Barclay (Bachelors And Babies Book 4)

by Charlene Raddon

  "I work for Beauford Hodson at the Double Z. What about you? Looking for a job?"

  Dirk remembered hearing about Hodson. He was the nearest neighbor to the Givens ranch and had a larger spread. He had a reputation for being stingy and mean. "I just got hired on at High Mountain. Foreman sent me out to ride the perimeter today. Most of the hands are out counting heads."

  "They're likely up in the trees then." Boots gestured to the wooded hills behind them. He placed the gutted fish in the pan where the grease had begun to sizzle. "So, Grossman finally got caught, eh? Couldn't happen to a lousier guy. Sure glad I wasn't with him."

  "Yeah. Me too. I'm still hunting for one of those two sluts who beaned me, though."

  "What for? She mean something to you?" Boots asked.

  Dirk sat cross-legged and cleaned his knife by jabbing it into the dirt a few times. "The only thing she means to me is a nest egg for my old age."

  Boots screwed up his face, looking into the sunlight trying to see Dirk. "She steal your savings or something?"

  "No, but she's going to help me get rich, nevertheless. Gave birth to a litter I figure could be mine. I aim to trade them to her parents for a nice pile of cash."

  "What do you mean, a litter? She have kittens?" Boots laughed at his own joke.

  "Nope. Triplets."

  "Well, damn my soul," Boots muttered. "I've never seen triplets."

  "I hadn't either until I saw these."

  "So, when do you plan to do this swap? Why aren't you seeing to it now instead of working for Givens?"

  "Waiting for the right moment to snatch the little beggars." Dirk took out his cigarette makings, realized the fish would be done too soon for him to finish a smoke, and put the bag back in his pocket.

  "What about the mother? She gonna have some say in this?"

  "Naw. She's gone. Took off as soon as she dropped the brats. Reckon she didn't want them. They've got a wet-nurse for them. I'm considering taking her too."

  Boots cocked his head, gazing at Dirk with a calculating expression on his clean-shaven face. "You said you figured the kids might be yours. What did you mean by that? You share her with the gang or something?"

  "Yeah, we all had her. She was about ready to drop her load when she and Juanita escaped. Minnie made it to High Mountain, had the babies and snuck off in the night."

  "You're pulling my leg," Boots exclaimed. "I thought women had to stay in bed for weeks after giving birth. How'd she manage that?"

  Dirk shrugged. "Beats me, but that's what happened. I'd already found out her folks had money while I was hunting for her. They had posters about her being kidnapped all over town."

  "You just took her, eh?" Boots chuckled. "Bet it was Hugh did that. He's got more cajones than a pack of cougars."

  "Yeah, it was him, all right, but we all had our turn so I figure them triplets could as easily be mine as his."

  Boots turned the browning fish. "Well, good luck with that. Better you than me. I don't want nothing to do with a passel of babies, mine or anybody else's."

  Grinning, Dirk said, "You mean you wouldn't help me get them to the grandparents? Even if it meant a few hundred bucks in your pocket?"

  Boots looked up. "A few hundred? How much you expect to get from them?"

  Dirk shrugged. He regretted mentioning the money. He hadn't been serious about Boots joining him. The trip would be easier with another man along but taking the wet-nurse would be better. He couldn't quite see Boots changing diapers or trying to quiet a baby. Besides, Dirk needed every dollar of whatever he gained from this job. "Hard to say. First, I have to get the brats there."

  "I ain't eager to go off nowhere anyhow." Boots scooped the browned fish fillets onto a tin plate. "I got a gal I need to keep watch over. Her old man is trying to hook her up with Barclay Givens. I gotta protect my interests."

  "Barclay!" Dirk laughed. "He's a stiff-necked bastard. Thinks he's better than anyone else. Your girl better be mighty good looking to interest him."

  "Hey! Annabelle's the prettiest gal in these parts." Calming, he offered the plate to Dirk. "Barclay already turned her father down, anyway, so I reckon I have nothing to sweat over."

  "I hope so, for your sake." Dirk wondered how much the man had exaggerated his girl's looks. Cynara was no dog. Barclay Givens would be smart to latch onto her, whether he keeps those babies or not.

  Chapter Nine

  "L et's use the dining table for cutting the fabric." Julia carried the pattern pieces and fabric over to the table.

  Cynara brought the scissors, pins and marking chalk. "I always did this on the floor. I didn't have such a nice, large table. You're right, this will be much better."

  "Ward would have built you a larger house eventually, I'm sure."

  Cynara paused to think about that. "I don't know. I doubt it. He saw no need for anything other than what we had."

  "Some men are like that." Julia spread the black cloth over the table. "I think my George could have been, if he hadn't wanted to please me more than himself."

  "It sounds like George was a very nice man." Cynara unfolded the thin pattern pieces and arranged them on the cloth.

  "Yes, he was, and my sons take after him." Julia switched one pattern piece for another which fit the space better. "Do you want to do the cutting or shall I?"

  "I can do it." Cynara took the scissors and began, concentrating fully on the task.

  Barclay came in and slipped past them. "I see you ladies are keeping busy."

  Julia grinned at her son. "Did you ever know me to sit idle?"

  "Never." The kitchen door swung shut behind him.

  Julia winked at Cynara. "It's always good to remind men what you want them to believe."

  Cynara smiled. She liked Julia more every day. The woman who won her as a mother-in-law would be a lucky lady. But, then, Cynara suspected the woman who married Barclay would already be fortunate.

  She paused, wondering why Barclay had been the one to come to mind. Jared and Chase were nice too. Even Oysters was a lovely man, though older and not as good looking. But Barclay fascinated her. She liked the way his mind worked. He always anticipated the result of any decision he decided to take. By the same token, he thought out his words before he spoke. She tried to do the same, but he did it better.

  At times his intensity and the power that emanated off him overwhelmed her, but mostly, she admired it. Barclay moved as if he knew exactly what he was doing and how it would work out. He had poise and confidence and wasted neither words nor energy.

  Besides all that, she loved watching him. He reminded her of a well-oiled piece of machinery, like a good sewing machine.

  "I wish we had a sewing machine," she said. "Finishing the dress would be a lot faster."

  "I have one." Julia slapped her forehead as if berating herself for not thinking of it sooner. "I'll send one of the boys to fetch it."

  "Oh, you don't need to do that. I can sew it by hand almost as fast."

  "Nonsense." Julia pushed open the kitchen door. "Barclay?"

  "Yes, Ma?"

  "Can you or one of your brothers run into town and bring back my sewing machine? We want to finish Cynara's dress and the diapers as quickly as possible and having the machine here would make it easier."

  Through the crack in the door, Cynara saw Barclay's gaze flick to her, making her warm all over. A nice, comfortable warm, like hot tea in front of a fire on a winter day.

  "Sure, Ma. I'll have Jared get it. I think Chase is working on the barn roof today. Had some boards come loose up there and we need to get it patched before it rains again."

  "There's no need to go to a lot of trouble," Cynara said, embarrassed to be causing problems for them. "You're all so busy."

  He smiled. "Not that busy. I'll go find Jared now." The door closed, cutting off her view of him.

  Cynara resumed cutting. The scissors zipped through the fabric like melted butter on a knife. "I'll bet he was a perfect child, always doing as he was told and stay
ing out of trouble."

  Julia laughed. "You don't know him well enough yet. It may not seem like it, but there's a bit of a rebel inside Barclay that pops out now and then when you least expect it."

  Curious, Cynara wanted to hear more. "Give me an example."

  A dreamy far-away expression entered Julia's eyes and she smiled. "An example. Well, there was the time his father had him shoveling hay out of the barn loft straight into the wagon parked below. Barclay was seven and so full of energy you could barely keep him still. George told him to stop dancing around because the hay was slick, and he could slide right out the loft doors. The next thing he knew, Barclay had disappeared. It nearly gave him a heart attack. He thought sure the boy had fallen and hurt himself, but when he looked out, there was Barclay standing in the hay wagon grinning up at him, perfectly fine and pleased with himself."

  Cynara smiled. That Barclay could be spontaneous and adventurous made him even more intriguing. She wished she could see him that way sometime.

  Jared didn't often frequent the saloon. Liquor didn't appeal to him as much as it did most men. But after the long, dusty drive into town, a beer sounded downright appealing. He parked as near to his mother's front door as he could, went inside and carried the sewing machine back out. After securing it in the wagon bed, he drove to the Windy Dog Saloon.

  Several men he knew stood at the bar or sat at tables drinking. "Hey, Drew, how's it going?" he called out.

  Drew flapped a hand at him, more a dismissal than a hello, Jared thought. He went to the counter and ordered a beer. Before he'd even had a taste Jeb Caldright, entered and moseyed up to him. Jared smiled. He and Jeb had been friends since childhood, before Jeb let himself get overweight by drinking too much and moving too little. After marrying, Jeb moved out of town the opposite direction from High Mountain, so they didn’t see each other often anymore.

  "Well," Jeb drawled, his tone sarcastic. "If it ain’t one of the Givens boys. Tell me, Jared, is that chicken-shit brother of yours gonna do right by Annabelle Hodson or not?"

  Jared jerked backward, surprised by the unexpected attack. "What are you talking about?"

  "Annabelle's expecting," Jeb said. "Barclay knows that, doesn't he? Everyone else in town does."

  Jared sipped his beer, taking in the hostile glances from the other men and trying to make sense of it all. "First I heard of it. Did this news come from her, or her father? You know you have to take what she says with a grain of salt."

  "I heard it from Beau himself," Jeb said.

  "Beau told all of us when he was in here this morning," Ben Carter, the new town pharmacist, put in. He had the sleek look of a cat that made Jared not quite trust him.

  Harry Peterson, the one barber in Cutthroat, nodded. "That's right."

  Dumfounded, Jared didn't know what to say. He hadn't known of Beau Hodson to go around telling bald-faced lies. What was the man up to? "Afraid I don't know anything about it, but you can be sure, I'll find out."

  He guzzled his beer and left. Since Barclay had asked him to see if there were any replies to his wires regarding Dirk, he stopped at the telegraph office.

  "Nope," the telegrapher said. "No wires for Barclay."

  Next, Jared went to the general store where he picked up the mail. On the way in, he all but walked into Melanie Gainsford. He grinned and his heart began pounding. She was the prettiest little filly in the whole county, with golden hair and honey-colored eyes, and if he had anything to say about it, she'd be his girl soon.

  "Hello, Melanie. Fancy meeting you here," he said, taking off his hat. "I was just wondering what pretty things I'd see today, and here you are."

  She didn't smile. Didn't speak. She walked around him and out the door.

  Thunderation. Had everyone gone loco today? Melanie always had a smile and a kind word or two for him. He knew she was sweet on him, same as he was on her. Sure didn't look that way now, though.

  Could it have anything to do with the rumor about Barclay and Annabelle? Jared hadn't a doubt of Barclay’s innocence in this whole mess. But matters appeared to be getting worse. He'd best get his tobacco and hurry home to warn his brother of the rattler's nest he'd walk into should he come to town.

  "Thanks a lot, brother." Jared's tone held anything but gratitude.

  "What for?" Barclay looked up from his desk, wondering what caused this new disaster. For the third time, he'd gone through his father's journal for the year Annabelle was born without finding any reference to a loan from Beau Hodson, any unnamed income of one-thousand dollars, or any unpaid bills.

  "Melanie won't even speak to me because of you," Jared spat at him.

  "Because of me!" Barclay stood in total confusion. "What did I do?"

  "Not what you did but what you refuse to do—marry Annabelle."

  Barclay shook his head, more to clear it than to deny his brother's words. "Whoa. Who in thunder told Melanie about this so-called arrangement for me to marry Annabelle? I certainly didn't."

  "Everyone in town seems to know about it." Jared faced him nose to nose, his fists planted on his hips. "And it appears to me that it's Beau himself spreading the word."

  "That sly snake. He's trying to force me to marry her." Barclay marched across the room and back again, thinking. "I'll fix him. I know exactly what to do."

  "What?"

  Barclay grinned. "You'll find out."

  Chapter Ten

  S pinning on his boot heel, Barclay stormed out of the house and didn't stop until he reached the barn. There, he saddled his gelding and aimed for town. As he rode, he composed and edited the ad he meant to have put in the paper. Not so much an ad as a declaration.

  Barclay didn't go to the store or the saloon or his mother's house. He went straight to the Cutthroat Gazette.

  "Good afternoon, Barclay," the owner, Andrew Osborne, greeted him.

  "Whether it's good or not depends on you, Andy. Do you have a piece of paper and a pencil I can use?"

  Andrew slid the requested items over to him. Barclay scribbled across the paper, then handed it to the newspaperman. "Can you print this in your next issue?"

  It took Andrew only a minute to read what Barclay had written. He finished with a smile. "Oh, Beau isn't going to like this, but I love it. 'This is my sworn testimony that any child Annabelle Hodson might or might not be carrying is not mine and I do not intend to marry her, signed Barclay Brook Givens," he read. "I'll put it on the front page, right in the center. It will be out day after tomorrow."

  "Do you think folks will accept it as truth?"

  "Oh, sure. When a man goes to this much trouble and puts something in writing, people figure it must be true."

  "Good. Thank you, Andy. That will be great. By the way, how's your new baby? I hear it's a boy."

  Andrew puffed out his chest. "Sure is. Eight pounds, two ounces, with lungs that could wake the dead."

  Barclay laughed. "Getting any sleep?"

  "Not much, but I'm a proud papa anyway." He rested his hands on the counter and leaned toward Barclay. "Maybe you ought to marry Annabelle. Being a father is fantastic."

  Barclay frowned. "No thanks. I'll marry someday, but not for a few more years. Too much to do. And when I do, the bride will not be Annabelle Hodson."

  "I don't think anyone in town would really blame you. Everyone knows what a lying harlot she is." Andrew tucked Barclay's note in his pocket. "It's because they think you got her pregnant that folks are upset."

  Barclay picked up a pencil and tapped it on the countertop. "Maybe I should find out who the real father is. That would shut them up."

  Andrew grinned. "Wasn't me."

  Seeing no reason to give anyone a chance to nag him about Annabelle, Barclay rode straight home. The first thing Chase said to him when he entered the house was, "Did you see Annabelle?"

  "No, I did not. Nor do I intend to. And I'm not marrying her either." He noticed the odd way Cynara gazed at him while his brothers razzed him, and his mother fussed. He could tell she
didn't know what to think. At least that was better than turning against him.

  After supper he found Cynara alone knitting. "You disapprove of my stand on the marriage issue?" he asked.

  "I don't know. It's none of my business anyway." She kept on working, needles clacking.

  "No, but I'd like your opinion."

  The clacking stopped as her hands stilled. "I'm mostly confused. Obviously, I don't know enough about you and Annabelle to figure out what's going on. Have you been courting her?"

  "No. She's an impudent… I started to say girl, but she isn't a girl anymore. She's a woman, one evidently carrying a baby. Not mine, though."

  He paused and shook his head. "Did your ma or grandma ever tell you, if you can't say anything nice about someone, don't say anything at all? That's why I'm going to shut up now. I don't like gossiping and spreading half-truths. I don't know what's going on with Annabelle, only that I had no part in it." He turned to go to his office. Her calm words stopped him.

  "I believe you."

  He stared at her. He'd hoped she'd at least give him the benefit of a doubt but hadn't expected this. She didn't know him well enough to be so sure about him. He reversed his steps to stand in front of her. "I'm curious. Why?"

  She glanced away, seeming shy to speak openly, and he thought she might refuse to answer or give some glib excuse. Instead, her gaze focused on his face. "I'm sure you've noticed I rarely enter a conversation. I guess you'd say I'm an observer rather than a participant. I haven't known you very long, it's true, but I know honesty when I see it, and you've always been straight with me."

  Her words punched him in the gut. Cynara Stratton was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known, and, right now, he wanted very much to kiss her.

  He cleared his throat. "Would you like to go for a ride? I could saddle a gentle horse for you. Ma would be glad to take care of the babies, I'm sure. We could go right after their next feeding."

  She glanced at the pendant watch hanging from her neck. "Which is about now. Yes, Barclay. I love to ride. Don't choose too gentle a horse, though. I'm a good rider."