Robin Lee Hatcher (29 page)

“Even this house will miss her,” Bethany said softly.

Her husband’s arm tightened, drawing her close against his side. “This house needs a family living in it.”

She knew he meant she should sell it. She even agreed with him. But it would be difficult to let go. This was where her parents had wanted to spend their latter years. This was where they had died. Selling it would feel a little like losing them all over again.

“When you’re ready, Bethany. You don’t have to make any decisions until you want to.”

“I know.” She drew in a deep breath. “Let’s go home.”

A chilly October breeze rose as they made their way to the horses tied at the side of the house. Hawk helped her mount Buttercup, and then swung into the saddle of his gelding. Wordlessly, they rode down the main street of town. As they passed the bakery, several women, seated at the tables inside, waved to them. She returned the wave, and her heart lifted a little. Who would have guessed, when she was staying with her cousin in Philadelphia, heartbroken and lonely, that she would soon find her marriage restored and herself the owner of a bakery in this small Montana town.

Life certainly had a way of surprising a person.

As they rode toward the ranch, Hawk said a silent thanks to God for turning the mistakes he’d made with Bethany into something good. But his words of thanks were forgotten the instant he saw the buggy, pulled by a palomino, approaching them at a good clip.

Vince Richards.

He hadn’t known he was back, and he wasn’t glad to see him.

The buggy slowed as it neared them. “Chandler.” Vince drew the buggy horse to a halt.

Hawk reined in.

“Good day, Beth — I mean, Mrs. Chandler. I trust you are well. You were quite distressed when I saw you in Philadelphia.”

Hawk looked at Bethany. Vince had seen her in Philadelphia?

“Chandler, I heard you had a bit of trouble while I was away. Have they learned the identity of the man you shot?”

“Not yet.”

“A pity.”

“Yes.” His suspicions about Vince returned. Had he been involved in some way with that gunman? If there were only some evidence . . .

“I won’t keep you. I have business in town.” Vince nodded, his gaze on Bethany. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

Hawk resisted the urge to vault from his horse and wipe that suggestive smile off Vince’s face.

The buggy pulled away.

Hawk and Bethany spoke at the same time: “There was a shooting?” “You saw him in Philadelphia?”

She answered first. “He came to a ball at Cousin Beatrice’s home. He didn’t know I was there or that she was related to me. Our meeting was quite by chance.” A cloud passed over her face. “When he learned I was in mourning, he thought it was for you. He hadn’t heard about the cholera outbreak.”

“He must have been disappointed when he heard I wasn’t among the dead. He’d like to see that.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the departing buggy.

Hawk continued, “Richards wants the Circle Blue. He wants to control the water rights that go with it so he can drive off other ranchers. He’s made several offers to buy me out and is none too happy that I won’t sell.”

“I don’t like him.” She shuddered.

Something eased inside him. “Then we’re in agreement.”

“What did he mean about a shooting?”

Hawk clucked at his gelding, and the two horses moved forward. “We’ve had trouble over the summer with rustling and other mischief. We hadn’t had much luck finding the rustlers, but a while back, I found tracks and followed them. Guess the man I was following didn’t like it. He fired at me, and I fired back.” He touched the spot near his temple where the bullet had grazed him. “He missed. I didn’t.”

“You killed him?”

“Afraid so. I didn’t want to, God knows, but it was him or me. There was nothing else I could do. Truly, Bethany.” He spoke with a mixture of regret and resignation.

Her voice quavered as she asked, “He tried to kill you?”

“Yeah, he tried.”

“And you think Vince Richards was behind it?”

“I think there’s a good chance of it, yes.”

She looked at him, a glimmer of fear in her eyes. “Be careful, Hawk. I don’t want to wear black again. Not until I’m an old, old woman.”

THIRTY-FIVE

The wind whistled beyond the cabin walls, a sad, lonely sound. But inside, all was cozy. A fire snapped and crackled on the hearth, its light dancing across the floor, casting shadows into the corners. Bethany sat on the sofa, mending one of her husband’s shirts. Every so often, her gaze strayed to the door. She had expected Hawk before nightfall and wondered what had kept him.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the door opened, banging against the wall as a gust of wind swept him into the house. He turned at once and pushed the door closed. “Snow’s coming hard.”

She rose and went to him. “I’m glad you’re back.” She took his hat and hung it on a peg.

“Me too. It’s bad out there. I think you’re about to get your first taste of a Montana winter. This snow will be around a while.” He bent down and kissed the tip of her nose.

She smiled in response. “Supper’s on the stove. Are you hungry?”

“Starved.” He shrugged out of his knee-length fur-lined overcoat.

“Hawk, your clothes are wet. What happened?”

“I fell through some ice. I thought it was thick enough to hold me, but I was wrong.” He shivered. “I’ll tell you about it later. I’m going to change into something dry.”

“You’re going to do more than change,” Bethany replied in a firm tone. “I’m heating a bath for you. You go sit in front of the fire until it’s ready.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say.”

The blizzard lasted for five days. The world outside the cabin was a flurry of white, keeping Hawk and Bethany prisoners within the log walls. Willing prisoners. For nearly a week, they forgot everything except each other. It was a delightful interlude.

It was the silence that awakened Bethany on the sixth day. The wind wasn’t howling. Snow didn’t sting the windowpanes. The tall pine that stood outside their bedroom wasn’t whipping its branches against the log walls. It was as if the earth held its breath.

“Storm’s over,” Hawk said.

Sensing their seclusion was nearing its end, she snuggled closer.

“I’ll be going out with the boys to check on the cattle. I could be gone several days.”

“Will many cows be lost?”

He kissed the top of her head. “Cattle aren’t any too smart. They’ve got a tendency to just stand and let the snow bury them instead of finding a windbreak. I’ve seen them freeze in their tracks. But the Circle Blue’s been through worse storms. I expect we’ll come through this one okay.”

They dressed quickly in the icy morning air. When he looked at her, his eyes speaking his love, she felt a quickening in her heart, and she wished the storm had continued so she could keep him to herself a little longer.

He headed for the bedroom door. “I’ll bring in more wood so you won’t run out while I’m gone.”

Fastening the last button on her bodice, she followed him out of the bedroom and went to the kitchen where she took an iron skillet from its nail on the wall and placed it on the stove, ready to begin another day.

After four days alone, Bethany lost track of how many times she’d found herself staring out the window, willing Hawk to ride into the yard. It felt as if the walls of the cabin were closing in on her. If her husband hadn’t given her strict instructions not to leave the ranch, she would have saddled her buckskin mare and ridden up to see Ingrid. She needed the sound of another human’s voice.

She was standing at the window again when someone rode into the yard at last. Only it wasn’t Hawk or one of his hired hands. It was a man who was less than welcome on the Circle Blue. She considered not answering the door when he knocked on it. Except that her need to talk to someone — anyone — was momentarily greater than her dislike of Vince Richards.

“Good afternoon, Bethany.” He removed his hat. “Hope you don’t mind my coming by. I knew Hawk would be out checking on the herd after the storm, and I wanted to make sure that you’re all right.” He patted his gloved hands against his upper arms, as if warding off the cold. “May I come in?”

Hawk wouldn’t like him being here, but now that she’d opened the door, she didn’t know how to refuse his request. She stepped to the side and opened the door a little wider.

He moved into the parlor. “What a change this is. You’ve made the place into a home.”

“Thank you.” Regret washed over her as Vince sat on a chair near the fireplace. She wished she could undo the last few minutes. It made her nervous, having him in the house. She should tell him to leave, the way she had three months earlier in the sitting room of the Worthington home.

“You’re looking pale,” Vince said, intruding on her thoughts. “Are you unwell?”

“No.” She tilted her chin. “But I think you should go. You can see that I’m fine. Besides, my husband — ” she stressed the word —“will return soon.”

His eyes narrowed as he stood. “It seems you are always asking me to leave. I wish you understood my deep regard for you.”

Without a word, she opened the door, letting in the cold.

He moved to stand before her. “I am not a patient man. I set my mind on what I want, and then I move heaven and earth to get it.”

“Please go. I have things to do.”

He stepped onto the stoop, then looked back at her. “This is a harsh land. All kinds of things can happen. A man falls from a horse and breaks his neck. He gets mauled by a bear. Renegades shoot him. A man can get caught in a blizzard and freeze to death and nobody finds his body until spring.” He pulled on his gloves. “I’ll be here to look after you should anything like that happen to Hawk. You can count on me.”

She closed the door. Only then did she realize she was shaking. His words felt like a threat. Were they? Or was she reading too much into them?

I’ ll never open the door to him again. Not ever.

She returned to the sofa and picked up her mending, deciding as she did that she wouldn’t tell Hawk about her unwelcome visitor. Better to put the matter behind her and never think of it again.

THIRTY-SIX

Winters in Montana were long, with little for cowboys to do beyond the lonely, cold task of line riding, checking to make sure the cattle weren’t starving or freezing to death. Most of the men looked forward to spring and the roundups and trail drives that followed.

Not Hawk. Not this year. He’d taken a fancy to winter all of a sudden. He was content to hole up with his wife inside their cabin and saw no reason to go out as long as there was wood to burn and food to eat.

At least he was content until she started having nightmares. The first one happened in early November, not long after the season’s first major snowstorm. It was her moans that woke him. He was about to reach for her to see what was wrong when she screamed and bolted upright in bed.

He took her in his arms. “Hey. What is it?”

“Stay with me, Hawk.” She clung to him. “Don’t go away again.”

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I thought something happened to you. You were hurt and I couldn’t find you. I was so afraid.”