Circle Star

by Tatiana March

  Her eyes darted over the landscape, drinking in the magic of the barren land she had never stopped missing. Memories stirred in her mind of those last terrible days with her father, before she left for boarding school in the East thirteen years ago.

  “Don’t go,” he father pleaded. “Your life’s here at Circle Star.”

  “I must go,” she insisted. “Mother says I need to go, so I can be a lady.”

  They had ended up arguing over it, scowling at each other across the big desk in the library, her father’s fiery temper barely restrained. Then, with a sudden change of mood, he had announced that he had something important to discuss with her. “I’m putting Connor McGregor in my will,” he informed her. “He’ll share Circle Star with you.”

  The words hit her like a fist in the gut, making her breath catch and her heart hammer. Earlier that day, Connor had grabbed her and kissed her by the river, and even now, all these years later, she could still remember her reaction to his touch. She had been kissed since then, several times, but none of those kisses had rocked her the same way.

  That was why none of those kisses had ever led to marriage.

  On that day, her father had summoned Pete Jackson to fetch Connor, so he could explain his intentions to the boy. Only Connor couldn’t be found. The foreman swore that he’d passed on the message, but instead of coming to the library as instructed, Connor had packed his meager belongings and ridden away from Circle Star.

  Her father had been puzzled, then worried, and finally distraught. “Something’s happened to the boy,” he had declared, his heavy features furrowed with concern. “He’d never just leave like that.”

  But Susanna knew.

  I’ll tell my father, and he’ll throw you off Circle Star.

  She’d yelled those words at him, and Connor had believed her. She had caused his flight. It had never been her intention to tell her father about the incident by the river. And then she’d been too afraid to reveal that Connor had run off because of something she had said. Her father would have blamed her.

  And, if truth be told, she’d been jealous. Her father fussed over Connor as though the boy were some long-lost son. Just because she was a girl, Susanna got pushed into the background. Part of her was glad when Connor disappeared. Now she would be important to her father again, and she wouldn’t have to share Circle Star when he died.

  But she didn’t become important to her father again. She was away at school. Her father wrote to her, but as often as not his letters would be about his efforts to track down Connor, find out what had happened to make him leave. He never did manage to trace the boy, and Susanna never confessed to her part in Connor’s disappearance.

  Then it became clear that her mother wouldn’t return from Philadelphia. After three years at boarding school, Susanna had to make a decision. It wasn’t fair to force a child of sixteen to choose between two feuding parents, particularly when that choice involved two completely different lifestyles.

  But—as her mother pointed out—life was rarely fair.

  Susanna made her choice. As she filled her lungs with the dry desert air and felt the heat of the Arizona sun on her skin, she realized it had been the wrong one.

  She had always belonged at Circle Star.

  ****

  Two hours later, Susanna sat in the oak paneled library to receive the hastily summoned lawyer. She recognized Mr. Catterill, who had dealt with her father, although it surprised her to discover the man was still alive. He’d appeared ancient when she was a child. Now he merely appeared old. Age was relative, Susanna accepted with a quiet sigh as she studied the tall, thin man with sparse gray hair.

  She rose from behind the massive mahogany desk and offered her hand. “Thank you for coming out to Circle Star.”

  “It’s the least I could do. I knew you’d be tired after the long journey.” The lawyer briefly clasped her fingers in his bony ones. “My condolences.”

  Susanna nodded. “I don’t really know what happened. I understand it was sudden, and it happened somewhere on the property.”

  “A seizure,” Mr. Catterill explained. “Your father always worked too hard. They were enlarging a well at the north ridge. The heat and the physical strain defeated him.”

  Susanna could almost see her father, a giant of a man, wielding a shovel, grunting with effort, unwilling to accept the limitations of his aging body.

  “That’s the way he would have liked to go,” she said softly.

  “But not quite yet,” Mr. Catterill suggested with arched brows.

  Despite her anguish, Susanna felt the corners of her mouth tilt up. “Thank you for saying that.” Her smile was wistful. “I’m trying not to wallow in grief.”

  “You’re entitled to some grieving.”

  “But not as much as I would if I had lived out here with him.”

  The lawyer cleared his throat. It wasn’t lost on Susanna that he said nothing to contradict her statement. She had expected such reactions. People saw her as a stranger now, someone who had chosen to leave Circle Star all those years ago. She would have to work hard to be accepted again, but that didn’t worry her. A strong streak of determination mixed in with her soft nature.

  “Why was he buried in Cedar City instead of on the ranch?” On her way through, she had stopped at the cemetery, where she had spent a moment in silent prayer beside the patch of gravel that bore a simple wooden cross with her father’s name on it.

  “It was Pete Jackson’s decision,” the lawyer replied.

  “I see.” Susanna sat down again and gestured at the chair across the desk. “I’d like to get on with things. Please don’t think I’m hasty in wanting to discuss my father’s will. I simply think I’ll manage better if I keep my thoughts occupied.”

  The lawyer settled opposite her and propped his briefcase on the floor by his feet. Leaning down, he extracted a few sheets of paper. “It’s very simple,” he said as he straightened. “Except for a few small legacies, you are the sole beneficiary in your father’s will.”

  Susanna released the breath she’d been holding. “Is it a new will?”

  Mr. Catterill contemplated her before he spoke. It was a peculiar look, one that sent a prickle of anticipation tingling along her skin. “No, it’s not,” the lawyer said. “It’s an old will, made just before you left Circle Star.”

  “But—” Susanna paused, pressed her lips together. She forced her expression to relax. “Please, carry on.”

  “You’ll inherit Circle Star, on the condition that you marry Connor McGregor. If you don’t marry him, the ranch will be sold and the proceeds put in trust for you and any children that you may have.”

  “What?” Her heart pounded with such ferocity it seemed to be trying to break out of her chest.

  “Unless you marry Connor McGregor, Circle Star must be sold.”

  “I understood what you said….” Susanna shook her head, as if to clear the tumult of thoughts in her mind. “But…Connor hasn’t been seen or heard from in years. He could be dead. He could be married to someone else.”

  The lawyer shrugged. “When your father made the will, Connor McGregor was living on Circle Star. When the circumstances changed, your father never got around to making a new will.”

  “He should have,” Susanna said in a low voice. Then she realized how callous her words might have sounded. She clasped her hands together in her lap. “I mean, it’s totally impractical…”

  “I kept reminding him, but he thought there was plenty of time.”

  “He never really stopped hoping, did he?” Susanna fixed her gaze on Mr. Catterill. She knew her lips were about to start trembling. “He always thought that one day Connor would come back, and then the sun would shine again.” Her hands pulled apart in her lap and knotted into fists. “Well, he didn’t come back. I could have been here, but I was only a girl, which just wasn’t good enough.”

  “Miss Talbot.” The lawyer’s voice turned cool. “You father insisted on this clause for you
r own protection.”

  “My protection?”

  “Yes. It’s a hard country. Too often, the law fails to do its job. Your father felt it would be unsafe for a single woman to operate a ranch. If you weren’t married, it was his preference that Circle Star be sold.”

  Susanna glared at the lawyer across the table. “He also wished to pick out a husband.”

  Mr. Catterill shrugged again, a gesture that conveyed no apology. “He felt Connor McGregor was the right man to offer you the protection you need.”

  Susanna got to her feet so abruptly the heavy leather chair screeched against the plank floor. Her skirts and petticoats flapped against her legs with the force of her strides as she paced the room. “What do we do now?”

  “You have three months to find Connor McGregor and marry him. After that, Circle Star will be sold in a public auction to the highest bidder.”

  She halted, facing the lawyer. “Until then, I can stay?”

  “You can stay, but you cannot dispose of any assets that belong to the ranch.”

  After asking a few more questions and receiving curt replies, Susanna thanked Mr. Catterill and bid him goodbye. When the door closed behind the lawyer, she slumped in the big leather chair and buried her face in her hands.

  For thirteen years, she’d struggled to forget Connor McGregor, knowing that he would hate her now, that he would never forgive her for casting him out of Circle Star.

  How could her father do this to her?

  How could he force her to reopen ancient wounds?

  She had to remain strong. Finally she was back where she belonged, and she would find a way to stay, a way to hold on to Circle Star. Susanna lifted her head from her hands, determination hardening inside her as she began to review the possibilities in her mind.

  ****

  Sitting behind the mahogany desk in the library, Susanna doodled on a notepad. Her first task was to go through the books and understand her financial situation. Her father had considered accounting a suitable occupation for a girl and had allowed her to help when he paid the bills. With a careful hand, she had noted down the amounts in the big leather-bound ledgers. It was a long time ago, but she knew how to read the information.

  She pulled open desk drawers and searched until she found the current ledger. Turning to the last completed page, she inspected the totals at the end of each column.

  The ranch prospered. It would give her a good living, were she able to stay. She had liquid funds, too, enough for what she needed to achieve in the next three months.

  Leafing back the pages, Susanna studied the entries. Her brows furrowed. She traced her finger along the horizontal lines to check the explanation for each amount, in case she had misunderstood. With a growing sense of unease, she examined page after page.

  No mistake.

  Her father had supported their life in Philadelphia. The maintenance of the house on Rittenhouse Square, their clothes, even their daily expenses had been funded by him. Her mother had never revealed how much their comfortable lifestyle depended on his generosity, and Susanna had believed her mother possessed wealth of her own.

  If Circle Star was sold and the money placed into trust, as stipulated in her father’s will, they would have to live on the interest. Susanna had no idea how much the ranch was worth and how much income the amount would bring. She suspected they would have to economize—move to a smaller house, do without domestic help.

  All the more reason for her to hold on.

  She slapped the pen against the pad and jumped to her feet. Gathering her skirts, she hurried out of the study and rushed up the stairs. The house was none too clean. The elderly housekeeper she remembered from her childhood had died years ago and her father had never hired a replacement, instead relying on cooks who came and went.

  Pete Jackson had already introduced her to Carmen, a voluptuous dark woman in her forties who preferred speaking Spanish. Carmen seemed both willing and capable, but cleaning took second place to the task of feeding thirty hungry men.

  In her father’s bedroom, Susanna lifted the quilted cover on the big canopied bed. Musty air filled her nostrils. She crossed the landing to her old room and found her pair of trunks already hauled up. She repeated her inspection of the bed linens. This time the smell was fresh, with a hint of something floral. She made a note in her mind to thank Carmen.

  Kneeling on the ground next to the trunks, Susanna twisted the locks open. A frown lined her face as she surveyed the contents. Fine gowns in silk and velvet, bought with money sent by her father. Over the years, she had never expressed her gratitude. How could she have? She hadn’t known she was receiving gifts from him, since her mother had hidden the truth from her. It hurt to know that even as an adult she’d been used as the piece of rope in the tug-of-war between her parents.

  Her mouth tightened. Who was she going to be from now on?

  The Susanna Talbot who grew up on Circle Star?

  Or the Susanna Talbot who went to Philadelphia to became a lady?

  Thinking of Philadelphia reminded her of Claire, and despite her anxiety Susanna burst into laughter. Of course! She knew what Claire would do, and although she’d never have the audacity to be as bold as her friend, she would try her best.

  Susanna scrambled to her feet and rushed to the rosewood armoire that stood along the opposite wall. Inside, she found the shirtwaist blouses and rough denim pants she used to wear around the ranch before she went off to boarding school.

  She kicked her feet free of the kid slippers, bunched up the hems of her gown and bent to tug on a pair of pants. A little tight around the hips, they still fit. She wriggled out of the gown and petticoats and shoved the tails of her chemise into the waist of the pants. The old shirtwaist blouse she pulled on fit too, although with the same tightness over the bust as the pants displayed over the buttocks.

  All the more for them to ogle at, Susanna thought fiercely. Then, before her courage failed, she marched back into her father’s room and picked up his gun belt from the bedside table. The leather strap was miles too loose around her hips, but if she took off one of the holsters and wore the belt high around her waist, she could wrap it around her body twice.

  Last, she picked up one of her father’s pair of Remington revolvers and flipped out the cylinder to check for ammunition. The gun was loaded. She flicked the cylinder back in place, thumbed back the hammer and raised her arm. “Boom,” she whispered, squinting down the barrel, taking aim at an oil lamp on the wall.

  With a smile of satisfaction, Susanna brought the hammer back down to secure the weapon on an empty chamber. Sliding the belt around her waist, she positioned the holster over her right hip. Then she slipped the gun into the holster and took a few tentative steps to test the weight of the weapon as it bounced against her side.

  Connor had worn Colts. It pleased her to have something different. Better. As soon as she could, she would ride out into the desert to practice. Her father had taught her well, and since shooting at a target was intuitive, she had no doubt that her skills remained.

  Her stocking feet thudded softly over the floorboards as she returned to her room and searched in the armoire, until she found the snakeskin boots that had been a gift from her father on her thirteenth birthday. Carefully, she tried them on. Thank heavens, they didn’t pinch. She stamped her feet more firmly into the boots and clattered down the stairs.

  “Where’s Pete Jackson?” she called out to Carmen, who was standing at the kitchen counter, up to her elbows in flour.

  “Señor Jackson is at the stable,” Carmen replied, twisting the dough with strong hands. Then she raised her gaze. “Madre mia,” she breathed. A trace of flour streaked her ample bosom as she skimmed a hasty sign of the cross.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Susanna lifted her arms and performed a slow turn.

  Carmen shook her head and babbled away in Spanish.

  “Slower,” Susanna instructed. “It’s a long time since I spoke Spanish.”

&
nbsp; She listened carefully as Carmen repeated her torrent of words.

  “No,” she replied when the cook had finished. “I won’t get arrested, but I have a good mind to cause a riot. See you later.” She spun with a neat pirouette on her snakeskin heels. The dance lessons at boarding school had been some use after all. She stalked out through the rear door and went looking for Pete Jackson.

  She found two ranch hands loitering in the stable yard.

  “Howdy,” Susanna said, and realized she’d forgotten about a hat.

  The men, both in their thirties, stared at her. She stifled her laughter, thinking she could toss a silver dollar into their open mouths. “I’m Susanna Talbot,” she said, and just to make sure they understood how things stood, she added, “I’m your new boss.”

  “Howdy, Miss Talbot,” said the first to recover, a tall redhead. The other one, a stocky Mexican with a moustache, echoed the words a second later.

  Before she had time to ask for Pete Jackson, the foreman strode out of the stables. “Miss Susanna?” he blurted out, blinking in the bright sunlight, his wiry body stiffening as he took in her appearance.

  “I need to talk to you,” Susanna told him. “Are you free now?”

  “Sure.” Pete nodded at her. After pausing to give instructions to the two ranch hands, he followed her. “That’s quite an outfit,” he commented as he caught up.

  “Do you disapprove?” Susanna asked and gave him a sidelong glance. Their relationship had once been close, but that was a long time ago, and in different circumstances. She wondered if any of the mutual trust remained.

  “Practical,” Pete said, but he couldn’t hide the amusement in his gruff voice.

  A smile tugged at Susanna’s mouth. “Is that all you have to say?”