Barclay

by Charlene Raddon

  "I don't know who all put stuff in," Doc said. "Why not write one letter and I'll post it on the bulletin board outside the marshal's office."

  "All right."

  Doc carried his medical bag over to where the babies lay in their new beds. "The triplets look good."

  "We've had no problems," Cynara said, joining him.

  Doc listened to the babies' hearts, checked their lungs and looked for signs of any complications. "Everything seems just as it should be."

  "Excellent." Barclay took Doc's medical bag and set it by the door. "Let's go eat Ma's scones while they're still fresh."

  "Scones?" Doc said. "I haven't had a good English scone in years."

  "I even brought a fresh batch of clotted cream and my wild raspberry jam," Julia said, slipping an arm through his.

  Barclay winked at Jared as they watched their mother escort the doctor to the kitchen. They'd been hoping to see something develop between the couple. Barclay didn't like his mother being alone and six miles away where he couldn't keep an eye on her. She and the doctor made a good pair and he believed they'd be happy together. Jared shared his hopes. Chase felt less enthusiastic about the notion of a new man stepping into his father's place.

  Despite all the hullabaloo of his mother and Doc arriving, the idea that someone had invaded their home last night weighed on Barclay's mind. He had to find out who and why.

  Chapter Eight

  B arclay saw the doctor off in his buggy and headed for the bunkhouse. Jared and Chase had gone to see to their own chores. Cynara had disappeared up the stairs with the satchel Doc had brought, no doubt to try on the clothes the townsfolk had donated.

  The bunkhouse door stood open, so Barclay stepped inside and called, "Slim? You in here?"

  No one answered.

  Barclay wandered over to the barn where he found Slim talking to Roy.

  "I know it's hard work, Roy, but the more you do, the stronger you'll get, and it'll become easy."

  "If you say so, boss."

  "I'm your father." Seeing Barclay, Slim added, "Here's the real boss. Need something, Barclay?"

  "Yeah. Can I talk with you a minute?"

  "Sure can."

  They walked outside, out of Roy's hearing.

  "You happen to notice if any of the men came in late last night, say midnight?"

  Slim shook his head. "No, but you know most of the boys are out on the range, and my room is separate from theirs."

  "What about Dirk?"

  "Sent him to check fences this morning. If he was out last night, I wasn't aware of it. Something wrong, boss?"

  Barclay rubbed his beard. He'd forgotten to shave this morning. Odd his mother hadn't noticed and bawled him out. She liked her men clean-shaven. "I'm not sure. Oysters thought he heard someone go by his room last night and Cynara, who was sleeping on the couch, woke up and saw a man go into the kitchen. Cynara thinks now she may have dreamed it, but I have a hunch…"

  "Why would anyone be snooping in the house?" Slim took out his cigarette makings.

  "Can't rightly answer that, unless it was Minnie checking on her babies."

  "You think she might be hiding nearby?" Slim offered Barclay the cigarette he'd rolled.

  Barclay shook his head. "It's possible. Keep an eye out, okay?"

  Slim blew out smoke. "You bet. Should I have one of the men, one other than Dirk, keep watch tonight?"

  "Not yet. I dislike making them lose sleep. We're all so damn busy right now, with the rest of the crew gone." Barclay gazed out over the range that stretched for five miles with patches of trees and willows along the creek and forest bordering the open grassy meadow. Beautiful meadowland.

  His meadowland.

  "I have to go over to the Double Z this morning and see Beau. I'll be back before noon."

  "All right, boss. You gonna marry that gal, Annabelle?" The whiskers on Slim's upper lip quivered as he held in laughter.

  "No, I'm not marrying her. Has she been spreading rumors all over town?" Barclay slammed a fist on a fence post to vent his anger.

  "Someone's been talkin'. Your ma didn't say nothing 'bout it?"

  "No. Maybe she hasn't heard it yet. I need to talk to her about it though." He kicked at the post. "Annabelle says our fathers made a deal when she was born for us to marry as soon as she was old enough."

  Slim gasped on his latest inhalation of smoke. "Holly dadgum hell. That woman's crazy."

  "I won't argue that." Barclay put a hand on his foreman's shoulder. "Thanks, Slim. I'll talk to you later."

  "Good luck with Beau."

  "Yeah, I'll need it." Barclay aimed his boots for the house.

  He found his mother and Cynara in the sewing room hemming diapers and chattering up a storm. From the looks of it, they were getting along like two flies on a cow patty.

  He stuck his head in and asked, "Ma, I hate to break this up, but can I speak with you a moment?"

  "Of course, honey." She set her sewing aside and stood. "I'll be right back, Cynara."

  He led her to the great room, empty except for the sleeping babies.

  Barclay spoke softly to avoid waking anyone. "Ma, do you know of any arrangement Pa might have made with Beauford Hodson for me to marry his daughter when she was old enough?"

  "Gracious, no." Her eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

  "As a rattler ready to strike."

  "He never said anything to me about any such ridiculous agreement. Why would he want you to ruin your life that way? Who told you such a thing?"

  "Annabelle Hodson."

  "She's looking out for her own interests. You know she set her sights on you when she started school and hasn't changed her mind yet." She sat down as if the news exhausted her.

  Nervous himself, Barclay stepped over to what they called the nursery. He touched the fine silky hair of one baby, tucked a blanket snugger around another. "I can't imagine he'd lie, but that's what Annabelle claims. She burst in here this morning demanding to know when I was going to marry her. I told her never."

  "My heavens," Ma uttered. "Well, one thing you can count on, no one will believe her. That girl makes up more stories than a cowboy at roundup."

  Barclay chuckled. "You're right about that. I'm heading over to the Double Z now to talk to her father and see what this is about."

  "Good luck, son. Be firm with him. Don't let him push you into anything." She rose and followed him to the door. "Whatever you do, follow your heart."

  Barclay bent and kissed her cheek. "I will. See you later."

  Beauford had built the Double Z around the same time Barclay's father arrived in Cutthroat. They'd helped each other, fought off bandits together and been good friends. At least Barclay had always thought that was the case. Mrs. Hodson had died not long after having Annabelle, her only baby to survive childbirth.

  Beau welcomed him into his study and offered him a whiskey. Barclay declined.

  "I need to talk to you about something, Beau."

  The older man poured the golden liquid into a glass and took a sip. "I've been expecting you for weeks, ever since Annabelle turned eighteen. You missed her celebration."

  "Didn't know anything about it."

  Beau furrowed his brow. "I told that girl to send out the invitations. No wonder no one showed up. Darn her. You'd think she could be a little more cooperative when we're talking about her own birthday."

  "You'd think." Barclay cleared his throat, dreading the coming conversation. "She paid me a visit this morning. Wanted to know when I was going to marry her."

  Beau set his glass down and faced Barclay square on. "I hope you didn't choose a date too soon. She has more growing up to do."

  Taken aback by the man's calm, presumptuous attitude, Barclay hesitated. Beau sounded stone cold serious. "I have no intention of marrying anyone. Not now or in the foreseeable future. I have a ranch to run."

  "Well, of course you do, but that doesn't preclude marriage. You'll need a woman at your side, Barclay. Annabelle co
uld take some of the minor chores off your hands."

  "I doubt that, but it doesn’t matter," Barclay said, remembering his mother's words. "I am not going to marry Annabelle."

  Beau wandered over to his desk and toyed with his ink well. "You're breaking the agreement your father and I made eighteen years ago?"

  "What agreement?"

  "George needed cash to replace the roof on the barn a bad storm blew off. I loaned it to him on the understanding that he would pay it back by seeing to it that you married my little girl."

  Barclay swore under his breath. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "If Pa ever made such an agreement, he never mentioned it to anyone in the family. How do I know you aren't just pulling my tail?"

  Beau spun toward him, his face livid. "You're doubting my word, young man?"

  "Yes, sir. I reckon I am."

  "Well, in all my years, this is the first time I've known of a man not to honor his father's debts, and to accuse me of lying… Well, I'm downright insulted. George and I shook hands on it. Isn't a man's word good enough anymore?"

  "I'd say it's plenty good," Barclay said.

  Beau smiled "Well, then…?"

  "But not this time." Barclay jabbed his finger at a stack of papers on Beau's desk. "I'd need to see this on paper in my father's hand before I can believe he'd do such a fool thing."

  "Then you've no intention of honoring his agreement?"

  "No, I do not."

  Beau walked up to him and stared him in the eye, his tone rock hard. "You will marry Annabelle, Barclay Givens, or I'll sue you for the full amount I loaned your father eighteen years ago."

  "And just how much was that alleged loan?" Barclay asked, not backing down.

  "A thousand dollars."

  Barclay almost choked on his own saliva. "A thousand… Why would he need that much money to put a roof on a barn? This is getting more ridiculous by the minute."

  "That may be," Beau spat, "but that was the amount. He had some other debts he needed to pay. Debts I believe he didn't want your mother to know about."

  Barclay stared at the man, noting a bit of foam at the corner of Beau's mouth. Had the man gone mad? He must have to think the Givens family would swallow this nonsense. "My father never lied to my mother in all their years together."

  "And how would you know that?"

  "Because I know my father." Barclay made his voice firm to show he was serious. "He was no liar. Understand this, Mr. Hodson. I will not marry your daughter. Nor will I pay you a thousand dollars for a make-believe loan."

  Spinning on his heel, he marched to the door and let himself out. He hadn't quite reached his horse yet when the front door flew open.

  "You'll regret your decision, young man. I'll see to it, believe me. You've just declared war on the Hodson family, and we take such matters very seriously."

  Beau stepped back inside and the door slammed shut.

  "We'll see about that," Barclay muttered as he mounted his horse and turned toward home.

  A speck of fear niggled at the back of his mind as he recalled a story his mother had told him once. His father and Beau had been young men with tenuous holds on their new ranches. One day, Beau discovered a man and his wife squatting on his land. He ordered them off, but they refused to go. That night, hooded horsemen attacked the squatter's shack, killing him and burning the makeshift home to the ground. The widow had been left to make her way alone with a baby on the way and no money to her name. His father had felt so badly about it he'd taken money from his own pocket, money he needed, and given it to the widow.

  How much had Beau changed in the intervening years? Could Barclay expect to see hooded riders galloping up to his home some night with flaming torches? He couldn't imagine such a thing, but he'd damn well make sure to be ready for anything Beau might try to pull.

  Annabelle Hodson barely pulled her young man into a storage closet under the stairs near her father's office before Barclay Givens burst from the room. The couple had heard every word said between the two older men. It hurt a little that Barclay didn't want her, but she knew she could change his mind.

  "I told you I was supposed to marry Barclay," Annabelle whispered to her companion.

  "But, honey," Boots McKinney pleaded, "you're gonna marry me, aren't you? You said you would."

  Annabelle peeked out and quickly shut the door when she saw her father returning from watching his guest leave. "Barclay has a big ranch and stacks of money. I'd be a lot better off as his wife than I would yours."

  "Don't say that, sweetheart." Boots tried to draw her into his arms. "He doesn’t love you like I do. I'd work real hard to make all the money you want. You know that, don't you?"

  She shoved him away. "Stop pestering me, Boots. I told you I'll decide when I'm good and ready."

  "What about our baby?" He placed a hand on her still-flat belly. She swatted it away.

  "What makes you think it's yours?" Annabelle taunted.

  "You told me." Boots looped his arms around her again and hung on tightly. "Last night when I climbed into your room."

  "That was last night," she argued, while at the same time wriggling against him to urge him on. Few things excited her more than a boy trying to get into her bed. She liked to see how hard they'd work at it and how far they'd go. Some never came back once they'd gotten what they wanted. Others, like Boots, turned into pests who wanted more and more of her.

  Boots had an advantage over most of the local boys. Since he worked for her father, he was always nearby. Boys had begun to bore her, though. She wanted to try a real man like Barclay. Seven years separated them in age, and recently, she'd been finding older men intriguing.

  Right now, Boots' mouth was on her neck. He knew kissing her there drove her wild. Would Barclay kiss her under her ear the same way? The way she liked. Since learning of her condition, she'd been considering the idea of sneaking into Barclay's bed somehow. Not only to find out what it would be like, but as a safeguard in case she decided to name him as the father of her baby.

  Dirk hated riding fence. He couldn't think of a more boring job. It did get him away from the ranch, though. He liked the solitude and freedom it allowed him. No boss checking on him and ordering him around. He could take a break whenever he wanted and find shortcuts to end the job faster.

  Coming to a small creek that flowed down out of the hills, he stopped when he heard loud cursing from the other side of the thick stand of willows bordering the stream. To see who was there and if they belonged on High Mountain land, he rode through the willows, across the creek and through more willows on the other side. He broke from the brush to see a nice-looking man around his age trying to untangle a fishing line from the bushes.

  "Howdy." He reined in and leaned his forearms on the saddle horn. "Got trouble, do you?"

  "Aw, damn it all. Happens every time. If I had the time and energy, I'd chop down all these lousy willows." The man gave up on the knot and cut it with his pocketknife. He picked up his pole made from a branch of the very bushes he had been cursing and gazed at Dirk. "Hey, ain't you Dick something or other?"

  "Dirk Shindler." Surprised, Dirk studied the man. "You look familiar too, but I don't recall your name." Or where he'd met him.

  "I'm Boots McKinney. We rode together with Hugh Grossman for a short time a year or so ago." Boots walked over to where he'd left his saddlebags and dropped the pole. "Just getting ready to fry up some fish. You want to stay and eat, you're welcome."

  "I remember you now." Dirk dismounted and strolled over to where Boots was gathering rocks for a firepit. He picked up a few stones himself and tossed them on the pile. "You and Hugh got in a fight over a job he was planning, and you left, right?"

  "That's right. You were new to the gang, so I never got to know you." Boots began stacking the rocks in a circle. "You still with Hugh?"

  "Naw. He and the whole gang, except me, are in prison. Got caught doing a bank." Dirk gathered up some sticks for firewood, creating a pile near the
pit. "It was my turn to guard the hideout, so I wasn't with them."

  Boots laughed, though Dirk couldn't see why.

  "How long did you stay there guarding them rattrap shacks before you realized they weren't coming back?"

  Dirk supposed it was humorous, from a bystander's point of view. "Almost a week. We had two women there. They ganged up on me while I was sleeping and knocked me out. When I woke up, they were gone."

  "Bet you weren't too happy. You get them back?"

  "No, but I taught one a lesson and the other one may have left me a way to make some good money."

  "Yeah?" Boots queried.

  Dirk wandered further to find more wood. It meant hollering, but what did that matter? Wasn't anybody around for miles. He couldn't believe he'd run onto Boots. When Dirk joined the gang, Boots was the only member who'd shown him a lick of kindness. During the very first robbery, Dirk had made a mistake that had cost them some of the stolen money. Hugh had been furious and ready to trounce him. Boots had claimed he saw the whole thing and that it had been nothing more than an accident. Dirk figured he could trust a man like that. Furthermore, he owed Boots.

  "Maybe." Dirk tossed down the wood and watched Boots take a match from a match safe. "What brings you onto High Mountain range anyway?"

  Boots stood up and glanced around. "Am I on High Mountain land? Hell. There ain't no way to tell where one spread starts and another one ends. You think Givens will take offense?"

  Flames flickered in the small fire and Boots tucked away his match safe.

  "Where's your horse?" Dirk asked.

  "In the willows up creek a little way. He's hobbled so he won't go far." Boots dug a fry pan out of his saddlebag and a gushy chunk of fat wrapped in an old hanky. He hunkered down, dropped the fat into the pan over the fire, and balanced it on the rocks he'd arranged to hold the pan out of the flames. "Grab them fish, will ya? Over in the water on a loop of fishing line."

  Dirk found them. He retrieved his knife from his pants pocket and, kneeling in the grass, efficiently slit the belly of one fish. "So, are you just wandering, or do you work somewhere around here?"