Betrayal (16 page)
Sweeney Brennan had done that.
But the law had said otherwise.
Julia reached across the space that separated them and touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. “You needn’t tell me anymore. I can see it’s painful to remember him.” She pulled her hand away again.
Tell her. Tell her the whole truth
.
She continued, “I was angry at my mother for a long time. I blamed her for the unhappiness of my marriage. But I finally realized it wasn’t her fault. She did the best by me that she could. I understand that now.” She turned her eyes toward the river. “Nobody’s perfect. We all make mistakes.”
Tell her
. But he hadn’t the courage to obey that small voice in his heart. He hadn’t the courage to let her know the kind of man he really was — or at least the kind of man he used to be. Silence stretched between them, the laughter they’d shared earlier forgotten.
At long last, Julia said, “We should go.” She stood. “This probably wasn’t what you had in mind when you asked to join me here. I’m sorry.”
He got to his feet, frustrated by the words locked inside him. He’d waited too long. The opportunity to speak anything that mattered had passed. Maybe that was for the best.
The wagon hit a rut, and Rose grabbed for the edge of the seat to steady herself. Thank goodness they were almost to Pine Creek — and with any luck they would be there before the opening hymn began. Although that didn’t mean she approved of Peter being jounced all about. It couldn’t be good for his head, even though he insisted he was fine.
Early on in their marriage, Rose and Peter had agreed she
would school their daughters at home. The farm was too far from town for the children to make the long trek on foot every week day. But Peter was adamant that his family wouldn’t miss church on Sundays except in the worst of winter weather. He’d been just as adamant this morning.
“Don’t say it, Rosie girl.”
She glanced to her left. “Don’t say what?”
“After all these years, I can tell what you’re thinking.”
She grunted softly.
“There’s nothing ailin’ me now that a bit of good preaching won’t set right.”
Rose pressed her lips together and straightened on the wagon seat. That’s when she saw Charlie Prescott, riding toward them. Dislike rose like bile in her throat. He reined in and waited for them to draw closer. When they did, Peter slowed the team to a halt as well.
“Collins.” Charlie tipped his hat.
“Prescott,” Peter returned with a nod of his head.
“Heard you had an accident.”
“Nothing much.”
“Heard that fellow Julia’s got working for her was the cause of it.”
“You heard wrong. The fault was my own.”
What does he want? Don’t tell him our business
. Rose cleared her throat, hoping Peter would take the hint and move the horses along.
“Well, that’s good to know. I’d hate to think Julia had someone untrustworthy working on her place. No one in these parts seems to know anything about him.”
“His name’s Hugh Brennan, and he’s from Illinois. He’s made no effort to keep that a secret.”
At least not from people like Julia or us
.
“Ah. That’s right. Brennan from Illinois.” Charlie’s gaze moved slowly over the girls in the bed of the wagon, then returned to Peter and Rose on the wagon seat. “Well, you take better care of yourself, Collins. I’d hate to think what would happen to your lovely family without you.” He tipped his hat again. “Good day to you.” Then he rode on.
A chill shivered down Rose’s spine. “Peter, I think he was threatening you.”
“Now don’t go gettin’ yourself in a lather, Rosie.” He slapped the reins against the team’s backsides. “That’s just how Charlie Prescott talks. He’s full of his own self-importance.”
Rose wished she was as confident as her husband sounded.
Julia watched from the doorway of the house as Hugh climbed onto the wagon seat, a strange ache in her heart. It had started yesterday morning by the river. She didn’t know what had gone wrong exactly. He’d said a little about his father. She’d said a little about her mother. Nothing that should have caused an uncomfortable silence to settle over them, and yet it had.
And it was that way still.
Julia felt a small hiccup in her heart as she moved off the porch and walked to the wagon. “Here’s the list of supplies we’ll need. And I’ve got a letter for you to take to the post office while you’re in town.” She held out her hand to pass him both items.
He stuffed them into his shirt pocket without glancing at them.
“On the way back, would you mind stopping by to see Peter? Make sure he still feels up to watching the place while we’re gone. Remind him we plan to leave Wednesday.”
“I’ll tell him.”
She took a couple of steps back. “Just have Mrs. Humphrey put the supplies on my bill. She’ll remember you. Tell her I’ll be in next week to pay it in full.”
Hugh nodded, then slapped the reins. The wagon jerked into motion.
Her chest hurt as she watched him leave. It would hurt even more when she watched him ride away for good. It was no use pretending that he meant nothing to her. That would be a lie. She liked Hugh. She liked him too much.
“Oh, God. How did I let this happen?”
Bandit rubbed against her leg and she leaned down to stroke his head.
“Don’t I have enough trouble without adding this to the mix?”
The dog stared up at her with doleful eyes.
Drawing a deep breath, she straightened. “We’ll be all right, won’t we, boy? Once I’ve sold the cattle and paid the taxes and Hugh goes on his way …”
Her words trailed into silence. She hadn’t the strength to speak them, let alone believe them.
Hugh wasn’t long in the mercantile. The list of supplies was a short one. As Julia had expected, Nancy Humphrey remembered him from his first visit to Pine Creek and didn’t hesitate to add the items to Julia’s account.
Finished in the store, he left the team and wagon in front of the mercantile and followed the boardwalk toward the post office. Almost to his destination, he took the envelope from his pocket, glancing at the address:
Madeline Crane, Grand Coeur, Idaho
. He wondered who —
“Mr. Brennan. We meet again.”
Hugh stopped and looked up. Charlie Prescott stood about three yards ahead of him, right outside the post office entrance.
Charlie looked beyond him. “Is Julia with you?”
“No.”
“Too bad. I thought I might be saved another trip to talk to
her.” His gaze returned to Hugh. “You aren’t from around here, Brennan, so maybe you aren’t aware of this. Julia’s in trouble. She doesn’t have what it takes to manage that ranch, and she doesn’t have the money to hold on to it either. I’ve tried to make her see that. I’ve offered to buy the ranch, but she’s as stubborn as she is beautiful.”
Hugh wanted to grind his teeth. He didn’t like Charlie talking about Julia’s appearance or her ranch. “She seems to be doing all right.”
“Tell Julia I’ll be out to see her again soon. After she gets back from the cattle drive. That must be coming up this week. Right?”
Do your own dirty work, Prescott. I’m not your messenger boy
. But even as the thought shot through Hugh’s mind, he knew he would pass along Charlie Prescott’s message as soon as he got back to the ranch. He had to tell her. She needed to know. It wasn’t his right to keep things from her.
Charlie chuckled. “Well, at least you’re a cowpoke who has the good sense to keep his mouth shut when he should. And yet you’re wondering how I know her business. It’s easy enough. Angus’s cattle got driven to market at the same time every year. It’s no secret. Of course she’s going to do what my brother did. She wouldn’t know to do otherwise.”
Hugh wanted nothing more than to punch that self-satisfied smirk off Charlie’s face. But he held his temper. Fighting wasn’t the answer. All that would get him was time in the local jail cell, and that was something he preferred to avoid. Couldn’t stand even to think about it.
With a shake of his head, he went into the post office.
A plump woman with a round face and cheery expression stood behind a long counter. She greeted him, then asked, “How can I help you?”
“Just need to mail this letter.”
“Of course.” She held out a hand to take it from him. After glancing at it, her eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be. It’s been years since Mrs. Grace wrote to her mother.”
Julia’s mother? For some reason, he’d thought her mother deceased, like his own parents. He’d believed Julia was all alone in the world.
As if echoing his thoughts, the post mistress added, “I thought she must be dead.” She looked up. “They wrote each other often when Mrs. Grace first came to Wyoming to live with that husband of hers. My, my. What a handsome couple they made. Angus Grace was a fine-looking man. There was more than one disappointed miss in Pine Creek when he went and married a gal from Idaho. But he hardly ever brought his wife into town, so I can’t say I knew Mrs. Grace well. Got used to seeing these letters, though. She wrote to her mother as regular as clockwork, she did. Then all of a sudden, maybe five years back, Angus stopped bringing any more letters into town to mail and right soon the letters from Idaho stopped coming too. I thought it real peculiar at the time, but it was none of my business, of course, so I couldn’t very well ask.”
Hugh had begun to wonder if the post mistress would pause to draw breath. If a person wanted to keep a secret, it was obvious they shouldn’t share it with her.
“Are you working for Mrs. Grace?”
He nodded.
“You tell her I said hello. Will you do that for me? Marjorie O’Donnell’s my name.”
“I’ll do it, ma’am.” He touched his hat brim. “Good day.”
Although Hugh was glad to escape the talkative post mistress, her comments stayed with him on the ride back to Sage-hen. The more he pondered them, the more they seemed to provide him
with new glimpses into Julia’s history — and yet much about her remained a mystery to him.
They were alike in that, not wanting to talk about their pasts. He knew his reasons. What were hers?
On Wednesday morning, Julia and Hugh were on the trail soon after the sun rose over the mountains, driving the herd of cows and calves south. They would follow the river until it turned west. There, they would turn the cattle east, dropping down onto the plains where they would follow the rails to the Double T Ranch.
In past years, with two or three cowboys riding along with Angus, the drive had been accomplished in two days. Julia hoped they could accomplish it in the same amount of time. Bandit was a good herding dog and could be trusted to keep a lookout for cows who tried to double back. And Hugh, while not accomplished with a rope, rode well, and his gelding could turn quick.
Julia had chosen to sell off just over half her mature cows. It was a gamble but one she was forced to take. And if Mr. Trent at the Double T gave her the price she expected — he’d always been fair — she would be all right. She could pay her taxes, her debt at the mercantile, and Hugh Brennan’s wages for a month’s work, plus have enough left over to see her through another year. As long as she didn’t lose any cattle over the winter to weather or predators and as long as she got a good crop of healthy calves next year, she would be all right.
Why wasn’t she encouraged by that belief? Why was her soul still so troubled?
They were close to two hours into the drive when Hugh trotted his horse over to Julia’s side. “Looks like we might get some rain.” He motioned with his head toward a darkening western horizon.
Rain? It had been clear and sunny for better than three weeks. If it rained now, it would be a miserable few days on the trail.
“Let’s try to bunch them up a bit and keep moving. If we get thunder and lightning with that storm, I think we’d be better off down on the plains than where we are now.”
With a nod, Hugh fell out to the left. Julia went to the right, both of them shouting, “Ho, there. Ho.” Bandit added his barks for good measure and darted at the heels of any stragglers. The cattle bellowed their complaints but complied with the pressure on the flanks of the herd, moving into a closer formation while quickening their pace too.
The sun was close to straight up by the time Julia decided to let the cows and horses stop to rest and graze. The storm that threatened earlier in the morning had rolled north. Now the temperature was climbing. The day was going to end up a scorcher.
Julia and Hugh found a place in some shade to sit. They ate their lunch in silence, and Julia found herself missing the sound of Hugh’s voice. They hadn’t spoken much to each other since Sunday by the river. She’d been the one to end that conversation, and her action seemed to have put up a wall between them. But she supposed it was better that way. Her feelings for Hugh confused her, and she didn’t like being confused.
As if he’d read her thoughts and wanted to change her mind, Hugh said, “The dime novels I’ve read about the West make a cattle drive seem more exciting than it really is.” He washed down the last bite of sandwich with a long draw on the canteen.
“Dime novels? You don’t strike me as the type to read those kinds of books.” Unable to resist, she added, “The nursery-rhyme type, but not dime novels.”
He laughed.
Julia’s confusion vanished. Her spirits lifted as a crack appeared in that wall she’d erected.
“I like to read most anything,” he said, not seeming to notice her lightened mood. “Biographies are my favorite. But sometimes a man has to settle for whatever’s available.”
A sixth sense told her he meant something more than lack of funds or access to other literature.
What, Hugh? Tell me what you mean
.
He couldn’t read her mind, and he didn’t tell her what he meant. Instead, he asked questions of his own. “What about you, Julia? What do you like to read?”
She looked away, staring into the distance. “My husband believed books were a waste of money and reading a waste of time.” The memory made her want to rebuild the wall, made her want to draw inside herself and stay there.
