Rode Hard, Put Up Wet

by Lola Rebel

  Glen smiled at her as he passed by the window, flashing a handsome set of teeth that only made Catherine more frustrated. Of all the times for this to happen, why did it have to be now?

  She felt a pull on her skirt, and reached down to pick up Cole, and they watched the three men outside closing up the range. She would need to go out tomorrow and do another head count. Things had been mostly quiet at night, with the men here, but that didn't mean they weren't still stealing her cows. They were just doing it more cautiously.

  Glen dusted himself off as he came in, suddenly more conscious of his clothes. Catherine hadn't moved from where he had seen her through the window, until she turned around and handed him another one of her delicious cups of coffee.

  "Mr. Riley, we need to talk."

  He drink a sip, enjoying the taste and the rush of mental clarity that accompanied it. Damn fine cup of coffee. "What about?"

  Catherine took a seat at the table, a piece of paper set out where she'd been scratching out her math. She started to read it over and Glen waited a moment for her to tell him what was going on, but when she didn't he pressed her on it again. She seemed to look up as if she had already forgotten he was sitting there.

  "I have a proposal for you, Mr. Riley."

  "Alright."

  "I've managed to save a few dollars here and there, over the past few years. As you can see, I've got a bit of a larger herd than you have, as well. So I figured, well, I need the land more than you."

  She waited a moment to let it sink in, and he sat back in the chair and waited for the other shoe to drop. Kept his face impassive, the way he'd learned to do playing. If she made a good offer, he couldn't look too impressed. If she didn't, he couldn't look too frustrated. Controlling the conversation meant first controlling himself.

  "And?"

  "What would you say to my buying the land from you? I could put down a few hundred dollars now, to show I'm serious. Once the cattle are ready for butchering, I can get you the rest."

  "What's 'the rest?' "

  "According to your bill of sale, you paid fifteen thousand dollars for the land."

  "That's true, if you want to count it that way."

  "Well, I'd be willing to make you whole again, Mr. Riley. It'll be tight, but we can manage."

  Glen took a breath in through his nose and let it out through his mouth. The hot sun must have baked his brain, because for a second he thought about it. Then he came back to his senses. "I'm sorry, ma'am. But I'm not selling it."

  Anger flashed across her face, an instant before she managed to smooth herself back over. "Why's that?"

  Because it wasn't enough, he thought. And because, if they somehow had enough to pay him off, then it would leave her children to starve. He wasn't about to invite that.

  "I know that you've got your own problems, and I'm not trying to feed you a story. But I can't go back to that life." He considered it for a moment before correcting himself. "Won't go back."

  Six

  Catherine glowered. That stubborn son of a bitch. Did he think this was fun for her? That she was enjoying having someone in her house, sleeping in her barn? That she wanted this to happen, and that was why she'd married Billy?

  It definitely wasn't because she'd thought he would turn things around. It wasn't that he had promised her that things would be different once they got out of Baltimore. She had just done all of this so that now, she could be right here, getting squeezed by some out-of-towner who suddenly shows up with a piece of paper.

  Catherine took in a deep breath, looked back up at his perfect face, the face that just made him all that much easier to hate, but then she realized she was overreacting.

  She didn't know any more about him than he knew about her, and if he were telling the truth, he wasn't like Billy much at all. Billy could never wait to get back to the table, could never wait to throw down a big risk on nothing, and yet he'd never had the skill to back it up, either.

  Mr. Riley, first of all, had made several thousand dollars in a night, which was more than her husband had ever done, and second of all, here he was, insisting that he wouldn't go back to gambling. No matter what she said.

  He nodded to her, seeing how angry she was. She'd need time to cool off, but she needed to realize he wasn't going anywhere either. Glen stepped out the door and walked around to the boys. Garth seemed to notice his temper and decided to stay away. It was the right decision, Glen thought.

  Climbing up into the loft was easy. It was falling asleep was gonna be hard. He'd take the cows back out for a few days. That ought to give Catherine time to be by herself, to figure things out. And when he came back, then they'd be able to talk the next morning. Easy as that.

  He brought the cows out under the supervision of Garth and Brady, and when they didn't correct him on anything he assumed he'd gotten it about right. Fifty three head. Same as the day before, and the same as it would be tomorrow.

  It was important to check, though. He'd heard those magic words: Cattle rustlers. He hadn't seen any of it in evidence, not yet, but if the woman said it was a problem, then he believed her.

  So it would be daily headcounts. How he'd do it out on the range, he didn't know. But he knew how he'd keep watch over the cattle easy enough, and he had always had good eyes, even in the dark. So he'd just have to trust himself, and trust that he wasn't making a big mistake.

  They went out around. The property was large, and though he couldn't say for certain where it ended, he was pretty certain he was still inside it when he brought the calves to a stop. He got off the horse this time. It wasn't just a day-trip, he would be out here the better part of three days. By the time he got back, Brady and Grant would be long gone.

  Without much to do their last day, he guessed they would likely be packing up already. Glen wondered for a moment if Catherine would be more amenable to their help if they did the asking, and then dismissed it. Whatever they did was what they did, and whatever she asked them to do was her own business, as well, for that matter. It wasn't his place to butt in, and it wasn't his place to worry about.

  When he got back, he'd see what had been done with his last few hours' worth of pay. If it was nothing, well, he'd at least managed to figure out more-or-less what he was doing on a daily basis.

  With that, looking out over the cows, mostly standing still, and his mind turned to Catherine. She seemed insistent on trying to get him off the land. She must have gotten it into her head that he intended to have her kicked right off. How could he, though?

  After what had happened to her, he was tempted to walk away and find some other way to make his life work. There weren't no sense in frustrating either of them. But he couldn't afford that. If he'd given himself a buffer, he wouldn't have been able to make this opportunity work for him.

  Glen didn't like to play aggressive. He preferred playing safe. It was easy to get away with a modest amount of money from a table if you were cautious. It was much, much easier to lose it again if you got greedy. But sometimes all-in was the only way to go.

  That was the feeling he'd gotten when the deed passed into his hands, and Bill Howell had said the magic words: 'cattle ranch.'

  Catherine let Ada sit in her lap while the twins were napping. She had a book open in front of her, one she'd already read twice, but she wasn't reading it this time. Ada turned the pages at odd intervals, which would have been frustrating if Catherine had been trying to read them.

  Instead she couldn't get her mind off the problem that she was facing. Glen hadn't come home last night, which was a blessing by itself. She'd thought, one night away from his slender hips, broad shoulders, and manly face, and maybe she'd be able to sleep through it.

  But the visions, the imagining, had come all the same. As if he'd been right there in the room with her, never mind in the barn. Worse, though, was the knowledge that with a whim she could be turned out of her house, and there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it.

  Legally, she was a squatter. On hi
s property. If he turned her out, she didn't have much in the way of place to keep her cows. She was holding a hot potato. Once the cows were big enough to sell, then she'd be fine, but until then she would have to worry about what happened if suddenly she had to find another place for them.

  There had to be some way to pin him down, to make him let her stay. She was a smart woman. She'd had a good schooling back home, and there was no reason to figure that she wouldn't be able to figure it out.

  After all, she had solved bigger problems. She had figured out what to do with the broken pieces of her life after Billy left. She'd paid off the massive debts that winter had incurred. She'd even started thinking about becoming a real ranch again, getting a few hands to help around the place.

  She could offer him rent, but with the money she had… it wasn't going to be a pleasant prospect. Twenty dollars a month wouldn't be the worst in the world, and she could pay through winter up-front.

  It wasn't as if there was too little space for them. With the herd he'd brought in, he could practically pasture the cows still in the paddock, if she took hers and left. But still, that was money she could use. Money she needed. Ada started coughing in her lap, hard. She wasn't stopping.

  Catherine pulled her close, put a hand on her forehead. It wasn't too hot. She had to hope whatever she had, it couldn't get too much worse. Catherine would do what she had to do for her daughter, but now was not the time to be getting sick.

  Seven

  Glen counted the cattle. Two nights sleeping out on the open range and he was ready to get back to the house. It was only an hour or two out, but even still it would be nice to be able to throw down a few thick slices of bacon on the griddle. He let out a deep breath.

  Fifty three. He was sure. Good. None had wandered off, and none had been hustled off. After the time away he was beginning to wonder. She couldn't be conducting a head count, from what he could see. How would she have? How would she know if a couple steers were missing?

  The sun was already low in the sky, so his bacon would have to wait. Seeing Catherine in the window, watching him or his calves, meant he could at least go let her know he was back in the area. She deserved that much, after all.

  She saw him coming and hoped he wouldn't come in. Her heart wasn't ready for what was going to come next. He had to accept her offer of rent payment. Had to. If he didn't—she couldn't say what he wanted from them, but she couldn't keep waiting on him to decide she wasn't worth keeping around.

  She repeated it over and over in her head. Any minute, any second. She said one thing out of line, and suddenly she'd be out of the place. That was if he didn't get a wild hair and decide all of a sudden that he wanted the house, and he wanted it now. And he wouldn't have no women and her children staying in the place with him.

  If he did, it would be unpleasant, but unpleasant didn't mean she could do anything about it. That was the worst part. So even though it wouldn't be pleasant, she'd set out a hundred dollars, set out neatly on the coffee table in front of her sofa.

  She looked in on Ada and the twins, hoped again that he wasn't coming. Knock, knock.

  He didn't come straight in, but when she opened the door, there he was. Still wearing that pistol of his, still looking as good as ever. The days on the road hadn't changed him much, and she still wanted something she couldn't afford to give him. She shook her head.

  "Mister Riley, what brings you around?"

  "Ma'am, I thought we should talk about a few things."

  "So did I," she agreed. "You first, Mister Riley."

  He had already started moving toward the sofa when he asked, "you mind if I take a seat?"

  "Not at all," Catherine answered. She'd been planning to ask him to sit down, but he had already started making his way over by the time she remembered her manners.

  He settled in. "I need to know what makes you think there's a rustling problem around here. I know you've got the more desirable steers, for sure—but I ain't had any problem with mine, and I haven't seen any trouble out there."

  Catherine's face twisted up, and Glen almost regretted asking the question. If doubting her was going to upset her that much, then he shouldn't have asked. But he couldn't decide what the right answer was if he couldn't see the problem with his own two eyes.

  "A few years back, I had a smaller herd, and they were easier to manage. Even if I had a little less time with Ada and the twins being too young to fend for themselves, I could find the time to do an accurate headcount. We lost seven head the first year, and twelve the second year. But I managed to get a good deal on the beef and we still made a profit, so…"

  "So, let me see if I'm understanding. You don't know, not to a certainty, that they're still doing it?"

  She avoided his eyes, but that did seem to be the case. No matter.

  "I talked to the Sheriff about it, but he said he didn't know enough to do anything about it. Said that it would take too much work to find pretty few head. No idea who'd been doing it, either."

  Glen nodded. "Alright, but what if they moved on, or got arrested on something else? Or rustling someone else's cattle? Couldn't they have stopped?"

  Catherine nodded after a moment. "It's possible. You could give them a count tomorrow, if you like. I have a round thousand head."

  "I'll do that, then."

  She nodded her understanding. "Did you have anything else you needed to talk about?"

  "Yeah, I did."

  Catherine's heart dropped. She could hear it in his voice, something had been moving through his head, some thought, and now that it was time to say it, he was slow to say it to her. Only one thing would cause that kind of reaction, the kind of thing that she was hoping that he would leave off.

  The kind of thing that she'd been hoping to avoid with her rent payments.

  "What's that?"

  "Well… naw," he decided all of a sudden. "What's this? What did you have to talk about?"

  He gestured with his eyes at the stack of bills in front of him.

  "That's a hundred dollars, and it's yours. If you swear to let us stay the next five months. I'll be able to sell my steers, and then we can talk about more rent payments."

  Glen looked at the money and then looked at her. His face was surprisingly blank, as if he weren't particularly tempted by it. This was her big gamble. She needed that money, but now she was willing to give it up if it meant a little more safety in the long-term. Like an investment.

  If he turned it down, then how was she supposed to keep going? She couldn't keep letting him hold that over her.

  "Twenty dollars a month?" She wasn't sure what he was getting at.

  "That should be plenty."

  "I don't know," he said, sucking a breath between his teeth.

  It wasn't enough, she thought. He was trying to decide if he should tell her to make a bigger offer, or just refuse flat out. She couldn't afford any more, though. She'd done the math, and if he said it wasn't enough, he was right. She was using at least three acres of land. Twenty dollars an acre, she owed him sixty a month.

  She had hoped he wouldn't know that, but if he did, even if he tried to cut her a deal—she couldn't afford another fifty, not if she wanted to buy feed for the winter and food for her family. There weren't many favors left to call in, and she hadn't been in a position to start earning new ones.

  He looked up from the money.

  "No, ma'am. I'm sorry, but no." He pushed the money away. "But if you want a promise, then I'll give it to you. But I do need something from you, if you want to stay."

  She looked at him, tried to decide what he wanted. He was getting all uncomfortable again. She had only known men to look that uncomfortable over one thing. Catherine knew where this was going, and she didn't like how much she didn't mind.

  Eighty

  Glen didn't like admitting that he still knew next to nothing about the trade he'd decided to pursue. He wasn't sure how obvious it was, but he sure as hell didn't like asking a woman swimming in her own p
roblems to take time out of her day to show him what he needed to know. That was the least pleasant part.

  He didn't like how hard he was having to fish for words, neither, but some things were unavoidable, in the end. "What I need, is your help with somethin'."

  She pursed her lips, and then nodded after a moment. She picked up the money from the table, walked away, and disappeared into the bedroom. He waited a while, and when she came back her hands were empty. She closed the door to her children's room, and then started working the buttons on her dress.

  Glen's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He shot straight up and turned to look out the window, not looking at her as he called back.

  "What in the hell are you doing?" It took him a long minute to realize he'd cursed at her, so he added at the end, sheepishly. "Pardon my french."

  Catherine's face burned. She had just kind of assumed, true. And she wasn't eighteen any more. There were plenty of prettier girls out there. But it wasn't fun to be told, point blank and to her face, that he wasn't interested. That she'd been going all off on her own, and assumed.

  "I'm sorry," she stammered. "I just… assumed, you know."

  "Assumed—what? Naw!"

  She couldn't see his face, but Catherine could imagine that his face was as red as his shirt. Her own, as well. She wanted to go back to her bedroom. Wanted to pretend she hadn't done it. Wanted to imagine that none of it had ever happened.

  He would let it go, right? He'd already made it quite clear that he wasn't interested in her, not in that way. "What, then?"

  His voice was softer, now. "You decent?"

  Her fingers were shaking as she did up the buttons on her dress. "Yes."

  "You wanna explain to me what that was all about?"

  "No," she answered. There had been a time when she wouldn't have considered it. When it wouldn't have occurred to her. Billy had never been able to pay off his debts, though. It burned her to admit, but he'd worked out some downright un-Christian ways to pay off his poker buddies when he'd gone in too far over his head to make it even with a promise to get them back next time.