Just having that knowledge had helped her through so many hard times. That someone was out there who cared. Someone she could rely on. It was the idea more than the reality that had soothed her. Now, the thought of losing him ate at her very soul. No, it wasn’t acceptable.
“This is me,” Helen said as she stopped at the stage station door and held up the wicker hamper. “Don’t wait up for me Rebecca. Chester will walk me back when he gets relieved.”
Luke tipped his hat and said, “Have a nice evening Ma’am.”
Helen blushed and said, “I hope to.”
After Helen had slipped into the stage station Rebecca turned back to Luke and once again felt those thousands of butterflies erupt in her stomach. She should be mad at him for ignoring her request that he not get involved. But it was impossible. The man made the world seem better. More alive. The air tasted of sweet cedar instead of dust. The soft rush of the breeze against her skin felt soft and soothing. But it was the smell of leather and wood smoke from the man next to her that made her insides melt.
She looked up into his eyes, he stared down into hers, and the world disappeared around them.
It was only the slamming of a door up the street that broke them from that silent moment.
“I should get you home,” he said and she could have sworn there was a hint of regret in his voice. Was it the idea of spending time with her? Or, was he regretting the fact that the evening would quickly be coming to an end? Please God, she silently prayed, make it the latter.
They fell into walking next to each other, Luke’s boots echoing off the boardwalk. Once again that silent awkwardness engulfed them. Why? She cursed to herself. Why couldn’t she be normal around this man? It hadn’t been like this on the long walks over the Oregon Trail.
“How is Hanna?” she asked, desperate to break the silence.
Luke smiled as he talked about his nieces and nephews and about the horse ranch on the eastern side of the cascades.
Her heart ached to think of him returning there soon. “And Jacob?” she asked, wanting to keep him talking. Anything to stop from returning to that awkward silence.
“It’s been four years,” he replied. “I imagine he’s grown a bit since I left. But you know Jacob. The boy has a nose for trouble. I swear there were times I thought Zion would lose his patience with the boy.”
“He worshipped the ground you walked on,” Rebecca said with a smile. “When we would talk. It was always about you and what a great big brother you were.”
Luke looked down at the ground and shook his head. “I sent them a letter telling them where I was going and that I would head home after I got you your ranch back.”
“Luke,” Rebecca sighed as she glanced over at him then put a hand on his arm, “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have asked you to help. I didn’t really think it through. I was so angry and so afraid. But now, It just doesn’t seem worth it.”
“Becky,” he said as he put a hand over his and smiled which sent a tingle up her arm. “We’ve had this talk,” he said with a comforting smile. “It can’t be stopped. Not now.”
Once again, she felt a sadness fill her as they continued to walk. Not only for the awkwardness between them, but because if anything bad happened to Luke, she knew she would blame herself for the rest of her life.
Turning, the pair continued down. The seconds crept by and with each step they grew closer to her and Helen’s home. Desperately, she tried to think of something to say, anything to bring them closer. Then she became upset that he didn’t say anything. Couldn’t he feel this strangeness? Why didn’t he do something to stop it?
She was about to mention something about the weather when he suddenly took her arm and helped her down the steps off the boardwalk. A trill of excitement shot up her arm again. Would it always be like this? She had gone up and down these steps every day to and from Helen’s restaurant without assistance. But to have Luke help her seemed so right.
A disappointing sense of loss filled her when they reached the street level and he dropped her arm.
Now that awkward silence was replaced with a memory of him touching her.
Once again, they turned to start walking. Then, quicker than she could ever anticipate, they reached her home. She took a deep breath and nodded, indicating her home. Her heart fell. The building was nothing more than a two-room shack made of gray weathered spilt shakes. It was easy to imagine him growing up in a large ranch house. And he’d said he’d come from Virginia. What had the houses looked like there?
Suddenly, the thought of Luke accompanying a southern bell to a ball raised a jealousy that surprised her. She wanted to tear the hair from this imaginary woman’s head.
“I’ll wait until you’re safe inside,” he said as he indicated the door. “This town ain’t the kindest place.”
Rebecca laughed. “No one bothers us. They know if they did they’d never get any of Helen’s cobbler.”
Luke frowned down at her. “That didn’t seem to stop that Felton fellow.”
She felt the color drain from her face. “No, it didn’t. And thank you. I don’t think I told you.”
His wide shoulders shrugged in dismissal as if getting into fights with tough men was of no concern. Once again the anger flashed inside of her. See, this was her entire point. The man didn’t realize what was important.
Forcing the anger down she took a calming breath and asked, “What are your plans?”
He looked north, “I thought I’d ride out to the Circle B …”
“What?” she gasped. “Are you crazy? You’ll be riding into a snake’s nest.”
“Maybe,” he said as he once again looked down at her. “But I got to start somewhere.”
Rebecca sighed heavily, making sure that he heard her and knew she was not happy. “There is nothing I can do to change your mind about all this. Is there?”
He shook his head, “No, I don’t think there is.”
Her heart ached at what she knew might happen. Without thinking, she reached out and touched his shoulder. “Promise me. You won’t get killed. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”
The corners of his lips turned up into a slight smile. “You know that’s not how it works. Especially not in this country.”
Her shoulders slumped, she couldn’t have expected him to answer any other way.
“But,” he continued, “I can tell you. I didn’t survive four years of war to end up dying in the Nevada desert.”
Without thinking she rose on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheeks. “You better come home tomorrow. I just got you back and I don’t want to lose you again.”
He stared down into her eyes. The silver moonlight letting her see something deep in his eyes. Her knees grew week with the realization that he was looking at her like a man looks at a woman.
“I promise you, Becky. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”
Her heart soared, that could mean so many things. Was he talking about her ranch? Or did he mean more. God, please, she thought. Mean more.
He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “Now go inside, Miss Johnson. The night is getting cooler and you didn’t bring a shawl.”
Her heart melted as she reluctantly removed her hand from his then turned for the door to her small shack. Just before she stepped inside, she looked back over her shoulder to see him watching her. A strange expression on his face. A mix of want and fear with a touch of surprise.
She smiled at him before closing the door behind her only to lean against it and sigh heavily. Her world had changed in so many ways. She was in love with Luke Parker and always had been.
Chapter Eight
The sun was barely up when Luke kicked at the foot of the stableman sleeping in the back stall of the livery stable.
“Need to buy a horse,” he told the man.
Opening one eye, the man grunted as he forced himself up. “They’re out back.”
“Looked them over. I’ll take the big roan.”
The liverym
an’s other eye opened, “You know horse flesh. Most don’t see it.”
Luke laughed as he took off his cavalry hat and nodded at it. “I’ve worn out more britches than boots over the last few years.”
The man laughed as he left to get the horse.
“Need a saddle also.”
“A cowpoke took out a loan on his,” the liveryman yelled from the corral. “But it’s been two years. I don’t reckon he’s coming back. You can have it for ten dollars.”
Luke nodded. It would be good to get back into a stockman’s saddle instead of the calvary version he’d been forced to use.
When the liveryman led the big roan into the stables, Luke greeted the horse with a gentle pat before running his hand down its flank to check its hocks. Satisfied, he inspected the beast’s teeth. Two, maybe three-years- old as he’d suspected.
Leaning back, he looked into the horse's eyes and smiled when he saw the hint of intelligence he preferred in his horses.
“I’ll take him.”
Once he’d paid off the liveryman and had the horse saddled, he rode out into the street in time to see Rebecca and Helen walking to the restaurant.
Helen smiled up at him as he tipped his hat. Becky stared up at him with a strange look that he couldn’t read.
“I should be back before the evening meal,” he told them, hoping that Becky would stop being upset at him.
Helen smiled. “Be sure you get there before the stage comes in or the cobbler will be gone.”
Luke laughed, tipped his hat again, then pulled the roan around to find Bill Carver. But as he did, he saw a look of regret and worry flash behind Becky’s eyes. It was the kind of look that ripped a hole in his heart. He hated seeing her unhappy, it made the world feel off. But riding out to Felton’s couldn’t be ignored.
He found Carver outside the Red House saloon waiting for him. It was surprising the cowboy was up and about. The man’s face was a mishmash of blue bruises. The hangdog look and the way he winced at every loud noise said he’d tied one on the night before. But that didn’t stop him from glancing over at Luke and shaking his head. Obviously, he believed he was watching a fool walking into a mistake.
“You sure about this?” Carver said. “Just so you know. I ride for the brand. Don’t count on any help from me when we get there.”
Luke scoffed and shook his head. “This is all mine.”
Carver shrugged and led the way out of town up a back trail and up out of the valley. As they rode, Luke studied the land. Sagebrush intermingled with grass. Rocky outcrops coming down off the hills. Occasional springs that had been dug out to make water holes. Good cattle country.
“Circle B run all this range?” he asked.
Carver nodded. “From the far mountains.”
“Johnson must have been a burr under their saddle. A homesteader in the middle of their range.”
“No,” Carver said. “Not really. He was on the other side of the creek. He had a few head, The RJ brand. A couple of dozen no real competition. I think the man actually preferred farming to cattle.”
Luke sighed as he tried to understand why the man’s ranch had been stolen. It didn’t make sense.
An hour later as they passed a vast flat section of the range, Carver waved to the west. “The old Johnson ranch is about an hour that way.”
A strong urge to break off and go to Becky’s old home flowed through him but he shook it off. Maybe on the way home. A strange thought, why had he thought home? Before, home had been wherever his sister Hanna and brother Jacob might be located. But now?
Was it because that was where Becky was? A cold feeling of dread washed through him. Thinking that way was just wrong. He wasn’t right for Becky. The war had cut away any tenderness in him. Becky deserved the best.
Gritting his teeth, he tried to push away those thoughts and focused on the trail. They had gone only another ten minutes when he was shocked to see a large red X, maybe six feet tall, painted at the base of a rocky cliff.
“What is that?” he asked Carver, frowning with disbelief.
Carver grunted and shook his head. “One of them railroad surveyors put it there for some ungodly reason. Thought Mr. Felton would bust a gut he was so mad. Says if it don’t fade soon he’s going to hire miners to come cut it out of the rock.”
Luke laughed. The cross looked so out of place in this wild range. It was nice to hear a powerful man didn’t have everything go his way. “Felton don’t own the range. It’s open, right?”
“Don’t tell Mr. Felton that. He don’t look at it that way. We’re the ones who dug them waterholes. Sunk them wells. We move the stock so it don’t get overgrazed. It’s his range.”
Luke ignored the comment. He knew that most ranchers viewed the range as theirs. Even Zion had a possessive urge with the land around their horse ranch.
Frowning he turned to Carver. “They thinking of putting the railroad through here? I thought it’d follow the Humboldt, along the emigrant trail.”
Carver laughed. “What do I know. They don’t exactly share their plans with cowboys.”
The pair fell into a comfortable silence as Luke went over everything he knew about the situation. It was probably foolish marching into the Circle B, especially if they were involved. He wouldn’t be the first man to disappear into the desert and never be heard from again.
“You said that it couldn’t have been Cooper that killed Johnson. But I heard he was there the night the sale was made. One of the men to witness it. He could have followed Johnson. Killed him on the trail.”
Carver shrugged. “I don’t know about that. They say Johnson was killed days later and Cooper was with me up north.”
Luke frowned. How did anyone know when Johnson was killed? Becky was the one to find him and buried him herself. The thought of asking her about it was like a kick to his gut. No way did he want to bring up those memories for her. “So, Cooper was up north with you, and Travers was holed up in a room above the Red House Saloon. Seems everyone had a rock-solid alibi. What about Mark Felton?”
Carver shrugged, “Like I said. I was up north. But he ain’t exactly the business type. If you know what I mean. If I was honest, I couldn’t see him coming up with a plan like this. He’s more the bull in a china shop type.”
Luke sighed as the pair returned to a silent ride. Eventually, a grove of trees and then a ranch house appeared on the horizon. His stomach clenched just the slightest. He was riding into enemy territory with no help in sight. As they rode into the yard he pulled up before the house and looked around.
A barn, corrals with a dozen horses, bunkhouse, and another small outbuilding off to the side. Typical. The house looked big. Made with finished timber and a veranda all the way around.
“I’ll let them know you’re here,” Carver said as he got down from his horse and tied him off to a hitching rail. He had just reached the steps when the screen door opened. A young woman stepped out and gasped when she saw Carver’s face.
A fiery redhead, Luke thought as he admired the view. Probably eighteen or so with all the right parts in all the right positions. Felton’s sister? he wondered. The one the sheriff had mentioned? She looked like her brother except for the red hair and fair skin.
“What happened to you?” she demanded as she placed her hands on her hips, staring at Carver like he was mud on her boot.
The cowboy blushed as he removed his hat and shrugged. “I zigged when I should of zagged.”
The girl shook her head and was about to chastise him when she looked up and saw Luke sitting on his horse, leaning forward on the saddle horn.
“Ma’am,” he said as he tipped his hat.
Carver scrambled to explain. “This is Luke Parker, he’d like to talk to Mr. Felton.”
The girl’s eyes blazed at the mention of Luke’s name. What was it about these people that they couldn’t stop talking about him?
She studied him for a long moment until something changed in her expression. As if she liked wha
t she was looking at. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said to him, more a warning than a demand, almost as if she actually cared.
Luke shrugged. “I’ve been too many places I wasn’t welcome. A man can get used to it.”
She sighed then shot Carver an angry look before going back inside. The cowboy looked back at him and shook his head. Luke wondered if he was more upset at his boss being mad or the girl being disappointed in him.
A moment later the door opened when a tall man with wideset shoulders stepped out onto the veranda, his sister directly behind him. Luke was surprised to see him wearing a gold brocade vest over a starched white shirt. What looked like a Navy colt on his hip. Tailored pants, and shiny boots. A look you might expect in San Francisco. Or Chicago. Not out here in the middle of the Nevada desert.
“Mr. Felton,” Luke began. “I’m …”
“I know who you are,” Felton growled. Then he looked past Luke to behind him.
Luke felt a shiver run down his spine as he casually glanced over his shoulder to find two cowboys walking towards him. Mark Felton and Troy Cooper.
Very Carefully he pushed off the pommel without dropping his hand to be near his gun.
Joshua Felton frowned then shook his head. “We don’t shoot men in the back,” he told Luke.
Luke studied him for a long moment. “Somebody did it to Tom Johnson and I plan on finding out who.”
Felton shrugged as Cooper and his brother joined him up on the porch. The three of them facing him, silently letting him know he couldn’t get all three of them before they got him.
“If you do,” Joshua Felton said. “Let me know and I’ll help you string him up.”
He could see it in Mark Felton’s eyes as the man’s fingers flexed. He so wanted to go for his gun. Luke wondered if the closeness of his sister was holding him back. With three against one, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Next to the younger Felton, Cooper scowled at him from beneath a creased forehead. Evaluating. Trying to learn.
This was the dangerous one, Luke reminded himself until he saw the look in Joshua’s Felton’s eyes. It was a cold analysis. Like the eyes of a wolf looking over the heard before picking out his next victim.
Silver Creek (The Parker Family Saga) Page 5
