Cheryl’s hand moved to her midsection in a telling protective gesture. “Why can’t you allow us to live as we wish?”
“Perhaps I will once this business with Barclay is concluded.”
“You’re mad.”
“If so, you’d do well to remember what I’m capable of. Barclay was not exaggerating when he said that some ranchers resent sheep and will go to any length to destroy them.”
“What have you done?”
“You should ask yourself that question,” Erston said. “Remember that you brought your lover here. If those men who’ve been burning out sheep farms decide Pearce is the next to go, there’s naught anyone can do.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth, looking ready to toss her lunch again. “Damn you.”
Erston laughed, having been damned more times than he could recall. “Now then, as time is of the essence, you must seduce your betrothed tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“You can and you will. Bedding Barclay shouldn’t be a hardship for you.” He slid her a nasty look. “Come now, don’t look so down in the mouth. If all goes as planned, you won’t have to suffer his touch for long. He’ll believe he planted his seed in you.”
Cheryl bit her bottom lip. “I don’t want him hurt. I don’t want anyone hurt.”
“You should have thought of the consequences before you became Pearce’s paramour.” Erston crossed the short hall to his own room, pausing at the open door and keeping his voice pitched low. “Do as I said, or everyone on that sheep farm will suffer. Do I make myself clear?”
“Nauseatingly so.”
“Good. I want it done tonight.”
Cheryl heaved an audible sigh. “Very well.”
He closed his door and exchanged his damp, cold traveling clothes for a warm suit. The only saving grace in this debacle was that if he’d not discovered the depth of her deception before now, then it was likely Reid Barclay wouldn’t figure it out either. By the time he pieced it together?
Erston smiled. It’d be too late, for Barclay would be dead. He was due his recompense for raising his cousin’s child, and would gain all in the end—the apportionment his cousin had left Cheryl in England, and this desolate ranch that would be worth a pretty penny.
No, she was worth more to him dead. Same with Reid Barclay. It was just a matter of time before he rid himself of the leaches and gained title of this god-forsaken ranch in the middle of nowhere.
Ellie waited as long as she dared, but when Mr. Erston began complaining loudly, she had no choice but to serve dinner. Thankfully, Hubert took pity on her and stepped in to serve the meal.
Though Miss Morris ate very little, there was barely enough of the sage hens and rice left to cover the plate she’d set aside for Reid. She only hoped that whatever he was doing, he wasn’t doing it on an empty stomach.
She set his plate on the warming tray just as Mr. Erston pushed open the dining room door. “I want meat for my supper,” he said. “Cook it well, and do provide enough this time.”
“I’ll see what’s available,” she said.
He glared at her. “For your sake, you should hope there is beef.”
He strode down the hall to Reid’s office, slamming the door in his wake.
“I can see why he feared someone would poison him,” she said.
“Indeed so,” Hubert said. “Pity we’re out of arsenic.”
Reid crossed his hands over the pommel and squinted at the break in the fence. “Frank Arlen mention where he was headed when he saw Kincaid?”
“Said he was heading up to Medicine Bow.” Shane grunted as he stretched the top line of barbed wire that had been cut. “Said a ranch up that way was hiring on.”
“They’d do themselves a favor if they pass Arlen over.”
The cowboy had been the epitome of lazy while he worked for Reid. But there was something else about the hand that troubled him.
A good part of it was that whenever trouble befell an area ranch, Arlen seemed to always have just ridden past or overheard something.
Though cowpokes tended to blow with the wind, Reid couldn’t believe that Arlen was lucky or unlucky enough to happen by after trouble hit a ranch. Didn’t help Arlen’s credibility none that Reid suspected he had the ability to look a man in the eye and lie through his teeth.
“Only one set of tracks here,” Shane said.
“I can’t see Ezra Kincaid riding back here to cut the fence and not take a horse for his trouble.”
“Maybe somebody scared him off.”
Like Arlen? No, he couldn’t swallow that as being true.
Yet the tracks led Reid to believe somebody had made another try for the horses. But what if he hadn’t? What if someone else was setting things up to make it look like Kincaid was fixing to rustle the horses?
Reid stared out over the high plains that stretched on for miles. There were countless arroyos, gorges and blind canyons where a whole herd could get lost. Wouldn’t be any trouble for a lone man to hole up there, waiting to strike when the devil prodded him.
The sheriff had told Reid that’s what he’d done before and after Burl Erston paid to have him turn a blind eye to the charges against Reid. Even as Reid had made ready to return to America last year, Erston had warned him that he’d be safe as long as nobody figured out what he’d done.
He’d believed Erston, yet a chance visit to the jail proved that wasn’t the case at all.
There were no posters with Slim Cullen’s name or likeness on the sheriff’s walls. But there was a detailed one of Ezra Kincaid, blaming the outlaw for Lisa True’s murder.
The wanted poster claimed it happened when the notorious outlaw starting shooting when he’d been spotted. Though Kinkaid had denied stealing a horse, poor Miss True caught a bullet that snuffed out her life.
It could’ve happened that way. But did it?
Reid rubbed his gloved hand over his brow, but the memory of that day remained too murky to see through to the truth.
“I don’t have a good feeling about what’s going on around here,” Reid said.
“You worried about the womenfolk?”
“Yep. Hard to say what manner of man we’ve got lurking round here.”
Shane nodded, his expression growing solemn in a snap. “What do you want me to do?”
“Keep your eyes peeled for anything that smells of trouble.”
“You can count on it, boss.”
Reid was, and hoped he hadn’t made a mistake trusting the cowboy.
The pounding of hooves drew near, and he glanced back, half expecting Booth Howard to join them.
He spit out a curse, having seen that big chestnut gelding too recently. Now what?
“Looks like the marshal’s got him a posse,” Reid said, gaining a muttered curse from Shane.
Tavish reined up a good ten feet back from Reid. “Afternoon, Barclay. You putting in a gate?”
“Nope. Wires were cut,” he said. “All the stock is accounted for.”
“Reckon that’s Kincaid’s work. Like I told you, he’s been seen in the area.” Tavish stared at Shane stringing the last piece of barbed wire to close the breech. “Kincaid’s getting bolder to cut a fence in the open like that.”
“Maybe he likes rubbing the law’s nose in it that he can operate in the open and not get caught.”
“He’s doing a good job of it.” Tavish’s saddle creaked as he shifted his weight and his breath clouded before him. “How many men you got working for you?”
“I’m down to ten. Why?”
“There’s talk that one of them is Slim Cullen.”
“Don’t recall nobody by that name signing on.” Reid caught Shane’s worried look. “You got any man by that name in the bunkhouse?”
“Nary a one,” Shane said.
“Looks like you were mistaken, Marshal.”
Tavish snorted. “I’m not surprised. If he’s here, he’s probably using a different name.”
Reid nodded. He damned s
ure was. “What’d this Cullen do?”
“Got on the wrong side of Ezra Kincaid.” Tavish shook his head. “Kincaid is out to prove he didn’t commit the murder he was accused of doing two years back, so I’m not surprised he’d concoct some story to shift the blame from him.”
“You any closer to finding him, Marshal?”
“Not a damned bit. Best be careful.”
“I intend to be,” Reid said.
Tavish gave the repaired fence one last glance, then he reined his horse and trotted off to join the two deputies riding with him.
“I don’t like waiting for Kincaid to strike,” Shane said.
“Neither do I.” But if he moved too swiftly, he’d likely scare him off.
Hell, he may never know who really killed Miss True. Himself, or Ezra Kincaid.
Supper was another trial, and not just because Ellie had browned the cutlets a bit too much. The diners held about as much gaiety as if they’d gathered for a wake.
Miss Morris barely tasted the veal medallions and rice but nobody seemed to notice but Ellie. Of course she’d made a point to observe the lady following the aftermath of her stomach affliction this afternoon.
Though hours had passed, the woman retained a bleached pallor that snuffed out the spark in her brown eyes. Even her mouth looked pinched.
For the life of her, Ellie couldn’t imagine why the lady had left her bed and come to supper. She’d surely excused herself to return to it after dessert was served.
A pity Burl Erston hadn’t contracted the ailment. But she was thankful he took himself off to bed early as well, citing weariness from his travels.
Once she’d cleaned the dining room, Ellie set to tidying up the kitchen. She’d never minded being alone with her thoughts, but tonight she kept dwelling on a certain rugged cowboy. Or rather on his past, which sounded so lonely she wanted to cry.
Of course that sparked a host of feelings that were dangerous for her to feel toward him. Compassion, empathy, and the desire to comfort him.
Yes, the last could certainly get her into trouble.
She was in the process of storing the gingerbread cookies in a tin when Hubert shuffled into the room. “Now that the household is abed, I shall retire to my room with a spot of tea and one of your gingerbreads.”
“By all means, help yourself,” she said. “I suppose I’ll seek my own bed as well, though I’m not the least bit sleepy.”
He set his tea to steep and plucked two cookies from the tin. “Neither am I, but an hour or so of reading more of Mr. Twain’s rousing tale should exhaust me.”
“That’s an excellent idea and one I intend to follow.” She set off toward the hall, then paused at the foot of the back stairs. “You’re certain Mr. Barclay won’t mind if I borrow a book?”
“Not at all. Good night to you.” Hubert gathered his tea and cookies and headed for his room.
Ellie strode down the hall, the click of her heels loud on the wooden floors. Though the house was dark as well, the glow from the moon on the bank of snow lit the night well enough that she could see to navigate the house.
Unfortunately it wasn’t enough light to read the titles of the array of books on the shelves in Reid’s office. She lighted a lamp, adjusted the flame and began thumbing down the spines of books. Cooper. Emerson. Dickens. Poe. Twain. Verne.
My, he certainly had an impressive library. Or had this collection belonged to Mr. Morris?
Not that it mattered. The books were just begging to be read—heaven knew she’d read them all at one time or another. But one seemed more appropriate to enjoy this time of year than the others.
She eased the book from its niche, careful not to make a sound, mindful of the beat of her own heart. The creek of a chair across the room startled her so that she nearly dropped the book.
She whirled toward the sound. Her jaw dropped as her gaze clashed with Reid Barclay’s darkly magnetic eyes.
“What did you choose?” he asked.
She clutched the book to her bosom. “A Christmas Carol. Hubert said I could borrow one to read.”
He pointed at the bookcase, and that’s when she noticed he held a heavy glass, half filled with amber fluid. “By all means, help yourself.”
“Thank you,” she said.
She wasn’t surprised to find him drinking alone in the dark. After all, the first time she’d met him he’d been imbibing.
At the time she hadn’t realized he’d been troubled. But she recognized it now, just as she recognized the powerful pull he had on all her senses.
She had her book, so she should go. Instead she took a step toward his desk.
“I’ve read that it often helps if you talk out your troubles,” she said.
He let out a soft laugh that shivered over her skin like a silken ribbon. “I can’t see that it will.”
“How do you know if you’ve never tried?”
He lifted the glass to the sculpted curl of his lips and drank, his throat working in a slow roll that sent another shiver through her. “Join me?”
“I shouldn’t,” she said.
She wasn’t a teetotaler by any means, but drinking with Reid in the velvet hush of night was dangerous on so many levels. But she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.
“Tell you what,” he said. “You be my drinking buddy tonight, and I’ll talk as long as you want.”
Warnings flashed in her head that this was a bad idea, for liquor would surely lower her inhibitions. With Reid, they tended to fall into obscurity already.
But need, or a like desire to talk, had her slipping into the chair before his desk. “All right. But just one.”
He flicked her a wicked smile that had her second-guessing her decision. Before her moral bent could prod her to her feet, he’d poured a generous amount of liquor in a glass and handed it to her.
Her fingers curled around the heavy glass and the heady aroma of fine brandy made her nose twitch. But it was those sparkling eyes of his, daring her to drink, that made her take that first sip.
Warmth filled her mouth and glided down her throat, expanding into a swirl of heat in her belly. “What has you sitting here brooding all alone?”
He rocked forward and braced his arms on the desk, the glass cradled between both hands. “You ever been where you had no control over the way your life was heading?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But most people have had that feeling at least once in their lives.”
He took a drink and stared at her, but she couldn’t read any emotion on his face. Not anger. Not resignation. Not even a trace of hope.
“Is this about your wedding, Mr. Barclay?” she asked.
“Reid.” His gaze burned into hers this time.
“Reid,” she repeated, certain she flushed over the intimacy of addressing him so. “Well, is it?”
He leaned back in the chair again, the leather creaking as he shifted. “That’s part of it.”
“Go on,” she said, and took a drink to still her sudden chills which had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the sensual pull he had on her.
“In a nutshell, Kincaid has stolen one stallion and likely aims to rustle more,” he said, the heat of anger sharpening his voice.
She bit her lip to keep from saying that wasn’t true, that her pa had been here on the ranch the whole time. But she couldn’t do it, for that would surely get him hanged and have her booted off the ranch.
“In this case the rustler does have control, for he’s waiting for your guard to be let down,” she said.
“That’s it.” He refilled his glass and offered her more, but she declined. “The buyer who showed interest in my horses has yet to reply to my letter.”
“Well, it is Christmas. There are those who celebrate the season with family and friends.” And as soon as she said that, she was reminded that Reid had none of the first and few of the second.
“There are those who will travel to any lengths to make a fuss over the day, and this one ap
pears to be no exception,” he said. “The preacher who was conducting the wedding sent me a telegram. He went north to visit kin and is down with a fever. He won’t make it back here until next week.”
“Your wedding has been postponed?” she asked.
He shrugged, but tension racked his broad shoulders and tightened the cords in his strong, bronzed neck. “Yep, unless Erston can round up a preacher before then.”
No wonder Miss Morris seemed so sad. Ellie would be too if the Christmas wedding she’d dreamed of having had been delayed.
“What about your friends and family, Ellie? Why did you come here instead of spending Christmas with them?” he asked.
Oh, if only he knew the truth! “Because I chose to do a favor for a friend.”
And hearing that lie spoken made her sound selfless when that wasn’t the case at all. She didn’t know Mrs. Leach, and wouldn’t have come here if the woman hadn’t sought her out and informed her what her pa planned to do.
Her misery grew when he seemed to mull over her reply an awful long time, as if trying to decide if he should take her at her word. She struggled to keep her expression sunny, even though her lie needled her with guilt.
Here she was, poised to face the holiday she loved most because of the generosity and love and good will it represented, and she was lying to the man who’d blindly agreed to give her a job. It suddenly didn’t matter that he was less than gentlemanly.
She was a fraud who’d abused his benevolence.
She was the scarlet woman who dreamed of him in the dead of the night.
“If you could have anything you wanted for this Christmas, what would it be?” she asked, certain he’d want her pa swinging for rustling his stallion.
“You.”
He didn’t embellish on it. He didn’t offer up any excuse. He just stared at her with a carnal hunger that left her quivering and ravenous for the same.
How in the world was she to reply?
She couldn’t. Because instead of jumping to her feet and upbraiding him for his lascivious bent, she met his gaze without trying to hide the longing in her heart.
Ellie rose and weaved slightly. The brandy, the man and the suggestion were too powerful a combination to fight.
A Cowboy Christmas Page 16
