Between Love and Lies

by Jacqui Nelson

  He moved closer. “That’s not what I came for.”

  She stared at him through narrowed eyes as she considered his reply. “You came with your precious Texan longhorns, pursuing the almighty dollar.”

  “It’s not my herd this time. I’m here for another reason entirely.”

  Her breath shot out in a huff. “Men. You talk in circles and bend your words to suit your purpose—and your conscience.” Overcome with frustration, she stood abruptly and then wished she hadn’t.

  Stars burst behind her eyes, blinding her, making her sway. A large work-roughened hand supported her arm. When she gasped, the warmth of Noah’s touch retreated. She didn’t move again. Not until her vision cleared. When it did, she realized he was standing close, his worried face peering down into hers.

  Slowly, carefully, he took a step back. “Are you…all right?”

  Alone, the prospect of passing out hadn’t seemed so bad. Allowing this man to see such weakness was unbearable.

  “Mr. Ballantyne, it makes no difference to me why you are here.” What was one more lie when she’d already told so many? She added a truth to steady herself as she looked him hard in the eye. “What bothers me most is that you are disrupting my life again. Go home.”

  He matched her glare with one of his own. “No.”

  She threw up her hands. She was better off sticking to lies. “Suit yourself. I really don’t care.” And if he wouldn’t leave, she would. Carefully, so as not to drain her remaining strength, she moved to step around him.

  He moved too, blocking her way. “What happened? Why are you at the Northern Star?” The intensity in his expression stole her breath like a lover stole a kiss. Instead of disgust or disappointment, reactions she’d grown used to seeing on the faces of those who were informed that she was ill, she found interest.

  Noah Ballantyne was a far greater danger than she’d first feared.

  “Why are you working in a saloon?” he demanded.

  Frustration churned inside her chest, threatening to boil over in an endless stream of caustic comments. Leave me alone! she cried silently before answering him with as little emotion as she could. “Because you put me there.”

  The color drained from his face.

  “Your herd trampled my garden, destroyed my fence, scattered my cattle. I managed to round up four of the seven, but a month later they began to stagger and drool, to run mad from the longhorn tick and their fever. I had no way to pay the bills, so the bank took back the farm.”

  He shook his head. “I should’ve left you more money.”

  “Why?” She surged forward, making him stumble away from her. “So the money would’ve lasted two weeks of drinking rather than one? The end would’ve been the same. We had nothing.” She bit back her laugh. “Or rather, I had nothing. Or so everyone in Dodge told me when I came begging for a job. But my father had something.” She paused, waiting for him to make the connection.

  He stared at her blankly, blind to what so many couldn’t see. Or didn’t want to see.

  “Do you know how many girls end up in a saloon because their families needed money?” she asked.

  Every muscle in his body went rigid. “A father couldn’t—”

  “My father could. He sold me to Madam Garrett.” She fixed her gaze on the graveyard. The markers blurred with her tears. She blinked them back. No good ever came from crying. “I’m told the madam’s money lasted him for a month of drinking…then his liver finally gave out and so did he.”

  “Jesus, Sadie,” Noah growled and grabbed her arm, whether to steady her or himself she knew not.

  She stared at his hand, befuddled once again by the gentleness of his hold. How very different from last night’s cowhand at the Star.

  When he finally released her arm, her heart constricted with regret.

  “Do not concern yourself with the details of my past, Mr. Ballantyne. That part of my life is over. It cannot be restored.” She marched down the slope toward her buggy.

  Noah strode alongside her in silence. When they came to the buggy, he reached out to assist her, then stopped. She marshaled her flagging strength and climbed in. Flicking the reins across the palomino’s golden back, she set the buggy in motion, only to have Noah grab the bridle.

  Her horse snorted and tossed her head. Noah stroked her mane, calming the skittish mare with his touch. A sudden desire to feel that strong but gentle hand holding her again overwhelmed her.

  “You may be right about the past, but what about the future?” His question jarred her out of her daydream.

  “I—have—no—future.” Her voice rose with each word until she was yelling.

  “That’s not true,” he shouted back, then clamped his lips tight. After a long pause, he patted the mare’s neck again. “You must have dreams.”

  She jerked back. Was her yearning written on her face for all to see?

  “If you were free to leave Dodge—” his voice held a soothing note as well, “—where would you go?”

  The question, as much as his tone, startled her. It was as if he’d opened a door and let in the fresh air she craved when she’d driven out to the graveyard. Her anger snuffed out as easily as a candle flame. But the more she pondered his question, the faster her mind spun. She stared at him, unable to speak.

  Where would she go?

  Since Edward’s death, she hadn’t thought of much beyond taking back what Gertie had stolen and then going somewhere—anywhere—far away. The woman had destroyed too many lives to go completely unpunished. To hope for more seemed greedy.

  But she wanted to control her own destiny, to determine who she associated with and who she did not. The rest of her feelings were too complex to put into words and, even if she could, she wouldn’t share them with the man standing next to her. She was loath to confide in anyone, especially him. Everything had gone downhill since the moment he’d ridden into her life.

  His hand slid along the mare’s neck toward her own clutching the reins. A hand toughened by work and the weather. A hand good with animals. A rancher’s hand.

  “My farm,” she blurted as her gaze jumped to his face. “I’d go back to my farm.”

  Her impossible request brought a pained look to his brow. She felt a similar pinch in hers. Unlike most of Dodge, this man didn’t have a heart of stone. But no matter how much he regretted what his cattle destroyed last year, he’d never hurt as deeply as she did.

  The instant he released her horse, she urged the mare toward town.

  She gritted her teeth when he appeared on his gray beside her. He might not be hardhearted but he was definitely bull-headed. Did he intend to shadow her all day?

  The heat of her fever flared again. So did her desire for privacy. She craned her neck in search of the Star. He couldn’t follow her into her room upstairs. Not without paying and, in her condition, she had nothing he’d want to buy. Oddly, her bedroom was her one sanctuary. She craved the tiny room’s solitude more than ever.

  The corridor of Dodge’s Front Street, crowded with livestock and wagons, thwarted her. Even those on foot experienced delays while weaving through the chaos. Her progress slowed to a crawl. Noah reined in his mount to match her pace.

  Determined to ignore him, she fixed her gaze on the street ahead.

  Crossing the fairway was the good Mrs. Dunne, who had refused her employment at the boarding house. Long in the face and round in the middle, Mrs. Dunne had informed Sadie she would be too much of a distraction in her establishment. Even though Mrs. Dunne could use help with the cooking and cleaning for her many guests, she said she wouldn’t hire a young, unmarried woman such as Sadie.

  The portly well-dressed banker, George Fairfax, strolled along the boardwalk with the measured stride of a contented man. When Sadie had approached him searching for work, she’d surprised him with her mastery of reading and writing, and a natural inclination to summing. He’d still insisted a woman’s place was at home, with her husband, not in his bank. He wouldn’t hire he
r either.

  Everyone she’d approached had refused to help, first when she’d inquired politely and again when she’d returned to beg. In the end, her efforts hadn’t mattered. It’d been an illusion to believe she controlled her own destiny.

  Her father had put an end to her quest to find honest work when he sold her for eighty silver dollars. She recalled the dazzling orbs sliding through his fingers, shining so brightly they hurt her eyes. That was the last time she’d seen him, head bent, counting the coins to make sure he hadn’t been cheated.

  She might not be able to trust anyone, but she couldn’t give up either. The heirlooms Gertie had pilfered—Sadie’s ticket out of Dodge—couldn’t stay hidden forever.

  She stole a glance left, then right. Noah no longer rode beside her while down the street, the Northern Star’s faded green balcony beckoned. She exhaled a sigh of relief laced with an annoying amount of disappointment.

  Be careful, she warned herself. You can’t afford to become dependent on Noah Ballantyne or anyone else. With her attention set on the Star, she counted the strides it’d take the mare to reach the swinging half-doors.

  The buggy lurched to a halt. She half expected to see Noah’s firm grip on her rein, trying to take control of her life again. She found a much paler and softer hand. Its owner was a slope-shouldered man dressed in a tailored jacket and paisley waistcoat. A lofty top hat gave him height, but the stiff band collar of his shirt did little for his receding chin.

  Robert Wardell.

  A chill snaked up her spine. Last autumn, Wardell had bid for her company and lost. The defeat hadn’t sat well with him. One of the richest men in town, he was accustomed to getting what he wanted. He’d wanted Sadie. But Edward, riding a wave of luck with the cards had more ready cash, so she’d been auctioned off to a gambler instead of a cattle baron.

  Wardell had left town in a sour mood. Rumor had it he’d gone to Abilene or Wichita. Now he was back. And Edward was gone, dead and buried under six feet of Kansas clay, but not before he’d left his legacy, his mark. The assumption she had the French pox was her only salvation from Wardell and all the other men who visited the Star.

  “Well, well, well,” Wardell drawled, his pale-blue eyes raking her. “If it isn’t the lovely, Miss Sadie. Feeling better today? On the road to recovery, I hope?”

  The French pox wasn’t a death sentence. Doctor Rhodes said many things about the disease were still a mystery. Some people recovered and lived normal lives, as if they’d never been touched by the symptoms and stigma of the disease. Others weren’t so lucky. Their journey on earth came to a painful and horrific conclusion.

  Too many in town were watching to see which direction her life would take.

  When Gertie demanded a timeline, Doctor Rhodes said they might only have to wait a month, maybe less. If the doctor deemed her recovered, the madam would inform the entire town. Wardell would be the first one at her bedroom door.

  She couldn’t allow that to happen. She also couldn’t continue taking the medicine if she valued her life. The day she defeated Gertie, she’d stop. Hopefully, that day would come soon.

  She willed Wardell to release the mare and return to the veranda of the Great Western Hotel. A sideways glance revealed his entourage entrenched on the hotel’s elegant terrace, smoking cigars and observing their exchange with interest.

  Her grip on her reins tightened. “How considerate of you to inquire about my health, Mr. Wardell. You truly are a gentleman among the crude and callous.”

  He chuckled, unperturbed by the scorn in her voice. “That’s one of the things I’ve always enjoyed about you, Miss Sadie—your fiery temper. It matches your hair. Your precious Edward may have outmaneuvered me last year, but I’ll have you soon. I look forward to bending you to my will with a firm hand in that red mane.”

  Her courage left her in a startled gasp, abandoning her to face Wardell’s vulgarity alone.

  A guttural growl erupted on the other side of her mare, cracking Sadie’s last bit of composure as swiftly as a wolf could break a brittle bone.

  With a shrill whinny, her horse reared as high as the harness would allow. Caught off balance, Wardell released the bridle. The mare lunged at the reins, eager to bolt. All that stopped her was the flash of Noah’s broad-shouldered frame, now dismounted and crossing in front of her. The mare shuffled back until her hindquarters bumped the buggy.

  She had no place to go. Much like Sadie.

  Murderous intent twisted Noah’s face. He grabbed Wardell by the collar and jerked him off his feet. “You’ll pay for that comment, you son of a—”

  “Gentlemen. Gentlemen!” Sadie shouted as Noah’s free hand drew back in a fist. She forced her tone lower, trying to infuse it with a calm she didn’t feel. “This conversation is useless, a moot point, a frivolity.” Noah’s hand halted, hovering in the air. “I urge you to remember my condition, which makes all talk about such matters ridiculous.”

  Noah released Wardell with a shove.

  With his gaze fixed on Noah, Wardell lifted shaking hands to straighten his jacket and ribbon necktie before saying, “Until next month then, Miss Sadie. When you are either fully recovered, and we can take up where we left off, or you are—” His gaze, filled with a chagrined yet aggravated expression, cut to her. He cleared his throat.

  She held onto her smile and her determination not to let his statement go unfinished. “Or I’ll be what? An inhabitant of the asylum or the boneyard?” She snapped her reins and the mare leaped forward, forcing both men to jump out of the way. “I should be so lucky,” she called over her shoulder. “Then I’d be of no more interest to you or anyone else in this godforsaken town.”

  Let them believe she welcomed her own death. The only death she cared about was Edward’s. Gertie may have taken his life, but Sadie had pledged that the madam wouldn’t keep the two items Edward cherished most. The heirlooms he’d refused to gamble or sell.

  Unfortunately, upholding that promise might be Sadie’s quickest route to the grave.

  CHAPTER 4

  Loading two thousand head of cattle into a series of narrow stock cars was a sight to see. The din and dust were spectacular. The swirling haze swallowed the vermilion sphere on the western horizon, while the ground beneath Noah’s feet vibrated like a living thing. Dodge’s railroad depot was a plain affair, a few corrals with a series of chutes and ramps on the edge of town. Nothing fancy. Only what was needed to get the job done.

  The trains didn’t stay long. The instant this one arrived, the depot men had hauled open its sliding doors and bent their backs to the task of unloading supplies for the town. Refilling the compartments—this time with cattle—was taking even less time. Soon the firebox would be stoked, the engine would belch black smoke and the iron horse would pull its cargo east to the Union Stockyards in Chicago.

  Noah’s work would be done. He could go home.

  What he deserved was to stand here choking on the dust until the mild spring weather transformed into a sweltering summer that better represented the hell that was Dodge.

  He shot another glance over his shoulder. Lewis still conversed with Robert Wardell, the purchaser of the herd. Noah recalled every vile word the cattle buyer had said to Sadie earlier that day and his fists clenched, once again itching to lay the bastard out cold. Instead, he remained rooted by the loading pens, stewing in silence.

  Lewis and Wardell shook hands, then parted.

  A satisfied grin split Lewis’ face as he approached Noah. “Well, two months of chewing dust behind those beasts is history. That’s the last we’ll see of them.” He raised his voice to be heard above the racket. “And fifteen dollars a head makes the parting even sweeter. I can finally buy the land beside your ranch and my folks’ and begin building my own spread.”

  “You’ve worked plenty hard for every cent. Don’t squander too many of them here. A smart man doesn’t stay long in Dodge.” Unlike me who hasn’t go a lick of sense. Noah turned his back on the stockyard and h
eaded for the center of town.

  Lewis fell in beside him. “Don’t worry. Never been more eager to start something and, to tell the truth, I’m a mite lonesome for home.” He laughed. “Dodge isn’t for me. Too brash. Too wild. Exactly as you said it’d be.”

  They followed the railroad tracks, careful to stay on the south side. The town called the band of metal the “deadline” because carrying a gun was only legal on the south side. Noah wasn’t giving up his revolver. Plus, the Northern Star and Sadie were on the south side.

  “When we heading out?” Lewis asked.

  Noah cast him a sidelong glance. Lewis stared at him, head cocked, eyes narrowed with curiosity. Noah knew that look. There was more on his friend’s mind than the journey home.

  “Thought I might stay…for a few more days,” he answered, trying to choose his words carefully.

  “I can wait a day or two—”

  “Could be more.”

  Lewis waved a hand, dismissing his amendment. “That’s all right, too. You helped me out, agreeing to drive my herd. I—”

  “You got a ranch waiting for you. Don’t want to hold you up.”

  “Humph. You got one too.” Lewis’ tone rumbled with concern. “Or have you forgotten?”

  In the last year, he hadn’t given his home much thought. Unusual for him. For as long as he could remember, the land had meant everything.

  He’d been eleven when his father and mother died—him in a range dispute and her not long after while giving birth to Noah’s brother. He thanked the Almighty for the ranch foreman and his wife. The pair had raised Jacob and held the ranch together until Noah could take up the reins.

  Working the land and dreaming of ways to improve it had always filled him with an unwavering satisfaction. Now he felt…empty.

  “Nothing at home needs my attention. Hurrying back won’t make any difference.”