Robin Lee Hatcher (3 page)

Bethany had never seen anyone like him. The muscles of his upper arms bulged beneath his rolled up shirtsleeves. His wet hair glistened in the sunlight, droplets of water shining like diamonds against the black. And his eyes, the way he’d looked at her. It had left her breathless.

“Come along, Bethany,” her father said, his hand on her elbow. “I believe we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“But Papa, shouldn’t we try to change his mind? We’ve come all this way.” A new thought sprang into her head, one that made her stomach sink. “We don’t know if he’s married. Perhaps we should talk to his wife. She might want to come to church, even if he doesn’t.”

Her father shook his head. “We aren’t giving up, my girl. There will be other occasions to see Mr. Chandler. If he has a family, we will learn that too.”

Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be moved toward the buggy, taking her place once again on her father’s right side. He clucked at the horse and turned the vehicle around.

Hawk Chandler. She recalled the sculpted angles of his face, the heavy brows, the deep-set, brooding eyes. Blue eyes, yet so dark they were nearly black.

“Hawk,” she said softly. “An unusual Christian name, isn’t it?”

“My guess is he’s part Indian.”

“Do you think so?” She twisted to look behind her at the retreating ranch. “But I thought Indians were . . .”
Savages. Heathens.
The words caught in her throat. While Hawk Chandler seemed many things to her, those words didn’t fit.

Her father understood what had gone unsaid. “My child, never judge a man because of his race. Never. God looks at the heart. So should we. We are all made in God’s image. Whatever the reason Mr. Chandler doesn’t go to church, we’ll pray we can overcome it so that he will join us soon.”

“I’ll do everything I can to make that happen, Papa.”

Vince Richards leaned against the high-backed leather chair, nodding every so often as the reverend spoke, but he wasn’t listening. His thoughts were locked on the auburn-haired beauty seated beside her father.

From the moment she entered his home, she’d held him captivated. She was perfection — her laugh, her sweet smile, the lyrical sound of her voice. Even the way she drank the tea that Hutchens, Vince’s manservant, had delivered to the drawing room a short while before. Lovely. Absolutely lovely. It wasn’t often one found a truly genteel young woman in Montana.

“We’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. Richards.” The reverend stood. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope we’ll see you in church on Sunday.”

“I’ll be there, Reverend Silverton.” He rose and stepped forward to shake the man’s hand. Then he turned toward Bethany and bowed. “It was a distinct honor to meet you, Miss Silverton. I look forward to the pleasure of your company again soon.”

Nathaniel took Bethany’s arm. “Until Sunday then. Good day, Mr. Richards.”

Vince saw his guests to their buggy, then watched as they drove away. Now there was a young woman who would make a proper wife for the future governor of Montana. And that’s who he meant to be. Not just governor of the territory. He would see that Montana became a state, and, when it did, he would be its governor. Bethany Silverton would make a perfect first lady. Beautiful, cultured, refined. Everything a governor could want in a wife.

He turned toward his house, pride welling at the sight. It had taken a long time to have the materials brought here, a long time for the large brick structure to be built and furnished. But now it was the finest home in all of Montana Territory.

He stepped onto the veranda and took a cigar from his shirt pocket. As he smoked, his gaze scanned the rolling countryside that made up the Bar V Ranch. Five thousand head of cattle roamed the range. Soon there would be ten thousand, then twenty thousand. Perhaps even more. All he needed was time and more grazing land — and more water.

Water.

He bit down on the cigar, eyes narrowing as they slid toward the mountain range to the west. Chandler’s ranch was at the foot of those mountains — the ranch and a spring that never ceased to flow, providing life-giving water for livestock for miles around. If Vince was to own the largest cattle operation in Montana, he needed ownership of the Circle Blue. Once it was his, control of the water rights from the mountains all the way to the Musselshell would be his too.

And there was no mistaking that the Circle Blue would be his. He wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to stand in his way.

He tossed his cigar into the dust of the yard and went inside.

Rand set his bowl of stew on the table opposite Hawk. “Did you get the last of those horses shod? If not, I can do it in the mornin’.”

“I finished. Except for the roan. He’s gone lame again. I figured to put him out to pasture for a while, see if he doesn’t heal up.” Hawk took a couple bites of his supper. “We had visitors today.”

“Who? Richards? When’s he gonna believe you’re not sellin’?”

Hawk shook his head. “It wasn’t Richards. It was the new reverend and his daughter. Came to invite us to church.”

“They did, huh?” Rand chuckled. “Guess if they’re gonna go to all that trouble to bring a personal invitation, we oughta go.”

Hawk resumed eating without comment.

“I don’t suppose the reverend’s daughter was that blonde we saw outside the saloon.”

“No.”

Rand swallowed his disappointment. “Well, I reckon I’ll go anyway. You gonna change your mind and come with me?”

Hawk shook his head.

Rand understood his friend’s reluctance to mingle with the town’s growing population. He’d come to know Hawk pretty well in the five years they’d been together, well enough to know that he’d suffered his share of scorn from folks when they learned he was a quarter Sioux. Didn’t matter that Hawk had spent his whole life living with white folks, that he was as upright and honest as any man Rand ever knew.

Never ceased to amaze him how otherwise kind and caring folks — even some who called themselves Christian — could act like that. Made him ashamed, it did. Downright ashamed.

FOUR

Bethany stared at the ceiling, watching as the encroaching dawn lightened her bedroom, all the while twirling a strand of hair around her index finger and worrying her lower lip.

Now that she’d found Mr. Chandler, how was she to get him to church? She couldn’t wait for her father to go visiting again. Papa would take his own sweet time. How could she win her bet with Ingrid that way?

I wonder if he’s married.

Oh, how very much she hoped not. She could still win the wager if he was, but it wouldn’t be as rewarding if he had a wife.

She pushed away the blankets and swung her feet over the side of the bed. A ride would help clear her thoughts. And if that ride happened to take her near the Circle Blue, perhaps she would learn if there was a Mrs. Chandler. Her father wouldn’t approve of her riding out so far from town, of course. Well, she needn’t tell him. Besides, as long as Ingrid was with her, what harm could there be?

She poured water from the pitcher into a bowl and quickly performed her morning ablutions. Then she ran a hasty brush through her unruly curls before capturing her hair into a bun at the nape. As she slipped into her riding habit, she heard a door open and close, then the creaking of the stairs. Her father was up for his morning prayer time. She and Ingrid would have to wait until he emerged from his study before they could leave.

She checked the mirror one more time, approving her appearance and dark umber riding habit. Then she hurried down the hall to Ingrid’s bedroom. “Get up, sleepyhead.”

Sprawled on her stomach, Ingrid opened one eye. “What time is it?”

“Time to get up if we want to go for a ride.”

“What ride?”

“Our ride. Don’t you remember?” Bethany pulled back the coverlets on the bed. “We wanted to go for a ride today.”

Suspicion clouded her friend’s face as she sat up. “I do not recall anything about a ride.”

“Oh, you’re so forgetful.” Bethany swept over to the chair near the window and perched herself on it. “Look outside. It’s going to be a beautiful warm day, and I’m not leaving this room until you’re up and ready to go riding with me. I had such a lovely time with Papa yesterday. The countryside is beautiful. Especially over by the — ” She caught herself. “Over by the mountains. I want you to see it. Maybe we’ll see some buffalo. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

While Bethany chattered, Ingrid got out of bed, washed, and went to her wardrobe. Not until she was dressed did she speak again. “You do not fool me, Bethany. It is not buffalo you wish to see.”

Bethany feigned hurt feelings. “Must you be so suspicious of me?” Then she laughed, her excitement bubbling to the surface despite her best effort.

The stallion quivered, his eyes wild with fright, his legs braced. Rand gripped the rope, holding the horse steady while Hawk stepped into the saddle.

“Okay. Let him go.”

For one moment after Rand stepped backward, the rangy black didn’t move. Hawk wasn’t fooled. He tightened his hold. A second later, the horse erupted into the air with fury, his body twisting in a vicious attempt to unseat its rider. All four hooves struck the hard earth with teeth-jarring impact. Horse and human grunted in unison.

Hawk heard Rand’s yell of encouragement as the wild horse took flight again. The stallion echoed the sound with a shrill neigh as he dropped his head between his legs, back arched. Hawk’s body flowed with the animal’s movements rather than against them, his free arm acting as a balance as the stallion bucked and twisted and spun around the corral. Dust filled Hawk’s nostrils and stung his eyes. Sweat poured from beneath his hatband and down his back.

Fight all you want. I’ ll win in the end.

As if he’d heard, the horse stopped bucking and stood dead still in the middle of the corral. Surprised — he’d expected this to take more time — Hawk looked at Rand, who shrugged in response. In that same instant, the animal threw his back legs toward the sky, his nose almost touching the ground.

Hawk parted company with the saddle and somersaulted toward the corral fence before hitting the dirt. The force of connecting with the ground knocked the air from him as he tumbled onto his back. He lay still, eyes closed, trying to drag a full breath into his lungs.