Promises Kept

  Tate tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am.” He walked out the door whistling.

  Chapter Eleven

  “If that food is anywhere near as good as it smells, this is going to outdo Mrs. Morris’s grub,” T. J. Hardin, Colt’s foreman, said.

  Colt nodded his agreement as he hung his shirt on a peg on the back porch. He grabbed a bar of soap and dunked his head in the water before he started scrubbing. He didn’t normally go to so much trouble before dinner, but he didn’t normally have a beautiful woman at his table.

  Victoria glanced out the window when she heard voices. She nearly dropped the platter she was holding when she saw Colt stripping out of his shirt. His clothing didn’t disguise his well-muscled form, but with his torso bare he was a sight to behold. His sculpted body reminded her more of a carved marble statue than a warm-blooded man. She told herself to move away from the window, she honestly did, but her feet felt like they had taken root to the floor. When he turned around she couldn’t help but admire his wide chest and arms, rippling with well-honed muscle.

  Colt snagged a cloth off a peg and glanced at the window. When he saw two big blue eyes staring at him, his mouth tilted up in a grin. He’d just caught the prim and proper Miss Victoria Eastman ogling his body.

  Victoria was mortified. Not only did he catch her staring at him, he had the audacity to grin at her to let her know he’d caught her. She whirled around and headed for the dining room. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen men without their shirts before, but they certainly hadn’t looked anything like Colt McBride.

  Colt chuckled more to himself than aloud. After he was relatively dry he shook the dust from his shirt and shoved his arms through the sleeves. T. J. followed his lead, making an effort to improve his appearance. Rex Womack, Colt’s horse wrangler, joined them on the back porch, looking spit-shined. Colt looked him up and down and arched a brow.

  “I cleaned up in the bunkhouse,” Rex explained with a sheepish look on his face.

  Colt figured there wasn’t a man on the ranch who hadn’t already heard that a fine-looking woman was staying there.

  Tate opened the door for the men. “You better get to the table or I might eat all this by myself. I smelled her cooking all the way out to Mrs. Morris’s, and my stomach’s been growling ever since.”

  The men filed in and headed to the dining room. Suddenly, Colt came to a halt in the doorway, causing T. J. to slam into his back. Victoria was leaning over to place a large platter of fried chicken in the middle of the table, and seeing her perform that simple chore caught him unawares. Victoria was a lovely sight in her white dress, moving around the table making sure everything was just right. She looked very much at home, as if she was right where she belonged. A memory of his mother flashed in his mind. He’d seen her do the same thing a thousand times when he was a young man. Inexplicably, that moment stirred something deep inside him.

  Victoria’s face was flushed, and he wondered if she was still blushing from seeing him without a shirt, or if it was from standing over the hot stove. Whatever the reason, she looked more at ease than she had in the past two days.

  She turned and saw him in the doorway and gave him a tentative smile. At least, he wanted to think it was meant for him.

  “Just in time,” she said.

  T. J. nudged Colt from behind, forcing him to move into the room. Colt shook his head as if that would chase away his unwanted thoughts, and strolled to the table.

  “Something sure smells good,” T. J. said to Victoria, breaking the tension.

  Victoria glanced nervously at the two men accompanying Colt, and judging by the way she was wringing her hands, Colt thought she might bolt at any moment. Before she could think about running, he pulled a chair away from the table and held it for her. Once she sat, T. J. quickly took the seat next to her, and to Colt’s chagrin, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. After taking his usual chair at the head of the table, he made the introductions. Like the night before, Colt lowered his head and the men followed suit. As soon as Colt said amen, the men reached for the food.

  “Colt, you didn’t tell us she was such a looker,” T. J. teased, giving Victoria a wide grin.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hardin,” she replied softly.

  “T. J., ma’am. That’s what everyone calls me.” He winked at her. “I reckon you can call me anything, as long as you call me for supper.”

  Victoria couldn’t help but smile at him. He was a tall, handsome man, with a grin that was sure to be used on a regular basis. Rex was the polar opposite to T. J., having a quiet, reserved nature. He actually blushed when Colt introduced him. She guessed both men to be a few years older than Colt, yet it was easy to see they held their boss in high esteem.

  “Tate says you are a fine cook.” T. J. picked up the huge bowl of mashed potatoes and proceeded to slap a huge pile on his plate.

  “That she is,” Tate said. “I almost stopped and had myself a picnic on the food she sent Mrs. Morris.”

  Colt accepted the platter of chicken from T. J., helping himself to four pieces.

  Victoria was stunned by the mountain of food on the plates in front of the men. She was happy with her decision to cook enough food to feed ten people.

  “How is Mrs. Morris feeling? I didn’t get a chance to stop by,” Colt asked Tate.

  “She looked real pale. I told her Miss Victoria said for her not to worry, she would handle the cooking and cleaning as long as she was here,” Tate answered.

  Colt’s gaze slid to Victoria. “You’re a guest. You don’t have to cook and clean for us.”

  “I enjoy cooking,” she responded. “You’ve been kind enough to let me stay in your home; it’s the least I can do.”

  “Well, I’ve never tasted anything so good,” T. J. said, and shoved more potatoes in his mouth. “I hope you’ll stay a long time.”

  The men ate their fill, and when Victoria brought the dessert to the table, they thought they had died and gone to heaven. The apple pie she placed beside Colt’s plate was piled a foot high. “What did you make for them?” Colt asked, picking up the pie and placing it in front of him.

  Victoria thought she should have realized that a man his size could probably eat a whole pie. It wasn’t until Colt winked at her, and the other men laughed, that she realized he was teasing.

  By the time dinner ended, Victoria had relaxed and was beginning to enjoy conversing with the men. Listening to them joke with Tate, she thought about what the boys were missing by not having men in their lives. Before they left for the bunkhouse they all grabbed dishes and carried them to the kitchen. When Victoria started pumping water into the sink, Colt nudged her aside and took over the chore. “You want to wash or dry?”

  “You don’t need to help me. I’ll have this done in no time.”

  “You worked hard on that fine meal, and I don’t mind helping with kitchen chores. You wash, I’ll dry.” Truth was, he rarely helped in the kitchen. He’d normally go to the stable to take care of animals that needed tending, but tonight he’d assigned that task to Rex. After a few minutes of working in companionable silence, he asked, “Where did you learn to cook like that?”

  “I’ve cooked since I was a young girl,” she responded.

  “Was your mother a good cook?” he pressed.

  Uncomfortable talking about herself, Victoria scrubbed a plate longer than necessary. “Not really.”

  “Your grandmother?”

  “Hmm . . . oh, I guess,” she said softly.

  Obviously a subject she didn’t care to discuss, Colt figured. “What are your plans now that . . . well, that things didn’t work out here?”

  “I’ll return to St. Louis and keep working for Mrs. Wellington.”

  Colt took another plate from her. “How old are the boys?”

  “They will be seven soon.” His question reminded her that she had hoped the boys would have a home in time to celebrate their next birthday.

  He was stunned her boys were that old. If she was tw
enty, and he doubted that, she would have had those boys when she was what . . . thirteen? Then it registered she’d said both boys would be seven. “Both of them! You mean they’re twins?” He hadn’t noticed that in St. Louis; he was too busy looking at her.

  She smiled at him. “Yes, they are.”

  Colt eyed her small frame, trying to imagine her carrying one baby. “That is a whole lot of responsibility,” he said. “I can see why you came out here to meet up with Chet.” Considering the forlorn look that passed over her face, he could have kicked his own rear end for bringing up Chet.

  Tate burst through the kitchen door. “Mr. McBride, you best come look!”

  Hearing fear in Tate’s voice, Colt moved fast. He grabbed his holster from the peg and bolted for the door. Victoria rushed through the door behind them. Colt had his gun strapped on by the time he stepped off the back porch. He smelled the smoke before he saw the light in the distance that could only indicate a fire. T. J. and some of the other men came running from the bunkhouse.

  “You figure that’s near—” T. J. didn’t finish his sentence because Colt took off at a run for the stable.

  “Yeah, it’s near Tom’s cabin,” Colt replied when T. J. caught up with him. Before they reached the stable, Rex was leading several saddled horses out. Colt grabbed the reins and jumped on Razor’s back. He didn’t know what he would find, but he had a nagging suspicion that this was no accident. All of his men had worked for him for a long time, and they had seen dry conditions like this before. He was confident that even if someone had a smoke they wouldn’t have been so careless as to drop a cigarette butt on the ground. Colt called to his men, “Everyone grab a shovel and some buckets, and ride like the devil is behind you to get those cattle to safety.” He pointed to Rex. “You, Lane, and Tate stay here with Miss Eastman in case there’s trouble afoot. Be ready for anything, and no one goes in that house that you don’t know. If you see trouble coming, fire three shots.”

  Considering all of the trouble he’d had lately, he reasoned the perpetrators might be using the fire as a ruse to get the men away from the house so they could set it on fire.

  He hadn’t noticed Victoria outside until that moment, and he nudged Razor toward her. “The men will be just outside. Tate will be inside with you. Stay in the house unless my men say different.”

  Victoria’s eyes were fixed on the fire in the distance. “I heard you say it could be near Helen’s house.”

  “It’s near their house, but let’s not borrow trouble. Stay here, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “What can I do?”

  He knew she would sit and worry if she didn’t stay busy. “Make lots of strong coffee. The men will need it when we come back. You might want to keep some of that fine dinner warmed up. A prayer wouldn’t hurt.”

  Victoria watched as Colt rode toward the fire, recalling a night, not unlike this one, when flames fed on everything in sight, and God was silent. Tonight she couldn’t find the words for a prayer.

  “Tom, what happened?” Colt shouted, scrambling off Razor before he came to a full stop. Tom Morris was pumping water into buckets and Mrs. Morris was scurrying about, dumping water on every bush around the cabin. The fire was still a good distance away, but the wind was blowing in their direction. Colt could hear his men yelling in the distance as they tried to round up what cattle hadn’t run off and move them a safe distance away from the fire.

  “I saw them set the fire, Colt,” Tom yelled, relinquishing the pumping to T. J. “Them low-down dirty sons-of-Satan tried to set the fire in a circle around the cattle, but I shot one of them out of his saddle before he could finish his evil deed. I think most of the cattle took off, so we didn’t lose many. Still, it’ll be days rounding them up.”

  Colt and his men grabbed as many buckets as they could hold and started throwing water on the cabin. He turned to face the red blaze that was inching closer as the wind whipped around them. He figured they didn’t have long if the wind didn’t shift, so he instructed four men to start digging a trench between the cabin and the fire. It wasn’t so much the house that concerned him, but he knew Mrs. Morris would hate to lose things precious to her.

  “How many were there?” he asked Tom.

  “I saw six of them. Now there’s only five.”

  Once the cabin was as wet as they could get it, everyone turned their attention to digging the trench and filling it with water.

  “Thank the Good Lord there is still plenty of water in that well,” Mrs. Morris said with a weariness that worried Colt.

  “You go sit on that porch and rest,” he told her. He looked at the fire again. “I think the wind has shifted. Let’s get this trench filled in case it changes direction again.”

  They finished filling the trench, but thankfully, with the help of the wind, it looked as though the fire was going to burn back into itself. They all stood side by side watching the flames, praying the wind didn’t shift back toward them.

  “How’d you see them?” T. J. asked Tom.

  “I just happened to walk on the porch to . . . to have a smoke.” Tom glanced at his wife, and added sheepishly, “You know how the wife don’t like the smell of tobacco.”

  Helen gave him a disapproving look. “I know you’re still smoking, you old coot. I reckon I can forgive you this time since you saved our hides.”

  Colt chuckled at that. He noted Mrs. Morris was already in her nightclothes, and she looked like she was ready to drop from exhaustion. “Helen, go on inside and get what you need for the night. You two are coming to the house with us.”

  “We’ll be fine right where we are,” Tom replied, rankled that Colt made it sound like he couldn’t take care of his wife.

  “No argument. I don’t want you two alone out here without backup until I find out what’s going on, and the men will be out for hours rounding up strays.” He gave Tom a long look, and could see he was about to dig his heels in. The man didn’t want to face the fact that he was in his seventies and wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel against killers like Hoyt Nelson. All the same, he tried to smooth the old man’s injured pride. “Tom, you saw for yourself these men don’t come alone, and you couldn’t handle four or five of them. You have Helen to think about, and she’s not looking too good right now.”

  “What if them no-good skunks come back to burn us out?” Tom asked.

  “I’ll have the men ride by here throughout the night to make sure they don’t,” Colt replied patiently. Colt thought about telling Tom he could stay with his men, but he knew Mrs. Morris wouldn’t rest if she had to worry about her husband.

  Chapter Twelve

  Propping his feet on his desk, Euan Wallace leaned back in his leather chair and swirled the brandy in the glass he held. This was his favorite room in his home, the place where he held meetings with his men. In his estimation, the room conveyed the powerful, wealthy man that he considered himself to be. The well-appointed study held his vast collection of leather-bound books, mostly volumes of law, medicine, and the classics. He readily boasted to any visitor that he’d read each and every book. He prided himself on being an educated man, and he had no one to credit but himself. Having been orphaned in England as a babe, everything he’d accomplished was due to his own intellect and cunning. He’d survived the harsh streets of London before making his way to America as a teenager. In America, he’d not only survived, he thrived. Before he reached Wyoming, he had already amassed considerable wealth, and now he owned more land than even he had dreamed of. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted an empire. Wallace’s Empire. He liked the sound of that. He hadn’t scratched his way through life to allow these ignorant, crude cowboys to get the upper hand. Men like Barlow and McBride thought they had a right to the land because it was inherited. If they’d had to fight and claw for it like he had, he figured they wouldn’t have lasted long. He was going to own every blade of grass surrounding his land, one way or the other, and he would eliminate anyone who got in his way. He didn’t play by anyo
ne’s rules; he took what he wanted, lawful or not, made no difference to him. It was fortuitous that Barlow had dropped over dead. His death saved a bullet.

  He took a long swallow of the warm brandy, his mind skipping in a different direction. For months he’d been thinking it was time to take a wife so he could have some sons. Problem was, he didn’t want to waste time courting a woman, but he would do what was necessary to build his empire. Women seemed to find him handsome enough, still in his prime, tall and lean, and he hadn’t lost any of his blond hair. Not that it made a difference; he knew it was his money that attracted the ladies. The thought of a pretty woman succumbing to his every need on a daily basis appealed to his ego. His thoughts were interrupted when Hoyt strolled into his study without knocking.

  “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?”

  Grinning, Hoyt walked to the side table and picked up the bottle. After pouring himself a generous amount of whiskey, he replied, “I didn’t know I had to.”

  “I expect that courtesy from every man on my ranch,” Wallace snapped. “Don’t forget it in the future.” No matter how many times he’d instructed the two Mexican women who worked for him to announce visitors, it was a task they couldn’t seem to handle. He didn’t want people waltzing in as they pleased.

  Hoyt eyed Wallace and, for a heartbeat, considered putting a bullet between his eyes. The only thing that kept him from pulling his revolver was the fact that Wallace was paying him a lot of money, including a large bonus when he got the land he wanted. He planned to hang around Promise longer anyway, since he had unfinished business: Hearing how fast a draw McBride was supposed to be, he wanted to find out for himself. He might as well milk Wallace for as much as he could while it lasted. He’d seen his fair share of nothing towns, and there were worse places than Promise. At least in this town there were some decent-looking women at the saloon where he could play poker anytime. He heard Wallace clear his throat, indicating he was waiting for him to state his business.