The Rancher's Courtship & Lone Wolf's Lady

by Laurie Kingery

  “Did they leave?”

  “Yes, but I went in the house and got some clean rags and warm water. Then I snuck it out the back door and took it to the woman. I helped her clean the boy’s wound. It was very deep. But he did not cry. He was very brave.”

  “What did Mr. Haney do?”

  “He went into the house and fixed himself a glass of whiskey. The caretaker felt so bad about it, he didn’t eat or sleep for days.”

  “Which Haney did that?” Katie asked, not sure Jeremiah would have been old enough. Of course, how much brute strength and courage did it take to run off a woman and her small child?

  “Señor Randolph.” Maria itched the tip of her nose with the back of a flour-covered hand. “He dresses in fine clothes and acts like a gentleman, but he is not a kind man.”

  Katie didn’t doubt it. She wondered just how cruel he and his son could be, especially if Jeremiah found out what she intended to do while he was gone.

  “I want to talk to Martha Haney,” Katie said.

  “Oh, no, you must not do that.” Maria continued her rhythmic hand motions. “Jeremiah will not allow it.”

  “Then I’ll wait until he leaves town.”

  “You cannot go alone. My friend does not speak English.”

  “Are you willing to go with me?”

  Maria sighed, her face grim. “Only if Jeremiah is far away.”

  “We’ll wait until he’s gone,” Katie said. “I think he intends to follow Tom.”

  “Why would he follow Senor McCain?”

  “I’m really not sure. It’s just a hunch.”

  * * *

  After a four-hour ride, Tom arrived in Rio Seco. As was his habit, he stopped first at the sheriff’s office and asked where he could find Cord Rainville.

  “Look in the Silver Buckle,” Tom was told. “The man hasn’t left the saloon in days.”

  Tom strode through the swinging doors and scanned the nearly empty room. Hazy sunlight filtered through dirty windows, and specks of dust floated in the stale air. In the far corner, a grizzled older man sat hunched over a table.

  “Cord Rainville?” Tom asked.

  The man looked up, steel-gray eyes drilling into his. A pink, ragged scar ran down the length of a bristled cheek. He had a hardness about him and a haunting pain in his eyes that whiskey apparently hadn’t stilled.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice raspy from either lack of use, too much tobacco or drink. “What do you want?”

  A Colt .45 sat on the table beside a half bottle of whiskey. Tom didn’t see a glass.

  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Tom asked.

  Rainville began to chuckle, then broke into a booming laugh. “You gonna try and sober me up?”

  “I thought it might be a good idea before hiring you.” Tom didn’t smile. “Otherwise, I’ll try my luck and see how loose your tongue is.”

  Rainville studied him like a man facing a growling dog, sizing him up quickly. Apparently he chose to wait it out instead of drawing a gun or retreating.

  Those cold eyes held a wariness, but Tom figured the man might talk—some.

  “What’s your name?” Rainville asked.

  “Tom McCain.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “No, but you’ve probably heard of my employer, Harrison Graves.” Tom hadn’t meant to drop the old man’s name so quickly, but he hadn’t anticipated the suspicion behind those reddened eyes.

  “Well, order that coffee and sit down. I don’t like talking up to a man.”

  Tom called to the apron-clad Mexican bartender sweeping the floor. “Dos cafés, señor.” Then he pulled out a chair and took a seat.

  Rainville had that fermented smell of dust, sweat and stale liquor. Still, he didn’t appear to be too inebriated to talk.

  Of course, Tom had a feeling Rainville wouldn’t disclose anything he didn’t want to say in the light of day or in the dark of night—drunk, sober or with a noose around his neck and a gun to his head.

  Tom liked that in a man.

  The bartender brought two cups of steaming hot coffee. His hands trembled slightly as he set them down.

  “Gracias,” Tom said.

  The man nodded and quickly returned to his broom.

  Tom focused on Rainville. “I’d like to hire you to complete the job you started for Martha Haney.”

  “I finished that job.”

  “Then I’ll pay you to extend the work.”

  Rainville leaned back in his chair and pushed the bottle away. “All right. You got yourself a deal. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Haney house loomed before them, dark and vacant like a forgotten crypt. Katie shivered as she helped Maria climb from the buckboard.

  “I think it is best if we go to the back door,” Maria whispered. She pulled a rusty lantern from the wagon. “Come this way.”

  The flame cast an eerie glow as the two women made their way around to the rear entrance of the two-story house. Maria opened a side gate and waddled past a large oleander bush.

  A branch whipped back and scratched Katie’s arm, but she didn’t cry out.

  When a coyote howled in the distance, Katie envisioned a vicious wolf bounding at them, teeth bared. “They don’t have a dog, do they?”

  “Not that I remember. Watch your step.”

  After making their way to the back porch, Katie rapped lightly at the door. “Should I knock louder?”

  “No, Olivia sleeps in the bedroom just off the kitchen. She should hear us, even if we are quiet.”

  “Quién es?” a voice asked.

  “Olivia, soy Maria.”

  The door creaked open, revealing a woman wearing a pale blue robe and holding a flickering candle.

  When Maria explained in Spanish why they’d come, the woman’s dark eyes widened. She clutched at her robe and stepped back. “No, el señor dice nadie puede vistar.”

  Maria turned to Katie. “Olivia says that Señora Haney is not allowed visitors.”

  “Tell her we won’t stay long, and that we won’t tell anyone she let us inside.”

  Maria nodded, then interpreted for Katie.

  As Olivia stepped aside, Katie and Maria entered the house. Maria introduced the women, and Katie attempted a sincere smile. Still, the hired nurse didn’t appear to appreciate their presence.

  They followed Olivia up the stairs. A loose step creaked under Katie’s foot, causing her to jump and her heart to beat wildly. She reached for the banister and continued to climb.

  At the landing, Olivia paused, whispering a few words in Spanish to Maria, who then turned to Katie. “She is worried she will lose her job.”

  “Tell her I have money. I’ll hire her myself.” The words rolled out of Katie’s mouth without any forethought, but she wasn’t lying. She had some money put aside for unexpected emergencies, and if need be, she could assist the family until other employment was found.

  Maria addressed her friend, and a look of relief crossed Olivia’s matronly face before she opened the door.

  Without warning, a musty, medicinal smell assaulted Katie, making her gag. She wanted to open every single upstairs window to air out the room at once but held her tongue.

  Light from the hallway illuminated their way until Olivia could strike a match and build a flame in the small hurricane lamp on the bedside table.

  Katie stepped closer, watching Martha Haney’s chest rise and fall. The woman was stout, with dark hair, her coloring pale and ghostlike.

  Taking a chair beside the bed, Katie reached for the woman’s hand. “Martha, wake up.”

  “Dios mío,” Maria uttered, crossing herself.

  Heavy lids blinked once, then opened. “Who are you?” the woman asked in a soft, gravelly voice.

  She mi
ght be as crazy as a loon, or perhaps wildly dangerous, but Katie believed everyone was entitled to courtesy, so she stroked the top of her hand. “I’m a friend of Harrison Graves. My name is Katie.”

  The woman sighed then closed her eyes.

  “Martha, please wake up. I’m here to help you.”

  The eyelids lifted again, and she blinked several times. Finally, she whispered, “Need...help.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can. Can you answer a few questions for me?”

  Martha Haney shook her head slowly. “Sleepy.”

  “I know. You’re taking strong medication.”

  Martha didn’t respond.

  “Are you in pain? Do you need the medicine?”

  Martha’s eyes flickered open momentarily. “No. Yes. I...don’t know.”

  “I’m going to ask your nurse not to medicate you. Can you hear me, Martha?”

  The woman nodded, but her eyes didn’t reopen.

  “When you cry out, it frightens Olivia. She doesn’t speak English.” Katie placed a hand on Martha Haney’s brow. “I’ll return tomorrow. Try to be patient. I need to talk to you. I want to hear what you have to say. It’s very important that you not take the medicine.”

  “Uh-huh,” the woman mumbled, as her head rolled to the side.

  Katie realized that would be her last chance to speak to Martha Haney tonight.

  “Maria, tell Olivia to soothe Martha if she cries, but not to give her the medication as long as she stays calm.” Katie pulled a gold coin from her purse and handed it to Olivia. “I’ll bring her more money tomorrow.”

  Maria smiled and nodded, then directed her words to her Spanish-speaking friend.

  Olivia responded.

  “What did she say?” Katie asked.

  “She will try.”

  “I can’t ask for more than that.” Katie made her way to the door. “Let’s go. It’s late, and there’s not much more we can do here. Tell Olivia to call on us if Martha gets wild and out of hand. I have a feeling she’ll be as eager to speak to me as I am to speak to her.”

  * * *

  “She did what?” Tom slammed down his fist on the scarred oak table near Abel’s bed.

  “She went to speak to Martha Haney.” Abel, who’d been sound asleep in the adobe bunkhouse when Tom had returned to the Lazy G late that night, scratched his head and yawned. “She took Maria with her.”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “Why in the world did she do that?”

  Abel shrugged. “The nurse does not speak English.”

  “I mean, why did she go at all?” Tom raked his fingers through his hair.

  All he’d wanted Katie to do was to stay out of trouble, but apparently, the only thing she knew how to do was to chase after it.

  “Why didn’t you try to talk her out of a fool notion like that?” he asked Abel.

  “For one thing, I told Randolph Haney that you’d gone to Pleasant Valley after the little girl, just like you asked me to. And you were right, Jeremiah suddenly had business to attend to and left town right after that. So when Katie heard he was gone, she went to his house.”

  “Didn’t you try to talk her out of that?”

  “Yes, but her mind was set. Did you ever try to talk a woman out of something she was determined to do?”

  Not that woman. Tom shook his head and scowled. There was no telling what mischief Katie would manage to get into if he left her on the ranch for a couple of days.

  “I’m sorry,” Abel said.

  “I can’t leave her here when I go after Caroline’s daughter. It’s too risky—there’s no telling what she might do. Now I have no other choice but to take her with me.”

  “What did Señor Rainville have to say?” Abel asked.

  “Among other things, Jeremiah had been visiting Caroline for years, yet he always told people in Stillwater he hadn’t found her. When Martha had him followed, she found out about Sarah Jane. She was absolutely convinced that Jeremiah had fathered Caroline’s baby and was furious with him.”

  Abel blew out a long, slow whistle. “Did she get crazy mad?”

  “I don’t think so. Maybe she just got angry enough to need quieting, because Jeremiah clearly didn’t want anyone to know where Caroline was—or that she’d kept her daughter.”

  “Is Jeremiah the girl’s father?” Abel asked.

  “I don’t think so, but he had some reason for wanting to keep Caroline and Sarah Jane away.” Tom patted the old man on the back. “I’ll fill you in on the rest of what Rainville told me after I inform Katie that she’s going with me.”

  Abel nodded, and Tom strode to the house. When he reached the bedroom in which Katie was sleeping, he opened the door without knocking. He intended to wake her and didn’t care how polite he was in the process.

  “Get up,” he told her sleeping form.

  Clearly startled, she bolted upright in bed, clutching the blanket to her chest, her eyes open wide. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to take you with me. Get out of bed.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get Sarah Jane. But let’s get something straight. I don’t like the idea of taking you, but you’ve left me no choice. I can’t trust you to keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you.”

  “As a matter of fact, Martha Haney does concern me.”

  Tom slapped his hands on his hips and sighed. “You don’t even know the woman.”

  “She asked for my help.”

  “She’ll have to wait for your help. Abel’s saddling Gully Washer as we speak. So get dressed. I suggest you wear those old clothes of mine, if they’re clean. It’ll be easier to keep a faster pace that way. And be outside in ten minutes.”

  “That’s not enough time.”

  “Nevertheless, that’s all the time you’ll get.”

  Katie crossed her arms, the blanket dropping to her lap. “We’ll have to stop at the Haney place. I told Martha I’d be back. I don’t want her to think I don’t keep my word.”

  “You’re not in charge—no matter what you might think.”

  “I promised,” Katie stated simply. “And I never break a promise.”

  Tom wanted to plow his fist through the wall. Instead, he turned and strode toward the door. “If you want to make a quick stop by the Haney’s house, you’ll need to be outside in five minutes.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Don’t lollygag. If you’re not outside and ready to go by the time the horses are saddled, I’ll...”

  “You’ll what?”

  Instead of an answer, he pulled out his gold pocket watch and made a note of the time. Then he spun around and closed the bedroom door.

  Katie surprised Tom by coming outside—and wearing his old clothes—just as he was about to go in looking for her.

  So after they mounted the horses, he kept up his part of the bargain.

  Twenty minutes later, they reached the Haney residence, just as the sun peeked above the horizon.

  The white two-story house stood alone, far from town. Weeds had overtaken a struggling garden, hinting that Jeremiah Haney hadn’t concerned himself with day-to-day chores since his wife had taken ill.

  A thin wisp of smoke rose from the chimney, snaking up into the dawn sky.

  Someone was awake.

  Tom didn’t expect Jeremiah to be home, but he figured he’d better have an excuse for coming here without an invitation. Yet, other than the truth, he couldn’t think of anything else a reasonable man would believe.

  Katie swung down from the mare, the denim fabric stretching to accommodate her movements and revealing each feminine curve. Tom heaved a frustrated sigh, wondering if it might have been wiser if he hadn’t insisted she wear his old clothes.

  She tucked a loose tendril behind her ear. “Let’s go around t
o the back. I’ll show you the way.”

  “I knock at a man’s front door,” Tom said.

  She gave an exasperated sigh. “But Olivia’s room is in the back. She may not hear us if we’re in the front.”

  Tom strode up the front steps, leaving Katie standing in the yard with her hands on her hips.

  Shortly after he knocked, a Mexican woman answered the door, her eyes leery. When Tom introduced himself in Spanish, she nodded, then smiled shyly.

  Katie, who’d relented and climbed the porch steps, reached into the front pocket of her pants and handed Olivia a ten-dollar gold coin piece.

  “What are you doing?” Tom asked.

  “I’m her new employer.”

  “It looks like a bribe to me,” he said, somewhat surprised at her resourcefulness.

  “Oh, no. It’s not a bribe. Maria told me she has to support three young children, and she’s afraid she’ll lose her job. So I guaranteed her employment.”

  While her compassionate foresight surprised him—pleasantly so—he still resented her insistence upon making this stop, so he merely shook his head. “Come on. Let’s make this quick.”

  Tom and Katie followed Olivia into the house and up the stairs.

  When they reached the darkened bedroom, Katie strode inside as if she were a delegate of the Ladies’ Aid Society and took a seat next to the bed. “I’m back, Martha.”

  As she stroked Mrs. Haney’s arm, the woman’s eyes shot open. “Daddy? Where’s my daddy?”

  “It’s me, Katie. I came back, just as I said I would. How are you feeling this morning?”

  Mrs. Haney’s eyes were glassy, but when her gaze caught Tom’s, she paled. A look of fear crossed her face.

  “I’m Tom McCain,” he told her. “I’ve just come from talking to Cord Rainville.”

  She swallowed hard and made an attempt to lift her head.

  “Don’t try to talk, Mrs. Haney. I want to help you. Jeremiah is more cunning than you think.”

  She nodded weakly, then covered her eyes and began to weep until she cried out with long, sobbing breaths.