In the Shadow of the Mountains

by Rosanne Bittner

  Irene studied the picture. She supposed her mother was right, and to this day she could not think of one thing wrong with Chad, one reason why any woman wouldn’t fall at his feet. They had grown closer, had laughed together, worked together, shared many kisses now. Chad had more than proven his dedication to the family business, as well as having proven his skill and bravery when he saved her father’s life.

  Why, then, did she still have this tiny, lingering doubt about marrying him? It wasn’t strong enough that she would refuse him when he gave her a ring and formally said the words. She truly did love him, and she was confident he loved her in return. How could anyone mistake the sincerity in those gray eyes? The man was handsome, gentle, and attentive. The thought of their wedding night brought a tingle to her blood, more from curiosity than desire. She was not afraid of it, for Chad surely had experience with women, and he would never hurt her. But it still bothered her that she did not feel quite the same passion for him as she had felt with Ramon. There was still something not quite right, yet she could not imagine what it was.

  “Who are you?” she found herself whispering at the picture. Maybe that was it. She had known him for well over a year now, had spent a good deal of time alone with him, had shared his kisses, his touch—yet she felt sometimes that she didn’t know Chad Jacobs at all. A part of him was still a stranger to her. She realized with sudden surprise that the man never talked about his parents, his life in Pennsylvania. It was as though he had dropped out of the sky into Denver with no background, except that he had papers proving he had graduated with honors from Harvard Law School. He had mentioned that his parents were well off, which she did not doubt. It took money to go to Harvard. She knew, because Bea had already talked about how expensive it was going to be to send John there.

  She quietly fidgeted with the piano keys as she looked at Chad’s picture, deciding she would have to ask him more about his family. Her thoughts were interrupted when Esther Sanchez came to the door of the library to tell her there was someone at the door who had come to see her mother. “I told him Mrs. Kirkland was not here, and he is wondering if she will be back soon,” the woman told her.

  Irene closed the piano. “Who is it, Esther?”

  “He tells me his name is Hank Loring, and that he is from the south, near Colorado City.”

  Irene frowned. Hank Loring. She remembered then who he was, and she was surprised at the flutter it brought to her heart. “Oh, yes,” she told Esther, getting up from the piano bench. “Show him in, Esther. I’ll come down and talk to him myself.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Esther left, and Irene hurried over to a mirror, glad she had thought to dress early for supper. She wore a soft pink day dress of light cotton, and only one petticoat. It was July, and the weather had turned very hot, although inside the grand Kirkland mansion it was pleasantly cool. A stone exterior, high ceilings, and lots of windows for cross drafts made it a pleasant place to be in summer.

  She pinched her cheeks for color, wishing her hair was done up more fashionably. She had merely brushed it out this morning and drawn it back at the sides with two combs. It hung down her back nearly to her waist.

  She scowled then, wondering why on earth she cared how she looked. Hank Loring was a near stranger, a married man at that. And why on earth did that matter? “What is wrong with you, Irene Kirkland?” she muttered to herself. “Just go and see what the man wants.”

  She hurried out, moving through the great room to the grand entryway, where a crystal chandelier tinkled from a breeze coming through a screened window. Esther stood near the front doors. “He told me he would rather wait outside,” the woman told Irene. “He is…well, he has been on a cattle drive, and he says he is not presentable enough to come in.”

  “Oh, that’s silly. I’ll go talk to him, although I can’t imagine why he is here.” Irene opened the door and walked out onto the wide, slate veranda and down the brick steps, noticing Hank Loring stood next to a beautiful, golden stallion. To her irritation her heart raced harder when the rugged, hard-honed Loring, looked up at her and grinned.

  “Well, hello there,” he called out.

  Irene had no idea that the instant, forbidden attraction affected him as well. Hank supposed that was just life, that a man could love one woman to his very soul, the way he loved his wife, but it didn’t mean he was never attracted to any other woman. And what man wouldn’t notice and appreciate this woman’s beauty? He remembered her from the day he had met her and her father a year ago, when they were on their way to visit their potato farm.

  “Irene, isn’t it?” he asked as she came closer.

  “Yes,” she answered. “You remembered, Mr. Loring.” She put out her hand, struck by an immediate warmth and strength she felt when he took it. His own hand was rough and strong, but his handshake was gentle. “Won’t you come inside? It’s much cooler.”

  He let go of her hand and removed his hat, revealing thick, dark hair, his green eyes making her feel at once comfortable. “Ma’am, I just brought some cattle to the Denver stockyards, and you can see I’m kind of dusty and all. I would have stopped to clean up, but I’m in kind of a hurry. There’s a lot of Indian trouble for the ranchers and settlers, and I don’t like to be away from the family for too long. I’m heading back tonight. I got a letter from your mother, wanting to see me about a business deal, so I thought I’d come and talk to her.”

  He wore a blue calico shirt and tight-fitting denim pants, with a scarf tied around his neck and a gun at his hip. He was so different from any man Irene had seen around Denver, and again she found him fascinating and ruggedly handsome. “My mother spends more time at our offices in town than here. But she did say she would be home early today. Please do come inside. I’ll have Esther get you some lemonade.”

  He turned to pat his horse again. “Well, I suppose I could wait a few minutes, but not too long. I have men waiting for me outside of town.”

  Irene, whose love of horses was still strong, could not resist reaching out and touching his horse’s nose to pet it. He whinnied softly, and Loring grinned. “I was just about to tell you to be careful. Sunrise here is an ornery one with strangers.” He kept a hand on the animal’s mane, slightly leaning on the animal. “I can see he likes you.”

  “He’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a horse like this—all golden and white.”

  “He’s a Palomino. The Vallejos raise them down on Hacienda del Sur. I bought this stallion and a good mare from them…plan to raise a few of my own.”

  She met his eyes. “You…know the Vallejos well, then?”

  “Pretty well. Miguel Vallejo, the old man, he’s a fine, proud man. Like I told you last year, I was invited to Ramon’s wedding. I’d like to see Ramon while I’m here in Denver, but he’s hard to find…a busy man, I’m told.” He frowned. “I believe you mentioned once that you knew Ramon.”

  Irene moved to the other side of Sunrise to pet his neck, not wanting Loring to see her eyes at the moment. “Yes. Ramon did some work on this house for us. I was just curious.” She moved toward the back of the horse. “I can’t get over how beautiful he is,” she said, wanting to change the subject.

  “Be careful walking behind him.”

  “My parents won’t let me ride stallions,” she said, stepping back a little to admire the powerful, golden horse. “They think they’re too unpredictable.”

  “And they’re right,” he answered, as she came around the other side of the animal and faced him again. “Stallions can be dangerous, but I prefer them myself,” he went on. “I like the challenge, and believe me, this one gives a man a run for his money. He’s finally learned who’s master, though.” He turned and faced Sunrise head-on, patting both sides of his neck. “Haven’t you, boy?”

  The animal whinnied and nudged at the man’s neck, and Irene could see he loved horses as much as she did. “I’d love to ride him,” she told Hank.

  Their eyes held for a moment. “Not many city women pretty as
you care much about horses.”

  She smiled. “I love them. I had a very special horse of my own—Sierra. Maybe you remember him. He’s the gelding I was riding when we met you last year…black tail and mane, black feet.”

  “I remember. He was a fine-looking horse.”

  Her smile faded. “He was killed in the fire last April.”

  He frowned, keeping hold of Sunrise’s bridle, never trusting the animal around strangers. “I’m real sorry to hear that.”

  She ran her hand lovingly over Sunrise’s shoulder. He was a big horse, big like Hank Loring. She wondered if she could master such an animal. “The worse part was that I had been gone all last winter, at a finishing school in Chicago. He died before I got to see him again.”

  “That’s too bad.” She met his eyes, and she could see he was sincere. She realized then how easy it had been to talk to him, felt a kinship with him even though she hardly knew him. Hank Loring was easy to like, easy to talk with, and she knew he shared her love of horses. “Maybe if your mother and I do business together, I can sell you one of Sunrise’s offspring.”

  She smiled. “That would be nice.” She heard a buggy approaching and turned to see her mother coming. “That’s my mother,” she said aloud. “Now you won’t have to wait.”

  The driver headed the rig up the circular, brick drive to where Hank and Irene stood, and Bea climbed out, brightening when Irene introduced her. “Well, Mr. Loring, I was wondering if I was ever going to hear from you,” the woman said, putting out her hand. Hank shook it, thinking how callused and cold it felt compared to Irene’s. He saw in her demeanor a shrewd business woman when he gazed into her dark, discerning eyes. He explained his situation, again apologizing for his appearance.

  “I don’t like to leave the wife and kids for too long,” he told her. “There are men left at the ranch, but Indian trouble has been pretty bad and I just feel better being there myself.”

  “I can understand,” Bea told him. “The Volunteers are regrouping, Mr. Loring. We hope to conduct our own campaign against the Cheyenne who are causing the most trouble. Heaven knows, with hardly any federal soldiers left here to protect us, we’ve got to do something about it ourselves.”

  “I agree,” Hank answered. The woman insisted he come inside for lemonade, urging Irene to join them. “You might as well know about this,” she told her daughter.

  Irene looked at Hank with raised eyebrows, and the man just shrugged. He followed the women inside, gazing at high ceilings and beautiful woodwork, walking over oriental rugs and polished wood floors. He had plans to build a bigger house for his own family, something sprawling and beautiful, perhaps a stucco, Spanish-style home. He already knew he would never want something this ornate and ostentatious. This kind of house didn’t fit a rancher, but it certainly told him he was dealing with a very rich woman, and he found himself thinking how her daughter didn’t seem to fit in with all of it. She was too nice, too genuine, too down-to-earth to belong amid such wealth.

  Bea led him into Kirk’s office and billiards room, offering him one of Kirk’s cigars, which he refused. He felt out of place here, longed to get back to the ranch. He sat down in a cool leather chair, and Esther brought lemonade, which Hank took gratefully. Bea peppered him with questions about raising cattle and his thoughts on the future of the beef industry, questions Hank answered warily, understanding this was a woman with power.

  Irene watched him, sensing his pride, realizing he had a good head for business by the way he answered her mother. He sat sprawled in the leather chair as though he was too big for it, placing one big, booted foot up on his knee. She noticed that although he was dusty and had earlier been sweating, he had a good, manly scent about him, like a man who normally bathed often, so that a couple of days’ dirt and sweat didn’t leave him smelling bad, unlike the drifters in town who probably had not bathed in weeks, maybe months. He toyed with his hat as he spoke, and Irene decided his hands were the biggest she had ever seen.

  “I want to get into the business of raising beef, Mr. Loring,” Bea was saying. “When you build your fortune on gold, you soon learn that to depend entirely on mining is very foolish. Mines play out. We have to be ready for that, and I have several other investments. I happen to think that the southern area is going to begin to grow rapidly. I already have plans to build a hotel down near Colorado City, but in a quieter area, a place where the wealthier people of Denver can go as a kind of vacation. I will be coming south myself before too long to get a better idea of the possibilities there.”

  She rested her head against the back of the chair as she spoke, and Hank thought how the woman fit the chair like a man. “At any rate,” she continued, “I happen to agree with you that the cattle industry is just beginning to see its heyday. There are even foreigners interested in investing in Colorado, not just in the mines and industry, but in farming and ranching. It is through correspondence with people from England, and through my husband’s interest in the southern area, that I came up with my idea.”

  Hank finished his lemonade. “I’m listening,” he told her, as he set his glass on a tray Esther had left.

  Bea leaned forward, putting her hands on the desk, her eyes glittering with the excitement of trying a new investment “They’re experimenting with a better breed of cattle in England, Mr. Loring, called Herefords, or shorthorns. If we can raise them right here, and if you’re right about a boom in the cattle industry, we can make a fortune if you’re willing to work with me. These shorthorns are extremely huge, meaty animals. They carry much more beef in proportion to their bulk than the Texas longhorns the cattlemen raise now.”

  Irene listened in amazement at how well schooled her mother had become regarding cattle. Whatever you are going to invest in, the woman had told her once, always study your subject well first. Make sure it is a wise investment. Bea apparently heeded her own advice.

  “This new breed of cattle is mature and ready for the market in only two years,” Bea went on. “I’m told it takes at least four years for Texas longhorns to mature.”

  Hank nodded. “Yes, ma’am. If what you’re saying is true, that new breed of cattle could bring twice the money.”

  “Maybe more than that. Those who raise them in England believe the breed would do quite well on the southern Colorado plains, where the winters are not as harsh as farther north. At any rate, I want to have some shipped here and try raising them. I need someone who knows all about ranching and raising cattle. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Loring. I’ve had you investigated, and I am told you are an honest man, hard working, a man who knows the ranching business inside and out. You’ve done very well on your own, and I would not ask you to give up what is already yours. I am only asking if you will try raising these cattle for me. If it works out, and if I can get my hands on enough land down there, I’ll have a ranch of my own, and I would want you to manage all of it—everything—hire as many men as you need, pick out good foremen, whatever is necessary.”

  Hank shifted in the chair. “That’s a tall order, ma’am.”

  “And I think you can fill it.”

  He shook his head. “Raising cattle takes a lot of land, Mrs. Kirkland, thousands of acres, if you want to raise enough to make big money.”

  “I’ll get the land, Mr. Loring. All I need from you is a yes or a no. Will you experiment with raising these cattle? Will you think about managing a ranch for me? I’ll pay you well. You’ll make enough money to expand your own ranch, build a fine home for your family.”

  Hank rubbed the side of his face, taking several seconds for deep thought. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What does your husband think of all this?”

  “He is the one who suggested cattle ranching a year ago, after talking to you. Besides, my husband supports any investments I choose to make. His interest is primarily in the mines. I do nearly all other investing, and I have full power of attorney to sign any and all agreements on my husband’s behalf.”

 
Hank thought a moment longer, then slowly nodded. “All right. I’ll try raising these Herefords for you. But a different breed means learning new things, maybe losing a few cattle at first, figuring out the best grazing for them, the best feed, finding out how they will adapt to a new climate, different breeding tactics, things like that. You have to realize there might be problems at first, maybe even some losses.”

  “I’ll take the risk. I’ll trust you to do the best you can.”

  Hank ran a hand through his hair. “Well, let’s see how they work out. You pay for the cattle and for any special feed they might need, and pay me a managing fee, and I’ll see what I can do with them. We’ll talk about managing a ranch for you once you get enough land, but it won’t be easy. A lot of people have moved in because of the Homestead Act—most of them farmers who are breaking up the land. Makes it harder for us ranchers.”

  “As I said, Mr. Loring, I’ll take care of getting the land. If you’ll come back with me to Kirkland Enterprises, I already have some papers ready for you to sign, in hopes you would respond to my letter. It won’t take long, and you can be on your way.”

  She rose, and Hank followed suit, towering over both women. “I’d like something added to those papers, ma’am,” he told Bea. “I want some kind of statement on there that says what’s mine is mine, that you promise never to try to move in and take over my own land.” Bea looked at him in surprise. “I’ve worked hard to build the Lazy L, ma’am,” he explained. “Any man can see you have the money and probably the political power to take over any piece of land you want. I just don’t want it to be mine.”

  Their eyes held in challenge for a moment, and then Bea broke into a smile. “You’re a smart man, Mr. Loring. I like that. I don’t blame you one bit for your concern. I know the feeling of protecting what you have worked to build. We’ll add a clause to our agreement.” She put out her hand. “Your land is perfectly safe. I value your knowledge of the cattle business too much to make an enemy of you.”