The Best Man

by Maggie Osborne

  Jerking out of his grip, she pushed to her feet. “What about my sisters? Do they also get eighty thousand if we lose?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Les, don’t be stupid. We don’t care about them. Did I ever tell you the insulting things Alex said to me?” His eyes narrowed. “Believe me, she doesn’t deserve a penny. And Freddy? That slut doesn’t deserve anything either! Forget about them and think about us! Remember where your duty lies. By accepting Caldwell’s offer, we ruin Frisco, and we set ourselves up for life! It’s perfect.”

  “You’re asking me to betray my sisters,” she said, staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. “You’re asking me to forget how hard I worked to learn what I had to learn, asking me to toss aside all the hardship and suffering. Getting gored was for nothing.”

  “I’m not asking you,” Ward said sharply, standing to face her. “I’m telling you.” A warning glittered in his eyes. “Try to think smart for once. All the hardships you and I have endured, all the sacrifices we’ve made, it won’t be for nothing, not if we end with eighty thousand dollars. You owe me that.”

  Her hands were shaking and her words emerged in a stammer. She knew the inevitable end of this discussion unless she hastily backed down. But she thought of Alex and Freddy, and how they had been willing to guarantee her share of the inheritance even if she left the drive. Of course, that wouldn’t matter to Ward.

  “If we help Lola cheat, then what are we? We become equally dishonorable. And we betray good people who deserve better. I can’t do that. I won’t.”

  He backhanded her across the face, sending her sprawling. Drops of spittle flew from his lips when he leaned over her, his face ugly in the smoky light. “You’re so stupid you make me sick! You want us to lose so we can congratulate ourselves on being honorable? Tell me if ‘honorable’ will replace my store. Will it, Les? Tell me if honorable will make us rich. Use your head!”

  He jerked her upright and thrust his face so close that she could see the tiny broken veins fanning across his nose. “You don’t have a choice. I told Caldwell that we’ll do it, and gladly. You’re going to lose some cattle, Les. That’s how it is.”

  The blood drained from her face. “You shouldn’t have done that because I won’t help Lola win. Never.”

  He slapped her again, then his fingers bruised into her arms. “Yes you will.” Fury glittered in his eyes. “Or I’ll leave you, Les. I swear it.”

  Suddenly she hated him with an intensity that shocked her. She hated the physical violence, hated his threats and emotional blackmail. She hated a character so tarnished that he was willing to betray her sisters, Dal, the drovers. She stared into his eyes and didn’t recognize anything that she could ever love or admire.

  “Do it then,” she said in a hard low voice. “Go. Leave and good riddance!”

  His mouth dropped and for an instant he looked thunderstruck. Then he drew back with a venomous hiss. “I see. You Roarks are all the same. You think you’re better than anyone else. Well, you should thank God that you have me to save you from your own stupidity! Do you have any idea how foolish and inadequate you are?” He grabbed her again, his fingers deliberately cruel on her flesh. “It was me, protecting your interests, who negotiated Caldwell’s offer up to eighty thousand. But you don’t appreciate what I do for you, or all the sacrifices I’ve made. You’re a goddamned Roark, and the world should bow down and cater to you!”

  “Let go, Ward.” She said it quietly with no plea in her voice, no tears in her eyes. He expected her usual apologies and reassurances, but she was through debasing herself.

  “What the hell has come over you tonight?”

  “Let go,” she repeated. Surprised, he lifted his hands from her upper arms. “You will never again strike me or hurt me,” she said firmly. “You will tell Caldwell that I spit on his offer. If you can’t agree to those two things, then I don’t want you. Go ahead and leave.”

  She couldn’t believe she was saying this, but it felt so good and so right. Neither of her sisters would have allowed a man to strike them or dictate their thoughts or behavior. Thinking about Freddy and Alex gave her the strength to reach deep for self-respect and clasp it hard.

  “Be careful, Les,” he warned. “You’re past your prime. You’re old, and you’re not a beauty. If I turn my back on you, no one else will have you.”

  His cruelty hurt as much as her conviction that he was right.

  “I may never marry or have a family of my own. But spinsterhood would be easier to bear than betraying people who care about me. I won’t do that.” Tilting her head, she looked up at the stars and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Suddenly she felt taller and stronger.

  Now that she had begun to believe in herself and feel her dependency dropping away, she marveled that she had ever accepted his suit. Wanting to slap at Pa for marrying Lola didn’t explain everything. What disturbed her most was seeing her own inadequacies reflected by the choice she had made. Some weakness in her had responded to Ward’s emotional and physical mistreatment. But a secret pride arose as it dawned on her that she would never have chosen him now.

  “I can’t marry you,” she said, blurting the words. Marrying him would be the worst error of her life, a disaster. “I’m truly sorry that I didn’t realize this sooner. I’ll reimburse your losses when I receive my inheritance.” That would assuage her guilt. She wanted to be fair.

  Pulling her shoulders back, she felt as if she had suddenly grown up. She had stepped out of a trap and had done it herself without appealing to anyone else. A rush of pride and happiness erased the lines of anxiety between her eyes. She was free.

  There was nothing more to say. It was finished, and thank God.

  After looking at him for a moment, she walked toward the end of the gully, her thoughts jumping ahead. She was eager to tell Alex and Freddy that she had endured a confrontation and had not crumbled or backed away. She had stood up for herself and done what she needed to do.

  The surprise of his hand roughly gripping her arm shattered her self-congratulations. Ward spun her around and hit her with his fist. When the blackness cleared from her eyes, she found herself lying on the ground near the lantern, watching his boot swing toward her ribs. Pain exploded through her rib cage. Moaning, she curled into a protective ball, her eyes stinging with shock and hot tears. This was the worst attack she had endured from anyone in her life, and she thought it would be the last. A glimpse of his face confirmed that his rage was so powerful that he could kill her. Convinced that he would, all she could do was pray.

  When he jerked her onto her feet, she was so weak with relief that she could hardly stand. She didn’t think his kick had broken any ribs, but the pain was intense. She would have doubled over, if he hadn’t gripped her so hard.

  “No one walks away from Ward Hamm!” he snarled. “Oh, you’d like to humiliate me, wouldn’t you? You’d like to walk out there and tell everyone that Ward Hamm isn’t good enough for a Roark! Well, you’re not going to use me, then toss me aside! I’ll see you dead before I’ll let you belittle me in front of everyone!”

  He grabbed her chin so tightly that her lips puckered. “Listen and listen good,” he said, hissing spittle into her face. “You aren’t walking away—I own you. And I’ll kill you before I let you cheat me out of my money. I swear it, Les. I earned that money, and I deserve it.”

  Terrified, she stared into his eyes, and she believed him. Her heart slammed against her battered ribs and she couldn’t speak.

  “So help me God. If you try to cut me out of what’s mine, you’ll drown in what looks like an accident. You’ll burn in a prairie fire. You’ll fall off your horse and die of a broken neck.” His fingernails dug into her flesh. “You will do as Caldwell tells you. And if you ever defy me…”

  He threw her to the ground, then picked up the lantern and walked out of the gully without a backward glance.

  Defeated and hurting, Les lay on her back, blinking up at the black sky. As her shock f
aded, hopelessness settled on her like a slab and helpless tears streamed down her cheeks.

  If she told Dal about this, he would immediately throw Caldwell off the drive. And Ward too, most likely. She would be rid of him.

  But Ward would never forgive her. She didn’t doubt for an instant that he would make good on his threat. He would find a way to kill her. She would spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, and one day Ward would be there. He would never let her go. And eventually he would put her in a grave.

  No, she couldn’t tell anyone what he’d done. She had to pray that she could find another solution.

  Curling protectively around the pain in her side, she closed her eyes and wept. Instead of escaping her trap, the trap had turned lethal.

  Chapter 18

  The days and nights were warmer now. Wildflowers dotted the range with glowing jewel colors. Bluebonnets, wild golden mustard, scarlet paintbrush. Ahead lay green waves of billowing open prairie that offered good grazing and frequent, easily forded creeks.

  Dal rode point, enjoying a feeling of content and control. The herd was moving well, there hadn’t been a stampede in a while, his drovers were rested after the stop outside Fort Worth, and the two days that Freddy and Les had been riding flank had justified his confidence in them. They squeezed down the herd when they had to, strung them out when needed. He shook his head and smiled, thinking how far they had come in a short time.

  Lifting his face to the morning sunshine, he inhaled the warm scents of late spring and green grass and cowhide, listened to a serenade of meadowlarks off to the right. It was a good day, the kind of day that made a man glad to be alive.

  There were only two things worrying him. Jack Caldwell, and Frederick Roark.

  He hadn’t forgetten the warning he’d received in the bathhouse. And he didn’t doubt that Lola and Jack would sink to rustling. As a precaution, he kept the herd away from stands of trees that might provide concealment for outlaws. He didn’t want to lose any more cattle between here and the Indian Territory.

  That Caldwell might have arranged trouble wasn’t Dal’s only problem with the bastard. Caldwell might have thrown his cards in with Lola, but he hadn’t forgotten Freddy.

  Gripping the seat of his saddle, Dal turned to look over his shoulder and spotted her about a quarter of a mile behind him. Grinning, he watched her gallop after a muley who had decided to head for open spaces. She cut off the escape and deftly turned him back where he belonged.

  In every way, she was a magnificent woman. Strong and spirited and beautiful. And damned if she wasn’t turning into a cowboy.

  In the beginning she’d done just enough to get by, but that had changed. Before the drive began, she’d been playing a role; now she was living it. Maybe she hadn’t guessed her own strengths back then. Perhaps she hadn’t understood that her nature was to give more, not less. And she did give more. She was tougher, gentler, more understanding, braver, and more uninhibited than he had ever imagined she would be.

  She was becoming the kind of woman who turned a man’s thoughts toward settling down.

  Frowning, he released a string of cusswords. What in the hell was he thinking? He and Freddy mixed as well as silk and rawhide. She dreamed of big-city theaters and waves of applause. He dreamed of high mountain pastures and solitude. She had hated ranching and cattle all of her life. He thrived outdoors and preferred the company of longhorns to that of most men he knew. They didn’t fit into each other’s worlds.

  He couldn’t believe he was wasting time considering a future with her. He must be experiencing an attack of chivalry. A decent man didn’t despoil a good woman without reflecting on his responsibilities, which meant an offer of marriage. This obligation accounted for his settling-down thoughts. That and an urge to put his brand on her every time he saw Jack Caldwell look in her direction.

  Jerking off his hat, he pulled a sleeve across his forehead and swore again. If he mentioned marriage to Freddy, she would laugh her head off, and rightly so since they were such an unlikely match. She would guess that he proposed out of a sense of duty. And because, bastard that he was, he wanted to bed her again. She would be right about that. Making love to her again was all he could think about.

  The ironic thing about their conflicting dreams was that Freddy’s dream was destined to fail. She might go to San Francisco and buy herself a fancy playhouse, but she would never be the famous actress she longed to become.

  Dal had observed her performances around the campfire at night, had watched her emote in the affected manner she unconsciously assumed when she was acting. The inescapable fact was that Fancy Roark was a lousy actress. She just wasn’t good at it.

  The kindest thing he could wish for was that she never discovered how bad she was at the one thing she wanted most. He cared for her enough to hope her audiences were as appreciative as the drovers and as equally lacking in critical judgment.

  Alex spent the afternoon jerking meat, a disgusting chore that she detested. When she finished preparing the jerky, she hobbled around the chuck wagon on her crutch, draping thin strips all over the sides to dry in the hot sunshine.

  Today she was very aware of the empty space beneath her right knee. She kept wanting to step down on that side and discover a miracle had occurred and her leg and foot were restored. “Stupid,” she muttered, shaking her head. She was never again going to plant two feet on the ground and feel her hips align, or stand straight and tall. Never, never, never again.

  “Sit down and rest. You look plumb wore out,” Grady ordered, bringing her wheelchair up behind her. “I got good news and bad news. Which you want to hear first?”

  “I’m in a low mood anyway, so tell me the bad news,” she said, sitting down.

  “The cooney’s empty and there ain’t a stick of wood within five miles of here. I got a horse needs doctoring so I can’t go looking for prairie coal for you. It’s gonna be that way for most of this week.”

  She sighed and blotted perspiration from her throat. The rest of this afternoon and all the afternoons of this week would be spent struggling to shove her chair over rough ground looking for dried cow pies. If nothing else, this cattle drive was teaching her humility.

  “What’s the good news?”

  Grady nodded his hat brim toward the range. “Your mute friend is back.”

  Her head jerked up, and her heart skipped a beat. Shading her eyes, she peered across an ocean of grass and saw him walking toward the wagon, followed by his three cows. He was dressed this time, but it was John. Without thinking about her reaction, she pulled off the man’s hat she wore and smoothed back tendrils of hair that had escaped the bun coiled on her neck.

  “Why is that good news?” she asked Grady, feeling a blush heat her skin.

  “I got eyes in my head,” he said, grinning at the color in her cheeks.

  His comment embarrassed her. But she had indeed spent a lot of time thinking about John, missing him since they parted company in Fort Worth. And that was so wrong of her.

  Oh God, she thought, dropping her head. Was there no end to her disloyalty to Payton? First the crutch, and now an attraction to another man. What kind of terrible person was she?

  Pressed by guilt, she fetched the spike and bag and shoved herself toward the open range and away from John McCallister. She knew how awkward and unappealing she looked, hunched forward, her arms akimbo and flapping when she pushed the wheels of her chair. This was her punishment, to sweat and grow red-faced from exertion, to look foolish and clumsy to a man whose gaze had made her feel beautiful again. To roll away when she wanted to rush forward.

  She had traveled farther from camp than she usually did before she turned and saw him walking past the chuck wagon, heading toward her. Resisting an urge to pat her hair and smooth her skirt, she gripped the sack of cow pies in her lap and watched him approach.

  She loved the lean tall look of him, the way he strode forward with easy grace as if the ground were not as rough as she knew it t
o be. She loved the strong square line of his jaw and his steady grey eyes and the elegance of his hands. Doctor’s hands, according to Dal.

  Now she knew how John could touch the stump left by another doctor and not be repelled. A hundred times she had visualized him near death in a Union prison and tried to imagine the terrible things he had witnessed. It was no wonder that he didn’t speak. Somewhere she had read about hills of amputated limbs growing outside the medical tents. Surgeons had worked while standing in lakes of blood. What would such horrors do to a sensitive man’s mind? Now she understood that John was as crippled in mind as she was in body.

  When he reached her, he knelt beside her chair, smiled into her eyes, and raised a hand to her face. Surprise lifted his eyebrows as he brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

  “Oh, John,” she whispered. “I’m so confused. I’m glad to see you, but I shouldn’t be.” Lowering her head, she gently pushed his hand away, then pressed her fingertips to her damp eyelids. “I know that doesn’t make sense to you.” He had returned because of her, she knew that as surely as she knew her joy in seeing him. “I can’t… you and I, we can’t…”

  Leaning forward, he touched her tears, then he put his arms around her and guided her head to his shoulder. And she wept as she had not wept since Payton’s funeral. She couldn’t have explained why except she felt the same deep aching loss.

  Finally the storm passed and she wiped her face with her handkerchief then placed a trembling hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry for losing control, but you can’t stay with us, John. It would be too hard on me.” She drew a breath and let her shoulders collapse, fighting a fresh onslaught of tears. “I know you don’t understand,” she repeated helplessly.

  She knew so little about this man, and yet she knew him utterly. How that was possible, she couldn’t imagine. It simply was. She knew his compassion and gentle touch. She knew the shape and texture of his skin and body. She knew the man he must be to have devoted his life to healing. And she guessed the horrors he must have observed and experienced during the war, horrors so painful and appalling that he had walked away from life and humanity.