A Cowboy Is Forever

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A Cowboy Is Forever Page 11

by Shirley Larson


  “Don’t make no difference to me what he thinks—big-city kid.”

  “I have a right to know who is harassing my employees, Tex. I may not be able to do all the things financially for you that I should do, but I can certainly protect you from false accusations.”

  “Yeah, and you can tell that young whippersnapper that I ain’t no cattle rustler, either.”

  “I intend to,” Charlotte said, smiling. “You can rest easy.”

  Tex got that look on his face that he always did when he was tamping down a very strong emotion. “So what’s old man Steadman going to think when you come riding over with one of his calves?”

  “He’d better think it’s darn funny that this calf is wearing a brand before either of us has done spring branding.”

  Tex was quiet for a moment, thinking. “You could take him back up to the high pasture and leave him for them to find.”

  For just that one fleeting moment, it was tempting. If only she didn’t have to cross that creek with that calf at the end of her rope and look into Luke Steadman’s eyes. She’d do anything to avoid a confrontation, anything—except compromise her own honesty. “If Henry Steadman is going to find another calf with my brand over his, it’s going to be at the end of my rope returning it to him.” She ducked her head and tried not to think about Luke, tried to ignore the throb of her heart as she gave the hemp leader a turn around her wrist. “If Henry does a citizen’s arrest, call my lawyer, Tom, would you?”

  Tex looked like a thunderstorm brewing, but he nodded before he turned away and remounted his horse, a muscle in the side of his cheek working vigorously.

  Her head high, Charlotte climbed aboard Gray Mist and dollied the rope around the saddle horn, setting off for the Steadman corral with the incriminating calf in tow, trying desperately not to feel as if she were going to her own execution. Was she totally crazy, expecting them—no, be honest with yourself, expecting Luke—to think rationally and see that there was no way she could have branded this calf?

  She set a slow and steady pace to accommodate the calf, when what she really wanted to do was race over, let him loose and race back to safety. Her heart pounded in her chest and her stomach churned; the wind seemed suddenly to be ten degrees cooler, and the sun was dropping.

  Charlotte crossed the creek and decided her bad luck for this day was holding, for there on the boundary sat Luke, on his horse, like the keeper of a gate, looking cool and relaxed in the saddle, his big old gray Stetson covered with a fine layer of ocher Montana dust, his boot cocked back in the stirrup.

  Luke touched his hand to that hat, and when Charlotte dismounted, he did the same. She stood with her back to the creek, her chin high. The breeze loosened a strand of hair and feathered it across her cheek. She pushed it back impatiently. “Hello,” she said.

  Luke tipped his hat back, and his beautiful mouth turned up at the corners. “Hello yourself.”

  He’d spent all day in the saddle, just as she had, but he stood there as easy as silk, just…waiting.

  “I’d—I’d like to see your father.”

  He smiled, a slow, lazy grin. “Are you sure that’s what you’d like?”

  Charlotte couldn’t help it—she had to smile back at him. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “That our calf?” Luke nodded at her baggage.

  “Yes. He—” Her courage failed her. “Yes, he belongs to you.”

  “Is this just a neighborly call, or a ceremonial delivery of the last stray?” He pulled off his gloves and tucked them in his pockets.

  The movement stretched his shirt across his shoulders, pulled his jeans across his abdomen. He was as flat as a board, and as slim-hipped as any man she’d ever seen. Those hips had fit against hers and given her a bittersweet glimpse of a rapture she hadn’t yet tasted, rapture he’d denied her…”I have something to discuss with him.”

  “What’s going on, Luke?” Henry Steadman rode up behind his son, slid out of the saddle and put a hand on his shoulder. In all the years of her youth, Charlotte had never seen Henry lay a friendly hand on Luke. Now it had happened twice in one day. Henry was cleverly reminding Luke who was family—and who was the enemy.

  “Charlotte’s here to see you.” Luke’s tone was easy, and he had that half smile on his face that she usually loved. She was glad he was amused.

  “Oh?”

  How Henry could stuff so much impervious chilliness into one word, Charlotte didn’t know. But his voice was warm compared to the iciness in his eyes. He stood beside a scattering of rocks that lay next to the creek, his boots planted firmly on the ground. His ground. His cattle. His son.

  “One of your Hereford calves strayed onto my land.”

  “Indeed.” Henry didn’t move, and neither did Luke. From behind them, Nick rode up, his saturnine face wearing a look of amusement. He said, “What’s going on here?” and climbed down off his horse to come and stand next to Charlotte, his smile brilliant.

  She faced the three of them, her chin braced, her head high. “I want you to see the brand on this calf, Mr. Steadman. Actually, there are two brands.”

  The three men gathered around the calf, but it was Luke who first stepped forward to run his fingers over the brand.

  The sight of him examining what seemed to be such damning evidence almost made Charlotte lose her courage. But she took a tight grip on herself and said, “I don’t brand calves until tomorrow, and neither do you. And I don’t own a running brand. There isn’t one on my place anywhere. I’ve been looking for two months, since the first calf turned up. Dad never owned one—and neither do I.”

  “Easy enough to hide one.” This from Nick, standing closest to her, his smile still in place.

  “I haven’t hid anything.”

  There was a small, cool silence while Henry examined the calf and ran his fingers over the brand. Then he stepped back, close to the rocks again. “Hard to deny the evidence that is standing here right in front of our eyes,” he drawled at last. His head lifted, and he subjected Charlotte to a hard examining gaze, the sun glancing off his glasses. “I admire your nerve, young woman, but if you think I’ll fall for your clever ploy, you’re quite wrong. I can see how you thought I might be swayed by your bold act of returning this calf to me, but I’m afraid I don’t fool quite so easily. If you hoped to get me to drop legal action against you by returning one calf you’d already stolen, you’re in for a disappointment.”

  Charlotte told herself not to look at Luke, but her eyes betrayed her, and her gaze flickered to him for a single instant. Did he believe the things his father said? He simply stood there without a bit of expression on his face. His lawyer’s face. Did he believe the evidence he could see with his own eyes? She couldn’t tell. Oh, couldn’t he please reserve judgment and believe in her just a little?

  Luke didn’t move, didn’t speak. He stood farther away from her, whether by design or accident, she couldn’t tell. Under that hat pulled low, his eyes met hers, but if he had any feeling of sympathy or empathy, she couldn’t see it in his chiseled face. Her heart broke, there in the clearing, with the sun dropping behind the mountains and the shadows lengthening on the trampled buffalo grass, but she was just stubborn enough to try once more. “I came over here hoping to have an intelligent conversation with intelligent, sensible men about the impossibility of my inflicting the double brands on this animal. This is a young calf. He shouldn’t be wearing your brand. I don’t have a running iron, and I certainly don’t have your brand. Someone who has access to your irons is doing this to both of us. I had hoped we might explore the possibilities. I see I was wrong. If I have acted as a less-than-gracious guest on your land, I apologize.” She loosened her rope from around the calf’s neck, and prepared herself to go.

  “There’s no need for an apology.” Henry stepped toward her, his back to the creek. “I’m sorry to say it, but I think it’s time I had the sheriff search your property for that iron you say you don’t have.”

  Quick as lightning, Charlo
tte snatched the gun out of Nick’s holster and aimed it at Henry. “Don’t move,” she said in a low, warning voice.

  “What the hell—?” Nick growled.

  “Charlotte, don’t be an idiot,” Luke snapped.

  “Be quiet.” Charlotte took aim, cocked the gun and fired at a spot on the ground just behind Henry. Before the men could move, she fired again, startling them all.

  The rattlesnake that was coiled behind Henry writhed in a death dance, thrashing against the rocks, the black diamond patterns glistening in the light. Then the snake was still.

  “I knew you didn’t hear it rattle, because you were talking,” Charlotte said to Henry. “And I didn’t think you could see it from where you were,” she said to Nick as she handed him back the gun. Suddenly she felt a little shaky. She thrust her hand in her jeans pocket to keep it from trembling. She hated snakes, and the darn thing had been so close to Henry.

  In the stunned silence that followed, she avoided Luke’s eyes. She felt cold and exhausted. She needed to go where it was warm. Where it was home. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. Now, if you all will excuse me…” She gathered Gray Mist’s reins up and thrust her foot in the stirrup and mounted her horse.

  “Charlotte—” Luke came to life, stepped forward, caught her arm. His eyes were dark and brilliant, alive with admiration for her. He was looking at her the way she’d dreamed of a thousand times. But it was too late. He’d thought she was capable of threatening his father with a gun—just as Nick had. He didn’t know her at all. And she didn’t want to know him.

  “I—we thank you. If it weren’t for your quick action, my father might have been bitten.” Immediately Henry walked up to stand beside his son. His cheeks were pale, his eyes guarded. “My son is right. I owe you my thanks.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing. I’ll expect a visit from the sheriff as soon as you can arrange it.” Charlotte let out the reins and urged Gray Mist into a high old gallop across the creek, racing to get back onto the land that belonged to her.

  Chapter Seven

  “Feel like you’ve won the lottery, Dad?” Luke asked.

  “No, of course not.” Henry’s head came up and his shoulders were squared, but his face was pale and his mouth was colorless. Luke felt the old irritation, but with it, a sudden new adult insight. What else could Henry do in the face of trouble but put on a strong front? It was the way he had met life for years. He’d had to raise two boys without help. Luke had a sudden disturbing flash of what his own life might have been like if Henry had been weak and selfpitying.

  Just when Luke was thinking his father was invincible, Henry moved to lean against his horse. The cottonwoods rustled with a passing breeze. The sun had nearly disappeared. “Let’s go back to the house,” Luke said gently.

  Henry shook his head. “No. We need to bury.. .the snake. I don’t want the calves nosing it out of curiosity.” Henry’s first thoughts would be for the cows, Luke thought. “Where can I find a shovel?”

  Henry turned to Nick, who’d been standing oddly quiet, his narrow body nearly rooted to the ground as he gazed across the creek toward Charlotte, one hand splayed on a cottonwood trunk. Now Nick came to life and walked to his father’s side. He looked…thoughtful. “You know I would have shot that snake if I had seen it, Dad.”

  “I know that, Nick.” Henry put his hand on his son’s arm. “Will you go get the shovel, son?”

  “Let Luke go.”

  Henry shook his head. “It’s better if you go. You can find things easier than Luke can.”

  Nick frowned, obviously not wanting to be the one to run the errand. Then, suddenly, his face cleared. “Of course, Dad. You’re right. I can find things better than Luke can.”

  Odd, Nick being so accommodating, even for his father. It seemed…incongruous. Luke’s eyes narrowed, and his gaze whipped up to his brother’s face, but Nick quickly gathered up the reins of his horse, reined his mount around and set his mare at a fast gallop back toward the house, disappearing below the rise of the hill.

  “He’s suddenly very helpful,” Luke murmured.

  “He puts the ranch first, just as I do.”

  “Does he?” Luke cocked an eyebrow, but a quick glance at his father’s pale cheeks made him give up the idea of trying to play the devil’s advocate. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

  “There’s no need. I’ve seen a snake or two in my time.”

  “You were fortunate she’s such a good marksman.” He didn’t want to think about what could have happened if Charlotte had not been so alert, so quick-thinking, so brave. She’d saved his father’s life, even as Luke had been convinced she was aiming the gun at his father’s head. Why was he such an all-time twenty-four-karat fool?

  “It’s a big one,” said Henry, and there was just a tiny bit of pride in his voice. “Six foot long if it’s an inch, and big around to match. Maybe that explains why the fellow was standing his ground instead of hiding like they usually do.”

  Luke stared at the snake, and he thought of the courage of the woman who’d calmly aimed and shot at the thing in the presence of three men. “It might be a good thing if you’d reconsider about the search warrant until we have a little more time to do some investigating. I find it hard to believe that she—”

  “She’s a good-looking woman. Always has been. I can see how she’d appeal to a young fellow like you.”

  “That has nothing to do with it,” Luke said. His father’s attempt at being understanding irritated the hell out of Luke. “There’s just something about this that reeks.”

  “It all seems rather clear to me. She’s stealing my cattle. Why wouldn’t it work to her advantage to save my life if she saw the chance? If she could keep me from pressing charges, she could go on stealing me blind for years,” said Henry heavily.

  “She wouldn’t do that. And somehow I think you know that as well as I do.”

  “I said I owe her my thanks. But that’s all I owe her.” He turned away and sat down rather suddenly on a rock.

  “Are you all right?” Luke didn’t like the bluish look around his father’s mouth, the way he was holding his hand to his chest.

  “I’m fine.”

  There was no other state of existence possible for Henry Steadman. To himself, Luke murmured, “Of course you are,” and decided that he, Luke, was going to have his hands full. He was going to have to keep an eye on his father—and he would have some major fence-mending to do with Charlotte…if he hadn’t destroyed his credibility with her altogether. His father needed him. But he needed Charlotte. He could still see in his mind’s eye the hurt, the desolation, in that last look she’d given him—and how differently she’d looked at him that night under the stars. He’d lost something very, very precious. And heaven only knew if he could retrieve it.

  It was the one day in his life he was glad that Charlotte Malone lived so close. He’d have to ride like a bat out of hell, but he could do it. He could retrieve the running iron from its hiding place in the old bunkhouse, ferry it over to Charlotte’s and hide it in her machine shed while she was still out with her herd. It was risky, for though it was getting dark, it was not quite dark enough. Still, he liked the risk. It made his heart pound faster, made his blood throb. It made him feel alive. And very happy.

  Luke decided late at night was best. They’d been branding all that next day, and so had Charlotte. He could see her across the creek, watch her working, bending over the calves, so near—and as far away as those stars she loved so much. He was forced to bide his time and wait. But when he’d eaten supper, showered and shaved, he could wait no longer. He didn’t even take the time to saddle a horse, he simply threw himself in his car and drove the short distance to Charlotte’s.

  Charlotte must have heard the car, for she came to the door almost instantly. She, too, had showered, and she was wearing a worn, pale pink chenille robe, one that might have belonged to her mother. It shouldn’t have been sexy but it was, because it fit her like a glove, outlin
ing the sweet curve of her breasts, following the nice little roundness of her rear end to perfection. He wanted to reach out and touch the nubby material, to test its closeness to Charlotte’s feminine lushness, and then he wanted to smooth away the fluffy folds and find her satiny naked skin…

  The only sign she made of being aware of him was the tenseness in those long, slender fingers that held the neck of her robe closed. Her eyes were cool and clear and as impersonal as a stranger’s as she invited him in to her kitchen.

  Only Luke, Charlotte thought. Only Luke would have the nerve to come around again and try to do—what? Apologize? Pick up where he left off? He looked too darn tall and handsome, and what was worse, he looked endearingly unsure of himself. His brown hair was ruffled, as if he’d showered and combed it in an impatient hurry. It hurt to look at him and think of what might have been.

  Luke wished to hell he didn’t feel so awkward. It had all seemed so clear in his mind what he was going to say and do, but he hadn’t counted on Charlotte looking at him with the same interest she might have had in an overripe side of beef.

  Then the articulate, educated, intelligent lawyer opened his mouth and said, “How’s it going?” He heard the words and mentally cringed.

  “Wonderful. How are things going with you?”

  Her voice held a new touch of irony that was unfamiliar to his ears. He was afraid it was a cynicism he’d brought to her. The thought hurt, and made him more ill at ease than ever. “As well as can be expected, I guess. The old bones and muscles have forgotten what it’s like to work at physical labor for sixteen hours a day, but other than that—”

  “I’m sure you’ll survive,” she said coolly, letting his little bid for sympathy slide right over her head.

  The next thing he knew, he was looking at her back. She’d turned to the stove. That was the way she wanted things, her back to him, shutting him out. He was trying to find the words for a graceful, eloquent, moving and thoroughly selfabasing apology when she said, “Would you like some tea while you try to get your courage up to say whatever it was you came to say?”

 

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