Pete (The Cowboys)

by Leigh Greenwood

  “Can I have them?”

  “If you marry Mr. Mason, you can have anything you want.”

  She wanted to take them with her, but Mason hadn’t given her a room. She couldn’t explain why she’d want to walk around clutching a pair of saddlebags all evening. She didn’t dare try to open them unless she was assured of absolute privacy.

  She’d have to leave them for now. She dropped them back into the corner with as much nonchalance as she could muster. “I’ll leave them here for the time being,” she said. “I really don’t have any use for them just now.”

  But the thought of those saddlebags sitting unprotected in the storage room nagged at her all evening. She kept telling herself nobody wanted them, that they were safe, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until she had them in her possession. She couldn’t do that until she knew which room was to be hers. When she’d asked him earlier, Mason had acted irritated, said he hadn’t made up his mind yet. She decided he just didn’t want the card game interrupted. She supposed he would tell her at bedtime.

  Finally the time came when the men had gone off to their own quarters, no one wanted anything else to eat or drink, and everything in the kitchen had been washed and put away.

  When the clock stuck ten, Mason announced, “It’s time to go to bed.”

  “I can’t go yet,” she said. “I don’t have any night-clothes.”

  She could have sworn she saw a gleam in his eye.

  “You won’t need any. I can keep you warm.”

  She pretended he hadn’t spoken. “I asked Ray to bring my clothes tonight no matter how late it was. I’ll wait up until he comes.”

  “He could be hours.”

  “I don’t mind. I’m not really sleepy. You can go on to bed.”

  “I don’t want to go to bed alone.”

  That was putting things on the line with a vengeance. He wasn’t going to pretend he intended to wait for the marriage vows before he deflowered her. It would take him only minutes to discover he was too late.

  “You can’t think I would come into this house, even as your affianced bride, and go to bed with you the first night.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not proper.”

  “I don’t give a damn what’s proper.” He took a step nearer. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for a whole year.”

  She took a step back. “You never said anything.”

  “You couldn’t talk about anybody but that silly fool Peter Warren. He was so pathetic, even his uncle didn’t want to leave the ranch to him. He’d have been better off to leave it to Belser.”

  “Uncle Carl believed very strongly in blood ties.” She had to talk, do anything to keep him at a distance while she tried to think of a way to escape being carried off to his bed. The thought of opening her body to him in the same way she’d given herself to Pete made her feel physically ill. It also made her furious. He had no right to force himself on any female, but especially not one he said he cared for and wanted to marry.

  “Peter was his only living relative,” she continued. “In his mind, he had no choice but to leave the ranch to him.”

  “That accident turned Carl into an old fool,” Mason said. “It would have been better if it had killed him.”

  Another bell rang. Pete had wondered if the fall had been an accident. He said it wasn’t the kind of thing that would happen to an experienced rider like Carl.

  “Uncle Carl agreed with you, especially when the pain was really bad.”

  “I’m tired of talking about Carl. I’m ready to go to bed, and I mean for you to go with me.”

  She backed farther away until she backed into a table. “You can’t want to disgrace the woman you intend to marry. Think of what people will say.”

  “I don’t care what anybody says.” He closed in on her. “You’re a mighty tasty morsel. I always wondered who would get you first, Carl or Belser.”

  Anne was horrified. Such a thought had never crossed her mind.

  “Or maybe they had you already.”

  “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing,” Anne said. “You call yourself Carl’s friend, yet you desecrate his memory.”

  “Come down off your high horse, girl. It’s not desecration to bed a breed and not marry her. Most respectable men wouldn’t even consider marriage. I’m considering it.”

  Peter had said Mason didn’t want to marry her, that he would do it only to gain control of the ranch, that he would find some way to get rid of her once he had legal possession.

  “Now stop resisting.” He reached out, grabbed hold of her wrist, and pulled her to him. “And don’t think you have me believing that story about you and Pete staying on opposite sides of the bed. I bet he had his hand up your dress before the door was closed good. I bet you liked every minute of it.” He grabbed her breast and pawed it roughly. “I hear breeds really like it when a man is rough. I hear it makes them really hot.”

  “It doesn’t make me hot,” Anne said, struggling to break his hold. But he was too strong. He backed her up against the table, bent her so far back, she could barely keep from falling.

  “I bet I can make you hot. I’m twice as much man as anybody you ever had. Belser was a fool. Carl was senile. The only one who was any better than a piece of dead wood was that man out in the barn, the one I’m going to hang tomorrow. I bet that’s why you didn’t want to admit he was an imposter. After Belser and Carl—did you bed Eddie, too?—I bet you were anxious to keep him between your legs.”

  She struggled harder, but he pinned her against the table. He ground his groin against her.

  “I know you can feel me between your legs. I’m bigger than any of them, and I’m not even worked up yet. Kiss me, get me hard, and I’ll show you what a real man feels like.”

  “Don’t,” she protested. “One of your men could walk in and—”

  “Any man fool enough to come through that door now will get thrown back through it and fired on the spot. Now come here. I’m tired of playing games.”

  He grabbed her, pulled her to him, and kissed her hard. She fought with all her strength, but it was useless. He lifted her off her feet just as easily as if she had weighed no more than a satchel. He forced her lips apart and drove his tongue into her mouth until she thought she would gag. She kicked and used her fists, but she was powerless to prevent him from carrying her off and raping her.

  “William Mason, put that young woman down this instant!”

  Mason turned on Mrs. Dean with an angry snarl. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to chaperone your prospective bride. Apparently I arrived in the nick of time.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Then he said it wouldn’t make any difference what he did because I was a breed, that no respectable man married a woman like me.”

  “I’ve always thought it unfortunate you should have that blot in your heritage,” Mrs. Dean said. “There’s no disputing it causes men to look at you quite differently.”

  They were safely in the bedroom Mrs. Dean had insisted she share with Anne. She had stated categorically that she couldn’t depend upon Mason’s better nature to assert itself.

  “I don’t pretend to be any more than I am,” Anne stated, annoyed by Mrs. Dean’s remarks, “but I won’t be treated like a woman of the streets.”

  “No, indeed. I shall remain at your side until this disgraceful business is over.”

  Mrs. Dean’s arrival had infuriated Mason. For a moment, Anne had wondered if he might not throw her out of the house. But in the few seconds it took him to recover from his shock, Mrs. Dean had insinuated herself between him and Anne. Even in a rage, Mason had enough sense not to lay a hand on Mrs. Dean. To do so would have resulted in his being driven out of the Territory. He retired in defeat, shouting curses all the while.

  “Are you quite certain you wish to marry Bill Mason?” Mrs. Dean asked.

  “I’m quite certain I don’t,” Anne responded. “But he sh
owed up at the ranch the night before the snowstorm, demanding that Pete give himself up and announcing he was going to marry me.”

  “I knew nothing of this passion for you.”

  “Neither did I. But after the way he treated me tonight, I think his passion is more for the ranch than for me. I have every intention of refusing to marry him, but I’m afraid he means to keep me here until I accept him.”

  “Not while I have anything to say about it. Tomorrow I shall send for Horace to bring a carriage from town.”

  “Don’t forget the sheriff.”

  “Horace and I shall be quite enough to protect you. But my dear, what are you going to do after that?”

  “I don’t know. Pete says if I can prove I married Peter before he was killed, I’ll inherit the ranch.”

  Mrs. Dean clutched her bosom. “Peter has been killed?”

  Anne related what Pete had told her..

  “And you believe him? You needn’t bother to deny it. I can see in your eyes you do. I don’t deny he’s a very handsome man—I thought so myself the moment I laid eyes on him—but it will not do to be in love with a man who has committed murder.”

  “But I don’t think he has. I found—”

  “Where is the imposter?”

  “Mr. Mason tied him up in the barn. He means to hang him tomorrow.” She got the feeling Mrs. Dean thought that was a good thing. “I know he’s done some terrible things, but no man deserves to be hanged without a trial.”

  Mrs. Dean didn’t look convinced.

  “If people could just announce that a person had committed a crime and hang him without any proof whatsoever, think of what could happen. Why, they could even accuse you.”

  “They wouldn’t dare!”

  “If they didn’t have to present proof, what could you do? They could hang you before anyone could come to your rescue. For the sake of everyone in the Territory, we can’t allow that to happen to Pete.”

  Mrs. Dean appeared unhappy to have to let go of a cherished thought, but she was a woman of principle. “You are right. We can’t let them hang that man, regardless of how richly he deserves it. I will insist that Bill take him into town first thing in the morning. I will speak to the sheriff myself.”

  “You won’t leave me?”

  “Definitely not. I told Carl years ago that he needed to provide you with a proper chaperone before you got into serious trouble. I’m very sorry to say my judgment has proved to be correct.”

  “It might not be quite as bad as you think.”

  “What could be worse than thinking you were married to a man who turns out to be a murderer and an imposter?”

  “He says he pretended to be Peter to rescue me from my uncle.”

  “That’s all well and good, but you can’t believe a murderer.”

  “I don’t think he killed Peter.”

  “Anne, this is ridiculous. Just because he’s a handsome fella, you can’t—”

  “It’s not that. He told me he came to Uncle Carl’s ranch because he was following the men who shot him and stole his money, the same men he said killed Peter. I didn’t believe him at first, in spite of his wound. The evidence against him was too strong.”

  “I’m glad to know you have some common sense.”

  “He kept talking about his money. He even described the saddlebags in great detail.”

  “What interest can you possibly have in saddlebags?”

  “He said he sewed his money into the lining, that the men who shot him took the saddlebags. He thinks someone here hired those men to kill Peter. They probably robbed Pete just because he happened to be in their path.”

  “A likely story. I don’t believe a—”

  “They’re here.”

  “What’s here?”

  “Pete’s saddlebags. I saw them.”

  “How can you be certain?” Mrs. Dean sputtered. “Saddlebags all look alike.”

  “Not these. Pete had them made specially for him.”

  Mrs. Dean took a moment to digest this information. “But how can we tell for sure? We can hardly ask him to identify them.”

  “If we find the money in the lining like he said, won’t that prove it?”

  Mrs. Dean thought a moment. “Yes, I think it would. We must get those saddlebags immediately.”

  “They’re downstairs in the kitchen storeroom.”

  “Then let’s get them now.”

  “Maybe we should wait until tomorrow. I don’t want to make Mason suspicious.”

  “I’ll go with you. If anyone asks, we’ll say I wanted some water. You can say you were packing the saddlebags in preparation for moving to my house in town.”

  “Am I going to your house?”

  “Of course. Where else would you stay?”

  Nowhere nearly as safe, Anne was certain.

  They took a small lamp, the only lamp they could find after Mason had stormed out of the house. They didn’t meet anyone on the stairs or in the front of the house.

  “His cook keeps a good kitchen,” Mrs. Dean said. She held the lamp aloft while she inspected every corner of the room. “I think I will have some water. Where does the man keep the glasses?”

  “I don’t know if he has any. I saw only cups at dinner.”

  “Then I’ll use a cup.”

  Anne had just filled the cup and handed it to Mrs. Dean when the kitchen door burst open.

  “What the hell are you doing down here?” Mason demanded.

  Mrs. Dean froze, her outstretched hand motionless. “I will not be spoken to in that manner. Apologize this instant.”

  Anne nearly laughed out loud. For one moment she wished she could be a seventy-year-old dowager with a huge bosom, prortuberant eyes, and an impressive coil of iron-gray hair. It would be wonderful to be able to bowl people over by sheer force of personality.

  “I thought you were one of the hands,” Mason said.

  “Are you saying I look like a man!” She made it sound like a physical deformity.

  “I spoke before I looked.”

  “Well, now that you have, you can go back to bed.”

  “I’ll wait and see you to your room.”

  Mrs. Dean seemed to swell. “Are you implying I might take something from your kitchen? What—a ham or a side of beef I plan to devour in my room?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Good. Now I’m going to drink my water. Anne is going to get a pair of saddlebags the cook gave her to pack some of her things in. If it will make you feel better, you can watch us to make certain that’s all we take.”

  “No need,” Mason said, backing out of the kitchen. “You sure you know your way?”

  “Certain.”

  He disappeared though the doorway, and Anne released the breath she’d been holding. “I’m glad you didn’t have to explain why I wanted this knife,” she said, holding up a knife she’d taken from a drawer just before Mason entered the room.

  “I’d have told him I was keeping it by my side to make certain no one entered our room during the night. In fact, I think I shall do that. Now get those saddlebags. It’s cold down here.”

  Anne was relieved to find the saddlebags exactly where she’d left them. Clearly no one suspected what they might contain. They retraced their steps to their room.

  “Lock the door,” Mrs. Dean said.

  “I don’t see a key.”

  “There must be one.”

  “It’s not in the door.”

  “I’ll see to that.” Mrs. Dean took the lamp and disappeared down the hall, leaving Anne in the dark. After a sharp exchange that Anne could hear from her room, Mrs. Dean returned.

  “He had the key in his room. Told me he kept it for safety purposes. Humph! That man is not truthful.” She turned the key in the lock. “Now cut the seams on those saddlebags. You’ve made me very curious.”

  Anne had never had occasion to cut the seams on saddlebags before, but she decided these must be especially well made. The stitching was so tight, she h
ad great difficulty inserting the point of her knife between the layers of leather.

  “Here, let me try,” Mrs. Dean said, impatient to see what the saddlebags contained.

  “I’ve almost got it,” Anne said. She had managed to cut the first rawhide stitch. After that she quickly widened the opening until she could put her hand inside.

  “Is there anything inside?” Mrs. Dean asked.

  Anne shoved her hand into the opening. “Paper of some kind. A lot of it.” She gripped several pieces and pulled. Her mouth fell open when the light fell on what she held in her hand—several thousand-dollar bills.

  “He did hide money in his saddlebags,” she said. “He was telling the truth.”

  “How much is there?” Mrs. Dean asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Check. If he spent five years in the goldfields, he ought to have more than a few thousand.”

  Anne searched the cavity, but couldn’t find more than fifteen thousand dollars.

  “We have to take the saddlebags apart,” Mrs. Dean said. “I want to know exactly how much money this man has.”

  “He didn’t steal it from Peter,” Anne said. “Peter hardly had enough money to get to Wyoming.”

  “I’m keeping an open mind.”

  Taking the saddlebags apart took nearly half an hour. Anne regretted destroying such marvelous craftsmanship. Counting the money took less time. Still, it came to more than seventy thousand dollars.

  “No wonder he followed those men all the way from Montana,” Mrs. Dean said.

  “It proves he’s telling the truth, doesn’t it?”

  “I think it does. But if he didn’t kill Peter, who did?”

  “I don’t know. Pete thinks the same person killed Belser. Maybe even Eddie.”

  “But that’s impossible unless…”

  “I know,” Anne said. “Pete thought the same thing.”

  “Then you, my dear, are in an extremely dangerous position.”

  “You are, too, for coming to help me. I shouldn’t have sent Ray to get you.”

  “No, you were right to do that. But now that we know what we know, we have to decide what to do.”

  “What am I going to do with this money? I don’t dare let anybody know about it. Uncle Carl said lots of men would kill for a few hundred dollars.”