Abruptly she wondered what Mrs. Lancer was like, if there was a Mrs. Lancer. But surely there was. He appeared older than her own twenty-eight years, and she’d already learned people married uncommonly young here in the West. Cassie pushed aside her traitorous thoughts. She should feel pity for the woman who was stuck with this crook.
“How’d you and the boy come to be living on your own?” he asked, disturbing her uncomfortable musings.
As she grudgingly explained, Cassie felt her bitterness surfacing. “Andrew’s mother—my stepmother—died when he was born. Our father died when Andrew was four.” Her mouth tightened abruptly. And that was when her parents’ solicitor had stolen their inheritance and left them penniless.
Misinterpreting her angry expression, he wondered if Cassie resented the fact that she’d had to care for a younger half brother. But then what did he expect from a Dalton?
Shane decided to get to the point. The less time he spent in this house the better. “Your reply to my letter wasn’t what I was expecting. I was hoping to save you a hard trip out here. Why don’t you reconsider and sell your grazing land to me and your critters to the Basque? This spread was hard enough for your uncle to handle when he was alive. It’s all too much for a couple of women and a boy.”
While still clutching the remains of his cinnamon bun, Shane gestured vaguely about the room as though they stood outside in the midst of her land.
He bit into the sweet roll, but forgot to chew when he saw Cassie’s flushed cheeks and overly bright eyes. It was apparent she wasn’t buying his benevolent-neighbor act. So much for charm.
“How very generous of you. Does your wife share your enlightened views, Mister Lancer?” She unfolded her body and rose to her full height. Shane choked on the mouthful of sweet roll as he found himself staring upward into her furious face. Cassie crossed the short distance between them, her flush deepening. “Or do you just keep her penned up with the rest of the cattle?”
He tried to break into her tirade. “I’m only thinking of your welfare. My intentions—”
“Your intentions are quite clear, sir. You intend to steal my land, and the devil with my welfare!”
Listening to her, Shane could not draw his eyes from her breasts, rising and falling. Cassie’s expression was steely when his gaze finally returned to her face. If possible, an even brighter light of fury flashed from her eyes as she stepped back abruptly.
Caught ogling her, he bit out a quick “Good day, ladies,” raising his voice for Millicent’s benefit, and left before Cassie could utter another word.
Cassie was spitting mad. Her decision to come West after her uncle’s sudden death was a momentous undertaking. And now to have her rich, highfalutin neighbor try to convince her to sell out on the pretense of concern! Concern, hell. Robbery was more like it. Where was his concern when Uncle Luke had been killed? Maybe that was why he was trying so hard to get rid of her—so she wouldn’t question his death.
Everything, everything depended on their success with the sheep ranch. So, he thought they couldn’t run the ranch on their own. Maybe he was right. She only hoped he’d see the irony of his words when she hired his own men away from him. If she was lucky, Wilbur’s swamper, Brady, would be around for more than a few days. He’d be a permanent addition.
Shane mounted the dapple gray quickly and rode out with a sharp snap of the reins. He passed the mewling sheep, their distasteful odor assailing his nostrils. Quickening the horse’s gait, he approached the sagebrush flats that bordered his land and fell away from the gently sloping mesas. Riding over the ridge into the evergreen thicket of ponderosa pine and red cedar, he breathed deeply of their clean, spicy scent, ridding himself of the sheep’s smell.
He regretted Cassie’s fury, knowing it would only get worse, but after the disaster Luke Dalton had wreaked on this valley, Shane had little sympathy for anyone related to the man. He knew Cassie had no idea what she’d gotten into. But if she were wise, she’d get out before mistakes from the past forced her out.
Shane had no tolerance for Daltons, free rangers, or anyone else who desecrated the land. Lancer land. Past promises pulled at him. Prodding his horse up the steep rise, he paused at the top, surveying his domain. No checkerboard restraints hampered the lay of the land. Fallow grass carpeted the plain, and his cattle grazed the rich foliage.
A deep surge of pride surfaced as he remembered his father, seated on a massive sorrel, surveying the land from this very point. Son, someday this will be yours to shape and rule, but above all respect. The land’s like a woman. Tame her gently, treat her good, and you’ll never be without her. Strip her bare, and she’ll be colder than a whore’s heart.
Shane shook off his memories and slapped the reins, sending the horse down the other side of the rise. Approaching the sprawling ranch house with its pillared veranda, he spotted a rented rig clearly belonging to the livery stable in town.
Now what?
He cantered up to the corral, dismounted, and handed the reins to a young Mexican boy who offered him a bright-toothed smile when Shane ruffled his thick, shaggy hair.
Shane’s long-legged stride carried him up the wide steps to the front porch and through the massive double-door entryway. Hanging his hat on the oak hall tree, he searched the well-appointed front parlor for an unexpected guest, but the room stood empty. One of the tall library doors stood ajar. Shane moved toward it cautiously, wondering what kind of stranger would invade the privacy of a man’s study. Quietly, he loosened his holster and eased the pistol from his side.
The high-backed leather chair behind the mahogany desk was swiveled toward the bookcases lining the rear wall. Over the back of the chair, Shane could see the top of a sandy-haired head.
Gun in hand, he entered the room, and just as abruptly the chair swiveled around. Shane’s angry words dissolved, and he yelped in excitement. “Evan! What the hell are you doing here? God, it’s good to see you, boy.”
Shane quickly sheathed the gun, clasped Evan’s outstretched hand, and then pulled him closer with a fierce bear hug. When they stepped apart, they grinned at each other with matching smiles.
It had been almost two years since Shane had seen his younger brother. All of the mixed emotions that tore at him when he thought of Evan assailed him now. Pride was foremost as he saw that Evan had matured from a gangling boy to a strapping young man. Looking into Evan’s shining blue eyes, Shane could see their mother all over again. Even his sandy blond hair was hers. Only hers.
Shane eyed Evan from head to toe, suddenly fearful of the reason for his unexplained visit. Evan seemed healthy, if looking a bit like a dude. He wore a conservative gray wool suit and a starched white shirt with a rigid boiled collar. Shane noticed that his equally drab black bowler lay on the desk. Shane felt his own neck itch just watching him.
“There’s nothing wrong with me, Shane. Just hadn’t been home in too long.”
Shane heaved a sigh of relief and dropped into the nearest wing chair. “You’re not having trouble at school, are you?” Worry etched a frown of concern on Shane’s normally cheerful face. He’d felt like a father to Evan for too long to abandon the role now. It was apparent something was worrying the boy, and everything that concerned Evan had always been a priority to Shane.
“No, nothing like that. The term’s up, and I didn’t want to clerk for Judge Yarborough this summer. I needed to come home for a while.”
Shane expelled a sigh of relief. Law school had been Evan’s dream for as long as they both could remember. As a young boy, he’d been more content dragging heavy volumes of law around Judge McCracken’s law office than he had been roping cattle and riding the range. It had been another bittersweet mixed blessing.
“So, you needed to see the old homestead again?” Shane prodded, falling easily into his role of protector and father figure.
“Maybe for more than a visit.”
Shane’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“I’m just not sure I made the ri
ght choice.” Evan got up and paced restlessly across the length of the room, raking his hands impatiently through well-groomed blond hair. “Do you know how cramped it is in the city? One tenement after another, squeezed together tighter than two bulls after one cow.”
Evan paused briefly to gaze longingly out the window. Then he turned back to face Shane. “I miss riding for miles, knowing the land’s ours. I’m tired of breathing filthy air that’s thicker than a duststorm. I miss the heat of the sun on my face.” He sank noisily into the desk chair. “Hell, I even miss the smell of the cattle. Don’t see too many longhorns in Philadelphia.”
Shane studied him with concern. While he’d never held with leaving the land himself, his brother’s dreams had always been wrapped up in the law. Had he just been homesick or was his problem more serious? Shane wondered briefly if there was a woman in the East that Evan was avoiding. But he wasn’t planning on making any accusations or asking too many questions. What the boy needed now was an unqualified welcome back into the fold.
“Well, it’s damn good having you home, little brother.” Shane slapped Evan’s knee good-naturedly. “Let’s go put some meat on those bones. After that we’ll get you out of those duds.” Shane made a face as he surveyed Evan’s suit. “Wilbur’ll have a fit seeing you home.”
Evan’s face filled with relief, and Shane realized he had indeed expected either a tongue-lashing or to be packed back off to school.
Wouldn’t do any good to force the boy. He’d have to make his own decision. But a summer of hot, backbreaking labor ought to make that law school look mighty good.
Entering Wilbur’s domain, they were greeted by the smell of hearty stew, mouth-watering biscuits, and chicory-flavored coffee. Wilbur spotted Evan and let out a huge roar. Evan answered in kind, and Shane stepped back to watch and enjoy.
The two circled each other as though stepping off a fight. Wilbur advanced. Evan feinted and drew closer. Just when it seemed as if they were coming to blows, Wilbur made a grab for Evan. His bear hug made Shane’s look weak in comparison. Then he set Evan back on his feet, stepped back, and looked at him carefully through squinted eyes.
Finished with his scrutiny, Wilbur finally allowed, “Looks like you came home just in time, boy. Another few weeks, come a big storm, you’da blowed plumb off the ground.”
Evan laughed heartily in response. “I just needed another dose of your poison,” he retorted, sniffing the pot of stew.
“Looks like poison’s all they been feedin’ you since you left,” Wilbur responded tartly, unable to disguise the pride in his eyes as he gazed at Evan.
Torrents of confused emotions pulled at Shane as he and Wilbur shared a rush of fatherly pride, knowing they’d shaped the fine young man standing before them.
“Not poison, but I haven’t had a decent steak since I left. I want one about a foot thick,” Evan declared.
“Might be we’re havin’ mutton for dinner,” Wilbur answered slyly without looking at Shane.
“Sheep?” Evan glanced from Shane to Wilbur in puzzlement. “On old man Dalton’s spread? I thought you had that problem almost licked. You got a new bunch of sheepherders giving you trouble?”
“A lady sheepherder, no less. Shane went over to send her packin’ this morning. But from the expression on his face, I’d say she sent him packin’,” Wilbur informed Evan, unable to keep his crusty smile in check.
Evan turned to Shane in amazement. “A lady sheepherder? She must be some old buzzard.”
Wilbur couldn’t contain his laughter. Shane guessed his expression gave him away. Evan searched both faces for an explanation.
“She’s not exactly an old buzzard,” Shane finally admitted.
“Hell, she’s a looker, boy. Don’t know why she wanted to take up where her uncle left off, but she’s the best-lookin’ thing to come along this range.”
Shane knew Wilbur was enjoying making him squirm. Evan clasped his arm around Shane’s shoulder. “Give me a chance to put some food in my belly, and you can introduce me to the good-lookin’ lady sheepherder.”
The irony of Evan’s words washed over Shane as he watched Evan walk back to where Wilbur stood at the stove. Raising a cool drink to his lips, he wondered how much longer the truth would stay hidden.
3
Cassie entered the mercantile, hearing the creak of wooden floorboards beneath her feet, her nose twitching at the vinegary smell of pickles resting in casks of brine. She stepped further inside, scanning the walls that seemed to contain a wealth of goods. Canned and dry goods were stacked neatly in some spots on shelves and rather haphazardly on the floor in others.
The walls were covered with overalls, bits, scrubboards, rope, and every tool imaginable. Scarcely an inch of space was left uncovered. Cassie fingered a bolt of soft blue material but regretfully passed it by. Uncle Luke’s inheritance was dwindling quickly, and she’d have to show a profit before indulging in material for new dresses.
As Cassie approached the counter, one by one the customers noticed her. All conversation ceased as they turned to stare. Even the children were still as the unhealthy silence hung in the air. Cassie smiled tentatively at the proprietor. But her smile faded as he stared at her sternly, grim eyes narrowed, lips pursed in disapproval.
Puzzling over what she’d done to anger the man sight unseen, Cassie cleared her throat and spoke, hearing her voice sounding scratchy and uncertain. “I’m Cassandra Dal—”
He interrupted abruptly. “We know who you are.”
Surprised that he knew of her, she tried to regain her composure, attempting a second smile. The proprietor remained unsmiling, while Cassie glanced around at the other customers. Glares of hate and suspicion emanated from all their faces. Uncertainly, Cassie turned back to the proprietor, holding up her list as though it were a shield. Swallowing nervously, she began, “I’ll need fifty pounds of flour—”
“Don’t have none.”
Cassie glanced up in surprise. Flour was a basic necessity. But then perhaps they were expecting a shipment soon, and she was buying for the future. She’d wanted to make sure they didn’t deplete the two-month supply she had set in.
She asked for the next item on her list and got the same response. Tentatively she tried the next two items, only to get identical responses. Frustrated, Cassie shoved the list over to the man.
“Perhaps you could tell me when you’ll be getting in some of these things.”
The man let the list lie on the counter, untouched. His eyes didn’t even stray near the precise lines of writing.
“Won’t be.”
“But…” Cassie gazed at the circle of people around her. “I don’t understand.”
“I ain’t got no supplies for a Dalton.” The man almost spit out the words, and Cassie stepped back involuntarily, feeling as though he’d struck her. She glanced around at the people in the store for support. One by one they looked her over, turned around, and marched out the door.
As the floorboards creaked behind the last one, Cassie turned back to the proprietor. He had folded back the flap of the curtain to his storeroom, but paused before he departed.
“And if you got any sense, you’ll get out while you can.”
“I…why?”
But the curtain had already flapped shut behind him, and Cassie stared about the deserted room. A cold chill of misery settled around her heart as she tried to guess what had caused such animosity. Why didn’t he have any supplies for a Dalton? She shook her head uncertainly. It just didn’t make any sense.
Disheartened, she walked slowly out of the store, her eyes sweeping the boardwalk. The two women heading toward Cassie raked her with scathing glares and then purposefully crossed the street to avoid her.
Cassie stared after the women for a moment and then walked toward her wagon, shaking inwardly. Just as she reached the wagon and began to step up, she heard an unfamiliar masculine voice.
“Miss Dalton?”
Cassie turned and nodded as the man
bowed over her hand. Taken aback at the unaccustomed gesture, she studied the handsome stranger. The expensively tailored woolen suit spoke of Boston or New York, and the thick gold chain looped beneath his watch pronounced his wealth. His mane of blond hair under a dashing black bowler was meticulously groomed, while his even teeth were impossibly white.
It was a relief to have someone speak to her. “How do you do, Mister…”
“Fredericks. Albert Fredericks.” His incredibly smooth voice flowed over Cassie like cool water. She couldn’t place the accent. “I’m delighted to meet you, my dear. Have you settled into your new home?”
Cassie tried to relax as she answered, “We’re still trying to get acclimated.” Her words held an undertone of irony. If today was any indication, fitting into this community could prove impossible.
“Ah, you mean the fine folk of Keenonburg.” He shrugged his elegantly slim shoulders. “Small-minded buffoons for the most part. I’ve lived here for years, and they still treat me like an outsider—being a foreigner, you know.” Fredericks’s aristocratic face mirrored his belief that to look down on him was ridiculous. “The people of this town have no vision. They can’t see the potential of this vast land.” His face held a longing, faraway expression. He brought himself back to the present with a shake. “Don’t let the people here disturb you. A beautiful woman like you need not worry about such things.”
Cassie let the compliment pass, cocking her head as she studied him. “Germany?”
He laughed, emitting little sound—as though laughter was a seldom-used tool. “Austria, my dear. Much more civilized.”
She had to hide a small smile of disbelief. He’d certainly traveled to the opposite end of the spectrum for civilization. “Of course,” she answered, wondering why he was showing an interest in her.
“If you need any assistance in selling your land, I’d be pleased to help you.”
Summer Rose Page 3
