be smiling.

  ❧

  Olivia woke with a start. Josephine’s hand stilled her and smoothed her hair back.

  “What time is it?” she mumbled, noting the shadowed light in the window.

  “It’s getting on suppertime. Are you hungry, child?”

  All Olivia could think of were the bacon sandwiches that never got eaten, of Agnes standing in the doorway then slamming the door in their faces, and of her mother’s frail silhouette and her singsong voice.

  “My mother is alive.”

  Josephine’s dark eyes glittered. “Ryan said something about you finding your mother. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Where’s Ryan?”

  Josephine stood up from her chair and stared out the window. “I don’t know. He should have been back by now. He was pretty upset, and I suspect a lot of his anger is focused on your father.”

  She understood at once what Josephine feared. That her son would try and take on her father and end up getting shot.

  “He loves you, you know.” Josephine turned, a small smile on her lips. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

  Olivia didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. He was late returning, and Josephine’s fears were becoming hers. She pulled herself to a sitting position, and energy flowed into her limbs. If nothing else, she needed to make good on her promise to tell her father of her intentions to move into town and work at Landry’s, but what she wanted more than anything was the whole story about her mother. To know why he had chosen to keep her mother’s life a secret. Had her mental state embarrassed him? She could not leave her mother alone, not now that she knew the truth.

  She shifted and swung her legs to the floor. Josephine pulled the chair away from the bed.

  “Are you sure you’re feeling better?”

  “I need to go to my father.” Josephine’s hand guided her to her feet. “Did you know my mother was alive?”

  Ryan’s mother shook her head. “I knew only what you were led to believe, that she had been sick and died.”

  Satisfied, Olivia smoothed her skirt, frowning at the wrinkles. “If Ryan returns with the doctor, tell him I’ll be back, but please, please don’t tell him where I went. Not yet.”

  “He will know.”

  It was true. She had already told him earlier that she had plans to talk to her father. After finding her mother, it would be the most logical conclusion to explain her absence.

  Olivia put her hands on Josephine’s elbows and squeezed. “Then if he’s bent on coming after me, make sure he has a gun.”

  thirty-four

  Doc Herald shook his head as he came out of Jacob Isley’s room, mad through and through, if Ryan was any judge of the man’s expression.

  “Who shot him?”

  Doc Herald slumped into a chair and crossed his arms. “Never could get a straight answer out of anyone. Phoebe says it was the sheriff. I believe her more than the others put together. Bunch of lowdown snakes, if you want my opinion on the matter.”

  Ryan scratched his cheek. “Where is she?”

  “Sheriff has her down at the place where he found the so-called evidence.”

  He pushed away from the table he’d been leaning on. “I’m headed there then.”

  “Be ready for anything, Laxalt. They’re getting bolder.”

  “Because we haven’t been shoving back hard enough.”

  Doc’s eyes lit with amusement. “Do some shoving then.”

  “It’s about time, I think.”

  With his hand on the door, Ryan turned. “You know anything about Lily Sattler’s condition?”

  Guilt spread over the doctor’s face, and he dropped his gaze. “She was a sick woman.”

  “She’s alive, Doc, and you know it. You the one who treated her?”

  The doctor sat up. “Sattler knew something wasn’t quite right. She’d had a fever that raged for days. Terrible. I did all I could to get it to come down, but. . . Then she slipped into unconsciousness. When she finally came around, she wasn’t the same.”

  “Her mind went.”

  Doc nodded. “Jay took it hard. Mighty hard. He justified telling Olivia her mother was dead because it was true, to a point.”

  Ryan’s grip tightened on the smooth wood beneath the pads of his fingers. “Olivia found out today. We found the cabin back in the woods.”

  “Oh my—”

  “It was like it shattered something inside her. I rode into town to get you.”

  Doc was shaking his head. “Where is she?”

  “I left her with my mother.”

  “Best place for her. She’s strong. For any girl to take a stand against her own father, that’s saying a lot.” Doc scooted around in the chair and stood. “I’ve done about all I can for Jacob. Might be a good idea for me to go with you down there.”

  Ryan appreciated the man’s offer. “Come on then.” He turned toward the mustang and pulled his Marlin rifle from the saddle. “You might need this.”

  ❧

  The sun had begun to sink when Olivia reached her father’s house, bathing the yard and house in a rosy glow. No one came out to question her arrival or ask about her absence. The hands must have still been out on the range. She lifted her booted foot and took the last step to the front door of the home she’d been raised in. Her father had to have had a reason for what he did, muddled though it might have been by the grief he’d surely felt over her mother’s sickness. Olivia inhaled deeply and raised her hand to knock. The pressure of her fist unlatched the door, and it swung inward with a low moan. But no one was holding the door.

  The bare wooden floor creaked, and she jerked back. She stood still, straining to hear movement, and hugged herself against the chill of her stretched-tight nerves. Pulled by memories, she went to the section of the pantry where her mother’s apron hung. Tears burned her eyes as she stroked the familiar material. She’d come for answers, yet maybe she’d been wrong. If her father would not answer her questions, the woman with her mother would surely know something.

  She took the apron down off the peg and went out to the front porch where she settled into an old rocker. She would give her father some time before she went to Agnes. If he wouldn’t answer her questions, she would at least confront him about his dealings with the other cattle barons. She should have done so long ago. If Ryan arrived, she would do her best to bring the three of them together and work peace into the relationship, and maybe, just maybe, her father could learn to accept Ryan.

  And Ryan. He wanted to do things the right way and tell her father of their plans to court. She would honor that, and if her father didn’t open up to her on the matters weighing on her mind, then she would move forward with her plans to live and work in town. And if Ryan Laxalt was part of that future—she smiled—then she would welcome his love and companionship.

  The sun set over the dry land, leaving a vast expanse of pale sky fading to dark gray in its wake. She knew it wouldn’t be long before her father came home. She gathered the apron close. She would wait; she had time.

  thirty-five

  Sheriff Bradley struck an authoritative pose as Ryan and Doc Herald drew rein on their horses. All around the man and his companion, a bedraggled Skinny Bonnet, were hoofprints. Sharp edges of cut
wire winked at Ryan as he swung down. Phoebe sat on a rock not far from the area in question.

  “What do you want, Laxalt?”

  Things would not go well, Ryan knew, but he was determined to keep things civil until he could take a closer look at the ground. Doc stood silently a little behind him.

  “Since Jacob can’t look at the evidence himself, Doc and I decided we’d be his eyes and ears.”

  “This is evidence. You can’t come closer.”

  Phoebe stood and blinked as if dazed. She lurched forward then broke toward them. Doc Herald took a step in her direction and reached to steady her when she stumbled. “You should be at the house with Jacob,” the doctor told the woman.

  “I had to come. He wouldn’t believe me.” She shook her head, and her eyes welled with tears. “It’s not fair. Jacob didn’t even do anything.” Her gaze swung to Ryan, and he felt the weight of duty being placed squarely on his shoulders.

  His gaze went to Skinny’s dusty boots then the dark scowl on the foreman’s face. “That evidence you want to protect so much. . . Seems to me Sattler’s man has already been allowed the privilege to examine it.”

  “I’m working for Bowman on this.” Skinny sneered. “I’m an investigator.”

  “I think it’s time we hire ourselves an investigator who doesn’t have a stake in the big ranches.”

  Bradley’s expression tightened. “I don’t like the sound of what you’re saying.”

  “And I don’t like a sheriff who can’t give a man a fair shake at defending himself before he starts shooting.”

  “Seems we’re even then.”

  The sheriff’s smile was cold, and Ryan understood how the man would think such a thing. “I learned from my mistake, Bradley. That’s the difference between us. It’s why I didn’t kill Sattler right off.”

  “You sure didn’t give Stephens a chance. You collected your money though, didn’t you?”

  “And I took it back when I discovered the truth.”

  “That doesn’t make Stephens alive again. It just means you’re a hotheaded killer.”

  There would be no convincing the sheriff of anything. “You would understand that last part better than most.”

  Bradley’s lips twisted. “Jacob had it coming.”

  Phoebe took a step forward, eyes blazing. “That’s not true—” Ryan held out his hand to block her momentum and halt her protest. She blinked at him, confused.

  “Trust me,” he whispered.

  She gave a reluctant nod. Ryan swung his attention to the foreman then to the sheriff, who had positioned himself between Ryan and the area in question. Skinny Bonnet hadn’t moved a muscle. Strange behavior for a man so bent on action. Stranger still that the man hadn’t offered more than the sneering reprimand.

  “Watch that Bonnet,” Doc Herald said close to Ryan’s ear. “He’s poison.”

  “That’s why I gave you the rifle.”

  Doc blanched and glanced at the weapon in his hands. “Should have told you, I’m not one for shootin’.”

  “Hard times call for hard decisions, Doc. If you can’t do it, hand it off to Phoebe. She’d be delighted to put some holes in the sheriff’s hide about now.”

  Ryan took a deliberate step forward then another. The sheriff flinched and glanced over his shoulder at Skinny. Ryan ignored both men and skimmed along the dusty, hoofprint-laden ground. “How many head?”

  “Thirty,” the sheriff bit out.

  “Doesn’t look like prints enough for that many.”

  “You callin’ me a liar, Laxalt?”

  “No.” Ryan let the word settle. His eyes flicked to Skinny. “I’m calling Bonnet a liar.”

  Bonnet’s angular jaw tightened. His faded eyes were pale as a rattler. His hand hovered over his gun, and Ryan held his breath. He was sure the man’s stillness, his lack of appetite for violence, had less to do with the rifle in Doc Herald’s hand and more to do with the boots on his feet.

  It was simple, really, Ryan knew. And it heralded back to a case he’d worked for the Rangers to expose a group of rustlers. “Not going to draw, Bonnet? Most men would shoot me dead for such a thing. Especially those with a quick temper.”

  Skinny opened his mouth and spewed a stream of vileness.

  Ryan let himself smile. “My mother would make sure you spent a day and night locked in the outhouse for such talk.”

  “Wait till it’s just you and me, Laxalt. Just you and me on a hot day, and I’ll be watching the buzzards pick your eyes out.”

  “So why don’t you move over here, and we’ll settle it. These good people can be our witnesses.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan caught the sheriff pivot-ing toward him. He turned to meet the blow and used his forearm to deflect the punch. It was the bark of the Marlin that stilled the sheriff. His slit eyes rounded with wonder and shock. He staggered back and clutched his midsection.

  “You’re not hit, Bradley. Doc couldn’t hit the side of a barn.” Ryan swiped the sweat from his upper lip and kicked the sheriff’s gun along the ground and toward Phoebe. “But don’t take a swing at a man when he holds all the cards.”

  Bradley sputtered and straightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do. That’s the reason why you tried to crack me along the head.” Ryan knelt in the dirt and measured the length of the hoofprints, following their path with his eyes. Behind him he heard Phoebe’s sharp intake of breath and knew she, too, understood where he was going with his words.

  “Looks to me like Mr. Bonnet is rooted to the spot.” He stood and rubbed his jaw. “For good reason, too. Doc, why don’t you hand that rifle to Phoebe and take Skinny’s guns.”

  Skinny’s face twisted. His hand flashed downward, but the rifle barked again, and the shot twisted Skinny backward and to the left. He didn’t move.

  Sheriff Bradley grunted and glared. His face ashen.

  “Now.” Phoebe’s voice cracked like a shot. “I suggest you stay right where you are, Sheriff. At least until Ryan’s had himself a chance to check out the bottoms of Mr. Bonnet’s boots.”

  ❧

  Jay Sattler moved from the shadow of the night and into the fingers of light flickering from the lantern Olivia had lit. His beard shaded his jaw and hid his mouth, but his eyes, vacant, hurt, told a tale of despair. He had transformed into an old man as soon as Olivia had invited him to the porch and told him she had found her mother.

  “It didn’t have to be this way, Daddy.” Her heart squeezed tighter with each word.

  He stared out into the night. “Were you with Laxalt last night?”

  “Is that all you care about?”

  “It’s enough.” His voice came heavy. “You think I want my daughter taking up with a Laxalt?”

  “You mean ‘the enemy,’ don’t you? But he’s your enemy, not mine. I have no ties to this land, remember? You made sure of that when you sent me east.”

  “I didn’t want you to know. . . .” He cracked his knuckles, and Olivia saw his struggle. “It all came out wrong.”

  “You told me she was dead and watched me grieve.”

  He jerked toward her. “It was better that way. Don’t you see? You would have rather had a mother who was crazy?”

  “Yes.”

  “You wouldn’t have, Livy. Believe me. You say that now that you’re an adult, but as a nine-year-old, it would have shattered you.”

  She couldn’t say anything. He had made the decision for her all those years ago, and what was done was done. “You were ashamed of her?”

  Her father didn’t answer for long minutes. The night breeze swept through, hot and dry, perfuming the air with the scent of dust and cattle dung—a smell Olivia would always associate with this moment.

  Her father lowered his chin to his chest, and she heard his sharp intake of breath. The sound should have softened her, but she could think of nothing but her mother stuck in that cabin, of her nine-year-old grief, and most of all, of the man she ha
d known as her father who had turned into a stranger with decayed morals.

  “I wanted her to be well. Can you understand that? I thought that getting her away to a new place would help. Be less stressful on her mind and help her to heal. But it never helped. Nothing helped.” His chest rose. “All I wanted was my family.”

  “Then why did you send me away?”

  “Your mother. . .everything. . .it was too much. I couldn’t think.” He clamped his hands onto the railing. “What do I know about raising a girl? It was too much, and then Fawn offered.”

  “She knew?” Olivia felt a new wave of anger. This one directed at her aunt.

  “No, of course not. She wanted to take you and give you the training you needed to be a lady, and I thought it was what your mother would have wanted.”

  “You know it wasn’t. I would have been happier here. All the time I was in Philadelphia I felt like an outsider, and you never wrote.”

  “What was there for me to say, Olivia? Could you have handled the truth? Did you want to know what it felt like to—” He collected himself and squeezed his eyes shut, fingers pressed against the lids. Her own throat burned with the honest answers to his questions.

  “It was ripping me apart inside. And I knew”—his hands fell to his side, and his eyes were red with trace emotion—“I knew I had to protect you from the pain of the reality. She doesn’t know who I am. Didn’t remember you or me or. . .anyone here. She thinks I’m just some nice man who delivers supplies and likes to listen to her talk.” His chest heaved.

  Olivia stood. The coldness she’d felt for her father was melting.

  “I touch her, and she screams. Like I’m a stranger, a madman come to torment her or hurt her.” He choked, and his voice was thick as his breath caught.

  Her mother’s change was killing her father, had been killing him for all the years she’d been gone. If nothing else, it was still clear that he cared for her, needed her to be whole. But Lily was unable to do so. The knowledge tore at Olivia and stirred her sympathy to new heights.

  “Was it the fever?” she asked.