After listening to Pearce excitedly regale her with sheep breeds and fleece output in terms that bordered on lusty, Reid called an end to the visit.
That’s when Cheryl demurred, rose and promptly fainted dead away into the Pearce’s arms.
Now if that wasn’t high drama worthy of the stage, Reid would eat his new felt hat with its Montana peak.
Ever since then, Cheryl had put on a fine show of rallying from exhaustion. But though she said all the right things and looked woebegone, she overplayed her part with Pearce’s help.
Yep, there was something between the two that went beyond friends. Reid just wished he could tell if they’d taken their friendship past the talking stage, because while he would tolerate a bit of flirting, he wouldn’t stand for anything more.
“You’re looking better now,” Reid told Cheryl, which earned him a chastising frown from Pearce and a weak smile from her.
“I am endeavoring to soldier on,” she said.
That she was, but for what reason? “You’re doing a right fine job.”
A flush stole over her face as she peered up at Reid. “I dislike inconveniencing you.”
“You’re not, but we’re surely putting Mr. Pearce out.”
“Not in the least,” Pearce rushed to say.
“Still, it’s time we headed back to the Crown Seven,” Reid said.
“Do you think that’s wise?” Before Reid could answer, Pearce was speaking to Cheryl. “I wouldn’t wish for you to have a setback.”
“I don’t think there’s any fear of that.” Reid smiled at Cheryl and extended his arm to her. “Let’s be on our way.”
It’d be dark in another hour. Besides, Erston was at the ranch with Ellie and he didn’t trust that Englishman any farther than he could toss him.
Cheryl got to her feet with surprising ease and rested her gloved hand on his. “Oh, dear. I feel dreadful causing such a ruckus my first day here.”
“Don’t be.” He just hoped Ellie hadn’t set fire to anything while he’d been gone.
“Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Pearce.” Cheryl paused at the door, her expression as bland as milk.
“It was my pleasure,” he said. “When you feel up to it and the weather is cooperative, I’d like to show you the Rambouillet rams I acquired.”
“I’d enjoy that.”
And that’s all it took for them to launch into a discussion about woolies again.
Reid shook his head. To hear and see Cheryl and Pearce together, it was obvious that both of them had sheep on the brain.
‘Course, there were some that said the same of him and his horses. But his plans had met with a serious backset. Just thinking of Kincaid stealing Cormac got him riled all over again.
Reid assisted Cheryl into the sleigh with Pearce hovering behind him like a nervous host. In moments, they set off back toward the Crown Seven. His intended was much more relaxed since her visit with Pearce. But was she happy because of the reunion with friends who shared a mutual love of sheep, or because she and Kenton Pearce were lovers? He wished he knew for sure.
Just because he’d spent nigh on a year looking for a woman who’d nudge his pecker into pumping again didn’t mean Cheryl had been searching England for a man to scratch her itch.
“You seem troubled,” Cheryl said.
He thought to deny it, then realized he should attempt to find some common ground with his future wife. “My stallion was stolen yesterday.”
“Oh, dear. Have the authorities endeavored to find this rustler?”
Reid laughed, thinking Cheryl had a lot to learn about life in the West. “Take a look around you. There’s miles upon miles of land for two lawmen and a posse to search. In weather like this, they’d rather stay by the fire.”
“I’ve never seen so much open space before. It takes one’s breath away.”
“That it does. But don’t let the beauty fool you. This weather is brutal. You’ve got to ask yourself if you could live here the rest of your life in the wild. Could you stand long winters of staying inside for weeks on end with nobody to talk to but your husband and the men that freeze their butts off tending your stock? Could you bundle up and work with them when the situation demanded it?”
“What if I said yes?”
“I’d say you were showing as much grit as your pa.”
She frowned at that. “Tell me about him.”
“He was a good man.”
“That’s better than knowing nothing.” She huddled beside him, head bowed again. “Did he ever mention me?”
Reid heard the longing in her voice and debated about lying to spare her feelings. But it hadn’t been that long back when he’d discovered that much of his past was a lie. He wasn’t about to do the same to Cheryl.
“A time or two,” he said.
The last time being before he agreed to leave America with Erston. He’d thought it odd at the time that Kirby wrangled a promise out of him to make sure his daughter got her shares of the Crown Seven. But he hadn’t believed Kirby was that close to dying.
It explained why Kirby hadn’t balked about selling his shares to Erston in exchange for securing Reid’s freedom.
“I used to dream that he’d come for me and bring me here, but he never did,” she said, her voice tinged with longing.
Reid could understand that, as he’d had the same hankering growing up. Reality could be cruel.
“Is everything all right, Cheryl?”
“Splendid. I’m so happy to be here.”
This time, she flashed him a wide smile, but it was the truth in her eyes that convinced him. Made him feel guilty too, because he surely would’ve preferred it if she’d have stayed in England.
Rifle shots echoed across the high plain, repeating too damned fast for his liking. He guessed the source was less than a mile from the Crown Seven.
“Are those gunshots?” Cheryl asked.
“Yep. Hang on.”
Reid flicked the reins over the horse’s back, damning the fact he was in a sleigh instead of on horseback, worried sick that he was racing toward unknown trouble with his intended. But he didn’t dare slow or backtrack to Pearce’s farm, for there was the fear that cattlemen were out “thinning woolies” and Pearce’s spread could be next.
He damned sure didn’t want Cheryl anywhere near that kind of hate.
“What’s wrong, Reid?”
“Damn if I know,” he said. “But if I tell you to drop down and cover your head, do it. You hear?”
“Clearly. But if we’re riding into danger, wouldn’t it be wiser to return to Mr. Pearce’s farm?”
“Told you before cattlemen and sheepmen don’t always mix,” he said. “Best thing we can do is get home.”
She huddled under the buffalo robe. “Oh, God.”
His gut was so tied up in knots he could scarce breath as he topped the last rise and his ranch came into view. He gave the whole a quick scan, noting the men gathered by the thoroughbreds’ stable, staring north.
Reid’s gaze followed that path. Booth Howard and a cowboy rode around the far hill and out of his view. Sunlight had glinted off their rifles pointing skyward, proof they were ready to use again.
Rustlers. Reid knew that was the cause of the commotion long before he raced the sleigh into the yard and hauled back on the reins. He spied Shane in the corral, saddling a horse.
Neal came running and steadied the sleigh. “Booth saw a man poking around the thoroughbreds, boss. When he hollered, the man forked a saddle and hightailed it.”
“Ready Kaw,” Reid shouted to Shane, then he jumped from the sleigh and lifted Cheryl down. “Get in the house and stay there.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Go after him.”
She held tight to his coat sleeve. “You can’t be serious.”
“Yes’m, I am. I’ve lost a stallion to a rustler. I don’t intend to lose more,” he said. “Now get in the house.”
Before she could offer further pro
test, Reid wheeled around and followed the path toward Shane and the restive gelding.
“Was the rustler riding Cormac?” he asked as the cowpoke cinched the saddle on his paint.
Shane shook his head. “He was on a dapple gray. You’re thinking it was Kincaid?”
“Seems the logical choice.”
Kincaid had probably sold his stallion by now and was back to nab another horse. It was damn clear the old man wasn’t going to give up. Well, neither was he.
He gathered the reins in one hand and vaulted onto the gelding’s back. The big animal pranced in place and quivered beneath him, but only for a heartbeat. Soon as he heeled the paint’s flanks, the gelding set off in a burst of energy down the trail already pounded down by the others.
If his men cornered Ezra Kincaid, he wanted to be there before things got out of hand. For this might be the last chance he’d get to make amends for the wrong done to the old man.
A case of nerves beset Ellie the second she heard shots fired. She’d craned her neck at the window as two men road off over the snowy plains, but she had no idea what had happened.
Her mind wasn’t eased one bit when Reid Barclay raced across the snow-packed plains a few moments later, kicking up a spray of white powder and looking more like an outlaw than a gentleman. What in the world had happened now?
She had been so busy baking that she hadn’t even known he’d returned from his jaunt out with his fiancée. And just reminding herself that he was off limits to her soured her mood. Blast it all! Would the man continually break through her defenses?
“Your gingerbread smells delightful,” Hubert said as he shuffled into the kitchen.
She smiled at the compliment and returned to the pan of icing she’d been whipping together before the shooting began. “Have you heard what happened?”
He took his time preparing tea before answering. “According to Miss Morris, she and Mr. Barclay heard shots as they were driving back from Pearce’s sheep farm. Mr. Barclay fears that Ezra Kincaid has struck again.”
She longed to disabuse Hubert and everyone else of the notion that her pa was rustling, but she couldn’t for fear he’d be lynched or arrested, which in the end would amount to the same. If the law caught him, he’d surely hang.
“If nothing else, Kincaid is the convenient scapegoat,” she said.
“Interesting observation,” he said as he added sugar and milk to his tea and left her wondering if she’d said too much. “I suppose we won’t know for sure who is doing what until he’s apprehended.”
She just hoped her pa wasn’t the man eventually caught. Or if he was apprehended, that he’d spend his days in jail instead of being hanged. The memory of that ugly red welt on his neck sickened her, for he’d almost died then.
Ellie fixed her attention on the gingerbread men she’d set to cool and said a quick prayer of thanks to Kirby Morris for saving her pa’s life. As for her cookies, they were a curious army of men with no two exactly alike, thanks to the fact she’d had the devil’s time removing the cut cookies from the board to the baking pan.
Some were short and stout. Others where long and thin—like the elusive Slim that her pa had come here to find.
Though she longed to question Hubert about him again, she knew she dare not bring up Slim’s name again. That would only rouse suspicion.
She turned down the top of a cheesecloth bag and filled it with white icing. A frown pulled at her brows, for the consistency was a bit thinner than it should be.
In fact, she had to fold up the open end to keep the icing from running out of her bag. Frustration danced along her limbs, for decorating cookies and cakes was one thing she knew how to do with aplomb. Yet this had all the promise of being a royal mess.
She had to pinch and release the end of the bag in minute amounts to keep the icing from pooling and creating too large eyes and buttons on her gingerbread men. Thankfully she didn’t have to draw a straight line with it. But even so, the decorating looked heavy-handed to her.
“Are you all right, Miss Cade?”
“Just a bit frazzled from all the hullabaloo.” She bit her bottom lip as she iced another lopsided smile on a cookie.
Hubert harrumphed. “Uproar is an apt description. One would think a man who’d eluded the law thus far would not take a foolish risk.”
“One would think,” she repeated.
She glanced at Hubert, wondering just how much he knew about Ezra Kincaid. Was he aware that Mr. Morris had saved his life once? Did he have a clue that Mrs. Leach knew Gabby Moss’s true identity?
She suspected little ever got past Hubert, but she didn’t dare come right out and ask. Still, the curiosity that she warned her students to shun got the better of her.
“I couldn’t help but overhear Mr. Barclay yesterday,” she said, setting one tray of iced gingerbread men aside and starting to decorate the second one. “I take it that Mr. Kincaid and he have had troubled dealings in the past?”
Hubert seemed absorbed in stirring his tea. “The rustler attempted to steal Mr. Barclay’s horse several years ago.”
“Here at the ranch?”
Hubert shook his head, either disagreeing with her or intentionally changing the subject, when Miss Morris burst into the kitchen. Worry lined her brow and a high flush rode the lady’s cheeks, but Ellie suspected the latter was due to the cold instead of her sleigh ride with Reid.
Merciful sakes! Just thinking of her own outing with the ruggedly handsome rancher had her blushing.
Hubert got to his feet with effort, and she was reminded that the butler was of advanced age. “Do you require my assistance?”
“Not at all, though what Reid and I encountered upon our return to the Crown Seven has left me quite concerned,” Miss Morris said.
“I’m sure Mr. Barclay will take all due precautions and return as soon as possible,” Hubert said.
“As do I.” Miss Morris blinked like a curious owl and gave a nervous glance behind her before continuing. “What concerns me is that when we heard gunfire, he refused to return to Mr. Pearce’s farm, which was much closer, citing a hostility between the cattlemen and sheepherders.”
“He was likely most anxious to return you here where you’d be safe,” Hubert said.
“No doubt you are correct,” Miss Morris said. “But that doesn’t alleviate my concern for Mr. Pearce.”
Ellie had the feeling the lady cared more about their neighbor than her fiancé. She had insisted Reid take her to the sheepherder’s farm shortly after she arrived. But then Reid hadn’t behaved like a man besotted with his bride-to-be either. He’d certainly played free around Ellie every chance he got.
“I feel quite certain that the recent troubles were confined here on the Crown Seven,” Hubert said.
“I do hope you’re right, and that Reid and his men roust this rustler soon,” Miss Morris said, going very still when Burl Erston strode to the kitchen doorway and stopped.
“I’ve been looking for you, Cheryl,” he said. “When you are finished speaking with the staff, I need a word with you in the ranch office.”
Terror streaked across the young woman’s face so swiftly that Ellie would have missed it if she hadn’t been looking at Cheryl.
“Very well,” she said, her voice resigned and incredibly small.
Ellie watched as Cheryl preceded Erston down the hall, her head bowed and her shoulders set in a tense line. The closing of the office door seemed to roar in the house. Something was very wrong here.
The thought stayed with her as she finished decorating her cookies. It was hard to decide which threatened to dampen the holiday spirit more—Burl Erston’s odious presence, or the rustler who was masquerading as Ezra Kincaid.
The back door opened, admitting a blast of frigid air and Reid Barclay. A tingling awareness streaked through her as she listened to him stamp his boots.
His steps lacked patience, but he paused at the hallway and glanced from her to Hubert. “Lost his trail this side of Medic
ine Bow.”
“A pity, sir,” Hubert said. “I’d hoped you would capture the miscreant this time.”
“Same here.” He squinted at the table, then ambled close. “Those gingerbread?”
She bobbed her head. “Yes. It wouldn’t be Christmas without them.”
His mouth pulled in that half smile that made her heart flutter. “If you say so, Miss Cade.”
He filched a cookie and bit into it, releasing a pleased moan that was the best compliment she’d ever received from him. She suspected he’d devoured the cookie by the time he strode down the hall.
Hubert slid her a bland look. “I am sure Mr. Barclay will desire his supper soon.”
Her pleased smiled vanished. Her bouilli! She’d totally forgotten to check on it while she was icing the cookies.
“I’ll see to it immediately,” she said, half dreading what she’d find.
She lifted the lid on her kettle and released the breath she’d been holding. The mouth-watering aroma perked up her flagging appetite.
Surprisingly, there appeared to be more broth than before. No doubt that was because the rest had cooked down so.
She spooned up a bit of broth to test. The rich savory taste was perfect—not too spicy, but not bland either. Ellie sighed and fetched the platter she’d set out on the side table. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should have asked if Reid preferred to be served rather than set a family-style service.
But owing to the way Burl Erston had treated her, she decided to take the easy approach that would get her in and out of the dining room in the shortest amount of time.
After slicing the meat thin and arranging it just so, she set it on the rear stove lid in exchange for a lovely serving bowl she’d set there to warm. She filled it with vegetables, annoyed there was nothing she could do about their well-cooked state.
Hubert appeared at her side, startling her. The butler certainly moved on cat feet.
“Should I ring that dinner will be served?” he asked.
Ellie smiled, pleased with her meal even though it was a far cry from the French entrée she’d imagined. “As soon as I fill the water glasses, you may announce that dinner is served. Oh, I need to light the candelabra.”
A Cowboy Christmas Page 12
