Stolen Heritage (Historical Christian Romance)

by Barbara Goss

Laurel heard no more, for she darted for the creek and in the right direction, as fast as her legs would carry her. If that man saw her and suspected she'd heard anything, she'd be as good as dead.

  Stopping for breath, she leaned against a lone cottonwood. Feeling eyes on her, she scanned the area. She gasped. A lone horseman sat a mere fifty feet from her, staring. Shocked, Laurel merely stared back.

  Chapter 10

  The man dressed all in black squinted; touched the gold band on his hat, turned his horse, and sped away.

  Laurel blinked and breathed deeply. Who was this intimidating man? Had it been one of the two she'd heard talking in the shanty? She shivered. If so, had he seen her listening? Did he know she'd heard their plans?

  Picking up her skirts, she ran all the way back to the ranch house, climbed back over the balcony, and slid into her room.

  Someone had pressed the pink party dress and brought her hot water and towels. After she'd washed and dressed, she sat upon the bed and began unbraiding her hair.

  Running the conversation she'd overheard back through her mind, she wondered, Who were those horrid men? She must find a way to warn Jeremy. But how?

  Maggie came in at exactly six and brushed Laurel's hair briskly, then surprised her by not rebraiding it but tying it at the nape of her neck with a pink ribbon. Her auburn hair fell thickly down her back. Laurel gazed at herself in the mirror and decided she liked the hairstyle.

  “It's beautiful, Mag— Grandmother. Thank you.”

  Maggie beamed. The steel gray of her dress highlighted her blue eyes, which danced with pride in her granddaughter. Arm and arm they walked down the long corridor to the dining room.

  Angus, seated at the table head, looked up at Laurel with shining eyes. “You do our name proud, lass.”

  She kissed his forehead. “And I wear the name proudly.”

  “Sit here.” He patted the green velvet chair beside him. Maggie sat across from her. Ada entered next and, smiling coldly, took the seat at the table's foot, across from her husband. One seat remained empty, the chair between Laurel and Ada.

  Angus pounded the table with his fists. “Where is your son? Why does he always keep us waiting? Especially tonight, he could have made an effort to be here on time!”

  Calmly, as if used to his behavior, Ada remarked, “He came home late.”

  Angus turned to Laurel. “As soon as—”

  The sound of a man clearing his throat made all eyes fly toward the doorway. There, smiling broadly, stood the man in black, who'd stared at Laurel on the trail. His brown eyes sparkled with mischief, and his cheeks dimpled. Laurel stared in amazement. Not only is this the same one, she thought, but he is handsomer than any man I've ever seen. She could almost understand poor Melita's confusion, having to choose between an absent army captain and this charming young man.

  Angus stood. “Ram Atwood, I'm proud to present my daughter, Laurel McCallister.”

  Ram walked to her chair and bowed. “Pleased to meet you, Laurel. Welcome to Three Gates Ranch.” His eyes, still smiling, pierced hers meaningfully, as if to say, I know it was you, and I know what you heard.

  The words he'd uttered in the shanty echoed through her mind. “You leave them out of this! I'll take care of them!” Unnerved, she could only nod and smile feebly at him.

  Ram took the seat beside her, and immediately a heavy-set woman began setting hot dishes before them.

  Laurel welcomed the end of the meal, for she'd been too nervous and upset by Ram's presence to eat. After ushering her into the living room, Ram excused himself. Taking her hand, he bowed again. “A pleasure to meet you, Laurel McCallister.”

  “Thank you,” she answered feebly.

  “I apologize. I must hurry off. Business, you know?” He watched her, his expression grim.

  Laurel felt like saying, “No, I don't know anything!” but instead responded, “I understand.”

  “We'll ride together one day. I'll show you the ranch. A date?” he asked, changing to his charismatic boyishness. Laurel found herself agreeing, despite herself.

  When he'd gone, she tried to shake off his effect on her. Between his rugged good looks and his style, a woman didn't have a chance against Ram Atwood. Laurel felt sympathy for Melita.

  In the morning, because she felt homesick, Laurel dressed in her white buckskin and moccasins. All the while she dressed and braided her hair she pondered how to get in contact with Jeremy Grant. Ride to the Grant home? No. She'd never find it on her own, for there were too many streets and turns to remember. Send a message? Probably best, but how? Should she confide in her father? She knew he could be trusted, but he was so loud. Maybe someone would overhear him, for certainly he'd rant and rave. No. She must contact Jeremy.

  Maggie! She jumped up excitedly as the obvious solution struck her. Maybe Maggie could get a message to Jeremy.

  She sat at the desk in the comer of the room and poised a pen over the blank paper. Would Jeremy laugh at her childish handwriting? Would he compare her to the intelligent Melita? Laurel shrugged. She had little choice. Jeremy must know what was going on.

  Deciding it was best to keep the message short and to the point, she merely printed:

  Jeremy:

  I need to see you at once. Don't tell anyone except Flora.

  Laurel

  Folding the paper and hiding it in one hand, she headed for Maggie's room. When Laurel knocked softly on her door, Maggie answered almost at once. Smiling broadly, she pulled her granddaughter into her simply furnished bedroom.

  Sitting upon the bed, Laurel handed the missive to Maggie. “Grandmother, can you see that this gets to Jeremy Grant? It's terribly important.”

  The old woman took the letter with a questioning look.

  Laurel didn't want Maggie to worry. “I miss the Grants and forgot to thank Jeremy. I feel dreadful. He helped me, and I never thanked him. It has me worried. Can you help?”

  Looking at Laurel suspiciously, Maggie pocketed the paper and nodded briskly as if to say, “Done.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed the old woman. “It means a great deal to me. And now, I'm going to my father's room. He's going to teach me something called checkers.”

  Ram's absence at dinner that night was again explained away as business. Laurel felt relieved; his presence confused her because her reactions to him were so ambiguous.

  Just after they retired to the living room for coffee, Ada answered the door to guests: Jeremy and Flora Grant.

  Laurel spun around to face them. Her eyes met Jeremy's and she felt her heart flutter. She smiled at him and greeted Flora with a hug. Had they received her message so soon? Or had they missed her already and merely stopped by?

  “How wonderful to see you,” she said. “Have you met Ada and my father?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Flora answered. “I have, though I haven't run into either in ages. It's so nice to see you both again.”

  Ada and Angus welcomed their guests, and Ada surprised Laurel by becoming the perfect hostess. She asked Clarita, their cook, to bring coffee and cake and spoke graciously to Jeremy and Flora. Ada seemed warmer than ever before. Who was she trying to fool with her kindness—Angus or the Grants?

  Laurel bit her lip. How could she signal Jeremy? Could she manage somehow to get him alone?

  She glanced at her father. Angus was ranting and raving about cattle rustlers and how they should be caught and hung. If he only knew, Laurel thought.

  She turned to study Jeremy, who was listening raptly. Then her eyes met two anxious gray ones. Flora! She winked knowingly and nodded toward Jeremy with a slight smile. Laurel breathed a sigh of relief. They knew! Jeremy and Flora would help her, but she must remain alert for cues. She folded her hands in her lap and waited.

  During an unusual lull in the conversation—for Angus loved company and an audience—Flora addressed Laurel casually: “So, my dear, have you become accustomed to ranch life?”

  Laurel smiled. “It's lovely here. I'm sure I'll feel
at home in no time.”

  “We're happy for you, but miss you terribly. The house isn't the same, it seems so empty. Doesn't it, Jeremy?” she nudged her son.

  “Definitely,” he agreed, adding, “Smoky wanders the house, looking for you constantly.”

  “Oh! I miss him, too!” Laurel cried. “Is he eating well?”

  Flora chuckled. “As much as he misses you, he hasn't given up his favorite pastime of eating. He's getting mighty fat, too!”

  “What's this?” asked Angus. “Who is this Smoky?”

  “Oh, Father, he's the sweetest kitten we found on the way here from Oklahoma. I sort of adopted him.”

  “Then why isn't he here with you?” he roared, ignoring Ada's gasp.

  “We couldn't keep a cat here, Angus!” Ada blurted. “Ram sneezes his head off at just the sight of one.”

  “Ram won't be anywhere near her room.” He turned to Laurel. “You may bring the cat here, if you can keep it out of Ram's way.”

  Despite Ada's sneer, Laurel clapped her hands together. “Oh, Father, thank you! May I get him tomorrow?”

  “Certainly.”

  Flora held up one hand. “Not so fast, Laurel. I think it's fine for people to take in pets, but only if they can be cared for properly. Let us see if your room is an adequate place for a kitten to be kept. They do need space to run and play, and remember, he will grow.”

  When the sparkle left Laurel's face, Flora winked. “Let's check this room, Jeremy.” Laurel caught the cue and led them to her room.

  Jeremy and Flora Grant followed Laurel down the long hall to her door, midway along the corridor. Once inside, with the door closed, Flora relaxed and hugged Laurel affectionately.

  “How did you get my message so quickly?” Laurel asked.

  “Dusty brought it.”

  “Please sit down.” Laurel seated herself on the bed's edge, so her guests could occupy the two chairs.

  Jeremy's eyes scanned the room. He walked to the French doors and opened them. After disappearing through the door for several moments, he returned, closed the doors, and sat in a chair beside his mother. “It's safe to talk. What is it, Laurel? Is something wrong?”

  “I don't know where to begin!”

  “Keep your voice low and start at the beginning,” said Jeremy.

  Laurel gulped, folded her hands serenely in her lap, and wet her lips. “I decided to walk and follow the creek. Stupidly, I crossed it so many times that when it became time to return I couldn't remember which way to go. I chose the wrong way and came to an old shanty. Just as I began to turn around and go back, voices stopped me.” She had Flora and Jeremy's full attention.

  “Two men were discussing Indians. One voice sounded educated and definitely belonged to the leader. They talked about stealing the supplies the government was sending to the reservation Indians. The second man told the leader he'd heard that more men guarded it now, so he had better get more men to steal it.” Laurel's excitement caused her cheeks to flush. Her whisper had grown louder due to her excitement. Remembering, she continued in a lower pitch, “The hired man mentioned that my living here would complicate things, especially with the army captain and Indian snooping around. He suggested something be done about it.”

  Flora, still silent, paled, her eyes widened. A look of concern covered Jeremy's face, but he made no comment.

  “The leader's words frightened me,” Laurel said. “Not so much what he said, but how he said it.”

  Flora leaned forward and patted Laurel's hand. “Tell us, dear, and then you won't have to think of it again.”

  “He said,” Laurel imitated the emphasis Ram had used, “You leave them out of this! I'll take care of them.”

  “It's just talk, Laurel. That's the way tough men are out here. You needn't worry,” assured Flora.

  Jeremy remained silent, as if carefully contemplating all her words. Finally he spoke. “Did they mention their names during the conversation?”

  “No, but they mentioned some of their men, and—”

  Jeremy's eyes widened and he cut in, “What were the names?”

  Laurel bit her lip gently. “I'm fairly sure one name was a nickname, Bo, I think. The other name I can't recall. This Bo has a brother in town, and the leader suggested that they use him. The hired man mentioned that the brother drank.”

  “Boynton Hobbs,” Jeremy stated. “He's been rustling cattle, too.”

  “Yes,” Laurel said. “They spoke of that. The hired man wants to go back to cattle rustling, instead of stealing Indian shipments. In fact, the leader heard the government is sending herds of cattle to the Indians and they plan to steal them.”

  “Did they say anything else that could give me a clue as to who else is involved or what their immediate plans are?” Jeremy asked.

  “No, but I know who the leader is!” she cried, in a loud whisper.

  Chapter 11

  Flora and Jeremy stared at Laurel in amazement.

  “You know?” Jeremy asked. “Did you see him?” Then shifting to the edge of his chair, he asked worriedly, “Did they see you?”

  Nervously, Laurel told how she'd seen the man dressed in black staring at her. “It frightened me, but not as much as seeing him walk into the dining room that evening.”

  “Ram?” Jeremy and Flora chorused.

  Laurel nodded. “He sat right beside me. I couldn't eat a bite!”

  “I can imagine!” sympathized Flora. “And his attitude toward you?”

  “He was polite and said all the correct words, yet something about the way he said them makes me suspect he knows I heard them talking.”

  “Like what?” Jeremy asked.

  Laurel sighed. “Nothing critical, really. Just the way he emphasized certain words and the way his eyes seemed to pierce my mind and pick out the thoughts.”

  “What do you mean, ‘the way he said them’? Give me an example,” Jeremy urged.

  “Well, he apologized for having to leave by saying, ‘I must hurry off. Business, you know.'” Laurel tried to imitate the inflection Ram had used on the words.

  “That's all?” Jeremy asked.

  “Yes.”

  He sighed with relief. “Laurel, could it have been your imagination?”

  She considered this. Then shook her head. “No. He knows. I feel it.”

  “Stay away from him as much as you can,” Jeremy warned.

  “He offered to take me riding, to show me the ranch.”

  “Don’t go!” Jeremy pounded his fists on the chair arms, reminding Laurel of Angus.

  “But what excuse can I give? I can't refuse his hospitality without a valid reason.”

  Jeremy stood and paced the floor. Finally he stopped before her. “Be careful, then. I'll have Dusty posted to keep an eye out for you.”

  Flora stood. “We'd better return before someone wonders what we’re up to. If you need us for anything, send word quickly. Simply write the word help on a paper, and we'll be here.”

  Jeremy opened the door. “I think we had better keep Smoky for the time being. The room is big, but too confining for a growing kitten. We'll take good care of him.”

  Laurel felt disappointed but knew he was right. She nodded.

  Approaching the living room, Flora spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “Do you think your father would object to our picking you up for church on Sunday? We'd also love to have you for dinner afterwards.”

  “Maybe Angus and Ada would like to come, too?” added Jeremy.

  As they entered the living room Angus said, “Church? Me? It would topple over if I set foot in it.”

  “Why is that, Father?” Laurel sat on the arm of his chair.

  He laughed. “People say I'm a devil of a man!”

  “Why, I don't believe that,” Laurel said, kissing his cheek. “Will you go with me?”

  “No,” he said kindly. “But you go ahead.”

  At her disappointed look, he kindly reprimanded her. “Laurel, m’love, I've agreed to quit my whis
key and my cussing, but a saint you'll never make of me. There's many a person would say you've already accomplished the impossible.”

  Laurel smiled. “Thank you, Father.”

  As Laurel walked Flora and Jeremy to their wagon, she gazed up at the stars. It was a beautiful evening.

  Jeremy helped his mother onto the buckboard wagon, and then walked with Laurel to the driver's seat. “I hate leaving you here,” he said, searching her eyes carefully, “for more reasons than one.”

  “I'll be fine,” she said with more assurance than she felt.

  He took her hand. “Be careful,” he whispered.

  She looked intensely into his concerned eyes. “Are you worried about my safety?”

  “Of course I am. Why would you ask such a question?”

  “I never had anyone worry about me before. I rather enjoy the feeling.”

  “Mother also worries about you.”

  She smiled. “You are both so kind.” Laurel hesitated. “Do you suppose my father worries about me, too?”

  “I'm sure of it. You haven't told him about Ram?”

  “No. I thought about it but decided against it.”

  “A good choice. We don't want him worrying.”

  Laurel looked up into his smiling eyes. “Thank you for your concern,” she whispered.

  He squeezed her hand. “Just be careful. Don't ride with Ram unless you have to, and then…,” he broke off. His worried look had returned. “Don't trust him, not for one second. And,” Jeremy hesitated. “And, he released her hand and quickly jumped up into the driver's seat.

  “And,” she prompted.

  “And don't be taken in by his charm,” he said and clucked to his horses. As the vehicle rolled down the drive, they both waved.

  Laurel spent most of the next day playing checkers with her father. She began to love the time spent with him, especially when he told tales about her mother and other family members. As far as she could see, he'd kept his promise about the whiskey, and he hadn't cussed in front of her. Ada had still not warmed to her, and Laurel couldn’t figure out why. Her father's wife had no reason to dislike her, though Laurel had good reason to dislike Ada. Several times she'd seen Ada offer Angus whiskey, and even encourage him to drink. Ada knew of Angus's promise to his daughter. Did Ada like her husband better drunk? Or did she want to chase Laurel away?