by Clari Dees
He snatched them neatly out of the air, his hazel eyes never wavering from her face. “How did you get here so fast?”
“I know a shortcut. Can we go now? Daylight’s wasting.” She was growing a little nervous under his scrutiny.
“Is it that you naturally don’t like to follow orders…”
“You didn’t issue an order. You only said you’d be back with the buggy. I decided this would be quicker.” Meri’s lips twitched in a nervous half grin.
“…or that you didn’t want to ride in the buggy with me?” He continued as if the interruption hadn’t happened.
Meri felt heat stain her cheeks at the accuracy of his guess, and a crooked grin began to spread across his face. “Standing around talking won’t get us to the ranch,” she blurted, and touched Abe. The horse jumped away from the grinning man into a ground-eating trot.
Glancing back, she saw him leap into his saddle without benefit of the stirrup and spring after her. Controlling the urge to race home, Meri kept the big black gelding at a respectful trot as she rode along the pasture fence to the outskirts of town and Little Creek Bridge. Maybe she should have stayed put and waited on the marshal and the buggy. It would have spared her the embarrassment of his accurate guess. Then again, this way she could get away from him for a minute, even if it didn’t last long. She peered over her shoulder again. He was staying back, though he’d probably catch up to her once they were on the trail out of town, but it would be enough time for her cheeks to cool.
Abe’s hooves thudded across the planks of the bridge spanning Little Creek, the clear-running stream that lent the town its name and marked its western boundary. Meri drew a deep breath. Dr. Kilburn was right. She had needed to get away and clear her head, and a horseback ride to her beloved home was the perfect way to do that even if she did have to put up with the meddlesome marshal.
“I thought I had a squirrel in that hole.” Apparently he wasn’t going to let her ignore the fact he’d guessed her real reason for riding horseback.
She felt her cheeks heat again at his satisfied tone. So much for having time for her blush to fade. If this kept up, she’d just have to get used to the sensation of her face being on fire.
Or…she could…
Meri flexed her heels against Abe’s ribs, and the gelding switched to the rocking-chair lope that temporarily carried her away from her tormentor. The escape didn’t last long. Franks had provided the marshal with a horse every bit Abe’s equal, and in minutes the horses were side by side. The road wasn’t in good enough shape from the recent deep mud to indulge in a full-out gallop, so Meri contented herself with the current pace and the wind in her face, thankful when the marshal remained silent.
The fresh pine-and-cedar-scented breeze began to weave calming fingers through Meri’s hair as the beautiful scenery slipped past. Some of the tension melted from her shoulders, and the silence grew less uncomfortable in spite of feeling his eyes on her from time to time.
When he spoke, his comment caught her off guard. “I was sorry to hear about your mother.”
Meri looked at him, but for a change, he wasn’t looking at her. Somehow that made it easier to answer him. “How did you know?”
“Some of the men on the posse mentioned it—said it hadn’t quite been a year since her death?”
Meri felt the weight of guilt and grief crash back down as she nodded. Her father had teased her on the way to Little Creek that her mother would have scolded her for wearing riding attire instead of a dress since she was going into town in a buggy. The words had reminded Meri of their loss, and she’d snapped that her mother wasn’t around anymore.
She’d immediately regretted it. Instead of apologizing, however, she’d sulked, not understanding how less than a year after her mother’s death, her father could tease about her mother’s memory and seem to be handling her death so much better than Meri was. How she wished she’d guarded her tongue that day. She’d not apologized, and now it might be too late.
“What was her name?”
Meri welcomed his interruption of her depressing thoughts. “Catriona.”
“So, both of your parents were from Scotland?” He was watching the passing landscape as if memorizing every detail.
“Why did you say Scotland? Most people guess Ireland.”
He looked at her then. “My name is Cameron. My grandparents came from Scotland. I recognize the brogue.”
“I don’t have a brogue.”
“You do when you say faither, and I’d be willing to guess you used the Gaelic mither instead of mother.”
Meri nodded. “They came to America before I was born so their accent had softened, but when I was little they used a lot of Gaelic.” A memory surfaced. “I did have a brogue by the time there was an actual school to attend. I remember the kids teasing me because they thought I was hard to understand. I worked hard to sound more like them, but I never quit using mither and faither to address my parents.” She cocked her head. “I had forgotten about that.”
Their horses topped a rise, and below them lay the McIsaac ranch nestled among the foothills of the Rockies. Marshal Cameron pulled his mount up, and Meri followed suit as they gave their horses a breather from the hour-long, gradually climbing ride and surveyed the property below them.
A large log ranch house was surrounded by orderly, well-kept outbuildings that included a couple of barns, a bunkhouse, a summer kitchen, a smokehouse and sundry smaller buildings. White fencing encircled a pretty garden already showing the effects of early springtime planting, and corrals housed horses and a few cattle. Empty pastures and hay fields radiated out from the ranch buildings and disappeared into trees and over foothills.
“So, this is home.”
Meri nodded. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.” Silence reigned a few moments as both riders drank in the scene below them. “I do have a question, though.” A puzzled look sat on his face.
Meri was becoming wary of his questions but was curious about the cause of the expression. “What?”
Marshal Cameron pointed toward the barn corrals. “What in the world is that…critter?”
A spontaneous laugh burst from Meri’s lips when she looked in the direction he indicated. “Those are Highland cattle from Scotland. Faither imported them several years ago. They come from the mountainous region, and their thick wooly coats make them quite hardy in our cold snowy winters. Several ranches around Colorado raise them. There’s even talk about starting a breed association. They’re very self-sufficient cattle and thrive on the grazing that we have here. They’re also easy to work with because they’re so friendly.”
“Well, it certainly is the hairiest beast I’ve ever seen, outside of a buffalo.” He was watching Meri closely, a peculiar, distracted look on his face.
“And what have you ever seen inside a buffalo?” Meri kept a straight face but couldn’t resist the question.
“What?”
A chuckle escaped her. “Never mind.”
The dreaded smirk reappeared, and his searching gaze never left her face. “Oh, I got it. You…just surprised me. I didn’t realize you were—”
He broke off abruptly. Meri wondered what he’d intended to say, but a distant shout prevented her from asking. Meri waved at a figure standing in front of the biggest barn.
“Come on. I’ll introduce you to our foreman. He can answer any questions you have about the men and our horses.”
* * *
Wyatt followed Miss McIsaac the rest of the way down to the ranch yard, enjoying his view of the spunky lady. So, this was the woman Mrs. Van Deusen wanted to introduce him to at the church picnic. Her full rich laugh and the way her face had lit up as she’d explained the cattle had nearly made him blurt the realization aloud. He had managed to catch himself, thankful for the distraction of the ranch hand’s shout that had prevented Miss McIsaac from asking the question he’d seen on her face.
When he’d arrived in town, his bachelor statu
s instantly made him the most popular person for invitations to a meal to meet someone’s daughter, or niece, or sister or granddaughter. He’d quickly started turning a politely deaf ear when the conversation changed to, “Oh, I have someone you just have to meet…”
Mrs. Van Deusen had been somewhat more subtle but just as persistent. She never mentioned names or invited him to a meal to meet some female, but she’d mentioned her dear departed friend’s lovely daughter every time Wyatt happened to cross her path. He’d let the hints go in one ear and out the other, but as he’d looked down at the ranch a moment ago, Mrs. Van Deusen’s voice had echoed through his memory.
“If they can get in from their ranch,” Mrs. Van Deusen had said, “they raise those strange cattle from Ireland or Scotland or someplace foreign like that, you know—I’ll finally be able to introduce you to her at the church picnic.”
That tidbit had snagged his attention since his own family tree originated in Scotland, but that was the extent of the notice he’d taken of it at the time. With the disturbance of the holdup, he’d not had time to realize Mrs. Van Deusen’s hints added up to the spirited, rides-like-the-wind Meri McIsaac. After the onslaught of gushing, flirting females breathing down his neck the past few weeks, Miss McIsaac’s prickly reaction had been a fresh change and had actually snagged his attention. Not that he planned to do anything about it; he still had a dangerous job and no home to offer a woman.
Wyatt mentally scoffed at himself. Even if he were willing to think about going along with Mrs. Van Deusen’s schemes, he was quite sure her quarry had no intention of being caught. Besides, he had enough trouble on his hands trying to catch a bank robber and find the missing money.
“Howdy, miss, how’s the Boss man?” A familiar voice cut through Wyatt’s musings.
“Still unconscious. I came to pick up a few things and get an update on the ranch. Faither will want to know when he wakes up. Where’s Barnaby?” Miss McIsaac kept her voice brisk and businesslike, but Wyatt heard the underlying fear.
“He’s riding range with a couple of the boys, said he might be back for lunch.”
“This is the new marshal. He needs to ask Barnaby some questions. He seems to think the horse the bank robber rode was one of ours.” Miss McIsaac and Wyatt dismounted simultaneously. “Marshal Cameron, our top hand, Jonah Chacksfield.”
“There’s no need to introduce us, miss. I’ve known Captain Cameron since he was a lowly shavetail lieutenant fresh from the East.” Jonah snapped a sharp salute.
“At ease, Sergeant.” Wyatt put out his hand and grabbed the man’s burly paw in a hearty handshake. “It’s good to see you. What are you doing out of the army? You were one of the best sergeants I ever served with, figured you’d be in uniform until you got too old to climb into a saddle.”
The stocky barrel-chested ranch hand looked away momentarily. When he looked back, Wyatt thought he saw a sheen of wetness in the man’s eyes. “I just didn’t have the heart to reenlist after my Sally passed.”
Wyatt gripped the sergeant’s shoulder and cleared his throat against a sudden hoarseness. “I wondered why I quit getting letters from her. I assumed you’d been transferred, and they were getting lost.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “She was a quite a lady. I’ll miss her.”
Jonah was the first to break the silence that shrouded the little group, saying gruffly, “Now, sir, what’s this about one of our horses being used in the bank job?”
“Drop that ‘sir’ stuff, and call me Wyatt. When I questioned the banker this morning, he said the horse the thief used wore the McIsaac brand. None of the other witnesses I talked to mentioned that. Maybe they assumed Mr. McIsaac had ridden in on that horse and the thief stole it. However, since that wasn’t the case, I need to know if you’ve noticed any horses missing and where all the ranch hands were that day.”
“I told you before, none of our hands would be involved in anything criminal.” Miss McIsaac flared up again.
Jonah wrapped a beefy arm around Miss McIsaac’s shoulders and gently squeezed. “He’s just doing his job, Miss Meri. No need to get upset about it. You’ve got enough on your plate. Let me and Barnaby handle the captain and his questions. You go in and chat with Ms. Maggie. That housekeeper’s been frettin’ around here for days like a hen that’s lost her chicks.”
Wyatt waited for the inevitable argument, but her shoulders drooped as she exhaled noisily. “You’ll let me know if anything’s wrong, and send Barnaby to see me when he comes in.” It wasn’t a question.
“I will. Now go let Ms. Maggie fuss over you for a bit.” Jonah gently turned Miss McIsaac toward the house and gave her a gentle push. “Scat.”
Wyatt watched in amazement as Miss McIsaac meekly walked to the house and disappeared inside. “I’ve seen you wrangle raw, rowdy recruits and turn them into well-disciplined troops, but until today I never fully appreciated the extent of your skill.” Wyatt looked at Jonah with newfound respect. “How exactly did you manage that?”
Jonah’s hearty laugh thundered out. “She’s a handful, but I’ll take a strong, opinionated female over a silly, pampered flibbertigibbet any day of the week.”
“As will I, but that doesn’t explain how you managed to get her to go so quietly.”
“A good sergeant never reveals his secrets, Captain. Besides, I have a hunch you’ll figure out how to handle her. Half the fun of courting my Sally was figuring out how to deal with her strong temperament.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but a lawman’s life doesn’t leave room for courtin’.”
“Are you still stuck on the notion you have to have a ‘safe’ job before you can have a wife?”
“It’s not a notion. I saw more than one bride-to-be hightail it back East when she saw her future living quarters. I saw wives leave their husbands because they couldn’t handle the long absences, and I saw women devastated when their husband rode in draped over the back of a horse. I won’t do that to a woman.”
“You saw a couple of bad examples and focused on them instead of the good ones. What about my Sally?” Jonah sounded a bit offended.
Wyatt hurried to soften his remarks. “You were the exemption to the rule. Sally was special.”
Memories glistened in the tough old sergeant’s eyes. “That she was, that she was.”
Wyatt changed the subject. “Back to the reason I rode out here—what do you have to tell me that you didn’t want Miss McIsaac to hear?”
“You always were one of the sharper knives among that lot of army brass. We did have a horse go missing for several days before showing up among some of our cattle all covered in dried sweat. I don’t want Miss Meri to be worryin’ about it just now since there’s nothing she can do. I’ve questioned all our hands, but no one noticed anything unusual, and I trust our men. We’ve got a few who can be a little wild occasionally, but they’re all honest fellows. Mr. McIsaac has given all of us a hand up when we were down on our luck, and not a one of us would do anything to hurt him or Miss Meri.”
“Are any of the men available that I can talk with them?”
“Barnaby, our foreman, and most of the hands are out doing various chores. If you’re hungry, we can grab a sandwich from our cook, and I’ll introduce you to the ones in for lunch. Barnaby should be back in as well, and you can ask ‘em any questions you have. Afterward, I’ll take you out and show you where we found that horse.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Over lunch Wyatt met the handful of cowboys that assembled for food. None of them knew anything more than what Jonah had already told him, and to a man, they had nothing but concern and well wishes for their wounded “Boss man.”
When everyone drifted back to their various tasks, Jonah brought up a couple of fresh, saddled horses. “Ready to ride, Captain? Barnaby hasn’t made it back, but I’ll wager we’ll run across him before we return to the ranch.”
Wyatt mounted the horse. “You’ve probably told me as much as he can, but I’d appreciate getting
a chance to meet him. And I thought I told you to call me Wyatt?”
“Too many years in the army. Captain comes easier to the tongue.”
Jonah led the way across the ranch yard, and as they passed the main house Miss McIsaac stepped out on the porch. “Hold up! I’m going with you,” she called out.
“No. Stay put. Jonah’s going to show me around, let me get a feel for the land out this way and maybe catch up with your foreman. I’ll be back to escort you to town before it gets dark.” Wyatt lifted his hat and loped his horse away, ignoring the protests from the woman on the porch and Jonah’s sardonic snort.
Chapter Five
Jonah waved a hand toward the land in front of them. “This is where we found that horse day before yesterday. He’d been ridden hard and still had the dried sweat, saddle and spur marks to show for it. Made the boys livid. Not only had someone stolen one of our remuda from under our noses, they also used it badly in the process. Our hands pride themselves that when they do use their spurs they do it with such gentle finesse they never leave a mark or a sore spot on the horse.
“I backtracked the rider and found where he’d had a fresh mount waiting. After he’d swapped, he set ours loose. Both sets of tracks led into and out of that churned-up ground where the trail herd circled town a few days ago.”
Wyatt nodded. “That’s where we lost him when we were tracking him. We caught up with the drovers, but they said they hadn’t seen anybody, and we couldn’t find where he’d turned off before it started raining.”
“He was pretty slick about it. I might not have found it if he hadn’t used the same route coming and going from the cattle trail. He used an offshoot of Little Creek to hide his tracks, but he was a little less careful after he swapped horses. I was able spot the signs of his previous trip when I trailed the new horse back. I didn’t follow him any farther after he hit that trail—figured we had our horse back and that was the end of it. We let the surrounding ranchers know to keep an eye on their own remudas and left it at that. Never thought about it being connected with what had happened in town.”
