by Anna Zogg
“Er, good as good can be.” One finger edged along the inside of his shirt collar.
Peering around him, she looked for her uncle.
Apparently anticipating what she searched for, Mr. Bartow went on. “Will, uh, Mr. Marshall said he were sorry he couldn’t come. And that I’s to carry you to the ranch.”
Her mouth gaped as she tried to process what he meant. Confusion further enveloped her when he yanked back her chair so hard that she nearly fell to the floor. Had he literally meant carry her?
She staggered to her feet. The table squawked loudly as it scraped the floor, dishes rattling. Bartow grabbed her arm and hauled her upright.
“Ouch.” Ellie couldn’t stifle her protest at his tight grasp.
“Thought you was falling.”
“I’m not...” But the awkward angle twisted her leg. Her ankle gave way.
He grabbed her other arm, but instead of merely steadying her, he drew her close. Much closer than was polite.
Instinctively, she arched away and out of his hold. Once freed, Ellie straightened her bonnet, debating about how harsh her rebuke should be.
Then she scolded herself for thinking he was taking advantage. After all, she had just met the man. But as she backed away, she caught sight of his crooked grin. Why was the oaf smiling?
He hooked a thumb in his belt. “Ain’t the first time I’ve had that effect on women.”
Clamping her jaw, she managed to stifle a caustic retort. He was Uncle Will’s foreman. No sense offending him. Still...
She lifted her chin. “Why don’t you save effect, Mr. Bartow, for cattle wrangling.” After grabbing her handbag, she swept past him and out the door.
Struggling to gather calm, she stood outside as she yanked on a glove. The foreman’s heavy footsteps followed, then stopped. Aware he stood behind her, she concentrated on buttoning the glove. The stench of his pomade seemed to curl around her as he, no doubt, ogled her.
As she pulled on her other glove, she spoke to him in a frosty tone. “Would you please see to my trunks and bags?”
“Uh, o’course. Be back right quick.”
Mr. Bartow clomped into the hotel.
A sigh of relief escaped her.
As she waited on the stoop, she acknowledged the greetings of those who passed by. Women nodded their hellos while men touched the brims of their hat or half saluted. Their genuine smiles warmed her heart. And with each greeting, Ellie felt her irritation fade.
Wyoming Territory is now my home. I could do some good here.
Despite its small size, Casper simmered with life. In the distance, men constructed a building. The sound of their hammers punctured the air. Wagons, coaches and foot traffic busied the streets. Though everything looked rough compared to back east, she had no doubt the town would grow and prosper. In time, Casper would grow into a thriving city.
Across the road, a familiar figure, riding an unusually colored horse, caught her attention.
“Rhett!” Ellie called. When he didn’t respond, she snatched a handkerchief from her pocket and waved as she called his name again. With his bulging saddlebags and a bedroll strapped behind him, he appeared ready to take a long trip.
After glancing her way, he steered his horse across the flow of traffic. He remained seated atop his mount, expression neutral. Without moving his head, his gaze darted to the people nearby before settling on her once more.
“What a uniquely colored horse.” Ellie eyed the gelding’s dark body and white rump with spots. “Is this an appaloosa?”
“Yes.”
“He’s beautiful. What’s his name?”
“Wash.” Rhett’s gaze continued to roam.
Although she barely knew him, he seemed unusually subdued.
“Aren’t you continuing on to Billings?” Earlier she’d overheard the hotel proprietor speaking to one of his employees about the stagecoach. Why wasn’t Rhett with them?
He answered with a mere shake of his head.
His expression appeared as grim as when Mr. Tesley insulted him. A cold premonition washed over her. “Why?”
“The stagecoach company ended my employment.” Rhett spoke in a detached manner.
“They...they fired you?”
His mouth tightened. “Apparently I’m responsible for the broken wheel.”
“But it wasn’t your fault. How can they...?” She trailed off when Mr. Bartow’s oily pomade intruded upon her senses.
The foreman positioned himself beside her. With deliberation, he turned his back to Rhett.
“They’re bringing the wagon ’round now, Miss Elinor.” When he moved closer, standing squarely between her and Rhett, she backed up a step.
“Thank you, Mr. Bartow.” She worked to keep her tone polite as she indicated the man still on the horse. “I was about to thank Rhett for his help yesterday.”
“Rhett?” He squinted up at the man on horseback.
“Mr. Callaway,” she hastened to correct, aware she had addressed the men differently.
The foreman’s lip curled. “I know who he is.”
“Last night, in the wilds, he protected me. Us. Mrs. Rushton and her son.”
“Seems we owe him a debt of gratitude.” Mr. Bartow jabbed back the brim of his hat with his thumb. “I’ll ask Mr. Marshall to speak to the stagecoach company on your behalf.”
Rhett finally spoke, face impassive. “That won’t be necessary.”
“No trouble a’tall. As soon—”
“I no longer work for them.”
Ellie again tamped down her outrage as she schooled her tone. “Then let me remind you again, Mr. Callaway, I’m sure my uncle would be pleased to hire you.”
A hint of gratefulness softened his expression.
“Dunno as you should speak for Mr. Marshall.” The foreman aimed his comment at Ellie as he scratched his cheek. “He don’t like hiring men who aren’t from ’round here.”
“Once I tell him everything this man did, my uncle won’t hesitate to employ him.” She squared her shoulders when Mr. Bartow’s eyes narrowed. “I can assure you, in our numerous correspondences, Uncle Will has mentioned a need for good help.”
“Don’t matter. All hires go through me.”
That seemed to end the conversation. Glancing between the two men, Ellie clasped her hands. If she couldn’t assure Rhett of a job with her uncle, she feared he would ride off to destinations unknown. Then she would never see him again.
Bartow stepped closer. “But seein’ as how this is so important to you, p’rhaps I could put in a good word with the boss.”
She forced herself to smile. “I would really appreciate that.”
As the foreman studied her, his tongue poked the inside of his cheek as though in thought. He swiveled. “So, Callaway. Heard you can tame a horse without speaking. And you’re a hard worker. That true?”
Rhett’s gaze settled on the foreman. “You may see for yourself.”
“Then consider yerself hired.” Bartow gave one sharp nod. “Subject to Mr. Marshall’s approval, o’course.”
Joy swept over Ellie at the foreman’s pronouncement. When Mr. Bartow turned to meet her gaze, she tempered her expression. The wagon, with a boy driving, rattled around the corner and drew the man’s attention. In the back were Ellie’s trunks and bags.
“Miss Elinor?” Bartow held out his hand.
As the foreman handed her up into the seat, she risked a glance at Rhett to see what his reaction was. Her heart soared when he mouthed, Thank you.
* * *
Ellie felt as though the wagon ride to Uncle Will’s ranch took as long as the earlier one to Casper. Mr. Bartow tried to engage her in conversation, but he said little that interested her. Not only that, she couldn’t seem to concentrate. After a while, the foreman fell silent. When she attempted to talk abou
t the history of the county, he answered in monosyllables.
How different from the natural ease of her exchange with Rhett the night before.
Several times she glanced over her shoulder to locate him as he rode at a respectful distance. She found herself wishing he was the one driving the wagon.
When they crested a hill, Mr. Bartow reined the horse and pointed. “There she is. The purdiest place in the county.”
Pretty? Ellie squinted at endless tracks of dirt dotted by a half dozen buildings of various sizes. Nearer to them were the burned-out shells of a couple structures—the ruined remains creating an odd and inexplicable sight. Cattle and horses clustered in groups around the area. Everything seemed to be varying shades of brown.
Is this it? When she rose to get a better look, the foreman urged the wagon horse forward, throwing her off balance. She sat back down with an undignified oomph.
When she caught the foreman’s smirk, she glared at him. Had he done that on purpose?
As they drew closer to the ranch, she could see men staring in their direction. One ran toward a small cabin that was not far from a large house. Chickens in the yard scattered. A couple dogs slunk along one corral, keeping their distance from the cowboys. From the small cabin strode one man. He positioned himself in the center of the yard, gaze fixed on them.
Uncle Will? The only photo Ellie had of him was several years old. He had visited Chicago several times, but the last was when she was nine. Everything else she knew of him came from the sporadic letters he had written to her after Mama’s death. His correspondence with Ellie had increased after her father died.
From the way the crowd hung back, it had to be Uncle Will. Ellie noted his brown hair with a touch of gray at the temples. He still wore a large mustache, which she remembered so well. His broadening smile told her the man who waited to greet her was indeed her uncle.
* * *
“Ellie!” Arms spread, her uncle moved toward the wagon as they reached the ranch. He noticeably favored one leg.
“Uncle Will.” Without waiting for Bartow’s help, she leaped down. In seconds she was in her uncle’s embrace, tears blurring her vision. “I’m so happy to see you.” She buried her face against his coat.
Memories washed over her at the smell of mint and grassy fields on his clothing. She recalled so clearly leaning against him during his last visit while his calloused hand awkwardly stroked her hair. Mama had looked on with a doting smile as Ellie chattered about her desire to become a doctor, just like her daddy.
“I’m grateful you’re all right.” Uncle Will’s rough voice brought her back to the present. “Glad to hear the stagecoach crash wasn’t worse.”
Ellie pulled away, but maintained her hold on his arms. “I’m fine. And so very happy I can be here. With you.”
His imposing eyebrows were still as dark as coffee. Under his groomed mustache, his mouth moved with suppressed emotion as he squeezed her shoulder. “You must be tired. And hungry.”
“Those can wait. But what about you? What happened to your leg?”
“Still trying to be a doctor, eh?” He chuckled. “It’s nothing. I jumped off the wagon yesterday and landed wrong, is all.”
“But you’re limping.”
“Twisted my ankle. It’s already on the mend.” He took her arm. “Come inside. Let’s get you settled. I can’t wait for you to see your rooms. They’re all ready for ya.”
He steered her toward the large house. An elderly couple waited on the porch while numerous ranch hands leaned on fences or stood in a semblance of attention. She nodded and smiled to them as her uncle led her up the steps to the open door.
When they reached the top, she remembered Rhett. “Uncle Will, wait a moment, please.”
Face still beaming, her uncle leaned attentively toward her. “What is it, Sunshine?”
She smiled at his old nickname for her. “I took the liberty of offering work to a man in Casper.” She stammered as she sought words to champion Rhett without betraying that the stagecoach company had fired him. “He—he was in need of a job. And was a great help to me personally. His reputation is exemplary.”
Though Ellie borrowed Pete’s words, she felt justified using them.
“I could always use another good man around here.” He smiled as he looked around. “It okay with Guy?”
“He said yes. As long as you approved.”
“Then I don’t see it being a problem.” Will scanned the group in the yard as though to pick out his new hire. “So where...?” His voice died as his amiable expression blinked out of existence.
If someone had doused Ellie with cold water, she wouldn’t have felt the chill as much as she did when her uncle’s brow lowered and his mouth hardened. For what felt like several minutes, he stared at Rhett. When Uncle Will finally settled his stony gaze on her, she shivered.
He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “You referring to him?”
“Yes. Rhett Callaway.”
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “No thanks.”
“No...?”
“I’m not hiring him.”
“But Rhett’s a fine man.” She kept her voice low. “He not only saved my life but—”
“We don’t hire men like him.”
Men like...?
Ellie backed away from the ice in his tone. She gulped air and tried again. “You don’t understand, he—”
“No. You don’t understand.” Her uncle spoke through clenched teeth.
She clamped her mouth shut. Where had her beloved uncle disappeared to? She stared at the man who looked like Uncle Will, but sounded nothing like him. He sounded like his brother—her father.
A lifetime of experience in dealing with that tone said to drop the subject. To acquiesce. But the unfathomable injustice toward Rhett—before he’d had a chance to prove himself—rankled. If Uncle Will would let her explain, she would convince him he must hire Rhett.
“Excuse me, Mr. Marshall.” The foreman’s voice floated up from the bottom step. He pulled off his hat and crimped the brim. “I promised Miss Elinor that I’d put in a good word for him. I’ve heard Callaway’s a hard worker. And since we lost those men last week, we’ve been shorthanded.”
Expression still rigid, Uncle Will turned to gaze at his foreman.
“I’d say give him a couple months.” Bartow’s fingers tightened and relaxed on his hat brim. “Try him out.”
Still her uncle said nothing. Everyone around them seemed to hold their collective breaths, gaze flickering between the two men. Only a few dared to study Rhett, who remained unmoving atop his horse. His face was as expressionless as the cattle that poked their heads through the barbed-wire fencing across the yard.
“Please, Uncle Will.” Ellie whispered for his ears only.
He acted like he didn’t hear her.
“As a favor to me?” she dared to plead. “Please?”
His gaze flickered to Ellie before his jaw jutted. He thrust a finger at his foreman. “All right. But keep a tight rein on him.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ll give him a couple months to prove himself. That’s it. But he’s your responsibility, Guy. Hear me?”
The foreman snapped to attention. “Yessir.”
Without another word, Will turned and headed into the house.
Lingering on the porch, Ellie risked a look at Rhett. She expected relief on his face. Or at least gratefulness, but no. His mouth had flattened, and his brows squeezed together. Like he was sorry he took the job?
I’ll talk to him later. Apologize for my uncle.
How could Uncle Will treat someone that way? Every dreamy castle in the sky she had built of her glorious future in Wyoming Territory threatened to crumble.
However, if no one else remembered their manners, she would. “Thank you, Mr. Bartow.”
Ellie turned and followed her un
cle into the house. However, the joy of their reunion had soured. Why was he so opposed to Rhett? Did Uncle Will know something she didn’t?
Mr. Tesley’s words came back to her. He’s got outlaw blood.
Was Rhett really related to an outlaw—someone Uncle Will had encountered? She waffled between wanting to ask her uncle and explaining that he had to be mistaken about Rhett. However, during their precious moments of camaraderie about the campfire, she had neglected to ask Rhett about Mr. Tesley’s remark. Was there more to Rhett’s story than what he’d shared?
When the time was right, she would question both Rhett and her uncle.
* * *
Rhett dismounted, aware of the covert glances thrown his way. Most men dispersed to their various tasks, but some acted as though he was invisible. A mere handful gave him a sharp nod before sauntering away. Only the elderly woman on the porch outright stared at him.
“Don’tcha have work to do?” The foreman glared at the lingering men. As soon as they scattered, he beelined for Rhett. “Come with me.”
After tethering his horse and untying his bedroll, he followed Bartow to a dilapidated building. Not the bunkhouse? Across the yard, the long narrow building looked considerably more inviting.
“This is your spot.” Bartow pointed to a dusty corner.
Rhett glanced at the dirt floor, thin walls and gaping holes between weatherworn boards. But at least its roof appeared intact. A new barn towered several yards away, proving this shed was no longer used for hay and grain. Instead, miscellaneous tools occupied the space. He said nothing as he slung his bedroll off his shoulder. When he turned, the foreman studied him, eyes mere slits.
“Don’t expect any special treatment while you’re here.” All Bartow’s earlier amiability had disappeared. “Rumors about your work don’t mean squat. I expect you to pull your own weight.”
Rhett kept his face neutral. “That’ll not be a problem.”
The foreman sneered. “We’ll see. Make sure you don’t show during meals either. You eat after everyone else. Got it?”
“Yes,” he answered slowly. “I do.” Bartow wasn’t the first tyrant he’d encountered. If Rhett had to guess, he’d say that the foreman disliked Ellie’s warmth toward him—and he was punishing Rhett for it now. No matter. In a few days, the foreman would relax after Rhett proved himself.