Promises Kept

  The thought of this big strapping man carrying the delicate china to the table made Victoria smile. “Everything smells delicious,” she told him.

  Her cheeks had more color, Colt thought, and she definitely looked more rested. “Were you able to get some shut-eye?”

  “I almost fell asleep in the tub,” she admitted, taking the chair he held for her.

  Colt chuckled, willing himself not to think of her naked in a tub. “That makes two of us.”

  “Isn’t Mr. Bartholomew here?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be along. Bartholomew does things at his own pace. He wouldn’t want us waiting for him.”

  “No one else is joining us?” she asked, thinking it was an abundance of food for three people.

  “Just the three of us tonight. Tate Wagner—he’s a sixteen-year-old boy who works on the ranch—usually eats with me, but he’s visiting his family tonight.” It wasn’t unusual for Colt to have some of his other men dine with him, but sensing how nervous Victoria was around men, he’d asked them to eat in the bunkhouse tonight. He hoped with no one else around she might be inclined to talk more freely.

  Colt reached over and placed his large palm over the top of Victoria’s hand, causing her to jump. Her eyes darted to him, but seeing he’d lowered his head, she did the same. He said a quick prayer, released her hand, grabbed his fork, and stabbed the largest piece of meat on the platter. He held it to Bandit’s nose and the dog gently took the meat from Colt’s fingers. “Good boy,” Colt said, then poured some water in a bowl and placed it on the floor.

  Victoria was surprised at his thoughtfulness, not to mention he seemed oblivious to the fact that Bandit’s water bowl was a fine piece of china. “He’s probably had more to eat today than he has in weeks,” she said. She thought the hopeless look in Bandit’s eyes was beginning to fade the longer he was with her.

  Without thinking, Colt plopped a large piece of meat and a huge spoonful of mashed potatoes on Victoria’s plate. “He does look like he’s had a few miles of bad road. But he’s a smart dog, doesn’t beg, and he has good manners.”

  Victoria was staring at the mounds of food he was adding to her plate. He was giving her as much as he’d stacked on his plate. As hungry as she was, there was no way she would be able to eat half of it.

  Seeing her eyes glued on her plate, Colt realized what he had done. “Sorry, I guess I’m just used to piling it on Tate’s plate. We have hearty appetites after a full day’s work.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, each trying to think of something to say. Victoria was first to break the silence. “When did you say the next stagecoach would come through?”

  “Two days from now.” Colt couldn’t keep himself from staring at her blue eyes. Earlier they were a bright blue, but under the candlelit chandelier they were a deeper blue, like the sky at dusk. For the hundredth time that day he wondered why a beautiful woman found herself in such circumstances that she would contemplate marrying a complete stranger. What man wouldn’t be curious about her? “Bartholomew said you planned to bring your boys with you.”

  “I had planned to bring the boys here after . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence for fear of succumbing to tears again. Since Bartholomew had told him about the boys, she assumed he probably told him about her advertisement too. “Mr. Barlow responded to my ad for a husband,” she said plainly. “I wanted to see if he would be suitable before the boys joined me. They stayed behind with Mrs. Wellington. The boys and I have rooms at the boardinghouse, but I was hoping to make a home for them here.” She stared at Colt, expecting to see the condemnation in his eyes for what she had done. Most men would think only a fallen woman would consider finding a husband in such an unusual way.

  Colt thought about her admission, and noted the one thing she didn’t mention was what had happened to her husband. She must be widowed, he thought. He admired her for trying to find a suitable home for her boys. By his estimation, it took a woman with a lot of grit to survive with three mouths to feed. One would never expect a delicate woman like her to have what it took to travel out West by herself to find a husband. But as his father always said, it wasn’t the size of man that he took measure of, but the heart of him. He figured the same thing held true for the fairer sex. This woman was no hothouse flower, not by a long shot. While she might be wary of men, that fear hadn’t hindered her from making a trip few men relished. It was a grueling journey, well over a thousand miles, and it wasn’t unusual for a stagecoach to have problems with equipment or animals, and pray that was the least of it. The accommodations along the way were ill suited for females, as privacy was a rare commodity. It didn’t bear thinking what might have happened to someone like her if they had been attacked by Indians or robbers. As pretty as she was, she undoubtedly had encountered several unwanted advances along the way. Now that he thought about it, the derringer in her bag made perfect sense.

  He gave her a steady look, thinking she reminded him of his mother, small and graceful but stronger than she appeared. Don’t go there, he told himself. “It can’t be easy for a woman to make a way with two boys.”

  From her experience, most men didn’t give a thought to what it was like for a woman to make her way in the world. Without a family or a husband, there were few options for women to earn a living. As she knew so well, many young women in her situation ended up in some saloon selling drinks, or worse. The same fate had been awaiting her. Thinking of the boys, her eyes welled up again. She’d cried more today than she had in a long time. Taking a deep breath, she blinked away the tears, refusing to give in to self-pity. “Mrs. Wellington pays me as much as possible, but I’ve been saving for two years, and am no closer to having a home for us.”

  Hearing a knock at the door, Colt said, “That must be Bartholomew.” Damn, he thought, just as she was beginning to open up they had to be interrupted. He excused himself to go answer the door.

  Chapter Ten

  Standing over Mr. Barlow’s body, Victoria gazed at his serene face. She recalled how he had described himself in his letter. He wasn’t a handsome man, but she thought he had a kind face. No one had mentioned his age, and she guessed he was in his sixties. That made her wonder why he’d never married.

  Colt watched Victoria’s face as she stared at Chet. He would have given every head of beef he owned at that moment to know what she was thinking. A few minutes passed in silence before he escorted her outside so she would be spared seeing the coffin nailed closed. Once Colt and Bartholomew lifted the coffin into the buckboard, they left to take Chet to the farm for burial alongside his mother and father.

  Arriving at the Barlow farm, Colt stopped at the house so Victoria could freshen up. He stayed to greet the ranchers as they began to arrive to pay their last respects to one of their own. Bartholomew took the coffin to the cemetery where Colt’s men were waiting beside the freshly dug grave.

  Victoria walked outside to find Colt waiting for her. Slowly, they made their way toward the cemetery. When Victoria spotted some wildflowers in the field, Colt stood patiently while she picked them for Mr. Barlow’s grave.

  Two dozen people were silent as they gathered around the gravesite; the only sound came from the women’s skirts whipping in the wind. Victoria glanced at the assembly, studying the solemn faces of Mr. Barlow’s friends. Her gaze moved to Colt standing alone, a head taller than any man there. She could see the sadness in his dark eyes as he stared off in the distance. The only outward sign of his tenuous hold on his emotions was his tightly clenched jaw. Knowing he was struggling to maintain control gave her a glimpse into his character. A tall, handsome boy walked to his side, and Colt placed his hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. Victoria assumed it was the young man Colt mentioned at dinner last night. His face held such admiration when he looked at Colt that it made her wonder how the twins would react to the larger-than-life cowboy.

  Colt reflected on the friend he was burying way too soon. He’d stood over too many graves, and this
was a loss that was hitting him hard. It saddened him to know that the plans Chet was making for his future, plans that included a bride, would never be realized. Life had a way of getting away from a man, he thought. All the more reason for his brothers to come home before it was too late. It was days like this when the absence of his brothers hit him hardest. Most times he was too busy to ruminate about not having his family near. But burying his friend today reminded him how lonely it was not to have someone to share the times of sadness or the moments of joy.

  Victoria moved to stand near him, bringing his thoughts back to the present. Her cheeks were moist with the tears she shed for the man she didn’t know. The wildflowers she clutched in her hands looked as fragile as the woman holding them. He noticed she had pulled the ribbon from her hair to hold the bouquet together.

  Bartholomew, standing at the head of the coffin, was the first to speak. “We all knew Chet to be a quiet, decent, hardworking man.” He hesitated and pulled a folded piece of paper, yellowed and brittle with age, from his pocket. “I found these words writ by Chet in his Bible.” His voice was low and raw with emotion, and everyone remained perfectly still, listening intently. With shaking hands, he unfolded the paper. He looked up at the faces gathered around the coffin. “I reckon his own words say more about the man than my words ever could.” He started to read what Chet had written.

  “I thank you, Lord, for giving me this life, and have some measure of hope that with Your help, I made something of it. I’ve not been a perfect man, but I’ve tried to help those in need, and I have always been grateful for the kindness of others.” After taking a deep breath, Bartholomew turned his watery eyes on Colt.

  Looking at Bartholomew’s withered face, Colt thought he looked like he’d aged fifty years overnight. He could see in the older man’s eyes that he didn’t have it in him to say more, so he stepped forward.

  “Chet liked to read the works of Mr. William Shakespeare, and I think these words were penned for a man like Chet.” Colt started, his deep baritone voice cracking with emotion. He paused in an effort to collect himself, twirled the hat in his hands a few times, trying to swallow the large lump in his throat. “‘Men of few words are the best men.’” He wanted to say more, but too many feelings threatened his hard-fought battle for control. He’d only cried one time in his life, the day his mother was killed. He’d learned long ago to keep a tight rein on his emotions. Another reason he didn’t want to let anyone too close: He didn’t want to feel the pain when they died or left.

  The pastor stepped forward and led them in prayer. When he finished, Colt settled his Stetson on his head, silently indicating there was nothing else to be said. Everyone started to move away until they saw Victoria step forward and gently place the flowers on top of Mr. Barlow’s coffin.

  “I am so sorry, Mr. Barlow,” she whispered, swiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She couldn’t put into words the sorrow she felt. Seeing all of his friends gathered around his coffin, and hearing the words he wrote, spoke of his fine qualities. She wished she could have met him. There might not have been love between them had they decided to wed, but she didn’t question he was a man who would have treated the boys well. She could no longer stop the tears from flowing. Dropping her face in her hands, she sobbed.

  Silence ensued all around. Colt couldn’t bear seeing Victoria cry like her heart was breaking. With a nod of his head, the ranchers walked away and he pulled Victoria to his chest, enfolding her in his strong arms. Over the top of her head, he looked to his men, silently indicating they could finish their work and lower the coffin into the ground. After Victoria’s sobbing subsided, he gently took hold of her elbow to lead her to the buckboard, with Bartholomew at his side. After assisting her to the seat, he turned to Bartholomew and placed his arm around his thin shoulders, conveying without words he understood and shared the old man’s loss.

  “I found a letter addressed to me in Chet’s Bible, but I just haven’t been able to read it yet,” Bartholomew confided.

  “All in good time,” Colt replied. “It’ll take some time to get your thoughts settled. Some of my men will be helping out around here so you keep them busy.” Colt didn’t think he should be alone on the farm right now. He knew how it felt to have nothing but your thoughts for company.

  “I appreciate that, Colt, there’s a lot of work to be done around here. I’ll have plenty for them to do.”

  “I don’t want you alone if Wallace pays another visit. When the men head back to the ranch, you come with them.” He knew Bartholomew couldn’t handle Wallace and his men by himself. “I’ll expect you for dinner.”

  Colt walked back to the gravesite to tell his men to stay with Bartholomew, and if Wallace showed up, he wanted someone to come for him. He wasn’t about to let anyone cause Bartholomew trouble, and the only one heartless enough to try would be Wallace.

  Tate was waiting in the kitchen when Colt and Victoria returned to the ranch. He hadn’t met Victoria at the funeral, but the men were all abuzz about the beautiful woman staying at the ranch for a few days.

  It lightened Colt’s mood considerably watching the teenager blush and stammer as if he’d swallowed his tongue, once he introduced him to Victoria. He’d never seen the boy so tongue-tied; he usually talked nonstop for hours on end. He could sympathize with Tate because he’d suffered the same affliction when he’d first laid eyes on Victoria in St. Louis.

  Tate had worked for Colt for two years, having come to the ranch half-starved and desperate to find work to feed his mother and four siblings. They’d made their way into town in a broken-down wagon and next to nothing in the way of supplies. There was no father in sight; he’d left the family to fend for themselves long ago. Upon learning they were living in their wagon, Colt set them up in a house on his ranch. Tate’s mother was not one to accept charity, so Colt gave her a job of doing the wash on the ranch, a task that was too difficult for Helen to continue.

  Even though Colt was going through a rough time dealing with his own problems on the ranch, he’d taken Tate in and spent his time teaching him ranch work. He saw to it that Tate’s clothes and his other necessities were charged to Colt’s account at the mercantile so the boy could use his earnings for his family’s needs. Tate proved to be a hard worker with a willingness to learn any new task, and Colt never regretted taking him on. In some ways the boy was mature beyond his years, most likely from shouldering man-sized responsibilities.

  Tate filled an empty place in Colt’s heart, and he’d made it his mission to see to it the boy became a decent, hardworking man. He insisted Tate go to church with him on Sundays in an effort to set an example like his father had done for him and his brothers. He remembered what it was like to go to church with his family, and he wanted Tate to have that experience in his life. At first, Tate resisted because his family had never attended church, but after a few weeks he was waiting for him in the buckboard on Sunday mornings.

  “Where’s Helen?” Colt asked him, seeing that nothing was cooking on the stove. The boy was still staring slack-jawed at Victoria, forcing Colt to nudge him for a response.

  “What?” Tate asked, his eyes never leaving Victoria’s face. Finally, Colt’s words took hold in his brain, and his face flushed bright red. “Tom took her home when I got back from Mr. Barlow’s. He said she was feeling poorly.”

  Tom Morris worked for Colt’s dad for many years, but when an accident forced him to retire from cowboying, they were given a home on McBride land with lifetime tenancy. Helen insisted that she wasn’t ready to retire, so she still did the cooking and cleaning. Despite her advanced years, she told Colt she wanted to work as long as the Good Lord allowed.

  “I’ll check on her while I’m out,” Colt said. “I was planning to stop by for a visit with Tom.”

  “I’ll be happy to prepare dinner,” Victoria offered. It was an opportunity for her to feel useful, and to thank Colt for his kindness to her. It might even keep her mind off her problems fo
r a while.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Colt asked, grateful for her offer.

  “Not at all, I will enjoy it,” she assured him. “Would you like to take something for Tom and Helen?”

  “I’m headed out now, but that would be nice. Just fix something up and give it to Tate. He can take it out to them when it’s ready.”

  Before he left, Colt instructed Tate to help Victoria with whatever she needed. After hanging his jacket on the hook by the door, he turned to leave. Pausing, he looked back at Victoria. “You don’t have to go to a lot of trouble. I’ll eat almost anything. Whatever you whip up is fine by me. Tate and two of my men will be here for dinner, and I expect Bartholomew will show up sometime.” He grabbed his hat and smiled at her. “Thank you.”

  Victoria watched from the window as Colt walked to his horse. He didn’t just walk, she thought, he swaggered, like a man who was comfortable in his own skin. He had that loose-hipped gait of a cowboy, and while it didn’t appear he moved in a hurry, his long legs covered a lot of ground in a few steps. Taking the reins from one of his men, he jumped on his horse in one fluid motion, easily taking control of the large, scary-looking beast. She watched him ride away, moving as one with his horse, not sure which one was the more formidable.

  Tate cleared his throat, and Victoria, having forgotten that he was still in the room with her, turned quickly from the window. She retrieved an apron from the hook next to the one where Colt’s jacket hung, and tied it around her waist.

  “Is there anything you need before I leave, ma’am?” Tate asked, grinning at her.

  Embarrassed that he’d caught her staring at Colt, she felt herself turning pink. “I think I can find everything I need. You can come back in an hour, and I will have something ready for you to take to Mr. and Mrs. Morris.”