She picked up the baby and held it in front of her as she kissed its nose and forehead. "You are so sweet, I could almost eat you," she said. "Lucky for you I don't care for sweets."
Quickly, she laid the baby in a cradle and turned away. "Can’t be doing that," she murmured barely loud enough for Barclay to hear. "Can't love these babies."
The agony in her voice tore at his heart. She was afraid she'd come to love the babies and then lose them. He could understand that. With every day that passed, he felt less eager about seeing the triplets gone. So far, Doc hadn't found anyone interested in adopting them. He'd suggested sending them to an orphanage in Helena, but Barclay hated to do that. Chances were that they'd be separated, and he'd heard too many stories of kids being adopted and used like slaves. He didn't want that for his babies.
His babies. No, he couldn't think of them that way. He knew Jared and Chase felt the same way about Little Gage and Vella as he did about Connor. They may as well adopt them, except that the courts didn't like giving children to single parents.
His idea about he and Cynara marrying and adopting at least Connor had been bouncing around inside his head for some time now. The more he thought about it, the more he believed it was the best answer for them all.
If only Cynara felt the same way.
He watched as she wearily climbed the stairs. He needed to make sure this job wasn't too much for her to handle. He might need to hire a girl to help.
Barclay returned his coffee cup to the kitchen and went up to his room, pausing outside Cynara's room and wishing he could be with her instead of going alone to his own chamber.
Chapter Thirteen
"W e have eighteen now," Dirk said, watching the cattle mill about the open space of the hideout where they'd spent the night. Outlaws had been using the box canyon for years. The only escape other than the main entrance consisted of a narrow, difficult-to-see gap in the rock wall that surrounded the blind valley. One cabin stood among the bushes, with a roofed corral for horses.
"Yeah," Boots agreed. "Ten from Double Z and eight from High Mountain. Think we should call it enough and drive them to the reservation?"
"Sounds good to me." Dirk turned and walked to the cabin. He was tired of this whole plan. Too much work, which was why he'd become an outlaw. "I think Barclay Givens is suspicious and is having one of his men follow me. If I don't stop now, I could get caught."
"All right. It was keeping me away from Annabelle too much anyhow. If I'm not there to take care of her, she'll go somewhere else. Know what I mean?" Boots grinned.
"The girl sounds insatiable."
"Reckon that'd be a good description of her." Boots took a loaf of bread from his saddlebag and broke off a piece. He held it out to Dirk. "Better eat. We won't be back until late tonight."
While Dirk ate, he rolled up his bedding to tie behind his saddle. "You want me to get your bedroll ready?"
"That'd be good. Thanks."
Boots wrapped the food in a gunny sack and replaced it in his saddlebag. The men mounted up and began driving the steers toward the opening of the canyon.
Dirk figured there had once been a seep in the valley that flowed into Short Creek. Eventually the combined streams contributed to a small lake two miles from the hideout and eight miles from High Mountain Ranch. A rough collection of hills occupied the area. If a man didn't know it well, he'd easily be lost. So far, no lawman had found it. At least, none that lived to tell about it.
"What are you going to do with your share of the money?" Boots asked through the handkerchief he'd pulled up over his nose and mouth. Eighteen sets of hooves kicked up a lot of dust.
"Put my original plan into action, I reckon. Ransom Minnie's babies to their grandparents." Dirk took out a chunk of tobacco, lifted his handkerchief so he could bite off a bit and returned it to his pocket. "I'll do it as soon as we get back from the rez. No use putting it off any longer. At least, selling the beef will give me enough cash for the trip. Sure, you don't want to come?"
"Naw. I don't want to leave Annabelle that long."
"Fool," Dirk muttered, but he didn't really care. The trip to Hawkville would have been more pleasant with company along, but, this way, he could keep all the money. The only question was whether to take one baby and go alone or take all three and Cynara too. He decided to play it by ear.
It took the men another hour to herd the cows to the Crow Indian Reservation, only to find a closed sign on the office door.
"Well, hell," Boots muttered. "Ain't that just my luck? What do we do now?"
Seeing one of the Indian police standing against the wall of a nearby building, Dirk rode over to talk to him. The Crow officer wore two braids at the sides of his face that reached the waistband of his trousers. "You know why the office is closed?"
"No agent," the Indian said.
"Why not?"
"Called back to Washington. New agent coming."
Getting information from an Indian was like dragging a cow from a mud pond. "Do you know when the new agent is expected?"
The man shrugged. "Any time now. What you do with cows?"
"We planned to sell them to the agent. I don't know what we'll do now."
The Indian pushed away from the wall and walked closer to the small herd. "We trade with you. No cash. Moccasins made by squaws. Beaded parfleche for carry belongings. You want?"
Dirk waved Boots over. "This Injun says they'll trade us for the cows. That's the best we're going to do unless we want to wait or come back when the new agent arrives." He didn't like the idea of having to prolong this jaunt or go to more trouble. "We should be able to trade or sell them in town. What do you want to do?"
"Aw, hell. I don't want to wait or come back." Boots slid out of his saddle and stretched his arms over his head. "What will they trade us?"
"I get brothers," the Indian said. "We talk."
"Yeah." Boots waved a hand. "Go get them."
After some haggling, they traded for a dozen pairs of moccasins each, elk hide shirts sewn and decorated by the squaws with beads and feathers, several leather pouches called parfleches, peace pipes and elk hides they hoped to sell in town.
"We have to get back," Dirk told Boots when the bartering ended. "If we hurry, we'll be able to sleep in our own beds tonight.
"All right. Let's go."
The men saddled their horses, bundled their goods together in burlap seed bags and attached them to their saddles. Dirk felt eager to get home. He had a bad feeling in his gut, as if he could feel eyes on his back. "Hurry up," he told Boots.
"You're grumpy." Boots mounted and they rode out of the village.
Dirk decided he'd been stupid to become involved with Boots. The man was a lowlife loser with about as much class and honesty as a tapeworm. Dirk had forgotten until now that the tricks Boots had gotten up to while with the Grossman gang were part of the reason the man had been kicked out.
They passed through thick willows where the creek they'd been following merged with another one. No sooner had they found their way out than they were surrounded by High Mountain ranch hands; Blade, Canada, Cavell and Slim.
Dirk's stomach bottomed out and he felt rooted to his saddle. He'd been caught. Damn. How was he going to get out of this mess?
Act innocent. That's half of convincing folks you aren't guilty. "Hou, fellas." He grinned and raised a hand. "I counted a dozen cows this morning. What'd you find?"
Slim ignored his question and the suspicion in his eyes never waned.
"You boys're carrying some interesting goods there," Blade said, leaning on his saddle horn. "What're you two doing together anyway?"
Canada and Cavell slid from their saddles to investigate Boots' and Dirk's packs.
"What business is—?" Boots began.
Dirk cut him off before he could give them away. "Ran into Boots here and we been having a sort of reunion. Worked together a few years ago for another outfit."
"Yeah?" Slim slid his gaze up and down Boots. "What
've you been doing to celebrate?"
"Hunting," Dirk said as an idea flashed into his head. "Boots has friends at the Crow rez, and the government's starvin' them, so we went hunting. Got a couple of bucks we took to the village. The chief gave us a bunch of trinkets in gratitude. We figured to trade or sell 'em in town."
"Yeah, that's how we got this stuff." Boots patted the pack behind his saddle.
The accusing expressions on the men's faces didn't vary.
"We were just hunting for some missing cows," Blade said. "You boys see any?"
"Earlier, before we started huntin'," Dirk said. "How many are missing?"
"At least a half a dozen," Blade said.
Dirk avoided looking at Boots even though he could feel the man's hot gaze on his back. Sweat trickled down Dirk's temples and back. He had to find a way out of this. "You want me to show you where I saw the ones I mentioned?"
"Where were they?" Canada asked.
Dirk gestured northeast. "Not far from that muddy spring they're always getting stuck in. I can check it out for you." He trotted away, half-expecting to feel a bullet drill through his spine any moment. They stayed behind him. He heard the horse hooves thump the ground and the saddle gear jangle. He didn't have to look to know they were right behind him.
Lady luck must like him today, Dirk decided. When they reached the spring, sure enough, a steer was bellowing its lungs out, stuck up to its hips in the muck. Without hesitating, Dirk whirled his lasso and let it fall perfectly around the steer's neck.
Another lasso whistled through the air, snaring the steer. "Might take more'n one rope to get him out," Blade said, riding up beside him.
Both men directed their horses to pull the steer loose. The cow bellowed, the horses snorted and mud flew, but the critter didn't budge. Dirk dismounted, waded into the tar-like puddle and shoved on the animal's behind to get him moving. Boots joined him. Between them pushing and Blade pulling, they finally succeeded. Two more cows were rounded up from the brush nearby.
The hands seemed to feel they'd done well, and Dirk decided he'd managed to save his hide one more time. Slim acknowledged Boots' help with a nod and followed it up with a warning. "You be careful of trespassing on High Mountain land, boy, or you're likely to be mistaken for a rustler. Get on home now."
Boots flashed a glance at Dirk, tipped his hat and trotted his horse off through the underbrush.
Dirk made sure not to say anything about the warning. Blade gave him one of his own. "If'n I was you," Blade said, "I'd stay away from that boy in future. He isn't well respected 'round these parts."
"Thanks for telling me." Dirk eased out a sign of relief. "I never knew him well, but he'd seemed okay the few times I ran into him out here."
"You found him on our range before today?" Canada asked.
"Yes. Once, he had a couple of Double Z head he was driving back home."
Blade and Canada exchanged glances.
"Well, that might explain something," Blade said.
"Explain what?" Dirk asked. "You think he might've been helping himself to High Mountain beef too?"
"Could be."
"Well, that snake in the grass." Dirk turned his horse as if to go after the man.
"He's gone," Blade said. "Let's head home. I'm hungry."
"Sounds like a good idea." Dirk grinned. "That lumpy bed's going to feel good after a long day like this."
"They're pretty comfortable any time on this job," Canada replied.
As soon as they rode into the yard, the Givens brothers came from the house like a posse on foot. Dirk dismounted at the stable along with the other ranch hands. While Slim met the Givens men and gave his report, Dirk rubbed his horse down and tried to listen in. They talked too low.
After a few minutes, Barclay strode over to Dirk.
"I hear you know Boots McKinney."
"That's right." Dirk tensed up again. Had they figured out about the rustling? "Worked a short time with him on another ranch southeast of here. Is there a problem?"
"No, just curious. Boots isn't well thought of around here," Barclay said.
"He was always kind of a slippery character, but I thought he was okay. I'm glad Blade straightened me out on that subject. Don't plan on having anything more to do with the man."
"Wise decision. Go on to the bull-house and get some rest," Barclay said. "Tomorrow's another day."
"Yeah. A busy one as usual." Smiling, he walked away. He'd gotten a free pass, but he knew better than to push his luck. For the next night or so, he'd lay low, play it straight, and then put his original plan into action to take the babies and get the hell away from Cutthroat and the Givens Ranch.
Barclay chewed his last bite of beef and watched Cynara charm Oysters by telling him even her mother didn't make better meatloaf than he did.
"Why, thank ye, Mrs. Stratton. Can I get ya anythin' else?" Oysters may have blushed. The light in the kitchen was too dim for Barclay to tell, but the thought gave him cause to smile.
"No." She scooted her chair from the table, picked up her dishes and carried them to the sink. "Thank you, Oysters. You take such good care of me, but I'm fine."
One of the babies in the great room let out a squall.
Cynara smiled. "Besides, I'm being called."
It seemed to Barclay that the light dimmed even more once she was gone. He'd hoped for a chance to speak with her. Maybe later. He discussed a few ranch matters with his brothers and excused himself as soon as he deemed reasonable. In the great room he found Cynara changing a diaper. "Not suffering any ill effects from your dunking in the creek?"
"Doesn't appear so." Cynara finished pinning a diaper in place on Vella.
Chase wandered in. "There's my little girl." He took her from Cynara. "How's my Vella today, huh?"
Barclay shook his head. He doubted he'd ever get used to seeing his little brother act gooney over a baby. Jared was almost as bad with Little Gage. At least Connor wouldn't be too spoiled. Holding the baby’s feet with one hand and her head with the other, Chase swept her through the air. He had good hold of her, but it still seemed dangerous. "Stop doing that. You'll make her sick."
"She likes it. Can't you hear her giggling?" Chase put the baby to his shoulder.
"That's not giggling," Cynara said, reaching for Vella. "She's getting ready to—"
The baby threw up on Chase's shirt.
Barclay laughed. "You've been initiated."
"Yay for me," Chase grumbled.
Cynara cleaned Vella up, letting Chase mop the mess off his shirt.
"This is hopeless. It stinks. I'll have to change." Chase stomped upstairs.
Once he was gone, Barclay asked, "Have you gone to see the kittens yet this morning?"
"No, but I probably will after I take care of these little ones," Cynara answered.
"Let me know when you're ready and I'll go with you. I'll be in my office." He'd hoped for a smile, but she avoided looking at him.
"I'm not sure when I'll go," she said.
"Well, whenever you do, let me know." Reluctantly, he strode to his office. He needed to calculate how much money they'd lost due to the stolen cattle. Hopefully, Boots worked alone, and the rustling would end now. Finished with his grim calculations, he put away his ledgers. In the great room, Cynara sat on the settee with a baby at her breast under the usual blanket.
"Seems I might not be able to see the kittens with you," he said. "I've decided to go into town and let the marshal know about Boots McKinney."
"Did you lose many head?" she asked.
"Eight or nine, I thought, but they found a couple more today. Maybe they'll all show up. Anyway, I want to find out if other ranchers have reported losing cattle."
"Be careful. You'd better get you a new hat while you're there."
"Naw." He grabbed his hat off the rack by the front door and poked his little finger through the hole. "This one will do fine for a while yet."
She almost smiled, and he wanted to celebrate. Instead, he
went to the stable for his horse.
Half an hour after Barclay left, his mother arrived with Doc Willoughby. Cynara knew having her eldest son absent would disappoint Julia, but the babies kept her occupied.
"They seem in fine fiddle," Doc said after examining them. "I believe they've even put on a few ounces. That's excellent. Most newborns lose weight."
Cynara liked hearing that. Perhaps she wasn't dangerous to the babes after all.
"Well, these precious little people are special," Julia said, cuddling Connor to her chest. "These are being raised by my sons. And Cynara, of course."
Cynara smiled at the acknowledgement.
"And you aren't a bit prejudiced, are you?" Doc teased. "I'm going to see if I can talk Oysters into a game of checkers. I'm going to beat that man one of these days."
He went off to the kitchen, leaving Julia and Cynara with the babies. Together, they changed diapers, Cynara fed them and Julia burped them. They watched them play with rattles and gaze around at their new world.
"They're staying awake a bit longer now." Cynara sat back on the settee and relaxed with a cup of tea. She didn't have tea often, but Julia had brought this and Cynara felt she should try it. It was actually quite tasty. "And they're more alert."
Laughter came from the kitchen.
"Won't be too long before you'll be wishing they were still sleeping most of the time," Julia said.
"Yes, I know. Then they'll be walking and getting into everything, and…" Cynara let her words fade away.
Julia laid a hand on Cynara's wrist. "And you're thinking you won't be here to see it, is that it? The reason you look unhappy now?"
Cynara squirmed to find a more comfortable spot on the lumpy couch. "I do find it sad to think of them growing up without me and not knowing what happens to them."
"I'll tell you what," Julia said. "As long as you keep in touch and I know where to write you, I'll let you know how they're doing."
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