by Gold, Ciara
“If that open door means what I think it means, I’m not leavin’. You girls can wait outside while Jack and I check things out.” He peered around her to stare at the opened portal.
Kaitlin turned and followed his line of sight. Awareness of what Bryce implied made her eyes pop wide. Surely he didn’t think someone had intruded?
“Jack, you got a gun on you?” Bryce tugged off his gloves.
“Under the seat,” Jack replied, pulling out a Winchester rifle before hopping down.
Bryce drew his own Colt .45. Together, they entered Kaitlin’s home. Kaitlin stood in indecision for a fraction of a minute before marching in after them. It was, after all, her home. Maggie and Charley marched in behind her.
Bryce turned, his gun lowered so it pointed at the ground. “I told y’all to wait outside.”
“It’s cold out there, Uncle Bryce,” Charley whined, having no clue as to the possible dangers.
Over the top of Charley’s head, Kaitlin glared at Bryce. “You have no right to order us about. I want to see for myself what varmint dared enter without permission.”
“Bryce,” Jack called, having gone on ahead without him. “You better come look at this.”
Kaitlin, Maggie, and Charley followed Bryce into the parlor. Maggie screeched. Charley turned troubled eyes toward her uncle. Kaitlin stared in shock at the carnage that greeted them. Bryce stepped over a broken vase, shards of pottery crunching beneath his boot. Someone had scrawled across the wall in bold warning, Leave Denver or else.
The room was in shambles. Her mother’s brocaded settee had been broken, the intricately woven upholstery torn and ripped. The tiny, French Provincial end table that had survived the rough wagon train ride from New England lay splintered into a hundred pieces. The delicate crystal in the china hutch glittered from the floor where each piece had met its end. Moaning, Kaitlin sank to the floor. She could find no chair to sit upon.
“Kaitlin?” Bryce sank down beside her. “Jack and I are goin’ upstairs. Please stay down here with Maggie and Charley. I don’t know if the culprit’s still inside.”
She nodded, too numb to speak. Maggie sat beside her. Together, they commiserated on their loss. Charley put her arms around her, displaying unrestrained affection toward her for the first time. Her throat closed. It was too much, too soon. The sudden contact snapped her from her bout of self-pity.
“Thank you, Charley. I—I think we’ve huddled here long enough.” She stood, pulling Charley with her. “Time to put this mess to rights.”
“Maybe you better wait for Jack and Bryce to come back down. They may want to look for clues or something,” Maggie offered.
“Nonsense.” She stared at the litter and squared her shoulders. “There’s nothing here but our own broken furniture. Besides, we can look for clues while we clean. I refuse to stand here another minute feeling sorry for myself.”
“Uncle Bryce is going to be mad at you.” Charley shook her head.
“Good, because I’m still mad at him.”
“I think he likes you,” Charley said with unabashed candor.
Maggie giggled. “How can you tell?”
Charley shrugged. “He’s always yelling at Julia when she’s around, and he likes her. Course, she’s his sister, so he has to like her. He’s always yelling at me. I reckon he wouldn’t yell if he didn’t care. Leastwise, that’s what he says.”
“Lord forbid he should fall in love with me,” she rejoined before clasping her hand to her mouth. Did she just say that?
Maggie dissolved into full-fledged laughter. Charley beamed. Kaitlin gave them both a disgusted look. Didn’t anyone around here understand sarcasm when they heard it? Ignoring them both, she picked up broken pieces scattered across the wood floor.
“The bedrooms seem to be okay.” Bryce entered the parlor with Jack close behind. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning.” She dropped another fragment onto a pile she’d started.
“Stop right there.” Bryce holstered his gun and grabbed her arm. “The police need to know what happened here.”
“Why? So they can tell me for the hundredth time there’s nothing they can do about it?” She jerked free and bent to gather a broken chair leg and bits of cloth. “Don’t bother.”
“I ’spect that Officer Dan will want to see this.” He swiped a scrap of torn fabric from Kaitlin’s hands. “I think that’s the only way he’s going to believe that someone really wants to do you gals harm.”
“Harm?” Maggie dropped the large shard of glass she’d picked up, and it shattered into smaller pieces. “Do you think this person will really try to physically hurt us?”
“Whoever it is, he’s getting braver. He wants you to leave one way or another. Yeah, I think he’s quite capable of inflictin’ some serious pain. This,” he said, sweeping his hand to indicate the destruction, “is just a warnin’, and you’d be as bullheaded as a mule for not considerin’ all of its implications.”
“Then we’ll hire a full-time bodyguard.” But even as she made this announcement, she had no idea how they would afford to pay someone.
“You have a full-time bodyguard.” Bryce quirked an eyebrow, his hands planted on his hips. “You have me.”
“And what a great job you’re doing, too.” Sarcasm flowed thick as honey from her lips. “You were out drinking when you could have been here protecting the place.”
Her accusation must have hit a nerve. Bryce flinched before straightening his shoulders. He glared at her.
“Kaitlin, you’re being too hard on the man.” Maggie put a hand on her shoulder. “No one had any idea this would happen. Think what we would do if Jack and Bryce hadn’t accompanied us home. I, for one, would have been hysterical, but having them here made this a little easier to swallow.”
Kaitlin felt her sanity snap. Maggie of all people should understand her feelings on the matter. “I don’t want to feel helpless. I don’t want to need a man’s assistance.”
“Can you shoot?” Bryce asked.
“As a matter of fact, I can.” She shot him a smug look.
“Do you own a gun?”
“Well, no, but I can—” She was cut off before she could say she would purchase one tomorrow.
“Can you punch a man so hard he falls to the ground as helpless as a newborn calf?”
“Well, I’ve never tried—”
“Katy,” Bryce began, shortening her name like he had the right. “Your courage is admirable, but you don’t have the skills. You need me, and until that changes, I ain’t leavin’.”
Katy, Katy, not a lady. Briar patches and ugly ducks are purtier than Katy’s looks. The forgotten rhyme hit Kaitlin in the gut as Bethany’s ghost sang to her in her head. She cringed. She was tired and scared, otherwise, she wouldn’t have given the use of her nickname another thought. If she made an issue out of Bryce’s familiarity, she would be giving him power she didn’t want him to have. She said nothing, allowing him this small concession.
Jack stepped forward. “You can’t watch the place all da time. Why don’t you send for me whenever you gots errands to run, and I’ll step in for you.”
“I’m much obliged for the offer.” Bryce nodded and again, Kaitlin’s hackles rose. These men planned strategy without consulting her or Maggie, and Maggie played right along with them.
“I don’t mind.” Jack winked at Maggie. “I’m thinkin’ it’ll give me a good excuse to see this pretty lady again.”
Maggie glanced down at her black, high-top shoes then back up again, a bright smile upon her face. “I’d be pleased to have you call on me, and you don’t need an excuse.”
“Then maybe you’d have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
“I’m actually free from work that night. I’d be honored to accept your invitation,” Maggie replied with a coy tilt to her head.
Traitor. Kaitlin couldn’t believe Maggie had been swayed so quickly by a handsome face. No, that wasn’t exactly right. She should have known some
thing like this would happen the minute Jack picked Maggie up. Her friend had lain across the man’s broad shoulders without any kind of fight. She had no business allowing a man to call on her and especially not one who was a primary investor in the very saloon they were trying to close down.
“Mighty fine, yessiree, that’s just mighty fine,” Jack said. “Since that’s settled, I reckon I’ll mosey on home. I’ll stop by the police station on the way and relay what’s happened.”
“Ask for Dan Cochran if he’s there,” Bryce said. “He knows a little of what’s goin’ on around here.”
“I’d be right happy to do jest that.”
“Hey, and if’n you don’t mind, can you drop my horse at the livery while you’re headin’ that way.” He handed Jack some change to pay for the care of Burlap. It was too cold to leave him out in the elements tonight.
“Shor thing.”
“Thanks again for helpin’ me wrangle these two she-cats, Jack.” Bryce walked him to the front door. His reference to the two of them as she-cats electrified Kaitlin’s already tingling nerves. She refrained from comment, storing up a healthy dose of anger to shoot at him later. Instead, she turned her heated temper on Maggie.
“Traitor.” Kaitlin pointed a shaky finger at Maggie.
“What do you mean?” Her friend gave her an expression of pure innocence.
“You’re fixing to enjoy dinner with one of the investors of the Thirsty Sailor Saloon. Did you think of that when you batted your dark eyes at him?”
“You’re just jealous.” Maggie patted her coiffure, tucking in stray hairs that had come loose during her trip across Jack’s shoulder.
“Of all the silly things to say.” Kaitlin stomped her foot. “We’re at war, here. You can’t compromise your position by going out with the enemy. He’s a saloon owner, for Pete’s sake. Jack Brewster is trouble.”
“Hmm. I like trouble.” Maggie hugged her body, a dreamy look pasted on her lovely features. Kaitlin could have been talking to a wall. Maggie was smitten, and it didn’t much matter to Maggie if the object of her affections was on the other side of their fight. Kaitlin frowned. Maggie would just have to find out for herself that men were bad news. She just hoped the woman wasn’t too hurt by the revelation when it occurred.
A tap on her shoulder made her forget Maggie’s troubles for a minute. Charley turned a puzzled gaze upon her. “Kaitlin, where is Uncle Bryce going to sleep? It’s too late to try and clean this entire room tonight.”
Kaitlin’s gaze swept over the mess. Charley was right. If they worked all day tomorrow, they might restore half the room but not tonight. Everyone was too tired. “Good point, Charley.”
Where was Bryce going to sleep? They only had two bedrooms upstairs with the parlor and kitchen downstairs. Charley had been sleeping in Kaitlin’s room on a palette while Bryce had made a makeshift bed in the front parlor.
Maggie smiled. “You and Charley can sleep in my room with me. My room’s less cluttered with furniture than yours, so we ought to be able to fit a pallet on the floor for Charley. Bryce can have your room until the living area is habitable again.”
Kaitlin nodded. While she hated giving her room to that authoritative skunk, there seemed no other solution. The idea rankled though. Bryce would be too close. Every time she heard the wooden frame of her bed groan, she would know he slept there. When the floorboards creaked beneath his weight, she would know he walked the floor. Just having him in her room beside them would be enough to put him constantly on her mind.
His presence in her house resurrected old insecurities. She had an obligation to her fellow suffragists and to herself. Women deserved the same rights as men, and she felt compelled to fight for those rights, but with Bryce underfoot, she toyed with ideas that seemed anti-productive. Romantic inclinations did not fit into her plans for the future. What had happened to her healthy dose of anger? Already, her temper calmed as she entertained a different direction with her thoughts.
Bryce tempted her to question her goals. Even tempted, Kaitlin didn’t know what to do about these spiraling emotions. Her hand touched the frizzy curls that framed her face. Honesty was a quality she could do without right now, because if she thought for one minute she could attract a man like Bryce Stanton, she would be lying. Bryce was beyond her reach, and it was best she put the idea from her mind right now.
Ten
Sarge Kanatzer gazed at the snow-covered peaks that towered in the distance. He’d made so many terrible mistakes in his lifetime, he didn’t know how to make things right. Beside him, Betsy Blue howled at the wind. The gray-haired dog provided companionship on lonely nights like these. Sad to think his only real friend was a flea-bitten cur of unknown origins. At least the mutt proved faithful.
“Wishin’ again, Sarge?” Bangles Demsy, his foreman, sauntered up the steps. Sarge. The nickname, a muddled shortening of his given name, Sergio, was a sharp reminder of the distinction between the two men. To his workers, he was like a sergeant, their boss and nothing more. He’d always thought he’d wanted things that way, but lately doubts plagued his heart.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wishin’,” Sarge groused.
“No word?”
“None. She ain’t comin’ back. I’ve gotta accept that, but it’s hard.” He glanced at his foreman, wondering how the man took to this sudden confidence. He wasn’t used to sharing himself with others.
Knowingly, Bangles smiled. “A man needs friends, Sarge. The way I see it, you don’t have any, cuz you never wanted any. Me? I don’t care either way. You wanna change our relationship and make it more, I’m game. I figure I’ve been workin’ for you long enough to say this to you.”
“Twelve years is a long time. You’re a good man,” Sarge said. He wasn’t going to deny or accept Demsy’s statement. Twelve years was a long time to create the barrier existing between him and his men. He couldn’t tear it down in one night.
Bending, Sarge struck a match against his boot and lit a cigarette. Inhaling the rich tobacco flavor, he stared out at the starless sky. Empty. He felt as empty as this night sky. Bangles leaned on the rail beside him, quietly contemplating the same dark void.
“I gave her a piece of land to add to the land she already owns. Deeded it over to her without any strings attached. I was hopin’ it would entice her to come home. That was a year ago.”
“You ever think to apologize?”
“For what? I’m not in the wrong here. That gal doesn’t know her place if she thinks I’m gonna stoop so low,” he snapped. He jammed the cigarette into his mouth, realizing he barked at the wrong tree. Bangles knew just how to draw stuff out of him he didn’t want to share. Damn the man.
“You have no humility, and a man without humility will go to his grave lonely. Seems to me, you ain’t learned much in the forty years you’ve been runnin’ this ranch.”
“I don’t recall askin’ for your opinion.”
“Naw. Guess you didn’t.” Bangles ground out his cigarette and sauntered down the steps of the main house. “Reckon’ I’ll see you in the morn. I’ll be turnin’ in now.”
Wait, come back. That’s what he should say, but the words stuck in his gullet. Humility? Bangles knew nothing of the inner turmoil that kept Sarge silent. Pride. Pride made men great. He had a lot to show for his labors. He was a proud man, one who couldn’t show weakness. To show weakness would give his enemies, his competitors, ammunition that could destroy him. He tossed the cigarette on the ground. It sizzled in the snow, the embers slowly dying. He was slowly dying.
Sarge stalked back into his empty house. A fire blazed in the large fireplace, giving off a warmth incongruent with the way he felt. Meandering over to the hearth, he knelt and poked at the embers. He rose slowly and gazed at the mantle. Kaitlin’s image stared back at him, damning him with her icy blue eyes. At twelve, she’d shown signs of being as stubborn as he. To this day, he regretted this flaw she’d inherited from him. Without it, she might be here at the ranch where sh
e belonged.
He wanted her back; he wanted her to take her rightful place beside him. She was his daughter, by damn. The Silver Saddle Ranch would be hers one day, and he needed her. He had nothing of himself to leave behind except this legacy.
He slammed the colorized daguerreotype of his daughter face down on the mantle. He’d never particularly cared for the gaudy look of the painted color. “I’ll not accept this burden of guilt you would bring to my door, girl. So help me, I’ll not.”
Eleven
Bryce tugged at his boots, wishing he had a bootjack. The left one slipped off easy, but the right gave him a fit. Nerves. That’s all it was. He’d wasted the day getting ready to call on Emma only to have his attentions rebuffed. And to think he’d lost out to a dang saloon owner. He fell back on the bed as the right foot finally came free from the tight leather. He hated nerves. They always made his right foot swell.
Prying eyes gazed down upon him with little sympathy. The expressionless faces were a bit unnerving. He stared back at the porcelain figures, daring them to continue their silent vigil. A long shelf extended from one side of the wall to the other, full of dolls in varying sizes, all dressed in lacy frocks. The doll collection surprised Bryce, as it seemed to add a more feminine dimension to the rigid woman who owned them.
He tore his eyes away from the mocking eyes and rubbed his throbbing foot. Kaitlin’s little protest party hadn’t helped his temper any. At first he’d been amused by her show of rebellion—until he’d seen Charley right there in the thick of things. He got mad just thinking about it. He never did finish discussing the matter with Kaitlin. Once they got home, the grand finale had crept up on them, topping a really bad day with a bang. He continued to massage his swollen appendage, working out the knots that had formed from just this one day of aggravation.
He dropped his leg and leaned back on Kaitlin’s bed. What in the world did Emma see in an old fogy like Farley Kaufmann anyway? He stared at the ceiling, surprised to see cobwebs in the corners. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t be. Kaitlin and Maggie weren’t exactly model housekeepers.
