Cattle Baron's Daughter

by S. Dionne Moore

  “To kiss me.”

  thirty

  She held out her hand to him. An offer. An invitation that he would be a fool to ignore. “Shouldn’t we. . .I mean. . . Don’t couples court first?”

  “I’m open to that idea, too.”

  Ryan relaxed as laughter bubbled in his chest. She was so honest. She’d seen right through his excuse of eating so they could get back. He didn’t want to go back, truth be told, but neither was he sure what to do with the feelings being near her stirred. He felt unsure of himself; having never been a ladies’ man put him at a disadvantage. What did he have to talk about other than the ranch and his mother and the Wyoming heat?

  He would be nothing like the men back east. Suave and mannerly in their crisp jackets with their fancy pocket watches and perfectly barbered hair.

  “Ryan?” She took a step closer, and he felt choked by her nearness.

  “Did you have a lot of admirers back east?”

  Her brow knit. “You mean, did I have a beau?”

  He gulped air and nodded.

  “No. Though Aunt Fawn sure tried. The men were always worried about calling cards and proper dress.” She made a face. “It’s one of the reasons why I wanted to come back, though I didn’t quite understand that until I was able to put away the fancy dresses and expensive hats.”

  “You don’t miss it?”

  “Ryan Laxalt.” Humor glinted in her gaze. “What are you so worried about? That I have someone waiting for me back east?”

  “No. More that you might not.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “If you did, that would end everything. But because you don’t. . .” He reached out to cup her cheek, and she nestled her face against his hand. Though the light of her spirit beckoned him, the reality of who she was made him hesitate. He could not broach the subject in his heart without lancing the fester of another worry. “I want to do this right, Livy. No secrets.”

  Her smile dimmed. “Secrets?”

  “Not mine, but the one we would have to keep from your father.”

  She pulled back. “We’ll tell him then.”

  “Do you know the wrath we might suffer as a result? I have to think of my mother’s safety, of our ranch.”

  Olivia presented her back to him.

  “I’m sorry. It’s as much a problem for me as it is for you.” He wanted to continue that statement. To speak the truth he’d known to be true in his heart since that night at the meeting, but the words died before crossing his lips. Not here. Not in the shadow of her father’s disapproval.

  “Ryan. . .”

  There was a tremor in her voice, but when she faced him, she raised a hand to point, a new alertness in her expression. “That tree. It’s the one I remember. This pond. . .Daddy tied the horses up here, and we walked over to my mother’s grave.”

  He lifted his eyes in the direction she pointed. A large bur oak stood, it’s massive branches each as big around as a sack of flour.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, a new excitement in her voice.

  He took the lunch from her and tied it to the back of the mustang’s saddle then gave her a hand up. They moved in unspoken agreement toward the spot. As they neared, the green crown appeared to rise out of the ground to show off its thick trunk. Yet Ryan saw no sign of a grave marker.

  “Oaks are pretty common to this area.” He tried to smooth over the obvious. “It could have been—”

  “No. It was this one, Ryan. This tree—I’m sure of it. I remember the pond, the slow walk up here from the water, and the mountains framing the background.”

  He scanned the area farther out and glimpsed something through a thick copse of trees. “There’s a cabin over there. If anyone’s there, they might be able to tell you if there’s a grave nearby.” Ryan doubted it. A memory from when she was nine years old would be more than a little hazy. Surely. On the other hand, if she was at the grave of her mother, wouldn’t it have made an indelible impression?

  To him the cabin didn’t look very old. Nothing moved, but there was a curious mix of spring flowers blooming in the front. A rose grew in wild abandon at the corner of the house. Greenery would have withered by now in the drought, yet the rose’s green leaves made Ryan cautious. Someone had watered the rose—daily, by the looks of it. The flowers in the front were healthier closer to the bush, recipients of the runoff, no doubt.

  Olivia galloped her mare to the place and slipped to the ground before he could caution her. She ran to the front door and pounded her small fist against the wood.

  Ryan scanned the cabin and thought he saw the slightest movement at a tiny window. He left the horse to cross to Olivia as she pounded again. A scuffling sound came from within and then a scream.

  thirty-one

  Olivia’s fingers curled around Ryan’s arm. The horror of that high-pitched scream jolted through her body. When the door suddenly swung open, a pale-faced woman glared at her then over her shoulder at Ryan.

  “What do you want?” She turned to look behind her, shifting her body as if to block the view. “Mr. Sattler send you here with the food?”

  “I’m sorry.” Olivia’s voice snagged the woman’s attention away from Ryan. The matron stared, eyes narrowed. A slow dawning understanding twisted her expression a second before she slammed the door.

  Olivia turned away, shaken and confused.

  “Livy?”

  Ryan placed his hand on her shoulder.

  From inside the cabin they could hear the woman’s raised voice calling out to someone. Nothing made sense, not the woman’s reception or her reaction or. . .

  Olivia caught movement out of the corner of her eye at the same time Ryan’s hand on her shoulder gripped harder. She turned to see a woman standing there. Her curly hair, gray at the temples, was smoothed back and held by two combs. And her face. . .

  “Olivia.” Ryan breathed her name.

  The woman giggled, arms wrapped around herself. “I sneak out the back door sometimes. Agnes never remembers to lock it.” She tilted her head in a childish way. “Are you my little girl?”

  ❧

  Ryan held on to Olivia’s shoulder, bracing her up. The resemblance between the two women had struck him at once, and the sickening truth presented itself the moment the woman asked that question.

  Olivia half turned to him, and he pulled her back against him, sharing his strength with her. Agnes flung open the front door and gasped when she saw the childlike woman.

  “Lily, you shouldn’t be out here bothering these people.”

  Olivia seemed to come alive and broke free of his grasp. “Mama?”

  Agnes moved to block Olivia’s advance. “Listen, child.” Her voice became softer, placating. “Listen to me. It’s not what you think. Go home. Talk to your father. Please.”

  “I want to talk to my mother.”

  “I can’t let you do that.” Agnes raised her voice; her tone was firm. “Go inside now, Lily.” She spoke over her shoulder. “You’re not safe out here.”

  Ryan curled his arm around Olivia’s waist and pulled her away from the woman. With one last backward glance at them, Agnes followed Lily inside.

  Olivia seemed dazed. No tears. No hysterics. Nothing. He turned her toward him. “Olivia?”

  “Mama.” Her little-girl voice rocked his spirit.

  He ran his hand over her springy curls. He was afraid to speak for fear of making the situation worse with what he could only speculate. He held her close; his hand cupped the back of her head, and her face was buried against his shoulder. Ryan rocked her as they stood, wishing he could absorb the emotions pummeling her mind and heart.

  ❧

  Shock waves pulsed along Olivia’s nerves. She felt on fire with disbelief. The enormity of all she’d just experienced. Her mother. . .

  Alive.

  Olivia closed her eyes. Ryan’s arms were protective and warm when she felt so cold and hollow. Phoebe’s stric
ken look as Olivia had asked about her mother’s grave burst into her mind and crumbled her emotions further. Phoebe had known. She was sure of it. Bile burned in Olivia’s throat. How many others knew? One after another the questions rolled through her mind.

  “Livy. . .”

  Ryan’s rough whisper was filled with concern.

  “You’re shaking. Are you cold?”

  She nodded against his shirt, and he massaged her arms, trying to bring warmth into her skin. She felt cocooned in a white haze where no thought penetrated and nothing mattered. She felt herself lifted, carried, and she was going to shut her eyes against the bright light. . .the sun? But the light persisted. Only the wall of warmth at her back seemed real. Then she blinked and understood that she was on the mustang. Ryan was behind her with his arm securing her in place, and they were galloping. Trees blurred by, and the heat beat down on her bare head. Ryan shifted behind her, and the heat lessened.

  He stopped, and she watched uncomprehendingly as he knelt and lifted something. Then he was beside her again, and she felt the saddle shift as he mounted behind her. His rough fingers plucked at the neck of her dress, and a coolness lay there that brought out the shivers all the more.

  “Lean against me, Livy. I’ll get you home.”

  Home.

  The word echoed strangely through her mind, disjointed, not a part of her or who she was. She pitched forward on a sob, but his strong arm kept her from falling.

  “Livy.” His voice broke, a pleading whisper against her ear, and then nothing.

  thirty-two

  Olivia’s mother ran to her, arms outstretched. Lillian Sattler whispered cheerfully against her nine-year-old ear. The sun shone down on their shoulders as Lily embraced her daughter and filled her in on the trip into town. Her words were a blur in Livy’s mind, but her mother’s skirt scratched against her cheek, and her hand was warm as she cradled Livy’s face for a kiss then pulled out a small sack of peppermints.

  Olivia’s velvet slumber became the backdrop against which other long-forgotten scenes flashed. Smells. Her mother’s golden bread slathered with jam. Lily’s white apron. Tiny stitches that marked the passage of her mother’s needle along the seams of Livy’s favorite green dress. And underscoring all of it, the smell of peppermint. . . .

  “Olivia?”

  She opened her eyes, fully expecting to see her mother, but the scent dissipated and the face had dark eyebrows and hair. Kind eyes and gentle hands. She recalled the rasp of a voice against her ear, of warm arms lifting her, but not this woman’s voice or arms. It was a man’s. . . .

  “Mrs. Laxalt.” She breathed the word. “Ryan?” She closed her eyes, trying to piece it all together. Her mother’s voice but not her mother at all. It had been the voice of a childlike waif; only the face was that of her mother.

  Josephine lifted a cool cloth to Olivia’s forehead. “Stay quiet. Sleep. Ryan went for the doctor. I’ve never seen him more worried than he was over you.”

  “Mama?”

  Josephine went still, staring down at her in a strange way. “I’m not your mother.” Her soft hand stroked Olivia’s cheek. “Though I would dearly enjoy the privilege.”

  Olivia felt the stream of wetness streak her cheek. She was unable to find the words to clarify the miscommunication, and she wasn’t sure she had the energy anyway. Josephine’s words were enough, like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. She would wait for Ryan to return. She stiffened in fear.

  “What is it, child?”

  “Ryan’s coming back, isn’t he?”

  “Yes my baby. He’ll bring the doctor.”

  Fear exploded in her chest, and she turned her head aside. A sob escaped, followed by another. Josephine leaned in close and slipped her arms around Livy’s shoulders. She lifted her to a sitting position, where Olivia let her tears fall in a daze of hurt and confusion.

  “I’m here, Livy. I’m here.”

  Her throat throbbed with the fierceness of her crying and the rawness of wounds ripped open by a dose of harsh reality.

  ❧

  Every beat of the mustang’s hooves was synchronized with the pounding of Ryan’s heart. He had felt Olivia’s despair and seen the evidence of her confusion as he’d rushed her to the only place he could think to take her—back to his mother. He knew his mother’s love for Olivia would be a succor.

  Anger burned like a hot coal in his gut. Jay Sattler had known his wife was alive. He’d sent Olivia off thinking her mother dead. Cold reasoning nudged at him with the truth. If Livy’s mother had fallen into a stupor of unconsciousness and woken with her mind weakened, perhaps Jay had meant only to spare his daughter the distress. That he had shipped Olivia east made perfect sense in light of the truth, but it didn’t excuse the man from not telling his grown daughter upon her return. Did he truly think she would never find out? She at least deserved to know the truth as an adult and be given the chance to deal with it in her own way.

  His thoughts shifted back and forth as he rode, oblivious to the scenery. Only the beating of the horse’s hooves and the need to get back to Olivia seemed real. He wanted to hold her close, feel her breath against his cheek, stare into those whiskey eyes, and know for himself she would endure the shock. They would face it together. He would bring in Jay Sattler and demand that the man talk to his daughter and help her understand why he had done what he had.

  In the heat of the day, Buffalo was a lazy town. Ryan didn’t see anyone. When he found the doctor’s office empty, he went first to the Occidental across the street, then to Landry’s, hoping to find the man at lunch. Robert Landry himself was waiting on the two patrons present in the dining room.

  “What can I get for you, Laxalt?”

  “Looking for the doctor.”

  Robert’s meaty fist swiped along his shirtfront. “He’s out.” The man’s eyes slid toward the back of the room then fastened on Ryan again. “Got that bridle you were asking for out in the barn if you want to look at it. Not giving it to you cheap though.”

  Ryan opened his mouth to protest then caught the meaning of Robert’s words and actions. He sidestepped the man. “I’ll take a look at it.”

  Together they went through the back door and out into the shack behind the restaurant. Robert shut the door as Ryan struck a match and lit a lantern.

  “Heard this morning that Bowman found some of his stock gone. He’s accusing Jacob and Phoebe of rustling his cattle. Apparently Jacob went after Bowman and took some lead for it. Doc’s over there now.”

  “They find evidence?”

  “Sheriff Bradley doesn’t need evidence. You know that. He just needs the big boys to line his pocket with money.”

  “How’d you hear?”

  “Pete came in for the doc.” He ran his hands down his aproned waist. “You got an emergency?”

  Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at the space between his eyebrows where all his tension seemed to be settling. “Went out for a ride this morning. Found a cabin back in the woods on Sattler’s property. Olivia wanted—”

  “You were out riding with Olivia?”

  “She asked Phoebe about her mother’s grave.”

  Robert’s nostrils flared, and he spit an oath.

  “You know then?”

  “Everyone knows.”

  “Then why didn’t anyone have the guts to tell her? Do you know what it did to her to stumble upon her mother living out in the middle of nowhere, guarded like a criminal?”

  Robert’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. “You’ve got to understand. Sattler’s in control. It’s his secret, and the whole town knows about it. If one of us told it and he found out, do you think for a minute he wouldn’t take out his revenge?”

  “Isn’t he doing that anyway?”

  The big man’s hand fell away, and his expression went bland. “Yeah. I guess he is.” His words were soft. “Agnes is a good woman. She’s paid well to guard Lily.”

  “You seen her lately?”

  “Lily?”
He shook his head. “No. Never. One of Sattler’s men picks up supplies to take out there.”

  Ryan’s mind tracked Robert’s words closely. The inflection changed when he talked about Agnes. “You know Agnes pretty well?”

  Robert’s eyes snapped to his. “About once a month she comes to town for supper.”

  “Doesn’t anyone question that? Who she is? Why they never see her.”

  Again Landry shook his head, his expression pained. “No. She’s my wife.”

  thirty-three

  Robert Landry shared everything then. The reason he was both indebted to Sattler and appalled by what the land barons were doing to the little men. “I thought I’d have to close the restaurant, but Sattler offered to help me out. We went way back, so I didn’t think a thing about it. But he confided that Lily had become too much for Phoebe, and he needed someone else. He asked Agnes if she would do it, and she agreed. The money was good. It helped us stay open when the Occidental would have put us out of business.”

  “That’s it? You’re content never to see your wife? No one wonders where she is or what she’s doing?”

  “Rumor was she was going a couple towns over to help her invalid mother. Jay must have started it. How could we dispute that without backing ourselves into a corner? But eventually people figured things out.”

  “How about Olivia?” Tendrils of temper made him curl his fingers into fists. “What about the little girl who was sent away thinking her mother was dead?”

  Robert’s brows lowered. “You think I haven’t thought of that? But what’s the alternative? She finds out her mother is crazy?”

  “Well, she found out anyway.” Ryan spit the words.

  “If anyone can help her through this, you can, Laxalt.”

  A dust devil swirled down Main Street then petered out as Ryan directed his horse away from Landry’s. Everyone in town, even those at the meeting last night, wallowed in their fear of Bowman, Michaels, and Sattler. Despite the agreement that they needed to take more action and the effort to protect Hector as he healed, it wasn’t going to be enough. Ryan felt sure of that now.