Years ago, Timothy Trent, owner of the Double T, had built a number of holding pens near the railroad tracks that cut through the length of Wyoming. It was there his cattle waited to be shipped to buyers in Cheyenne, and it was there the small herd from Sage-hen would spend this night. Angus and Timothy had worked out an arrangement that benefited them both — Timothy would pay cash for the cattle at fair value, keeping back a little profit for himself, and then ship them to market with his own herd. Julia was thankful the rancher had been willing to continue the practice after her husband’s death.
Several times during the afternoon, Hugh dropped back from the herd, as if looking for something. Or waiting for something. But what? It was gray and gloomy. Julia couldn’t see even a quarter mile in any direction. When Hugh caught up again with the herd after the third such time, she asked him what he was doing.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe it sounds strange, but I’ve got a feeling someone’s been following us today.”
“Following us?” She twisted in the saddle and looked back into the murkiness. “If someone’s there, he’d be wise to make himself known. If you skulk about in these parts, you’re likely to get yourself shot.”
“Maybe skulking is the point. Whoever it is might not want to be seen or known.” Rainwater ran off the brim of Hugh’s hat as he tipped his head in her direction. “This isn’t the first time I’ve suspected something amiss. There was that day I thought something was bothering the cows. Maybe it was the same person who cut the fence.”
Maybe it was the same person who encouraged the land board to raise the taxes, Julia thought, remembering that Rose believed Charlie had something to do with it. But that stretched the limits of credulity. Didn’t it?
“Your brother-in-law’s made it clear he wants you to sell to him,” Hugh added, as if reading her thoughts. “Remember, he said he’s coming to see you again after you’re back from the drive.”
“I remember.”
“Maybe he’s looking for a way to force you to sell. He seems to know you’re struggling to keep your head above water.”
She didn’t like Charlie Prescott. That was true. But that was because he was Angus’s half-brother. He was ambitious. He was determined. He was already the wealthiest man in the county. Yet none of that gave her reason to suspect him of trouble-making.
“Julia, I know something about men like Prescott. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants.”
“You don’t know him. You’ve seen him, what? Twice? You’re starting to sound like Rose. She doesn’t trust him either.”
“Then maybe you should pay heed to what your friend is telling you even if you don’t want to listen to me.”
She looked at Hugh a moment longer, then kicked Teddy in the sides and moved forward.
They arrived at the Double T holding pens just as the rain finally let up. It didn’t take long to get the cattle into a couple of the enclosures. Once that was done, Julia and Hugh rode north toward the ranch house.
Victoria Trent, Timothy’s wife, was the one who answered Julia’s knock. “Gracious sakes alive!” she exclaimed. “Julia Grace, is that you? You look half drowned.”
“At least half.”
Victoria grinned. “Come in. Come in.” Her gaze flicked to Hugh. “The both of you. Was Timothy expecting you this week? He didn’t say a word to me.”
“I think so. Isn’t he here?”
“No. He’s gone to Denver and won’t be back until Saturday or Sunday. It must have slipped his mind that you’d be bringing the cattle this week.”
Saturday or Sunday? She couldn’t wait that long before she returned to Sage-hen. She was already asking too much of Peter. But she needed to return home with the money from the sale.
“Don’t you worry,” Victoria said. “I can buy your cattle as easy as Timothy does.”
“I’m sorry to take you by surprise.”
“Not a bother. Now we’d better get the two of you into some warm, dry clothes. I reckon everything in your rolls is as wet as you are.”
Embarrassed, Julia lowered her gaze and saw a puddle was forming around her feet. “I’m afraid we’re making a mess.”
“Don’t give it a thought. You think worse things haven’t been tracked across the floors of this house? Come on. You too, mister.”
She felt another stab of embarrassment. “This is Hugh Brennan. He helped me bring down the herd.”
“How do, Mr. Brennan.”
“Ma’am.”
“Just the two of you?” Victoria’s eyes returned to Julia.
“Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the porch where Bandit sat, waiting for her next command. “And my dog.”
“I’ll see that he gets something to eat in a bit. For now, you both come with me.” Victoria turned and motioned with her hand for them to follow.
In only a few minutes, Julia found herself alone in a bedroom with towels and some borrowed clothes. She didn’t waste time getting into them. As the lady of the house was a larger woman, the undergarments were loose on Julia and the dress too long, but she didn’t care. She was thankful to be out of her wet things. She was even more thankful when she returned to the main room in the house to find a fire had been started in the fireplace. Hugh was already standing near it.
“There’s stew heating up on the stove,” Victoria said when she saw Julia. “It won’t be long. We’ll get you two warmed up, inside and out.”
“I didn’t expect to put you to all this trouble, Mrs. Trent. We should —”
Victoria laughed. “Gracious sakes alive. You don’t know how much I get to hankering for female company. I’m glad to have you here. Glad we can get better acquainted. We barely got introduced last year before you were headed back to that place of yours.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’d best stop apologizing right now.” She pointed to a chair near the fireplace. “Sit yourself down.”
Julia nodded and sank obediently onto the indicated chair.
“You too, Mr. Brennan.”
“I’d better take care of the horses first and make sure Bandit’s okay,” he said.
“No need.” Victoria sat on the sofa. “While you were changing, I had one of the boys take your horses and the dog to the barn. They’ve got plenty of food and water.”
“That was good of you, ma’am.”
“Not at all. Like I said, I’m delighted to have some female company.” Victoria looked at Julia again. “Now tell me, how are you managing on your own? I thought about you more than once over the winter, wondering how you were getting along. This isn’t an easy country for a woman who’s lost her husband.”
Julia gave a slight shrug. “I’ve managed well enough.” True words, if one didn’t count the higher taxes on her land.
“Last year when we met, I told Timothy that you were such a slight thing, I was afraid a good wind would just pick you up and blow you away. You looked so pale in your widow’s weeds.” The older woman’s tender look was almost as warming as the fire. “But look at you now. I can see you are much recovered from losing Mr. Grace.”
“Yes,” Julia answered softly. But she didn’t think she and Victoria meant the same thing.
Hugh watched Julia and wondered at the different expressions that played across her face. She wasn’t as good as Hugh at hiding her emotions, but that didn’t mean she was always easy to read either. His mum used to say, “There are deep secrets in a woman’s heart, Hugh. Remember that when you come of age. T’will serve you well if you ‘re having that understanding.” She’d most surely meant a woman like Julia.
“Well, at least you’ve got a strong man to help you now, Mrs. Grace. That takes away some of the worry, I’m sure.” To Hugh she said, “Have you been working at Sage-hen long, Mr. Brennan? You weren’t with Julia last year.”
“No. I haven’t been there long.”
“I see my son’s clothes fit you about as good as mine fit Mrs. Grace.”
Hu
gh glanced down at the trousers he wore. They were comfortable in the waist and hips, but the hem of the pant legs hit him in mid-shin. He hadn’t given the fit any thought until she pointed it out. This wasn’t the first time he’d worn clothes not meant for someone of his height. When a man had little, he learned to make do with what little he had.
Not that I speak in respect of want, Paul wrote in the Bible, for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. Good advice for a man like him.
“Well, no matter,” Victoria continued. “Your own things’ll be dry by morning.”
“Are you sure we aren’t too much trouble?” Julia asked again. “We’d planned to sleep on the trail, same as we did last night.”
Victoria frowned at her. “Thought we’d settled that. I won’t have you starting back all wet and cold. Not when I’ve got extra rooms and beds for you to sleep in.”
Hugh had only met this rancher’s wife a half an hour ago, but he would wager Julia was no match for her. To argue was futile.
“Now, you’d best excuse me while I check on that stew. It ought to be ready.” Victoria rose and hurried out of the main parlor, through the dining room, and disappeared into what Hugh supposed was the kitchen.
“I didn’t expect that we’d be asked to stay,” Julia said softly, drawing his gaze back to her.
“She’s being kind, the same way you are to others. Same way you’ve been to me.”
Julia’s cheeks turned pink, and he understood that she wasn’t anymore used to compliments than he was.
I’d like to change that. There they were again, those same feelings he’d determined not to allow himself to feel for her. Desire. Affection. A need to be close to her. A hunger to be with her every minute of every day.
“Come along, you two,” Victoria called from the next room. “Come and eat while it’s good and hot.”
Hugh stepped toward Julia’s chair and offered his hand. She hesitated a moment before placing her fingers against his palm. He closed his hand around hers, then with a gentle pull, he helped her rise.
Her eyes still averted, she said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Reluctantly, he released her hand.
She stepped in front of him and led the way into the dining room.
It was a bigger room than he’d expected. The table would easily sit a party of sixteen or even twenty. Either the Trents had — or once planned to have — a large family or they regularly fed all the employees on their ranch at this table.
Victoria had placed bowls of stew in front of two chairs at the far end of the table, opposite each other. “Come and have a seat. There’s stew and bread and butter. You’ve got your choice of milk or coffee to drink. Both if you want ‘em. And I made a cherry cobbler today with a mighty fine crust, if I do say so myself.” She pulled out the chair at the end of the table and sat down.
Hugh and Julia took their appointed places.
“Care to bless the food, Mr. Brennan?” Victoria asked before bowing her head.
A month or two ago, Hugh would have felt self-conscious, praying in front of strangers. But he’d grown more comfortable after so many meals — and blessings — with Julia, so he obliged without hesitation. Afterward, while he and Julia ate, their hostess carried on an easy conversation, occasionally asking questions. But she seemed satisfied with a nod or a brief word or two for answers.
Hugh had just taken his last bite of cherry cobbler — the woman was right; it had a mighty fine crust — when a cowboy appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Miz Trent.”
“Yes, Whitey?”
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but there’s been some trouble at the stock pens.”
Hugh saw Julia tense.
“What sort of trouble?”
“Somebody opened the gates and let out the cows.”
“Good heavens!”
The cowboy shook his head as he looked at Julia. “Not to worry, Miz Grace. Didn’t any get far. But we didn’t see who did it or where he went. We’ll try to pick up his trail in the mornin’, though I don’t reckon we’ll find him after all this rain.”
Hugh scooted his chair back from the table and stood. “I’ll keep watch down at the pens for the night,” he said to Julia. Looking at Victoria, he added, “Thanks for the meal, Mrs. Trent. It was good.”
“You’re more than welcome, Mr. Brennan. But you needn’t go. Our boys’ll make sure nothing more goes amiss.”
“All the same, I think I’d better go down there.”
Victoria nodded. “Whitey, show Mr. Brennan to the barn so he can saddle his horse.”
At the end of a rainy day, sunset splashed a glorious display of pinks and purples upon the rain clouds’ underbellies as Peter arrived home from Sage-hen. He took a moment to enjoy the colorful sky, then put up his horse and headed into the house. All was quiet within, the children having been sent to bed. A light beneath the three oldest girls’ bedroom door told him at least one of them was still awake. He heard one of them giggle as he stepped close to the door.
“I think he has beautiful eyes.” Abigail’s voice.
“They’re just eyes.” This from Bathshua. “No prettier than Pa’s or Uncle Roland’s.”
Abigail again. “How can you say that? Mark’s eyes are the bluest blue I’ve ever seen. And they spark when he laughs.”
Mark? Mark Kittson? He remembered Julia saying something about Abigail getting engaged soon and hadn’t he noticed the Kittson boy coming round their place all spring. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but it looked like Julia could be right.
He shook his head as he moved down the hall toward his own bedroom. A light still burned there too. His wife never turned out the lamp until he was in bed beside her.
Rose was seated in a wingback chair, knitting needles clicking away. “You’re home,” she said as he closed the door behind him. “It’s late.”
“Yeah, it took a little longer than I expected.”
“Everything okay at Julia’s?”
“Yep.”
“Tomorrow you take one of the girls with you. You’ll get done in half the time. You’re working too hard as it is.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me, Rosie.”
“Those stitches in your head say different.”
He walked over to where she sat and bent over to kiss the top of her head. “Quit worrying about me. I’m fine.”
Rose sighed her agreement before setting aside the needles and yarn. “I think the girls are asleep.”
“Not all of them. I heard Abigail and Bathshua talking when I came in.” He went to the opposite side of the room, shrugging out of his suspenders and slipping off his shirt. “Julia seems to think Abigail and Mark Kittson have formed an attachment for each other. I told her I didn’t think so but —”
“Peter Collins, are you telling me you only just noticed?” His wife laughed. “Why that boy goes positively tongue-tied every time Abigail gets within ten yards of him. He’s been that way for the past six months or more.”
“But you don’t think it’s serious, do you?” He dropped his nightshirt over his head.
Rose’s arms went around his waist from behind, and she gave him a squeeze. Then he turned and gathered her close, glad she’d left her chair and come to stand with him. Glory, but he loved this woman. God had been good to bring them together. “Abigail’s too young,” he whispered into her hair.
“I was in love with you at that age.”
“I know but it … it’s different somehow.”
Rose laughed again. “It’s different because she’s your daughter.” She raised up on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth. “You’d better get used to it, my love. You have ten daughters and we’re going to have boys coming courting for the next eighteen or twenty years.”
He groaned — half in jest, half in earnest — then drew her with him to the bed.
“You mustn’t worry, Mrs. Grace,” Victoria said. “The boys’ll protect the cattle. Besides, they’re
Trent cattle now.”
Julia pushed her chair away from the table, intending to rise. “They’re my cattle until we complete the transaction and you pay me for them. I should go with Hugh.”
Victoria stopped her by laying a hand on her arm. “Dear girl, do you mind a word of advice?”
Julia shook her head.
“A man likes to be a man. He likes to take care of his woman. Let your Mr. Brennan look out for the cows. It’s one way of him sayin’ he cares for you.”
“My Mr…. cares for … You’re mistaken, Mrs. Trent. Hugh Brennan works for me. That’s all. We are nothing more than employer and employee.”
The older woman’s eyes were skeptical as she studied Julia. After a lengthy silence, she said, “Maybe on your part — if you insist, though I doubt it — but you’re wrong about his feelings for you. Saw it as clear as day.”
Julia looked toward the kitchen doorway where Hugh had disappeared from view a short time before. She wanted to tell Victoria that she was the one who was wrong, but then she remembered the way he looked at her sometimes and the tone of his voice when he spoke to her.
Could it be true?
Julia turned toward Victoria. “I don’t want him to care. I have no intention of ever marrying again.”
“No? Well, let me tell you this. It’s good for a woman to love her husband while he’s livin’, but learnin’ to love again after he’s gone doesn’t take away from that. You don’t run out of the capacity to love, you know. There’s always more love available.”
Love? Love for Angus? No, that wasn’t the reason she would never marry again. She hadn’t ever had a chance to learn to love her husband. She’d wanted to. She’d tried to. She’d married him believing — as only a young and foolish and romantic girl could — that love would grow between them. But he hadn’t cared if she loved him or not.
“You would have no way of knowing this,” Victoria continued, “but Mr. Trent wasn’t my first husband. I was married before. Michael was his name, and oh my, I did love that man with everything in me. But he was killed in an accident and left me a widow with a small son to raise. I didn’t know how I was going to manage. And then I met Timothy Trent. His love healed my heart, and we built a good life together, we and our sons.”
Betrayal Page 14