Love on the Range

by Mary Connealy

  She thought of how Hawkins had begun to talk to her before Kevin and Win came in. She didn’t mention that.

  “After he released me, I went and changed my dress because I wanted one with pockets so I could hide those envelopes I found.” She’d told them how she’d found them in the safe. “I’d stuck them under the dresser in his room when I heard him coming. When I changed, I saw that my upper arm was red and swollen. The bruise hadn’t started to form yet. I was already disgusted with him and frightened of him before I saw how much damage he’d done. I’d already decided not to spend one more night in that house. I intended to leave, whether Kevin and Win had come or not.”

  She looked at Kevin. “But you came at just the right time. Delivered to me by our faithful heavenly Father. Just as Wyatt came in earlier and lured him away to give me a chance to find that safe in his room.”

  Wyatt brought the wrapped snow pack to her and pressed it around the bruising until her arm was wrapped. Only then did she realize her arm wasn’t just sore, it was hot.

  “That really helps.” She looked up and met his eyes. “I-I think I’d like to sit for a while and let the ice soothe the pain. Then there’s so much to do. I need to get dinner and see to Rachel, then—”

  Wyatt rested the tips of his fingers on her lips. After a long moment of silence, he tore his gaze from hers and looked at the witnesses all around them.

  “Can you let me talk to Molly alone for just a few minutes?”

  “Why?” Kevin’s brows lowered into one straight line.

  Cheyenne grabbed him by the arm, nice and tight, but Molly knew there would be no bruising. Cheyenne dragged Kevin out of the room. When he resisted, Falcon helped by shoving him, then muttering something to him Molly couldn’t hear.

  Kevin stretched to look over Falcon’s broad shoulder and gave her a shocked look, then he was out of the room.

  She turned back to Wyatt.

  Still holding the wrap on her arm, he slid his hand along her back and urged her toward the table. “Sit down. Please. I had no idea he’d hurt you so bad, Molly.”

  She sat, and Wyatt crouched beside her.

  “You’re not really going to kill him, are you?”

  Wyatt’s jaw went tight. “No man should harm a woman. In the West, we know that a woman is a rare and wonderful thing. A precious thing. That he would do this to you—” His chin moved as if the words he wanted to say were fighting to get out.

  “I want the law to handle this, Wyatt. And not just because I don’t want you killing anyone, but because Hawkins deserves to be punished by the law for his crimes.” She rested her palm on his cheek. “And killing someone leaves a scar on your soul, Wyatt. I don’t want that for you.”

  Wyatt leaned his head to press his cheek to her hand and closed his eyes. She saw him battle to control his anger, and she saw him win.

  Finally, he opened his eyes. He looked calm and kind. “Molly, I’ve come to your bedroom window night after night.”

  “Knowing you were coming made the days bearable.”

  A faint smile curved his lips, but his expression remained solemn. “I’ve wanted to talk to you of how I feel.”

  “I know you’ve wanted to find proof against Hawkins. You didn’t need to tell me.”

  “Hush.” He kissed her. It shocked her into silence, which was no doubt his goal.

  “Not how I feel about the investigation, or Hawkins, how I feel about you.”

  She thought of the kiss they’d shared. Thought of waking up in his arms.

  She had feelings, too.

  “It wasn’t right. It wasn’t proper to have such a talk when we were, well, when we were—were there . . . alone . . . in the night. With you taking such risks, and me just leaving you there in danger all day.”

  “I wasn’t in danger, not really. Not until today. Rachel lived there much longer than I did, and he didn’t leave a mark on her. I wonder why he hurt me so much sooner?”

  “I think he was getting scared that after she left his home and found Amelia Bishop, the truth of Amelia’s fear of him had come out. Then somehow he found out Rachel came back. He must’ve known, or that lawyer from Casper wouldn’t have waylaid her. Hawkins is cruel to women all the time, but it just came out meaner and faster when he was under so much pressure.”

  Wyatt leaned close and kissed her again.

  She really had to tell him to stop doing that. But maybe not just now.

  “Every night I controlled the urge to speak of how much I care about you.”

  “You did?” She cared so much it was frightening, and wonderful.

  “Yes, but you can see it was impossible at night, alone as we were, can’t you? I didn’t want to treat you so disrespectfully.”

  Molly’s heart was feeling as warm as her poor bruised arm. But with her heart, it was a nice kind of warm that she didn’t ever want to go away.

  Wyatt leaned forward and dropped to his knees. He might have lost his balance just a bit, but he seemed like he was coming to her as a humble man, a man who wanted something desperately.

  “Molly.” He was close enough he could have kissed her, but instead, he asked, “Will you marry me?”

  She gasped. After a wild surge of hope, common sense returned. “No. I’ve decided to never marry.”

  “You said your pa was unkind to your ma, and you didn’t want a man to rule over you. But, Molly, I would be good to you. You’ve known me long enough to believe that, don’t you? And if I ever overstepped into unkindness, well, Kevin’s right here to beat on me until I behave better.”

  A laugh escaped her lips, which trembled with the longing to say yes.

  “And if I ever overstep into unkindness toward you”—Molly reached out and took his hands—“Cheyenne is here to beat on me until I behave better.”

  Wyatt grinned.

  Their smiles matched for a time, then Molly’s faded. “You don’t know me, Wyatt. You don’t know the woman you are proposing to.”

  “I don’t believe there is anything I could find out about you that would make me change my mind.”

  She reached a hand to brush the dark hair off his forehead. Her fingers shook. “There are things you should know about me before we decide to marry.”

  “I’ll listen. We can talk about anything you want.”

  Closing her eyes, Molly drew in a deep breath, let it out, and looked at him again. “Now isn’t a good time to talk with everyone one room away and probably listening at the door.”

  “Then we’ll talk later.” Nodding, Wyatt added, “We don’t have to run to town and get married tomorrow. Just because everyone else around here went from not even courting to deciding to marry to the wedding in about one day doesn’t mean we have to.”

  “Thank you for doing me the honor of asking me. It really is a fine thing to be asked by such a good man. We do need to know each other better. And not because I hesitate to say yes to you, but be-because I’m afraid that once you know me better, you might regret asking.”

  Hope leapt into his eyes when she said she wanted to say yes. “That’s not going to happen, but if you fear it might, then we need to talk everything out. Maybe we can even have the wedding in an orderly way. We could set a date in advance, invite the family, and have a nice meal afterward. You could even have a ring and a bouquet of posies if you had a little notice.”

  Molly smiled.

  “Although posies in Wyoming deep in the fall would be a hard trick.” He rose, adjusted the snowy-cold wrap on her arm, and said, “You’re not feeding this crew tonight. You are going to rest.”

  That made her grin, then whisper, “The trouble with that is then I’ll have to eat someone else’s cooking.”

  “Falcon said he’d roast a possum if we didn’t mind waiting until he went hunting and fetched one around for us.”

  Molly shuddered.

  Then Wyatt whispered, “It’d probably be better than whatever Cheyenne would cook.”

  “Hey, stop talking about me that way
.” Cheyenne charged into the room.

  Molly smirked at Wyatt. “That’s why I’d like time to talk to you in private.”

  “Don’t know why it’s so hard for you to fetch a wife around, little brother.” Falcon came in and slapped Wyatt on the shoulder. “Easiest thing in the world. I’ve done it twice now without a speck of trouble.”

  Cheyenne nodded. “You must be doing something wrong.”

  Kevin came in and stood at Molly’s side. “You need to rest.”

  “House is gettin’ crowded with me and Cheyenne living here.” Falcon crossed his arms and looked up like he could see through the ceiling to the upstairs and was counting bedrooms. “You’d have a place to stay if you’d just get hitched to Wyatt and slept in his room.”

  Molly felt her face heating up, no doubt turning pink.

  “There’s still a spare room, but it doesn’t matter, I’ll be up watching over Rachel.”

  Since Molly didn’t get all that much sleep in this house, especially when someone was wounded—and it seemed like there always was someone—she couldn’t worry overly about it.

  Twenty-Two

  It’d been four days.

  “Why is she so addled?” Win asked as Molly came in with a tray carrying a small bowl of broth. She kept it warm on the stove at all times, ready for Rachel, in one of her wakeful moments, to take even a sip.

  Win shook her head. By now they worked well as a team. Win sat on one side of the bed, slid an arm behind Rachel’s back, and lifted until she nearly sat up straight. Molly spooned broth into her mouth. Rachel had spells where she was more awake than asleep. Molly stayed with her day and night, because it was during these moments they could get a sip of water into her or a few swallows of broth.

  Molly and Wyatt hadn’t yet found time for that badly needed talk. She had to make sure he understood that marrying her could ruin his life. They hadn’t even found time for less important things. Nothing passed between them that could be called any sort of courtship.

  There just wasn’t time.

  Wyatt had hovered around for two days. Finally, Cheyenne had dragged him off to get some ranching done. Falcon went along. He said he was curious about what there was to the job.

  Kevin stayed close because Win did. Right now, he was downstairs making the evening meal as the short days of October faded to an early dusk.

  Molly and Win had gotten a ham roasting and a baking of bread ready to slide in the oven, but Kevin was handling everything else. Although they all requested Molly come in at the end and make the gravy. Kevin leaned overly toward lumps.

  Molly had several nice visits with Win, and she was coming to respect and enjoy her new sister. She loved that, but honestly that wasn’t the person she cared to talk with most.

  They’d heard nothing from the Pinkertons. And they’d heard nothing from Oliver Hawkins.

  Molly could set her gut to burning just tormenting herself over whether Hawkins had found those envelopes missing. And she’d rage at herself for not taking more of them. The fitful sleep she was getting on a pallet on the floor beside Rachel was haunted by dreams of digging through that safe and Hawkins bursting into the room. Over and over. Sometimes she’d find awful, ugly things in that safe. Her father was there a few times. Her mother once.

  Sometimes she’d find custard.

  Any of those jerked her out of sleep. And each time she woke up, she was grateful. Exhausted but grateful.

  Her arm was feeling better. The bruising was still tender, but the swelling had mostly gone down.

  Win’s face had been a dull shade of red, now faded to yellow.

  “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” Win eased Rachel down after Molly quit forcing liquid into the woman.

  “At least my bruises are hidden away.” Molly rubbed the bruised arm gently.

  “Yes, yours was worse than mine, yet I hesitate to say you are the lucky one of us.”

  “If only I’d grabbed more of those packets in his safe. I got enough to confirm some of our suspicions, but nothing that comes close to proof. If only—”

  “Hush.” Win’s hand came up. “I’m doing the same thing, so don’t get me started. ‘If only, if only, if only.’ The truth is, Molly, we both did the best we could. You certainly more than me.”

  “Your father was, I’m very much afraid, getting ready to say something all wrong to me when you and Kevin came in.” Molly rubbed her arm again. “The kind of thing that would’ve forced me to leave right then and there. So I’m just torturing myself by wishing I’d had more time. There was no more time.”

  Molly suddenly rounded the bed and pulled Win to her feet. She wrapped both arms around her new sister. “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life as when you and Kevin came to visit.”

  Win hesitated, then her arms came around Molly. “And I have a family, after a whole lifetime of feeling like an outcast. Avoiding my pa, scared to death he killed my ma. Afraid to say anything.” Win’s voice broke, and her arms tightened.

  There were similarities in Molly’s deep secret and Win’s. For a moment, Molly teetered on opening her mouth and spilling all her ugly secrets on poor Win.

  She might’ve even done it. She thought Win would understand. But Wyatt had to be first.

  The hug lasted longer than any in Molly’s life. She whispered, “I’ve always wanted a sister. Brothers can get to be a bother sometimes.”

  For some reason, that set Win to giggling. She pulled back, and Molly saw tears on her face while she fought down the laughter.

  Molly joined in. No tears, she wasn’t prone to them. But a hug and laughter. There’d been too little of both in her life for a long time.

  They got a hold of themselves and turned to look at their sleeping patient.

  “Why won’t she wake up?” Win straightened Rachel’s blanket.

  “I don’t know, and for all the broth and water we’ve forced on her, she’s losing weight. I don’t know how long she can go on like this.” Molly felt her throat swell a bit, almost like she could shed a tear. Instead, she cleared her throat and rounded the bed to pick up the small glass pitcher that stood empty.

  “I’m going to go check on supper. Call if you need anything.” Molly wondered if she’d ever get a chance to talk to Wyatt.

  Another day passed and another. The lump on the back of Rachel’s head had gone down. She was awake longer but very confused. She was seeing two of everything, and she couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to discuss the information she had about the women who had disappeared after working for Hawkins.

  Her cheeks were hollow, and her skin had a gray tone that grew worse by the hour. The wound on her chest was healing, and Molly removed the stitches.

  Midafternoon on the seventh day since Rachel had been brought home, Molly was in the kitchen while Win and Kevin sat with Rachel. She looked out the window when she heard hooves clopping softly in the deep snow.

  A man came riding in on the cold, windswept trail from Bear Claw Pass. Someone she’d never seen before. He was dressed in a buffalo robe and rode a sturdy, high-stepping brown stallion. He led his horse to the barn, and a cowhand came out to meet him. They talked a bit, and the newcomer handed his horse over, then came to the house.

  Calling upstairs, she said, “Kevin, someone’s here, a stranger.”

  Her brother’s heavy boots pounded down the stairs. She stepped aside, and Kevin went straight to the door and had it open before the stranger could knock.

  Without bothering with polite greetings, the man said, “I’ve come because of the telegram we received from Rachel Hobart. I’m a Pinkerton agent. I’m John McCall from Nevada.”

  Molly stepped up behind Kevin and looked around his shoulder. She saw cool competence in the man’s ice blue eyes.

  “Come in,” Kevin said. “We were hoping the agency would send some help.”

  “Is Rachel dead?” From McCall’s tone, Molly was sure he knew Rachel and felt grief over the question he’d asked.

&
nbsp; “She’s not dead.” Molly stepped back as McCall came in.

  A wave of relief crossed his face that made it hard for her to tell him the rest.

  “But we’re worried sick about her.”

  Molly poured coffee while Kevin got the notebook they’d found among Rachel’s things.

  “Her notes are in some kind of code,” he said. “We couldn’t make much out of them, and she’s somewhat addled from a blow to the head.”

  McCall took the pages and studied them. “It’s a type of shorthand. We’re all taught it at the Pinkerton Agency, though often an agent only uses it on certain cases when they are undercover.”

  “So you can read it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here are the letters I stole from Hawkins’s floor safe, the one Rachel told me to search for,” Molly said. “She found evidence it existed while she was there. She’d narrowed her search and told me where she suspected it was. Hawkins was coming, so I grabbed a few, hoping he wouldn’t notice they were gone.”

  McCall nodded, intent on listening, then he took the envelopes, read the odd poetry, and switched to reading Rachel’s notes.

  Before he was done, Wyatt came charging into the house.

  When he saw Molly and Kevin sitting at the table with Agent McCall, he stopped so suddenly he skidded.

  McCall whirled around. A man ready for trouble, it seemed.

  “This is the agent the Pinkertons sent out, John McCall,” Molly said. “Agent McCall, this is Wyatt Hunt. He was living at the Hawkins Ranch, working foreman while I worked as Hawkins’s housekeeper.”

  Wyatt blinked. “You got here that fast?”

  “Wyatt Hunt.” McCall nodded brusquely. “I was told the Hunt family was at the root of this. I live in Nevada, and I work very select jobs out near Virginia City. And I get sent to cases that are near me. The code Rachel had you include in her telegram to the Pinkerton Agency was something an agent would only send through someone else. And only if they were dying. Or too badly hurt to send the wire themselves. They wired me instructions, and I came here afraid I’d find Rachel had died. She’s an old friend and a solid agent. It’s not like her to run into this kind of trouble.”