*
“Who are you?”
Jillian dragged her way through a thick fog of dreams and pried her eyes open. A young girl with dark braids and sparkling blue eyes stood next to the bed, her small arms were crossed over her chest. Her foot tapped the floor as she awaited an answer.
Jillian pushed herself to a sitting position as last night’s events streamed through her mind. Though it now made sense why she was in a room that wasn’t her own, it didn’t explain who this child was.
“Who are you?” She countered.
“Annabelle. Why are you in my papa’s bed?”
Jillian blinked. “Your papa?” Wade had a daughter?
She looked around the room again in case there was something she’d missed last night, but it remained the same sparsely furnished, masculine room. If he had a daughter, where was his wife? And why wasn’t she sleeping in his bed?
“Are you getting married? James and my grandma are getting married this summer.”
“Oh. Well.”
“Do you know where my papa is?”
“In the kitchen?” Jillian volunteered, figuring whether she was wrong or not it would at least send the girl looking and give Jillian time to make sense of things.
“Are you going to be staying in my papa’s room again tonight?”
“Definitely not,” Jillian answered.
“Why? Don’t you like my papa?”
Good Lord, the child asked as many questions as her father.
“Annabelle!” Eileen strode into the room, took her granddaughter’s hand. “I’m sorry, Jillian. Far as I know, since both Wade and I are up at dawn, she comes straight down in the mornings. If I’d known she’d barge in on you I’d have kept an ear open for her.”
“It’s fine, Eileen. After all, it is her home and she had no way of knowing I would be here.”
“Well, be that as it may, she didn’t need to linger and pester you with questions. What do you say to Miss Matthews?” Eileen asked.
“I’m sorry,” the girl mumbled, looking down at her boots.
“We’ll leave you to get dressed, dear. Come on, Annabelle, I’ve got your breakfast ready.”
*
Jillian closed the front door behind her and leaned against it. Calling out a quick goodbye while Eileen’s attention was focused on wiping up Annabelle’s spilled milk was cowardly, but it was simpler that way. All she wanted was to check on the cow and get back to her own quiet house. Especially after last night. Even alone, there was something unsettling about sleeping in a man’s bed.
The dust that had choked the air since her arrival in Montana a few days ago was gone. In its place was the clean smell of earth after a good rain. Around the yard site, newly formed leaves trembled in the breeze and above her the blue sky stretched forever.
Taking the boots she’d carried, she sat down on the step. The laces were crusty with cracked mud when she bent to tie them. A moo in the pasture behind the corrals turned her attention to the herd of cattle. A hundred head, maybe more. Past the animals, green hills rolled toward the grey, snow-capped mountains. It made a stunning picture against the sharp blue of the sky.
Now that she could see the ranch in full daylight, Jillian scanned the yard with interest. Though she had no way of knowing just how much land the Parkers owned, the yard site was quite small. Jillian frowned as her eyes fell on the barn. Whatever color it may have been was long gone, exposing the cracked and worn boards beneath it. Some of them sagged like an over-burdened clothesline. As her gaze went to the roof, she grimaced. More worn and weathered wood there, no doubt due to harsh winters.
A few corrals were coupled between the old barn and the newly framed structure that must be its replacement while others jutted from either side. Her horse and several others stood proud in the morning light, their tails switching lazily. Behind the barn, three cabins marched in a perfect line.
Taking her bags and raising her split skirt to avoid the worst of the mud, Jillian crossed the yard. Wade met her at the door to the barn and she knew by the slit of his eyes and the pinching of his mouth that something awful had happened.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, though a part of her feared she already knew. There had been all that bleeding.
“The cow’s dead.”
Even suspecting the news would be bad didn’t lessen the blow. She hated losing any animal, but a mother always seemed so much worse.
“She must have bled out. I’ll know once I- What are you doing?” she demanded when he took a step to the side and blocked her path.
“She’s dead. Nothing you can do.”
“But—”
“I have more than enough to do here without letting you play at what can’t be fixed.”
“Play?” She scowled.
Just then James came out of the barn with her saddle.
“James will saddle your horse.”
“But if I could see her”—Jillian tried again—“it would help me understand—”
“Understanding won’t change the facts and I’ve got work to do.”
He turned, grabbed a shovel, and marched around the corrals, heading for the pasture, no doubt going to dig the grave.
Culpability settled heavily on her shoulders as she thought of the loss, of what, if anything, she could have done differently. For a long time, she simply looked into the barn and wondered. What had gone wrong?
“Miz Matthews?”
She turned to the foreman who’d not only prepared her horse but had also managed to open and close the paddock gate without Jillian hearing.
James handed her the reins.
“Wade’s not usually so coldhearted; he just has a lot on his mind.”
He wasn’t the only one.
Jillian looked to the dim interior of the barn. More than anything she wanted to see the cow; learn what had gone wrong. But Wade had made his feelings on the matter clear. Just as he’d made his feelings on her being the new vet clear last night. She could admit he had reason to be angry with her over her deliberate withholding of her first name but he had no reason to be angry about the cow. Not if he wouldn’t let her see what had happened. She couldn’t be sure it was her fault without doing a proper examination.
Yet despite her best efforts, despite believing she’d done everything right, an animal had died after she’d treated it. Jillian wasn’t a fool. It didn’t matter that she’d done her best; that she felt awful for the loss. She knew, despite both truths that what had happened here didn’t bode well for her.
Not well at all.
*
Long smears of crimson and mauve with an overlap of orange played peek-a-boo in the western sky as Wade rode into Marietta. At this time of day, Marietta’s long, main street was mostly bare. Children were getting washed and ready for bed, the mercantile and most other businesses were closed until morning. Wade hardly saw a soul until he reached the end of the street and the two saloons that crowned the corners of Main Street, Grey’s and Silver’s.
There weren’t more than five horses tied in front of his friend Silver’s establishment. The same couldn’t be said for Grey’s.
Across the street, Grey’s Saloon was doing a brisk business. Near a dozen horses lingered along the hitching rail, pans and picks dangling from saddles as their mining owners drank away their good fortune. Or drank for the lack of it. It was hard to say which.
On the balustraded balcony that perched over Grey’s front door, whores paraded their wares. Through the swinging saloon doors, Wade heard the shrill giggles of the painted women and the deep chuckles of the randy miners and prospectors. It was a sight Wade didn’t have a problem imagining as he’d spent many Saturday nights there before he’d met Amy. In fact, most single men were very well acquainted with Grey’s Saloon.
Grey’s Saloon, while not exactly the pillar of respectability, was nonetheless the heart of Marietta. Its owner, Ephraim Grey, had built it when the town was nothing but an old, fur trading post. From there, businesses and
folks had moved in and Marietta had grown. It was only about two years ago that Silver Adams had come to town and turned an abandoned barn into Silver’s Saloon.
Where Grey’s was as much brothel as saloon, Silver kept a clean and tidy saloon. Gambling was allowed, but no whoring. She hired respectable women to serve the drinks and the rooms upstairs were all her own. To Wade’s knowledge, nobody had ever been up there but Silver herself. Not that that stopped the townsfolk from judging and believing different. Still, while they talked, the wives still preferred their husbands to patron Silver’s over Grey’s. But as each saloon met a different need, scratched a different itch, Silver and Ephraim coexisted without any hostility that Wade had ever noticed.
Tying Whiskey alongside the other horses in front of Silver’s, he loosened the cinch on the saddle and took a moment to scratch his horse’s neck.
“I won’t be long, boy,” he said before giving the animal an affectionate pat and stepping onto the boardwalk.
“Well, look what the wind blew in.”
Wade turned, grinned. “Out looking for trouble, Sheriff?”
“Why, plan on giving me any?”
Shane McCall’s badge glowed silver and bright as it caught the light spilling from the saloon doors. Nearly everything else on Shane was black; hair, pants, vest. His shirt, which was laundered and starched by a widow who fed her brood of four growing boys by doing laundry and mending, gleamed white against the black.
Wade had known Shane since they were eleven. They’d gone to school together, smoked their first cheroot together and gotten drunk for the first time together. He’d always considered Shane his brother, and still did, though he now also included Scott in that distinction.
“You’re safe, tonight. I’m just here for a drink or two.” And he wouldn’t dwell on the fact he really couldn’t spare the money for one, let alone two.
“Good. And now that you’ve finally dragged your sorry butt into town, you can tell me all about the pretty lady that slept in your bed.”
Grey eyes danced as Wade’s narrowed.
“Goddamn, Scott has a big mouth.”
“He came to see me at home, so you don’t have to worry about anyone overhearing. Although given your boring reputation, something like this wouldn’t hurt.”
Wade pushed open the saloon doors.
Wednesday nights didn’t draw a big crowd at Silver’s; it was one of the reasons he’d come tonight. A merry tune came from the piano that sat beneath the oak balustrade, which overlooked the array of tables and the polished cherrywood bar. Behind the bar was an assortment of bottles containing the best whiskey this side of Bozeman, gleaming glasses, and the woman who looked after it all.
Silver Adams’s hair was as light as Shane’s was dark. Slim and of medium height, she didn’t look strong enough or tough enough to run a saloon, but Wade had seen her order more than one drunk out of her establishment. And while physically she wasn’t strong enough to toss out anybody, the man who helped tend bar was. Bruce was near as big as the mountain that overlooked Marietta and his fists were rumored to be hard as granite.
Silver didn’t tolerate anyone breaking up her place. If anyone proved to be more than she could handle, Bruce took care of them for her. Since a good portion of her patrons was married men whose wives wouldn’t allow them to step foot in Grey’s, Silver didn’t usually have too much trouble.
Other than a table of three miners he’d seen around once or twice, there were only two other men—local businessmen—in the saloon. They were sidled up to the bar. Wade tipped his hat in greeting then he and Shane took the empty stools next to them.
“Evenin’ gentlemen,” Silver said, her smile bright. “I was starting to miss your handsome faces. Why haven’t I seen you lately?”
“I had some late calves due, couldn’t get away. Thanks,” he added when she placed his drink before him.
“And here I’d been hoping it was ’cause you found someone pretty to spend your time with.”
Jillian’s face came to mind but he shook his head to clear the vision. “Nope, just work.”
“Well, I’m not giving up hope on you, Wade.” She then fixed her caramel-colored eyes on Shane. “Well, what’s your excuse?”
Shane took a swallow of his whiskey. “Just because I don’t ranch doesn’t mean I’m not busy, too.”
Silver crossed her arms. “Well, I suppose I could have missed a stage coach robbery, or a gang of outlaws riding in. I live and work right here, but I suppose I could have been too busy to hear the hoopla.”
Wade choked on his whiskey. When he’d recovered his breath he gave Silver a warm smile. “Thanks, Silver, I needed a good laugh.”
She dropped one of her hands onto his. “Aw, something wrong, honey?”
It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to talk about it, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Jillian and the fact that if she hadn’t lied about who she was, she wouldn’t have been there to begin with. Either Doc or a new male doctor would have been and then maybe he wouldn’t have lost an animal he couldn’t afford to lose.
“One of my cows was having problems calving. I sent Scott for the vet.”
Silver grabbed a glass, started polishing it. “Doc Fletcher couldn’t save it?”
“Wish I knew,” Wade said with a shake of his head. “Wasn’t Doc Fletcher who showed up.”
“Doc’s gone? I knew he was leaving, but I thought he’d come say goodbye first.”
“I did, too. But I suppose once his replacement arrived he couldn’t get away fast enough.”
“Well, he did say he missed his children and grandchildren.”
“If only that were the case, Silver. I suspect he fled—and I do mean fled—because he knew we wouldn’t be happy with his replacement and we’d want him to stay on longer.”
“What’s wrong with his replacement?” Silver asked.
Shane elbowed Wade. “Tell her.”
Wade finished off his drink, nodded for another. “Doc’s replacement is a woman.”
Silver bobbled the bottle and amber liquid spilled onto the bar.
“The new vet’s a woman?” she asked, drawing the attention of the two businessmen, “and you didn’t know?”
“Of course I didn’t know!” Wade argued.
“She’s pretty, too. According to Scott,” Shane answered when Silver’s annoyed gaze fixed on his.
“Well,” Silver said, focusing her attention on cleaning up the spill. “Unexpected as that may be, did she do a good job?”
“I wouldn’t say so. The cow died.” Wade took another swallow.
Silver’s hand stilled. Murmuring to each other, the two men next to Wade slapped coins on the bar and left.
“What happened? She didn’t know what to do?”
“She seemed to.” And that was the part that was hard to swallow for Wade. Despite his misgivings and his anger, she had seemed to know what she was doing. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different had Doc been there?
He told them what he knew of her and how she’d come to be at Doc’s place. Then he described the surgery and how the cow had seemed all right when they’d left her.
“Oh, Wade, I’m sorry for your loss, but that doesn’t mean it was her fault.”
“Don’t be defending her just cause she’s a woman, Silver.”
Silver stood hipshot. “And don’t you be condemning her for it, neither. You said yourself she was trained by her father and you were more than happy to hire him.”
“Maybe it was her fault, maybe it would have happened had Doc been there. I wish I could know what would have happened had it been Doc.”
“Wade, honey.” Silver soothed. “That kind of thinking will drive you crazy.”
Wade pressed his fingers over his tired eyes. “You’re right. Either way the cow is dead.” And he’d taken yet another step back in his dream of moving from cattle to horse ranching.
“The calf lived. It could have been worse. You coul
d have lost them both.”
And he almost had. He remembered how the calf hadn’t breathed, how upset Jillian had been. How she’d worked fast to get it breathing.
“What are your plans now?” Shane asked.
Wade dropped his hands, looked at his friend. “For the ranch?”
“No, for the vet. You and Doc hired her but Doc’s gone. It’s just a matter of time before word gets out she’s his replacement. When it does, folks will be coming to you for answers. What are you planning on telling them?”
“That I didn’t know she was a woman either.”
“I imagine they’re going to want to know if you plan on keeping her on or if you plan on advertising for another one.”
“Hell, trying to get another one could take months. Look how long it took to find her.”
Shane held up his hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I was just pointing out that when you hired this new vet you thought your problems for replacing Doc were over. But it seems to me they may have just begun.”
Chapter Three
Steven Garvey was exhausted. His shoulders ached from a long day at the feed mill. His head throbbed from his wife’s nattering, which had been incessant since he’d gotten home from that long day. Jacob, his eight-year-old son, had woven tales of exploits in between his mother’s breaths. Was it any wonder Steven had tucked his whiskey bottle into his jacket and escaped to the barn?
His first few pulls on the bottle were fast, a desperate stab at relaxation. But now, with his throat and belly warm from the alcohol and with the sharp edges smoothed out, Steven settled into the straw and sighed. For the first time all day, things were blessedly quiet.
Horses, at least two by the sound of hooves pounding on dirt, broke his peace. Steven cursed his luck. He should have known it was too good to last. He contemplated ignoring the visitors but quickly dismissed the thought. Though most folks saw him at the feed mill if they had town concerns, a few preferred to talk to their mayor away from prying eyes and keen ears.
Besides, whoever it was that had come would likely go to the house and his wife would end up screaming for him from the porch. No, he’d had enough of her shrieks for one day. Tucking the bottle into the straw—he was still mayor after all—Steven went outside.
A Rancher’s Surrender Page 3