by Ana Seymour
Molly chuckled. “I would hope not.”
He seized her waist. “I could show them off to you, though, boss lady. Just one more time before we start to work—over there in that nice soft pile of hay.”
“Take your randy hands off me, Parker Prescott. You’ve got me a crew to find, and I’ve got my own things to get done.”
He leaned over and spoke softly. “You think about what you’re missing as you ride along in that hard saddle today.”
“Parker!”
“Well, lady. What do you expect me to have on my mind after a night like you just gave me?”
“Work. The ranch.”
“Ah, yes. The ranch.” He released her and gave a shrug of resignation. “So, what are you going to do today?”
She hesitated for a moment. “I’m riding over to the Lazy D.”
His teasing expression dropped in an instant. “The hell you are.”
Molly bristled. “I beg your pardon?”
“You expect me to let you ride on over so Dickerson can put his hands on you again?”
Molly let out a slow breath. The fresh spring breeze suddenly seemed colder. “I don’t expect you to let me do anything, Parker. I’m still the boss around here, remember?”
He’d shaved that morning and now he drew the back of his hand across his smooth cheek as if it had been slapped. “I remember,” he said quietly. “But I don’t want you going over to the Lazy D. Not unless I’m with you.”
Molly looked at him, dumbfounded. “You’re not being serious, I hope,” she said, though he appeared in deadly earnest.
“Yes, I am.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, at an impasse. Molly felt like pinching herself to see if the entire night they had just spent and the past two minutes of conversation were both part of some kind of dream—or nightmare. Before she had met Parker she had sworn she would never fall in love, never give a man control over her life. He had changed that. His easy charm and uninhibited ability to laugh at himself had made her believe that this was a man who would never expect her to subjugate herself in any way to his will. Now they weren’t even engaged yet, and he was forbidding her from riding over to visit her neighbors. She could scarcely believe her own ears.
She pulled herself up stiffly. “You have your orders for the day, cowboy. I’ll see you at supper.” She turned away from him and tugged at her horse’s cinch.
“I don’t like Jeremy,” Parker said, making his tone a little less dictatorial. “And I don’t trust him. Yesterday he threatened to make Harry Tichenor lose his job if he didn’t drop the investigation of the lynching.”
“He’s nervous about it. So are a lot of the men who were on the posse that night. But I know most of them, and they’re good people at heart.”
“Yeah, well, Dickerson’s not one of your good people.”
“I guess I can be the judge of that.”
“Molly, I-”
She shook her head and interrupted him. “I don’t want to hear it, Parker. If you aren’t going to be able to let me run my life the way I’ve been doing perfectly well for some ten years now, then what we thought we were beginning last night is going to end right now.”
Parker gave a growl of exasperation and kicked at a clump of hay. “You are the most damned stubborn woman I’ve ever…”
But before he could even finish his sentence she’d swung up on Midnight’s back and ridden out of the barn.
Chapter Sixteen
Parker was mad enough to kick a cow chip all the way to the Pacific Ocean, but he retained enough sanity to realize that it wasn’t fair to take his temper out on the laconic Harry Tichenor. Harry had put up with his ill mood all morning, and the only comment he’d made on the subject was a brief “You New York gents do get grouchy sometimes, don’t ya?”
The remark had been enough to make Parker pause for a moment. For the truth was, he’d never been the grouchy type. The only person who’d ever made him lose his temper in the past had been his sister, Amelia. He’d never once gotten angry with Claire. Of course, Claire had always gone right along with everything Parker had suggested.
Smokey and Parker had set out early from the ranch to begin to search for men to hire on temporarily for a spring roundup. The Grizzly Bear had been empty at such an early hour, so Parker had told Smokey to wait around there while he went to see if the marshal had made any progress on his investigation.
He’d found Tichenor still at breakfast at the Grand, and the marshal had invited him to have some coffee while he waited for a man who had promised information on the lynching.
“Not on the lynching, exactly,” he explained to Parker, “but rather on the murder of Johnny the Oyster.”
Parker’s eyes widened. “You mean Ole might not have been the murderer after all?”
“I don’t know. I just got this message yesterday at the hotel. It said the man would meet me here this morning. There was no signature.”
It was nearly noon, and they’d almost concluded that the message had been a hoax, when a cowboy in butterfly chaps and a silver-trimmed vest entered the dining room, looking around nervously. When he spotted the marshal he stopped for a minute, studying Parker. Then he walked over to their table.
“I wanted to talk to you alone, Marshal,” he mumbled. It was hard to understand him. He had a front tooth missing and tried to keep his upper lip covering the gap while he talked.
“Mr. Prescott is involved in the investigation,” Tichenor said vaguely. “You can speak in front of him.” He motioned the man to a chair at the other side of the table.
The cowboy shook his head. “I ain’t sittin’ down with you, Marshal, no offense. I jest want to say my piece and get this off my conscience—so Johnny can rest quiet in his grave.”
The marshal sat back in his chair and nodded calmly, giving no indication of the intense interest he was feeling at the man’s words. Parker tried to emulate his demeanor. “What’s your name, cowboy?” Tichenor asked.
“Taylor.”
“And your first name?”
“Taylor’s good enough. Do you want to hear what I come to say or not?”
The man had begun to look around the room again and a bead of sweat trickled from underneath his hat. “Yes, I do, Mr. Taylor. What do you know about your friend’s death?”
“Murder, you mean.”
“Yes, murder. He was shot in the back.”
“That’s the thing of it, Marshal. They shot him in the back like a low-down varmint. Johnny didn’t deserve an end like that.”
“Who shot him, Mr. Taylor?” Tichenor’s voice was low, soothing.
“Dickerson. He done it himself.”
Parker made a sudden movement in his chair, but Tichenor motioned him to be still. “Which Dickerson are we talking about—Jeremy?”
“Yeah. The mangy skunk.”
“Did you see Mr. Dickerson shoot Johnny?”
“We all saw it. Johnny was saying as how he didn’t want to be messing around anymore with the Lucky Stars cattle. Dickerson told him to shut his mouth, but when Johnny kept on about it, he just up and shot him.”
“Where was this, Mr. Taylor?”
“Out at the ranch—the Lazy D. But then Mr. Jeremy says we’ve got to take the body into town and make it look like he was shot by some drunk.”
Parker could no longer sit still in his chair. “Molly rode over to Dickerson’s place this morning,” he said grimly.
“Mr. Taylor,” the marshal said, “I’m going to ask you to stay here at the hotel until we can put Mr. Dickerson under arrest and get a statement from you.”
Taylor looked uneasy. “I don’t know about any statement….”
“This is a murder case, Mr. Taylor. I’m afraid you have certain obligations here.”
“I jest did it for Johnny. So’s he could rest in peace.”
“Well, you did the right thing. But it can’t end here. If Mr. Dickerson committed a murder, he has to be brought to justice. That�
��s the only way your friend will really be at peace.”
Taylor rubbed his hands along the tops of his chaps and scuffled his feet. “I reckon,” was all he said, but he didn’t look happy about it.
The marshal stood up and said, “I guess I’ll have to deputize you, Prescott. I’d be a damned fool to ride out to the Lazy D by myself.”
Parker was still looking at the cowboy. “What did you mean by Johnny not wanting to mess with Lucky Stars cattle?”
Taylor looked at the ground. “You know…messin’ with them. Spookin’ them, cuttin’ the calves away from their mamas. Things like that. Mr. Jeremy said it was fer the Hanks’s own good—so they’d realize they needed a man around the place. A lot of the other hands agreed with him.”
“What about poisoning heifers? Shooting mules?”
Taylor looked scared. “I don’t know nothin’ about that. All I ever done was the messin’.”
“No one’s accusing you of anything, Taylor.” The marshal pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to him. “I want you to go on up and lock yourself in my hotel room until we get back here. I’ll have them send you up a nice steak dinner, how’s that?”
The frightened look faded from his eyes and he took the key. “You think they might find a couple of beers to go along with that?”
“I’ll see to it,” the marshal agreed with a nod.
Ned and Hiram Dickerson had obviously made their excuses after dinner to leave Molly and Jeremy alone in the Dickersons’ parlor. Molly had not enjoyed the meal. She was still fuming about Parker’s high-handed treatment of her that morning. Though underneath her anger, she had to admit, there was a touch of satisfaction in the idea that Parker didn’t want her anywhere near Jeremy. He might couch it in fancy words, but it was jealousy, pure and simple. She discarded the notion that there was any other reason for her to stay clear of Jeremy. The supposed threats he had made had more than likely just been the two of them bristling at each other. They’d acted like two roosters in a single chicken coop since the first day they’d seen each other. It wasn’t so terrible, after all, to have two strong-minded men both wanting her. Maybe she’d give Parker a chance to make amends when she got home that evening.
“What are you smiling about?” Jeremy asked as they sat together on the Dickersons’ fancy brocade settee.
“Nothing. I should be getting on home. We have plenty of work to do now that spring’s coming.” Now was the moment to speak with Jeremy about the roundup she was planning. It had been the main reason she’d wanted to keep her appointment today, though she hadn’t given that explanation to Parker. She straightened her back. “In fact, I needed to talk to you about it. I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything, my dear.”
For a year she’d sworn that this moment would never come. She’d been afraid that asking for help meant showing weakness, proving that what the men said about her was true—a lady couldn’t run a ranch. But the fact that she was sitting here with Jeremy, about to ask for his assistance, without so much as a rapid heartbeat, was an indication of how much she’d changed over these past few weeks. Part of the change had come with growing up—becoming truly the boss and manager she’d thought herself before her father died. And part of the change was due to Parker. He’d shown her that she could be a woman, fully a woman, and still be the same strong, independent person her father had helped her become. She could wear a dress if she chose and still command respect. She could love—and be loved—without sacrificing her own identity. No matter what happened between the two of them, she’d always be grateful to Parker for that lesson. She was quite sure things would have been different if Jeremy had been the one she had fallen in love with.
“What was it you wanted to ask me?” Jeremy prompted.
“You and your father were right. I need to get my cattle marked.” She was pleased with the businesslike tone of her voice. “Parker and Smokey are trying to recruit some help in town, but I’m not sure how successful they’ll be. If they don’t find enough men, I’d like to hire on some of yours, just for a few days.’ roundup.”
There was a look of satisfaction in Jeremy’s black eyes. “I’ve made you the same offer in the past and you’ve always turned up your nose at me.”
“I know. But I have a few more brains in my head than I used to have. In spite of what they say in town, there’s no doubt in my mind that a woman can run a cattle ranch. But she can’t run it by herself. I sure as heck can’t. I’m asking for your help.”
Jeremy leaned back against the rose-patterned damask. “Molly, I expect you know my feelings for you go beyond friendship.”
Molly held up her hand. “Let’s not mix up horses and mules here, Jeremy. We’re talking a business deal. I’ll pay you a commission on the men I hire, if you like.”
His eyes were slightly hooded. “We can’t talk about the one thing without the other, Molly. You realize that your ranch would be an excellent addition to the Lazy D holdings. If anyone else owned it and was having trouble keeping things under control, I’d just let them go bust and snatch the property up for myself.”
“What about all your father’s talk of being good neighbors?”
“My father’s a little past his prime these days, to tell you the truth,” he said with a bland smile.
“What exactly are you trying to tell me, Jeremy? Are you saying you won’t let your men help me unless I agree that our relationship is to progress ‘beyond friendship,’ as you put it?”
She was holding her temper in check. Jeremy had gone to such pains to be nice to her lately, she hadn’t anticipated that he would turn down her request.
“You make it sound sinister, my dear. I assure you I have nothing but honorable intentions. I hadn’t planned to ask you formally so soon after your father’s death, but I’ve always planned that you and I would be married.”
He’d reached his arm along the back of the settee and put his hand around the back of her neck. It sent a shiver skittering down her spine. “As you say, Jeremy, it’s not a good time for me to think about marriage. My first concern is getting the ranch back on its feet. I’m not thinking about anything else.”
He ran one long, cold finger up and down the side of her jaw. “Perhaps it’s time for you to start. If we were engaged, naturally the resources of the Lazy D would be at your disposal.”
Molly pulled her neck away from his grasp. “I’m sorry, Jeremy. If you insist on asking the question at this time, the answer is no. I’m not interested in marrying you.”
The only indication of his displeasure was a slight outward thrust of his thin lips. “Then I guess I won’t ask the question yet. I’ll give you time to consider the advantages… and the disadvantages of turning me down.”
“So does this mean you won’t help me?” The air in the tiny parlor had grown stuffy. Molly took a deep breath. It would put more pressure on her to have to find the hands elsewhere, but in a strange way she felt almost relieved to think that she wouldn’t, after all, be owing anything to the Dickersons.
“We’ll discuss the whole picture again in a week or so. As I say, after you’ve had time to think. And there’s another rather distasteful matter to consider.”
“Which is?”
“I’ve been informed that you were talking to the territorial marshal about the night we both were involved in the… execution of a murderer.”
“The lynching, you mean. Which I expect was a bit more than distasteful to Ole Pedersson.”
“Pedersson was too pickled to know what hit him. And the hanging was perfectly legal. However, I understand that the marshal is still nosing around about it. I want you to promise not to get further involved.”
She frowned. “I can hardly promise that. I was there, remember?”
“Yes, well, that was unfortunate, as I told you at the time. But it can be arranged for the others on the posse that night to conveniently forget your presence. I don’t want you mixed up in this.”
“You’re too late,
Jeremy. I’ve already told Marshal Tichenor exactly what went on that night. And if he wants me to swear to it in court, I’ll do it.”
He was silent for a long moment, his expression dark. Then he stood and held out his hand to help her up. “I’ll let you get back to your duties, Molly. But I hope you’ll give some serious consideration to my offer.”
She took his hand reluctantly. She’d expected his proposal of marriage for some time, but she hadn’t anticipated that it would sound so menacing. In fact, everything about Jeremy’s oily manner was making her quite nervous. Perhaps Parker had been right this morning after all. It might just be her imagination, but at the moment she wanted nothing more than to ride away from the Lazy D and never come back.
“Why didn’t you stop that blasted marshal from talking with Molly?” Jeremy asked furiously.
Sam Benton stood facing him, wringing the brim of his hat in his two hands. “There wasn’t anything I could do about it. Hell, he’s talked to everyone in the whole damn territory, it seems like. The man never wears down.”
“Well, Molly’s the one we need to worry about. The ranchers who were part of it should hold up all right. And I don’t think I’ll have any trouble with my men. They saw firsthand what happens to a dirty traitor.”
“You shouldn’t have shot the Oyster, Jeremy. You should’ve just turned him off the place.”
“For him to go blabbing his story all over the territory? No, he had to be eliminated. And it served as a good lesson to the others.”
“But if the marshal—”
“To hell with the marshal. The only person who can cause trouble is Molly, and once she’s my wife, she’ll cease to be a problem.”
“When are you gonna marry her?”
“In due time. She may need a little more persuasion first. Her cattle problems have almost convinced her that she can’t get on without my help. Perhaps something a little more drastic will push her the rest of the way.”
