“It’s been over two years!” The words were forceful but voiced low so as not to reach the ears of the clerk. “The Association is going to be running us off if we don’t come up on the good side of this deal. We guaranteed them we’d have the small-timers gone by next month. You said you could get the job done!”
William’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think I don’t know that? You’re the one who said he was the perfect man for our plan! It’s not my fault he’s welching on his end.” His voice became a little too loud and drew a look from the curious teller.
But at that moment a patron entered the building, taking the man’s interest off their conversation. When it was once again safe to resume, Tom’s pale blue eyes flashed. “Keep it down, would you? This is not my fault. First,” the banker held up one short finger, “his wife isn’t nearly as timid and withdrawn as you said. She’s made friends with over half the country, for goodness’ sake! Second, he’s no longer willing to go along with our plan. And now…” A third finger joined the first two. “You’re telling me you think he might have a herd of horses back in those hills that could pay off his loan?”
William rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Things just don’t add up. He’s been making his payments?”
“Right on time, every time.”
William sighed. There was only one way to ensure their plan would work. “We know what the Association thinks. But how badly do you want your share of that land?”
Tom Roland dabbed at his glistening pate with a handkerchief. Then, leaning back, he lit a cigar and blew a ring of smoke in William’s direction. He wanted that land. The original owner had given up on ranching and moved back to Chicago, leaving the land up for sale. Tom had been tempted to buy the land himself, but then John Trent had walked into his bank. The only reason Tom had loaned John the money was that he was almost assured the gambler wouldn’t be able to come up with his payments. Then the land would revert to the bank, where Tom could discreetly snap it up at a lower price. That and the fact The Stockman’s Association had needed a scapegoat for their dirty work. But then John had developed a conscience. And, on top of that, he hadn’t missed one payment.
Tom ran his handkerchief across the back of his neck. Five thousand acres of the finest range land in central Oregon, and half of it was to be his. Well, maybe more than half, but he was careful to keep that thought off his face. Yes. He wanted that land very much. But a couple of things bothered him. “What about his wife?”
William smiled sardonically. “Let me worry about the little woman. Once John is out of the way, she’ll give up. There’s no way she’ll be able to make a go of it. They’ve only got two hands.”
“The Stockman’s Association will break loose with all the fury of Hades if this doesn’t pan out,” Tom warned. “They were plenty upset that I let him buy that land in the first place. And if things don’t work out for me, you know they certainly aren’t going to work out for you, right?”
“Things couldn’t be clearer. Have I ever let you down before?”
Tom blew another ring. “No, William, you haven’t. But let’s make sure this isn’t the first.”
William’s gaze hardened. “Tom, this better be the last time you need my services. A man’s patience can only be stretched so far.”
“Just do your job, William. Do your job and let the future take care of itself.”
The men glared at each other across the desk. Tom didn’t want to be the first to look away. Finally William conceded the battle.
Tom looked down at his desk, pulling in a deep drag on his cigar. “Now, back to the job at hand. I think we both know there is only one way to solve this little problem.”
The two men’s eyes locked. A silent understanding passed between them.
William stood, straightened his cowhide vest with a tug, and placed his hat carefully on his head. He shook Tom’s fleshy hand and said loud enough for the teller to hear, “Thanks. You won’t regret making me this loan, Mr. Roland.”
With that, he moved toward the door, stepping out into the cold. He took a cleansing breath of the refreshing air, then headed toward the livery, his boots thudding loudly on the boardwalk. He had a job to do back home. And maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right, by the end of the year he’d be owner of some of the finest range land in Oregon, not to mention the husband of one beautiful, desirable Mrs. Dominique Trent. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth at the thought. Yes, indeed, now that was a dream worth chasing.
2
“Sawyer Carlos Trent! ¿¡Que es esto!?” Nicki threw up her hands in distress at the mess on her kitchen floor. Flour, beans, rice, and sugar were all scattered delightfully across the earthen floor, swirled together and crawled through. Baby handprints on a mound of flour and beans showed where the budding artist had patted his creation together.
Clenching her fists at her side, Nicki went in search of her little virtuoso. It wasn’t hard to find him; she just followed the flour-white footprints on the dark, hard-packed, earthen floor. He was crouched behind the chest that held their clothes. As she scooped him up and started back toward the kitchen, Nicki found herself wishing for the umpteenth time that she could put the supplies up somewhere higher, but there just wasn’t anyplace else to store them. There was barely room enough to stand up straight in the low-roofed, tiny kitchen, much less add higher cupboards.
Sitting the boy down firmly in the middle of the mess Nicki gestured to the floor around him. “Look at this mess you made for Mama to clean up!” She squatted down in front of him, tucking an escaped strand of hair behind her ear, the other fist resting under her chin.
Sawyer’s chin dropped to his chest and his lower lip protruded in a calculated pout.
Nicki tried not to give in to the smile that suddenly tugged at the corners of her mouth as she gazed into his sweet face. “Sawyer, Mama has told you not to get into the food. This is very naughty.”
Tears pooled on his lower lids, making his huge dark eyes seem even larger. The pout was still in place. “I sowwee, Mama.”
“Está bien. That’s good. I’m glad you’re sorry, but we have talked about this before. You are going to sit in the corner while I clean this up.”
His rosy lower lip still pooching out, he stood to his flour-dusted feet. Dark head bent toward the floor, he crossed his arms over his chest and did not move.
“Go on, Son. I will come get you when I’m done.”
Feet dragging, he made his way to the corner and sat, casting a how-could-you-do-this-to-me look over his shoulder before he slumped forward, resting chubby cheeks on chubby hands.
When Nicki was sure he wasn’t looking, she allowed herself to smile. Poor boy. The winter was getting long. If only the weather would warm up, then they could go outside and he would have more room to play.
Looking back to the mess, she tossed her hands toward the ceiling in frustration and moved to get the broom and dust pan.
When the mess was cleaned up, Nicki walked over to get Sawyer, only to find that he had fallen asleep on the floor. Stooping, she picked him up and rested his head against her breast. She grinned down at the white print of his bottom on the dark earth floor, then gazed lovingly into his sleep-flushed face. Tenderly she dropped a kiss onto his rosy cheek as tears pooled in her eyes. Blinking, she raised her face to the ceiling.
Thank You, God, for this precious little boy. He has kept me going these past couple of years. You knew just what I needed to make it through this life, didn’t You? You have blessed me beyond measure.
Moving to the room’s one bed, she laid Sawyer down and smoothed his dark curls. Gently covering him with his favorite patchwork blanket, she moved to add more wood to the stove. Today was exceptionally cold.
She eased herself down at the table, thankful to have a little quiet time. Reaching for her Bible, the one Mama had pressed into her hands that day that seemed like a lifetime ago, she thumbed through the pages. She settled on one of her favorite psalms and lea
ned back to read. But she only got to verse four. Pausing, she stared at the page. But she wasn’t seeing the words, she was hearing them.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For you are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.”
Nicki could remember like it had happened yesterday—Father Pedro from the mission school she had attended as a child, explaining those words. “The psalmist, he was a shepherd, no?” The class had nodded. “And when his sheep were in danger, what did he use to protect them, besides his sling shot?”
“His rod and staff,” the class echoed in unison.
“Good! You sometimes listen when I teach, eh?” He smiled good-naturedly. “Yes. The rod and staff, and in the same way, when death comes knocking on our doors,” he rapped loudly on his wooden desk for emphasis, causing several of the girls to jump and a titter of laughter to pass through the room, “we know that our Heavenly Father, who loves us much more than a shepherd loves his sheep, will come to our aid, yes?”
Again the class nodded.
“Good! God loves you. He is not going to abandon you to the wolves, and predators of this world. It says He will be with you! Imagine that: God with you, helping you, protecting you. Ahhh, now that is a God worth serving, yes?”
The thunder of horses’ hooves in the yard brought Nicki back to the present. She frowned and stood to see who it might be. John was not supposed to be back from checking the ranch perimeter until later this evening.
Jason whipped off his hat, taking the four creaky stairs up to Gram’s porch in two strides. The hinges groaned loudly as, not bothering to knock, he opened the door and entered the house where he had been raised. Excitement built inside him. Gram hadn’t changed a thing about the house since he’d left. Her rocker still sat by the front window with her worn Bible and spectacles on the table beside it. The woven rag rug that he and Marquis had spent all one winter creating still graced the floor in front of the fireplace. The settee still sported one of her handknit afghans draped across the arm, and the painting he’d done of a wolf pack when he was about thirteen still hung on the wall above the mantle in all its hideousness. He grinned. He’d tried to talk her into taking that down a number of times, but she had never done it. She said it was her reminder to pray for him. Well, he wouldn’t argue with that anymore. He could use all the prayers he could get.
He made his way quietly through the house, anticipating the delighted surprise that would dawn on Gram’s face when she saw him.
The living room and dining room were at the front, but at the back there was also a small parlor used just for family. It was there Jason assumed Gram and Marquis to be. If they were anywhere else in the house, they would have heard him enter through the squeaky portal.
Jason stepped into the back hallway.
“Jeff, don’t!” Marquis’ voice drifted through the door from the parlor.
His heart seized in his chest. Don’t what? Jason had heard that strained tone before. She meant what she was saying.
“Jeff, stop it!”
Jason paused, wondering who Jeff might be. He eased the strap off his pistol and debated whether he should enter the parlor with gun in hand. “Jeff!”
Marquis’ squeal sent shivers of alarm racing through Jason’s veins and, without further hesitation, he barged through the door.
A man was leaning over Marquis, seated on the settee, about to kiss her! “What in—Marquis!” Jason lunged across the room, grabbed the man by one shoulder, spun him around, and smashed one fist solidly into his mouth.
The man staggered and fell to the floor.
Marquis screamed. “Jeff? What happened?” Hands outstretched, she felt swiftly for her cane.
Before the man on the floor could even blink, Jason had the barrel of his gun leveled at his head. Never taking his eyes off the man on the floor, Jason said, “Marquis are you all right?”
Marquis, one hand clutching her cane and the other on her chest, asked in a tremulous voice, “Jason?”
“Don’t worry, Marquis, I’m here. This man won’t be bothering you again, ever.” The last word he directed at the man on the floor who now gingerly wiped the bloodied corner of his mouth. With a gesture of his free hand Jason directed the man to get up, but the barrel of his gun never wavered.
Suddenly Marquis recovered from her shock. “Jason! Did you just punch Jeff?” Then her voice became truly alarmed. “Jeff! Are you okay?”
“I’m all right, Marquis. Who is this madman? A jilted admirer?” Jeff was now on his feet but kept his hands carefully in sight.
“Well...this is Jason.” Then, “Jason, is it really you?”
“Yeah, I came home to see you and Gram.”
With more confidence this time Marquis said, “Jeff, I’d like you to meet Jason.”
“Well, honey, I know you have a brother named Jason, but this tornado on wheels couldn’t be him, could it?”
Marquis smiled. “I’m afraid so, dear.”
Jason frowned, perplexed at Marquis’ endearment. “Marquis? You know this man?”
At this Marquis giggled. “Jason, I would like you to meet my husband, Jeff Grant.”
“Husband!”
Marquis nodded serenely and Jeff, hands now resting on his hips, glared passionately.
Jason glanced down at the gun in his hand and then back to Jeff. A slow smile spread. “Husband, huh?”
Jeff nodded.
Jason holstered the gun and extended his hand. “Sorry.”
Marquis, hearing the whisper of metal on leather, gasped. “Jason! Jeff, was he holding a gun on you?”
Jeff wiped the corner of his mouth once more, eyeing Jason’s extended hand. “Yes he was, Marquis.” Then a hint of a smile showed in his eyes as he spoke to Jason, taking his hand. “I guess you must love her at least half as much as I do.”
Jason grinned. “What were you hollering about anyway, Marquis? With you yelling, I just assumed he was forcing his attentions on you.”
A blush shaded Marquis’ cheeks. And Jeff took a step toward Marquis, resting one hand protectively on her shoulder.
“Jeff was...tickling me.”
Jason rubbed a hand across his mouth to hide another smile. Jeff tossed him an unrepentant grin as he gently squeezed Marquis’ shoulder.
Irritation flooded in. “Well, you could’ve at least given me some warning. A guy likes to know when his sister is getting married. Or is married.”
“Oh Jason, I’m so sorry. We didn’t know when you’d be able to make it home. When you didn’t respond to our first telegram, we sent Rocky to the Triple J to find you, but they said you had gone to Dodge City and they didn’t know exactly when you would be back. So we went ahead with the ceremony. But I sent you a telegram telling you all about it.”
“To Dodge City! That was November! How long have you two been married?”
“Two months.”
“Two months! Marquis, I left in October. If you’ve been married two months that means you got married sometime in November and that means you couldn’t have known this man for more than three or four weeks before you got married.”
Marquis’ unseeing stare was complacent. “Jason you’re starting to sound a little paranoid.”
Jason opened his mouth to reply, then glanced at Jeff and snapped it shut. This man was his brother-in-law, after all. And he was already glaring at him like a mad bull about to charge.
“For your information, dear brother,” there was an icy tension in Marquis’ words, “Jeff and I wrote to each other for two years before we ever met.”
“You wrote to each other.” Jason turned to Jeff. “You know Braille?”
Jeff gave a single nod.
Marquis continued, “Jeff is a professor at a school for the blind in Portland. The school had some correspondence courses, one of which I enrolled in, and that is how we met.”
Jason didn’t feel like talking about this anymore. “Where’s Gram?”
; “She went down to the mercantile to get some things,” Jeff answered.
Jason spun on his heel. “I’ll get you some ice for that cut,” he tossed over his shoulder as he stomped toward the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Jason leaned his fists into the counter, hunching his shoulders as he stared out the window in thought. What was suddenly making him feel edgy? He trusted Marquis and knew she wouldn’t have rushed into marriage hastily. In fact, now that he thought about it, he remembered her mentioning she was corresponding with a man from a school for the blind. He hadn’t paid much attention at the time. But now she was married and he...
He what? He hadn’t been there? He was the last to know? He wasn’t needed by her anymore? Was that it?
Understanding hit him like a 2,000-pound charging bull. I’m angry, aren’t I, Lord?
Banging through the back door, Jason headed toward the dugout, where he knew a block of ice would be. As he chipped away some of his frustration on the block resting in the dim, dank cellar, he chastised himself for being so temperamental. He should be happy for his sister; instead he felt a petty irritation over the fact that she no longer needed his support.
“Okay, Lord,” he said out loud, pausing to glance out the door, “if you sent this man to Marquis, then he must be what she needed. Just help me to accept him. Open my eyes to his good qualities. And help me to know where I should go from here with my life.”
Marquis had a husband. So what was he to do now? Truth-telling, there were virtually no jobs to be found in the little town of Shilo, and he had known it would take some doing to find work. He had planned on having Marquis move back into Gram’s room so he could stay in the second bedroom for a while as he searched for a job. But somehow he didn’t think that Marquis and her young husband would enjoy sharing a room with Gram.
The thought brought a brief smirk, before he grew serious again.
Marquis would no longer need his financial support…but Gram would. He’d start looking for work tomorrow. The Lord would iron out the housing situation. For now he could sleep on the floor.
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