Win was the only one of their number who had a pa, and she wanted nothing to do with him.
Of course, none of the Hunt sons wanted anything to do with their pa, either. But with Clovis being dead, there was no real need to consider him and plan to avoid him.
Cheyenne’s pa, along with Molly and Andy’s, was long dead.
Plenty of ways to die out here, it seemed.
Oliver Hawkins though, he was alive and well, and it was clear as rainwater that Win didn’t want to see him.
But she came along, too. Riding overly close to Kevin, which seemed kinda nice. They’d all agreed—well, maybe not Win, but she was foolin’ herself and no one else—that her pa was bound to notice she was married. Had to happen one of these days.
She could keep hiding out, or she could go face him now with her Hunt family surrounding her.
So they were all heading over except Molly. That woman seemed to dearly love her kitchen. And Andy had stayed to practice cowboyin’. The foreman, Rubin, said he had work the kid could do.
Falcon rode around a curve in a nicely widened and leveled trail to see the Hawkins ranch house. He gasped. He heard the same from Kevin. The rest, of course, had seen this white-board monster before.
Falcon had thought Cheyenne’s house was grand. But it was log and stone, made out of what was to hand in these parts.
This house had to’ve been shipped in. Every little piece of it.
Three full stories of neat boards. It was surrounded on all sides he could see with a covered porch and white railings. The front doors were wood, with glass panels in them in a rainbow of colors. And the wood was carved in a way that would take Falcon a year of hard work, all fine details, with shining, carved brass doorknobs on a double door, and hinges to match. The windows were all glass, something just lookin’ for a chance to break, or so Falcon thought.
His mind flashed to his cabin. Wooden shutters. Leather for hinges. A wooden latch that dropped into place where it might’ve had fancy brass knobs. His head throbbed, and he turned his attention to the mansion ahead.
This was the house of a wealthy man. Or a fool. In Falcon’s opinion, it was probably both.
Cheyenne reined her horse in, swung down, and tied the mare to the hitching post near the barn. Oliver didn’t have one close to the house. The rumor was he didn’t think a line of tied-up horses looked right standing in front of his place.
Cheyenne would fix that if she married him.
True, a day ago, when she’d been in Falcon’s arms, she’d abandoned the whole notion of marrying Oliver. But then she found out Falcon might be married.
She snuck a glance at him.
Knowing he was here to stay, all she could think of was getting away.
And, since she couldn’t be with Falcon, she didn’t want to be with anyone. That fit with Oliver real well.
And she knew Oliver was willing.
And she knew Oliver would step back nicely and let her run this ranch to suit herself. He’d shown little inclination to take charge, just hired his work done.
She could run this place and do it well.
They all tied their horses and headed for the back door of the house. Cheyenne knew Oliver liked to come to the front door of the RHR ranch house. No one else ever did that. So maybe they should go to his front door, treat him as he treated them.
She hammered with the side of her fist on the back door. Considering the size of this ridiculous house, she didn’t expect anyone to hear her. So she’d wait a few seconds, then go barging in and holler until Oliver showed himself.
The door swung open before she could reach for the knob.
A woman stood there, pretty, not very old. Wearing an apron and with her dark hair in a knot at the back of her neck.
The woman’s rather sharp blue eyes shifted to Win, then she said, “Hello. I’ll get Mr. Hawkins. He’s in his study.”
Cheyenne nodded. The woman bustled away.
Cheyenne stepped inside even though they hadn’t really been asked in. But this was Win’s house. Win could come in and bring her husband . . . and his family . . . now her family.
Cheyenne gave Win a long look. “Who is she?”
“Pa’s housekeeper and cook. She’s been here just a few months. He had another one when I first came back, but she quit. He wrote an ad in a paper back east to get Mrs. Hobart. That’s all I’ve ever called her. She’s a widow, Pa said.”
“She’s your age.”
Win followed Cheyenne into a large entry area with pegs for hanging up coats and hats. Cheyenne shed her hat.
Cheyenne noticed her old friend was holding Kevin’s hand so tight her knuckles were white. “A few years older, I think, but not too many.”
“And what about Percy Ralston? He works in his own office in this house, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, and he has his own cabin, it’s part of his pay.”
Cheyenne pulled her gloves off and tucked them behind her belt buckle. “I suspect the sheriff hauled him off.”
Wyatt muttered. “We probably should’ve checked with the sheriff before we came here, but it’s a long ride out of the way.”
Since they’d already talked about doing that, debated it near half to death in Cheyenne’s opinion, she wasn’t going to start up about it again. They’d already decided seeing Oliver about his land and cattle came first.
Wyatt hung up his hat on an empty peg beside Cheyenne’s and dropped his gloves to the floor beneath them.
They all trooped into the kitchen just as Oliver came almost running out. “Winona! Is something wrong?”
He came at her, arms spread wide. Kevin made a sudden move—a surprising move—and blocked Oliver from giving Win a hug. Cheyenne found that shocking.
From the look on his face, Oliver did too.
“What is going on here?” Oliver’s eyes noted that his daughter was holding Kevin’s hand. “I met you the other day at the RHR when you stopped me from hugging my daughter then.”
Some of the color faded from Oliver’s cheeks as he asked, “Winona, is something wrong? Are you hurt again?”
“Pa.” Win had to look over Kevin’s shoulder to talk to Oliver.
Cheyenne knew Win spent little time with her pa, but why did Kevin think she needed to be protected from him? A new husband’s possessiveness? Or was it more?
“I’d like . . . that is, well . . .” She cleared her throat.
“Win and I are married, Oliver.” Kevin gave him a smile Cheyenne considered very insincere. “Or should I call you Pa?”
Wyatt started coughing. Cheyenne thought it sounded like he was covering up a laugh.
“You’re married?” Oliver squawked like an angry hen. And why not? This was how his only daughter, only child, told her father she’d gotten married?
“Yes, Pa. We eloped. And then there was some trouble, and it’s taken me a couple of days to get over and tell you.”
About five by Cheyenne’s count.
“Yes, the trouble. Tuttle attacked you. Tried to kill you and”—Oliver’s eyes shifted to Kevin—“and this man here. Sheriff Corly was out. But that was days ago.”
“I was terribly upset, as you can imagine. I’m sorry.”
Oliver slipped past Kevin, though Kevin was watching very closely, and patted Win’s hand.
Win could play the fragile lady quite well.
“Enough with the wedding talk,” Wyatt cut in. “Did you talk to the sheriff this morning?”
“Why no. I haven’t been to town.”
“He was riding out here,” Wyatt said, all business.
“Oh, um, I did saddle up and go for a ride this morning. I must have missed him. Mrs. Hobart didn’t mention it.”
“We found cattle stolen from our ranch and some from yours.” Wyatt told the story rapidly. “Hidden in a valley high up on the mountain that borders our properties. It’s land we own, but somehow there was a deed in town with Percival Ralston’s name on it.”
“What?”
> Cheyenne felt some sympathy for Oliver. His eyes were now on Wyatt, but they kept going back to Win as if his eyes were iron and Win and her news were a powerful magnet.
“You say Percy Ralston did this?” Oliver stepped back, then back again until he bumped into his kitchen table. He almost fell over a chair and grabbed it, then sat down hard.
“Yep.” Wyatt nodded. “The sheriff knows about it. He was coming out here to arrest Ralston this morning.”
“I-I don’t know. I haven’t talked to Ralston at all today.”
“We want to look around his cabin and at your bookwork,” Wyatt said. “We want to find more proof that Ralston forged a deed to a chunk of RHR land and see if he’s been up to any other trouble. I expect the sheriff hauled him off. Do you know if he searched his cabin?”
Oliver shook his head. Then he snapped his fingers. “Ralston sent one of the cowhands over this morning with a note saying he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be in.” Oliver looked over his shoulder toward the door that led into the rest of the house.
Oliver looked at Win and stopped talking about Ralston. “Win, my baby girl, married. Come and sit down. Kevin, you too. All of you. I want to hear everything. About the wedding and about the rustled cattle.”
They heard the slam of a door. Wyatt charged out of the kitchen and through the house, Cheyenne just a pace behind him. They got outside in time to see Mrs. Hobart galloping out of the yard, bent low over her saddle. Heading down the trail that forked to lead to Bear Claw Pass.
Cheyenne and Wyatt turned to look at each other. Oliver was right behind them, then everyone else came out of the house into a clog on the broad front porch.
“Where does Ralston bunk?”
Oliver pointed to a good-sized house made of the same clapboard that the big house was made of, except it was raw boards, not painted the shining white of Oliver’s mansion. And those boards looked so new they weren’t weathered yet. “That’s his place.”
“I wonder where Mrs. Hobart went tearing off to?” Win asked. Not sounding all that fragile and ladylike right now.
Her pa didn’t seem to notice.
TWENTY-ONE
Cheyenne charged toward Ralston’s new house. Fearless and tough though she was, Falcon caught up to her. He’d rather not let her run alone into the house of a liar and a thief.
Cheyenne slammed the door open. “Percy Ralston, you get out here.”
No one came out.
She went on into the house to search the rooms.
“Mr. Hawkins.” A white-haired man with a limp came out of another one of them bunkhouses like the one Falcon was sleeping in. How many men did Hawkins jam into this one?
“What is it, Bud?” Hawkins had followed them into Ralston’s place.
“Ralston rode to Bear Claw Pass this morning. He left right after you did and before the sheriff got out here. He said he’d told you in the note he sent.”
“I didn’t see any note until I got back. And he didn’t say he was riding to town, he said he was ailing.”
“He complains o’ them joints worse’n I do.” Bud shook his head.
Falcon saw something in Bud’s eyes that made him ask, “Don’t you think he hurts as much as he claims?”
Bud’s mouth made a straight, hard line. “He’s mighty faithful to his limping, but I’ve seen the man move a few steps now and ag’in when he don’t think no one’s watchin’. It makes me think he’s not quite as laid up as he lets on.”
Since Falcon knew, considering those boulders, that had to be true, he didn’t pursue the comment.
Hawkins did. “What do you mean? He walks with a cane all the time. His one knee won’t even bend, and it pains him terribly.”
Falcon didn’t like something about Oliver Hawkins, maybe his smooth talk. Maybe the way Win acted when he got too close to her, or the way she’d dragged her heels about announcing her marriage. But the man struck him wrong.
If Hawkins was a cheat who’d been cheated by a better cheat, it wouldn’t bother Falcon overly, ’ceptin’ the man hadn’t just cheated Hawkins. When Ralston started in to stealing RHR cattle, he’d done honest, hardworking folks wrong.
That bothered Falcon plenty. He hoped that meant he was an honest man himself.
“Did you see him ride out, old-timer?” Falcon walked up close to cut the herd of clamoring folks.
“Yep, rode the same way his woman just did.”
Hawkins shoved Falcon aside. Or he tried to. Falcon didn’t move an inch. So Hawkins went around him. “His woman? Mrs. Hobart was his woman?”
And what Falcon heard in Hawkins’s voice wasn’t just surprise, it was shock, even jealousy. It didn’t take much figurin’ to know Hawkins had considered Mrs. Hobart to be his woman, and not just in the way of cooking and tidying.
Falcon gave the man a disgusted look, then said, “Everyone stop moving around. I need to look at hoofprints, and every step y’all are takin’ is scuffing them up. If Hobart went after her man, then I can for sure follow her.”
“Bud”—he gestured at the old man—“can you tell me which prints Ralston left?”
“Yep.” They walked to the trail left by Hobart. “He’s riding a line-back dun. A big gelding.” Bud pointed, and Falcon saw the tracks clearly.
“And no reason to take that one except it’s strong and fast. The tracks are plain as day. Laid out right in line with the gray mare Mrs. Hobart rode.”
Falcon studied them, then asked, “What’d’ya mean no reason for it?”
“Ralston ain’t a big man, and if he’s going to town like he told me, he don’t need a horse that strong. And he’s supposed to be lame. Hard enough to mount a normal-sized horse. Why choose a big critter like that unless you’re planning to move far and fast?”
“Did you see him mount up?”
“Ralston always ordered someone to slap leather on whatever horse he rode, then he led the horse behind his house to mount up back there. Common enough, too. He rode out for a few hours every couple a days. Said it helped his leg. And behind his house, there’s a stump. He said he uses that to mount. But I sneaked a look a few times. Ralston ain’t usin’ no stump. He just don’t want to let anyone see him swingin’ up nimble as a squirrel.”
Cheyenne came rushing out of Ralston’s house. “He’s left nothing behind but empty drawers.”
“He had two good-sized satchels with him, now that I think of it. He must have loaded those on while he was behind the house. Then he took off. Didn’t have much time to see just what he was about.”
Turning on his heel, Falcon rushed for his horse, tied around back of the mansion. “We can catch up to Mrs. Hobart without much trouble and make sure she’s on a trail that stays with his. Maybe she’s partnered with him in this.”
Hard not to wonder if any more of the Hawkins hands were involved, or the RHR hands.
As Falcon swung up onto his horse, Wyatt and Cheyenne were with him. Kevin and Win just behind.
“Win, wait.” Hawkins came running after them. “Let them go. Stay here and talk to me.”
Cheyenne turned to Kevin, who had a mule-stubborn look on his face as he hoisted Win onto her horse.
“You two should stay. Explain to Oliver what’s going on.”
Win scowled at Cheyenne as her father reached her side.
Oliver reached up and clasped her hand. “Please stay awhile.”
“Oliver.” Cheyenne was a lot friendlier to Hawkins than Falcon thought need be. “We think Percy Ralston was stealing cattle from you, and maybe money. Can you let Win and Kevin check the account books and talk to the hands? We need to get to the bottom of this. If we can’t catch up to Ralston, we’ll at least get Mrs. Hobart and bring her back. We’ve got a lot of questions for the both of them.”
“You think Percy has done all that?” Hawkins asked that question just like a man who didn’t have a brain in his head. “And Mrs. Hobart?”
Win’s shoulders slumped. She and Kevin exchanged a look Falcon couldn�
��t understand, but it seemed like they were mighty troubled by something.
“We can stay awhile, Pa.” Win swung down from the horse, and Kevin slid an arm around her waist.
Falcon was done listenin’ to ’em jaw. He rode toward the tracks left by Ralston and Hobart. It was like readin’ from a book. He set out at a fast pace, not a bit worried about losing such a clear trail.
“They’re heading for town.” Wyatt rode up on one side of him, Cheyenne on the other.
“If they keep to the trail they are,” Cheyenne said. “But Ralston lied to Hawkins about why he wasn’t at work. No reason to trust that he told the truth to Bud. He might’ve started out for Bear Claw Pass until anyone watching him was out of sight.”
And before they were a mile down the trail, Falcon saw the big dun’s tracks veer right into the heart of the most rugged stretch of hills Falcon had seen so far.
“Hobart went on toward town, and Ralston turned off. You reckon she thinks she’s following him but doesn’t know where he went? Or is she making a run for town and the train, just taking off?”
The three of them stopped where the tracks split.
Cheyenne adjusted the flat-brimmed hat she wore on her head to shade her eyes from the sun. “If she’s making for the train, then she could get away clean. It doesn’t come through that regular, but I think it’s due.”
“I’ll take Hobart,” Wyatt said. “You two go after Ralston.” He spurred his horse and raced away.
Cheyenne frowned after him. “I should’ve gone after Hobart.”
Falcon reined his horse to follow Ralston’s tracks. “Why’s that? ’Cuz a woman should chase after a woman? That don’t sound like you.”
Cheyenne fell in beside him, likely wondering at a man thinking he knew her. “I didn’t mean I should.”
“It’s what you said.”
“I mean he’d be more likely to want to stay with me and hunt Ralston and send you after Hobart.”
“Not leave us alone together?” Falcon didn’t figure the tracks would vanish in the next minute so he stared at Cheyenne and her ever-cranky expression.
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