The Cattleman's Unsuitable Wife (Wells Cattle Company Book 1)

by Pam Crooks

  His fist itched to backhand her again. He had to settle for glaring at her good and mean. Ignoring him, she gripped the cast iron handle with both hands and marched to the edge of their clearing, like he told her to do. All three of them kept their eyes on her, just in case she took a notion to run off.

  She didn’t. Just dropped the pan in the dirt, turned around and came back with her snooty nose in the air.

  “You’ll see I’m right,” she sniffed.

  Woodrow regretted her being out of brandy. He liked her better drunk, sniveling and meek. Stone sober, she had way too much sass.

  She meant Trey not giving him the ransom money, of course. Well, Woodrow had a plan of his own if Trey didn’t.

  “You’d better hope he has it in his hot little paw down there by Wolf Creek, honey,” he said. “Or else he’s going to be witness to me pumping your sorry ass full of lead and enjoying every shot.”

  Fear flickered over her dirt-streaked face, and the starch went right out of her. He gloated in triumph. She needed reminding who was in charge and who wasn’t. If she didn’t know by now that he meant every word, well, she was more stupid than he thought, and after a moment, they all went back to their eating.

  Everyone but Woodrow.

  He settled back, cuddled with his kitty and fantasized about fine whiskey and thick, juicy steaks, compliments of his big brother and the Wells Cattle Company.

  Trey was so deep in his ruminating, he’d lost track of how far they’d come.

  He’d never been to this part of Bear Tooth Mountain before. He had to trust Zurina to get them to Rogers Pass and soon, so he could give Woodrow a big surprise before he headed down to Wolf Creek with Mikolas and Allethaire.

  Providing they were hiding out at the pass, that is.

  Earlier this morning, after leaving their camp, Zurina had gotten her sense of direction skewed, and they were forced to retrace their steps and start over. Considering time was tight, she regretted her mistake and apologized plenty for it, but he couldn’t hold the delay against her. It’d been a long time since she’d been out this way. She’d been a young girl, besides.

  Mostly, he figured she had a lot on her mind. Same as he did. Last night, and all that sweet loving they’d made together, only a part of it.

  Still, the suspicious side of him warned the time she’d spent with him was only a ruse. A setup, maybe. A cruel game to occupy and distract him while Mikolas and Woodrow used Allethaire to plot up some way to hit at him and the WCC.

  Trey never saw Zurina’s claim about Mikolas coming. He’d been stunned to hear his father could be capable of forcing himself on a woman. How could Trey have not known? Why would his father deny Trey his own flesh and blood?

  Trey couldn’t fathom it. Sure, Sutton Wells could be a tough son of a bitch when he had to be. He would never have built his ranch into the operation it was if he hadn’t been. But he was fair, and he was honest. As far as Trey knew, his father had always respected the weaker sex and never once had Trey doubted being loved by him.

  Why wouldn’t Sutton love Mikolas the same way? Because his mother had been Basque? Of the sheepherder’s world?

  Again and again, Trey searched for a sign that Zurina lied to him. Again and again, he failed.

  Eventually logic cracked the walls of his suspicions and brought them tumbling. She believed Woodrow slaughtered her sheep. She was witness to Allethaire’s kidnapping. So why would Zurina gang up with Woodrow against Trey?

  But then, why would Mikolas?

  Nothing made sense, yet Zurina had been genuinely horrified at seeing the ransom note. Trey had seen her horror himself. She’d been surprised when her godson, Ander, told of how he’d gotten it, too, and she’d been determined to hunt for Mikolas afterward, with or without Trey.

  Trey’s logic insisted if she’d been intent on deceiving him, then she’d be deceiving her father at the same time—and everyone else in her family.

  If there was one thing Trey knew, Zurina would never hurt those who mattered most to her. She wouldn’t hurt anyone, including him. There wasn’t a vindictive bone in that gorgeous body of hers, only sensitivity and compassion and a capability to love that left him awed and hungering.

  Hell. Now that he took off his blinders and shook off his self-pity, he realized she was as much of a victim as he was. Add in the loss of her sheep—more.

  He’d been such an ass.

  His stomach clenched with regret for the accusations he’d hurled. His mind groped for a way to tell her so and beg forgiveness. To give him another chance.

  He failed at that, too, and having no idea how to redeem himself, he swiveled a somber glance toward her.

  His glance lingered.

  She was so damned beautiful.

  The exquisite shape of her face would be forever imprinted into his memory. The high cut of her cheekbones, her proud nose, the full bow shape to her lips….

  Those warm, kissable lips.

  No matter what happened up at the pass, he would always remember how she looked in the glow from a campfire, lying naked beneath him, the sheen of her skin golden. Or how she looked now, against the backdrop of pines thick on the mountains, her back straight while she sat the saddle with an easy grace. The cool air had a kick to it and feathered her cheeks with a tint of pink. She wore her hair banded at her nape, and he would never forget the feel of those long, sable tresses, either. Sliding loose and slow through his fingers. Or pooled in a silken heap on his shoulders and chest.

  Damned if he wasn’t thinking like a lovesick calf, but he didn’t know how he was going to leave her when everything was said and done. Or even if he should.

  Before he could open his mouth and fumble his way through an apology, she abruptly sat a little straighter in the saddle.

  “Look, Trey.” Her dark eyes sharpened under her flat-brimmed hat. “Over there.”

  His sluggish brain zeroed in on smoke curling through the pines, and his thoughts cleared in a hurry. “You think it’s the hideout?”

  “I’m almost sure.”

  Most anyone could be up there, he knew. A tribe of Crow, Lakota or Cheyenne. A fur trapper or miner. Or maybe some farmer, scratching out a living in unfriendly dirt.

  “It has to be,” she said, almost to herself.

  “Let’s go up and take a look.”

  She tossed him a hesitant glance. “If I’m wrong, we’ll never make it down to Wolf Creek in time to meet Woodrow.”

  “I know.”

  Trey debated the merits of playing it safe—complying with the terms of the ransom note—or making his own rules and going for a good dose of surprise.

  He opted for surprise.

  “We’ll take the chance,” he said.

  Her quick nod told him she agreed with the decision. “All right.”

  “Stay beside me. Don’t fall back,” he ordered and nudged his horse forward, deeper into the trees.

  Hers fell into step, and his senses sharpened the higher they climbed. His awareness divided between making sure Zurina kept close to him and scouring the mountain around them.

  The terrain turned rougher, the pines denser. The shadows could hide a man, the tangled forest his horse. Insects buzzed; birds twittered. Twigs, fallen leaves and needles crunched beneath their mounts’ hooves, and the fragrant scent of pine and damp earth filled his nostrils.

  “Hoo hoodoo hooo hoo.”

  The bird call penetrated the multitude of forest sounds assailing his senses. Until his senses latched onto a single realization.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Zurina’s voice sounded hushed in deference to his. “A horned owl.”

  “That’s right. And owls don’t call during the middle of the day.” He pulled his rifle from the scabbard. His muscles coiled. “They’ve spotted us.”

  “Oh, no.” Alarm threaded her whisper.

  “Get your father’s gun and shoot at anything that moves.”

  “I will not.” But she pulle
d the rifle out and tucked the butt under her arm. “My brother is up there.” She darted a quick look at him. “And so is yours.”

  Trey scowled, but now wasn’t the time to resurrect the problem of Mikolas’s parentage. “We’re not going to be welcome, Zurina. If Mikolas shoots, shoot back.”

  “He won’t shoot us. He’s not a murderer.”

  Trey clamped his mouth shut against her loyalty. Granted, she knew the man better than he did, but Mikolas’s partnering with Woodrow canceled out any allegiance Trey might’ve felt compelled to make.

  They kept riding, one step at a time. Careful through the trees. Higher up the mountain. Closer to the scent of smoke.

  Trey fought down the adrenaline itching to spill into his veins and hung on tight to control. He’d give his right arm to have Zurina safe at home with her father, but she’d been the one to get them here, and now he couldn’t send her back.

  Thwap!

  A bullet hit the ground in front of them and sprayed dirt. Startled, his horse reared. Zurina cried out.

  Three armed riders took shape through a stand of junipers. And kept coming. The shot warned of their presence, that any attempt to flee, or take cover, would be futile.

  Trey didn’t recognize any of them, but the one on the left had the look of a Basque about him.

  “Are you all right, Zurina?” Trey kept his voice low, his finger ready on the Winchester’s trigger.

  “Yes,” she said, visibly shaken.

  “Is that Mikolas with ’em?”

  “Yes,” she said again, miserable.

  His brother, and it felt damned strange to see him. Trey cursed the shadows and the man’s flat-brimmed hat, which hid much of the face Trey wanted to learn.

  “Know any of the others?” he demanded, pulling his scrutiny toward the pair with Mikolas.

  “The one in the middle—” she paused, studying him, as if to make sure “—he took Allethaire. The man on the right, I’m not sure. He may have been the one killing most of the sheep. It was dark.”

  Trey’s instincts suggested the man acted as accomplice on orders from Woodrow and likely posed less of a threat on his own. Which reinforced Trey’s guess Woodrow would be the unquestioned leader of the gang.

  And it was Woodrow who he caught eyeing him with a cold brand of glee.

  “Well, well, well. If it ain’t the almighty Trey Wells.”

  “Where’s Allethaire?” Trey demanded.

  “She’s around.”

  “There’s a posse nearby who won’t appreciate finding her hurt, and they’ll be real happy to hold you responsible,” he snapped. His rifle slid over the other two. “All of you.”

  “You threatening us, Mr. Wells?” Woodrow taunted.

  “Just telling you the way it is.”

  “He’s right, Mikolas.” Zurina appealed to her brother. “What you’re doing is wrong. It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  Mikolas’s jaw hardened. “I never expected to see you riding with Trey Wells, Zurina.”

  His tone was frosty, but the way he kept his sights on her, Trey guessed he was more worried than mad.

  “I could say the same about you and him.” She shot an appalled glance in Woodrow’s direction. “Oh, Mikolas, do you know what he’s done?”

  “I know,” he said.

  Pain flickered across his expression, and Trey realized Mikolas wasn’t as unaffected by the sheep his family had lost as he liked everyone to think.

  “Then how can—”

  “That’s enough of your jawin’, woman.” Woodrow barked the order with a jerk of his Colt’s barrel. “Put down your rifles, both of you.”

  “Don’t talk to her like that, Woodrow,” Mikolas said, not moving. “You’ve hurt her enough.”

  “Make her do like she’s told, then, and she won’t be hurt anymore.”

  “I’m warning you, Woodrow. She’s not the one we’ve got a grievance against.”

  Woodrow glared at him, then heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Listen up, Mikolas. We don’t have time for female theatrics, all right? We’ve got business to settle, and we can’t do it if we have to sit here and listen to her whine. We’ve got a posse breathing down our necks.”

  They engaged in a momentary battle of wills. Seemed when it came to his sister, Mikolas had a protective streak in him. Trey hadn’t expected it, considering. Tension hung in the air, thick as river mud.

  In the end, Mikolas backed down with a terse nod. He jerked his chin toward Zurina.

  “Do as he says,” he commanded.

  She huffed her exasperation. “Mikolas, why are you listening to him?”

  “Because he’s right, damn it! Now drop your rifle.”

  “Fine.” She tossed the old Henry to the ground in barely restrained temper.

  Woodrow’s gaze jumped to Trey. “Guess you’re going to have to swallow your cattleman pride and drop yours, too. Unless you want us to shoot you dead right here and think of all that WCC money that you plumb won’t need anymore.”

  He grinned with a smirk that Trey itched to remove with a well-aimed punch. But he’d come too far to risk his chances of rescuing Allethaire. He couldn’t risk Zurina getting hurt, either. He wasn’t yet sure how well he could protect her—or how much good Mikolas would be in defending her.

  Trey let loose with his rifle easy enough, and it landed next to hers.

  “Put your hands up, nice and high, and keep ’em there,” Woodrow added.

  He did that, too. Zurina complied, though Trey could feel her unease building.

  “Reggie, go get their guns and hand them to me. Then take their reins and lead them back to camp. Mikolas and I will ride right behind and make sure they behave themselves.”

  After Reggie obeyed, they pulled out. Being unarmed and captive of desperate men made for a precarious predicament. Trey kept his senses strung tight, but he figured he had a couple of things going for him that would keep him alive.

  Woodrow and his gang had gone through a helluva lot of trouble to get their hands on WCC money. They were smart enough to know they wouldn’t get a dime if he was dead. Too soon to tell how Trey would keep them from succeeding, but he figured he had a fighting chance.

  And that chance centered over the Basque riding behind him.

  His half-brother.

  Might be Woodrow didn’t know it yet, but there was mutiny brewing inside Mikolas, and Trey hoped he could use it to his advantage—and Zurina’s.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Seeing the tiny cabin again brought the horror rushing back.

  Zurina broke out in a cold sweat. She always hoped she’d never have to live that part of her past again, except here she was, a different kind of captive, this time by Woodrow Baldwin and her own troubled brother.

  She yanked her glance from the horrid structure and found Allethaire nearby, roped to a tree trunk like a forgotten mongrel. That Mikolas could be at least partially to blame for the poor woman’s ordeal appalled her. Who knew better than he what Zurina had gone through with that contemptible fur trapper?

  Compassion welled through her at how haggard and dirty Allethaire appeared. Her hair was mussed and dull, and her dusty black dress looked as if it’d never be wearable again. But at least her eyes were no longer reddened and glazed from drink. She watched Trey and Zurina ride into camp, revolvers leveled at their backs, with alarmed surprise on her face.

  “Trey!” she gasped.

  His glance latched onto her. “Did they hurt you, Allethaire?”

  “Yes, of course they did, but not so much that I won’t see them rot in hell for it.” She strained at the bindings on her wrists and around her waist, and Zurina took comfort in that she still had plenty of fight left in her. “Get me out of here. I want to go home.”

  “You’re not going anywhere yet,” Woodrow snapped. He jabbed his weapon toward Trey and Zurina. “Now get down, you two. Stand over there where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Unease crawled through Zurina. She’d seen
for herself the cruelties he was capable of. Dismounting would leave them defenseless and robbed of any means of escape.

  “Do as he says, Zurina.”

  Trey’s low voice urged her to obey, telling her they had no other choice. She detested being so vulnerable, but she climbed down, and he did the same.

  The man named Reggie led their horses away. Woodrow and Mikolas dismounted, too, and stood in front of them with feet spread and Colts ready.

  Immeasurable hurt spread through Zurina from her brother’s betrayal, that he refused to meet her eyes when all she longed to do was run to him in relief and happiness that she’d finally found him, and he was all right. He was like a stranger to her now. No better than an outlaw, and she thanked God Papa couldn’t see him like this.

  Unexpectedly something inside Woodrow’s shirt moved. His hand slid between the buttons and pulled out a black kitten, mewling for attention. Woodrow dropped a kiss to the little head and cuddled the feline against him.

  “Well, now, isn’t this a nice family reunion?” His mouth twisted in a mocking smirk. “Too bad the old man can’t be with us. Isn’t that right, Mikolas?”

  Mikolas kept silent, but his sullen gaze riveted over Trey, who was staring right back at him. Like bulls, those two. Sizing each other up. Resisting the notion of their relation.

  Suddenly Woodrow smacked Mikolas on the shoulder with the butt of his revolver.

  “I said ‘isn’t that right, Mikolas?’” he snarled.

  Mikolas swung toward him with his teeth bared.

  “Don’t hit me again,” he yelled.

  “Then answer me,” Woodrow yelled back.

  Mikolas’s chest heaved. “I couldn’t care less about Sutton Wells, y’hear? He didn’t care shit about me, and he didn’t care shit about you. So why should we care shit about him?”

  “Because we deserve to be Wells, that’s why!”

  “‘We’? What the hell are you talking about?” Trey demanded in a voice so low, so lethal, fear skidded down Zurina’s spine. Her mind spun to understand, to believe what Woodrow insinuated….

  But she had to be wrong. He couldn’t have meant what she thought he said.