Mary Connealy (85 page)

Wade came into the house for breakfast to find Gertie and Abby talking and happily working side by side. “Abby, you want to come out and see the ranch?”

“I will stay and help Gertie. We have a full morning planned cleaning this monstrosity. What foolishness.”

Gertie snickered. “You go on out with Wade. The hands should be stirring by now, and I’ll have breakfast ready when you get back. Something tells me you’ll be happier outside than in, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to turn down your help.”

Wade suppressed a sigh of relief when Abby turned to him, removing the apron Gertie had her swathed in. He dreaded facing the cowhands, knowing he had to earn their respect and knowing he’d never managed it before. But Gertie had said these were nearly all new hands. Maybe they wouldn’t have judged him already as a weakling and a coward, a view his father openly held.

Abby hung her apron on a nail beside the kitchen door. She wore the same dress as she had yesterday and had her hair neatly braided. But she still wore her moccasins, and her braid was tied back with a leather thong. She’d packed along her doeskin dress, too.

He could also see the small raised place at her waist, in back, where she tucked her knife. It was an unsettling mix of civil and savage that Wade found wildly appealing.

“I would like to see your ranch. My father raised cattle. I have only flashes of memories from my white family, but I remember a barn with horses and a herd of sandy brown cattle with long horns.”

Wade held the door open for her and she stopped to stare.

Gesturing outside, he said, “After you.”

“After I what?” Her brow beetled.

Wade smiled. “I mean I’m holding the door open so you can go first.”

With a shrug, Abby went outside and Wade followed her. They walked side by side toward the massive barn, one of three huge buildings his father had built, connected by corrals, all set to best block the force of the winter winds.

Wade moved ahead of her and held the door to the closest barn, the one where the horses were taken to foal or heal from injuries. They entered the warm barn. The smell of hay and horses and leather evoked a warm memory of home. He’d always loved the horses best.

As Wade came in behind Abby, he saw five cowboys. Four Wade didn’t recognize were mostly loafing around, while one, a grizzled old man who had been with Wade’s father for years, was brushing a mare who had a new baby foal at her side.

“Chester, hello.”

The old-timer straightened and laid his brush aside. “Wade?” The old man’s voice was kind.

Wade had learned most of what he knew about horses from working along with Chester. The man had a kindly way with horses and had always been patient with Wade, too.

Emerging from the stall, he came forward quickly, his hand extended. “Good to see you, boy.” The man’s grip was solid. He turned to the cowboys lolling about. “Come and meet the boss’s son. He’s here to take the reins. And about time, too.”

The men stood quickly, exchanging glances. One of them, skinny with a weak chin and mean eyes, seemed unable to take his eyes off Abby. Wade could understand that—women were scarce in and around Divide, Montana. That didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted to punch the guy in the nose.

Then Wade noticed another one staring between him and Abby as if he didn’t know which one interested him more. The man had two missing fingers on his left hand. He was broad and running to fat, with blue eyes that looked cold as death. He stepped forward in a way that told Wade this man was in charge.

Chester jerked his head at the leader of the pack of loafers. “Wade, this here is Sid Garver. He’s the foreman of the M Bar S now, ever since the old foreman took off.”

“Otis took off? He’d been here forever.”

“He vanished just after your pa’s accident, and then Sid got the foreman job.”

Something in Chester’s voice made Wade wary of Sid Garver, as Wade was sure Chester intended.

“Sid”—Chester turned to the scowling man—“this is Mort Sawyer’s son. His pa sent word that he needed his help, and Wade came home to take up the reins until his pa gets better.”

“He’s not gettin’ better and you know it, Chester. No man gets over a broken back.” Garver tugged his Stetson low over his eyes.

Chester sniffed. “Where there’s life, there’s hope. Somethin’ my ma used to say. As long as Mort’s alive, there’s a chance he can get better. Anyway, he can still rule this ranch with Wade here to be his eyes and ears.”

Garver turned to Wade. “Welcome home, boy. I heard you’d quit the country long ago. Heard ranching didn’t suit you, that you’d gone looking for a life that didn’t get your hands dirty.”

The other men, all but Chester, laughed.

The sting of those words sapped the stiffness out of Wade’s spine. He wanted to turn away, slink off and hide. It’s what he’d have done before he found God. But he wasn’t the same boy. He was a Christian. That might not be the same as a rough-and-ready cowhand with a quick draw, but it was a better strength, one that would last.

“Sid, that’s the last time you’ll call me a boy, and if I hear another insult from you, you’ll draw your time and hit the road. Is that clear?” Wade stood straight, holding Garver’s eyes.

“I was hired by your pa, and he’ll be the only one to fire me.” Garver crossed his arms.

Wade turned to Chester. “Have you finished the roundup yet?”

“Haven’t even started it.” Chester narrowed his eyes at the other cowhands. “And it’s plumb late in the season for it.”

“Okay, let’s go ask Pa if early June is high time to be doing the spring roundup. You want to go in now and explain to him why it’s not done? Then we’ll see if Pa will back me.”

Garver’s beefy fists dropped to his sides. “I was starting today anyway.”

“I’m glad we agree.” Wade watched Garver closely as his hands swung too close to his holster. Wade noticed the man wore his gun on the left, which meant he was left-handed, the same hand that had the two fingers farthest from his thumb missing. “Is there grass in the south canyon?”

“Yep, plenty,” Chester answered.

With a jerk of his chin, Wade said to the cowhands, “Let’s spend the next three days bringing the cattle in there. We’ll take the Lord’s day off then be ready to start branding come Monday. Can you handle that, Garver? Have you got any men who’ll spend their time working instead of loafing?”

“I can handle it.” Garver’s jaw was so tight the words were barely audible.

“Glad to hear it. I saw on my ride in that the grass is overgrazed in the west valley. Let’s move those cattle first.” Wade studied the man for a second longer. “Have we met before, Garver? I can’t place you, but something about you is familiar.”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life.” Garver made a sudden move with his left hand, and for a fraction of a second, Wade braced, expecting the man to draw his gun. Instead Garver shoved his disfigured hand into his pocket. “Let’s get cracking, men.” Garver stormed out of the barn.

The rest of the hands tagged along with none of the speed and determination Wade expected to see from cowhands in the spring. Wade watched them closely, still a bit shaken by something he couldn’t put his finger on. Once they were out of earshot, he turned to Chester. “We need to have a long talk.”

Chester nodded. “I heard you were around, at the Dawsons’ and working at other ranches, doing some cattle drives. The best hands have moved on, driven off by Garver and the sluggards he’s hired.”

“And it’s not like Otis to up and leave. He’d stick by Pa.”

“There’s more, but for now it’ll have to wait. I’m glad to have you home. You’re dead right that we need to get hustling on the roundup. I’ve tried to start it, but Garver’s been against me every step. And you’re looking fit. I’ve heard you’ve made some good changes in your life.”

“I’m glad to be here, Chester.” Wade realized with a start that he was telling the truth.

Chester headed for the barn door then turned back, his eyes somber and steady. “Watch your back, Wade. There’ve been too many accidents on this ranch, and that includes your pa’s.”

Nodding his head, Wade said, “I’ve never known the man to fall off a horse in his life.”

“I don’t want the next accident to happen to you or your pretty woman here.” Chester tugged his hat down low over his eyes and left.

Wade glanced at Abby, who had stood quietly through the tense meeting with Garver. He noticed she held her hand tucked in the folds of her skirt. “You can put the knife away now.” He couldn’t control a flicker of a smile.

“For now. But those men look evil.” Abby shrugged and returned her knife to its carefully concealed sheath. “Don’t be surprised if I keep it close at hand.”

Chuckling, Wade said, “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. Let’s go see the rest of the buildings. Then we can go turn you and your bad attitude loose on Pa.”

I
’m not taking orders from that whelp.” Sid saddled his horse as he watched Wade and that half-wild woman snoop around
his
ranch.

“The kid wasn’t supposed to ever come back.” Paddy mounted as he whined. “He was long gone before we came here to work. His pa never spoke of the boy except to say he was dead to him.”

Sid had only heard bits and pieces of the disappointment Mort’s son had been. A lazy coward and a drunk. The only real detail he’d heard was that the falling out between Mort and Wade was final. “I heard the boy disgraced his pa until Mort disowned him. Mort sure enough announced that loud and clear.”

“And here he is back.” Paddy rode alongside Sid.

Sid was tempted to knock the man out of his saddle just to relieve his temper, but it would draw attention, and the four of them—Sid, Boog, Harv, and Paddy—had been careful not to appear too friendly. “And giving orders like it was his place.”

It churned Sid’s stomach to think he might lose the ranch if the youngster inherited it. “A kid could die as easy as an old man. And, shame though it is because she’s a pretty little thing, the blond wildflower has to die, too.”

Paddy gave Sid a hungry look. “I’ll take care of her, pard. I’m already watching for my chance.”

“It’s gotta look like an accident.”

Paddy shook his head. “No, it don’t. If she disappears, everyone’ll just think she went back to the wild, took up with the Flatheads again. I’m tempted to keep her alive awhile, have some fun with her.”

“And Harv can’t be seen out now.” Getting rid of one little woman wouldn’t be much trouble. Sid wasn’t going to wrangle over how Paddy handled it. “It’s possible both Wade and the woman would recognize him.”

“We can take him into Divide and leave him with the doctor. He probably oughta have his cuts seen to anyway.”

“But the doc might talk. We’ve got the story about running into rustlers, but I’d as soon not answer any questions from the sheriff.”

“Wade is walking the yard like he owns the place. He won’t stay out of the bunkhouse if he don’t wanna.”

“Yep, we’d better get Harv to town.” Sid didn’t like it a bit.

What had Wade been getting at when he’d asked Sid if they’d met? Sid had only been visible over that rise for a couple of seconds and masked. But had Wade noticed the missing fingers? It wasn’t possible the kid could identify him, but a cold chill ran up Sid’s spine at the thought of having all those murders connected to him. They were only Indians, but Montana was haggling right now over tribal lands and forming a state. They didn’t want to be seen as a lawless place. Not even outside the towns. Someone could get it in his head that even an Indian deserved justice. What was the world coming to? “Better quit talkin’ now, Paddy. Put some space between us.”

With a swift jerk of the reins, Paddy dropped back as they rode out to start moving the herd.

It was backbreaking work. Work Sid wouldn’t do once this was his place. He’d rule his kingdom from a nice office in that big old house. Bitterly, Sid considered how to get rid of Wade and the woman, and Mort, too, while he was at it. The old man was a tough one. He was taking a long time to die.

It was past time they quit leaving it to God and took over shoving Mort into the afterlife.

Wade spent an hour rearranging the furniture in his father’s study. Ready now, he carried the odd-looking conveyance Gertie had ordered from back East up to Pa’s room. Wade hated the cruel anger his pa was so famous for. But Wade’s days of cowering were over.

“Whom shall I fear?”

Praying for the day he wouldn’t have to repeat that prayer constantly, Wade rolled the chair down the thickly carpeted hall then peeked in the slightly opened door, bracing himself for the coming war of words. And there
would
be a war and Wade
would
win it.

Pa lay on his back staring out the window. Wade was struck by the bleak expression on his father’s face. Wade loved his father enough to have prayed steadily for the bitter man to find peace with the Lord. He held out little hope that his father would ever change.

But this aching sadness showed a vulnerability Wade had never before seen. God was answering Wade’s prayer, but not in the way he’d expected. He wasn’t giving Wade endless courage, but He might be weakening Pa’s cast-iron will.