by Unknown
"I wonder why?" she muttered to herself.
"What did you say?"
Blair cleared her throat. "I said, what if Adam doesn't want me to be his guide? Have you ever considered that he might refuse?"
Smiling, Warren guided her over to the mirror. "Look at yourself, Blair." Their eyes locked in the mirror. "I see a beautiful young woman standing here. With those big, innocent green eyes, beautiful black hair, and the face of an angel —he won't refuse."
Mischief glinted from her eyes. "Are you suggesting that I use womanly wiles?" she taunted.
"No, nothing that drastic, but I am suggesting you act like a woman and behave like a lady. Nature will take care of the rest." He hugged her close to him. "Just remember though, I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't for Coy. So, what do you say?"
She blinked, realizing the enormity of what was happening. Who would have ever thought good- natured Coy would turn out to be the prodigal brother?
Blair drew away from him and walked slowly to the window. She would do anything for her brother, and if it had been for a different reason she would have been thrilled at the thought of being with Adam. But this seemed . . . almost dishonest. Even considering this seemed to be the only way to help Coy get out of the mess he was in, she had the strangest feeling that she was making a terrible mistake.
Sighing heavily, she spoke so softly, her words were barely discernable, "Under the circumstance, I can hardly refuse. But, Warren, let me handle it. Let me talk to Adam."
"Maybe that would be even better."
"It might help if you can persuade him to sit out on the porch after supper, so you'll need to tell Tillie to serve supper a little early. Also, if I say anything strange . . . just go along with me, all right?"
"What are you planning?"
She sighed heavily. "I'm not sure. I'll think of something though."
Nodding, he walked over to the door, paused and turned back. "Blair, there's a dance in town Saturday night and you know Coy, if there's a dance within fifty miles, he'll attend. Why not invite Adam? We need the people in town to know there is a deputy marshal in the area, and that he's on our side."
Warren closed the door and once out of Blair's view, he smiled bitterly. Although he had originally planned to throw Adam and Blair together for an entirely different reason, if he could help Coy too, then so be it. Now, if only nature did take its course…
"Would you gentlemen like some feminine company?" Blair asked, dragging a small, cane-bottom rocking chair out on the porch with her.
"Sure, come on out and join us," Warren said.
Adam glanced at Warren with a taut jerk of his head, but said nothing. I wonder who apologized first? he mused to himself, smiling.
Feeling apprehensive about the entire matter, Blair glanced at the sky and chattered nervously, "I thought supper was a little early. Why, there is still a good hour of daylight left." She grinned sheepishly. "I guess I could have looked at a clock, though."
Warren stretched his legs out in front of him and gently moved the swing with the back of his boot heels. "I told Tillie to cook early. I haven't had a chance to do any porch-sitting since the weather turned warm. So I decided to indulge myself by taking it easy this evening. Blair," he drawled easily, "why don’t you go get the checkerboard for me and Adam and we'll play a game while it's still good daylight." He had carefully chosen his words to make it difficult for Adam to refuse.
"Looks like you and Blair have settled your differences," Adam commented, watching as she went into the house. But then, she looked so beautiful, it had been difficult for him to take his eyes off her all through supper.
"It was nothing serious." He shrugged it off with a wave of his hand. "You know how brothers and sisters are."
Blair returned carrying a small wooden table and the set of checkers. When Warren stood and positioned the rocking chair in front of the checkerboard table and sat on it, she had no choice but to sit beside Adam on the swing. She could not help but think that she and Warren reminded her of spiders circling their prey until it had been firmly snared in their web. It was not a pleasant comparison.
"A cigar would be nice," Warren muttered absent-mindedly.
Laughing, Blair removed two from her pocket along with a tin of sulphur matches. "I came prepared."
She handed one to each of the men, lighting Warren's first, then turned to Adam. She struck a fresh match and he cupped his hands around hers to steady it. Before lowering the tip of the cigar into the flame, he cut his eyes upwards and asked, "Cigar smoke bother you?"
"Oh, no, unlike most women, I love the aroma of a good cigar." She watched as one of his eyes closed lazily when a plume of smoke drifted into it.
He stared at her for a moment, his expression inscrutable but his gaze narrowing almost imperceptibly in covetous admiration. "You look very pretty tonight. I like your new hairdo."
"Thank you."
"That's a pretty dress—well, skirt and blouse— too."
"Thank you again." Blair knew she looked nice. She had worn one of the new blouses Warren had purchased for her, and her favorite emerald green skirt. She presumed the green enhanced the color of her eyes and the blouse embellished the new way she had worn her hair.
Tearing his gaze away from Blair, Adam studied the checkerboard for a moment then asked Warren, "Where's Coy? I haven't seen him around lately. I had hoped to pull out by first light in the morning."
"Tomorrow?" Warren frowned. "I didn't know you planned on leaving so soon."
"Yes, I thought I told you yesterday that I was leaving."
"You probably did. I've just been so preoccupied here lately . . . that's one reason I called it an early day." He shook his head regretfully. "And he was supposed to show you . . . damn, Adam, now I feel bad. It completely slipped my mind. There was some trouble out at the line shack and I sent Coy out there to take care of it. I don't know when he'll be back."
Adam shrugged good-naturedly. "Oh, that's all right, I can find my way around without any trouble."
"Wait, I have a suggestion." Blair placed her hand on Adam's arm. She hoped her voice would not shake as badly as her insides did. "Why not let me show you the ranch? I probably know this land as well as Coy. I know when we were children, we played hide-and-seek in the hills, and I always found him, but he usually only found me when I allowed him to. Besides, if I have to sit here at this ranch for one more day, I think I'll scream. I have been wanting to go riding so badly, but Warren refuses to let me go alone, he claims it is too dangerous."
"It is too dangerous," Warren and Adam said in unison, then glanced at each other and chuckled.
Adam raised his brows at Warren as though asking for help, but all Warren did was shrug and gesture, intimating it was his decision whether he let Blair go or not.
She stood her ground, pretending to be vexed with them. "You two can laugh if you want, but I am serious. If I don't get away from the house soon, I’ll go stark raving mad, and Adam, you need a guide, so what I suggested is the perfect solution."
"I don't think so, Blair," Adam said somberly. "I plan on taking a pack horse with me so I'll be gone for several days, maybe even a week or two . . . just depends on how long it takes."
Without thinking she blurted, "If that is what's worrying you, heavens, I've roughed it before. When we were children. Coy and I used to go camping-out all the time ..." Realizing what she had said, Blair pressed her hand against her brow and cringed. "I —I didn't mean ... I shouldn't have ..."
Warren shot Adam an anxious look. "We know how you meant it, Blair. But you're starting to sound like a pest. If Adam says he needs to stay out there for as long as it takes, then that's what he needs to do."
She dismissed that argument. "He can't do that though! His feet . . ."
"You said my feet had healed." Adam quickly injected. Although he hated to hear her plead in this manner, it was almost comical
the way she was grasping at straws. He had the strangest feeling if he did not agree to her demands, she would soon start stamping her feet against the floor.
That ought to be interesting, he thought, smiling tentatively. The more angry and frustrated she got, the more beautiful she became.
Warren rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head. Whatever possessed him to think Blair might be able to pull this off? He'd told her to "act like a woman and behave like a lady." Instead, she was behaving like a spoiled child who didn't get her way.
Standing abruptly, she placed her hands on her slender hips. "No, that's where you are mistaken. I said your feet did not have any raw places on them, and that they would still be tender for several more days. I also said you had to wear two pair of socks and keep your feet out of boots. I’ll wager the minute you get out of my sight, you'll take off the moccasins and cram your feet back into those tight boots. I thought you would at least have the decency to stay around for a few days so that I could make sure they are going to be all right. But no, not you! You have to go gallivanting off without anyone to look after you!" She wagged her finger at him. "When they rot and fall off, just don't tell anybody I doctored them! You're not going to ruin my reputation — the reputation it took years for me to build!" She sat back down, jarring the swing when she did so.
It was all Adam could do to keep a straight face as he turned to her. "Years, Blair?"
"Yes, years, and don't you dare make any snide remarks about my age," she snipped.
Warren breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a rider approaching the house. That would put an end to Blair's caterwauling. "Hush, Blair, and try to behave yourself," he said in a stern voice.
Blair could not ever remember feeling so ridiculous. Not only had she succeeded in making herself look the fool to Adam, she had failed Coy miserably. If only she or Warren had talked to Adam in the beginning, in all likelihood he would have helped. But now when he left, he’d probably never come back.
Adam started to rise. "Since you have company, I’ll go out to the barn."
Warren stopped him. "No, that's all right, I’d like for you to stay. Tom Bastrop is my neighbor, I think you ought to meet him. Next to the Bar 4, he has the biggest spread in this area. He is also one of the most respected ranchers around."
"But . . . ?" Adam glanced at Warren curiously.
"You're very observant, my friend. But I personally don't like him. It's nothing I can put my finger on either, but ... let me put it this way; I get a nervous feeling whenever I turn my back to him."
"Oh, I see. I've met men like that before and I always try to listen to my hunch; it's usually right."
"Blair," Warren said, standing and leaning against the porch supports, "go tell Tillie to warm up the coffee, and ask her if there was any pie left from supper."
Anxious for a few minutes in which to compose herself, Blair hurried into the house.
Bastrop dismounted and tied his horse at the hitching post. He strode easily up the walkway, propped his foot on the bottom step and rested an arm on his leg.
"Howdy, Tom," Warren greeted him amicably. "Come on up and sit a spell. We were about to have pie and coffee. By the way, this is a friend of mine, Adam Cahill . . . Tom Bastrop."
The men exchanged handshakes. Then Tom stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Adam Cahill. That name has a familiar ring to it, seems I've heard it before but I can't place your face."
Adam had wanted to keep his occupation a secret, but undoubtedly this man had heard of him before, his reaction had been too genuine. With some men little annoyances such as this were as worrisome as a flea on a dog until they remembered who, where, when, or what it was bothering them. Since Tom Bastrop was supposed to be respectable, he might as well reveal who he was, get it out in the open and there would be less of a chance for it to come back later and haunt him.
"Maybe there's a reason why my name sounds familiar. You might have heard of my reputation. If so, don't believe but maybe half of it—you know how rumors blow the truth all out of proportion. I am a deputy marshal out of Fort Smith."
Recognition dawned in Tom's eyes. "Oh, so that's where I've heard your name." Frowning, he glanced anxiously at Warren. "You been having trouble?"
"None we can't handle. And before you read Adam's presence here the wrong way, he's not here on official business, it's strictly personal."
Tom's tone hinted of disappointment. "For a minute there, I hoped it was official, maybe it would have . . . Let me get to the heart of the matter," he stated firmly. "I'm losing too many cattle to those homesteaders, the other ranchers around here are, too. And I figure you are losing more than you are willing to admit. Hell, it isn't just cattle either. The other night I caught some kids stealing chickens out of my coop. Chickens, for christsakes!"
"What do you propose we do?" Warren asked softly. His quiet calmness betrayed none of the anger boiling inside him.
"Hell, I’m not sure. I do know we can't let them get away with it. If we do, once that land is open they will keep helping themselves until we're out of business."
"Did you ever stop to think that the stealing should slack off once the land is open?"
"And did you ever hear of a fox stopping after one successful raid on a henhouse?" Tom countered, then shook his head in disbelief. "I’ll tell you, Warren, I’m surprised at your attitude. I figured you'd be one of the first to arm your men and try to put a stop to this crap!"
"Hold it just a damn minute!" Warren's eyes glittered angrily. "I feel like I'm having to walk a-straddle a barbed wire fence. Right now I'm doing everything within my power to hold my family and the ranch together. The government knows we've been the most active members in the Indian Governing Council. They also know we strongly objected to the land being opened —and when I say strongly objected,' that means we raised hell! So, at the first sign of trouble or resistance, they'll hold the Townsends responsible for it." His shoulders sagged as though too weary to fight any longer. "We're heading into the twentieth century, Tom. The days of range wars and settling scores with guns are long past. We have to at least wait and give the justice system a chance to work. I'm not going out to look for trouble, but I'll protect my property though. I've given the men orders to bring anybody suspicious to the house, and if they resist, to shoot them."
"Your intentions sound honorable and ..." ,
"I'm not finished, Tom. And no, I'm not that noble, nor am I unwilling to fight for what it has taken years to build." He glanced at Adam who was listening quietly. "I'm not speaking in front of my friend now, I’m speaking in front of the deputy marshal —so be forewarned, Adam. I’m sure this is how many of the ranchers and farmers wound here feel. I’m willing to wait until they Open the land —I’m willing to wait and see if we receive the law enforcement we've been promised. But right now, federal troops would be called in at the first sign of serious trouble. The Apache Indian wars are still too fresh on the soldiers' minds, and regardless of who was right or wrong in this particular situation, their sentiments would he with the homesteaders, and we'd just be another bunch of heathen Indians. But, after the land is opened, if there is no attempt to enforce law and order, you won't have to ask for my help, Tom. I'll be riding right beside you!"
"I can't say that I agree with everything you said, but at least I know where you . . ." He was interrupted when the front screen opened and a young woman stepped out of the porch. From the way the evening sun was shining on the woman's face, her features were indistinguishable . . . but he knew her. A piercing jolt tore through him as though he had been struck by lightning. Oh, God, how he knew her!
"Pie and coffee, gentlemen?" she asked, smiling politely, waiting for Warren to move the checkerboard to provide a space on which to set the tray.
''Megan?" Tom muttered in disbelief as he took a faltering step toward Blair.
"I beg your pardon?" Blair slowly stepped back, glancing awkwardly at Warren.
She was not actually frightened by the strange expression on Tom Bastrop's face, but it made her feel somewhat disturbed.
"Megan . . . but how . . . ?" The moment the girl stepped back into the shadows, he could easily see she was not who he thought her to be. He quickly removed his hat. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I thought you were . . . someone else. I hope I didn't frighten you."
She smiled pleasantly. "You didn't." Setting the tray on the table, she folded her arms and turned back to him. "Tom Bastrop, can you honestly say you do not remember me?"
"No, ma'am, I can't say that I . . . " Then he blinked and looked at her again. "Blair Townsend?"
Nodding graciously, a touch of color spread across her cheeks when she noticed his look of astonishment had quickly changed into admiration. "Yes."
"Why, the last time I saw you, the men called you ‘the terror of the Bar 4', you wore braids, men's britches, and you even ran around with a gun strapped on. And, as I recall, you were always going varmint hunting. Tell me, did you ever catch any?" he teased.
Casting a quick glance at Adam, she then raised her chin a bit too superciliously. "There are a few times I can think of when I was rather sucessful."
"If you'll permit me to be so forward, the beautiful young woman I see standing here bears absolutely no resemblance to that little girl I was referring to."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Bastrop. But four long years can cause many changes." Blair suddenly wished she had a fan to flutter.
"Call me Tom. Mr. Bastrop makes me sound too old, and besides, it's much too formal."
"All right . . . Tom," she murmured in a husky voice, demurely lowering her eyes. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Adam's face turning colors. It had changed from his normal complexion tone, to a mottled pink, and was now blazing a brilliant shade of scarlet.