“Well?” Hench asked.
He turned his attention back to Hench and noticed the man’s curious stare. He usually issued an order instantly, especially when a man stood waiting for one. “Tell him to put that little mare the copper stallion was so attracted to out in the far range and wait for another chance to rope him. That horse has the stamina I want under me for the next drive.”
“Right away.” Hench started to leave, then added, “Almost forgot to tell you. Last night, somewheres near the middle of the night far as I can recall, I heard somethin’ I thought mighta been a bobcat caterwaulin’. Almost got up for a look-see, but I only heard it once then it quieted down right away, so I fell back asleep. Think we oughta put somebody on it tonight? I wouldn’t mind baggin’ me a bobcat.”
Rory quickly returned his attention to the leather headstall and punched in another notch with the hole punch. “I didn’t hear Scratchy complain about any chickens missing from the henhouse, so maybe we better wait and see if you hear anything again tonight.”
“Right. I’ll go tell Gathers about that copper horse.”
“Right.” Unwilling to have Hench notice the smile on his face, Rory didn’t look up again until the man left the barn. “Bobcat.” He chuckled aloud and shook his head, wondering if anyone would even believe the howl of the bobcat had really been the satisfied cry of Miss Jessica Stanbridge. He could hardly believe it himself.
His task completed, Rory hung the bridle on a hook above the workbench and headed outside. He’d thought of nothing but Jess all morning, of the way she had surrendered to him last night and the incredible joy he’d experienced in her arms. He remembered the way she looked standing in the doorway watching the dancers as she sought him out. If he could keep that glow in her eyes forever, he just might be tempted to give up everything he owned.
As he walked toward the house in the sunlight, he shoved his hat brim down, hoping to catch her having a late breakfast, to see her again in the light of day. A niggling doubt dogged him all morning; what if she hadn’t slept late at all but was back to avoiding him again? What if she couldn’t face him after last night because she regretted the whole escapade?
He was almost to the porch when he saw two men ride up at a fast clip. Sheriff John Williams reined in and Rory walked over to greet him as he dismounted. The man was huge, but he carried his weight well. A five-pointed star was pinned to the front of a brown leather vest that was the only item of clothing from his hat to his boots that the sheriff wore that wasn’t tan. He sauntered over to Rory and touched the brim of his hat in greeting.
“I didn’t think I’d see you so soon after the dance, Sheriff.” Rory extended his hand and Williams shook it.
The man behind the sheriff wore the badge of a deputy. He was reed slender, with carrot-colored muttonchops that extended to his jawline, a low plainsman’s hat.
“We’re here on official business,” the skinny man told him.
Beside Williams’s height and girth, his deputy looked no more than a boy and the two pearl-handled pistols at his waist looked heavy enough to slide down his skeletal body, taking his pants right along with them.
Sheriff Williams introduced the man as Deputy Dexter Hudson, his brother-in-law.
“Why don’t we go in and have something to drink?” Rory suggested. It was obvious that Williams, who was usually jovial, was not at the Silver Sage for a mere visit.
Rory led the way into the kitchen. With one foot inside the door he paused, realizing something was not quite right.
Scratchy was standing over the deep soup kettle he usually kept bubbling with some concoction.
The sheriff and his deputy, oblivious to the change, whatever it was, followed Rory in and sat down at the table while he took some mugs out of a tall pine cupboard. When he walked over to the stove and lifted the coffeepot, he realized what was wrong.
“It smells good in here,” Rory announced to no one in particular.
At that moment Myra walked through the door and smiled. Then she walked over to Scratchy Livermore, elbowed him in the ribs, and crowed, “Didn’t I tell you?”
Scratchy, wearing striped wool pants that sagged at his hips and a wrinkled once-white shirt, shot her a bleary-eyed glance and kept on stirring as if four people hadn’t just invaded his domain.
Rory offered to pour Myra a cup, but she declined. Then, much to the surprise of the two guests, who’d jumped to their feet at her appearance, she introduced herself to them without waiting for Rory to do so.
“I believe I met you at the dance last evening, did I not, Sheriff Williams?” she asked, staring at him over the top of her glasses.
“We did indeed meet, Miss Thornton,” Williams replied, “but I’m afraid Wheelbarrow had you all to himself.”
Scratchy made a great show of coughing and sputtering.
“Not over the chicken and dumplings, if you please,” Myra scolded. She turned to Rory. “I’ve shown him how to make chicken and dumplings. Of course, it meant he had to turn loose one of those scraggly fowl he calls chickens, but I’m certain it will be better than shoe-leather beef for a change.”
Turning a jaundiced eye toward her, Scratchy countered, “Tomorrow we’re havin’ turtle soup.”
“Which reminds me,” Myra said, “it’s time I go out and feed Methuselah. He comes running when I call him now—well, not running, precisely.”
Rory laughed as Myra ignored Scratchy, bid the other men good-bye, and left the room. He pulled out a chair for himself and sat down at the table with the others. “What’s up, Sheriff? I take it this isn’t a social call.”
Williams put down his coffee and leaned back in his chair. “I’m afraid not. In fact, I came out to talk to—Miss Stanbridge, is it? She’s the one on your arm last night at the dance? The pretty lady that’s lookin’ for the giant lizard bones?”
Immediately wary, Rory set down his own mug. “That’s right. What’s this all about?”
Deputy Hudson shot a glance at Scratchy, then leaned forward and said, “It’s about murder, that’s what it’s about, Mr. Burnett.”
“I’m tellin’ this, Dexter,” Williams warned.
“Right, Sheriff.” Hudson contented himself with polishing his star with his shirt sleeve.
“Agent Carmichael up at the Ute reservation sent a man in this morning. Seems he wants Miss Stanbridge to identify a body they found wedged between some rocks in the gorge at the foot of the mesa.”
A cold foreboding lassoed itself around Rory’s gut. “Did they find him on my land?”
Sheriff Williams shook his head. “Nope. Just off it, though, but still reservation.”
“Why does Carmichael need to involve Miss Stanbridge?”
“From what I understand, the man had some official papers on him, the same kind of papers she showed the agent when she asked permission to search for old bones on the reservation. The thing is, this dead man they found never checked in with the agent. Nobody knew he was up there—leastwise, no officials. They’re hopin’ she can identify the body.”
Jess had been so upset by Whitey’s death that Rory wished he could spare her any more pain. But who was the dead man on the reservation? What connection did he have with Jess?
Williams was still waiting for him to get Jess.
“I hate to do this to her,” Rory admitted aloud.
Hudson piped up again. “We got a dead white man lyin’ up there in Ute territory who needs to be identified, mister.”
“Shut up, Dexter.” Williams gave Rory an apologetic look and then finished off his coffee. “I don’t relish the thought either, but they claim to need her help. Nothin’ I can do but come out here and ask her to go with me.”
“Is the body all the way back at the agency in Ignacio? It’ll take a good two days to get there.”
Williams sh
ook his head. “Naw. Left it right in the canyon below the bluff where they found it. Agent rode out when they came to get him. It won’t take that long to ride up there and back. If we get going, you’ll be back before nightfall.”
“I’ll go see if she’s willing,” Rory said, promising nothing. If Jessica didn’t want to undertake such a grisly task, he wasn’t about to force her.
“I’ll explain it all to her on the way, but tell her not to hurry. The man ain’t gettin’ any deader.”
“Not by a long shot,” Dexter Hudson added.
JESSICA WAS ON her way out of her room when Rory entered the hall and drew up short at the sight of her. Her hand went to her throat. For an instant she toyed with the pearl button on her high-necked collar, then she dropped her arm to her side. She was not ashamed of what she’d done last night. If anything, she was grateful to Rory for initiating her so thoroughly in the art of lovemaking.
She met his gaze without a blush, although she felt on the verge of one the longer he stood there caressing her with his dark eyes. Would the sight of him thrill her from now on?
Would she feel giddy and tingle from head to toe each time he was in the same room with her, or would the euphoria that came after lovemaking diminish over time?
He watched her stare at him and wondered what thoughts were playing themselves out behind her bright blue eyes. Somehow, even dressed as she was in what he liked to think of as her scientist’s garb, there was a new softness to her that she had not previously possessed. And this morning she seemed secure, rather than uncertain, in his presence. If there was any anxiety or regret over what they had done last night, it didn’t show in her face or in her eyes. In fact, unless he was a complete fool, he thought that he just might see a glimpse of love shining in her eyes as she looked at him.
“No regrets?” He stepped up to her and took her in his arms, relieved when she didn’t stiffen or try to fend him off.
“None whatsoever,” she said, looking up into his eyes.
“Good.” He dipped his head for a kiss and found himself smiling when it ended. The smile soon faded when he remembered why he’d come looking for her. “The sheriff has come out to see you, Jess. There’s been a white man found dead on the Ute reservation.”
Whitey’s death was still too fresh. She shuddered in his arms and pulled back to look up at him. “What has that to do with me?”
“It seems he was carrying the same sort of official documents that you are.”
She stepped away, confused, and threaded her fingers together. “A paleontologist?”
He shrugged. “I guess so. They didn’t say for sure, but the Indian agent up there wants you to identify the body.”
Her hands covered her lips. She shook her head, then said, “If they found his documents, why do they need me?”
“They want someone to verify it. The papers might be stolen.” He waited a moment, then said, “I’ll go tell him you refuse, but I’m not sure they’ll take no for an answer.”
“But—how can this be anyone I know? I’m the only one from the Harvard Museum who’s been sent to Colorado. Surely the man is from some other museum. There may be a remote possibility that I recognize him, but . . . ” Had someone already heard of her own work and come to steal whatever find she could lay claim to? The longer she thought about it, the more certain she became that she had no recourse but to find out who else had been working the area.
“I’ll go,” she said suddenly. “I’ll just get the bonnet you loaned me.”
“Please”—Rory held up a hand to stop her—“not the poke bonnet. I’ll get you a real hat with a brim.”
She paused long enough to smile at him. “Don’t I have the sodbuster spirit?”
“Let’s just say you remind me too much of my mother in that thing.” He pulled her close again to nuzzle her ear. “And after last night, there is absolutely no similarity at all.”
Jessica shoved him away. “This is no time for such dillydallying. Where’s the sheriff?”
“In the kitchen. Wait for me there. I’m going to the reservation with you.”
She stopped again, and this time managed to stay out of his arms. “That’s not necessary. You have more than enough to do here.”
“Listen, Jess, this isn’t going to be easy. I don’t intend to let you go through it without me.”
FIVE RIDERS MOVED through the narrow canyon, the sound of hooves striking rock echoing around them. The towering sandstone walls along the canyon were striated with bands of color, evidence of what had begun as ocean, metamorphosed into desert sand dunes, then solidified over aeons only to be drowned again by inland seas. Sediment from swamps and deltas, volcanic activity, and erosion created levels of colorful rock pressed together like pages of a history book that Jessica longed to stop and read.
A Ute scout led them along the creek that wound through the canyon, Sheriff Williams and his deputy behind him. Rory and Jess hung back so that she could pause to observe the rock formations. He stopped to watch and admire her.
Now, as they rode side by side, Jessica put her hand to the wide-brimmed, felt hat Rory had loaned her and looked at the butte above them.
“See anything interesting?” he asked, intrigued by the sight of the white ruffled petticoat hem that peeked out from beneath her skirt.
“Everything.” She turned to face him again and smiled. “I wish we weren’t on such a dark errand. I would love to explore the canyon wall. I see fragments of dark rock that may be bone, but petrified bone and rock resemble each other so closely that I’d have to examine them to be certain.”
They were nowhere near the sacred cave, so Rory felt safe in saying, “We could make the return journey without the others, take our time getting back, and you could explore to your heart’s content.”
Her joy was immediate. “Really? Oh, Rory, but can you spare the time?”
Seeing the glow on her cheeks and the sparkle of excitement in her eyes, he couldn’t bear to tell her no. “I’m still your guide, Miss Stanbridge. We can take all the time you’d like. I can spare a couple of days.”
She looked down, watching the trail carefully while her mare trotted over a fallen log. When she looked up at Rory again, her smile had dimmed. When she was certain the others were too far ahead to overhear, she said, “What will they think?”
“Who? The sheriff and his deputy? We’ll part company when they head back to Cortez. They’ll think we’re hurrying back home.”
“What about everyone at the ranch? Won’t they be worried?”
“Not if we’re only gone an extra day. I told Scratchy it would probably be that long before we got back.”
She eyed him suspiciously from under the hat brim. “You wouldn’t have anything but exploring in mind, would you?”
He bit his cheek and shrugged. “Maybe another experiment or two.” Then he leaned closer and teased, “I love it when you blush, Jess.”
She completely ignored his observation. “I found out something very distressing this morning.”
“Something besides a dead paleontologist?”
“Myra knows.”
He frowned. “Knows who the dead man is?”
She sighed in exasperation. “No. She knows about us, about last night.”
“How?”
Jessica refused to look at him. Instead she concentrated on the trail, certain this was one of the most awkward moments of her life. “She got up to look for me in the middle of the night and found my bed empty. Your door was open; she knows you were out, too.”
“So that proves nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“There was more.”
“Oh, hell. She didn’t wander into the barn, did she?” Their relationship was tenuous enough without having Myra upset at Jess.
Jessica shook her head. “She
didn’t have to. There was hay in my hair.”
Rory longed to reach out to her, to take her hand and tell her it didn’t matter, but he knew it did. He had agreed to abide by her decision not to marry him yet, but still, he didn’t want her reputation to suffer because their relationship had gone beyond society’s established limits.
“Maybe we should go straight back when this is over.”
As much as he wanted to spend a night with her beneath the stars, he knew he’d do everything in his power to avoid having her suffer any further embarrassment.
Jessica nodded in agreement, although she had begun to look forward to such a daring idea.
The group up ahead had stopped to water their horses. Rory and Jessica reined in beside them. Sheriff Williams took off his hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve. His hat had matted down his sweat-soaked hair. “The scout says the camp is just around the next bend.” He looked over his shoulder at Jessica. “You ready, ma’am?”
Jessica felt her stomach plummet to her toes.
“She’s ready,” Rory said. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Chapter Sixteen
THE DEEP CANYON narrowed until the red rock walls closed in on either side of the stream bed. The only sounds in the hot mid-afternoon air were the scolding of the jays and the echo of the horses’ hooves as they struck against stones.
As Jess followed the others into the temporary camp in the shade of the towering walls, she immediately recognized Webster Carmichael, the agent from Ignacio. He paced impatiently beside the shallow stream. As they approached she easily dismissed the sight of Carmichael, for he had been less than cordial a month ago—but it was impossible for her to ignore what could only be a man’s body draped by a dirty canvas tarp a few feet behind the agent.
Rory held her mare while she dismounted. Jessica straightened her skirt so that it primly covered her ankle-high shoe tops. When he smiled encouragement, she became even more determined to get through the next few moments without embarrassing herself.
Past Promises Page 24