Well she had a few surprises in store for him. Nothing too severe, but Mr. Madison Randolph was going to return to his snug, comfortable, self-satisfied Boston knowing he had come up short of matching strength, skills, and wits with a mere female.
"Just yesterday you were mad as hell he was here at all," her father said. "Why are you taking him about like a hired guide?"
"He says he's looking for evidence," Fern said, "but there's no telling what he's up to. Besides, I mean to see he comes back a mite roughed up."
"What are you meaning to do?" Her father's voice sounded sharp, distrustful.
"Nothing much."
"I don't believe you," he said, his harsh gaze unchanged. "The last time I saw that look in your eyes, you slipped the Stuart boys Indian whiskey."
"They shouldn't have made fun of me."
"All they said was they hoped you never took to wearing dresses. And since you'd die before you'd wear anything but pants, I never did see what there was to get upset about."
"That wasn't all they said."
"Maybe not, but you seem to have a way of getting fellas on the prod. You gotta quit fighting with every man who shows his front in Abilene, especially the drovers and their hands. It makes it damned embarrassing for me to have to go around apologizing for you all the time."
"You don't have to apologize for me."
"The hell I don't. How do you expect me to sell to them if I don't, especially at my prices?"
"I don't do anything I don't mean to do."
"I know, and that makes it all the harder to convince them you did. I guess you're going to prod that lawyer fella whether I want you to or not."
"I just mean to teach him a lesson."
"I don't trust you when you start teaching people lessons. You get one Texan mad at you, and they're all on your back. It could ruin me."
"Nobody's going to ruin you, Papa," Fern said.
"Don't go too far. His brother's the one who killed Troy. This other fella had nothing to do with it."
Fern didn't respond.
"It was your idea to lead him around, so you make sure he gets back in one piece."
She still said nothing.
Sproull's expression darkened and he came a couple of steps inside the house. "Don't you let me hear of even one tiny accident."
"You won't hear a thing," she assured him. And he wouldn't. Madison Randolph would never tell anybody about what she was going to do to him.
Her father didn't look convinced, but he turned and stomped from the house.
Fern tried to ignore the fact that her father was more worried she might do something to hurt his business than that she was going on a long ride with a stranger and that something could happen to her. In all the years she had worked her fingers to the bone to please him, taking care of his herd and his house, cooking his meals, always hoping to win some word of praise, he'd never shown a sign of affection for her. She sometimes wondered if he felt any.
He's always been that way. He's not going to change now. Besides, you're partly to blame. You get furious if anyone implies you can't take care of yourself. That's what got you so angry with the Stuart boys.
Madison Randolph made her just as mad.
He looked at her like he didn't quite believe what he was seeing. And all because she didn't wear a dress. It would serve him right if everybody in Abilene gawked at him just because he dressed like a fancy dude.
But it wasn't the way Madison looked at her that upset her. It was the way she felt. She didn't feel things the way she wanted, the way she'd been teaching herself for as long as she could remember. Everything felt strange and uncomfortable, and she sure as hell didn't like it.
Her whole body felt different. She felt awkward; her joints ached; she felt flushed and hot; she couldn't stand still. Even her brain didn't work right. Instead of thinking of ways to put him in his place, she found herself wondering what thoughts lurked behind those black eyes or how very tall he was. She was a tall woman; she wasn't used to feeling small, but she did around Madison Randolph.
And that wasn't all. Instead of concentrating on ways to get rid of him, she found herself wondering how long he was going to stay in Abilene, what he liked to do for fun, what he thought of the young ladies of Boston, if he was married or engaged.
But it was useless to wonder about Madison Randolph. Whatever he was really like, he wouldn't stay in Abilene longer than he absolutely must.
Fern got up to throw out her cold coffee. It only took a minute to wash her father's breakfast dishes and put them away. She usually ate a good breakfast, but this morning she had no appetite. That was something else she could blame on Madison.
She picked up a brush and began working the tangles out of her hair. It was a waste of time -- she intended to pin it up under her hat -- but it always helped her to think.
But as she brushed the heavy hair with strong, vigorous strokes, she decided to leave it down. She wondered if Madison would notice. She told herself not to be a fool. If he did notice, it would only be to make some caustic comment. But she couldn't resist. There was something about this man that made her determined he should know she was a woman. Most likely he'd be so busy trying to stay on his horse he wouldn't know whether she had waist-length hair or was as bald as a newborn babe.
She wondered how he meant to get from town. A buggy, most likely. She'd probably have to saddle his horse for him. She doubted he could do it himself. But he had to ride to the Connor place, and she had no intention of letting him choose his own mount.
If he apologized, she'd mount him on Blue Wind. The mare had a mouth like leather, but even a Sunday school teacher could ride her. If he acted like he did the day before, she would saddle Shorty. He would start bucking just about a minute after Madison got in the saddle. Not very hard, but enough to toss a tenderfoot like Madison Randolph over his head. It would give her a great deal of pleasure to see him lying in the dust.
But what if he really got hurt?
She wanted to hurt his pride, not his body. She couldn't blame him for wanting to get his brother out of jail.
Through the window she saw her father round the corner of the barn. He was taking pork, butter, and eggs to sell to the drovers who arrived every day from Texas starved for fresh food after two months on the Chisholm Trail.
He jumped down from the wagon and stuck his head in the door. "Don't spend all morning hanging around waiting. If he doesn't show his front inside of ten minutes, get on with your work."
"He'll show up," Fern said. "His kind never misses an appointment."
Not that she thought that was bad. After the times she had waited for her father, or some other man, only to have them say they forgot, or got busy talking, she would appreciate it. But she was irritated Madison should be the one to be punctual.
Of course she didn't know he was punctual. That was just a guess. He could be hopeless when it came to keeping appointments.
But he wouldn't be. He wasn't the type.
* * * * *
Thirty minutes later Fern found herself pacing back and forth in front of the barn. She told herself it wasn't time for him yet, that she was too busy to worry about him, but she couldn't keep her mind on her work. He had upset her whole approach to men. And he had managed to do it in less than a day.
Just as she started to catalog all the terrible things she was going to do to him, she saw a rider in the distance. A short while later she recognized Madison. It couldn't be anyone else. Not even his brother could present such a lean, immaculate appearance.
The second thing that caught her eye was the horse. Madison was riding Buster, the best horse in the Twins Livery Stable. The big, bay gelding was Tom Everett's favorite horse. He didn't hire him out to just anybody. He was a strong animal and not always easy to manage, but he seemed to be going easy enough for Madison.
The next thing to catch her eye was the way he rode in the saddle. Absolutely erect. He looked extremely handsome in his city clothes, but she coul
dn't imagine anyone who looked less like he should be on a horse. She could think of several men she might call handsome, but they weren't a spot on this dandy. It was a pity he was a Randolph.
But he could ride. Not that riding a horse along a clear trail at a canter was anything to write home about, but it was the way he did it, with negligent ease. She didn't know how or where, but he was used to being on a horse. Just how used she meant to discover soon enough, but for the time being she had to revise her opinion of him. He might dress like a useless dandy, but he didn't ride like one. Maybe he wasn't one.
But he had to be. He was from Boston, wasn't he?
Whatever he was, she'd never find out by standing around arguing with herself. She mounted up and rode out to meet him.
Chapter Four
"We're going to have to travel fast," she told him, making certain not to look into his eyes. His forthright gaze disconcerted her. "Follow me."
He didn't move. "I thought I had arrived on schedule." He consulted his elegant, gold time piece. "I have two minutes to spare," he said, returning the watch to its pocket.
"I have a lot of work to do today."
"Ah, yes, those unfortunate bulls whose future you are determined to blight."
A bubble of laughter stirred in Fern's chest; she choked it back. It wasn't her habit to go around laughing all the time. She had noticed that the people who were most respected always looked somber or actually spent a large part of their life frowning. She had achieved her perpetual scowl only after a considerable effort, and she didn't intend to let this dandified lawyer bring it to naught.
"Steers gain weight," she snapped. "And bulls cause trouble. Even a lawyer from Boston ought to know that."
"Yes, but it has never been my ambition to gain weight."
"You prefer to cause trouble?"
"Are those the only two choices you're offering?" Madison asked.
He brought his horse to stop alongside hers. They were only inches apart. She was sure he did it intentionally, so she couldn't avoid looking directly at him.
"I'm not offering you any choices."
"How disappointing."
She was certain he meant something different from the words which came out of his mouth. Maybe he was flirting, but she couldn't be sure. His wasn't the direct of way western men; neither was it the formal manner she thought would be favored in a place like Boston.
Her chest constricted at his nearness. Even her breath seemed to shudder as it left her lungs. She told herself not to be stupid. He was baiting her. He'd like nothing better than to confuse her.
Now he was smiling at her, but there was something unfamiliar in his gaze. She didn't know what it was, but it made her uneasy.
No, she felt intimidated. It infuriated her that he would try to overawe her, even more that she would allow him to succeed.
"Do you always talk nonsense?"
"If you were a man, you wouldn't consider castration nonsense. Do you know what they do to men in Turkey, the ones they use in the harems?"
"I don't know anything about the habits of heathens," Fern stated, "and I don't want to. If you want to see the Connor place, follow me. If you want to stand around talking about outlandish people in places I never heard of, you can go back to town."
She dug her heels into her horse's sides, and he bounded away. He was a swift, short-coupled horse, one more suited to cutting work than long rides across the prairie, but she felt more at home on him than a big brute like Buster.
She was surprised to find Madison at her elbow almost immediately.
"I gather you don't approve of foreigners."
His comment made Fern painfully aware of her threadbare education. She had learned as much as she could, but she was certain Madison knew more about everything than she did. That made her feel even more intimidated. And madder.
"I have no doubt you know much more about foreigners than I do, especially barbaric ones, so I will leave it to you to decide whether I would approve of them or not."
"How can I do that when I don't know anything about you?" he replied. "For all I know you might approve of castrating men."
"Do you always talk about such awful things?" she demanded, twisting about in the saddle.
"I'm not the one taking a knife to those poor bulls," he pointed out. "The way you mentioned it so offhand was quite callous. I would have thought that even here in Kansas, women would have had that kindness of heart, that gentleness of spirit that--"
"You didn't think any such thing," Fern contradicted, rounding on him once more, much to the confusion of her pony who was at a loss to interpret the continual stops and turnings, particularly when there were no cows about. "You were just looking for anything you can say to annoy me."
"It seems I've succeeded."
"You certainly have," she replied, turning her horse back up the trail and digging her heels in again. "If you want me to take you to the Connor place, stop talking and ride."
Once more she set out at a gallop, and once more he was at her side in a matter of moments.
"You don't have to run from me," he said. For a moment she almost thought he sounded apologetic. But that was impossible. Men like him never apologized for anything.
"I wasn't running. You just made me mad."
"I won't do it again. Is this what your prairie looks like?" he asked looking about. "I thought it was supposed to be as flat as a spinster's chest and as dry as her humor."
"You are a truly disgusting man," Fern said. "Isn't there anything you respect?"
"Truth."
His reply nearly floored her. She expected some flowery and pompous phrases about truth and honesty, every charlatan like him had a ready supply of them, but the naked word stood large in its solitude. Besides, she had expected him to mention power and money. He simply exuded both.
"Everyone respects truth," she replied.
"That's where you're wrong. Most people are afraid of it. They actually depend upon lies, or at least false appearances, to protect them. The truth would ruin most of us."
"I should have expected something like that from somebody like you," Fern shot back. "You don't know anything about real honesty."
"What kind of person am I?" he asked. He looked at her with a particularly penetrating look that unsettled her. "And why don't you think I know anything about honesty?"
The retort on her lips withered and blew away. There was something different about him now. The bantering look had left his face. So had his smile. Even his eyes seemed to have lost their glint of laughter. He simply looked at her.
This was a trick, the way he unnerved his opponents, got them to say or do something they don't want. Well, he's not going to do it to me. Nothing's going to keep me from telling him exactly what I think of him.
"I think you're a slick lawyer used to getting the kind of verdict your rich clients want."
"And?"
She swallowed. "And I don't think you much care how you get it."
There, she had told him. But even though he now knew he couldn't intimidate her, she didn't feel better.
"At least you're not afraid of the truth all the time," he stated and dropped back to ride behind her.
What did he mean by that? She had never been afraid of the truth. That's why she'd started acting like a boy in the first place. She couldn't remember when she first realized her father didn't want a daughter. She supposed she'd always known it.
She did remember when she decided she didn't want to be a girl. It was at Betty Lewis's thirteenth birthday party. Fern had shown up in pants as usual. All the other girls wore dresses. Betty's was prettiest of all. Some of the girls whispered and pointed at Fern. They laughed when Betty opened Fern's present. Even Betty giggled. Fern had given her a pair of leather riding gloves to protect Betty's soft hands.
Betty didn't ride. She was afraid of horses.
In the following years, the chasm between Fern and the other girls had grown wider until they ceased to include her in the
ir activities. She had become an outsider to her own sex. She had to face the plain truth. She didn't belong.
And she'd been facing the truth ever since.
"There it is," Fern said, pulling up before a deserted sod house built into the side of a ridge along one of the tributaries of Turkey Creek. "Troy's body was found inside."
"And you say this happened at night?" Madison asked. He dismounted and allowed Buster's reins to trail on the ground. Fern wondered whether he knew he had just ground hitched Buster, or whether he was too stupid to think about it at all.
She decided that whatever Madison Randolph was, it wasn't stupid. He must know, but how?
"Sometime after midnight according to Dave Bunch. It was real dark that night, but there was enough light to see. There always is on the prairie, even when it's real cloudy."
Madison didn't answer. He walked inside. The house was abandoned, but in remarkably good condition. Three sides and the roof were made out of blocks of sod cut from the prairie. The fourth side had been dug out of the side of the ridge to help keep the house cool in summer and warm in winter.
"Did anybody find a lantern?" Madison asked, emerging from the house.
"Why would anybody want a lantern?"
"You couldn't see an albino elephant in this place at night without one. It's hard enough to see into the corners with the sun blazing down."
She'd never thought of that. She'd only visited the house during daylight. She slid off her horse and entered the soddy. She couldn't see anything until her eyes adjusted. The only window was so covered with dust and cobwebs it admitted virtually no light.
"Could he have been shot somewhere else and come here to hide?" Madison asked.
"There wasn't time for Troy to get here from some place else. Dave said he heard the shot just minutes after he saw Hen."
"He said he recognized Hen's horse. I haven't heard anyone say he recognized Hen himself."
"You try getting anybody else to ride that crazy horse. If there was anybody on him, it was your brother."
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