by Anna Murray
She sat down on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh. Think. Remember, she told herself. Uncle Orv must have been sending letters back as they traveled. How else could Crane know where to send the telegram? The more she thought about the deal Orv had made with Crane, the higher her anger climbed. Surely he'd have known that a man who wasn't kin couldn't own another person. It wasn't legal. That was what the war had been about. He'd likely planned to trick her when the time came to sell her off. Ansel Crane was a clever schemer too. After all, he'd swindled the farm from her uncle. Surely he'd know, now that Orv was dead, that he couldn't buy her with money owed. Not with money.
Another man's debt couldn't buy a person, but the threat of exposing her past could. Crane had the power and knowledge to publicly shame her. The man was low enough scum to do it.
Sarah didn't want to admit, even to herself, that she'd hidden a few facts about her previous life. She considered she hadn't really hid them; she simply hadn't divulged them to the Eastons, and they hadn't asked. She told herself it wasn't their business, so long as she was merely an employee.
Yet Cal had called her a 'fine lady', and she'd convinced herself it was because she was becoming a fine lady. He'd surely think her a fraud when Crane showed and talked.
Images from the past came flooding back, all those painful years the decent families back home had shunned them. Other girls went to parties wearing pretty new dresses. Meanwhile, Sarah and Emily sat at home. The girls they met at school weren't allowed to visit them at the farm because their families didn't trust Uncle Orv. And stories were plenty, idle gossip, even that Orv used Sarah that way.
When all was said and done, Crane had only to spend ten minutes regaling the men at the general store with lurid tales suited to his purpose. It was easy for Sarah to imagine the hurtful stories rolling over Wounded Colt like a flash flood.
She shuddered. A man like Cal Easton had his limits. Despair stabbed at her, pushing a river of tears through burning eyes and down hot cheeks. It wasn't fair. But then few things were. No, she could never expose a fine family like the Eastons to scandal.
She wiped at her face with bare hands, slumped her shoulders forward. If she had $350 she'd buy Crane's silence and be done with the whole mess. But the man was likely already riding in her direction, and now he'd know exactly where to find them, because she'd replied to his telegram.
What could she tell Emily? She reflected that she'd been in difficult situations before, but nothing akin to this predicament.
Sarah shifted on the bed and ran her hands over her hair. Her thoughts wandered to her mother and father. Death had shattered their world and hers. She would not be broken, through privation and hardship. After all, she was an Anders.
Sarah sat still for a long time. Then she shoved the odious letter back into the box, pushed it under the bed, and stood up. She loped over to the dresser and leaned against it to steady herself. After a minute she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, smoothed her dress with shaking hands, and walked back to the parlor.
* * *
The men took their supper in the ranch house kitchen quietly, except for Aiken, who ran on about all the diseases and fevers cattle could catch, after which he speculated on how ranchers were raising better beef in Texas. Roy countered that he'd been to Texas and Hell, preferring the latter. Aiken waved off the younger Easton, and tacked on a bit about a rumor he'd heard about the beef market crashing. To him it seemed nobody wanted to eat beef anymore, and if he were in the business he'd just sell out, go east and find himself comfort in a fancy woman.
The men lingered over their coffee as Peck finished writing his "report" on the interviews and clues he'd pretended to find.
The men relaxed after they sashayed Aiken and Peck out the front door. The duo saddled up and rode on back to town.
Cal swaggered into the kitchen, to where Sarah was cleaning. Emily had gone out front to sit with Ned. Mrs. Easton sat in her wheeled chair.
Cal approached Sarah from behind and wrapped his strong arms around her waist. He lovingly nuzzled and planted tiny kisses on her neck.
Sarah closed her eyes and savored the moment. She felt his warm, rigid body press against her, encircling her with desire. She had to fight the urge to lean back, to sink completely into heaven. Then she remembered, and the cut she felt in her chest was sharp. She turned abruptly to face him.
"I'm busy. Isn't there some work you should be doing?"
Cal was taken aback. "Heck yes. Work is always waiting. I just wanted to hold my favorite woman for a minute." He laughed and turned around to face his mother. "Don't worry, Mama. You're still my first favorite."
Sarah smiled and twisted around to see Mrs. Easton's eyes dancing. Sarah suspected that Mrs. Easton was like a fascinating book, if only she could open the cover and start reading. Lately she'd dreamed about speaking with the enchanting woman, but she always woke up disappointed, bit by the cruel reality that it could never happen.
Cal's smile reached to his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Sarah again. Once Cal had got it into his head to woo a woman, he wouldn't be dismissed, and now he spoke low next to her ear. "Will you marry me and make me the happiest man in the territory?" His tongue grazed the soft edge of her earlobe. "The preacher can come on Saturday. We'll be married in the parlor with Mama and Roy and Emily here, just like I've dreamed." He punctuated his murmured words with more hot kisses along her neck. "Darlin', say yes."
Cal's proposal should have lifted Sarah to ecstasy, but instead she felt panic followed by gut wrenching turmoil, as helpless as she'd been on the runaway mare. With the threat of Crane hanging over her, she couldn't consider this offer, and bile rose to the back of her throat just thinking about it. She could tell him half the truth, she decided. It wouldn't really be lying.
She stared past him and fixed on a knothole in a floorboard. "I can't marry you, Cal." Her voice wavered slightly. "While you were out this morning a Tom Black came by, with a telegram for me. From Illinois. Somebody I knew back there. He's coming out for me."
Sarah's news struck Cal with the force of a belly blow. He groaned and tightened his grip on her arm. "You told me you didn't have a man!" He thrust a shaking hand through his hair.
Sarah had accepted his advances. Hell, he thought, she'd responded to him in the most heated and passionate way.
Sarah couldn't stop the tears from flowing. "I didn't think he was interested. T-turns out he is—"
Cal's eyes darkened and he'd lose control if he didn't leave now, but there was something he had to know. "You love him?" he flung out desperately.
Sarah hesitated before answering. She shrugged. "Some things are a matter of duty."
"Duty, hell! Might be that I could rid you of that duty!" His voice was hoarse and desperate, his face a twisted confusion of anger and disbelief. Just when he thought she was safely in his corral she'd jumped the fence. And for what? Some twisted sense of duty?
"You can't help." She whispered quietly.
Cal was so hurt and furious he couldn't find words.
She said she didn't love the man. Well, damnation. What favors had the man done her, that she felt duty bound to marry him?
Cal turned on his heel and stormed out of the house, slamming the back door with such force the plates rattled on the shelves.
Sarah looked up and was heartbroken all over again when her gaze fell upon Mrs. Easton. Tears were sparkling in the elder woman's eyes. Sarah knelt, and she folded Mrs. Easton's small wrinkled hands into her own.
"Mrs. Easton, I do love your son." She took a ragged breath and continued. "I didn't know it, but my uncle borrowed $350 to get us here, from a man named Ansel Crane. In his telegram he said he's coming to get what my uncle owes him. It turns out that is me. Now I must pay Mr. Crane the $350, or likely marry him and go back to Illinois. Of course I don't have $350." Her voice trailed off, and her head dropped forward with her humiliation. "Your son is so fine and handsome. He can have any woman." One that can hold he
r head up in his community.
The image of Cal with some other woman brought a sense of crushing hopelessness. The breach between them was an ocean wide and she was standing alone on the opposite shore, no ship in sight.
She looked up at Mrs. Easton. The woman's kind blue eyes rapidly flickered up and down. Sarah followed the movement. Mrs. Easton's eyes were darting to her wedding ring, then to Sarah, then back to the ring again. Understanding dawned, and Sarah's heart swelled.
"Oh Mrs. Easton, I couldn't take your beautiful ring," she sobbed. "I'll find the money some other way," she added hastily.
The older woman's face reddened and a croak gurgled from her throat as she valiantly struggled to speak.
Sarah's heart lurched. She brought Mrs. Easton's hand to her cheek and impulsively kissed her wrinkled palm. "Truly, I will."
Chapter 19
Caring for Mrs. Easton was a blessing. Except for mealtimes, when she couldn't escape his presence, Sarah carefully avoided Cal, and a bitter distance grew between them. If he veered in her direction she quickened her step and skipped out of his path. If he entered the room she found excuse to exit.
Cal's tender touches and urgent kisses filled Sarah's restless thoughts and dreams. She dreaded waking in the dead of night, aching, and hearing the empty, lonely howl of a coyote echoing in the distance.
Cal passed the time with hands and herds, and Roy sensed something had gone awry. Cal sat rigid in his saddle, and he grunted tersely at the hired men. He didn't even roll his eyes at Roy's barbs. The man was mute at meals, hurrying to shovel in Sarah's fine fare without comment before rushing to get back to work.
At first blush it seemed that Cal had an itch, and Sarah wasn't willing to scratch it -- a common enough lovers' quarrel, thought Roy. But it wasn't like Cal. He always went slow and easy with the women -- glacially slow by Roy's standards. Sarah looked disheveled and sad, and Cal as though he'd been dragged over a washboard trail.
Roy pondered the situation. Cal had been crazy about Sarah. Why didn't he stop acting like a mule's backside and saddle up and marry her? Cal was past the age to settle down, and Sarah had proven to be a fine woman.
Roy was rarely stymied by a problem. This one was wearing a hole in his hat.
* * *
Peck turned up at the Mineral Creek Ranch. He was leading a string of ten mules, including the six Roy had sold to McHenry at the mining camp.
The Eastons leaned lazily against the fence as he rode up to greet them.
"Hellfire and blazes," Roy sputtered. He slapped his hat against his thigh upon spying the mules. He didn't want to own the whole lot of those critters again. He counted and scratched his head. "Looks like those darn animals gone and multiplied."
"Roy Easton, you're a lucky man! You sold eight mules and you're getting' ten back." Peck laughed.
"So why do I feel like a pail of hot spit?" Roy shot back.
Cal laughed. "How about that." He grinned at his brother. "Your mules are breedin' like jackrabbits."
Roy stretched out a long plaid arm and pushed at the backside of the nearest beast, to coax it into the pen.
"I can't wait to see McHenry an' give him a piece of my mind. These two he put on me are the sorriest looking I've seen north of Texas. Hell, I'm scared to look them in the mouth," Roy lamented.
Roy and Cal knew return of the mules was simply a convenient excuse for Peck. He needed to talk. The three men strolled away from the corral until they were out of the wrangler's earshot.
Peck cocked his prospector hat back, and rubbed at the whiskers on his chin.
"Right neighborly to return those mules," Cal muttered.
Peck nodded and wiped his hands on his shirt. He dragged the toe of his boot in the dust around a rock, as if to free it from the ground. "You men got a fine spread here. Dullen . . . he offer to buy you out?"
"You mean he didn't tell you?" Cal flashed a look of disbelief. "He offered for a thousand acres in the north section. Says he's aimin' to extend his range to the west all the way to the creek. He needs more grazing and water. He sent his man to make a second offer, after we didn't bite down on the first."
Cal hitched his thumbs over his belt. "We'd be loco to deal. That's the best grazing on the property. The creek floods out and keeps the grass. It's the watering for the herd in the east section." Cal's voice had pitched higher and his neck was reddening.
Peck dug his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his boot heels. "He don't want it for ranching. You boys got copper ore up there. Along the creek. Can't say how much exactly." He waved a hand. "Dullen's known it some while, an' he sent for me to check." Peck's mouth turned down at the corners. "He'd trim a tree with my hide if he knew I was talking to you. But I think a man has a right to know what's on his property before he sells." Peck spit again and looked sharply at Cal.
Roy slapped his hat across his thigh. "Damn! Copper!"
Peck winced at Roy's boyish enthusiasm. "Boys, it takes a pile of cash to start an operation. Smart folks sell off the claim and let a company with the money and know-how work it. I know an outfit in Denver, they'd give you a fair deal, of course."
Cal's gaze at Peck was intense. "It's poison, isn't it? Would kill our cattle."
Peck simply looked at the ground and nodded.
Roy grimaced, recalling the dead fish and foul water he'd seen over at Lazca.
The brothers were silent for long minutes. Cal had never considered a different occupation.
Roy spoke first.
"We could sell this land, and start another spread farther north or west in the valley. Easy enough to drive our cattle to a new range." He looked at Cal. "We could even buy out Dullen, keep some of our home range to the west side." The idea made him smile.
"We could." Cal's voice was distant, pensive. "This spread's better."
Peck dragged his toe in the dirt again. "What's downstream of this place? More ranchers?"
Roy felt an uncomfortable twinge as he remembered abandoned homesteads he passed on the trip up to Lazca.
Cal swallowed and his throat tightened. "Indian land. Lone Eagle's tribe. Their territory extends to the east. The creek runs through an area they take to be sacred."
Peck watched as Roy and Cal exchanged grimaces.
"You'll keep this under your hat?" Cal asked hesitantly.
"You got my word."
Cal and Roy exchanged another quick glance. "Tell him," Roy blurted.
Cal squared his shoulders and turned to face Peck fully. "Our family was some of the first to settle in this valley."
Cal looked at Roy once more before continuing. "Lone Eagle's our kin, our cousin. Our father drove cattle up here because his brother, our uncle Arthur, was already here, working as a trapper and guide. Uncle Arthur was married to an Indian woman named White Dove, Lone Eagle's mother. He took on their religious beliefs, went into the sweat lodge, and he carried his own medicine bundle. Before our uncle died, he took me to the camp where I stayed. I played and hunted with my cousin. Lone Eagle taught me to speak his language. He taught me about tracking and hunting their way."
"Since Uncle Arthur's death we don't see each other much. Now he's the leader. But we trade with them, of course, because we share blood between us."
Peck looked grave. "Indians are being moved onto government reservations."
Cal wagged his head back and forth. " They never use land in a way that might bring harm to the next generation." He gazed at the horizon. "I figure we'll keep ranching, Mr. Peck."
Roy folded his arms across his chest and silently withdrew from the conversation. The nine years between him and Cal meant he'd never known Lone Eagle the way Cal did. His brother was satisfied to rough it as a rancher.
Peck grimaced and looked as though he were fighting a battle inside himself. "I'm about to say something you didn't hear from me, boys. The ore is near played out up at Lazca." He paused and narrowed his eyes. "Dullen ain't a patient man. He'll likely find a way to swindle you or run you off
your property." Peck wiped his sleeve across his brow and hitched his thumbs into his pockets. Beef bawled in the distance.
Cal's expression was suddenly granite hard. "So that's it. He's been meddling to start a range war. We'll be ready when he comes."
Chapter 20
Doctor Rutherford rode out to remove the stitches in Sarah's shoulder the same morning a young cowboy named Knute Olson was thrown from a horse and broke his leg. Ned, Bailey, and Sarah, who was in the garden, helped the injured Knute to the shade of the porch. Just as Ned was about to send a man for the doctor Rutherford appeared, his blue eyes assessed the situation, and he asked Sarah to help Ned hold the man steady while he set the bone.
Slight Sarah half-sat on Knute's shoulder while Ned poured horse-choking whiskey down the man's throat. Rutherford's strong arms yanked on the leg to set the limb straight. All the while Knute howled.
"If I loved noise I'd hug you to death," Rutherford muttered as he tied the leg to a board.
When he'd finished with his first patient, Doctor Rutherford motioned Sarah to follow him into the parlor. "Ned took that racket well. Suppose he's mortar deaf from the war?" he queried.
Before Rutherford could open his mouth again Sarah made a request.
"Please see Mrs. Easton."
"My patient list keeps growing," Rutherford winked.
They hiked down the hall to the kitchen, and the doctor obliged Sarah by slowly and gently examining the older woman. He felt Mama's hands, peered into her mouth and ears, and measured the girth of her ankles with his large hands. Then he ushered Sarah back out to the hallway, where he talked to her at length, asking many questions about what Mrs. Easton ate and her sleep habits. He praised Sarah for her hard work and devotion in caring for Mrs. Easton. The kind words felt nice, but Sarah couldn't hide her disappointment as they walked back to the parlor. He'd offered no hope for improvement in Mrs. Easton's condition.
The doctor seated Sarah on the couch, where he examined her back, and, satisfied she was healed, removed the stitches.