His mouth twitched. “Maybe a bit.”
“Now that that’s settled,” she said, content to remain in the circle of her pa’s arms a bit longer, “you need to tell me what this Slim looks like. In case he comes snooping around, that is.”
Her pa nodded agreement. “Slim ain’t nothing to brag on. He was as rangy as a half-starved coyote. His hair was brown and straight as a stick. But with it being winter and men bundling up like bears, I can’t tell if he’s as rope-thin as he was two years back.”
That fact would make it less likely to spot him right off, and could allow the killer to get too close. “Did he have any distinguishing features?”
“Yep, a reddish mark aside his face,” he said, letting go of Ellie at last and stepping back from her. “That’s why I know it was him I saw snooping round here.”
She shivered with cold and worry. “I’ll be mindful of a distinguishing birthmark.”
Her pa nodded and heaved a sigh. “You’d best get back to the house before you freeze.”
“In a moment. I’ve read the account in the newspaper, but I want to hear how you ended up getting blamed for that shooting in Laramie,” she said, and smiled when he tensed up.
“Well, it all started over a fine stallion that caught my eye the minute the cowboy rode into town on him,” her pa said.
“Imagine that,” she said, and gained a hushing scowl from her pa.
“Town wasn’t crowded that day, and that fine horse was tied up right outside the stable in the open.” Her pa scrubbed a hand down his beard, and she could almost see him as he’d been that day, near drooling to steal a horse and having to bide his time.
“Piano music and laughter was spilling from the saloon across the street, and the old men that’d been warming a bench in front of the mercantile finally left.” Her pa’s eyes twinkled with the devilment of a much younger and much bolder man. “I’d just untied that stallion when the saloon doors burst open and a couple of cowboys staggered onto the boardwalk. One of them shouted, ‘Shoot that rustler,’ at the same time a woman let loose a scream from inside the livery.”
Ellie went still, for this was a diversion from the account she’d read in the newspaper. Even owing to her pa expounding a bit, she realized the truth in his words.
“Lisa True?” she asked.
He bobbed his head, his expression puckered in anger. “She came tearing out of the livery and scared the living hell out of that stallion I’d hoped to use as a shield until I could gain the saddle. He reared and tore the line right from my hand. Left me standing there in the wide open. And that’s when the shooting commenced. I tell you truly, I couldn’t have been more exposed if I’d been standing there buck naked.”
She shivered violently, but not from cold. No, she was reliving the fear she’d held close to her heart every time she imagined her pa taking a deadly risk and nearly dying for it.
“So you shot back at the cowboys and ran,” she said.
He sucked his lips in and glared at her. “I ran all right, but I didn’t fire a shot.”
She frowned. “But the witness said you shot Lisa True.”
“The witness lied to save his own hide,” he said. “Half a dozen shots peppered the ground around me.”
She closed her eyes on a groan, sickened to think of him caught in the crossfire.
“Two came from the livery, but the shooter was aiming at the woman instead of me.”
“Lisa True?”
“Yep. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her stumble and fall, but as I felt no pain, I kept running till I’d cleared the back of the livery.” His gaze met hers, and her stomach clutched at the sadness darkening his eyes. “I got a good look at him in that split second I ran by.”
“You saw a thin man with a scarred face,” she said.
He nodded, and long moments passed in silence while her pa stared at the ground and shook his head.
Ellie guessed she knew what bothered him. He’d been the witness to a murder, but because he was a wanted man, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
“How’d you ever get out of town alive?” she asked.
He smiled, though it leaned to the wry side. “I knew they’d have a posse on my tail faster than a hound could lick a pot, so I smacked my old horse on the rump and sent him thundering off, and then I ran into the livery and climbed into the loft.”
She smiled in kind. “Hiding in plain sight, just like now.”
“Pretty much. I just went real still while all the shouting and cussing went on outside,” he said. “One man shouted out that she was dead. That Slim killed her, and I knew that had to be the feller I saw in the livery.”
They were back to a close version of what was common knowledge. Slim Cullen had been arrested for Lisa True’s murder, and her pa barely escaped capture for rustling.
“It weren’t until later that I read where a witness came forward and swore I’d fired the shot that killed that girl,” he said, his gruff voice resigned. “But I didn’t do it, Ellie. I was too busy running to pull leather.”
Reid lounged behind his desk and tried his damnedest to avoid looking at Burl Erston seated across from him. He’d never liked the man, but it was a miserable trial to be in the same room with him now. The only way he managed it was by reminding himself that before long, he’d have the means to buy Erston out. Or at least he was still holding out hope that the buyer from Kentucky was still interested in his thoroughbreds.
“I fail to see any bloody reason to wait for her to join us,” Erston said.
“I do,” Reid said. “She’s my fiancée, and what I have to say concerns our wedding.”
Erston’s beady eyes sparked with malevolent intent. “Your wedding is an arrangement that she has no say in. Let’s get on with the reason for this meeting.”
Reid’s gaze lifted to the doorway and his intended. Her face was paler than usual and her eyes were drawn, as if she’d been ill recently. He nodded to the chair beside him, and she hurried across the room like a mouse.
“So sorry to have kept you both waiting.” She slid onto the chair near Reid and offered up a weak smile.
“As well you should be,” Erston said. “Well, get on with it now that she’s graced us with her presence.”
Reid unfolded the letter and handed it to Cheryl, gaining pleasure when Erston puffed up like a toad. “I got a letter this morning from the preacher in Maverick. He’s down with a fever and doubts he’ll return before next week.”
“So find another minister,” Erston snapped.
Reid leaned back in his chair and regarded the tyrant who had made the last two years of his life sheer hell. He hated to guess how wretched he’d made Cheryl’s life.
“Maverick has one preacher,” Reid said. “You’d have to travel to Laramie to find another, and hope he didn’t have plans for the holidays.”
Erston glared at him across the table. “Which is precisely what you should be doing instead of wasting our time discussing it.”
“I’m willing to wait.” Reid turned to Cheryl who sat still as a stone. “What do you want to do?”
“I really don’t care,” she said, gaining a grunt of approval from Erston. “Though I can’t see the harm in putting it off either.”
Erston slammed his fists on the desk. “I can, as I have no wish to remain in this frozen tundra any longer than necessary. So saying, if you won’t endeavor to find a replacement minister, than I shall.”
Reid had expected as much. “By all means do what you feel you must.”
Erston lurched to his feet, his complexion ruddy and his eyes glinting with hate. “I know what game you’re up to and it won’t work.”
“I’m simply passing along news.” He slid the telegram toward Erston, but the narrow-minded tyrant refused to look at it.
“Rubbish! You’re hoping to put the wedding off in the vain hope that your friends will crawl out of whatever hole they’re hiding in and claim their shares.” Erston sneered. “They won’t co
me, for they’ve no wish to be arrested for cattle rustling.”
That brought Reid to his feet and got his anger flowing in a swift black river through his veins. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Crown Seven cattle disappeared at the same time yourfoster brothers left the ranch,” Erston said. “It wasn’t a coincidence, as I have witnesses who attested to the fact that they drove the animals away.”
“They were only taking their share and you know it.”
Erston’s thin lips pulled into a smile that was as twisted as his mind. “It’s on the books as rustling. They’d do well to stay out of Wyoming.”
“You low-life sonofabitch!”
“Curse me all you want,” Erston said. “In the end I’ll gain control of this ranch and there will be nothing either of you can do to stop me.”
With her sage hens seasoned and roasting over a slow flame, Ellie set to work on her housekeeping duties. If nothing else, taking this job gave her a realistic view of what being a housewife entailed.
She’d certainly make adjustments in her lessons for discerning young ladies at the Falsmonte Ladies Academy. If a woman didn’t manage her time well, as Ellie had failed to do, she’d find herself working sunup to sundown.
Add the extra duties of a holiday, a wedding and houseguests and she was quite frankly run ragged.
Still, the house wouldn’t clean itself. And with Mr. Erston away inspecting the ranch and stock, and Miss Morris retired to her room likely seeing to her wedding preparations, this was the perfect opportunity to spiff up the parlor.
She removed the feather duster and carpet sweeper from the closet and hurried into the parlor. Not only would the house be spic-and-span in an hour or so, she’d work off her frustrations by Bisselling the carpets.
Unfortunately her thoughts kept drifting to a certain rugged cowboy with a devastatingly kissable mouth and oh-so-nimble hands. It was an absolute crime that he commanded her thoughts so. Why, she’d bet he had the same effect on every woman he met.
Perhaps when she finished her chores, she’d have that talk with Miss Morris. She’d certainly want to know that the man she was planning to marry had a roving eye.
Having decided on that course of action, she took stock of the parlor decorating. She could have used more ribbons and pinecones, but her meager supply was exhausted quickly.
All that remained were the chenille doves and white roses for the wedding itself. Another thing she must discuss with Miss Morris, and soon.
If the lady had a bouquet already, then she’d use the items on hand to further brighten the parlor for the ceremony. If it actually took place.
Reid hadn’t bothered to close his office door earlier when he’d explained to Mr. Erston and Miss Morris that the minister would be delayed. Though she hadn’t heard, and wouldn’t guess, how Miss Morris took the news, it was obvious that Mr. Erston was violently opposed to an extension.
If she had her druthers, she’d prefer the ceremony take place next week as well, for she’d be on her way to California then. She wouldn’t have to watch Reid marry another woman.
Ellie grabbed her supplies and damned the jealousy that sank its green fangs in her. Her future rested in teaching privileged young ladies how to comport themselves in all situations. She’d do well to heed her own instructions.
She hurried upstairs, glad she wouldn’t have to worry about being caught in a bedroom by Burl Erston. But while she reasoned she should attend the guest rooms first, she passed both of them and entered the large room at the end of the hall. Reid’s bedroom.
A naughty thrill shot through her as the owner’s bracing scent of mint and citrus eddied around her. The four-poster bed dominated the room. A rich burgundy quilt was tossed haphazardly over it.
No doubt the linens were a tangle beneath, and the thought of Reid’s long limbs twisting this way and that on this bed sent a fresh rush of longing coursing through her. She’d do well to purge these carnal thoughts from her mind. But knowing it and doing it were two entirely different things.
She began humming a carol and set about stripping the bed, finding yesterday that if she was singing or humming, she wasn’t plagued with thoughts of Reid Barclay. Doing something she was used to and excelled at restored her self-confidence.
In no time she had fresh linens stretched over the large feather mattress and rearranged the quilt just so. A final dusting of the dark chest of drawers and dresser and like woodwork spruced the chamber up.
She ran a hand over his pillow, lingering where his head would rest tonight. A curl of longing fluttered within her, so intense it nearly took her breath away.
If she was careful, she could steal into his room and satisfy this need to be in his arms. But that’s all she’d ever have with Reid Barclay. Stolen moments.
It wasn’t enough, and the memory of one night of passion would only taunt her for the rest of her days.
Ellie jerked her hand back and quit Reid’s room. She’d do well to push all thoughts of him from her mind and focus on tidying the other rooms.
She made quick work of cleaning Burl Erston’s room. With her supplies in hand, she stepped into the hallway just as Miss Morris’s door burst open.
Their gazes touched briefly before the young woman took off at a run down the hall to the lavatory adjacent to the bathing chamber. A moment later the sound of retching drifted to her.
Good heavens, if she’d contracted some illness, then everyone in the household could be feeling the effects by evening. That would not only put a damper on the wedding, but on Christmas as well.
The young woman stepped into the hall, looking white as snow. “I’m dreadfully sorry.”
Ellie’s heart went out to her, for she’d never seen anyone look so forlorn. “That’s all right. Let’s get you back to bed. Do you have other symptoms?”
“Nothing but a queasy belly,” she said, though she dutifully returned to her room and allowed Ellie to press the back of her hand to her brow.
“You aren’t feverish,” she said. “Do you have a nervous disposition?”
Miss Morris shook her head, and a tinge of pink colored her cheeks. “It could be the tart I ate this morning. Mr. Pearce’s housekeeper had made lemon curd, and she gave me one to take home. I guess I should have eaten it right away.”
Ellie was just glad the woman hadn’t gotten sick off her cooking. “How do you feel now?”
She sighed. “Tired.”
“Then rest,” she said. “Would you like anything?”
Miss Morris shook her head and crawled onto her bed.
Ellie tarried a moment, then left and hurried toward the kitchen. She hadn’t the heart to tell Miss Morris about Reid’s weakness. And if the spicy scent filling the house was any indication, her sage hens were on their way to being overcooked.
Chapter 12
Burl Erston climbed the stairs with slow deliberation. He’d learned long ago that the swiftest way to achieve wealth and possessions was through the misfortune of others. Unlike his father and his cousin Kirby who’d adhered to the damnable Golden Rule, Erston had increased his holdings by acting swiftly when an opportunity, or misfortune, presented itself.
He’d held tight control over his business ventures and personal life at home and abroad. His wife, after all, had done as bidden without argument, with the exception of raising Cheryl.
He’d granted his wife what she wanted, simply because he never guessed the meek child of his cousin’s would be so stupid as to become seduced by the first man who’d showed interest in her. To make matters worse, he was nothing more than a bloody sheep farmer!
If only he’d been a peer or at the least a tradesman.
As Cheryl was of age, he couldn’t stop her from marrying Pearce. So he did the next best thing. He set out to ruin Pearce, which proved to be far easier than he’d thought.
Pearce had disappeared from England with the law hot on his heels, and Cheryl was back in his control. But to keep her in line, he da
ngled the very real threat of doing bodily harm to Pearce and his son should Cheryl think to follow the man.
She’d instantly demurred. Or so he’d thought. He’d never suspected that she had defied him and used her private funds to transport Kenton Pearce, his son, and a flock of sheep to Wyoming.
The law in America cared little about an imported British thief in the wilds of the West. But there were other means to bring Cheryl to task.
Whatever reunion she hoped to achieve here would never happen. His jaunt to town today resulted in him finding a man of dubious character who’d gladly eliminate that distraction for a price. That would bring her back in line.
He rapped on her door and girded his patience while he waited for her to answer.
“We need to talk,” he said the moment she opened the door.
“Not now. I don’t feel well.”
She looked like hell too, but he refused to put this off. “I know about Pearce.”
She staggered a bit and grabbed the jamb for support. “How?”
He allowed a terse smile. “I overheard you confiding in your future husband. Did you tell Barclay that Pearce was your lover?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
He clucked his tongue. “I never realized what a conniving bitch you were.”
Her sharp indrawn breath was her only reply, hinting that his words could indeed inflict wounds. Or not.
It was difficult to tell with someone as deuced crafty as Cheryl. To think she’d gulled him the past year.
“Tell me, what did you plan to do after you set Pearce up on this remote Wyoming ranch?”
“What difference does it make now that you know the truth?” she asked.
Erston smiled, his mind working for a means to twist what he’d just discovered to his advantage—blackmail was a wonderful weapon. Cheryl’s condition became evident on the journey over and made it easier for him to bend her to his will.
“You wouldn’t have transported your lover here and abandoned him,” Erston said, thinking out loud. “Of course, at the time you likely didn’t know you carried his bastard.”
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