The Rancher's Courtship & Lone Wolf's Lady

by Laurie Kingery

  “That Texans had manners, and as far as some of the attorneys I’ve met, I’ve come to find that I was misinformed.”

  “Lemonade?” a woman asked from the doorway, her voice tinged with a Spanish accent, her arms holding a tray laden with glasses and a pitcher.

  “Yes, please,” Katie told the woman. “Thank you.”

  Then Katie turned to the attorney. “Manners are usually learned as a child, but perhaps, if you try very hard to observe those around you, you’ll catch on.”

  “Touché, Miss O’Malley.” Randolph Haney began to smile, then chuckled. “I apologize for being rude.”

  “Apology accepted,” Katie said, although her heart hadn’t quite meant it.

  “Perhaps we Texans have more of a distrust of Indians than you’re accustomed to. My brother lost his life in a massacre, and I’ve learned to be leery.”

  “Tom McCain has been a perfect gentleman,” Katie said.

  And while she’d had several occasions to be angry at the bounty hunter who’d seemed invincible on the trail, she felt the overwhelming urge to defend and protect him now.

  Chapter Eight

  Tom took a seat across the broad mahogany desk from Harrison Graves. The old man, who’d grown frailer in the past couple of months, grimaced as he settled into his cushioned chair.

  “Did you find Caroline?” he asked.

  “She’s dead, sir.”

  Harrison’s shoulders slumped, and the furrow in his craggy brow deepened. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I had so much to...” He placed his bent elbows on the desk, then buried his face in his hands. “Oh, Lord. What’ll I do now?”

  Tom should have felt some sense of satisfaction at seeing the cattleman suffer. After all, if Harrison Graves had shown some compassion for a dying Comanche woman and her frightened son...

  Yet the words Hannah had taught him, the scripture she’d shared with him over the years, came to mind instead. And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.

  “Are you all right?” Tom asked.

  Harrison looked up, his eyes filled with tears. “I... I had so much to say to her. I wanted to tell her that I loved her, that I was sorry for being so stubborn. That I forgave her for the things she said to me when she left. I know she didn’t mean them. She was just angry. And she had every right to be.”

  “I suppose you’ll have to be content to tell God,” Tom said. “It’s His forgiveness that matters most.”

  “I have, although I must admit that I feel pretty unworthy of His forgiveness.”

  The man’s humility took Tom aback.

  “At one time, I was the master of my own universe. And now?” Harrison lifted a withered arm and slowly lowered it. “I’m broken and dying.”

  “In truth,” Tom said, “we’re all broken and dying.”

  Harrison seemed to ponder that a moment, then said, “The Reverend Mitchell has been coming out to the ranch lately. And he said as much. If he’d told me that five years ago, I would have run him off. Back then, I thought I was invincible, but you’re right. I was broken and dying all along and just hadn’t known it.”

  Tom studied the man a moment. Had he experienced a physical realization or a spiritual reckoning?

  Either way, he supposed he deserved to know about Sarah Jane—if Jeremiah Haney, Randolph’s son, hadn’t told him already.

  “Caroline had a daughter,” Tom said, “but I suspect you know that.”

  Harrison stiffened, then raised his gray head. “I heard it was a boy. And that it died at birth.”

  If Sarah Jane hadn’t favored her mother more than Erin, Tom might have questioned what he’d been told, too. He glanced at the large portrait that hung on the south wall of Harrison’s study, at the lovely young blonde wearing a pale blue gown. Then he returned his gaze to Harrison.

  “The child is a girl, and I’ve see her.” Tom didn’t mention her resemblance to Caroline as a child. Not when Harrison thought Tom’s first and only introduction to Caroline had been the portrait he’d seen in this office just months ago.

  “As much as I’d like to believe you,” the cattleman said, “Jeremiah Haney, my solicitor’s son, went to Casa de Los Angelitos to bring Caroline home six years ago. And the nuns told him Caroline’s baby, a boy, had died at birth. They also told him that she’d left with another woman, a harlot who’d given birth to a girl. So you can understand my doubt.”

  Had one of the nuns been confused and given Haney’s son details about Erin’s baby, the one that had been stillborn?

  Tom didn’t know Jeremiah, but he still sported a scar he’d received from the tip of the elder Haney’s boot, a wound he’d received when his head had scarcely reached the top of the man’s gold belt buckle.

  “I’m not calling Jeremiah a liar,” Tom said, “but you hired me to do a job, and I took my assignment seriously. While I was at Casa de Los Angelitos, I asked to see the baptismal records. And I assure you, Caroline Graves gave birth to a daughter who was born alive.”

  “Do you know where the child is now?” Harrison asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then bring her back here. Let me see her for myself.”

  Tom couldn’t bring Sarah Jane back. Not yet. He had to stall for time—time Harrison Graves might not have.

  Should he explain why? Tell this grieving old man that someone had tried to murder the child’s guardian? And that Tom also found her mother’s untimely death a little suspicious?

  He could, but he had nothing on which to base those suspicions, and something told him Harrison Graves wouldn’t settle for a gut feeling.

  Of course, bringing Sarah Jane to the Lazy G just might flush out the murderer—if Tom’s suspicions had any merit. But that might also put her in jeopardy.

  “If I bring the child here,” Tom said, “and if you do see a resemblance to Caroline, what will happen then?”

  “She’ll become a very wealthy young lady. But I’ll want proof that she’s my great-granddaughter, and I’m not sure you can provide that.”

  Assuming Tom had both the time to get her here and that Harrison would accept her resemblance as proof, then what? After Harrison passed, who would take care of Sarah Jane?

  If Tom could trust his gut—and he’d learned to do that years ago—Harrison Graves would undoubtedly leave custody of his great-granddaughter, as well as his holdings, to his old friend and solicitor. And while Sarah Jane deserved to inherit what should have gone to her mother, she didn’t deserve to be raised by a man like Randolph Haney.

  So how did Tom go about insuring that she receive all that was rightfully hers without falling prey to Haney’s influence?

  Harrison lowered his head again.

  Years ago, Tom might have felt vindicated to see Harrison get what he deserved, to see him brought low by grief, as well as disease, but he didn’t find any pleasure in knowing the old man would never receive Caroline’s forgiveness—nor grant her his.

  When Harrison looked up, his eyes red rimmed and filled with tears, he said, “I need some time to be alone. Will you ask Maria, my housekeeper, to come in? She can show you to a room. I’ll talk more to you about this later.”

  “I’ll do that. I’ve also brought along a woman who’d like to speak to you when you’re feeling up to it.”

  “I’m afraid that will have to wait, as well. Other than having a moment with Maria, I don’t want to talk to anyone else today. I just want to be left alone.”

  “I’ll let Miss O’Malley know. And I’ll send in Maria.” Tom got to his feet. After softly closing the door to the man’s study, he made his way down the hall and entered the sitting room, where he found an audience awaiting his return—the hopeful schoolmarm, the angry solicitor, the weary gardener and
the worried housekeeper. They each watched him, waiting for him to speak.

  Maria, who’d worked for Harrison as long as Tom could remember, had been the only woman in Caroline’s life, as far as Tom knew. Her luminous brown eyes begged for news, but Tom wouldn’t be the one to tell her. That was up to Harrison.

  “Mr. Graves would like to see you,” Tom told her.

  When Tom shared the cattleman’s request, Maria reached for a glass of lemonade and carried it down the hall.

  Haney stood and grasped the lapels of his gray jacket with each hand. “So tell me. Did you find Caroline?”

  Tom swiped a strand of hair from his brow, his thumb grazing the narrow ridge of the scar he’d received from Haney’s boot. “Mr. Graves will have to give you those details.”

  “I don’t know why you’re being so secretive. Harrison tells me everything.”

  “That’s his choice, Mr. Haney. But I don’t think he’s going to tell you anything this afternoon. He asked to be left alone.”

  Katie stood. “When can I talk to him?”

  “Later. Maybe tomorrow.”

  Maria returned to the sitting room, her face drawn, her eyes filled with tears. She managed a weak smile. “Señor Graves would like me to show you to a room, Señorita. I’ll have one of the stable boys bring in a tub of warm water.”

  “Thank you,” Katie said.

  The housekeeper turned to Tom. “I’ll be back to show you to your room, Mr. McCain.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Tom said. “I’ll bunk with Abel.”

  “All right, if that’s what you’d rather do.” Maria turned to Katie. “Please come with me.”

  * * *

  Katie followed the housekeeper out of the sitting room and down a narrow hall.

  “Señor Graves said that Señor McCain believes Caroline died,” Maria said.

  “From what I was told, she fell down a flight of stairs.”

  “She was very light on her feet,” Maria said. “Her grandfather insisted that she be a lady, but she was more comfortable riding with the vaqueros. I always feared that she might have an accident while on horseback—like her father.”

  “I wish I could have met her,” Katie said. “I’m sure I would have liked her.”

  “She was a wonderful young woman, so full of life. I can hardly believe she’s gone. This house was never the same after she left.” Maria’s long braid swished along her back as she led the way down the hall. “Poor Señor Graves. All he thought about, all he prayed about, was for Caroline to return.”

  Katie continued to follow Maria until she stopped before a doorway.

  Maria turned to Katie and attempted a smile. “This is Señorita Caroline’s room. You may sleep here. The sheets are fresh. Señor Graves had wanted it ready for her.”

  “Perhaps he’d feel better if I slept elsewhere.”

  Maria opened the door anyway. “It is best that you stay in here. He should not spend so much time alone in her room. With a guest in here, he will have to stay away.”

  “If Mr. Graves feels the least bit uncomfortable with me staying in this room, I’d prefer to sleep elsewhere.” She just hoped that “elsewhere” wouldn’t be in the bunkhouse with Abel and Tom.

  “I have worked for Señor Graves for more than thirty years,” Maria said. “Believe me. He doesn’t come in here to spend time with her memory. He comes to pay penance with his guilt. And he’s already paid plenty. It’s good that he has a reason to stay away.”

  Katie wasn’t so sure about that, but when Maria stepped into the large airy room, she followed.

  Caroline’s bedroom had the same brown-tiled floor, white plaster walls and rough-beamed ceiling as the rest of the hacienda, but yards of lace and flounce made the setting decidedly feminine.

  “Señorita Caroline didn’t spend much time indoors.” Maria gazed at the lace curtains. “But when she did, she liked pretty things.”

  “It’s lovely.” As Katie took in her surroundings, a small, wood-framed portrait on the wall near the window caught her eye. It was the painted image of a woman holding an infant.

  Katie stepped closer, drawn to the willowy beauty who wore a faint smile.

  “Who is this woman?” Katie asked.

  “Señora Juliana.” Maria smiled wistfully. “Caroline was a pretty baby, no?”

  “No,” Katie said. “I mean, yes. She’s precious, but I wasn’t talking about the baby. I was looking at the mother. She’s hauntingly beautiful.”

  “Her unhappiness shows.”

  It did at that. Katie tried to spot a family resemblance, but couldn’t say that she did. And the fair-haired baby, plump and sweet, could have grown up to be any blonde girl.

  “I don’t suppose you have a photograph of Caroline when she was a little older?” Katie asked the matronly woman.

  “Yes, I do.” Maria strode to the bureau where a brass-framed photograph rested upon a crocheted doily. She gazed wistfully upon the likeness prior to handing it to Katie.

  A girl slightly older than Sarah Jane stood beside a potted fern and a wicker chair. Dressed in white lace, she held a porcelain doll in one hand and a flower in the other.

  Katie studied the picture, praying she wouldn’t spot a resemblance to the child she loved.

  And dying a little on the inside when she did.

  * * *

  After he’d made sure the horses had been properly cared for, Tom went in search of Abel and found him dipping water from the well. The old gardener had been around for years, once riding the range, herding the stubborn longhorn and, later, managing fields of hay and cotton.

  The old man looked up and brushed a dribble of water from his tanned, weathered chin. “I’m glad you came back.”

  “I said that I would.” Tom scanned the courtyard. Abel had done wonders as a gardener. Red blossoms climbed a wooden trellis against the adobe wall. Plants, lush and green, hung from wrought-iron baskets throughout the patio. Colorful shocks of flowers grew abundantly in large clay pots.

  Age might have reduced the old man’s abilities while riding herd, but not his determination to see a job well done.

  Abel crossed his thin arms, his wise old eyes crinkling. “There are some who hoped you would not return.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I’ve never been welcome here.”

  “Other men would have stayed away.”

  “I’m not other men.”

  “No, you’re more of a man than most. Your father would have been proud.”

  Tom didn’t appreciate Abel’s mention of his father. Not here. Not now.

  “You don’t favor him in looks,” Abel said, not letting the subject die. “You’re darker, taller. You also carry distrust in your heart. Your father wasn’t so hard.”

  “He didn’t have to be.”

  “No, but you always had a stubborn streak, like a wild horse unwilling to be broken. I’ll never forget the day you tried to fight Haney.” Abel chuckled and stroked his chin. “The man didn’t expect a child to challenge him.”

  “He hurt my mother. I’m not one to forget cruelty to a woman.”

  “I can understand your anger at Señor Haney, as well as your sense of duty to Señor Graves.”

  “I don’t owe loyalty to anyone. At least, not to anyone in Stillwater.”

  “Then you have come back for the reward?”

  “I’m not after the money.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  Tom’s connection to the Lazy G had been a deep, dark secret even before his parents had died, leaving him orphaned and a thorn in the backside of Texas society.

  “Respect maybe?” Abel asked.

  That went without saying, but it was even more than that. Tom owed it to Caroline. On those rare occasions when they’d been allowed to play together, they’d formed a bond, a frien
dship. And if things had been different...

  Abel studied Tom as though he knew what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Maybe he did.

  Of all the people on the Lazy G, Abel was probably the one person Tom could trust. But he wasn’t going to talk about it. And his lack of response didn’t go unnoticed—or unacknowledged. And so that line of questioning was dropped.

  “Did you find Caroline?” Abel asked.

  “She died about six months ago.”

  The old man frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure.” He pondered whether he should mention Sarah Jane but held his tongue. “Caroline fell down a flight of stairs and broke her neck. She’s buried in a town called Taylorsville.”

  Abel grimaced. “Does Señor Graves know?”

  “I just told him.”

  “How is he taking it?”

  “I’m not sure.” Tom still wasn’t convinced that Harrison was truly sorry, although he appeared grief stricken. Or was it more guilt and fear of meeting his maker?

  “Your father would be proud of you,” Abel said again.

  “That’s not why I’m here. And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep those thoughts to yourself.”

  “I’ve kept my mouth closed for more than twenty-five years and won’t let my tongue run away from me now.” Abel’s brown eyes glistened, and a slow smile eased the harsh lines on his tired face. “Who’s the woman you brought with you?”

  “Her name is Katie O’Malley.”

  “Is she yours?”

  His? The sharp-tongued woman with fiery hair and expressive blue eyes? For a fleeting moment he had a vision of her standing at his side, felt her reach for his hand, thread her fingers through his. But he shook off the image and scoffed. “No, she’s not my woman.”

  “That’s too bad. Ella esta muy bonita.”

  Tom snorted. “There’s more to a woman than her beauty. Katie O’Malley wouldn’t be happy unless she had a man on his knees and at her beck and call.”

  Abel laughed. “I might be old now, but there was a time I would have liked waiting on a pretty lady hand and foot.”