Was this Beau's way of warning him against ignoring his threats? Barclay found it hard to believe the man would go that far, but he never expected to be dunned for a loan he felt certain his father never received either.
Coyote, his bay horse, ran down the road a short distance, then stopped and began to nibble grass.
After twenty minutes, when no more shots were fired, Barclay tried poking his hat up on the tip of his rifle. No shots. He rose cautiously and made his way to Coyote, mounted and rode home, keeping an eye out the whole way in case the shooter decided to try again.
At the stable, as he rubbed Coyote down, Jared rode in.
"Hou," Barclay said.
Dismounting, Jared skipped the greeting and got right to business. "Beau claims he's missing several head like us. Course, he blames us. Says our hands are helping themselves to the Double Z brand. When I pointed out all the cattle missing from our spread were from along the border between his land and ours, he laughed. Said he guessed we had some smart hands, trying to make it appear like the Double Z was doing it."
"That's about what I expected from him. Beau used to be a nice man back when he and Pa were friends." Barclay gave the gelding a final sweep with the brush and put it away. Coyote tossed his head and snorted. "Don't worry, boy, I won't forget your oats."
"I didn't talk to Annabelle, but I saw her." Jared grabbed two feedbags, filled them with oats and handed one to Barclay. "Lying in the pasture with one of the hands. I'd be willing to bet he's the father of her baby."
"You didn't recognize him?"
"Not for sure. I've seen him around." Jared hung the feedbag on his mare so she could eat. "He looked kind of like Boots McKinney."
"That's interesting." Barclay did the same with his pail. "Never expected Annabelle to allow herself to sink to the level of a regular cow hand. You know how uppity she is."
Jared ignored his brother's sarcasm. "Seems logical to me. The girl's a trollop. Being right there all the time, I think she'd find Boots downright handy."
Barclay laughed. "Reckon that's true."
Finished with the horses, they sauntered toward the house.
"Cynara had little to say this morning. Did I sense some tension between you two?" Jared asked.
"I think she was just tired. She could've damned well drowned last night, thanks to our new hand."
"Dirk?" Jared asked.
"That's right. Dirk told Roy to get rid of the latest batch of kittens, so he put them in a gunny sack and tossed them into the creek." Barclay stopped outside the back porch to keep their discussion private. "Cynara saw it and waded in after the kittens. The current knocked her off her feet and carried her downstream. She doesn't know how to swim so it was sheer luck I came along to fish her and the kittens out. I told Roy not to take orders from Dirk anymore. When the man gets back, I'll speak to him too."
Jared leaned against the side of the house and took out his cigarette makings. "There's something about that man that bothers me. A… I don’t know, a sneakiness or something. I'm always wondering what he's thinking."
"Yeah. I shouldn't have hired him."
Jared lit his cigarette and offered it to Barclay who took a puff and handed it back. "We'd best keep a close eye on him. He's supposed to be working the northeast section, but Blade said he saw him heading south one day."
"I think you're right. He could do with some watching." Barclay opened the screen door and went inside. The smell of something baking drifted out the kitchen window, making him hungry. He hoped things would be more normal between him and Cynara tonight. He'd missed her today. "Why don't you have one of the men start trailing him and report where he goes?"
"I'll have Canada do it," Jared said, opening the back door. "He has less chores at the moment."
"Hou, boys," Oysters greeted them in the kitchen. "Just serving up some cake."
"Fantastic." Jared took a chair, drawing one out for Barclay as well. "I'm starved."
Oysters eyed Barclay with an odd expression on his crinkled face as he hung up his hat. "You know you got a hole in your hat, Barclay?"
He glanced up at the hat hanging on a hook, and, sure enough, a small hole showed on each side. It had gone all the way through. "By golly, you're right. Wonder how that got there."
Jared sat back in his chair, his fist on his thigh. "All right, brother, what happened?"
"I was returning from the Richards spread." He hadn't really meant not to tell his brothers. He'd have gotten around to it before bedtime, but he didn't want to worry Cynara. Since she wasn't at the table, this seemed as good a time as any to tell the story. "A few minutes before I reached the ranch road someone shot at me."
A gasp sounded behind him. Looking around, he saw Cynara, her mouth hanging open as she ran her gaze over him. "Are you hurt?"
"No, the bullet missed." Barclay hung up the hat and pulled out a chair for her next to his. "You want a piece of Oysters’ cake?"
"I guess so." She sat down but the worried expression on her pretty face remained. "Who would have shot at you?"
"Other than Beau, I don't know."
"Wasn't Beau," Jared said. "I must've left him about the time Barclay got the hole in his hat. He beat Chase and I home."
Oysters began serving supper, fried beefsteak and potatoes with onions and gravy. "You better be more cautious, boss."
"I will be." Barclay glanced at Cynara. She met his gaze, her eyes dark with fear.
"Yes, Barclay," she said. "Please be careful."
How he loved hearing her say that as if she truly cared about him. Could he be that lucky? "Look. I don't want Ma worrying about me. I'd rather no one tell her about this."
His brothers nodded, but Cynara frowned.
"She's had so much to deal with, losing Pa," he told her.
"I won't tell her." Cynara poured herself a cup of coffee and avoided meeting his gaze.
Barclay wished he could have her to himself, but there would be no budging his brothers until they got their meal.
Outside, horse hooves clip-clopped past the house. One of the hands, or company? Whoever it was, he didn't go to the front. He came around to the kitchen entrance.
"Who the heck is that?" Jared asked.
Chase rose, peering through the open porch door to the back. "You better escape now, Barclay, while you can."
"Why?" he asked.
Chase didn't have time to answer as Annabelle flounced into the kitchen wearing a split-skirt, shirt and vest.
"Barclay, we need to talk." She glided over to him and dropped a hand onto his shoulder, ignoring the other woman in the room. "We have plans to make."
"No, Annabelle, we don't." His voice showed extreme patience as he pushed her hand aside and stood. "Go home."
Her eyes darkened and her brows lowered. "I will not. We're running out of time."
"What for?" Barclay asked.
Her poise faltered and she glanced at Jared and Chase. "I need to talk to you alone."
"Why?" Barclay folded his arms over his chest and widened his stance.
"Barclay," she whined, "please don't be mean. I have something important to tell you."
"How about," he said, dropping his arms to his side, "I walk you to your horse, and you do your talking on the way there." He took hold of her arm, giving her no chance to back away.
"No. This is important, Barclay. I need more time than that."
"Seems to me you're wasting a lot of it arguing." He towed her through the screened porch and out the back door, while Annabelle did her best to yank her arm from his grasp.
As soon as the door shut behind the couple, Jared and Chase exchanged a glance. Simultaneously, they jumped up and hurried into the porch. Cynara didn't. To spy on Barclay would be wrong. But she wanted desperately to know what was going on.
In the end, Jared gave her no choice. He pulled her into the porch and positioned her in front of him so she could see. To avoid making an issue of it, she said nothing.
When Barclay and
Annabelle reached her mare, he stopped and released the girl. Cynara wondered why none of the men seemed to like her. She was pretty, a bit whiny, but educated and somewhat refined.
Barclay's words drifted to the house. "All right, you have two seconds to talk before I put you in that saddle and slap your horse's rump."
Annabelle fisted her hands at her sides and glared at him. "You're so mean, I don't know why I love you so much."
Loved him? The girl was in love with him? Cynara felt instant pity for her.
Barclay laughed. "You love me?"
"Of course, I do." She moved closer and slid her arms up around his neck.
At least, she tried to. Barclay grabbed her wrists and held them down. "Annabelle, I don't believe you know what love is."
"Of course, I do," she cried. "And you love me too. You must or you wouldn't have made love to me."
They'd made love? Pain sliced through Cynara's heart. Had she been wrong to place her trust in him?
"Don't be ridiculous." Barclay's voice remained calm. "I've never even kissed you. And when would we have made love? We've never been alone together."
"We have too." Annabelle stomped her foot, which won chuckles from the men beside Cynara in the screened porch. "Have you forgotten the barn dance in April? You were intoxicated, and we walked off into the bushes."
Again, Barclay laughed. "I wasn't even drinking that night. If you think you can fool me into believing you're carrying my child, forget it. It won't work. I know better."
Releasing her hands, he turned to come back to the house. Annabelle darted in front of him and put her hands on his chest. "All right. Listen to me. I said that because I'm desperate and scared and I didn't know what else to do. Another man took me that night, against my will. Don't ask who. I can't keep my pregnancy hidden much longer, Barclay."
"Go to the father. Or, better yet, send your father to speak to him," Barclay said.
"No. I can't tell Papa. He'll beat me. And I can't go to the father either because I'm afraid he'll kill me. He's violent and cruel."
Barclay sighed. "Annabelle, face it. Everyone within ten miles of Cutthroat knows how much you like men. Who do you think they'd believe, an upstanding member of the community or a promiscuous eighteen-year-old girl with a reputation for telling tall tales? You've gotten yourself in a pickle and want me to save you. I won't. "
He set her aside and marched to the house while she watched, teary-eyed.
Jared, Chase and Oysters scurried back into the kitchen.
"Come on, Cynara. Get in here," Jared called.
Barclay laid his hand on the doorknob. Cynara spun and ran, but she didn't stop when she reached the kitchen. She ran all the way to her room and locked the door. What had she gotten herself into coming here?
No more than five minutes passed before a knock came on the door.
"Cynara?" Barclay called out.
"I'm resting," she answered.
"I need to talk to you. May I come in?"
That wasn't what she wanted, but she suspected he wouldn't give up. "All right."
He stepped inside but left the door open, probably to ease her mind. She sat on the side of the bed. Barclay stood before her, hands clasped behind his back.
"Jared told me you heard all that went on between me and Annabelle," he said. "I want you to know I was telling the truth. I have never been with that girl, and it's impossible for her child to be mine."
"She must be very frightened to try to make you think you were drunk."
"She may be desperate, but I doubt she's afraid. Annabelle is used to getting her way. She thought her scheme would work. It won't. She's been too free with her favors for too many men. Earlier today, Jared went to talk to her father and saw her lying in a field with a ranch hand. We think we know he is, and if she causes any more trouble about this, I'll going to talk to the man."
He bent over and captured her gaze with his own. "Please believe me, Cynara."
He sounded sincere. For several moments, she stared into his unblinking honey-colored eyes. She found it almost impossible to imagine him forcing himself on any girl. "I do believe you, Barclay."
But that didn't mean she'd risk getting her heart broken by letting herself care about him too much. Bad enough how much it would hurt when she had to leave these babies.
"Thank you."
"Just be more careful, Barclay. Please? You could have been killed today."
"I'm fine. The bullet went through my hat."
"What if it had been lower?" The thought of him being killed ripped a hole in her heart. She'd seen enough death. She couldn't bear to endure more.
"It wasn't, so nothing to worry about," he said.
"But it could happen again, and he might not miss next time. You need to stay here at the house where you'll be safe."
He laughed. "I can't do that, Cynara. I'm not going to crawl into a hole and hide just because someone took a shot at me. For all we know, a hunter fired at a bird or something and I happened to be in the way."
She pursed her lips and glared at him to show her disbelief and disapproval.
"Cynara." He took hold of her shoulders and drew her closer, so close her bosom brushed against his chest. Her pulse leaped. "I like that you're afraid for me. But it truly isn't necessary."
Peering up at him, she wondered if he would kiss her again. The memory of the first time filled her mind. He'd tasted so good and she'd loved how safe and treasured she'd felt in his arms. She wished he would embrace her that way every day. Did he want that too? Please, please. Do it again.
He did, but on her forehead, not her lips where she wanted it. "I'll be careful."
His hands gently squeezed her shoulders. "Sweet Cynara, you've become—"
Knuckles rapped on the open door.
Barclay released her and spun around. Chase stood there grinning.
"Sorry to interrupt," the boy said, "but Slim wants to speak to you, Barclay."
It took only one step toward his brother to send Chase running, though he laughed as he skipped down the stairs.
"Brat," Barclay muttered.
"He loves you," Cynara said. "Your mother, your brothers, everyone does. You know that, don't you?"
He stared at her a long time before walking slowly toward her. "There's something I want to ask you, Cynara."
A bad feeling filled the pit of her stomach. He looked so grave. What could he want to ask her that might be that serious? Something, she feared, she didn't dare risk her heart on. Best not to allow certain words to ever be said.
"Slim's waiting for you. We can talk later." She pushed him toward the door.
Disappointment crossed his handsome face, but he nodded. "You're right."
He went out the door, closing it behind him. Listening to his boots descending the stairs, she hoped she'd done the right thing.
Slim waited in the great room, hat in hand. As Barclay approached, he noticed how slumped over the man looked and he searched his memory for how old Slim could be. Roy was fifteen or thereabouts and Slim's youngest. He and his wife had four others, all older and all gone from home. His wife had died last year, and Roy hadn’t wanted to leave his father. Barclay had respected the boy for that. Now, he made a mental note not to assign Slim jobs that required hard physical labor. The ranch had plenty of younger hands for that.
"What is it, Slim?"
"You want to talk here or in your office, boss?"
Something in the man's voice hinted that he wanted privacy.
"Let's go to my office." Barclay led the way. As he shut the door behind them, he gestured for Slim to take a seat. "What can I do for you?"
"It's more what I can do for you," Slim answered. "Been talking quiet-like with the boys. They don't like Dirk much. They suspect he cheats at draw. He spends a lot of time watching the big house and he frequently disappears out on the range. Canada reported that half an hour passes sometimes before he shows up."
"Good work. I appreciate it." Barclay rubbe
d his chin. He wasn't surprised by the news, except the part about Dirk watching the house. Why would he do that? Did the man have ideas about Cynara? Had he already approached her somehow? Is that why she didn’t like him? He'd best tell her not to venture out after dark alone. "What do you recommend, Slim?"
"Was it me, I'd let him go."
Barclay wasn't sure he wanted to do that. It would be easier to keep an eye on him here than if he left. "I wish we could find out for sure if he's doing the rustling and, if so, where's he keeping the stock."
"Canada's tried following him, but Dirk's slippery as a fresh fish and always gets away. I could assign them to ride together. Then Canada would have more excuse for tailing him." Slim shook his head. "Only thing wrong with that is that Dirk's likely to suspect we're on to him and vanish on us, cows and all."
"I'd like to avoid that," Barclay said. "I don't like what you said about him watching the house. Makes me wonder what he has in mind. Maybe you could ask the men to keep an eye on him even here."
Slim nodded. "Can do."
"That it?"
"That's it." Slim got up and let himself out of the office.
Barclay walked with him into the great room, then went to the kitchen to see if his brothers were still around. He should let them in on what's going on.
After taking Jared and Chase for a walk to talk privately and bringing them up to date on Dirk's shenanigans, they returned to the house. Chase excused himself to go play draw with the boys and Jared said he needed to check his horse he feared might have a puncture wound on a hind leg.
Alone, Barclay let himself into the house. He hung up his hat, poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot always on the stove and wandered into the dining room. A lamp had been lit in the great room where Cynara stood bent over one of the babies, changing a diaper. She looked so right there, so at home. He thought he could easily see her doing the same thing fifty years from now, except it would have to be a grandbaby she'd be changing. He liked watching her when she didn’t know he was there. She was so relaxed and natural. Too often, once she knew someone else was there, she became stiff.
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