Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel)

by Lyles, Rebecca Carey

  Chapter Seven

  “IT’S MIKE. CAN I come in?”

  Kate set the lamp down and hurried to open the door.

  He staggered in, chest heaving. “The guy headed toward the highway. Probably parked up there.” He bent over, hands on his knees, sucking in air. “I would have followed him, but I thought he might circle back. Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head and sank onto the couch. Her legs felt like boiled noodles.

  He dropped into the recliner and pointed at the bathroom. “I’ll figure out how to unlock that door before I nail a couple boards across the window.” He drew another breath. “It won’t look all that great, but at least the hole will be covered until we replace the glass.”

  “Thanks for chasing him. How did you know he was in here?”

  “I didn’t know. I was on my way to the barn to check on a mare that’s about to foal and heard yelling.” He reached for the telephone. “I’d better call the sheriff.”

  “No!”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  Whoops. Maybe that was a bit strong.

  “You can’t be serious.” His hand hovered above the handset.

  “Please don’t call.” The sheriff would figure out how she knew Ramsey. Then Laura would fire her and she’d have to go back—

  “Why not?” He stared at her, the eyebrow still cocked.

  “They can’t find him in the dark.”

  “Finding people is what the officers are trained to do, no matter the time of day or night.”

  She was exhausted and afraid of what she might reveal if she talked about her relationship with Ramsey. She showed Mike her raw palms. “I just want to clean my wounds and go to bed. I’ve been driving for days.”

  He dropped his hand to his knee. “Sorry, I forgot. But still, you can’t stay here. He might return. You can sleep in our guest room.”

  No, she couldn’t. Laura would ask questions she didn’t care to answer. “You scared him away. He won’t be back tonight.”

  “I’d like to believe that, but—”

  “I’ll be okay, really.” If he returned, she’d be ready for him.

  “This is the first time we’ve had anything like this happen on the ranch. Had you ever seen him …” He tilted his head and sniffed. “Booze. Is that what I smell?”

  All she could smell was Brut aftershave. But she was grateful for the change of subject. “He’d been drinking …” She pointed to the empty glass. “But he was sober enough to grab the bottle on the way out.” Typical. He’d always had fast, sticky fingers. The other officers never caught him stealing their stuff.

  He dug a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and studied it for a moment. “Receipt for work gloves. Shouldn’t need it again.” He felt another pocket before picking up the pen she’d placed by the phone. “Okay if I use this?”

  “Sure.”

  He flipped over the receipt and laid it on the end table. “I’ll give you the house and office numbers. Call anytime, day or night. If I’m not around, have Mom contact me on the radio. I have a nasty bison bull who’d give that snake the ride of his life.”

  She couldn’t help but grin. Not quite how they said things in Pennsylvania.

  He stood and handed her the paper. “I’m sorry this happened.”

  The touch of his fingertips against hers triggered a current she felt all the way to her toes. Kate blinked. She didn’t usually like men touching her.

  He slipped her pen into his pocket.

  She didn’t say anything. It was just a pen. Besides, he’d rescued her from Ramsey and saved her from a fight to the death. She would have fought with every fiber of her being. One of them would not have survived.

  “Too bad this happened to you.” Mike’s forehead furrowed. “Whispering Pines has always been a safe place. We’ve never had to worry about security.”

  “It was my fault. I didn’t lock the door.” Thanks to Cyrus Moore.

  “You shouldn’t have to lock the door, but you’d better now.” He rubbed his chin. “I’ll warn the others who live on the property to lock their doors to protect their valuables. Mom always tells the guests to lock up, so we’re covered there.”

  He sounded tired and discouraged. She could tell by the way he rubbed his leg that it hurt. She wiped blood from her swollen lip, wishing she could explain that the intruder wasn’t looking for valuables. He was looking for her.

  ***

  Kate arrived in the ranch kitchen two minutes before her starting time.

  “What in tarnation?” Cyrus stopped what he was doing to stare. “Ya run into a fence post?”

  She glared at him. “I tripped.”

  “Better take it easy today.” He motioned to Fletcher, who stood at the sink filling a large coffee pot with water. ”We can handle breakfast.”

  Sure, and then he’d tell everyone what a slacker she was. “I’m scheduled to work this morning and am quite capable of doing whatever is asked of me.”

  “Suit yourself.” He pointed to a rack of eggs on the counter. “How about cracking those eggs into that bowl?”

  Her palms burned with each eggshell she broke. But she kept at it. Later, as she whisked cream into the eggs, she watched employees gather in the rustic dining room. She didn’t know much about ranch hands, but these hardy-looking men in plaid shirts and worn Levis looked the part. Their hat-creased hair, white foreheads, tanned faces and scuffed boots spoke of physical labor and life in the outdoors. The air held a hint of hay and soap.

  Kate saw two girls about high-school age talking in the corner, the only females she’d seen other than Laura. No wonder Cyrus resented her. She scanned at the men again. Did Mike eat breakfast at home or in the dining hall? She felt a flush climb up her neck. Not that it mattered.

  Soon, she was helping Cyrus arrange steaming platters of scrambled eggs, sausage patties and fresh-from-the-oven biscuits on the serving-window ledge. “Any of the other staff members from out of town?”

  He leaned across the ledge and called into the dining room, “Come ‘n’ get it.” He nodded to Kate. “Yeah, a couple of ‘em—one guy from the Steamboat Springs college, and another from the university in Laramie. Most all the hands live nearby, except for the occasional drifter Mrs. D hires.”

  After they finished serving the crew, Cyrus and Fletcher joined the others in the dining room, where the morning chatter was subdued but congenial. Kate tottered after them, her new jeans chafing her knees through the gauze she’d taped over her wounds. She found the girls and carefully lowered herself into a chair across from them.

  “Hi.” The blonde spoke first. “Are you a college student?”

  Kate smiled and felt her bottom lip split, again. “I just graduated.” She dabbed the lip with her napkin.

  “I’m Bethany.” She had hazel eyes and a splash of freckles across her nose. “And this is Trisha. We’ll be juniors next year.”

  “Nice to meet you both. My name is Kate.” She didn’t offer her sore hands for a handshake. Instead, she reached for the butter. “I was glad to see other feminine faces this morning.”

  Trisha laughed. “You’ll get used to being a minority.” She had dark brown eyes and hair. “We were, like, the only two girls last summer. But the guys are all nice, even Cyrus. He’s not as mean as he sounds.”

  That’s what you think, honey. Kate held her knife between her finger and her thumb to butter the biscuit. The girl was too young to be labeled an over-educated husband hunter.

  Bethany leaned close. “I kind a like it when Cyrus gets mad. Mrs. Duncan doesn’t allow swearing, so he makes up funny words.”

  “He does use colorful language.”

  “And about being the only girls, we have tons of female guests.” She glanced at Trisha.

  They both giggled.

  “Yeah. Single women adore ...” Trisha raised her hands to her shoulders and wiggled them back and forth. “I mean, like, adore, cowboys.”

  “Well, I’m single, and I don’t adore co
wboys.”

  Seeing the startled looks on the girls’ faces, Kate realized how prickly she sounded. “Sorry. I just don’t want people to think that’s why I came to this ranch.”

  Bethany looked at Kate’s shirt. “You’re not like them. Their blouses are unbuttoned way low, and their Levis are so tight they can barely throw their legs over a saddle. They wear tons of makeup and jewelry, they …”

  Kate chuckled. “I get the point.”

  Trisha added her two bits. “Their western outfits are always brand new. Plus, they wear hats with neck straps.”

  Kate felt her face warming as she thought of her recently purchased clothing. Shopping for something to replace prison orange had been an exciting adventure for her and Amy. At least her hat didn’t tie under her chin.

  Trisha reached for her juice. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your face? It must hurt.”

  Kate wrinkled her nose. She should have known there’d be questions. “I tripped on the path last night.” She showed them her palms. “I’m sore, but nothing’s broken.”

  As the girls chattered, Kate sensed the curious glances of the men at nearby tables. How to make a great first impression. Not only was she the odd duck from the East Coast, she looked like she’d ridden a motorcycle through a sandstorm.

  Trisha gave her an overview of life at the ranch. “Everybody pitches in and does whatever needs to be done. Right, Bethany?”

  “Yeah. We’re assigned certain duties for the day, but if there’s a big trail ride coming up and the wranglers need help, we all saddle horses and help the guests mount. Or, if we get behind on cabin cleaning, the entire crew cleans cabins.”

  Trisha nodded. “Mrs. D says we’re a team. It won’t take you long to get the hang of it.”

  “I hope I catch on fast.” Kate set her fork on her plate. “Ranching is all new to me.”

  “You’ll do fine. It was new to us last year.”

  Bethany buttered a second biscuit. “We were town girls who didn’t know a thing about ranching. But we learned fast, didn’t we, Trish?”

  Trisha, who was staring at the dining room entrance, didn’t respond. The room quieted, and others turned toward the doorway. “Can you believe it, Beth?” Trisha lowered her voice to a whisper. “They must have, like, let him out early.”

  Kate studied the dark-haired young man. Head down, he shuffled toward the serving window. He appeared to be Hispanic, maybe sixteen-years old, of medium-to-slight build. Similar to the others, he was dressed in jeans, boots and a long-sleeved work shirt.

  She turned to the girls. “Is he an employee?”

  “Mrs. D is such a softie.” Bethany’s voice was barely above a murmur. “She must have hired him again. Manuel worked here last summer—until he was sent to reform school, that is.” She scraped her chair back. “We’ll tell you about him later.”

  Trisha stood. “We’d better get busy. We’re supposed to clean stalls this morning.”

  The girls took their dishes to the kitchen and left. The men in the room began to converse again in low tones. Kate drank her coffee, which was stronger than what she was used to. But maybe it would help her stay awake after so few hours of sleep.

  She watched Manuel find a seat at the far end of a mostly empty table. Whatever he did, it couldn’t be any worse than anything she’d done. And his remorse was obvious. After a few years in the pen, it was easy to tell the difference between those who were sorry for their wrongdoing and those who were not—the Jerry Ramseys of the world.

  She thought about the events of the previous evening. After Mike opened the bathroom door and nailed boards across the window, she’d washed her wounds and applied the first-aid cream his mom sent over. She smiled. The memory of Mike’s touch and his earnest concern for her well-being made her insides do somersaults. But …

  She sighed. He’d been kind last night. Nothing more, nothing less. Plus, he was a man, and she had yet to meet a man she could trust, other than her dad and Uncle Dean. It was her uncle’s hunting knife she’d placed under her pillow last night, fully aware she hadn’t seen the last of her former lover.

  Kate stood, picked up her dishes and carried them to the kitchen, where she placed them in a basin filled with soapy water and started toward the back door.

  “Where in the blazes do you think you’re going?”

  She swiveled to face Cyrus, who blocked the opening between the kitchen and the dining room. “To the office. You told me I was supposed to see Mrs. Duncan after breakfast.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “Like what?” Her tone was defiant, and she knew it.

  “Warshin’ the dishes.”

  She hesitated. “I didn’t realize I was …”

  Cyrus hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and raised both crumpled eyebrows. “As they say, men may work from sun to sun, but women’s work is never done.”

  Kate clenched her fists. She’d had enough of the sarcastic old man. She stepped toward him just as a young cowboy peeked in the serving window.

  “Cyrus Moore, you ornery old codger. You know Mrs. D says there’s no such thing as women’s work or men’s work around here. And those who help fix a meal stay to do the clean-up afterwards.”

  He grinned at Kate. “In case no one told you, kitchen duty includes the clean-up afterward.”

  “Just pullin’ her leg.” Cyrus stomped past Kate on his way to the sink, a smirk tugging at his creased cheeks. “Gotcha.”

  Kate grabbed an apron. What an ornery old man. At what point had she forgotten that people outside penitentiary walls could be just as disgusting as those on the inside? And why had she’d expected Wyoming men to be different than Pennsylvania men?

  ***

  The ranch office was located off the hallway between the lobby and the Duncan’s living quarters.

  “Hi, Kate.” Laura rose to her feet. “Oh, my goodness. Mike told me you fell, but I didn’t realize … How do you feel?”

  “Okay. Just a little sore.”

  “If you say so.” Laura didn’t sound convinced. “Let me know if you need something—aspirin, time off, anything.” She gestured toward a man seated in a wheelchair at a desk near the back of the room. “Coach, come meet Kate Neilson.”

  The brawny man sported a salt-and-pepper buzz cut and a black tee-shirt with the words “Copperville High School Cougars” emblazoned in gold across the front. The muscles in his forearms rippled as he spun his chair toward them.

  “Welcome.” His handshake was painfully firm. “We’re glad to have you on the team.” His boyish grin convinced her he meant his words.

  “Thank you. Do I call you Coach or …?”

  “My name is Rob Murphy, but—”

  Laura spoke for him. “But everyone calls him Coach. He heads up the sports at Copperville’s elementary, middle and high schools.”

  “So you coach and work here?”

  Laura placed her hand on his shoulder. “Coach also teaches business classes at the high school. Knowing it would be tough this first summer without Dan, he offered to come in a couple days a week to help us with the bookkeeping.” She paused. “I am more grateful than words can express.”

  He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Glad to help.” He turned to Kate. “You must have taken quite a tumble.”

  “I learned my first lesson about mountain living—carry a flashlight at night.”

  He chuckled. “I know what you mean. I have a flashlight in the glove compartment of my car, but the last time I needed it, the batteries were dead. Better add extra batteries to your list.”

  “Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

  He swung his chair toward a third desk. “This will be your computer. I’ve got you set up on our network.”

  Laura returned to her work.

  Kate followed Coach and sat at the desk, savoring the moment. Her own desk. Her own computer. A real job on the outside.

  He clicked on the screen. “Your e-mail account address
is katen@wpinesranch.org.” He turned to face her. “My niece’s name is Katelyn Newport, but I call her Katy-N. Maybe that’s what I’ll call you, too.”

  Kate smiled. She hadn’t had a nickname—well, a nice one—since her dad called her Joy Bug years ago. Okay by me.”

  He grinned. “What do you want to use for network and e-mail passwords?”

  “How many letters do I need?”

  She heard the lobby screen door squeak open and slam shut followed by the sound of footsteps tapping down the hallway toward the office.

  “A combination of at least six alpha letters and numeric characters.”

  “I might as well make them easy to remember. How about PA12345 for the network and WY54321 for e-mail?”

  “Oops, you shouldn’t have told me.” His eyes twinkled. “This is a highly secure operation.”

  Laura laughed. “That will be the day.”

  Tara Hughes stuck her head into the room. “Well, well, well. What a cozy little crew.” She posed in the doorway, one hand high on the doorframe and the other on her hip, her perfume wafting into the room. She winked at Coach. “Changing careers?”

  “Of course not.” Laura folded her arms. “He’s just helping us out for the summer.” She eyed Tara’s lime-green halter top, short navy shorts and high-heeled sandals. “You look ready for summer, though it seems a bit cool for—”

  “No use hiding this cute little package, is there?”

  Laura’s nostrils flared and she took a deep breath before motioning toward Kate. “Tara, I’d like you to meet …”

  Engulfed by Tara’s oppressive, flowery fragrance, Kate sneezed.

  Coach and Laura echoed a “bless you,” but Tara ignored the sneeze and dismissed the introduction with a don’t-bother wave. “We already met down at Grandma’s.” She looked Kate up and down. “You must have lost the fight.”

  “So, Tara …” Coach sounded impatient. “What can we do for you today?”

  She glanced at his useless legs. “You can’t do anything for me.”

  He flipped his chair around and reached for the keyboard. “Now, where were we?”

  Kate heard Laura repeat the question.

  Tara answered in an unnecessarily loud voice. “I’m looking for Mikey. Is he around today, or is he with those silly buffalo?”