by Sara Orwig
“No, you can’t stay. Then Luke would have to nurse two of you—”
“He wouldn’t have to nurse me!” Honor bristled indignantly and gazed up at her father. Sometimes he treated her like another adult and sometimes he treated her as if she were the same age as Jeddy.
“You can trust me to take care of Buttercup,” Luke said quietly, and she felt rebuffed as she gazed into his cool green eyes. Luke didn’t want her staying with him, and it hurt. He never let her get too close to him. Biting her lip, she nodded and turned away to mount her horse.
“We’ll see you tomorrow, Luke,” Horace Roth said. “Keep your eye open for the panther. Those are large claw marks.”
Luke watched them ride away and settled himself, sponging off the mare again. He had seen the sudden swift hurt on Honor’s face. She already tagged after him constantly unless he had line duty. And she was headstrong and unpredictable. He didn’t need her complicating his life. With a sigh he turned back to the mare.
As soon as night fell, he built a roaring fire. When it died to glowing embers, he sat close beside it, studying the mare, who was breathing rapidly.
Luke dozed for a bit, then suddenly came awake. He looked around, wondering what had disturbed him. The mare was breathing hard and fast, the colt on the ground, its long legs folded. Suddenly the mare was on her feet.
Luke was beside her in an instant, his hands running over her, soothing her as he talked to her. He pulled the bucket of grain close and held it for her, while the foal stood on wobbly legs to nurse.
She dipped her nose into the bucket and began to eat. He placed the bucket on the ground. While she ate and drank water, he built up the fire until he had a roaring blaze again.
An hour passed before the mare stopped rolling her eyes and looking as if she would bolt at any moment. Luke held his rifle ready, feeling certain the cat was close at hand and the mare smelled it.
Finally dawn came, streaking the eastern sky with pink rays, the stars winking into oblivion. Exhausted, aching all over, Luke mounted up, leading the mare and the foal toward the corral.
When the buildings came into view, he saw Honor crossing the road from the house to the barn. She turned and saw him and broke into a run, her dark pigtails bouncing, her long legs covering the distance swiftly. He dismounted as she reached him.
“She’s all right! You saved her.” She hugged him swiftly and then she went to hug the foal gently and pat the mare.
“I’ll take her,” she said, and he handed the rope to Honor, knowing the mare and foal would be showered with attention.
Dusty rode up, pausing beside Luke. “Looks like the mare’s going to be okay. You did a good job with her.”
“Thanks. It’s out of my hands now,” he remarked, watching Honor lead the mare and foal into the corral.
“I’m riding south to round up some strays.”
“I’ll eat and catch up with you.”
“You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’ll be okay. I tangled with Rake Acheson.”
Dusty frowned and stilled his prancing roan. “Then you waved a flag at a bull. He’ll charge and charge again. You haven’t seen the last of Acheson. Rim Creek is the boundary between the two ranches. Stay damned clear of it.”
“I’m not afraid of Acheson.”
“Did you walk away from the fight?”
Luke nodded. “Matter of fact, yes,” he answered dryly.
“If Acheson didn’t, then maybe now’s the time for you to head on to California like you planned. I hate to lose you, though, so if you stay, don’t get off alone. Acheson won’t let it pass,” Dusty said somberly. “From now on, mister, you’re standing in high grass with a provoked rattlesnake.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Luke, as long as we’re talking about watching out for trouble, let me tell you something. Boss is squeezed between two bastards, Acheson to the south and his brother Stanton Roth to the north. If he could, Stanton would take this ranch from his brother in the time it takes to spit. He is Boss’s brother, so watch out for him. He won’t fight you, but he’ll steal cattle, steal water, do any sneaky thing he can.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.”
Dusty nodded and flicked the reins to move on.
By Saturday night the mare was healing quickly, moving around the corral, the foal beside her. Luke patted her and touched the foal.
“I’m naming him Cat,” Honor said, walking up beside Luke and slanting him a look. “Even though I should name him after you for saving her life and probably his.”
“Stick to Cat,” Luke said, grinning at her. Her gaze went over his new denim pants, white cotton shirt, and leather vest.
“Do you have a girlfriend in town?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Some men do. Sheila says Papa has a woman friend.”
“Who is Sheila?”
“She’s one of my best friends. Her family lives north of here. The Kincaids.”
Luke nodded, remembering meeting Elgin Kincaid in town at a horse auction.
“Dolorita said it’s all right for Pa to have a woman friend.”
“Sure, it is,” Luke answered easily, sauntering toward the gate with Honor beside him.
“I’d feel funny if Pa married again.”
“If he does, you’d probably like her a lot because you’re like your pa. You like what he likes.”
“Sheila said her brother Ralph told her he saw you dancing with a pretty woman.”
“He might have. I don’t know Ralph Kincaid,” Luke answered easily, closing the corral gate and untying the reins to his saddled horse.
“Will you dance with me someday when I’m old enough?”
Luke looked down at large dark eyes gazing up at him solemnly and caution made him pause. He didn’t want to do anything to encourage Honor because she was Horace Roth’s daughter and because she was a child who would someday outgrow the foolishness she felt now. He smiled blandly at her.
“You ask me that when you’re sixteen, Honor. Right now, you have a lot of growing up to do.” He swung up into the saddle and looked back down at her. Her black brows were drawn together in a stubborn look he had seen too often on Horace Roth’s face.
“I’ll grow up, Luke. And you’ll dance with me someday.”
He felt a peculiar jolt of surprise at the determination in her voice. “Take good care of Cat and Buttercup,” he answered lightly. “I’ll be back Sunday night.”
He turned his horse and rode away, glancing back to find her standing in the same spot, staring at him solemnly. With time she would change, and there was no place in his life for a woman like Honor Roth. Luke knew Horace had high hopes for his daughter and would want her to marry well. She was untouchable, and right now it was easy to put her out of mind because she was a child. “I’ll grow up, Luke. And you’ll dance with me someday.” The words echoed in his mind. With the land and money Horace Roth was acquiring, by the time Honor grew up she would have so many fancy suitors, she wouldn’t even glance at him.
Luke rode toward town relishing the countryside, the slow setting of the summer sun that streaked the sky with reds and pinks and finally a cool blue that changed to night. Once he heard something behind him and turned in the saddle, his hand going to his revolver, but the road was empty.
A chill ran down his spine, and he wondered if he should have hurried up and ridden in with Enrique Gonzales and some of the other hands. He shrugged away the uneasy feeling and thought about Maizie and the poker game, Tessie and her lush body that she offered so willingly.
Suddenly men broke through the brush. Luke reached for his pistol but a rope swung through the air and dropped over him, yanking tight and pinning his arms to his sides.
Three
Men were on him in an instant, knocking him from his horse. Luke rolled to his feet, shoving away the rope and swinging his fists while blows rained on him until he went down again. Bo
oted feet kicked and stomped him. Doubling up, Luke tried to protect his head and face as pain burst in his side and back and shot up his legs. He heard hoarse groans while consciousness came and went, and the blows still pounded him until a blessed oblivion swallowed him.
When Luke stirred, he hurt all over. He tried to move but at the sharp pain he lay still. Trying to open his eyes, he wondered if he were blind because he couldn’t see anything; then he realized it was night and a nagging worry tugged at him to move because if he were bloody and injured, he would be vulnerable to attacks by wild animals.
An attempt to raise his head made him groan. Something rustled nearby, and panic assailed him when he thought about the cat that had attacked the mare. Coyotes would attack a quarry that couldn’t fight back; wild dogs, vultures would find him easy prey, and in the state he was in now, Luke didn’t think he could fight off even a sparrow.
He struggled to raise his head in an effort to get his bearings. Biting back another cry, he tried to sit up. Agonizing pain shot across his shoulders and along his arm; he fell back and lay still.
He had to move or he would die right where he was. He tried again, struggling to reach for his pistol and feeling the empty holster. The effort exhausted him and darkness threatened, a blackness that he fought because he was afraid he wouldn’t wake from it.
He didn’t know how much longer it was when he heard noises and men’s voices. Fear gripped him, making him immobile. They had come back to kill him. He listened, trying to determine where they were so he could move or hide. As he struggled to crawl, pain tore at him. As voices became louder, he tried to crawl faster, biting his lip to keep from crying out in agony.
“Over this way!” called a deep voice that washed over Luke with its familiarity.
Dusty! “Here!” Luke called, but the sound was a croak. He was certain he had heard Dusty’s voice, but now the sounds were fading. If they were looking for him and passed by without seeing him, he would die out here alone. Panic caused him to reach into his vest pocket for a match. He pinched the head with his thumbnail and it flared to life, the stench of sulphur strong. Cupping the flame, Luke looked at the ground for something dry that would burn.
“Hey, Dust, look!”
Suddenly bushes parted and booted feet stopped in front of Luke and he twisted to look up. “Dus—” The match burned his fingers and he shook his hand even as unconsciousness came again.
The next time he opened his eyes, he looked into a pair of dark eyes filled with concern that were inches from his face. Hands smoothed back his hair and the touch was cool and light. For a moment he felt disoriented, trying to think where he was, trying to remember.
“Where—”
The person moved away and then memory returned as he stared at Honor Roth, who held a damp cloth in one hand. “Luke? Stay awake,” she said, taking his hand and sitting in a rocking chair beside the high bed.
“Do I hear our patient talking?” a deep voice asked as Horace Roth entered the room.
“He’s conscious, Pa.”
“So I see. Honor, close the door on your way out. I want to talk to Luke. You can come back in a minute. I imagine that some of Dolorita’s chicken broth would appeal to Luke in a little while.”
“Yes, sir,” Honor replied, casting a worried look at Luke, then meeting his gaze and giving him a smile. As she left and closed the door quietly, Horace Roth looked down at Luke.
“We had Doc Springer come look at you. He’s a horse doctor, but he’ll do in a pinch, and he was closer than sending to town. You’ve got broken bones—broken fingers, broken arm, a broken collarbone. You’re going to have a vacation.”
Luke closed his eyes, rage forming in the pit of his stomach and burning up through him.
“Your revolver was gone, but your horse and your money were still there, so it wasn’t thieves. It was someone who wanted you to die slowly and painfully.”
Luke’s eyes were still squeezed shut. He hurt and felt a helpless rage because he couldn’t do anything until he mended and even then, he wouldn’t be able to prove anything.
“Want to tell me who it was, son? If it’s someone out of your past, that’s your business. But if it’s someone from around here over something that’s happened since you’ve gone to work for me, then I want to know about it.”
Luke heard the note of steel in Horace Roth’s voice and knew if he wanted to keep his job, he had to answer Roth. Luke opened his eyes and met Roth’s determined blue ones. “Maizie,” he said, hurting as he talked from the pain running along his jaw.
“Maizie?” Roth asked, his voice changing to a coldness that seemed to drop the temperature in the room to freezing level.
“Rake Acheson hit one of the girls. Maizie stepped in and he hit her. I—”
“Rake Acheson struck Maizie?” Horace Roth asked in a voice that sent a chill down Luke’s spine. “Go on. I take it you whipped Acheson.”
“Maizie warned me …”
“Damn that bastard,” Horace said in a quiet, lethal tone. “I’ll see about this.”
“Sir!” Luke hurt, but he made an effort to inject some strength into his voice. “Sir, this is my fight with Acheson. Let me—”
“I won’t step in between you and Acheson. That’s your doing, although I’ll give you some advice. Don’t ride alone again. Next time, you won’t survive. Acheson didn’t intend you would this time. And I’d guess he has an alibi for where he was. He probably sent his men. But what he did to Maizie isn’t your fight. That’s mine, and I thank you, Luke, for coming to her defense. Now you get well and don’t think about Acheson until you begin to mend. Anger won’t help you heal.”
He left the room, and, in seconds, Honor appeared with a steaming bowl of broth. Frowning in concentration to avoid spilling any liquid, she crossed the room carefully. Her boyish clothing hugged her long legs and narrow hips, her tiny waist. Two long black braids hung over her shoulders and she looked like a tall, gangly girl until he looked into the large, thickly lashed dark eyes that softened her appearance and hinted of the woman to come. Catching a faint scent of roses, he watched her as she leaned over him to prop pillows beneath his head. Perching beside him, she spooned broth to him. “Papa wanted to know who did this to you. Did you tell him?”
“I told him who I thought did it, but I don’t know for certain. Your neighbor doesn’t like me.”
“Mr. Acheson? Pa doesn’t like Mr. Acheson very well. Now we won’t like him at all.”
Luke’s mouth hurt too much to smile at her, but he was amused by the fierceness in her voice. “How’s Cat?”
“He’s fine, and Buttercup is getting better every hour. How’d you make Mr. Acheson angry?”
Luke stared at the spoon of broth and took a sip, trying to judge his answer because Honor would hear something sooner or later. “Rake Acheson was beating a woman. I went to her defense, and he and I got into a fight.”
“And you won. That’s why he was mad at you.”
“I don’t even know if he was the one who did this, Honor, so let’s drop it.”
Her lower lip thrust out. “Who else would have?”
“I don’t know. Some people are just mean and would attack a lone rider.”
“I heard Pa say you weren’t robbed, so it probably was Rake Acheson, the snake!”
“Don’t sound so angry,” he said, amused by the fire in her eyes.
“Aren’t you angry?”
“Yes, but I’m the one who should be—not you.”
“I am because no one should hurt another person the way he hurt you. Pa said he meant for you to die, and you would have if Dusty hadn’t found you.”
“How come Dusty came searching for me?”
“Your horse came home, and I saw him wandering along the road. I told Dusty I knew when you left and we figured you hadn’t had time to get to town. Dusty rounded up the men who were still here, and they went searching for you.”
“Then I’m indebted to you.”
“I guess we’re even because of your taking care of Buttercup and getting me the new foal. I think Pa should get all the men and the sheriff and go hang Rake Acheson!”
“Remind me not to make an enemy of you,” Luke remarked before taking another sip of soup.
“You and I won’t ever be enemies,” she said, her voice softening, and he felt they were moving onto dangerous ground again.
“Thanks for the broth. I’m exhausted and hurting. Go out to the bunkhouse and look under my cot and get a bottle of whiskey.”
She stood up at once and picked up the tray with the empty bowl. “I’ll be right back.”
She was back so swiftly that his eyebrows rose, and he glanced at her questioningly. “Here’s Pa’s whiskey. He said to bring this to you.”
“Honor, go get mine.”
“No. Pa said to give you his.”
Reluctantly Luke took the bottle because he knew Honor would argue until the sun set or Horace Roth returned and then he would insist Luke accept.
“Someday, Honor, you’re going to give some hombre fits,” Luke said offhandedly as he uncorked the whiskey.
“Why do you say that?” she asked, standing by the bed with her hands on her slender hips, her wide brow furrowed in a frown.
He glanced at her and realized she really would, that she was being reared by a strong, tough man without the usual softening mother’s touch. He studied her luminous eyes, the fringe of thick lashes and fine bone structure, and realized she might turn out to be pretty. And if she was, heaven help the man who loved her because her character was as strong as her pa’s.
The whiskey quickly hit Luke’s stomach, which held only broth, and in minutes the pain began to recede and drowsiness overtake him. He noticed Honor rocking close beside the bed, her gaze on the yard beyond the window.
“You don’t have to stay with me, Honor. I’m going to live,” he said, the words slurring slightly.
“I know I don’t have to stay, but I’d be worrying about you if I couldn’t see you.”
“I’ll be all right,” he said, drifting back to sleep.
She leaned forward, her cool fingers brushing hair away from his forehead. “You’re my best friend, Luke,” she said softly. “I’ll take care of you.”