“Change subjects quick, don’t you?”
She grimaced. “I apologize.”
Something like a smile snagged the corners of his lips.
“Women are citizens, just like any man,” he finally said after an interminably long silence.
An enlightened cowboy. For a moment, Gracie didn’t know what to say. Dragging in a deep breath, she looked over at him. “A man’s treatment of a woman’s basic rights says much of his character.”
Her toe caught against a rock and before she knew what was happening, she landed on her elbow. She winced at the sting and moved to stand.
Rattling filled the air. She stiffened, confused. Within seconds she saw the snake poised in front of her. For a second it seemed as though her heart stopped beating.
Then Trevor was beside her, raising his arm. He moved so fast she didn’t understand what he did until the rattling stopped and the only sound was gunfire echoing across the uneven landscape.
Breath shallow, Gracie stood carefully. “Thank you.” She clasped her hands tight but their shaking wouldn’t stop.
He holstered the gun, expression unreadable. “You okay?” His fingers reached toward her, then withdrew. By unspoken assent, they began to walk again, skirting around the area where the mangled carcass of a rattler must surely rest.
She wouldn’t know as she kept her gaze averted. “I see what you mean about dangers.” Good. Her voice sounded normal.
“Actually, most rattlers are curling up in crevices by now. That was strange.” He glanced at her.
Still shaky, she attempted to give him a smile and for her trouble, stumbled over a shrub again. She instinctively grabbed Trevor’s arm for support. A bright spot of red on her sleeve snagged her attention.
Blood.
The ground shifted below her. Trevor’s muscles flexed beneath her fingers as her knees lost their strength. He hauled her up and his fingers dug into her shoulders. “What’s the matter with you?” His eyes, so very dark in the morning light, searched hers.
“My pardon. The sight of blood—” she gulped “—makes me faint.”
Trevor released her and ran his hand across his chin. “You’re saying you can’t handle blood?”
Gracie knew her face must be crimson. She looked away. It was a most embarrassing disorder. “Again, my apologies.” She searched for a new topic and blurted out the first thought that came to her. “Your arms feel as though they’re hewn from rock.”
“I have reasons to stay strong.” He smirked. It transformed his face from rugged granite to soft strength.
Her heart fell faster than she could catch it.
She cleared her throat. “I suppose ranching does require strength.” She had to be mindful of her goal to find Striker for an exclusive interview. She should pick Trevor’s brain. Anything to calm her racing pulse. “Some say Striker frequents this area.”
“On to another subject now, huh?”
“Well?” They picked their way across the ground, Gracie careful to keep a respectable distance from her attractive companion.
“Who says these things?”
“The papers, people who’ve claimed to see him.”
He quirked a brow. “That so?”
“I have reason to believe he lives close by.” She studied him for a moment. “You don’t know the man, do you?” He kept walking and she shrugged. “Of course not. You do exude a dangerous edge but I don’t think you have the wild spirit to hobnob with government agents. Don’t get me wrong,” she added when he shot her a disgruntled look. “I’m sure you could handle any situation, but it’s obvious you’re a bit on the stodgy side. Besides, Striker is rumored to be an older man.”
Trevor stopped and she almost stumbled into him. He planted his hands low on his hips, looked up at the sky and groaned. His hat hung down his back. “I’m stodgy? Miss Explorer can’t find adventure in a wilderness.”
“Well, Mr. Cruz. I certainly did not mean it as an insult.”
“I know what you meant, Miss Riley.”
“Oh, look, we’re almost to the house.” Gracie pointed out the obvious and quickened her pace.
“Slow down, woman. Just meant you got a little bit of snobbishness about you.”
Snobbishness, indeed. She twisted around and eyed him. “That may be. At the moment, I do not care to debate it.”
“Ya got your skirts all twisted in a knot, don’t you, Gracie? Bet your mama wrinkles her face that way when she gets her dander up.”
Gracie didn’t remark on his outrageous words, or his sarcastic, exaggerated accent. She had one question, then she’d head up the porch steps and escape the rude man. “Do you always carry a weapon?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a reason?”
“Seems obvious enough to me. This is dangerous territory, home to more than one kind of snake.” His eyes turned serious. “Don’t go wandering by yourself, Gracie.”
“If you are referring to Mendez, Striker will take care of him. In the meantime, I’ll speak with Uncle Lou about looking around.” She used a polite but distant voice to cover her annoyance. “Thank you for walking me back.”
They parted, but once Gracie was in the warm house she rushed to the front window of the study and watched Trevor leave.
* * *
Later that day, Gracie visited Uncle Lou in his office. He had a smooth voice and smelled of sandalwood. He gave her an earful of stories about his life and local gossip but he didn’t mention Striker. As he spoke, Gracie pondered the rift between him and her parents. He seemed charming, successful, everything her parents admired. But even with all his blessings he despised the mention of God. That made her curious, too. She didn’t ask him about it because she didn’t want to be pushy.
She exercised restraint once in a while.
Eventually Uncle Lou had to leave, but not before giving her permission to use his stationery and pens. On his way out, he flicked an envelope her way, and she squealed when she recognized Connie’s tight handwriting on the front. She’d force herself to write a quick note home first, then read Connie’s letter.
If only she had a telephone, but she’d been told this area of Harney County was too distant for telephone wires. Somehow she’d get to Burns. Even if she had to walk. The coordinates she’d been given were only a guess. Connie was supposed to verify them and send more—perhaps in this letter…
Gracie finished writing home, making sure to inform her parents once again that she wouldn’t be marrying Hugh.
She left the envelopes on Uncle Lou’s desk, and then went into the hallway. A scarred oak bench sat against the wall. She sank down on its padded floral seat and ripped the letter open. Connie’s dark, bold letters jumped out. Gracie smiled and read with haste.
Dearest Gracie,
It is incredibly boring here without you. Elizabeth and Laura do not have your sense of adventure. I am writing this the day after you have left. You see, I am already resorting to letter writing to keep myself from yawning.
My dearest friend, please come home soon. I am staying indoors for the most part, as rumors of the influenza are increasing. I have heard that Anne Holbrook has it. Pray for her.
I am planning a huge party for my twenty-fifth birthday. You’ll be back by spring, no doubt.
I should have come with you to Oregon. I suppose you are having grand adventures while I am trapped in the rigid society of the Bostonians.
Not so rigid anymore, perhaps. I have bought another set of trousers. I love them, Gracie. I am convinced they are here to stay.
I love you, dearest friend. Have a wonderful experience, and I shall see you soon.
Love Always,
Connie
P.S. It is rumored Striker has gone west. Ore
gon or California. The ladies are all atwitter about your idea for an article. It is high time you were paid for your writing. Cousin Jane couldn’t find the coordinates she promised you. She fears they’ve been lost for good. Beware Mendez. Sources claim he’s been seen in Oregon for what could only be nefarious purposes.
Gracie lowered the letter. No coordinates? Nothing?
Footsteps sounded in the next room. Tall and lean, Trevor strode into the hall, glowering. “Is Lou in?”
“He left to go somewhere with James about an hour ago.” She stood, the letter still clutched in her grasp, and forced a smile even though her insides had sunk to her feet.
Trevor glanced at her hands. “A letter already?”
“Oh, yes, from my dearest friend, Connie. She sent it the day after I left. I suppose it came rather fast.”
“How are things back home?” He’d stopped in the middle of the hall. His hands pushed through his hair in an agitated motion—eyes distant.
“She says rumors of influenza are increasing and one of our acquaintances has caught it. Other than that, she is wondering if I have had any adventures. She longs to meet Striker, as do I.” Disheartened and a bit wary of Trevor’s mood, she rambled on. “Unfortunately, adventures in the desert are unlikely. Do you ever wish to live in the city? Somewhere exciting?”
Trevor’s eyes snapped into focus. She wished she’d bothered to straighten herself after lunch. She squared her shoulders.
“The country is just as exciting,” he said flatly.
“Perhaps I need to explore a bit more.” At least in Burns, where someone must know something of Striker. “It is dreadfully boring here, is it not, Mr. Cruz?”
Trevor frowned. She thought it boring? For a moment Gracie sounded just like Eunice and Julia. The comparison to the women he despised made his chest clench up. The fact he’d begun to like Gracie only made things worse.
He stepped forward until he towered over her. She was tall for a woman, with curves that couldn’t be hidden beneath the popular dresses, but there was something about her large doe eyes and thick brown curls that caught him unaware.
Then there was the contrast between her tendency to chatter and her ability to hold an intelligent conversation on a number of topics. At least what he’d observed during meals. He’d considered her a decent woman. Sure, he’d only known her a bit but he usually counted himself a good judge of character.
And Lou liked her.
But, barring Mary, she sounded as superficial as all the other women he’d known.
He stepped forward and Gracie backed up against the wall, rosy lips parting in surprise. He wanted to intimidate her. Unfortunately, she didn’t look cowed, just flustered.
“Do you usually become angry when people do not care for your desert, Mr. Cruz?”
“It’s not your opinion that bothers me but the shallowness inherent in your tone.”
“Me, shallow?” She visibly blanched, and then recovered by lifting her chin. “I apologize for my attitude. I hadn’t meant to offend you. It’s only that I’ve important things to do and instead I am stuck in a desert when I need to find Str—people, lots of people, and I cannot do that here.”
Gut tight, Trevor stepped away from Gracie. He’d heard her slip of the tongue. Considering the intelligence he’d received today, things were going from bad to worse. And now he had to deal with this…socialite. His teeth ground together. He had the sneaking suspicion she thought Oregon was home to old-time sheriffs riding down outlaws.
But beneath anger lurked interest and with effort he reined it in. She was his boss’s niece. Disregarding everything else going on in his life, that was reason enough to back away.
“Too bad you’re stuck here,” he said disdainfully, then spun to leave.
“Wait,” she called after him. “Aren’t you going to tell me why you’re so angry?”
Trevor turned and crossed his arms.
“Connie tells me I’m a good listener. She shares all her little dramas with me.” She caught her lip between her teeth. “It’s true. Connie has tons of men trouble.” Nodding, she tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Most people grow defensive because they’ve been hurt in some manner. What was I saying that irritated you? That the desert is dreadfully boring? Or was it something else entirely…?” She stopped chattering when he advanced swiftly.
A ferocious need clamored through his chest, locked his jaw.
“Are you angry again? I was just trying to help,” she stuttered, backing up a few steps.
“Gracelyn, I would suggest you go to your room and start a quilt before I do something…unseemly.”
“I assure you, Mr. Cruz, unseemly doesn’t faze me. And my sewing skills are atrocious, anyhow.” She stood rooted to her spot.
Frowning, he crossed his arms. If he suggested she don a pair of trousers and run into the mountains, she probably would, just for the fun of it.
She made a little squeak when he moved closer. Looking flushed and sounding breathless, she said, “You’re an intriguing man. Why aren’t you married yet?”
The hurt that lassoed through him was unexpected. He felt his features freeze into something tight and painful. “You just can’t help being nosy, can you?”
Then he strode down the hall and slammed out the front door into the brisk October breeze.
Chapter Five
Trevor mounted Butch in one smooth move. He nudged the stallion into a hard gallop and set out for his house. He wanted to rid himself of the tension in his shoulders. Confusion didn’t sit well on him. It was an emotion he likened to weakness.
Once at the house he let Butch graze while he grabbed his garden gloves and headed out back to yank persistent weeds from the hard soil.
The garden was his refuge. He could think there, process things. He knelt, his scuffed Levi’s kissing the dark dirt with familiar ease. He began to pull out the unwanted elements of this private world, the earth cool against his fingers. The act of working in the soil relaxed him, making him long for the simplicity that had escaped him for too many years.
He thought of the letter he’d picked up this morning. Life just kept getting more complicated.
Gracelyn Riley. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with him? One moment she acted little more than a schoolgirl, brimming with innocent optimism and naivety. The next, her soulful eyes seemed to see straight to his core. For her to ask about marriage…somehow she’d looked right into him and known he was lacking.
If she really possessed the ability to look into a soul, his would surely horrify her.
He sat back and surveyed his small patch of privacy. Not much grew now, not with autumn’s crisp breath cooling the land. Some broccoli, winter squash. The few weeds he’d pulled lay scattered beside him. The rest of the plants sprouted in straight rows across the garden, lined up in pristine order. The way he liked them.
He scowled. It’d be nice if the rest of his life would follow suit. A little less than a week of knowing Gracelyn Riley and it felt as if a tornado had come barreling through his tidy little world, destroying all sense of order and moving everything out of place.
The woman went outside at night, a dangerous habit he planned to report to Lou. Burned the clothes she ironed. Dropped dishes and couldn’t make edible biscuits. Mary oughta convince Gracie to go muck out the stables. Anything to keep the socialite away from the food and clothes.
“Trevor?”
He leaped up, fingers brushing his holster.
“Mary told me where to find you.” Gracie stood at the edge of his garden, hair askew, eyes wide. Her gaze darted around his sanctuary and for a moment he saw it through her eyes. The neat little garden, the rocking chair on the back porch and an endless view of sagebrush land ending in dark mountains situated against brigh
t cobalt sky.
He crossed his arms. “Mary knows better than to send people here. What do you want?”
“Uh, yes.” Her fingers twisted in her skirts and a wary look crossed her face. “I know I’m nosy, have been told it a thousand times or more, but I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”
“I’m fine.” Trevor pulled his hands down his face, throat suddenly drier than the dirt at his feet. He gestured her toward his house. “I need some water.”
They walked in and he filled two cups before handing one to Gracie. She took it, a slight smile on her face. “You have a beautiful home.”
Trevor grunted and drank from his cup, the cool slide of water relieving his thirst.
Gracie set the glass on the kitchen counter. “Your house inspires good feelings. Are you the one who decorated?” She ran her fingers across the countertop. “Teak, right? So classy, elegant.” Her tone became serious. “I spoke without thinking. I’ve never tried to hurt or offend anyone purposefully with my words. Nevertheless, there is no excuse for my blabbering. Will you forgive me?”
Trevor leaned against the counter and shoved his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. “It’s been a hard day. Broken fences and loose cattle put me in a bad mood.” And a letter that put everything dear to him in danger. “You’ve got nothing to be concerned about.”
Gracie chewed on her lip again, obviously not believing his paltry excuse. “Thank you for the water,” she said. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
“We call it supper here.” He shifted his hip against the counter.
Gracie blinked.
Trevor saw her silent scrutiny and had to brace himself. It had been a long time since he’d felt an attraction for a woman. Gracie pulled at his emotions, though, and he stamped the knowledge down with force. There were a lot of reasons not to care for her. He counted them in his head.
One, she was the boss’s niece.
Two, she was young, probably inexperienced. Though looks could be deceiving.
Love on the Range Page 4
