Pete (The Cowboys)

by Leigh Greenwood

  She was doing her best not to cry. He wanted to reach out and touch her, take her in his arms, comfort her with a kiss, but he knew he couldn’t touch her. Her control was very fragile. The attack on the ranch could come at any time. He couldn’t afford to have her hysterical and out of control.

  “I never knew what to say. I depended on you to tell me enough about Peter’s background so I wouldn’t make a mistake.”

  Tears shown in her eyes. “So I helped you lie to me.”

  “I just wanted to stay long enough to find my money. I was going to tell you everything when I did.”

  “But in the meantime, you decided to have some fun with this little Indian girl from Wyoming, this breed who didn’t have enough sense to know a scared little boy couldn’t grow into a fancy cowboy. I was so stupid, I fell for it.” In an angry gesture, her hand flew to her face to dash away a tear that had started down her cheek. “I was so dazzled by your good looks, your ability and confidence, your telling me I was beautiful, that I was ready to believe anything you said. Buying me all those clothes, giving me this ring”—she fingered it nervously but didn’t look down at it—“it was a small price to pay for my steadfast devotion.”

  “I didn’t do it to bribe you. You are a beautiful woman. I wanted you to know it, to feel it. You’re Peter’s wife. You deserve those rings.”

  “What did you intend to do when I finally figured out you weren’t Peter? And I would have figured it out. Sooner or later you’d have made some mistake. Did you hope I’d be pregnant, or have two or three children by then, and wouldn’t turn in my husband for the lying, murdering imposter he was?”

  “I wasn’t going to let you have my children. You were too sweet, too innocent, too—”

  “If you mention my sweetness and innocence once more, I’m going to scream and start throwing things. You mean I was stupid and naive, so anxious to believe I was pretty and a man could like me that I would believe anything, swallow any horror, help you cover any crime—”

  He couldn’t contain himself any longer. He reached for her. She tried to avoid him, but he gripped her by the arms. “You are beautiful. You are sweet and innocent. But you’re also intelligent, strong, and very loyal. You are a wonderful woman, and one day you’ll make some man a wonderful wife. I always knew I couldn’t be that man, even though living with you has made me want to be, but I knew you’d never forgive me for what I’ve done.”

  “You’re right about that. I hate you. I never want to see you again.”

  “Blame me for lying, for violating your emotions and trust, but I didn’t kill Peter, and I never meant to steal your ranch. I never meant to make love to you. Good God, I tried not to, but—”

  “So I’m to praise you for—”

  A shot broke the window at the front of the house. Pete threw Anne and himself to the floor.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “Somebody’s outside.” They had waited too long. The attack had already begun.

  “Peter Warren,” a voice called, “or the man who calls himself Peter Warren, come out.”

  “Who wants me?” Pete shouted.

  “Bill Mason.”

  Nothing made sense. What was Mason doing there? “What do you want me for?”

  “I know you’re an imposter, that you killed Peter Warren. I’m taking you in to Big Bend to stand trial.”

  Something wasn’t right. If the sheriff had proof Pete was an imposter, he’d have come after Pete himself.

  “You don’t have any proof to back up such a claim,” Pete said.

  “We found where you buried Peter. We found where you burned the wagon, too.”

  The only way anybody could have known he’d burned the wagon was to know exactly where it had been left. The only way they could have found Peter Warren’s grave would have been to have spent days looking until they found the piece of sod Pete had removed and carefully replaced.

  And the only person who could have done that would be the man who’d murdered Peter Warren.

  “Bill Mason killed Peter Warren,” Pete whispered to Anne, “or rather had those two men kill him.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.”

  “He couldn’t know all of what he’s saying unless he knew where to look. I hid everything very carefully.”

  “To cover your tracks.”

  “No. To protect Peter’s body from wild animals.”

  Clearly Anne didn’t believe him.

  “I can’t leave the ranch without an owner,” Pete shouted. “Rustlers will clean us out in no time.”

  “There are no rustlers.”

  “Then who stole my herd?”

  “I stole the herd to protect it for Anne.”

  “Did you kill Belser to protect Anne, too?”

  “I didn’t kill Belser. You did.”

  “Why did you shoot Eddie?”

  “That was an accident.”

  But it hadn’t been an accident. Eddie had been shot, maybe killed, by a rifleman firing from a distance, a man who didn’t want to be seen.

  “What will happen to Anne?” Pete asked.

  “I’m going to marry Anne,” Mason said. “That’s what I was going to do the day you arrived pretending to be Peter Warren.”

  “Did you know Mason wanted to marry you?” Pete asked Anne.

  “Yes, but I told him I had already married Peter.”

  “What did he say when you told him that?”

  “Nothing. He came by even more often afterward.”

  “Did he ask you about Peter?”

  “Yes. He said they’d been friends years ago, that he was looking forward to seeing him again, that he wanted to know all about what had been happening to him in Illinois.”

  “Did he know when Peter was arriving?”

  “Yes. He wanted to go meet him, but he got busy and couldn’t.”

  Suddenly Pete understood it all. “Mason had Peter killed so he could marry you and get the ranch.”

  “That can’t be true. If Peter didn’t inherit, Belser would.”

  “He had Belser killed, too.”

  “How?”

  “Eddie. Eddie worked for Mason. I don’t know why, but he did.”

  “Eddie didn’t kill Belser. I know he didn’t.”

  “He’s the only person who could have. Neither you nor Dolores would have had the strength. I know I didn’t do it, so that leaves Eddie.”

  “I don’t know you didn’t do it,” Anne replied.

  He had expected her to say that. “That explains why Eddie was the only one shot when Mason rustled the herd. He wanted to make sure Eddie couldn’t tell what he knew.”

  “There’s no end to the lies you’ll tell, is there?” Anne asked. “Are you going to keep lying about everybody I know until I believe you?”

  “I’m not lying. Everything I said fits the facts.”

  “Everything Mrs. Dean told me fits the facts, too. It’s incredible how you can think all this up in a matter of seconds.”

  “Anne, I want to marry you,” Mason shouted. “I’ll protect you from people like him. Come on out. If he’s holding you inside, we’ll kill him.”

  “He could be lying,” Pete said. “He’s already killed three people to get this ranch. Do you think he’ll let a breed stand in the way of his getting it now?”

  “So now I find out what you really think of me,” Anne said.

  “No, but you said everybody in Big Bend treated you like dirt. Do you think the man who plans to be the richest man in the whole area would saddle himself with a wife who was an outcast? He’d find some way to get rid of you after you were married, probably a riding accident.”

  Anne started to get up. “I’ve known Bill Mason for years,” she said. “I trust him to protect me.”

  Pete pulled her back down beside him. “Haven’t you heard a single thing I’ve said?”

  “I won’t believe any more of your lies.”

  “Think! If what Mason says is true, h
e doesn’t have to attack the house. All he has to do is wait for the sheriff. But that won’t work for him because he’s got to find a way to stop me from talking and of making sure you marry him. He can’t be sure the sheriff won’t believe my story, or that some proof won’t turn up. He also can’t be sure that once he gets you to town, you’ll marry him. This way he can be certain of both.”

  But Pete had lost his credibility with Anne.

  “I won’t believe anything you tell me ever again, but I don’t want your death on my head. I’m going with Mr. Mason. I’ll find a way to stall him until you have time to get away to the horses. If you can’t escape after that, then I’m sorry.”

  “You can’t go to Mason. He’ll kill you.”

  Anne struggled to break his grip. “Leave before I change my mind and let him capture you.”

  Pete knew it was no use arguing further. Anne was too hurt to believe him, no matter how logical his reasoning. There was only one thing to do. Clamping his hand over her mouth so she couldn’t cry out in warning, Pete picked Anne up and ran out the back of the house with her.

  “I can’t believe Ray let you carry me off,” Anne complained. “When I get back to the ranch, I’m going to fire him.”

  “Apparently he doesn’t trust Bill Mason very much either,” Pete said.

  They had arrived at a cabin in the foothills of the Big Horn Mountains under cover of night. He hoped they’d gotten away at least ten minutes before Mason discovered they were gone. He also hoped Mason wouldn’t be able to follow their trail. Little more than twelve feet square, the cabin was a single-room affair with bunks on opposite walls, a table and two chairs, and a stove that was used for both cooking and heating. The catalogue pages that plastered the wall served to keep out the cold as well as provide reading material on freezing winter nights. A shed had been attached to the back of the cabin. A small corral had been laid out in a protected clearing among the pines. A tiny spring emerging from a rock outcropping twenty yards away provided them with fresh water.

  “Why did you send Ray away?” Anne asked.

  “I sent him for the sheriff.”

  “I don’t believe you. That would expose you for the liar you are.”

  “But it will keep Mason from getting his hands on you.”

  “I don’t know why you keep talking like Mason is a killer.”

  “Because I know I’m not,” Pete said, tired of defending himself. She wouldn’t believe him innocent. But he had to convince her Mason was dangerous. It could cost her her life if he didn’t. “Somebody did those killings.”

  “You did.”

  “Just once assume everything I’m telling you is true. Don’t argue,” he said when she started to open her mouth in protest. “There’s always a chance I’m telling the truth. Even if it’s only a very small chance, we’re talking about your life. Doesn’t that make it worth considering every possibility?”

  She didn’t answer. But she continued to look at him as though he was a rattlesnake and she’d give her right arm for a shotgun.

  “I know you can’t trust me after what I’ve done. Just don’t take everything Mason says on face value. He’s your neighbor. Your uncle had the best grazing land within a hundred miles. Mason can’t help but want it for himself.”

  “Bill Mason isn’t like that.”

  “Three people have been killed, Anne. Somebody wants something mighty bad, and the only thing at stake is your Uncle Carl’s ranch.”

  “He had an accident.”

  “Wasn’t it a peculiar accident for a man of his age and experience?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Now Peter Warren and Belser Wilmot are also dead. The only person standing between Mason and that ranch is you. He figures you’ll have to marry to hold it, so he corners you at your ranch and says he’s going to marry you to protect you from me. Maybe he does love you. Maybe he’s nursed a secret passion for years. Or maybe his secret passion is for your uncle’s land. I can’t prove what I’m saying, but you’ve got to consider it. If you make the wrong decision, it could cost you your life.”

  “Why should I listen to you when I know you’re a liar and an imposter? Probably a killer as well.”

  “Why probably? I thought you were certain of it.”

  “I didn’t actually see you.”

  “You’re too generous.”

  “I don’t want to talk with you anymore. I’m going to sleep. I hope you will come to your senses by morning and let me go.”

  “If I’m the desperate killer you think, I can’t afford to let you go. I’ll have to take you hostage.”

  “You already have.”

  “Believe it or not, I brought you here to protect you. I wanted one last chance to convince you Bill Mason is dangerous.”

  “Well, you haven’t, so you can save your breath. Tomorrow morning I’m going to town. I don’t want to marry Bill Mason, even if he does have a secret passion for me. What are you going to do?”

  “Try to find another place to hide. I don’t trust Mason not to know of this cabin.”

  “If I were you, I’d head south while you still have the dark to hide you.”

  “But you’re not me,” Pete said. “I haven’t done things like I should, but Jake taught all his boys never to run from trouble. He said once you start running, you got to keep on.”

  “I thought you made Jake up.”

  “He’s real. So’s Isabelle. You ought to be glad they are. They’re the only reason I’m still here. Isabelle pounded into our heads that we had to take care of any woman we found in trouble—old, young, pretty, ugly, rich, poor, even women just plain too stubborn and hardheaded to believe the truth. I don’t know how, but I’ll get you out of this mess. Then I’ll head south as fast as I can.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Anne couldn’t sleep. Though she tried to block it out of her mind, she couldn’t forget what Pete had said. It seemed impossible he could be innocent. Everything fit too well—the meeting with and murder of Peter, pretending to be her husband, killing Belser, rounding up her cattle early so he could steal her money. That didn’t explain why rustlers had stolen the herd and shot Eddie, but she was sure she’d find out why before long. In any case, Pete had to be the man who’d killed Peter.

  Then why wasn’t she frightened of him?

  He’d lied to her, kidnaped her, was holding her hostage. If she believed Pete had killed three people, why didn’t she believe he’d kill her?

  Because he needed her? Maybe. Mrs. Dean could trumpet her objections to the whole of Big Bend, but it wouldn’t matter. As long as Anne’s public faith in her husband never wavered, he would be accepted as Peter Warren without having to produce any incontrovertible proof.

  She wondered what he would do to convince her to continue to support his lie. With Peter dead, there was no one to prove they had ever been married. Without that, she couldn’t inherit anything as his widow. She would have no money, no place to live, nowhere to go. Would Pete threaten to turn her over to her uncle and Cyrus McCaine? Wouldn’t marriage to Pete, even if he were a murderer, be better than a lifetime sentence as Cyrus’s wife?

  Anne refused to let herself consider such an option. Nothing could be worse than being married to a murderer.

  Pete had been kind to her. He’d treated her better than anyone had ever treated her, including Peter. He hadn’t forced himself on her that first night or any of the nights after that. When she’d made love to him, she’d done so because she wanted it more than anything else in the world.

  Love! How could she use such a word! How could any woman love a man who’d done what he’d done?

  But he’d been sweet and charming and thoughtful. He’d bought her clothes, a beautiful ring, told her she was beautiful, treated her as if she was beautiful. He’d even acted as if he loved her.

  She was thinking like a fool. She’d been starved for love and affection for so long that she was willing to defend the first man who gave it to her, even if he w
as a criminal. She had to get her emotions under control. She didn’t know anything about killers. She’d always assumed they were vicious. But it would seem logical that any man who wanted to pretend to be someone he wasn’t would have to be charming enough to make the victims want him to be that person. Dozens of little things had warned her, had made her question whether Pete was Peter.

  But he’d been so charming, sweet, generous, considerate, appreciative, capable, masterful, big, strong, handsome—all the things a woman wanted in a husband—it was no wonder she’d wanted to believe he was Peter.

  She couldn’t imagine any other man spending so much time or money making certain she found just the right dresses to flatter her face and figure. Nor had he quibbled at all the extras she bought to make herself beautiful. He’d given with a free hand.

  And the ring! She could still remember the tears she’d shed when he’d slipped it on her finger.

  Fool! Why shouldn’t he be generous? It wasn’t his money. And every penny he spent made her more determined than ever to believe in him. She didn’t doubt him even when Mrs. Dean said he was an imposter. She didn’t believe anyone until Pete himself told her he wasn’t Peter.

  That didn’t make any sense. Why should he have told her he wasn’t Peter? He needed her support now more than ever. As far as she could see, he had everything to lose and nothing to gain.

  But he’d only told her when he came up against Bill Mason and his armed cowhands. Maybe he thought that by confessing to the smaller crime of being an imposter, she wouldn’t believe him guilty of the bigger one, killing Peter and Belser. But why confess to any crime? Why not go on pretending complete innocence? After that night in his arms, she would have believed anything he said.

  She tried not to remember that evening, but it was impossible. She had been certain she’d found love, a place to belong forever. She’d thought she had finally been transformed from a girl into a woman. She doubted Pete was in love with her yet, but she was certain he soon would be.