“No law against a man cutting his own fence.”
Emily blinked as the strands of wire pinged into wild spirals, and he held them aside so she could ride through. “But this place never went up for sale! When Lorna Wickersham died—”
“I inherited it.”
“What?” Her mind fumbled with pieces of a puzzle that just didn’t fit. “But the two sons—Steve and Bill—”
“Got smallpox five years ago, which removed the final barrier to claiming a ranch that was rightfully mine.” With a broad smile, McClanahan led his horse through the hole in the fence. “Surprised you, didn’t I? I’d better fix this gap before your cattle find it.”
Stunned and confused, Emily watched him mend the barbed wire with deft, practiced hands. While it was true she’d led an isolated life on Papa’s ranch, she knew all the neighbors and had played with their children. The Wickershams were blond with fair complexions—nothing at all like Matt—and no one had ever spoken of another son or brother. For the three years since Lorna’s death, Papa had acted as overseer for the ranch’s new absentee owner…a man she’d assumed was an English relative of Bert Wickersham’s, because Papa never told her any differently. Why hadn’t he mentioned Matt McClanahan?
When he was beside her on Arapaho again, Matt kissed her nose, still grinning. “I bet you’re wondering why we didn’t just ride through my front gate, instead of sneaking across the back forty like rustlers.”
Emily smiled weakly. “The discrepancy had crossed my mind.”
McClanahan’s laugh rang out as he hugged her shoulders. “Haven’t you ever heard of taking the long way home when you’re with your favorite lady? We’d have arrived in time for supper if we’d used that entrance—and I for one wouldn’t have missed last night’s moonlight ride for anything.”
How could this dashing man have been her neighbor, and yet she’d never seen him until the night Papa died? Emily gazed into his handsome face, trying desperately to read the secrets in the sparkle of his beautiful blue eyes. They walked the horses across lush pastureland that was a continuation of her own, and Matt reached over to take her hand.
“I love you, rosebud,” he began in a reverent voice. “And one of the things we share is our deep feeling for the land. Not many women understand that sort of thing—and I almost missed out on it myself. Your papa must not’ve told you what happened on this ranch before you were born.”
Emily listened, her eyes fastened on a horizon of green grass and crystal blue sky she wasn’t really seeing.
“Well, back then this place belonged to Michael and Lorna McClanahan, my parents. I was about four when my dad was struck by lightning out on the range, and when Mama refused the foreman’s advances, he quit. Left her with me to raise, and a handful of unorganized cowboys, right before roundup.” McClanahan’s expression was thoughtful as he squeezed her hand. “I guess you can understand how desperation and this prime pastureland made her a target for any fortune hunter who came along.”
She smiled. “I can’t imagine Bert Wickersham spent much time romancing her either. Sour old cuss, from what little I remember.”
“And he wasn’t keen on raising any competition for land rights,” Matt continued. “So after the wedding, he announced that I’d be living with my dad’s brother Owen, north of Denver a ways, and that I’d have no claim whatsoever to the McClanahan ranch. Mama didn’t have any choice but to go along with him. And after Steve and Bill Wickersham were born, the inheritance question was pretty well settled.”
As they rode slowly over the grassland, their hands locked between them, Emily’s brow puckered with thought. “But Bert died a long time ago—”
“During the blizzard in 1886, which left Mama like a sitting duck again—a poor sitting duck, because Bert lost a lot of money in the market crash of ‘85, and the blizzard wiped out most of the herd that was left. Steve and Bill were eleven and ten. Not old enough to do much ranch work, but they had to eat, all the same.”
“I remember Viry boxing up vegetables and canned goods to send over,” she replied quietly. “I was six…which made you what? About fourteen?”
“Fifteen. Mama sent word to Uncle Owen that Bert was dead and that she wanted me to come home, but by then I was apprenticed in Owen’s blacksmith shop. Told her I didn’t want to be another mouth to feed,” he said with a sad laugh, “but I was still bitter about being cast out. I didn’t understand that Bert had forbidden her to write or visit me all those years.”
“And you were too independent to accept two younger half-brothers?” Emily asked slyly.
“You know me pretty well,” Matt said with a chuckle. “And it wasn’t until smallpox got them five years ago that I learned Mama had reinstated me as the heir to the ranch. I was as surprised as you are to find out about it.”
Emily scanned her memory for the details that would complete the puzzle. “I don’t understand,” she said with a shake of her head. “Your mother was broke, with two little boys, when Bert died. But she never remarried or sold any land, and yet the herd got built up again.”
“I have your father to thank for that.”
Emily pulled her hand out of his and tugged on her reins, staring at McClanahan. “But Papa was running our place—traveling to Denver, and later to Cripple Cree—”
“And his generosity kept the Wickersham ranch in the black till it was self-supporting again.” His eyes glimmered as he stopped Arapaho beside her. “Mama didn’t want another husband taking her life over, so your papa paid Gus Veatch to stay on as foreman and provided more cattle for him to manage. He also advised her to raise some horses, because they’re less work and the market for them’s steadier. So by the time my half-brothers died, the debt was retired—but even if they’d outlived Mama, they wouldn’t have inherited the ranch, because she’d made me her heir right after Bert passed on.”
“But when Lorna died in the fire three years ago…” Emily’s voice trailed off when she saw McClanahan’s face fall. He suddenly looked older, and his eyes hinted at an unspeakable sorrow.
“That’s another story entirely, rosebud,” he said with a sigh. Matt reached for her hand again, brightening somewhat. “Someday I’ll tell you about it, but for now I’m just damn glad to have you. Surely you knew your father was overseeing this ranch for its absentee owner?”
She nodded, wondering what in the world he’d reveal about that.
“Well, Elliott obviously never told you who the owner was—just as he never told me about his beautiful daughter. I guess he thought that information could wait for happier circumstances.” Matt gave her an exuberant kiss on the cheek, his grin returning. “But here we are, together. I never expected to have a spread of my own, much less marry the girl next door!”
She had trouble fathoming such a turn of events herself. And as they rode on, Emily ran his story through her mind, realizing that the dates and circumstances did indeed mesh with her memory—as far as those details went. But was it too…convenient that she was hearing them now, after she’d confessed her love for McClanahan? Too many gaps had opened up in the past few minutes for her to accept Matt’s story without questioning it.
“Takes a while for all this news to soak in, doesn’t it?” Matt asked cheerfully. “I was going to tell you about myself before I asked for your hand, so you wouldn’t think I was taking advantage of you—the way Wickersham did with my mother. But you beat me to the punch.”
Had she? Emily bit her lip and tried to ignore the knot that was tightening in her stomach. McClanahan always claimed they thought alike, yet all this time he’d had the benefit of facts she’d never heard…
“Here, rosebud—look out over this ridge, and then toward your place, and think of it!” he said as he opened his arms wide. “With our cattle, and our combined acreage, and the horse business I’ve built up, this’ll be the biggest, richest spread between Denver and Colorado Springs. We were neither one paupers before, but now! Can’t you just see it?”
Emily
looked toward distant barns, stables, and corrals of horses that were as tiny as toys. Set slightly apart from the other buildings was the charred foundation of the main house, where Lorna Wickersham had suffered a fiery death. Only the stone fireplace remained, its chimney pointing like a blackened finger—a warning, perhaps? “I…I think I’ve seen enough,” she mumbled.
McClanahan reached for her hand with an apologetic smile. “I understand why you’d want to know more about me, honey, so now I can tell you—”
“Don’t insult my intelligence!” she blurted as she backed Sundance away from him. “You’ve got this big ranch and a thriving livestock business—or you say it’s yours—but no house to live in, and no woman to keep one for you. So you’ve cozied up to me!”
Matt’s mouth dropped open. “How can you say that? If you’ll let me—”
“I’ve let you talk too much already!” Emily saw the hurt in his eyes and wanted to trust him, but something told her he’d been acting all along. “Why should I believe Papa made any sort of deal with your mother? Or believe that Lorna Wickersham was your mother? Papa would’ve told me about these things.”
“You were only six when he loaned her that money,” McClanahan reasoned.
“He would’ve told me Lorna had another son! He would’ve recorded the loan amounts and her repayments in his ledgers.” She studied his face, which was becoming ruddier. Was he indeed a victim of coincidence, or had she caught Matt McClanahan in one hell of a lie?
“Emily, you’re sharp,” he said with strained patience, “but you weren’t keeping your father’s books back then. You were only twelve! Those ledgers would’ve been filed away years ago. I can explain—”
“It was only three years ago when Lorna died in that fire—a fire that started when the furnace blew up.” Her pulse pounded as awful questions whirled in her head. “How do I know you didn’t cause it, McClanahan? You saw what you stood to inherit when she was gone. And for that matter, you probably figured the Burnham ranch would be easy pickings if Papa was gone, so how—”
“You’re talking nonsense, Emily. Your father and I—”
“—do I know you didn’t shoot him?” Her eyes stung with tears as she realized how her naive stupidity had colored her feelings for Matt these past few weeks. “You’re friendly with everybody in these parts. You could’ve found out enough about Papa’s business—not to mention his daughter—so you could dupe me while I was in mourning. You figured me for an easy mark; the frosting on the cake, once you married your way into the Burnham estate.”
Matt glowered atop his shifting horse. “You’re the one who proposed.”
“And it was the biggest mistake of my life!” she shouted. “I should’ve followed my original instincts about you, McClanahan. Ever since I accused you of shooting Papa, you’ve covered your tracks with pretty lies and kisses. You knew all about me, but wouldn’t tell me who you were till you thought you had me trapped!”
“If you’ll stop hollering and listen—”
“I’ve heard enough. The wedding’s off.” Emily wheeled her horse in a tight circle and started home. Sundance eased into a full gallop but through her hot, angry tears she could see McClanahan beside her. She scowled, wiping her face with her shirt sleeve. “I’ll tell Richard about your tricks, too. And the next time you set foot on Burnham property, he and the men will shoot to kill. Same goes for Silas and Victoria. I’m riding back to Cripple Creek—”
“Rosebud, you’re jumping to—”
“I’m not your rosebud, dammit. Not anymore.” She clenched her knees harder around Sundance, hoping he would dodge any gopher holes or obstacles she couldn’t see clearly. Arapaho was doggedly keeping pace, and she gave McClanahan a final glower before she let her palomino have his head. “Next time you so much as show your face, I’ll shoot you myself,” she yelled. “And don’t think I can’t.”
McClanahan apparently took her words to heart. He reined in his horse, letting her thunder on across the pastureland toward the boundary…and the barbed wire fence. “We’ve jumped hurdles before,” she whispered as she leaned against Sundance’s neck. “Please, boy—don’t make me unwrap the fence patch and give him a chance to catch up. And please don’t fall. I don’t have a gun to put you out of your misery, let alone to use on McClanahan if he tries anything else.”
When she spotted the evenly-spaced wooden posts up ahead, Emily held her breath and prayed. “All right, boy…it’s up and over,” she murmured as she raised herself from the saddle. “You can do this. Up…up…”
For a few moments she felt suspended in the air, and then she landed with a grunt and a wide grin. McClanahan might be underhanded, but he was right about the quality of the horses he raised. She let the palomino catch his breath, and then urged him into the fastest canter he could maintain. They were making breakneck time over miles they’d ambled across with Matt and Arapaho…she tried not to think about the hours she’d spent wondering why McClanahan was so quiet yesterday. He hadn’t been wording his proposal at all. He’d been concocting the lie of a lifetime.
As Emily crossed the rolling pastureland, she tried to ignore the beauty of the autumn day. The wind in her hair reminded her of McClanahan’s caress, and the sky was the exact color of his eyes when he was laughing. Sundance’s hoofbeats pounded steadily, like her lover’s heart, and the warm morning air held the fresh scent of sunshine…the smell of Matt’s clean shirts when he hugged her close. Was there no escaping his hold on her even as she rode away from him? She urged her horse on, not allowing him to walk until she saw her own ranch house and the barns in the distance.
Richard Crabtree came rushing from the stable when she approached, his face furrowed with concern. “Where’s Matt? If he’s hurt, I’ll send—”
“If he comes around here again, you and the men are to shoot on sight.” She dismounted and tossed the reins to the sandy-haired foreman. “Take Sundance around the corral a few times to cool him down, and then feed and water him. I’ll be leaving for Cripple Creek within the hour.”
“But Emily, he’s winded—”
“I’ll walk him most of the way. We’ll have to stop for the night, and he can rest then.” She turned toward the house, her thoughts racing through the preparations for the trip. If she took a quick bath and changed clothes, all she’d need was enough food to—
Richard’s hand closed around her elbow. “Care to tell me what this is all about? It must be mighty serious, for you to make your horse suffer, too.”
“It’s none of your concern,” she mumbled as she struggled to free herself from his grasp.
“McClanahan finally talked about the Wickersham place, didn’t he?” Crabtree challenged. “I warned him not to surprise you with that information—told him he was inviting a showdown—”
“And you wouldn’t be angry if—oh, forget it! You wouldn’t understand!” Emily rubbed her arm where he’d grabbed her, glaring at hazel eyes and the kind face she’d known for half her life.
“I do understand. A lot more than you do,” Richard said in a quieter voice. “A man’s entitled to a mistake now and then, but you’re making a bigger one if you take off half-cocked before McClanahan can explain everything. He loves you, Emily. And come time to go public with the name of your father’s murderer, you’ll need a man like Matt standing by you.”
She stared at him, still trying to catch her breath from the grueling ride. Or was her pulse pounding because she so badly wanted to believe what the foreman was telling her? Emily shook her head tiredly. “I see he’s suckered you into his story, too. But it just doesn’t figure, Richard. Papa would’ve told me about the Wickershams—would’ve at least mentioned Matt’s name and said something about him”
“Elliott had his reasons for keeping quiet. Had he not gotten shot, he probably would’ve introduced the two of you by now.”
She gave a short laugh. “Well, he did get shot. And I’m not so sure McClanahan wasn’t involved.”
“Emily, that’s
sheer craziness. Matt—”
“I can’t take any chances,” she said brusquely. “Please—do as I’ve asked. You’re like family to me, but I won’t tolerate a foreman who’s loyal to Papa’s killer. Is that clear?”
Richard raised himself to his full height, his leathery face hardening. “Quite clear, Miss Burnham.”
“Fine. Have Sundance ready within the hour.”
McClanahan waited until Emily’s dust drifted back between the gates before he walked Arapaho around the side of the Burnham barn. Her hair had hung heavily down her back, as dark as Sundance’s, which meant she’d taken a bath. He fought the sudden urge to gallop after her—to tell her exactly what he thought of her—but he let his horse rest instead.
“I’ve got orders to shoot on sight,” Crabtree said with a morose chuckle.
“Don’t bother. I’ve already been shot down today.” Matt swung to the ground and flexed his aching legs. “Damn. I knew that palomino had some power, but I’ve been hard put to keep him in sight. Remind me not to breed such strong stock in the future.”
“I assume I’ll have to wait a day or so for my cutting horses?” The foreman patted his bay’s heaving sides, giving him a tight smile. “I got quite an earful from Miss Burnham. Hate to say I told you so, pal, but—”
“So don’t. I’ve got no use for a yellow-haired bitch who won’t listen to reason. She thinks I killed Elliott, for Chrissakes!”
Richard let out a long sigh. “She’s been through hell these past few months, Matt. Give her a chance to—”
“Nothing doing. Let her sink her claws into some other poor sucker.” He led Arapaho toward the barn, avoiding Crabtree’s earnest gaze as they walked beside each other.
Colorado Captive Page 22
