by Jodi Thomas
“The stock might be easier to track. Men herding cattle and horses can’t move as fast. The wagon’s tracks could lead us to who did this. Can you give me a description of what he had here?”
“We butchered most of the pigs for winter, so only six half-grown pigs, a black milk cow, and four horses were around the barn this time of year. What cattle we didn’t sell in the last drive are on the land. It would have taken days for good cowhands to round them up, and they were the wildest of our herd.”
Slim walked around the barn, reading the scene like some men read a book. “And these men are not good hands, I’d bet. They make their money stealing and killing. I’m guessing they were hired to bully the old man into giving them the deed. When he refused, they thought they’d kill him and search the house. When that turned up nothing, they took the stock for their trouble. It wasn’t part of the job they were hired to do.”
The marshal nodded. “If they’re moving with stock, maybe trying to sell some along the way, they’ll be easy to follow. First they’ll drive the wagon and stock far enough away so that no one will recognize your horses. That leaves out the farms and ranches within forty miles. After that, I’m guessing they’ll stop at the first place they come to and try to make a little money.”
Slim untied his horse from the fence. “If you want to stay here, Colby, we’ll circle around to the ranches and see if anyone saw men with your stock passing by. With luck, in a few hours, we’ll have a direction to head. In the meantime you might want to pay your respects to your pa. Maybe hammer him up a cross on the grave yonder.”
Colby nodded. “Thanks, Slim, I’d like to do just that.” He knew Slim’s calling him Colby wasn’t a loss of respect, but a sign of friendship.
While they rode out, Colby began picking up pieces of what had been his old life. Within an hour he had a huge fire burning in the yard with all the things from the house. In the loft of the barn he found his mother’s old sewing machine and a crib that must have been his. The outlaws hadn’t bothered to climb the ladder. On the treadle of the old machine lay the family Bible.
Colby took it with him as he walked up to where some of the neighbors had buried his pa. He nailed together a cross using broken boards that had once been a fence around the family plot, then pushed it into the ground at the top of the grave.
While he watched the fire burning, he thought of how his childhood was in the fire. When he walked away today, he’d be a man. He opened the Bible and saw his name at the end of the line of Dixons. He guessed there was something he could say over his father’s grave, but all he could think to do was read the family names out loud. Births. Marriages. Deaths. The few papers he found tucked between the pages were only recipes his mother must have saved and one letter telling her that her sister had died.
Colby couldn’t help but wonder if she was still alive or if she ever thought of him. She’d left when he was too young to hold on to even one clear memory of her.
He knew he should say more over his father’s grave, but his thoughts were only about how he planned to be a better man. He didn’t want to live his life working every day on the land without ever saying a kind word to anyone, even his son.
When he looked at the old house he could almost see a woman standing in the door waving to him. A woman like Madie, he thought, with her belly rounded with a kid. He’d like that.
Maybe, if she did what he told her to and waited for him, he’d go back and ask her to come here. After all, she was already halfway to one child, so it wouldn’t take them long to start a family. Once she grew up, she’d make a good wife, and he’d always be considerate of her. He’d tell her how he liked her cooking and he’d hold the door for her and help her down from the wagon like Andrew did for his wife.
When the young ranger rode in, Colby stood cussing himself for daydreaming. Madie wouldn’t wait for him. He didn’t want her here anyway. She wasn’t even a woman, much less his woman. She’d probably run off with the first cowhand who drifted by. He wanted a pretty woman who didn’t cry at the drop of a hat and who knew how to kiss, among other things.
“We’ve got a direction,” Butler yelled as Colby ran toward his horse. “And we’ve got some hard riding to do to catch up.”
Every dream was forgotten as Colby rode northwest. All he had time to do was think about catching the men who’d raided the ranch. He told himself he didn’t want to kill them, not unless he had to. All he wanted to do was see them behind bars. Something about starting his life as a man with a killing didn’t seem right.
Colby smiled to himself. He was going to have a life . . . a real life, if he didn’t get himself killed riding with the rangers.
CHAPTER 20
BETH FELL INTO A PATTERN THE NEXT FEW DAYS. She worked with Madie on sewing and housekeeping in the mornings, then helped Andrew in his study in the afternoons until Levi and Leonard came home from school.
Andrew had thought it foolish to send them to school for the short time they’d be here, but Beth insisted that it would be good for them since Andrew wasn’t certain the man buried as T. B. Hawthorne was really their father. If he had to search more, then the boys needed to be kept busy.
She decided that if the doctor said Hawthorne was identified by his vest because his face was all shot up, maybe there had been a mix-up. Andrew pointed out that her theory belonged more in a novel than in real life, but he agreed to keep asking questions. A fake death might explain why the woman at the Blue Pony hadn’t been upset to talk about Hawthorne’s death.
Laughing, Beth reminded him they weren’t exactly living in real life either, but, in truth, she found a kind of peace with him. An almost-life. After Lamont, she’d sworn to never marry; this might be her only taste of what it would have been like. The sounds, the daily chores, the companionship, and, of course, the kids.
Only none of it was real, except maybe his kisses. In the quiet times during each day, she remembered Andrew’s kisses. They were like a long-held secret that grew sweeter with time. In the middle of everything, she’d stop and remember.
The children kept her busy. Madie, though she considered herself a full-grown woman, loved to play games with the boys and fold papers Andrew had tossed until they had all kinds of hats and tents scattered along the steps.
Since the day the thugs had tried to attack Madie, everyone in the neighborhood took an interest in their little family. The boys walked to school with the other children in the town houses, and Madie often talked to the women on either side of them while she did the wash out back or swept the front porch. If Beth liked being a part of this make-believe family, Madie loved it.
Beth was friendly, but she stayed inside while Madie told her new friends that she lived with this wonderful couple who were so much in love they even worked together.
Which couldn’t have been further from the truth. Andrew never mentioned love. Since the night he’d hurt his hand, he hadn’t made an attempt to kiss Beth. Now and then, when he was leaning over her shoulder as they both read something he’d just written, he’d touch her hair but nothing more.
It was like he’d shown too much of himself that night and now forced a polite distance between them. When he wasn’t working, he was reading or going for long walks. In the evenings, when they were in the same room, he usually had his head buried in a book or one of the dozen papers he’d brought home after his walk.
For the first time since she’d been away at school in her teens, Beth was homesick. She missed being able to watch the sunrise every morning with her papa and having morning coffee with her mother after everyone else had left. She missed riding across the ranch and the dinner parties with guests and family crowded around the table.
On the fourth day she was in Fort Worth, she’d sent her momma and papa a short note saying that she was fine and happy and would be home soon. If Ranger Slim Bates had dropped by Whispering Mountain, they already knew she wasn’t married to Lamont. Beth reasoned it was doubtful the old ranger would have had time. H
e was with Colby trying to solve a murder. He had far more important things to do than stop off for dinner and a chat.
Three days after she’d sent the note, when she hadn’t received a reply, she guessed they weren’t worried about her, but that didn’t keep her from missing them. Her younger brothers were away at school, and this time of year her uncles and aunts seldom visited even though the train now made the trip in a day.
The big ranch house would be as quiet as it always was after Christmas. Winter would keep them inside more. Her mother and the housekeeper would set out the looms and begin to weave. Her papa would pace and complain. Her mother always said Teagan McMurray was like a caged bear when he was forced indoors. She’d claimed only two things would settle him down. Books were one, Beth thought, but she wasn’t sure her mother ever said what the second one was.
“I’ve three more articles.” Andrew interrupted Beth’s thoughts of home.
She turned and reached for them but then didn’t turn back to the typewriter. He stood straight, almost formal in front of her in his wool suit and white shirt. He looked more like he belonged in New York or Boston than in Texas. She couldn’t help but wonder if this man fit anywhere. He’d said once that he called no place home for long.
“Something wrong?” he asked. “I know you like the stories better, but the articles usually sell. The Austin Statesman has been buying a few a month since I got here.” He moved his head, pushing his brown hair away from his eyes.
“You remind me of a shaggy dog.” She laughed.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re mad at me, right?”
“No, that’s not it. I think shaggy dogs are adorable. I just wonder how much longer.”
“How much longer what?”
She looked at him, almost feeling sorry for him. They both knew this was only a fantasy they played, but he did his part so fully she sometimes thought he believed they were really married with a family. “You do know, dear, that this marriage isn’t real?”
He smiled. “I write fiction, Beth, I don’t live it, but this marriage you’ve invented is both a kind of heaven and hell.” He brushed her jaw with one finger. “If I thought this were real, I’d be in your bed and not on this blasted couch every night.”
She turned away blushing, the frankness of his statement shocking her. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re still in love with your wife.”
Beth regretted the words as soon as they were out. He’d been kind to her. He’d put up with them invading his house. She had no right to pry.
She expected him to walk away, as he often did when he didn’t want to talk, but instead, he knelt on one knee so that his face was even with hers. “You’re wrong. When she died she took all the love I’ll ever have away with her. I live with her memories and sometimes I think I live with her ghost, but I’m not still in love with her. If I were, I’d have died of starvation years ago.”
She brushed his jawline lightly. “What do you feel for me, Andrew?”
“Need,” he answered. “And you deserve a man who can feel so much more than just need. I sometimes think if I stand too close to you I’ll drown in wanting you, but I’ll ask nothing more. I can only handle a make-believe wife right now. I don’t think I could survive a make-believe lover.”
Before she could think of how to answer him, he stood and walked away, grabbing his coat by the door. As he usually did, he closed the door softly and disappeared into the streets.
Beth sat in the silent house, envying him for having experienced such a deep love. His sadness hung between them like a lace curtain woven with iron threads. She could almost see what life would be like with him, but she couldn’t break through.
Beth admired him for not offering less to her than all, but part of her wanted to scream that she’d accept any terms if he’d just stay near. He was a good man, a talented man who made people think and feel, but he was broken inside, and she had no idea how to fix him.
He didn’t come home for supper. After Madie and the boys went to bed, she worked in his study awhile, hoping he’d come back and they could talk. It worried her that he was out walking the night, or in some saloon listening to drunks tell stories about the early days of the Republic. She couldn’t help but wonder if he traveled for his stories or because he never wanted to get close to anyone.
But he’d kissed her. He’d kissed her like no one had ever kissed her. Had that been the real Andrew? Or had it merely been him pretending to feel?
Long after she’d gone to bed, she heard him come in, but she didn’t go downstairs. What would be the point? He’d made it plain that he was just playing a part and the few times he’d pulled her close had been a mistake he didn’t plan to repeat.
The next morning he was asleep in his study, an open book by his side. From the number of papers crumpled around the desk, he must have worked all night. She covered him with a quilt and closed the door.
Before noon she sent another telegram to her family saying she’d be coming home soon. It had been over a week; if Lamont had been tracking her, he would have found her by now. She knew she was hiding, running away from her troubles, and that wasn’t like her. She was a McMurray, built of stronger stuff. She would handle her problems. Her family would understand; after all, it wasn’t like she hadn’t turned down a dozen men before. She’d just turned down Lamont at the last minute.
Her papa hadn’t liked Lamont. Of course, that shouldn’t be considered in any decision she made. He hated every man who looked at one of his girls. To his way of thinking, none were good enough.
As Beth typed one of Andrew’s stories at the dining room crate off the kitchen, she realized her biggest problem wasn’t Lamont, but the lie she’d told to get away from him. Her aunt and uncle lived in Washington, D.C., part of each year. Her aunt’s father had been a powerful senator in his day. They were bound to hear about her broken engagement to Lamont and her rushed marriage. Plus, she’d told Slim Bates and he’d tell every ranger from here to El Paso. With each day that passed, the lie spread.
She stopped typing and put her chin on her palm. First, how could she get rid of a pretend husband without telling everyone that she’d lied? Second, why did part of her want to keep Andrew so badly? It had to be more than the way he kissed. The memory of his last kiss returned so strongly, she could almost feel it on her lips.
“What you dreaming about, Bethie?” Andrew startled her.
She looked up to find him leaning against the door frame, his hair a mess from sleeping and his eyes shaded in exhaustion. She almost felt sorry for him, but he did look downright adorable when he wasn’t frowning.
“Stop scaring me.”
“Sorry. I’ll try to tromp more around the place.” He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and reached out to wipe the ink off first her finger, then her cheek. “So, what had you so deep in thought that you can’t type? I think it was the silence that woke me.”
“I have this idea for a plot to a story, but I can’t figure out how it will end.”
“All right, tell me about it. I’ve worried that with your imagination, if you hung around me long enough you’d want to write. So let me help you. Most folks after getting to know me figure out that if I can do this for a living, they should be able to do it too. So I’m not surprised you’re plotting.”
He moved across to the side of the room that was their kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee from a pot that had sat on the warm stove since breakfast. After one swallow his eyes were wide open. He took a seat on the stool across from her and waited.
“Since you asked.” She might as well get his help. “My story is about this spoiled, self-centered woman who feared she’d never marry, so she agreed to get engaged to a powerful man half a continent away. As the months went by he told her he felt just the way she did about women being equal to men and how they should get the vote. He said he also wanted a large family, but he wouldn’t mind if his wife took up causes now and then. He even swore he’d take her to hear lectures in
Washington and plays and concerts, which of course, made her fall in love with him. Then he told her he needed her by his side to do great things that would make the world a better place.”
Andrew forced down another swallow of coffee. “You need to move your story along, dear. It’s got a slow start.”
“Oh, of course. So this powerful man claimed he couldn’t live without the spoiled woman and asked her to meet him alone and run away to marry. He said they’d travel and see the country on a honeymoon. She, being a fool, agreed.”
Beth closed her eyes. Even telling the facts made her hate herself for being so easy to manipulate.
“Go on,” Andrew encouraged. “You forget to mention she was also beautiful and foolhardy.”
“Oh yes, that too. Only if she hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have discovered the truth in time. The night before they were to be married, she saw him without him knowing she was there to watch. She saw the man beneath the skin and knew he was a monster.”
“Now the story’s getting good,” Andrew said, letting her hear a twinge of humor in his tone.
“Then one stormy night a train wreck happened, and she had a chance to swap a wounded train robber for the powerful man. It seemed like a good idea at the time. All the spoiled woman was thinking about was getting away from the monster. Only now . . .”
“Only now?” he echoed.
“She doesn’t know how to get back home. Her lies have washed away the path. If she just leaves, she’ll have no answers for her family when they ask about her husband. If she tells them she divorced the stranger she married, it will hurt them all. She can’t tell them she made him up; too many people have seen the kind robber who claimed to marry her.” Beth twisted the ring Andrew had put on her finger in the hospital. It had convinced the sheriff that they were really married, but now it seemed only a reminder of her lie.
Beth didn’t look at him as she continued. “So, either she’s got a husband she can’t explain to her family, or she’ll have to think of a new lie to cover all those she’s already told. Something like that. Help me see the ending. You’re the writer.”
