Damn it, why had she left the rifle tied to the saddle?
He wore blood stained clothes that matched his bloodied hands.
A pile of lifeless fur-covered carcasses lay at his feet. His eyes were small and as cold as the shed at her back. The russet mustache matched his hair, thick and unkempt.
Afraid he’d use those bloodied hands on her, Jillian hastened to explain. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but it didn’t appear anyone was home and my horse needed water. I was just looking for a bowl or bucket to water her.”
“You’re trespassing.”
“Yes, well.” Jillian wiped her hands on her riding skirt. “I didn’t mean to, as I said. I actually came to introduce—”
“I know who you are.”
“Oh. I see.” She pushed her mouth into a smile. “Well, should you ever require my skills—”
“I won’t.”
“You might.” She gestured to the horse that was sniffing Hope. “He could get sick.”
“Then I’ll deal with it.”
“What if you can’t? What if—”
He gestured to the shed behind her. “Don’t it look like I know what I’m doing?”
“You can’t skin a horse!”
“What I do on my own land is my business.” His mouth curved into a frighteningly twisted smile. “You want to stick around and see what exactly that is?”
Her gorge rose up her throat. Despite not wanting to show the man fear, she knew it showed as she hurried toward Hope. It took her two attempts to get her foot in the stirrup.
His evil cackle chased her down the lane.
*
Steven Garvey went to Silver’s saloon every Friday night. Not only was it a chance to get away from his wife’s incessant nagging, it was also the night he and his friends gathered together for a few friendly games of poker.
The saloon was neat and tidy; spills were wiped as fast as they happened. Spittoons were strategically placed around the room and those who missed too often to be an accident were known to have their liquor cut off. If anybody else were the proprietor, he’d come in more often, but once a week was as much money as he was willing to give that whore Silver. And his wife would skin him if he ever stepped foot in Grey’s.
Sure, Silver claimed she never took anyone to her rooms, yet many a man had professed to find relief between those thighs. Course, most were piss-ass drunk at the time, or had been ordered out by the bitch herself. Still, Steven was inclined to believe the stories. After all, no respectable woman would run a saloon.
Robert arrived not long after Steven had sat down. Bill, still smelling of the stable, arrived next. Harvey, a newcomer to town—if one considered a year new—followed shortly after. Harvey owned a plot of land north of town and trapped for a living. Justin was late, as always. As blacksmith, he always had work that needed doing.
Steven gnashed his teeth when Silver sidled up to their table. Despite the fact she employed other women to wait tables, when he came in it was always Silver who came for their drink order. He knew the bitch did it just to goad him.
Tonight, her golden hair was long and loose. Her face, devoid of the heavy rouge and charcoal many harlots painted themselves with, shone with energy and health. Her deep blue dress pinched in an already tiny waist and her corset pushed up an impressive pair of tits. If she wasn’t a whore he’d eat his hat.
“What can I get you gentlemen?” she asked.
Then she grinned like a damn cat that’d just caught the fattest mouse. ’Cause she knew what they wanted to say. And she was smart enough to know they wouldn’t.
“Why do you bother askin’?” Bill asked. “We always get the same damn thing.”
“Do you?” she asked, batting her eyes. “Well, I’m just a simple woman, how’m I supposed to remember all these things?”
The blasted woman laughed as she spun from the table and sashayed to the bar.
“I swear if there was another place to drink besides Grey’s, I wouldn’t step foot in here,” Steven grumbled.
“She knows it,” Bill said. “And she loves rubbing it our faces.”
“And now she’s gone and made friends with the lady doctor.”
All eyes flew to Steven. He explained how Silver had helped Jillian the other day and how the two of them had come to the saloon afterward.
“It’ll take more than a friend to keep her here. Have you heard of her getting any work?” Bill asked.
“I haven’t. But I know she did get to at least a few farms today,” Robert said.
Damn. That was all Steven needed, her going around making friends, making herself likable. He’d have a hell of a time getting her out of town if folks started to like her.
“And?”
Robert shrugged. “I can’t speak for them all, but the ones I heard about didn’t cotton to her being there and mostly told her to leave.”
“That’s what I said when I found her at my place,” Harvey said.
Steven cut them a warning glance as Silver came back with their whiskeys. The sound of their coins jiggling in her hand was as irritating as her chuckle as she strolled away.
“You told her to leave?” Bill asked as soon as Silver stepped far enough away.
“I didn’t have to,” Harvey answered. “I gave her quite the fright when I arrived with some fresh meat. Then I told her what I’d do to any animal of mine if one got sick.”
“You told her you’d kill it?” Steven asked, impressed with Harvey’s gumption.
Harvey took a drink, licked the moisture off his mustache. “I just told her I wouldn’t be needing her services.”
Steven whistled, wished he could have been there.
“I don’t think we have to worry too much. By now everyone’s heard of Wade’s cow dying. They won’t be in any hurry to call on her,” Bill said as he shuffled the cards. They snapped as he dealt each man five cards.
“Still, dire situations sometimes make folks do drastic things. Look at Wade. We know he couldn’t afford to call the vet but he did anyway. What if someone else finds themselves in a situation like that? Might be they’d end up calling on her.” Justin reasoned.
Steven had thought of the very same thing. It was like sitting on dynamite. Any minute there could be a real need for a vet and then where would they be? Forced to hand over their money to her the same way they were forced to patronize Silver’s. Worse, Wade would once again be the damn savior.
Over Steven’s goddamned dead body!
He signaled them to lean in. “We can always encourage her into thinking Marietta isn’t the best place for her.”
Understanding, Justin frowned. “I’m not hurting a woman.”
“I’m not saying you have to hurt her. I’m just saying…”
“That maybe we should show her that it would be in her best interest to mosey along?” Bill suggested.
Harvey pulled in his cards, looked at them then tossed in his bet. “Sounds good to me.”
Chapter Six
Jillian slid the barn door open and followed the sunbeam in. Her rabbit thumped when she stepped into his stall.
“Now don’t be rude, Whiskers, I’m bringing you a treat after all.”
Working around him, she replaced the soiled straw with clean bedding until the cage was clean. She’d picked some dandelions and placed them into the corner of the cage. He remained on the other end, his nose twitching madly.
“One of these days you’ll realize I mean you no harm.”
She’d barely turned her back before she heard him crunching the leaves. Smiling, Jillian grabbed her pitchfork with one hand and a handful of oats with the other before slipping into Hope’s stall.
“Morning, angel. How was your night?” Hope nuzzled her shoulder, daintily took the handful of oats from Jillian’s hand.
“Once I get the chores done, we’re going to town for a picnic. How does that sound?” Hope snuffled as though she thought it was a great idea.
Humming as she worked, Jillian sec
ured Zeke outside on the grass. By the time everyone was out, fed, had fresh water to drink, and the barn stalls were clean, Jillian was dirty and smelled nearly as bad as the wheelbarrow full of soiled bedding. Once that was disposed of, she pumped two buckets of water and took them inside to wash. When she was clean and dressed, she strolled into the barn to fetch Hope’s saddle.
It wasn’t there.
She frowned. She knew for certain she’d left it there yesterday. She looked around. The black halter and bridle were hanging on the same rusty nail they always were, the coarse brushes were side by side on the ledge of the dusty window. Even the saddle blanket her father had given her was draped on the rail, right next to where her saddle was kept.
“Where is it?”
Going stall to stall didn’t produce any results either. It wasn’t anywhere and it didn’t make sense. She always put it in the same place. Could someone have stolen it?
“But why?” she asked aloud.
Though she would have been devastated had Hope been taken, it would have made more sense. She was a pretty, little filly and worth more than the saddle Jillian had used for years. Thinking she might as well check outside, though finding it there would make even less sense than having it stolen, Jillian stepped into the sunshine.
It was a typical morning with birds flitting about, their songs joyous and carefree. The grass sparkled with the last of the dew and the sun warmed her face.
She felt like a fool looking for a saddle in the long grass, especially when Zeke raised his head to watch, but she wouldn’t be able to accept it had been stolen until she ensured it wasn’t anywhere else.
Having made a full circle around the barn, and of course finding nothing, Jillian shook her head. Then something caught her eye.
There, straddling the railing of her porch was her saddle. The brown leather shone with polish and the stirrups swayed gently from the brush of breeze. Stymied, she simply stood there. She hadn’t put it on the porch. Why in heaven would she unsaddle Hope then carry the saddle across the yard when it was simpler—and made more sense—to leave it next to her stall?
Because she hadn’t, she acknowledged suddenly feeling sick.
And it hadn’t been there when she’d stepped from her house to do chores and neither had it been there when she’d finished washing and dressing. Her porch wasn’t that big; there was no way she could have missed seeing it. Which meant the saddle was taken when she was inside the house and it was placed on the porch when she’d went in the barn to get Hope.
Which meant it had all happened just moments ago.
A lump came to her throat and a shiver skidded up her spine, puckering her skin with gooseflesh. Were they in the house? In the trees? What did they want? And, dear Lord, were they armed?
Well, if they were, she couldn’t have presented an easier target standing there, unarmed and alone. While she didn’t want to give whoever it was the satisfaction of seeing her afraid, she couldn’t continue to stand there, completely vulnerable. But should they be in her home, she couldn’t go inside either.
Spinning on her heel, she raced back to the barn. It wasn’t much, but the pitchfork would have to do. Standing in the coolness of the barn, her neck damp with fear, Jillian took a moment to compose herself. Surely if they wanted to hurt her, they’d had the chance. Therefore, it must be scaring her they were after.
“Well, they accomplished that,” she muttered.
But she wouldn’t give them the gratification of cowering in her barn all day. Gripping the fork, she went back outside, her gaze hunting the tree line.
Nothing moved but the silvery leaves and the grass, which swayed peacefully in the wind. Her yard was empty. No curtains moved inside the house. The thought of going inside, knowing someone could easily be waiting there, made her shudder. But she had to do something.
Snapping her spine, she marched to the porch. Her heart thudded louder than her boots on the dirt. The closer she came to the house, the higher she drew the fork. When she reached the porch, the sharp smell of oil grabbed her around the throat. She kept her tack in great condition, but she hadn’t polished her things since arriving in Marietta. With a trembling hand she traced her finger down the center of the saddle, yanked her hand back. The polish was fresh.
Still managing to stand despite her jelly-like knees, she struggled to make sense of it. On the surface, it wasn’t a threat. A farce maybe, someone playing with her, but Jillian couldn’t help but feel it was more menacing than that. Whoever had done this was letting her know that if they could get this close to her without her knowing, they could do worse.
Her eyes focused on the saddle again and she forced herself to calm down. She could do one of two things, tuck her tail and hide or hold her ground. Had she really come all this way only to wilt now? Her heart thudding in her ears, she opened the door. It opened silently.
“I know what you did,” she called out. There was no point in being quiet. If whoever was trying to scare her remained inside, they’d have already heard her on the porch. The house remained still, silent. It didn’t take long to confirm she was alone. She leaned against the doorway to her bedroom, pressed her forehead to the wood and gave thanks.
She didn’t linger. Marching across her house and outside, Jillian set the fork aside, picked up the smooth saddle, and stepped off the porch.
She had a church picnic to get to, after all.
*
The church was on the far edge of town, on a side street behind and down from Grey’s saloon. Other than the church, only the boardinghouse and school fronted that end of the dirt road. A spattering of houses huddled down at the other. The grassy area surrounding the small, whitewashed church buzzed with activity. Children dashed here and there, their mother’s arms raised high so their pies and cakes wouldn’t get knocked to the ground. Tables bulged with baking, needlework items, and quilts for sale. In the shade of the church, more tables were weighed down with food for the afternoon meal.
A group of men talked in the shadow of a large weeping willow. More were busy setting up games for the children, who, in their excitement, ran around and yelled for the adults to hurry. There were more people than she expected given that Marietta was only a two-street town.
Coming from a large city, Jillian was used to crowds, but this was different. In a large city nobody paid her any attention. Here, everyone knew each other. Here, she was an outsider. Feeling it, along with several stares directed her way, she lingered over securing Hope.
“You really like animals, don’t you?”
Recognizing the voice, Jillian turned to Wade’s daughter. Like the first time she’d seen the girl, Annabelle had her hair in two tight braids and those blue eyes of hers latched fearlessly onto Jillian’s.
“Yes, I do.”
“I like horses best. Cows stink.”
Jillian laughed. “I supposed so.”
“You don’t think so?” Her eyes widened as though she couldn’t imagine such a thing.
“Well, yes. But all animals smell, really.”
“Nothing as bad as them cows,” Annabelle said. “If all animals stink, then why’d you become a doctor for them?”
“Because I don’t mind the smell, really. And because I like being around them.”
The girl smiled, revealing gaps where she’d lost a few teeth. “I bet they’re quieter, too. Not like people. Some just talk and talk. Like me, I guess. Grandma says I can talk the bark off trees some days.”
“Hey, Annabelle! Come on! It’s your turn to count.”
Annabelle looked away from Jillian long enough to yell back at the boy Jillian recognized from the feed mill. “I’m coming!” Then she turned back to Jillian. “I gotta go. Boys don’t like waiting on girls. Bye!”
And with that, the child ran off to join her friends. Jillian figured it was time she joined the group as well. The few women who were standing at the food table scattered as she approached. Nevertheless, Jillian smiled as they looked back over their should
ers at her. The sting of their rebuff was soon forgotten when she reached the fancy pastries and treats that had been brought. The smell of cinnamon, lemon and berries hovered over the table.
“Go ahead, take one. I won’t tell anybody.”
Jillian turned around, a smile upon her face. “I’m afraid if I start, Letty, I won’t be able to stop. It all looks and smells so delicious.”
Letty eyed Jillian’s small waist and harrumphed. “Jillian, you could eat the whole table and it wouldn’t show. Me? One look at these sweets and my hips can barely squeeze through a door. Not that Mr. Daniels minds,” she added with a wink and a pat to her hip.
“I haven’t met him yet, is he here?”
“John? He’s over there getting the sack races ready. Honestly, sometimes that man is more of a child than the children.”
But the loving smile as she watched her husband take off after a squealing boy who’d stolen a sack said she didn’t mind one bit.
“Hello, Letty.”
Jillian recognized the woman from her first trip to town. The woman’s mouth was as pinched as the last time Jillian had seen it.
“Angela,” Letty smiled despite the woman’s frown. “Have you been introduced to Jillian yet? Jillian Matthews, meet Angela Hollingsworth. Angela runs the boardinghouse. Angela, Jillian is our new veterinarian.”
“Yes, I know.” Mrs. Hollingsworth set down her cloth-covered contribution next to the others. “Good day, Letty.”
“Is she always so rude?” Jillian asked once the woman had shuffled away.
“Mostly. She’s stiffer than an over-starched shirt. Always wants to be called Mrs. Hollingsworth. I make it a habit to address her by her first name. She hates it,” Letty answered with a mischievous grin.
Eileen joined them and pulled Jillian into a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Did you come alone?” Letty asked Eileen as she moved behind the table where she sorted the pastries. Pies went to the right, cakes and cookies in the middle and bread to the left.
“You know Wade, he hasn’t been to a picnic since…well, he doesn’t care for it,” she added with a sad smile. “I brought Annabelle along; she’s been nagging me since breakfast so we came a little early. I imagine Scott will come once the baskets are all through and he figures it’s safe to be here without being wheedled into bidding.”
A Rancher’s Surrender Page 8