Martha set her cup down. “You have a lot to think about, and we’ll talk more tonight. Don’t forget we’ll expect you tomorrow for supper.” She got up and stretched. “You can discuss it with Colt then. I’m sure he can help you plan.” She gave Carianne a sly wink before turning to cross the room.
Carianne saw her to the door, closed it, and leaned against its wooden panels. She knew what plans Martha alluded to, but even if she and Colt married, it wouldn’t change her dreams. This new inspiration was from God, and it revived a measure of joy for the moment, at least. She already felt excitement building.
If God wanted her to marry Colt, He’d work it out somehow.
That night she sat at her small desk with paper and pencil recording her plans and estimating costs. She’d been so preoccupied with this new scheme she’d hardly thought of Rhyan at all today. That proved she could get over him, and the memories would fade. In time she’d probably forget what he looked like.
God worked all things for good even when His children tried to go in another direction. He’d had brought her to this town for a greater purpose than Rhyan Cason.
In the face of cold reality, she had to admit her fascination with Rhyan was built on a fairytale of her own making. She’d been half in love with him before she even met him. Having followed his life through newspapers, she’d built up an image of a knight in shining armor. He couldn’t have lived up to her expectations, even if he’d wanted to. And she’d thought she could make a difference in his life.
She smiled at that notion. Not likely.
Building a serious relationship with Colt might take months, if not years. What if he didn’t evoke those giddy feeling Rhyan did? She didn’t flatter herself that Colt felt that way about her either, but their friendship could grow and mellow and change over time.
And if it didn’t? Being an independent woman had its advantages. She wouldn’t be an old maid in the awkward position of depending on relatives for her support. Opportunities most women couldn’t imagine belonged to her. She could chart her own course, and maybe that’s what God wanted for her
With a skeleton outline of her plans recorded, she put away her writing supplies and fetched the newspaper still lying on the kitchen table. Sitting in the sofa’s corner, she tucked her legs under her and snapped the paper open. Following habit, she scanned every page, stopping to read those articles of interest.
When she got to the back where the more salacious stories hid, one of the headlines jumped out at her.
Congressman George Sinclair’s Wife Sues for Divorce.
The article went on to explain that the congressman had suddenly dropped his bid for re-election and moved to Europe.
Abby Sinclair. Carianne sagged against the sofa’s back. This was the explanation of the change in Rhyan. She closed her eyes, going over all she knew of his fascination with the beautiful socialite.
He’d sat across from Carianne at the table in his library and told her he had loved Abby, but no longer did. She’d asked him where his love had gone. He couldn’t answer.
There was no answer. True love never died. She knew that as surely as she knew she would always love him.
She recalled another scene. The ball at Sollano. Rhyan and Abby with their heads together, as if sharing secrets. Her golden curls nestled against his raven hair. A beautiful couple who complemented each other perfectly. Beautiful. No other word could describe them. One had only to see them to know they were made for each other.
But Abby wasn’t free then.
Now she was, and he’d gone with her. He might not ever return. Likely would sell the ranch for what he could still get out of it. Abby wouldn’t want to live in the middle of the prairie.
That thought was like another thrust of the knife blade. She loved Sollano almost as much as she loved the man.
Why couldn’t Rhyan have been honest with her? Tell her he preferred Abby instead of making up the ridiculous argument that he couldn’t believe in God as she did. It wasn’t hard to accept the salvation Christ offered freely. You either did or didn’t.
Rhyan either loved her—or he didn’t.
She didn’t know she wept until a drop fell on the newsprint, blurring the words.
I will not cry. She swiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pinched the bridge of her nose. Enough tears. At least she had an explanation for what happened during his trip back East. Now she knew he wasn’t out of his mind.
Nothing had changed for her. She’d continue to love him, but that love would have to morph from the romantic to the fondness of an old friend who’d come into her life, left his memories, and left. At the same time, she’d give her love for Colt a chance to move into the type a woman reserved for her husband. That was the sensible thing to do.
After ending her prayers, she glanced at the clock. Nearly twelve o’clock. Most nights since coming home, she’d gone to bed directly after supper.
Every night she prayed she wouldn’t dream of Rhyan’s kisses as she had at Sollano, and thankfully, that hadn’t happened since returning home. Tiredness drew her to bed and, please God, a dreamless sleep.
Sometime in the early hours, the nightmare began.
Chapter 10
It didn’t begin as a nightmare. She was in tall grass in the part of Sollano that lay uncultivated and unused. Virgin prairie. Sunlight and happiness engulfed her. She ran as fast as she could through the waist-high grass, using her arms to push it aside like she was swimming in a waving, rolling sea.
Rhyan chased her, moving in fast. She could hear his heavy breathing.
Teasing and taunting him, she glanced over her shoulder and laughed. She couldn’t outrun him and didn’t want to. She wouldn’t be running away unless she knew he’d catch her.
When he reached her she squealed with feigned indignation, and he swept her up into his arms. Giving way to the euphoric weightlessness that spread over her, she felt utter contentment fill her being. His face, so near hers now, was smiling, his eyes full of love, that love she’d sought, a love greater than any she’d thought to know this side of heaven. Her arms went around him as she leaned against his chest and closed her eyes letting the bliss settle deep into her marrow.
Abruptly she opened her eyes and found herself standing in a cornfield. Abel Farmer’s cornfield. It was near harvest, and the stalks rose high above her head. Rhyan had disappeared, but she knew he was somewhere in this cornfield. He was lost, searching for a way out for both of them. She called to him, a sense of unease creeping over her.
The endless rows marched in all directions, blending into each other in the distance. She stepped into another row and another, searching for him, calling his name, straining to hear.
A rustling in the stalks from the next row over caught her attention. Not Rhyan, but something ominous and dangerous. Fear gripped her. To get away, she moved to the next row, but the rustling followed. Could it be a snake? Frantically, she ran through the rows. The thing followed, close enough that she saw the stalks bend and sway. Not a snake, but something much larger. A wolf?
She caught sight of rusty orange, though that might have been the burnished silts of the ripe corn tassels.
Her foot caught on a vine, and she stumbled. An unearthly roar blasted her ears. She darted a look over her shoulder in time to see the tawny color of the animal’s mane, the glow of yellow hate-filled eyes. Sharp bared teeth. The power of the beast’s roar blew hot air into her face.
She screamed.
Sitting straight up, her heart pounded and moisture beaded her brow. As reality sank in, she forced her breathing to slow. She fell back on the pillows and stared into the darkness.
A lion in a cornfield?
Your adversary the devil, walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.
The lion stalking her was as much at home in a Nebraska cornfield as in the African jungle.
***
Rhyan could tell his ranch manager wasn’t happy he hadn’t brought home a govern
ment contract. Carlos always kept his emotions under control, but he knew how much trouble they were in. He knew the ranch. He’d been born here before the house was built, when everyone lived in sod houses, including Rhyan’s grandparents.
Carlos scratched his salt-and-pepper head, then fisted his hands on the library table’s polished surface. “I understand your reasons for not accepting the contract, but it would’ve solved a lot of problems. We won’t be able to sell any cattle for a long time, even though we only lost a couple hundred head, and the rest are healthy.”
Of course they couldn’t send any cattle to market. No stockyard would take beeves with even a hint of being infected with anthrax. Besides, the same government that had been willing to buy his cows with no questions asked a few days ago could turn around and demand he destroy every animal on the property.
Making a profit on a cattle ranch was simple. You brought in cattle. They reproduced. You sold them, preferably when the market was high. Bought more cattle when the market was low. Repeat as often as possible. A ranch the size of Sollano had to repeat several times a year.
“Why didn’t you send for me when this thing blew up?”
Carlos rubbed his chin and shrugged. “You didn’t leave an itinerary. All we knew for sure was St. Louis would be your last stop. Carianne sent your lawyer out there to find you.”
“All right. We won’t rehash that. When did you first get wind of something being wrong?”
“A government man, Toler was his name, showed up, asking to look at our herds, said they might have anthrax.”
“Did he give you a reason?”
“He said the Wyoming rancher, Max Komarsh, claimed some of the steers he’d picked up from Sollano were infected. I called in a couple of veterinarians, and they found twenty-three cases. I ordered all of the rest to be vaccinated, but it was too late for some.”
“When did you find out who was involved?”
“I’d been told they’d come up from a Texas shipment, but that didn’t pan out. Then Jake and Clay found a herd fenced in below the south pastures, near the old Kolvic farm. They kept a watch and discovered Falcon and Welford, Sims and Hooch, and a couple of others branding the beeves and taking them out one by one and scattering them all over the ranch. We didn’t connect it to the anthrax outbreak at first, then Luke Hadley told me they’d found a sick steer out at the cattle slip.”
The cattle slip was a stretch of railroad that went from the main rail line to their holding corrals. It was built so cattle could be shipped directly from the ranch, saving them the trouble of driving cattle through the town.
Carlos’ eyes narrowed to a slit. “Marshal Vaughn did a little investigating and found the ranch gang was taking orders from Hawk, that gunslinger you’d fired.”
A nerve twitched in Rhyan’s jaw. He remembered Hawk and Falcon, the gunslingers he’d hired to scare off the neighboring farmers he’d thought responsible for causing mischief on the ranch. Turned out Senator Timmons was waging a vendetta against him, eventually paying a farmer to kill him.
“Timmons was paying them, I suppose.”
“That’s how it started out, but when Timmons was killed, his hired men were in too deep with Hawk, who had a personal score to settle with you, so they said.” He hunched over the table. “Let me tell you how Hawk was discovered.”
“Go ahead.”
“We knew the gang’s cattle was being branded with the Sollano brand, maybe over another brand, but once they were integrated into the other herds, we couldn’t tell which ones they were. Marshal Vaughn agreed to arrest Welford and Falcon based on Jake and Clay’s testimony, but he couldn’t hold them long with just that.”
Too agitated to sit any longer, Rhyan got up and turned in a slow circle, surveying the familiar room as if he’d never seen it before. It was different. Empty. Without Smitty. Without Carianne. Gloom hung in the air, as if the house grieved. It felt like a funeral parlor.
He returned to his chair. “So they escaped with murder. Because of them a good man and a young boy are dead.”
“They said they were doing it under your orders.”
What a convenient lie, when he wasn’t there to refute it. “Figures. What possible reason would I have to do that?”
“To cut your competition.”
No wonder Komarsh wanted to sue him. He couldn’t prevent a curse under his breath.
Carlos was quick to react. “The marshal didn’t believe them, but he couldn’t even arrest them until Luke Hadley’s boy, Danny, witnessed them bringing in a sick steer and putting it on the cattle car with fifty other head from Sollano. Hawk rode up and gave them money.”
“The boy identified Welford and Falcon?”
“Yeah. Danny heard the men talking. They’ve been working on this for months.”
“Where’s Hawk now?”
“Long gone.”
“How did Welford and Falcon get the sick cow there without being seen?”
“They brought it to the railcar in a covered wagon. There was nobody around the car at the time.”
“Except Danny. How did he come to be there?”
“He was supposed to be running an errand for his mother and was lollygagging as kids do. He’d crawled under the car to watch the herd coming in.”
Propping his elbows on the table, Rhyan grabbed his head and rocked it to and fro. “So these polecats get away with it, and there’s a moratorium on our shipments.” He pulled in a deep breath and shot Carlos a look from under his lashes. “And in case I have anything left, Komarsh and the others are going to take it. Is that about the size of it?”
“The marshal is still investigating, but Luke doesn’t want Danny to testify since these are dangerous men, and they might try to harm the boy.” Carlos got to his feet. He combed his hair back with his fingers and settled his hat in place. “There is one other thing.”
Rhyan gripped the table’s edge with both hands and let his head fall back. “One more thing, and I’ll be ready to shoot myself.”
“It’s nothing bad. Hal Thompson, that lanky wrangler from the Double Bar H is here. He wants to talk with you about holding services at the chapel. He’s an ordained minister, I hear.”
Bringing his head back up, Rhyan glared at Carlos. All he needed right now was to talk to a minister, ordained or not. “Of course, send him in. Maybe he can convince me not to hunt those scoundrels down and hang them up for the buzzards to feed on.”
As soon as Carlos closed the door behind him, he got up to pace. Carianne had talked him into building the chapel. During those days, she could talk him into anything. That was when he’d believed he was the only man in the world she could love.
She could have asked him to build her a palace, and he’d have broken his neck in the attempt.
If only he could go back to those days.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and went to the window. How many times had he stood here while she read to him or talked to him about profound and foolish things. A yearning seized him. He needed her now. To hear him out. She was even better at listening than talking. No matter how big the problem he laid at her feet, she seemed to make it seem lighter. She had a way of making him believe he could tackle anything.
Carianne pulsed with confidence and, like a palatable thing, it spread out to cover everyone she touched. He was just now realizing how much he depended on her to help him.
But she’d turned to Colt. That image of her with Colt under the bridge burned into his mind, and it would be there for the rest of his life, mocking him for what he’d lost. How could she have forgotten him so fast?
“Mr. Cason.” The voice that held the twang of hill folks was strong enough to resonate around the room.
The man reminded him of Smitty, and melancholy pressed in again. Wiry, leather-faced Smitty with his grouchy voice, but the first one to step forward when something needed to be done.
“Come in, Reverend…Thompson, wasn’t it?” He stood until the thin man with bent shoulders a
nd shaggy brown hair and beard slouched in, greeting him with a firm handshake. Dressed in worn Levis and faded blue shirt, Thompson looked anything but a preacher.
Rhyan waved him toward his office. He closed the door after Thompson and sank into the deep cushions of his chair. The preacher folded himself into his seat and laid a battered Stetson on his knees. “No need to call me reverend. Brother Thompson will do, but just Hal’s even better. Hadn’t been preaching for a long spell and don’t rightly feel I ought to be called reverend.”
“Oh, I thought reverend was a title you kept for life, like doctor.”
“I did pasture a church in Kentucky, but had to leave for…personal reasons. I believe the Lord is giving me a second chance. Miss Barlow told me about the chapel, and Mr. Holliman’s giving me Sundays off permanently.” He apprised Rhyan with warm brown eyes. “If you think I’m fittin’ for the job.”
In an attempt to show some interest, Rhyan asked, “What denomination were you back in Kentucky?”
“I was ordained a Baptist preacher, the church was non-denominational. Miss Barlow said that would be all right.”
“I doubt many of the men even know what a denomination is.”
“They don’t have to, Mr. Cason. All they need to know is the love of God through Christ Jesus.”
There was a sadness in the man’s eyes that told Rhyan the love of God had sent him through some tough times. “Why did you leave Kentucky?”
The man’s chest rose in a deep breath. “A leader must be worthy, and when you hear my story you might not think I’m worthy to lead your chapel.” He shifted in his chair. “I married a divorced woman. I didn’t know it at the time, but when I found out, I felt like I ought to tell the church. It split the church in two.”
Rhyan could imagine how it went. This was one of the things that kept him out of the church. He couldn’t help prodding. “If it was your wife who was divorced, and you married her unwittingly, why did it matter?”
A pained expression crossed Hal’s face. “Because he who marries a divorced woman commits adultery. There was no question but I had to leave.”
Surrendered (Intrique Under Western Skies Book 2) Page 11
