The Cattleman Meets His Match

by Sherri Shackelford

  Moira lifted a peppermint drop. “Why steal something if she’s not even going to eat it?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s got to stop. I’ve given her some leeway considering what she’s been through. I don’t think we’re doing her any favors by not addressing the problem.”

  John squeezed Moira’s trembling hand. “We’ll handle this.”

  Together they crossed the distance to the boardinghouse. The girls and Agnes had gathered in the parlor, laughing and chattering about the discovery of Tony’s uncle.

  Agnes lifted her head when they entered. “This calls for a celebration, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I think we should make a cake.” Sarah stood and dusted her hands. “Chocolate.”

  Tony nodded. “That’s my favorite.”

  The girls bustled into the kitchen and Moira placed a hand on Hazel’s shoulder. “Why don’t you stay behind?”

  The young girl paled. “This is about Mr. Stuart’s store, isn’t it?”

  Moira nodded.

  Hazel sat on the divan and Moira and John flanked her. Moira spread the contents of the bag on the table. “These things were discovered in your room.”

  A single fat tear rolled down the little girl’s cheek. “Are you going to send me away?”

  “Absolutely not,” Moira declared.

  John admired the fierce note of protectiveness in her tone.

  Hazel’s face brightened, then fell once more. “Sarah and Tony have a family. I don’t have anything.”

  “That doesn’t give you the right to take things.”

  “Am I a bad person?”

  Moira sighed. “No. Remember what Mr. Elder said at the fort? Well, he was right. We have to forgive ourselves before we can move on. I have my own confession to make. I stole something too once.”

  Hazel gasped.

  John gaped. His memory flitted over something she’d said the day he’d gotten skunked on the trail. If she could go back to any time in history, she’d right a wrong.

  “What did you steal?” Hazel asked.

  “I stole a watch.” Moira snapped open her reticule and fished out a brass watch. “When I was your age I lived with a family that wasn’t very nice to me.”

  “Like Mrs. Vicky?”

  “Very much like Mrs. Vicky. This watch belonged to Mr. Gifford. My brother and I rolled cigars and Mr. Gifford timed us. I hated the sound of the ticking. One day, I couldn’t stand it anymore. When he left it on the table, I took it. I don’t even know why. It happened so quickly. I hid it in the pantry behind a tin of crackers.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Mrs. Gifford and I went to the store that morning. When I came back, my brother was gone.” Moira’s voice grew thick with emotion. “You see, Mr. Gifford thought Tommy had stolen the watch. They fought and...” Her voice broke. “They fought and Tommy ran away. I figured Tommy would come back and I could explain things, admit what I’d done. Only he never came back.”

  John’s throat tightened. Her obsession over her brother crystallized in his mind. No wonder she wouldn’t be at peace until she found him.

  Hazel blinked. “Did you ever find him?”

  “No. I’m still looking. I kept this watch because I didn’t know what else to do. After so much time had passed, I was afraid of admitting the truth. Of confessing what I’d done. It’s time I returned the watch. It isn’t right, keeping it after all this time.”

  “What if he’s mad?”

  “I have to take responsibility for my own actions.”

  Hazel stared at the table. “I guess I should return these things.”

  “Mr. Elder and I will accompany you. But I think it’s important we set things straight before we move on. For both of our sakes.”

  “Can I help make the cake?” Hazel said.

  “Of course,” Moira said.

  She left the room, and Moira kept her face averted.

  John ached to reach across the distance, but he was afraid she’d pull away. “That was a very brave thing you just did.”

  “I should have done it a long time ago. I was holding on to the past, I guess.”

  “I think you still are.”

  She tucked her chin to her chest. “What else would you like me to do?”

  “Forgive yourself.”

  “I can’t. You must see that. Tommy has to forgive me.”

  “What happened with Tommy wasn’t your fault.” John touched her chin and turned her face toward him. “Listen to me. You weren’t there when Tommy and Mr. Gifford fought. You don’t know what happened between them.”

  “I know I set the whole event in motion.” Tears welled in her eyes. “And Tommy must blame me. I haven’t heard from him since that day.”

  “You mustn’t give up hope.”

  “If it wasn’t the watch, then it was just me.”

  “No, it wasn’t you.”

  John had been relentlessly searching for her brother since before they’d left Fort Preble. Two days ago they’d received a telegram from a man who’d seen their story in the paper. A man who claimed to be her brother. The marshal thought it was legitimate, but no one wanted to see Moira disappointed.

  Her words added fuel to his hunt. He thought of his brothers, of Jack and Robert, their children and their wives. Anything could happen. There were no guarantees in life. He wasn’t waiting until he had a successful ranch before he’d court Moira, he was only waiting until she squared things with her brother. He didn’t know what the future held for the siblings, and he didn’t want Moira torn between the love of her brother and his love. If they needed time together, he’d wait. Only he loved her and he didn’t want to wait. He wanted to start their lives together right then. He’d trust in God’s plan. If the timing was right, he’d know.

  If he found her brother, if he proved to her she could forgive herself...after that, he’d campaign in earnest. Maybe she’d have him, maybe she wouldn’t, but he wasn’t giving up without a fight.

  “I almost forgot,” he said. “I have something for you.”

  * * *

  Moira sat with hands folded in her lap, her knuckles white. What did he have for her? She couldn’t tell from his expression if the delivery was a good thing or a bad thing.

  John returned a short while later with two enormous fabric-wrapped boxes.

  He set the colorful packages on the low table before her and stepped back.

  Moira tilted her head. “What are they?”

  “You have to open them to find out.”

  She hesitantly lifted the lid from the first box and gasped. A beautiful porcelain doll rested in the satin lining.

  John cleared his throat. “It took me a while to find one with red hair.”

  Of all the things she’d been expecting, this had never crossed her mind. The exquisite doll wore an emerald green velvet coat with tiny brass buttons.

  He gestured toward the other box. “There’s more stuff in there. Clothes and things.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck.

  She reverently lifted the doll free, enchanted by the details of her painted face and elaborate clothing. Keeping the doll firmly tucked at her side, she lifted the lid from the second box and revealed a trove of tiny clothing in satins and velvets, as well as several tiny pairs of shoes.

  Her throat dry, she blinked several times. “I don’t understand. Is this a mistake? Shouldn’t this be for one of the girls?”

  He reached for the box. “It was a dumb idea,” he spoke gruffly. “I’ll take it back.”

  Moira leaned away. “No you won’t.”

  “Then you like the doll?”

  If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was embarrassed.

  “I love her. She’s beautiful. How did
you find something so perfect?”

  “I saw how much you liked Hazel’s doll. I thought you’d like one of your own.”

  Moira opened her mouth to speak, but emotion caught her words.

  He gestured again. “I bought one for Hazel, too. Didn’t want her to be jealous. And I got Tony a rifle and Sarah a fancy comb and brush.”

  “You didn’t have to get us anything.”

  “I wanted to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For reminding me of what’s important. I don’t regret coming out here. I’m where I need to be. But I’m a whole lot more thankful for the things I have. I’m not taking things for granted anymore.”

  She’d been wrong about her feelings. She wasn’t falling in love with him. She was in love with him.

  He paced before the fireplace. “Uh, well, looks like the girls will start school next week.”

  “Tony’s not real pleased.”

  “She doesn’t like being cooped up inside for too long.”

  Moira stared at the doll’s lovely face, the eyes a shade of green she was used to seeing in the mirror. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the doll had been specially made in her likeness. “I only went to school until I was twelve.”

  After the admission, she kept her eyes averted.

  “That’s better than me,” John said. “I went to school until I was sixteen, but I stopped paying attention around eleven.” He offered a lopsided grin. “You know that whatever happens, there will always be a place for you here.”

  Her chest tightened. She was foolish to read anything special into his words. She was simply another responsibility. Sheriff Taylor had called him an honorable cowboy. Of course he was looking out for her. He was looking out for her the same as he’d looked out for the other girls.

  She cleared her throat. “How are things for you?”

  “Good. Real good. The house needs work. The pastures are good, though. I need more hands. It’ll be a proper working ranch soon.”

  “I guess things turned out okay.”

  “They did.” He paused. “They’ll work out for you, too. You’ll see.”

  He knelt before her and cupped her face with both hands. “I’m fixing to kiss you, if you don’t mind.”

  Too startled for thinking clear, Moira nodded.

  The pull between them sparked into a flame as his lips found hers and his hands slipped around her waist. A fierce yearning took hold and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she tried to pour her feelings into the kiss. The moment stretched out and new wondrous feelings surged through her heart.

  He stood, stepped back a pace and planted his hands on his hips.

  She gaped at his sudden withdrawal. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Had her enthusiasm embarrassed him?

  “Of course not, but I can’t think while we’re kissing and I have something I need to say.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I love you and I want to marry you. It’ll be hard. I’m just starting out. I don’t know what the years will bring, but I’ll always take care of you. I don’t want you to answer yet. Think on it for a couple of days.” He heaved a breath. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

  Her thoughts tumbled in confusion. He loved her, but he didn’t want an answer. Why was he waiting? “Are you certain?”

  “Of course I’m certain. I mean it though, I don’t want your answer until next week. I need to know you’re with me all the way.

  “All...all right.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.

  He huffed out a breath as though he’d just run a mile. “Well, that’s settled then.”

  After his hasty retreat, Moira sat in stunned silence.

  He loved her, he wanted to marry her, yet he didn’t want an answer yet. Was he uncertain of her feelings, or his?

  Chapter Eighteen

  A week following John’s startling marriage proposal, Moira plucked weeds from the garden behind the boardinghouse. She had to make her decision today. Confusion had her thoughts jumbled. She kept waiting for a sign to give her some indication of why John had wanted her to wait before giving her answer. She was no closer to figuring out her next move and she’d decided to avoid people altogether. Part of her wanted to march right over to John’s ranch and give him a piece of her mind. Why had he put her off? Was he having doubts? She’d snatched her bonnet from the peg three times this morning, and three times her courage had faltered before she reached the door.

  When the gate squeaked open, she kept her head bent, hoping the person would note her lack of interest and move on. Footsteps padded through the rows of vegetables—late tomatoes and squash. She should have told John that if he didn’t want an answer right then, he shouldn’t have asked the question. She should have let the Cains take custody of Hazel. Should, should, should. Despite all the things she should be doing, here she was, crouching between the rows of pea vines, plucking weeds while wearing the gloves she’d kept from the cattle drive like a sentimental fool.

  “Moira?”

  At the familiar voice, her breath caught and her vision blurred. Certain she was mistaken, she kept her head bent and yanked another weed from the soft-tilled earth.

  “Moira,” her brother whispered. “Aren’t you going to turn around?”

  She lifted her hand above her head and swiped the moisture from her face on her shoulder. “I can’t.”

  Tommy stepped closer and extended his hand. “Sure you can.”

  Moira grasped his fingers and he pulled her to her feet. She stared at him, searching his face, cataloging the changes the years had wrought. He wasn’t the image of a gangly teen she’d locked away in her memory. He was inches taller and his face had changed. His cheeks were thinner and his shoulders broader than when she’d seen him last.

  Her heartbeat raced and her stomach clenched. She’d waited four years for this moment and couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a hesitant grin. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  Collapsing into his arms, Moira sobbed. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  He tightened his hold and murmured soothing words against the top her head.

  Gathering herself, she stepped back and pinched off her gloves, then brushed at her dress. “I wish I’d have known you were coming. I would have worn something different. You should come inside. We’ll have a cup of tea.”

  They stepped back through the kitchen. After hasty introductions and more tears, Agnes hustled them into the parlor with promises of tea and cakes.

  They sat across from each other on the chintz-covered chairs flanking the fire. After all the anticipation, Moira found herself uncertain. “I’m sorry,” she blurted.

  Tommy rested his ankle on his bent knee. “For what?”

  “It’s my fault you ran away. And then you never came back.”

  “That wasn’t your fault.” He tipped forward and gripped the arms of her chair.

  “But I stole Mr. Gifford’s watch. Then he accused you.”

  Her brother collapsed back into his seat. “That wasn’t the reason. Not the whole of it, anyway. I just figured the old fool lost his own watch. Never even occurred to me you might have taken it. We were going to have it out sooner or later. That part was inevitable. I was so full of anger. It wouldn’t have mattered what he accused me of that day. I was leaving one way or another.”

  Nausea rose in the back of her throat. She was relieved and hurt at the same time. Questions filled her head. “Then you didn’t stay away because you blamed me?”

  “I stayed away because I knew I would only make things worse for you. Those first few months were rough. I found what work I could. Most times I was sleeping out in the fields.”

  “Why
didn’t you ever come for me?”

  “I did. Must have been a year and a half ago. But you’d already left the Giffords.”

  For a moment she didn’t believe him. Searching his face, she realized the truth. “Then you did try and find me?”

  “I wrote every few months that first year. When I never received a reply, I stopped writing.”

  “They never gave me your letters.”

  “I should have guessed as much.” He clasped his hands together and lifted his thumbs. “But I was struggling for my own survival.”

  “How did you finally find me?”

  “This.” He held up a copy of the Omaha Bee. “I read the story. I knew from the description and the name it had to be you. How in the world did you wind up on a cattle drive?”

  “Looking for you, of course. One of the maids at the Gifford house found part of your telegram in the fireplace. I made out the name Mr. Grey and Fool’s End.”

  “I only wish that maid had had the guts to bring you my letters sooner.”

  Moira waved his complaints aside. “You have to tell me. Why were you in Fool’s End?”

  Another knock sounded at the door. She made to rise and Tommy waved her down. “That’s the reason now. She was waiting. Giving us a few moments alone.”

  Who was waiting?

  Moira brushed at her skirts and straightened her collar. The door opened revealing a young woman with honey-colored hair pulled into a simple knot at the back of her head. She wore a smart gingham dress in shades of yellow with puffed sleeves and a high waist. With her hovering in the open door, the wind whipped at her skirts, plastering them against her belly and revealing the slight bulge of her stomach.

  Moira’s eyes widened. “Is this your...”

  “Wife. Yes. This is Ava Grey. Well.” He grinned. “Used to be Grey. Now it’s Ava O’Mara.”

  The woman smiled shyly and rubbed her belly.

  Moira rose unsteadily to her feet. “It’s, uh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. O’Mara.”

  “Call me Ava. We’re sisters now.”

  “Uhhh...well...uhhh...where are you staying?”