by Jill Gregory
Stop thinking about that. Where’s your backbone? she wondered crossly and yanked the trigger too fiercely, only to find that she’d hit an entirely different tree than the one she’d aimed at.
“Looks like you need a break.” Wade took the rifle from her and set it down. He brought out a water canteen from his saddlebag and offered it to her.
Her throat was dry. She took a long sip and handed the canteen back to him, then they sank down together upon the grass.
Wade plucked a blade of grass, then another. “You’ve got a good eye and a steady arm.” He squinted at her through the sunshine. “But . . .”
“But what?”
“You’re not focusing on the target the way you should. When it comes to shooting, you can’t be distracted, can’t let other thoughts or emotions get in the way.” He studied her, his voice matter-of-fact. “You got something on your mind?”
What isn’t on my mind? Him. Becky. Getting back to Philadelphia. And steering clear of Dominic Trent.
“A few things,” she murmured, swallowing.
She should have known he wouldn’t be deterred by a vague answer.
“Like what?”
The man was as persistent as a mosquito. And just as annoying. “My sister.” She blurted out the words. They were only partly true, though she had been worried over not hearing from Becky. “She has yet to reply to the first letter I wrote her after arriving here. That was two weeks ago! I hope she’s all right.”
“Any reason why she wouldn’t be?”
She ran her fingers through the blades of grass, looking down at the slender green stalks. “The death of our parents was a horrible blow to her. To both of us,” she said quietly.
There was a silence during which the only sound was the faint rustle of the bright new leaves. “Yeah.” Wade studied her profile. “I’m sure it was.” He cleared his throat. “We knew Reese was dying, that his heart was giving out, but it didn’t make it any easier once he was gone. Fact is, it hurt like hell.”
There was a sorrow in his eyes that stabbed straight into her heart. She nodded, her throat filling with a painful lump, but whether the pain was for him or for herself—or for both of them, she couldn’t be certain.
“Reese was prepared,” Wade went on quietly. “He was ready to die, said all his good-byes. All his papers were in order.”
“I noticed.” But she was surprised by how little bitterness she felt at this moment. Every day in this beautiful country, on the awesomely vigorous ranch that ran so smoothly thanks to Wade, it was getting harder and harder to hate Cloud Ranch.
“But your folks,” he said slowly, “didn’t know what was coming.” His gaze was fixed intently on her. “On top of losing them so suddenly, I reckon you had a bundle of headaches trying to get their affairs in order.”
Caitlin thought of the way her legs had given out when Gillis’s lawyer had told her the facts, the way she’d sunk into the chair, nausea churning inside her.
“You could say that,” she whispered.
She heard the trace of bitterness in her own words and felt her cheeks flush. She glanced at him, hoping he hadn’t noticed, but of course he had. Wade noticed everything.
“Want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing much to say.”
“That little tremble in your lip tells me otherwise.”
Her eyes flew to his face. His penetrating gaze seemed to reach into her soul, into her mind, touching every painful secret.
“It was . . . difficult,” she admitted slowly.
“Because . . .”
“It’s none of your—”
“You said once that I didn’t know anything about your life. Well, here’s your chance to tell me.”
Suddenly the urge to talk to him about what had happened in Philadelphia welled up in her, like water swelling over a dam.
“My adoptive father—Gillis—had apparently gambled away his fortune,” she said in a low, quick tone. “That took a lot of doing because his fortune was vast. No one knew—at least, I don’t think my mother knew. Certainly not me or Becky.” She studied an elk that appeared suddenly, high on a distant ridge. “But after their ship went down, all of Philadelphia knew. Gillis owed money to almost everyone, it seemed. It was . . . quite a scandal.” She tried to sound light, sophisticated, and unconcerned as she said these last words, and failed miserably. Beside her, she sensed the sudden tension in Wade.
“Sounds bad.”
“Oh, yes. It was. Very bad.” It was the merest whisper.
“A scandal, huh? Bet that must have hurt you—and your sister.”
“We’re going to be fine,” Caitlin replied swiftly. She took a deep breath. “It was a great shock at first—as was losing them at sea—but now . . . everything is under control.”
Wade watched her face, a study in elegance, pride, and quiet courage. He couldn’t help feeling a surge of admiration.
“So . . . the Tamarlane fortune. You don’t . . . you’re not . . .” He scowled. “He didn’t leave you anything, is that what you’re saying?”
Caitlin’s chin rose and she met his gaze unflinchingly. “That pretty well sums it up, yes. But I have this ranch.” Suddenly her arm swept out, encompassing the wild, awe-some countryside, the plains of endless sagebrush, the foothills, and all of Silver Valley where Cloud Ranch sat proudly. “Once I can sell my portion of it,” she said, enunciating each word, “Becky and I will get on just fine.”
There was a small silence. “Where would you go if you did sell it?” Wade asked.
“When I sell it,” Caitlin responded, emphasizing the first word with some asperity, “Becky and I will travel to Boston, or perhaps Chicago. We’ll start over, just the two of us. I’ll have money to get started on a new life for us, and I’ll find some sort of respectable position.”
Wade read the determination in her eyes and he didn’t doubt for a moment that Caitlin Summers would manage just fine on her own. He also guessed it wouldn’t take long before some man in Boston or Chicago fell in love with her, offered her marriage and a home, and changed the scenario entirely. Hell, half the men in those cities would probably fall in love with her, he thought, scowling grimly. Fools that they were. Not only was she beautiful, but she was brave, and better than most at arithmetic— and she had that air of dignity about her. Not to mention that sinfully lush mouth, he thought desperately, and those high, beautiful breasts . . .
Suddenly the thought of some other man kissing those lips, touching those breasts, filled him with a boiling pain. And a rage that made his chest hurt. “I reckon I still don’t understand.” He spoke tautly. It took effort to keep his voice steady as he imagined her in another man’s arms.
“Why do you have to sell in the first place—just to go to some big city?” He threw down the blades of grass he’d been plucking and stared hard into her eyes. “Why not just stay here on Cloud Ranch? Bring Becky here, like I said before. It’s a good place to grow up—you won’t find a better one. Your little sister doesn’t need some fancy eastern school, if that’s what you’re worried about. Luanne happens to be a damned fine teacher and Hope has a library now—”
He broke off as she suddenly went pale. Was it the mention of Luanne’s name that had made her look that way? Or what he’d said about Cloud Ranch being a good place to grow up?
Caitlin was scrambling to her feet, so he sprang to his, and seized her hands when she would have pulled away. “Hold on. Tell me what I said that made you turn all . . .” He groped for the right word. “Skittish,” he said at last.
“Maybe this was a good place for you and your brothers to grow up, but my own father didn’t want me here.”
“He damn well did!” Wade stared at her incredulously. “He left you forty percent of the finest ranch in the territory, and made sure his will spelled out that you had to stay here and give the place a try—if that’s not a sign of wanting you here, I don’t know what is.”
“He never wanted me before—whe
n he was alive— when I was growing up! Maybe you and your brothers were enough family for him, and so he didn’t care about me. I wrote to him and he never once answered—not once!”
She hated that her voice was shaking but she couldn’t help it. Once the words had started she couldn’t seem to hold them back. “I wanted to visit Cloud Ranch so badly—I used to dream of it, pray for it—every night. I even asked him for a photograph but—”
She stopped, staring at Wade. He appeared stunned, as if she’d thrown a pail of stones over his head, and sharp stones at that.
“You wrote to him?” he demanded.
“Of course. Several times. First when I was eight and then—what is it?”
He gripped her shoulders. “He never received any letters from you, Caitlin.”
“Yes, he did.” Her eyes flashed in the sunlight. “My mother gave me the proper address herself—I wrote it out so painstakingly, every letter clear and as perfect as I could make it.”
“Caitlin!” He gave her a small shake. The hard planes of his face were rigid with tension. “He never received a single letter from you!”
The words shocked her. She would have rocked back, dizzy, except that he was holding her so tightly she couldn’t move.
“I . . . don’t understand,” she managed faintly.
“There’s more.” Steel-blue eyes imprisoned hers. His voice was rough. “He wrote to you. I know he did. I took the letters to the post office myself.”
“You did? He really . . .?” The shock was still flooding through her. How was it possible that Reese hadn’t received her letters and she hadn’t received his? “When did he write to me?”
His mouth was grim. “Before your birthday—every year from the time you left until you were twelve. And at Christmas. He invited you to Cloud Ranch, Caitlin, I know he did, because he told me and Nick and Clint that his little girl might be coming for a visit. And then, when there wasn’t a reply,” he said in a low tone, “he’d get quiet for a while. Sad. He grieved for you, Caitlin, whether you can believe it or not. I watched it and felt helpless.” He didn’t tell her that he’d also felt alarmed at how much love could hurt a man.
“It was a damned unpleasant feeling knowing that no matter how much he loved me and Nick and Clint—and he did—we couldn’t fill up that empty spot he had in his heart—the place where you belonged.”
Had she truly belonged somewhere in her father’s heart? Had there been a place for her here after all?
“What could have happened?” She spoke dazedly. “To his letters—and mine?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Suddenly his hand came up and cupped her chin. “But I don’t want you to go one more day thinking Reese didn’t want you or care about you. That’s so far from the truth, it’d be laughable, if it didn’t hurt so much.”
Caitlin was trying to take in all he was saying. She was thinking back over the years, when she’d felt that her father had turned his back on her. She’d had Gillis, and her mother—when they hadn’t been traveling in Europe— or visiting friends at their Newport cottages—and of course, she’d had Becky, but always deep inside, there had been a tiny forlorn part of her that wondered why her real father had shut her completely from his life.
It changed everything—everything she’d ever thought about Reese, everything she’d ever felt about Cloud Ranch.
Suddenly she saw the terms of the will in a whole different light. “I wonder—do you think he knew . . . about Gillis—that Becky and I had been left . . .” She hesitated, then forced herself to say it aloud, “Destitute? Do you think that’s why he left me the ranch and insisted I stay here for a year? So I—we—would have a home?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. I know he had that lawyer of his check some things out back east while the papers were all being finalized. I can talk to McCain. And . . .” Wade suddenly realized something else.
“What is it?”
“When he was lying on his deathbed, he asked me to do something for him.” He took a deep breath. “He asked me to look after you. Made me promise I would.”
His gut clenched at the agonizing emotions that flashed across her exquisite face—pain mixed with joy and dawning hope, a young girl’s hope to be loved, and suddenly his arms were around her and he was holding her so close that he could feel her heartbeat deep in his bones.
“So he must have known,” Wade said against her hair, “that you were in some sort of trouble, though he never actually told me. But he wanted my word. Almost the last thing he ever said—he asked for my word.”
She closed her eyes, trembling as she tried to picture the father she could barely remember speaking of her with his last breath.
“And there’s something else you need to know.” Wade didn’t even glance up as the shadow of an eagle passed overhead, the great bird swooping up, up toward its eyrie in the mountains. “I’ll stand by that promise.” His voice was purposeful. “No matter what, Caitlin, you can always count on me. On Nick and Clint, too. We’ll take care of you, stand by you. See you through every kind of trouble.”
But suddenly Caitlin was remembering other promises made by other men. The sight of Alec Ballantree’s pitying face as he turned and left her filled her mind. She pulled free of Wade’s embrace and stepped back.
“That won’t be necessary. I can take care of myself.”
Wade stared at her. “You don’t have to . . . that’s the point . . .”
“I’m glad to know that Reese wanted you to look after me—that he cared about me. More glad than I can say.” There was a tiny quaver in her voice. She swallowed and endeavored to bring it under control. “But I learned after my mother and Gillis died that counting on someone else, no matter who, isn’t a very good idea.”
Wade wondered with a stab of fury who had hurt her. And how. “Too bad,” he said softly. “Because you’re stuck with me. And my promise.”
He smiled as he said it, a quiet, reassuring smile that made her want to run into his arms. Instead she steeled herself and turned away toward the horses.
“We should get to town. My letter . . . Please?”
He followed her in silence.
Caitlin only knew she couldn’t concentrate on shooting anymore today. There was too much to think about—the fact that her letters had never reached Reese, and that his hadn’t come to her, filled her with astonishment, relief, and a raging tangle of emotions.
And she couldn’t sort them out with Wade Barclay right beside her. She felt too vulnerable around him as it was. She had to stay away from him. She had to think clearly. And she had to come to terms with this revelation and see how it affected her plans for the future.
No sooner had Wade helped her into the saddle than she snatched up the reins. “Which way to Hope?” she asked briskly, and he jerked his thumb to the east.
“But first—one more thing.” Wade placed his hand over hers so she couldn’t move the reins. “Who’s Dominic Trent?”
Caitlin felt the color ebb from her cheeks. She cursed herself for ever having uttered his name to Wade. Or Alec’s.
“He’s someone I don’t want to talk about,” she muttered, and yanked her hand free.
As he stepped back, she turned Star sharply and spurred her forward. Toward Hope. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Wade gazing after her. Tall, handsome, steady, the sight of him sliced through her heart. He had a quiet strength that had drawn her from the first moment she set eyes on him.
And then there’s his two-timing nature, she reminded herself. Don’t be a fool.
Any woman in her right mind would ride away from such a man.
She tightened her grip on the reins and rode faster.
Chapter 16
The first person Caitlin spotted in town was Jake Young. He was in front of the feed store, loading bulging brown sacks into the wagon.
“Howdy, there, Miss Summers.”
“Jake.” She gave him a warm smile. “If I’d known you were going to town today, I’d
have come with you.” She paused beside him and he blushed, wiping the sweat from his square-jawed face with his neckerchief.
“That would’ve been my pleasure, ma’am. You didn’t ride here all alone, did you?”
“No. Not today. Wade accompanied me.” She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the blacksmith’s shop. Wade had caught up to her easily before she’d ridden a quarter of a mile, but they’d barely spoken during the remainder of the ride to town. He’d tethered their horses outside of the blacksmith’s and she’d left him there conversing with Jethro Plum while she headed straight toward Hicks Mercantile.
“If you’re too tired to ride all the way back, we could hitch Star to the wagon, and you could come with me,” Jake offered eagerly.
“Oh, how kind. But I’m not tired at all, Jake—I love to ride. Thank you for the offer, though.”
But as she smiled and walked on, another male voice called out to her.
“Caitlin!”
Drew Raleigh had just emerged from the saloon, looking tall, fit, and prosperous. His neat suit was as immaculate as his center-parted, handsome head of hair. He strode toward her and she paused once more, but the smile she gave him was cooler than the one she’d offered Jake Young.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Raleigh.”
“Drew,” he reminded her. The charming smile that seemed somehow familiar flashed and stayed in place. “I’ve been meaning to come calling. Unfortunately, my business has kept me pretty occupied.”
“Oh? Have you found a property to invest in then?”
“Not yet, but I’m an optimist, Caitlin. I think the right opportunity is bound to come along and I can afford to wait. Matter of fact I’d like to talk to you about just that. Would you allow me the pleasure of treating you to a glass of lemonade and some cherry pie at the diner?”
His smile deepened, exhibiting smooth confidence she would concur. In that instant, something clicked inside her head. Something about that confident smile—yes, she had definitely seen Drew Raleigh somewhere before. For some reason she thought of the lobby of the Opera House . . .