Creed Ranch, Colorado Springs, Colorado
Gabe Creed had never liked his name. He liked Gabriel just fine—his mother had given him that, saying it was the name of an angel. No, it was the Creed. He’d never liked the sound of it. Creed. It sounded like judgment.
Sometimes it sat in his mind like a pebble in his boot—like now as he rode the fence line with four of his father’s men, looking for the spots that needed mending. There were a lot.
Places where steers had kicked out a post.
Places where the weather had brought it down.
Places where time and rot had won out.
It was a bit like life, he thought.
Mostly, he kept thoughts like that to himself...especially around his father.
Had his train come in yet? A cold knot tightened in Gabe’s chest. It didn’t matter that the sun was shining just fine or that the sky was clear and blue. Or that he could see the stony rock faces of the Rockies in the distance, pointing upwards into the sky like upended arrowheads, silvery gray and solid.
None of that mattered.
It should have been cold and rainy to match his mood.
He let some distance build between him and the other men, waving them on as he stayed back to inspect a section of fence that was down.
After a while, a movement caught his attention—a rider trotting along the fence on the other side, the Castle Ranch side. He felt a slight lightening of his mood when he recognized Ben Castle, the owner’s son. Or, Gabe guessed he should say, the owner now. Mr. Castle had been gone about six months, but it still felt new.
Ben raised a hand as he drew closer. “Hoped I find you here,” he said when his horse stopped alongside the fence near a spot where the barbed wire had sprung free of the posts.
Gabe tilted his hat back so he could see Ben better. “You did?”
“One of my ranch hands spotted you all earlier.”
Gabe inclined his head, pleased that Ben had ridden out to say hello.
“You haven’t been by in a while...” Ben said, a note of question in his voice.
Gabe didn’t want to lie and say he’d been too busy. He didn’t want to tell the truth either. Fortunately, the worst of the bruises had faded, so he didn’t have to hide under the brim of his hat. In the end, he just shrugged.
“So your father’s coming home today?” Ben asked.
Gabe’s gloved fingers tightened on his reins, leather creaking against leather, barely a sound at all—more like the memory of a sound. “Where’d you hear that?”
“One of your men mentioned it.” Ben hiked his thumb in the direction he’d come from. “Says the major sent a telegram yesterday. The Army deal fell through?”
It did? Gabe thought with a start.
“You’d have to ask Buck,” he said aloud.
“You didn’t know?”
Gabe just shook his head. His oldest brother enjoyed ruling Creed Ranch beside their father. Though his given name was William, most folks called him Buck—Buck Creed, the major’s son. Buck may have mentioned the news to their brothers, but Gabe doubted he’d told them all the details. Buck was the sort of person who liked to keep information close to his chest. Gabe was surprised any of the ranch hands knew anything, although maybe they’d overheard his brothers talking earlier. No one had mentioned the fact that the deal had fallen through to Gabe. Although, why would they?
His brothers had gone out earlier to meet their father at the depot in town. Gabe had elected not to go, and none of them had acted the least surprised. Robert had made some noise about him coming, but Gabe had shaken his head and mumbled something about the fence, and his brothers had simply nodded. Gabe suspected they all thought it best that he stay out of their father’s path. Made even more sense now that he knew his father’s precious deal had fallen through.
He’d be...disappointed.
A wave of cold dread swept over Gabe.
“You all right?” Ben asked, squinting at him.
Gabe gave a curt nod and lowered the brim of his hat.
“You look a little pale,” he persisted.
“I’m fine,” Gabe said, hoping to set his friend at ease. He didn’t want Ben worrying that he was sick. His friend had had enough sickness in his family: his sister, then his father. Besides, what Gabe felt had nothing to do with being sick and everything to do with his own father’s return. When would they ride in? Another couple of hours? If he was lucky, longer.
Most likely, the fencing would be done by then.
Unfortunately.
“You going to Tom Booker’s wedding?” Gabe asked, deciding it best to change the subject.
“That’s months away. But, yes, I’ll be there. Haven’t seen Tom since the funeral.”
Gabe noted Ben’s tight features, the way his friend had stiffened in his saddle. Ben had suffered a lot of life for such a young man. He’d lost his mother when he was young, Gabe knew. He’d lost his sister last year and then his father most recently. Ben had Ray, of course, but Ray wasn’t really family. What Ben needed was a wife, someone to be with him. Someone young and pretty, and not afraid of ranch life.
“My cousins may be c-coming. From Texas,” Gabe said, keeping his tone deliberately casual. Even so, one little stutter slipped out. And once there was one there was bound to be more. He knew that from experience. He took a breath and continued, “I’ve never met them, but Mama says they’re nice girls...”
“What are you doing, Gabe?” Ben asked, his lips twitching in a way that told Gabe he was more amused than irritated. “You matchmaking?”
“Well, if you’re not interested in my c-cousins, I’m sure there’ll be other g-girls at the wedding—girls from town. It wouldn’t hurt you to take a look,” he said, relieved to get the last sentence out with no stutter at all.
“And what about you?”
“Me?” Gabe asked, surprised.
“Yeah, you. You’re—what? Fifteen? Plenty old enough to court a lady friend.”
“A lady friend,” Gabe repeated, not so much asking a question as being dumbfounded. Heat rose up his neck, flooding his face, making him too warm. Edgy.
“You do like ladies?”
“I-I like ’em j-just fine,” Gabe stuttered. “It’s just—”
“And they’d like you too,” Ben interrupted, “if you gave them a chance to know you.”
Wait, Gabe thought desperately, when had this become about me?
“See?” Ben said, smiling wryly. “Doesn’t feel so good, does it? How about we leave the matchmaking to your mother?”
Gabe grimaced. “She says there’ll be dancing. She wants me to learn.”
“You should.”
“You know how?”
“Yeah, but I’m not teaching you,” Ben said, his tone as dry as dust.
“I wouldn’t ask,” Gabe said quickly, and then he saw a twinkle in his friend’s eye. Ben was just teasing. It was good to see him smiling. He hadn’t done much of that lately.
“It’s just—” Gabe swallowed. “Well, I’m not so good with that sort of thing.” I’m not so good with girls. He didn’t put it into words, but a look of understanding and sympathy passed over Ben’s face.
“Aw, you’ll do just fine. Dancing’s as good an excuse as any to hold a pretty girl’s hand.”
Gabe’s face heated again. That was only half the trouble: touching a girl. Talking to one was worse. He just couldn’t do it. Simply thinking about it made him feel slightly lightheaded and more than a little bit sick to his stomach.
What was it his father always said? He “couldn’t string two good words together.”
As if Gabe could ever forget.
The thing was, it was true, mostly. Gabe was fine talking to Ben or his mother. He could talk just fine to his father’s men—for the most part—or with his brothers.
But simply being around his father took the words right out of his mouth. Like his brain dried up. He’d get quieter and quieter, until his stuttering fell to a low mumble that hardly any
one could hear. Gabe knew it—could feel it coming over him. He just couldn’t seem to help himself.
And all his father’s pushing and prodding to get him to “speak up” only made it worse.
Being around girls was different. Gabe would go to church, and his mother would drag him along by his sleeve to greet Mrs. Somebody-or-other and her daughter. And, well, it was as if every word he’d ever known got jammed up in his throat. When he did try to speak, he’d stutter something awful. Never failed.
Gabe could always see the moment the girl would realize something was wrong with him. Her face would sort of freeze over, then she’d say something polite. After an awkward pause, her mother would start chatting with his mother about fabrics and such. He’d excuse himself to check on the horses, and his mother’s expression would change. Outwardly, she’d be as poised as ever, but a slight pucker between her brows would betray her worry.
Gabe felt that worry now. Would he always be this way? What if he never grew out of it?
He became aware of Ben watching him with an odd expression. Thoughtful, but patient. Was there pity too? Gabe wasn’t sure.
“How’s Ray?” Gabe asked, trying to take his mind off his worries and the steady feeling of dread tugging at him as every minute ticked by. He could almost feel his father’s approach.
“He’s meeting Jem and Mae today.” Ben turned his gaze to the fence, swinging easily out of the saddle and crouching to check the footing of one of the posts.
Gabe swung out of his saddle too and gave his horse an appreciative pat. He studied the top of Ben’s hat, tying to form something sensible to say.
“You—didn’t go with him?” he asked.
Ben glanced up without rising. “Nope.”
His response didn’t invite any chatter, nor did his impassive face. Still, Gabe pressed a little, “You haven’t seen him since, have you?” Since your sister died was implied. Gabe didn’t like to say it out loud, so he kept that part to himself. Didn’t seem right to shove it in his friend’s face.
“Nope.”
“You must be excited to see Mae.”
Ben hesitated at that. He’d clearly been prepared to repeat the same response until Gabe gave up on questioning him, but he could scarcely say “nope” to seeing his only niece.
“I suppose,” he finally said.
Well, that was something.
“So...it must be good to get Jem back.” Gabe rocked back on his heels. “He’ll be a help on the ranch, I’m sure.”
Jem would be half owner now too, Gabe reckoned. Ben had inherited his share. His sister would have inherited the other half, but with her gone, Ben’s father had named Jem as a beneficiary, intending to leave a legacy for Mae, his only granddaughter. Ben had told Gabe as much back when the will was read.
Ben just stared at him, his face a little too expressionless. He turned back to the post and gave it a shake. As if satisfied that it was as bad as he’d thought, he stood and brushed his hands off on the back of his denims.
There’d be no more talking about Jem. That was obvious.
Ben climbed back in the saddle. As he adjusted his stirrups and sat upright, Gabe was struck with how different his friend suddenly seemed. Ben had always been five years older than him—twenty years to Gabe’s fifteen—but today he seemed even older than that. More like a man. A man with worries and a ranch to run. He’d always had responsibilities, of course, but now it seemed more—more permanent maybe?
No, that wasn’t quite right.
He just didn’t seem young anymore. Sure, he’d smiled a couple of times and teased Gabe about matchmaking, but it was less like they were peers and more like Ben had crossed over to the other side. He was an adult. Gabe was still a boy—well, a youth anyway. Boy sounded a bit too young for how he felt inside. He’d always felt ancient on one hand and terribly, awkwardly young on the other. Like his outside and his inside were two different people trying to share the same body.
“This one will have to be replaced,” Ben said, nodding to the post.
“We’ll get to it,” Gabe promised, already pulling some red twine from his vest pocket to mark the post. “About the dancing?”
“Gabe, I—”
“It’s just, I need somebody to talk me through the steps. That’s all. A friend,” Gabe blurted out. Then, embarrassed by his outburst, he bent his head over the twine, hopefully appearing absorbed by the job of untangling it.
He looked up to see an expression of sympathy cross Ben’s face. He knew, of course. He knew all the years of struggle that lay behind Gabe’s request. It was part of what made them friends: all that time, the understanding of the hard things in life.
“I’ll think about it.” Ben pulled a face.
“Just tell me when,” Gabe said, smirking in mock confidence.
Ben just shook his head. He wasn’t quite laughing, but almost.
Gabe raised a hand in farewell as Ben turned his horse and headed toward home.
Soon enough he’d have to go home too.
Would his father be back?
Gabe sank down on his heels to examine the broken fence post again. Was there any way he could find a couple hundred more things to do so he didn’t have to face his father just yet?
SEVEN
It seemed they’d been in the wagon for hours. Annie knew it couldn’t have been that long, not truly. But they’d long since left the pretty brick buildings and proper sidewalks of Colorado Springs behind. She’d thought then that she couldn’t feel more miserable or filthy, but then the puppy had gotten sick on the only pair of boots she owned.
They weren’t much. Never had been. And they especially weren’t much now. She’d gotten them passed down from Ruth Ann and Coralie, the Ruskins’ two daughters. They’d already worn the boots down before Annie got them. Annie herself had been wearing them a good three or four years now. The soles were so full of holes and splits she was surprised her foot didn’t go clean through.
Now they had the worst kind of ick on them.
Could she feel sorry for herself now? Surely, she’d earned the right.
As civilization disappeared behind them, nature filled in: trees, dirt, tall grasses.
The paved road turned to dirt turned to rocks. Then Ray steered them up a steep mountain pass. The wagon trundled along the side of a cliff, with little more than a dirt path to keep it from tumbling into nothingness. Truthfully, the path may have been as wide as a city street, but with her pulse hammering in her ears, Annie could barely see properly.
She clung to the side of the wagon, praying silently, her gaze fixed on a distant point ahead of them.
Seemed the puppy didn’t much like the ride either. Poor thing. Where before it had curled up on the floorboards at her feet, it now lay huddled in her lap. Annie kept her arm wrapped tight around it to make sure it didn’t accidentally fall out. A fall down a slope this steep would be the end of it.
There had been drops worse than this on the train. But at least then they’d been on rails, not just skinny wagon wheels on a road—if you could call it that—pulled by two oxen trudging along.
She was thankful Mae had finally fallen asleep. After chattering nonstop for the first part of the trip, she was now slumbering in the back of the wagon, well within the reach of a hand if necessary, secured in place with some leather straps on a bed of colorful wool Indian blankets.
Annie envied her ability to sleep through this tiny stretch of nightmare.
She glanced briefly at the cliff edge on Ray’s side. It wasn’t as deep as some of the caverns she’d seen on the train—sheer yawning drops that made you catch your breath—but deep enough to kill a person if you fell off of it. As high as two churches with steeples stacked on top of each other.
“Just who are you?” Ray asked, glancing at her.
Annie let loose of the side of the wagon for a second and placed her hand over her mouth. Just as quickly she caught hold of the side of the wagon again and held tight. It occurred to her that if
Ray lost control and went over the edge, her only hope of survival would be to grab Mae and throw herself out on her side—the “safe” side.
“You can’t speak, truly?” Ray said, raising his brows.
She nodded.
He continued to look at her, his expression interested, suspicious even. It was a slanted, sideways kind of glance, looking her over, up and down. No, he didn’t trust her, but at least he was looking, seeing her. Though part of her wished he’d keep his eyes on the ox road, which was what he’d called it.
How to tell him...
To make any hand motions she’d either have to release the side of the wagon or motion with the hand she was using to secure the puppy on her lap.
She took a breath to settle her nerves, then let loose of the wagon. She smoothed an imaginary veil over her head, then tapped her empty ring finger, where a wedding band would have been if she’d had one.
“Married?” Ray asked incredulously. It was a little too loud, practically a yelp, and Annie looked over her shoulder at Jem, who was riding behind the wagon with his horses. He was too far to have heard what Ray had said, Annie hoped.
They hit a rut and weaved.
Annie squeezed her eyes shut, again gripping the side of the wagon.
Yes. She nodded. She used the hand that she had wrapped around the puppy—the hand closest to Ray—to raise one finger. From the way Jem had greeted Ray at the train platform, this man was going to be part of her new family too. She might as well start his training now.
“You’re married?” Ray repeated in much the same tone of disbelief as he’d used before. “To Jem?”
One finger and a nod.
Ray fiddled with the reins. “Phew!” He blew out a breath. “When? How? And why didn’t he send word to us before now?”
Annie frowned, wondering how she could tell him they’d only married today. She released the wagon reluctantly and pointed to the sun. It was now hovering lower on the horizon—a blazing fire ball, turning the mountains golden.
“Sun?” Ray guessed. “Sundown? Sunday?”
She quickly lifted two fingers and shook her head. No.
If it got too dark to see, she could tap on his arm. One for yes, and two for no. Maybe he’d understand.
The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3) Page 6