Love on the Range

by Jessica Nelson

  The only interesting happening this week involved a tiny snippet of information in today’s paper. She’d seen it this morning and with Mary’s permission, cut it out and slid it in her pocket to look at later.

  She’d tried to stay away from Julia. She wasn’t one to take instant dislikings, but in this case, her hackles rose at the thought of the woman. It wasn’t just the way she had exposed her son to the harsh elements of life, but a cockiness in her demeanor, a calculating gleam in her eye. Consequently, Julia had been left to herself much of the time, roaming Lou’s house at will. She didn’t offer to help with chores.

  Despite her antipathy for the woman, Gracie could not quell her curiosity. Trying to get information out of Mary, however, was like trying to eat one of Mother’s muffins.

  Impossible.

  Mary’s reticence regarding Julia frustrated Gracie. How could she know the proper way to act when she had no information to go by?

  She glanced up from her potatoes and stole a peek at Trevor’s dark head. She’d missed seeing him, talking. It seemed he didn’t want to be around his mother any more than she did. There was the sneaking suspicion he might be avoiding her, as well. He could still be angry about that kiss, she acknowledged to herself. It really hadn’t been fair of her to take advantage of him that way. Perhaps she could corner him and explain.

  After dinner and clean-up, Gracie left in search of Trevor. The past few nights he and Julia had gone to his house immediately following dinner but tonight his mother announced she wanted to stay awhile for conversation. When Gracie slipped from the sitting room, however, she left behind only Julia’s dry monologue and a stone-faced Mary.

  Gracie crutched her way down the hall, careful not to slip on the freshly waxed wood floor. After poking her head into the kitchen and Uncle Lou’s office, she concluded Trevor must be on the porch. Freezing, no doubt. She headed back down the hall and braced herself for the biting wind that would steal the warmth from her bones.

  As she neared the front of the house, Trevor let himself in, shutting the door against a chilly gust. Gracie couldn’t help the smile that slid so easily across her face at the sight of his frown. He shrugged the leather coat off and hung it on the rack.

  “Trevor, I’ve been looking for you. We’ve matters to discuss.”

  “Don’t talk so loud.” He steered her to Uncle Lou’s office. She shoved down her impatience and waited until she was seated in a chair before she pounced.

  “I’m awash with curiosity. Could you enlighten me as to why your mother is here?”

  “You think it’s your business?” His face remained impassive and she wanted to jump from her seat and wring his neck until he showed some kind of emotion. She clasped her hands together tightly.

  “No,” she answered frankly. “But if I had some information to go on, I could establish a proper relationship with that woman.”

  “My mother.”

  “As it stands now, I’m not sure how to behave. You and Mary both seem to hate her.” That wasn’t a very tactful thing to say but it was out now. “Anyhow, I’d like to develop a plan of action for dealing with her.”

  “That’s very prudent of you.”

  “I have my moments. We’ve never played chess, have we? I believe I could show you some excellent strategies for taking out the king within six moves.”

  Trevor studied her from where he sat across the desk. It was nice to see her thinking about something besides Connie or Striker. He wished he could see the familiar bounce in her step but figured that might be a long time coming. Her cheeks had filled out some and there was a rosy glow to her skin.

  She was an oak.

  It heartened him. Her dark hair gleamed in the lamplight and suddenly he wanted to touch it again. But she was untouchable, he reminded himself fiercely. She belonged in the city, not in the desert.

  Not with a man weighed down by his past.

  He remembered how she’d looked in his house, how he’d savored the view. As if she belonged there. In his home. The realization brought a pain to his chest, a yearning he couldn’t put a name to.

  Tapping his fingers against Lou’s desk, he forced his thoughts to the matter at hand. Hashing out his life history wasn’t easy for him, but it would help for Gracie to know a little bit about Julia. It was always safer to keep the enemy close.

  “Julia managed a gentleman’s club,” he began, noting the surprised curiosity that crept across Gracie’s face. “She just discovered my father died and that the brothel was in his name only.”

  “She lost her business,” Gracie said, cupping her cheeks.

  The movement startled Trevor. He jerked his gaze away, ignoring the tenderness surging through him at her innocent expression.

  “She came here to get a loan to start another one in Burns.”

  Gracie shot upward. “Oh, you can’t, Trevor. Please do not have any part in that.”

  “Sit down. There’s no need to preach at me.”

  She sat, twisting the folds of her skirt with vigor.

  “I’m not giving her money, so you can relax. You’re not the only one who believes in right and wrong, Gracie.”

  She blinked. “I know that. I only thought you might want her away and giving her money is the quickest means to accomplish that.”

  “She’ll leave.” He hesitated, then plunged on. “You should probably know Julia is the one who arranged for Mendez to kidnap Mary.”

  “What? And she’s not been jailed?” Her eyes rounded, shocked.

  Because there’d been no proof, only suspicion. Trevor frowned. “Stay away from her.”

  “But why would she do such a thing?”

  “Money.” And envy. It had occurred to him years later that maybe his mother envied the closeness he’d shared with Mary, the deep love he held for her as if she were his own sister. He caught Gracie’s gaze. “I’m thinking of sending Julia to Spain to visit relatives.”

  “That’s so expensive. How will you buy your new ranch?”

  Trevor’s jaw tightened. She was too nosy for her own good. “Who said I’m buying a ranch?”

  Gracie rolled her eyes. “Uncle Lou notated your bonus earnings. I assumed you’ve put quite a bit of those earnings into savings. When James mentioned the other day that there is a ranch for sale nearby, I came to the conclusion you might want to purchase it.”

  “That’s an odd way to come up with such a conclusion.”

  “You are not a man to stay beneath the shadow of another for long,” she reassured him. “I took that into consideration, as well.”

  He frowned. Despite her assertions, there was only one way she could have known. “Did you see a copy of my letter to the ranch owner?”

  “No, I just told you how I reached this assumption. You sent a letter?”

  Actually, he’d left it on Lou’s desk. He’d wanted to talk with Lou first but had been putting it off. “There’s no way you didn’t see my letter.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “Are you one?” he challenged softly. “You never said one word about a sort of fiancé. Seems to me this could be a pattern.”

  Gracie blinked quickly, distress evident in her eyes. “I am not a liar,” she said quietly.

  “You’re the nosiest person I’ve ever met.” So he was still in a bad mood about her relationship with a former beau, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. Maybe because she’d kissed him as though he were the only man in the world.

  He’d never had that feeling before.

  “Perhaps I’m nosy, but it’s only because I was bored. Numbers busy my mind, as does conjecture, which, I assure you, is the extent of my knowledge regarding your financial transactions.”

  Numbness spread through Trevor. Up until a few
days ago, he’d begun to trust Gracie, to respect her and enjoy her company. That she would sit there and lie to him point-blank made him more angry than he could remember being in a very long time. Her denial stank like betrayal. It cut more deeply than her insults. His fingers curled into fists.

  “From now on you don’t come into this office, understood?”

  Gracie shoved to her feet. “Of all the nerve! No one has ever called me a liar.” She pointed a long finger his way. “Uncle Lou’s in charge here.”

  “When he’s gone, I’m in charge.”

  She snatched her crutches up.

  “We’ll see about that,” she shot out. Hobbling to the door, she turned back to Trevor, who remained at the desk, unwilling to move. “I never saw any silly letter so you can stop looking at me as if I’ve sprouted a beard. It may be hard to believe, but I do have a brain and I know you want your own place. You should inform Uncle Lou.”

  “Is that all, Gracelyn?”

  “You may call me Miss Riley. Yes, that is all, Mr. Cruz.”

  She stepped into the hallway and clicked the door closed. What she really wanted to do was slam it until the roof shook. Fury made her limbs tremble. He thought her a liar. She gripped her crutches until her knuckles ached. The man did not even blink an eye. For the first time she wondered if he felt things as others did. One could not guess it by the remoteness of his features.

  Mary moved out of the darkened corner of the hallway and held out an envelope. “It’s for you.”

  Gracie struggled to control her temper, calling on years of social etiquette to force a small smile to her face. But her pulse still thundered as she took the envelope from Mary. “It’s wet.” She ripped it open, scanning the smeared contents.

  “Lou came in and handed it to me before heading to his room.” Apology filled Mary’s tone.

  “I cannot read most of it, although I believe it’s from my parents. I hope nothing untoward has happened.” She looked up at Mary, whose eyes widened with concern.

  “If there were bad news I’m sure they would’ve sent a telegram.”

  “I suppose you’re correct.” Gracie balled the illegible paper in her hand, listening to the rustle and wishing it were Trevor’s face crumpling beneath her fingers.

  “I’ll throw the paper away for you.” Mary’s gaze skittered to the office door behind Gracie. “Were you and Trevor yelling at each other?”

  “He barely raised his voice.” Yet his words had spoken volumes. Her spine tightened at his nerve. She met Mary’s eyes. “Does Trevor always leap to wrong conclusions and think he’s right?”

  “He’s strong willed, that he is. But he’s usually right.” Mary glanced at the still-closed office door.

  “Not this time.” Gracie’s lips pursed. She moved away from the door, toward the staircase. “You can tell him not to bother talking to me until he apologizes.”

  The office door swung open.

  “You can tell me yourself, Miss Riley.”

  The nerve of the man! She glared at him. “Don’t bother talking to me until you apologize!” She was alarmed to hear her voice rise an octave and clamped her mouth shut. In your anger do not sin. She groaned silently. Too late for that. Not only had she lost her temper, but now she was behaving like a child.

  “I’m going to bed now,” she snapped. She turned around and pushed past Julia, who had at some point slithered unnoticed into the hallway. Trevor didn’t resemble her in the least. The woman bothered her immensely but she squelched her growing sympathy for Trevor beneath her indignation at being labeled a liar.

  It was time he realized he was not right about everything. She itched to teach him a lesson. Looking at his papers, indeed. As if she would fib about something so inane.

  Before bed she looked over her articles on Striker again. She pulled out the one she’d clipped from the newspaper this morning.

  Engineer’s daughter rescued near the border in Texas last month now claims Striker helped her. After killing her kidnappers, Striker returned her home, the girl states. The daughter, whose name is withheld for privacy purposes, says the government agent wishes to remain anonymous. The daughter also says Striker is younger than she expected.

  Frowning, Gracie placed the article with the others and slid her box back into her closet. A good thing she hadn’t wasted time in Burns these last weeks since apparently Striker had been cavorting about somewhere else.

  But that meant he should be returning to Burns soon. All the more reason to ramp up her efforts to find him.

  She went to bed hoping for dreams of the heroic agent. Instead, nightmares in which Trevor pointed his finger at her and called her a liar over and over again invaded her sleep. Then she turned into Julia and had to watch him begin to loathe her.

  It was a strange night. When she finally made her way into the kitchen the next morning, bleary eyed and vexed, she found Mary mixing up pancakes and Trevor sitting at the table sipping coffee. She deliberately ignored him and hobbled to the counter to pour herself coffee. Bitter and black, it fit her mood and she sipped it with relish. She couldn’t carry it to the table while holding her crutches, so she leaned against the stone counter and watched Mary rhythmically stir the batter.

  “Did you sleep well, then?” Mary’s brogue seemed thicker in the mornings.

  “Not really. I had bad dreams. I keep thinking about Connie and her family. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to be happy when I go home.”

  Mary kept stirring and did not reply. Gracie could feel Trevor’s gaze on her. Let him stare. She had not called him a liar, undermining his character and everything he stood for.

  Even still, it was hard for Gracie to hold on to her anger. It had always been hard for her to stay cross. Not her nature. And to be fair, he really didn’t know her well. Could she blame him for leaping to the obvious conclusion? Not everyone was trustworthy.

  Gracie’s stomach growled loudly. She sipped her coffee, hoping no one had heard the rumbling. “Are we going to church again?” she asked.

  Mary flipped the pancakes. “Too cold today.”

  “Went to the neighbor’s this morning.” Uncle Lou slid into the room, silent as a shadow. When Trevor turned to look at him, Gracie studied Trevor beneath her lashes. Freshly shaven and with his hair slicked back, he looked strong and in control. Her lips tingled as she remembered his kisses, the way his fingers had cupped her cheeks so gently. The way he’d pulled her to him as though he never planned on letting go.

  “War’s over,” Uncle Lou announced, a broad grin spreading across his tan features. “It’s all over the papers. Our boys are coming home in droves.”

  Gracie set her cup down and faced her uncle. “When did it end?”

  “The eleventh.” He looked over her shoulder at Mary, who had gone back to finishing up the pancakes and turning the bacon on the back burner. Clearly a man in love. Did Mary know how Lou felt? Did he, even?

  Would Trevor mention to Uncle Lou their little altercation last night? Her uncle appeared dense where love was concerned.

  A movement caught her attention.

  Julia flounced in, wearing a high-fashion, icy-blue dress. She stopped short when she saw Uncle Lou. There was an awkward silence in which the only sound was the pop of bacon sizzling in its pan.

  Something quite murderous shadowed Uncle Lou’s features. Gracie shivered in response.

  “What is she doing here?” His jaw seemed carved from stone, except for the small rhythmic twitching at its base. “Get her out before I shoot her between the eyes.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Uncle Lou didn’t shoot Julia between the eyes.

  Instead, Trevor ushered her to the front door. Gracie followed the strange little procession. Tears streamed down Julia’s cheeks as she clung to
Trevor’s arm. An unexpected sympathy welled inside Gracie’s chest.

  “Please don’t make me leave,” Julia sobbed. “I have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Please, son.”

  Julia sunk to the floor.

  This was too much. Gracie rushed over to the crumpled woman, sending Trevor what she hoped was a scathing look before bending toward his mother. Trevor’s face remained composed as he watched. Mary stood beside him, just as expressionless, arms folded tightly against herself.

  Gracie held out her hand, giving Julia a small smile. Truth be told, Julia deserved their animosity. She certainly wasn’t an easy woman to get along with, or to like, for that matter. And she had sold Mary for money, a loathsome act worthy of judgment. Still, as an objective watcher, it was Gracie’s Christian duty to help the woman.

  The love of God was not only for righteous people.

  Waiting, she kept her palm out but Julia snatched her long-nailed fingers from Gracie’s reach as a sneer disfigured her pretty face.

  “Leave me alone,” she snarled like a wounded animal prepared to attack. “I know how you hoity-toity people back east look down on women like me. Don’t you try to touch me with those pristine hands. I know your type.” Julia made a sound in her throat. Then she spat at Gracie.

  Gracie recoiled, trying to force down the bile rising up her throat.

  At that moment, the love of God seemed to desert her and unexpectedly the urge to slap sense into the other woman clawed through her. She closed her eyes and tried not to gag as she stepped away. It wasn’t her business, she reminded herself sharply as she limped to a far wall, out of reach in case Julia should decide to continue her unladylike behavior.

  Uncle Lou appeared at the other end of the hall, a silent specter hovering near his office and the kitchen entrance. His legs spread as if going into battle. He must have heard the commotion.