Love on the Range

by Mary Connealy

  “Ralston died without telling much. There’s a good chance he was stealing Hawkins’s money besides his cattle.”

  “Has anyone searched the cabin he took Amelia to?”

  “Ralston wouldn’t have left anything behind. They were clearing out.”

  Nodding, Molly considered it. “You’re right he wouldn’t have left any money, but did they search carefully? He might’ve left some information about what he was up to. And maybe you can search his cabin while I work inside. I might be able to find where he paid himself a special salary. If I get a chance, I’ll try to find out how much money Hawkins has. He’s been spending his dead wife’s money for years.”

  “His ranch runs, but it’s no great success. And with all the hired help, that has to cut into his profits.”

  “I don’t see how finding out about his finances leads me to proving him a murderer, but it will be interesting.” Molly felt a cold chill of anger at Hawkins. A deep desire to avenge the deaths of women who’d been harmed by him. A deep desire to turn over every slimy rock that came near Oliver Hawkins and see what kind of worm crawled out.

  They fell silent as they rode toward the Hawkins Ranch. Molly, lost in thought, planning what she’d say to get the job. Wyatt might be doing the same thing.

  “Molly, about kissing you—”

  “There’ll be no more of that, Wyatt.” Her hands tightened on the reins so suddenly her horse slowed and tossed its head.

  Wyatt reached out quick as a rattler and grabbed the reins. He slowed the horse and gave Molly a few seconds to get ahold of herself.

  Molly’s chin came up, but she didn’t look at Wyatt. Instead, she stared straight ahead. “It was a mistake. I have no plans to marry. Because of that, I shouldn’t behave as if I have an interest in a man. It’s unfair of me. Sinful even.”

  “A kiss isn’t sinful, not when it ends so soon.”

  Molly remembered the kiss, and it had gone on far too long. “It’s sinful if I have no proper intentions toward you. You started that kiss, Wyatt, but I should’ve called a halt to it immediately. It won’t happen again.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  Molly didn’t respond to that.

  “I remember waking up with you in my arms, Molly. I think about it. Often. I’m not likely to forget how nice it felt to hold you close.”

  He looked at her, heat in his eyes. Molly only knew he looked because she looked at him. And she couldn’t look away. It was long minutes before Wyatt released her reins, and they rode on.

  The trail curved around a steep bluff, and the ranch lay before them. Molly saw the house and gasped. “Who built that?”

  Wyatt turned to look, then shook his head. “Like everything else, Hawkins hired someone to do the work. And remember, this was nearly twenty years ago. There was no train. There was no sawmill, so no boards. He had the wood shipped in from a lumber mill somewhere. He hired men out of Omaha to travel with the fancy work, the doorknobs, and glass. There are marble fireplaces inside, all sorts of outrageous flounces. When you see it, you’ll wonder if Hawkins is a fool or a madman.”

  “He could be both. If he’s killed women, then he’s a monster on top of it.”

  “Be careful in there, Molly. You packed a gun, didn’t you?”

  “And a knife.”

  “I’m just a shout or a shot away.”

  And then they rode into the ranch yard, and there was no more time to talk.

  “No one’s gonna believe Wyatt rode off, mad at everyone, and took a job being a cowpoke at another ranch.” Cheyenne dragged her gloves off her hands and slapped her leg with them. She glared at Kevin, wondering who came up with this stupid plan.

  Kevin had ridden to the cabin Cheyenne and Falcon had moved to. They had come outside, hearing a rider approach. Then Kevin had told her of Wyatt and Molly. “It’s too late to stop him. Wyatt is gone. He’s hoping Hawkins is too badly in need of help to ask many questions. And he says you oughta come on home until he gets back. You’re who should be running the ranch. I sure enough can’t do it.”

  Win sat on her horse beside Kevin. Cheyenne was struck by the way these two were always together. Of course, she was most always with Falcon, too. But that was different.

  She turned to look at Falcon. “We’ve got the cabin ready to be lived in. I like it here.”

  He smiled that rugged smile. His hazel eyes sparked humor and more. “Let’s go keep your brother’s ranch running until he comes home, then we’ll get back over here. I like it here, too.” Falcon turned to face Kevin. “And Hobart is staying at the house now?”

  “Yep. And Win and I were told to move into the big house, but if you’re coming back, we’ll stay where we are.” He turned to his wife and smiled.

  She smiled back. “We’ve gotten settled in there.”

  Cheyenne was bothered by that private smile. Win and Kevin had gotten the better of the deal, having the ramrod’s house to themselves.

  It didn’t matter if it bothered her or not. She had no choice but to go back. Someone had to run the ranch.

  “While we’re there”—Cheyenne slapped her gloves into the palm of her hand—“we can talk to Hobart about what’s involved in hiring a Pinkerton to find out the details about your ma’s date of death. Or how she thinks we need to proceed. We don’t dare talk to anyone local, not while Wyatt and Molly are at Hawkins’s place. He might get wind of it and be suspicious of Wyatt’s reasons for leaving.” She frowned. “I’m sorry I act like I’m overly interested in the date. Losing your ma had to be a terrible thing. I was an adult when my ma died, and it was so sad, so shocking.”

  Falcon shrugged. “Maybe Hobart could slip out in the night like she slipped in. Ride off a piece, to Casper or farther if we think that’s needed, and send a letter or a wire from there to get things started.”

  “We’ll pack up and come along in a bit.” Cheyenne half turned, watching Kevin and Win, waiting.

  “We’ll ride back with you,” Kevin said. “We can help if you’ve got supplies to bring along.”

  “Nope, not necessary. You go on.” Cheyenne decided Kevin was hopeless, so she looked at Win, wondering if her friend could possibly figure out that Cheyenne wanted another hour in her own home. Another chance to be alone with her husband before they gave up their privacy for a while.

  Win blushed faintly. “We’ll see you at the ranch.”

  “No, I don’t mind waiting,” Kevin-the-clueless said.

  Falcon rolled his eyes.

  “Kevin,” Win said sharply, drawing his attention.

  “What?”

  “Let’s go.” She turned her horse and rode off. As she’d obviously expected, Kevin came along, never willing to be separated from her.

  Falcon laughed softly, probably afraid Kevin would come back and ask what was so funny.

  He took her hand and dragged her toward the cabin. “We don’t have a single thing that needs to be packed. We even left clothes back at the RHR.”

  “Just come along quietly, and nobody gets hurt.”

  He laughed and moved faster toward the house.

  Thirteen

  Hawkins needed help badly. Wyatt saw that immediately when he led his horse into the barn.

  Two men leaned against hay bales. Drinking coffee. While horses stood in dirty straw and cows outside mooed as if hoping for food.

  Wyatt couldn’t find a clean stall in the whole, huge barn. And the wood was weathered. It looked like, even before so many of his men had been taken away, no one had bothered maintaining it.

  “Who’s the foreman?”

  “There ain’t one.” The man closest, chewing on a piece of straw, didn’t straighten away from where he slouched. Didn’t introduce himself. He sure enough didn’t have the grace to apologize for the state of things in the barn. “Zeke Bell ran the place until two weeks ago. He stuck it out after all the hands were dragged off. But when Hawkins couldn’t find more men and wouldn’t come out and work, Zeke got fed up and asked for his tim
e.”

  “And why did you stay?”

  One of the loafers shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t care if the place runs or not. The boss stays to the house. No one gives me orders. Might as well stay around. Ain’t nothing hard about it.”

  If Wyatt was in charge, the hardest thing might be his fist in this cocky layabout’s face. “Are there other men around?”

  “A few. Five men besides us, all of ’em riding out to check the herd. But they’re grumbling.”

  Wyatt thought grumbling beat leaning and decided he was going to aim for the foreman job. His first act would be to get these two to clean out this barn, and if they didn’t work fast, they’d be heading down the trail.

  Wyatt knew Molly was waiting for him near the back door of the house, so they could go in together. He stepped back out into the ranch yard. The pine and snow were the scent of winter to Wyatt. He wanted to be home at the RHR with its massive fireplace. He wanted the winter days, when the cattle were on good grass, and the branding, roundup, and cattle drive were all done.

  Instead, he was about to try to talk his way into a job for a possible murderer. Wyatt had probably done more half-witted things, but he couldn’t remember when.

  “You’re hired! Both of you!”

  Wyatt expected the man to jump up and down clapping.

  Hawkins tore his eyes away from Molly to glance at Wyatt. “It’d be great if you’d take the foreman job, Wyatt.”

  Then he looked back at Molly. “I’ve had the word out in town for more men and a few have come in. But no one’s applied for the housekeeping job.”

  Though he didn’t say a word wrong, Wyatt didn’t like the way Hawkins’s eyes lingered on Molly. The idiot seemed more interested in the house than the ranch. And why not? He never spent time working his own land, his own cattle. He probably didn’t even know how to judge how things were going.

  But the house, well, clearly the man could see dust and feel it when he struggled to get his own meals. The kitchen was filthy, dirty plates and burned-up pans everywhere. Half-eaten meals. Hawkins could clearly see his need for a housekeeper. He might’ve seen his need for better cowpunchers if he’d ever looked outside.

  “I appreciate it, Oliver.” Wyatt stuck out his hand, and Oliver Hawkins looked back at Wyatt as if he’d forgotten Wyatt was there.

  He narrowed his eyes and said, “I like those working for me to call me Mr. Hawkins.”

  Wyatt only hesitated a moment. Now wasn’t the time to kick up a fuss. But by golly that time would come.

  “I’ll remember that, Mr. Hawkins.”

  Hawkins shook Wyatt’s hand briefly as if he were granting the help a favor. Yes, sirree, that time would come soon.

  When Wyatt had come in asking for work, lacing in his complaints about his family, Hawkins appeared not to have one speck of trouble believing that. He accepted Wyatt’s story of being furious about his own ranch being taken over by greedy relatives almost like a man who had that story in his own life.

  Of course, that could just be Wyatt being suspicious.

  Hawkins was a loud, braying fool. He was always well dressed with neatly clipped brown hair and blue eyes that matched Win’s. He leaned toward boasting but usually with a big smile on his face. He had a fair amount of shallow charm that wore out fast. A man very much like Clovis Hunt. Wyatt had never been able to abide Hawkins, and though it’d made him sad because it was his own father, he’d learned early not to trust or abide Clovis.

  “I’m going to get to work.”

  “Excellent. You know which is the foreman’s house, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but would you mind if I take Ralston’s house? It’s closer to work.” Just barely, but Wyatt tossed that out as an excuse. Truth was, he wanted to search Ralston’s house, and he wanted to be as close to the big house as possible, to listen for cries for help or gunshots.

  “Whichever one you want, it makes no difference to me.” Hawkins had turned away from Wyatt and was walking toward Molly, smiling.

  Wyatt walked toward the back door to the sound of Hawkins saying, “Let me show you to your room, then give you a tour of the house.”

  Wyatt and Molly had worked out a way to communicate using a lantern at each of their windows. But that only worked at night.

  It took every drop of his self-control to go on outside and leave Molly alone with a man they suspected of murder.

  Fourteen

  Molly set a lamp in the window of her bedroom. She was on the side of the house near the barn, and near where Wyatt would sleep. Win had suggested that. She’d known every bit of the house.

  The housekeeper’s quarters were two nice-sized rooms. After a week of working for Mr. Hawkins—she’d been just as sternly instructed to call him that as Wyatt had—she’d learned her way around.

  He’d ridden out twice: once to town because he carried home a few supplies, and once he said he just liked to ride. He didn’t say where, and she didn’t ask.

  When he was gone, she had the run of the house, and she’d found the safe behind a picture in his office but couldn’t find one in his bedroom. There was an entire third floor in the house, and Mr. Hawkins had told her to leave it be. Just as Rachel had said, Molly was so relieved not to have to tackle another full floor of cleaning that she’d just gratefully acquiesced, but if she couldn’t find that safe in his room soon, she would have to expand her search to that floor. She was dreading it. She’d heard strange rustling noises from the third floor. She wondered about rats or squirrels being in there, but in truth, it gave the house a haunted feeling.

  Despite practicing on Wyatt’s safe at the RHR, she couldn’t get Mr. Hawkins’s office safe open. Last night she’d signaled for help. Wyatt had come to her window, and they’d planned. Tonight, he was coming in to help her.

  A lantern light shone back at her, then blinked out, Wyatt’s signal that he was coming.

  Molly doused her lantern, nervous to let him help with the search. It was worrisome to think of Mr. Hawkins catching her wandering at night, but she’d never be able to explain letting Wyatt in.

  And besides that worry, when she’d crept around the house at night, she’d worn her nightgown. In the event that Mr. Hawkins came down and found her, it would be easier to use the excuse of a sleepless night. Tonight, she did the same, but it felt so wrong to greet Wyatt in her nightgown that she wore her dress beneath it and a robe over it. Since the dress barely fit beneath the nightgown, she felt as puffed up as a stuffed turkey.

  Wyatt tapped on the glass. Her heart pounding, listening for any sign Mr. Hawkins was awake, she slid open her window and let Wyatt in.

  He clambered in, and she shut the window to keep out the cold night air. He took two steps, and his heavy boots creaked loudly on the floor. He froze.

  “Take them off and leave them in here,” she whispered.

  Nodding, he pulled them off and set them under the window.

  They slipped out of the room, through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the office.

  It stood empty. The fireplace cold, not a spark of light anywhere.

  Molly moved carefully around the furniture in the room and closed the heavy drapes, then lit her lantern.

  Without speaking, she pushed the painting aside. It swung easily, and she held it there to reveal the safe. The painting was large, a landscape signed by someone named Thomas Moran. Mr. Hawkins had told Molly how valuable the painting was, how important the artist was, he went on and on. But as he did that about near everything, she assumed he was boasting. It was a beautiful picture, but for heaven’s sake, no picture could cost that much.

  Wyatt had a slip of paper in his hand. The safe combinations Hobart had given them.

  Working silently, he turned the dial this way and that, then he reached for a handle and twisted. Something clunked, and the safe began to open.

  A board creaked overhead. They both froze.

  “Douse the lantern,” Wyatt whispered.

  Boards creaked again. It
might have been the sound of a foot on one of the stair treads.

  Wyatt swung the door shut, spinning the dial he’d used to open it, and slid the picture back into place before grabbing her hand and rushing for the study door. “We have to get you back to your room in case he checks on you for some reason.”

  Molly hurried along on Wyatt’s heels. She breathed a prayer of relief that Wyatt had shed his boots. They’d’ve never been able to move silently and quickly if he had them on. They reached her room as the footsteps on the stairs became steadier. Mr. Hawkins made no attempt to be quiet, and why would he? He wasn’t sneaking around anywhere.

  “Get in bed.”

  Wyatt rushed for the window.

  “No, he’ll notice the cold even if you get out and get it shut.”

  Wyatt’s face was visible in the moonlight, and he took a frantic look at the door.

  She took off her robe as the footsteps came steadily for her room, leapt into bed, dragged the blankets over her, and rested her head on the pillow. “Take your boots and hide.”

  Wyatt grabbed them and dove around her bed. She heard a solid thud, not unlike someone hitting their head on the underside of a bed.

  A firm knock sounded at her door, and Wyatt quit moving. Near as she could tell, he quit breathing.

  She saw lantern light beneath her door.

  The knock sounded again. “Molly, I’m sorry to wake you.”

  But for all he said he was sorry, he’d sure enough done it. Had he heard her moving around? What could he possibly want?

  “I’m afraid I’m having a bit of trouble sleeping.”

  He snored like a bull. He’d been fully asleep. And why did he think sharing his sleeplessness with her was a good idea?

  “I’m coming.” She donned the robe again, still over her nightgown-covered dress. She tied the belt in a firm knot and hurried to the door to swing it open just a couple of inches.

  “A sleepless night can be upsetting.” She didn’t know quite what else to say. Was that why he’d shared this news with her? He didn’t want to be upset alone?