by Anna Murray
She stared daggers back. Dullen stirred up a raging storm inside her, but she kept her chin up, and her cool gaze locked on the sharp angles of his face.
Ned was fuming. "Yah, ya' talk to Lola," he hissed at Dullen through clenched teeth.
Dullen bowed mockingly, threw Sarah a leer and an exaggerated wink. Then he turned and haughtily strode away.
To Sarah it felt like a herd of horses was trampling over her chest.
Chapter 4
Roy eased the wagon slowly down the hill; he'd catch hell from Cal if he made "a damn thundering entrance" into town.
Through the dust of Main Street the men caught sight of a young woman on a white pony. Ned Kingman, Lola's hired man, was standing with his head bowed alongside her. A small group of men was crushing in on the pair.
"Must be a new gal at Lola's," Roy drawled. "She's on the white. That means she's had, ah, no more than five men." He rolled his eyes.
Cal didn't reply. He tipped his hat back, and leaned forward in the seat.
Lola always introduced the new gals by strolling them down the street on a pony, always led by war veteran Ned.
"Saints be praised," muttered Roy, "we didn't smell this one two miles out."
"Hell Roy, they got to advertise somehow—"
Cal didn't finish his thought. The physical world had suddenly faded. His dark eyes were filled with a pretty young woman in pink, a study in grace on a pony, seemingly oblivious to the bustle around her. Sadness touched at the corners of her mouth, in that place where her lips curved into the soft skin of her cheeks.
Cal wagged his head back and forth as he tried to clear the hot ringing in his ears. The surprise attack of schoolboy shyness and tunnel vision defied logic.
The cruel mid-afternoon heat had pasted loose hairs to her forehead and cheeks, but the bulk of her silky chestnut tresses hung in thick plaits lingering about slim shoulders. Full breasts and a narrow waist held a promise of heaven on earth.
His heart beating wildly in his ears, Cal stared. When she coyly looked up and acknowledged his presence, it felt like springtime rumbling over a long, lonely winter. Why was such beauty destined for Lola's?
"Maybe she can cook, too," muttered Roy.
Roy smirked and watched Cal's usual hard expression softening like butter left on a sunny windowsill. Tilting his hat back, he tried to remember the last time his big brother had responded to a woman.
Just then Ned saw them and raised his hand in greeting.
"Howdy boys!" He stepped through the ring of men and guided the woman on the pony closer to their wagon.
Cal's eyes briefly met with Sarah's. His chest tightened, and he thought he saw her cheeks color prettily as her gaze tumbled down to the saddle horn.
Ned knew the Easton brothers wouldn't join in the bidding. Cal Easton never spent time at Lola's, and Ned knew it wasn't for lack of money. A man like Cal didn't like to take advantage of a woman's misfortune; he was a right gentleman, the sort who liked the pleasure of a woman's favor – but not if he'd bought it. As for Roy, he could shamelessly rustle women anywhere; with his boyish good looks and smooth tongue he simply charmed petticoats off them.
Cal sat speechless, hat gripped in his hand. Ned almost laughed; the man looked as though he'd just seen a three-headed calf. Roy took one look at his brother and decided he'd best do the rescuing.
"Howdy, Ned," he drawled for the both of them. "Hot as blazes out here."
"It surely is, boys."
Roy tossed a quick glance at Sarah and carelessly droned, "How's business?"
Sarah bowed her head and Cal reddened.
"Fair," Ned replied. His eyes flickered to Cal, and he shot Roy a questioning look. Ned used his free hand to rub the three-day beard on his chin. "Ya know boys, I don't expect Jack Dullen to make an honest woman of her, if you catch my drift." He looked pointedly at Cal.
Suddenly Cal was shaken from his reverie.
"Dullen?" he echoed numbly.
"Yep, still goes by that name," Ned nodded.
"Not Dullen," he breathed.
The Eastons considered Dullen to be a heartless, self-absorbed, cheating schemer who loved only two things: His money and himself. Jack Dullen confronted life as a battle -- aggressively adversarial in his behavior, even openly hostile toward anyone who did not adhere to his twisted sense of right and wrong. He owned the ranch just west of the Easton spread, and occasionally he'd tried to hire away their best hands. Once or twice he was successful at it, but the men he'd lured had always returned to the Easton's ranch after less than a month of riding for Dullen's Double D.
Cal's hands tightened into fists at his sides. He found his voice.
"Welcome to our town, Miss," he nodded, "my name's Caleb Easton, and this here's my brother, Roy." He fingered the brim of his hat. "What's your name? Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?" Cal's voice had softened, and his hard brown eyes moved to gentle gold as he spoke. His words were direct and carried a note of genuine sincerity.
You are the first one who cares enough to ask my name, she thought. The man was large and rough-looking, and might have frightened but for the refined manner in his words. Sarah peered into the dust-covered face. Sun wrinkles around the eyes and mouth told a tale of years of hard ranching work. His large frame and wide shoulders emphasized the slimness of his hips. Lean, sinewy muscles rippled under his plaid shirt, and dark wavy hair fell to his shoulders. He wore a gun belt with twin Colts riding low on his hips, as did his boyish looking brother. Her eyes lingered between his shoulders, chest, and hips, and she wondered what happened to his arm. Feeling her face flush, she looked away.
Sarah pushed her hands down over the fancy skirt. She pretended to pat away the street dust and adjust gathers as she labored to reclaim her composure. She decided the truth was just as good as anything else.
"My name is Sarah Anders," she hurried out. "I came out here from Illinois with my sister, my Uncle Orv, and my cousin Joey. Uncle Orv had lost his farm."
Cal heard her voice canter brittle, like thin glass that might break at the slightest provocation.
"We were planning to be ranchers, and Uncle Orv thought he could maybe find work at the mining camp at Copperopolis." Then she hesitated, and Cal saw a tear form at the corner of her eye. "But my uncle and cousin were killed this morning just a ways from here." She swallowed and cast an uneasy glance past the men, as if searching for an escape route.
"Sorry to hear that," Cal replied slowly, taking stock of her story. "Did you talk to the sheriff?" He pushed his hat farther back on his head and leaned forward in the wagon seat.
Sarah thought Cal truly did sound sorry, almost as sorry as she was to impart such bad news. "Yes." She hesitated. "We met him on our way to town. He said he was planning to organize a posse to go after those outlaws. And then he told me Miss Lola would take me and my sister in for a while, if I'd work for her."
The brothers exchanged a lightning charged look; Cal appeared angry enough to spit bullets. Ever since Jack Dullen had installed his sheriff, it seemed that 'law and order' meant serving the man's greedy appetites.
Sarah's full lips were enough to make any man's thoughts gallop wildly, and no doubt the sheriff was already in line, waiting his turn. Cal couldn't help but wonder himself what it might be like to kiss that lovely mouth, long and hard.
He began to think about ways to delay her and Ned, but Roy had already put the horses into motion, so the brothers waved and moved on down the street. After a moment, Roy abruptly turned and lightheartedly called back to her.
"Sarah, can you cook?"
Ned laughed heartily, and Sarah felt an odd sense of belonging for the first time that day.
"You betcha!" she yelled back urgently. "I took first place in the county for my biscuits!"
Cal peeked sideways at Sarah. He noted the shy sadness had given way to a hopeful expression, and, like the sunlight flowing into the big barn at his Mineral Creek Ranch, it was gently pushing through the weath
ered cracks.
Chapter 5
The smells of leather and molasses greeted Cal as he strode into the general store.
"Howdy," he drawled as he handed his list to the owner, Earl Watkins.
Then Cal looked past the man to browse the crowded shelves. He scanned the rows of buckets, hammers, pots, and axes, while Earl pulled on his spectacles and read the order.
Bill and Thad, the Underwood brothers, stood at the counter. Bill was hunched over his family's ledger page, checking a running total of their purchases and credit balance at the store. Thad was eyeing the same from over his brother's shoulder. Thad heard the click of Cal's boot heels moving restlessly along the length of the counter. He looked up and grinned.
"Hello Mr. Easton," chimed Bill.
"Howdy Bill, Thad." Cal touched the brim of his hat.
Thad's grin broadened. He was missing two more teeth since Cal had last seen him. "Seen the new gal they got over at Lola's? I was jus' tellin' my brother he needs a pretty filly like that ta' warm his bed. He's biddin' on her."
"Yeah, I saw." Annoyed, Cal tugged off his hat and turned it roughly in his hands. Hearing them talk about this woman as if she were a horse deal nagged. He usually paid little attention to such matters, and he found himself wondering why this one was different. She was pretty, but the one time he'd bought a woman he'd found it far less than satisfying. It had provided nothing but temporary physical relief. And anything further was out of the question. He didn't flinch at hanging rustlers, but he was downright terrified when the thought of loving a woman skipped through his mind. Emotional entanglements left a man vulnerable, and bad things were sure to follow. They always did.
Losing Grace Farrel had cut deeply, and Cal carried a wrenching secret -- one that set his heart to aching every time he thought on it. Shortly after Grace's passing, Doc Chandler had confided to him that she'd carried his child. It was unexpected, as he'd enjoyed physical intimacy with Grace on just two occasions. Even now the knowledge sliced keenly, and occasionally he yearned, in his dreams, to tell Grace how happy and proud he was that they were expecting a baby. It was a dream from which he woke sweating and wracked by the guilt that came with knowing he might have prevented her death and the loss of their child.
Then, two years later, his meddling mama invited Betsy Simon to Sunday dinner. Mama thought it was time he married, his duty in fact, and she openly encouraged Cal to court the woman. Betsy was kind enough, but her incessant chatter didn't leave any room to kindle a spark, let alone for Cal to finish a sentence, when they were together.
One day when Betsy was visiting a bee flew into her mouth and stung her tongue, and she was forced to cease her talking. The woman had to sit still and actually think for a few minutes. Perhaps it was then that she finally admitted the truth to herself: Cal didn't share her enthusiasm for the match.
Hell, he'd probably be married to the woman if that bee hadn't happened along. And not long after the bee incident Betsy met Barry Hanson, and that was that.
If Mama was disappointed, she hid it well. A year later Papa died in the accident, and life changed again when grief-stricken Mama took ill.
Cal had known enough misery in a few short years to last his lifetime.
These days he kept busy running the Mineral Creek Ranch, and when his bed felt a mite too cold, or loneliness gnawed at the pit of his stomach he simply rolled over, hammered his pillow with a fist, and brushed it aside. Loving and losing was just too hard on a soul. A man did himself a favor by avoiding it completely.
The young woman he'd seen on the white pony wasn't for him. Her looks might run to above average, he told himself. Besides, he hadn't seen a new young woman in a long time. Any normal man would react to her the way he did. Cal told himself he wouldn't bother to remember her when he got back to the ranch.
"Ahem." The burly storekeeper cleared his throat noisily to catch Cal's attention. "I got one order to fill ahead of you."
"No reason to hurry, Earl." Cal stretched to his full height as he broke away from his counter-leaning posture. "Roy's over at the bank. I got business at Jake's. I'll be back."
Cal slapped his hat against his thigh and strolled out of the store. He ambled down to Jake Farrel's blacksmith shop but he couldn't shake the image of Sarah's smile and musical lilt of her voice.
Walking into Jake's shop was like visiting a sweat lodge. Beads of sweat trickled down Jake's face. The barrel-chested man was hammering a horseshoe, and Cal waited patiently while Jake finished the task.
Finally the blacksmith turned from his anvil and looked his question at Cal. Like every blow of his hammer, Jake made every word count. His regular customers had learned to interpret the nuances of facial expression, and just then he was wearing narrowed eyes and a frown.
"I need some hinges and locks," Cal called out.
At that moment Mary, Jake's wife, scurried in with a pitcher of water and tin cups. She set the cups on a large section of the tool-littered tree stump that doubled as a workbench. Jake looked like a giant next to his woman's diminutive figure.
"Good afternoon Mr. Easton. How's your mama?" Mary cocked her auburn head prettily, and turned to pour the water.
"The same, thanks for asking," nodded Cal, staring intently at the pitcher. Mama had been youthful and energetic until her husband's death the previous year. Several grieving months had passed before she suffered the stroke.
Like his mother, Cal felt the loss of his father deeply. It still hurt to think about the magic that no longer danced between John Easton and Elizabeth McDougal, the pretty and lively daughter of a successful Scottish merchant. Cal's father had put his heart and fervor into making a good life for Elizabeth and the two handsome sons she bore him. Through the early years John Easton had worked as a trapper and guide, and he'd had his share of luck panning for gold. Then he'd moved up to the valley at his brother's urging, and he discovered copper in the Lazca area on the north fork of the river. But John Easton didn't have enough money on his own to develop the mine, so he threw in with Jack Dullen.
John had been frugal. He used his profits from the partnership to buy cattle down near Helena. He drove them up to his claim in the lush valley bordered on the east by the Mineral Creek. He realized his dream of owning a family ranch, and planned to work it after the mine played out. With the help of his strong, capable sons, the herd had quickly grown to over a thousand head.
Jake winked at Mary as she filled the cups. She smiled back. Then Mary disappeared as quickly as she came, leaving the two men to their business.
"The outlaws aren't giving you trouble, are they?" Jake rumbled.
Cal sipped the cool water. "Don't think so. Had some strange goings on lately, though. Somebody or something spooked our cattle in the north pasture, just two days back. We had a stampede, and we lost five head by my reckoning. Our hands worked most of the day to round up strays." He stroked his chin. "Maybe rustlers."
"Indians?" Jake leaned heavily against the makeshift table.
"No." Cal frowned. Thin lines etched around his mouth burrowed deeper. "Rustlers on the outlaw trail. Could be any of them."
Jake turned the topic back to business.
"Those hinges be ready for you in a couple days." Jake lifted his glass and paused it halfway to his lips as he glanced at Cal's injured arm. "I got somethin' that might interest you." He paused. "Haven't told anyone else."
Jake paused again and continued. "A fellow gave me a rifle for payment a couple of weeks back. Pained him to give it up. It's one of those new Winchester lever-action repeating kinds. It's got the King improvement, to make it load from the side 'stead of the muzzle. First I've seen." He took a long gulp and set the half-empty glass on the tree stump. "Darn thing shoots least 20 rounds a minute, an' that don't count the loading. I won't be needin' it myself, bein' in town. But could you use it, with your arm bad and all? Mind you, it won't come cheap." He wiped around the edges of his mouth with the back of his hand.
Cal looked startle
d at the revelation, not to mention the fact that Jake had just spouted the longest speech he'd ever made.
"Twenty rounds a minute! Hell yes, I'm interested! How much you want for it?"
"I got it in back. Hold up while I get it."
Cal waited anxiously as Jake walked to the back of his shop. Soon the blacksmith lumbered back carrying the rifle. The oiled barrel gleamed, and the wood stock was in beautiful condition
Both men admired the fine craftsmanship of the piece.
"How much you want?"
"Think forty dollars is fair," replied Jake as he pulled a bandana from his back pocket and wiped it across his brow. "I'll throw in the boxes of ammunition."
"You got yourself a deal!"
"Easton. You watch your backtrail". Jake's voice was tight. He slapped a bear paw on Cal's shoulder.
"Always Jake." Cal grinned.
His birthday was turning out to be special after all.
* * *
Cal was basking in the glow of his good fortune as he returned to Watkins' general store. He spied Roy out front, loading the goods into the wagon.
"Little brother, I've got good news."
Roy glanced up at Cal from his post in the back of the wagon. He grinned slyly.
"Me too." Roy jumped down to the dirt to face his sibling. The wagon bed swayed, and rusty springs groaned.
"Ella's sending another pie?" Cal gripped the rifle behind his back.
"No, but she sends her regards," Roy shot back. "Tell me your good news first, then I'll show you mine."
"OK, but you got to keep this under your hat."
Roy's hand flew in dramatic fashion to his head.
"Sure thing! Brother you know I'm worthy."
Cal grunted, moved closer, and swung the rifle around.
. "Jake sold me a repeater!"
"Hot damnation! I've heard of them but never seen one." Roy smiled broadly. His eyes were shining.
"Me neither brother. But a man has to protect his property," twittered Cal.