Love on the Range

by Jessica Nelson

  Gracie leaned forward, coffee pushed to the side. He knew something. Something big. “I stopped writing the column when you asked me to.” Compromising to her reputation had been her father’s reasoning. Disappointment still lodged in her chest, sharp and heavy. But she ignored it, knowing he cared for her despite his old-fashioned ways. Once she wrote this article, surely he would be proud of her, though.

  “Gracie, honey, do you know how much I love you?” William’s hand reached across the table and grasped hers firmly. “You remind me of your mother.”

  “I’m nothing like her.”

  “Oh, but you are. Strong willed, opinionated.” He chuckled, then his face grew serious. “Your Uncle Lou decided a long time ago to become involved with an unsavory character who specialized in covert operations. I disapproved and tried to manipulate him by withdrawing any welcome to my home. Your uncle didn’t respond well and until now we’ve hardly spoken.”

  An unsavory character? Gracie gnawed her lip. “You haven’t spoken because you didn’t like Uncle Lou’s profession?” She knew she sounded incredulous but couldn’t help it. She’d never known her father to be so controlling of anyone. Except herself.

  His gaze flickered down to his cup. “I am afraid your old daddy was rather prideful.”

  Gracie squeezed his hand. “What was the man’s name?”

  “Who?”

  “The unsavory character.”

  “You’ve read about him in the papers. Striker.”

  She forced her hand to stay relaxed on his. But her mind worked furiously. It couldn’t be true. Unsavory? She didn’t want to believe it but Father had no reason to lie. She leaned back, hands curling tightly in her lap. “And Uncle Lou worked with him? Do you think he would give me an interview?”

  William shook his head. “I don’t think you should mention what I’ve told you to anyone.”

  “Why did you tell me?”

  He sighed, his forefinger tracing the top of his coffee cup. “I know about your interest in Striker. It wasn’t hard to spot the cut out sections of my paper.”

  Gracie flushed. “If you know, then why did you send me here to Striker’s own territory?”

  “It is?”

  “Some say,” she hedged. She forgot the things she knew were not common knowledge.

  “You should leave the issue of Striker alone. Concentrate on pursuits that will enhance your future.”

  “Writing will do that.”

  “Not when you’re chasing down a renegade lawman.”

  Gracie blanched. She’d tried to keep it a secret, knowing her parents would forbid her the interest. “He’s not a renegade or an assassin. He enforces the Mann Act of 1910 and works with the Bureau of Investigation.”

  William looked like he was about to disagree, but Mary whisked into the kitchen. She nodded to them and began pulling out food for breakfast.

  Gracie watched for a moment, absorbed in her thoughts. The whole reason Father disapproved of Uncle Lou was because he associated with Striker? That did not seem to be a valid reason to cut off contact with his only brother for years.

  Unless Uncle Lou was Striker.

  Chapter Nineteen

  This was her chance.

  Gracie slowed Velvet as they entered the stables. She shook her hair out of its tight knot. Honey hadn’t been available so she’d taken Velvet and been pleasantly surprised by the mare’s quick responses. She brushed Velvet, and then settled her in a stall with some fresh oats.

  Trevor lingered at the other end of the stable, unsaddling Butch. It had been two days since she’d spoken with her father about Striker. Quite possibly she’d figured out Striker’s true identity. Unfortunately, Mother kept up the sewing sessions and released Gracie from her sight only once a day. The schedule made her feel like a caged pet.

  Hoping Mother would not come searching when today’s hour respite ended, Gracie walked to Trevor. “Good morning. How are you today?”

  He was kneeling down, checking Butch’s hooves for who knew what, and her hand stretched toward his bent head. She snatched it back just in time.

  He stood, rising above her. “Doing chores. And you?”

  She forgot how tall he stood. “I am becoming desperate. I think Mother plans to keep me by her side until we leave.”

  “When will that be?” The question was asked in a casual voice as he moved to the other side of Butch. She could not tell if he truly cared.

  “We are leaving after Christmas.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ve missed seeing you. I hope the kittens are well.”

  “Well enough. Running around the barn.”

  “Catching mice, I suppose. Speaking of victory, I would dearly love to win another chess match.” She sighed. “My parents insist ladies do not play chess.”

  Trevor didn’t respond but she could see his hands moving quickly as he brushed long strokes down Butch’s muscled flank.

  “She doesn’t seem to comprehend this is the twentieth century. A time of change and new ideas. Liberation, even.”

  Still no response. Looking around, Gracie spotted a bale of hay. She walked over and sat, inhaling its sweet freshness. The fragrance mingled with the scent of manure, mud and leather. Not altogether unpleasant. She crossed her stockinged ankles. Her gaze fastened on her skirt’s hem.

  “Mother recently made this skirt for me. It is abominably long, don’t you think? Why, I cannot even see the tops of my calves.”

  “Are you always concerned with fashion?” His tone held a hint of disapproval.

  “Not at all. I’m concerned with my freedom to dress as I please. I can assure you that if I marry one day, my husband will be as forward thinking as I am.”

  He chuckled and laid down the big brush. Butch whickered softly and Trevor gave him a gentle nudge under the jaw before coming to sit next to Gracie.

  She froze. He was so near. Spicy cologne and leather hat. Tanned hands and long legs. She hoped he could not hear the violent hammering of her heart as she shifted to give him more room on the bale.

  He didn’t look at her as he took his hat off and began twisting it in his hands. His hair clung to his forehead. “I’ve been thinking about God lately.”

  “You have?”

  The hat went around and around in his hands. “I don’t know, Gracie. I just don’t know. I’ve been wondering what He thinks of me. Seems like when Pa died all my anger died, too. Can’t explain it. But now that the anger is gone, well, I just can’t figure what keeps me from God.”

  His boot tapped the barn floor.

  Gracie stared down at her own booted feet. And waited.

  “I’ve done things, Gracie. Things you might not understand or approve of. I’ve tried to do them with honor, at least. But in the course of life, something inside me died. I don’t know what it is, or when it happened.” The hat stilled. “Sometimes I feel frozen and you’re the only one I think might understand.”

  Eyes stinging, she blinked quickly and hoped to high heaven Trevor wouldn’t notice. The last thing he needed was to worry about whether she would turn into a weeping girl again. She closed her eyes, pressed the lids together tightly. “I do understand.”

  “You felt that way when Connie died.”

  “Yes.”

  They were silent and for a long while the only sounds were horses moving in their stalls, wind pushing through the open doors of the barn and the halting breaths of two who had known pain.

  Trevor broke the moment by shoving the hat back on his head and standing. He held out his hand to Gracie and she took it, relieved by the contact. Gazing up at him, she saw the sorrow in his eyes.

  “I don’t know what you’ve done or what you regret.” She kept his hand in hers, cupped it with her other. “I
can tell you that Jesus heals the wounded soul. Seek Him, Trevor, and He will be found.”

  He yanked his hands away.

  “Where? How?” His mouth twisted and he flung his arms in the air. “How is this God of yours to be found, Gracie?”

  She swallowed, mouth dry. “Talk to Him, read the Bible. Those are good ways.”

  “I’m supposed to talk to thin air?”

  “Perhaps it sounds silly, but it’ll work.” She blinked. “You talk to the horses.”

  His body went still. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I am only pointing out that perhaps talking to horses might seem quite silly to most, as everyone knows a horse does not speak. But you know differently. Horses do speak, but only those who know how to listen understand.” She paused, hoping he’d comprehend her meaning. “Those who want to know.”

  “Are you comparing God to a horse?”

  She grimaced. “No, only that what seems silly to you is natural to me. He speaks to my heart, Trevor. And He loves you passionately. He longs to speak to your heart, as well.”

  Trevor’s lips flattened but at least she didn’t see any more anger in his opaque expression.

  “I’ll walk you to the house,” he offered, taking her arm.

  For once, Gracie did not care that her parents might see. She let him lead her and it wasn’t until they were close to the porch that she remembered her original reason for wanting to speak with him.

  She turned to him once they neared the porch. “I have a question for you.”

  “Ask inside. This wind is getting real nippy.”

  “I cannot speak openly.” Her voice lowered. “I think I’ve discovered the identity of Striker. What can you tell me of him?” She watched him closely and was surprised to see his face harden into something as cold and fierce as the winter ground beneath her feet.

  “After months here, you think I’ve got something new to say?”

  “I suppose it is an instinct. I feel as if you know more about this elusive man.”

  A palpable silence filled the air. Gracie held her breath, waiting for him to respond.

  “He works for the government,” Trevor said flatly. “And he’s dangerous.”

  “Do you think you could procure an interview for me? I know of a woman’s paper—”

  “No.” Trevor took her arm and maneuvered her up the wind-worn steps to the front door. They stepped into the house. “I have to advise you to stop pursuing this train of thought. Leave it be.”

  “You need not concern yourself about what goes on in my head.”

  “I don’t. I’m worried about what’s going to come out of that mouth.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She removed her coat and hung it on the rack. His expression tightened and before she could stop herself, her fingers reached to caress his face, to trace the sorrow line down his cheek.

  His hand reached up and caught her wrist, but he didn’t rebuff her touch.

  “I hope you get over this infatuation, Gracie. And fast.” He removed her hand from his face and left her standing in the darkened hall.

  * * *

  Gracie found Uncle Lou in his office later that afternoon. Mother had retired to her bedroom with complaints of a migraine, and the men left to look at the cattle and have, she supposed, manly talk.

  But Uncle Lou had business and correspondence to attend to. By chance she heard his voice on her way to the kitchen and decided to stop and speak with him about the mysterious lights she’d seen the other night. They’d awakened her again last night and she decided he should be told immediately.

  Before she could reach for the brass doorknob it swung open and Mary charged out, cheeks flushed and mouth pursed. Gracie stepped back. Mary didn’t speak to her, just brushed past, head high.

  Poor Mary. Gracie didn’t know what it was, but she and Uncle Lou fought about something every week. And it was so unlike Mary to argue.

  Gracie moved into the office, pushing a stray curl behind her ears as she entered. Uncle Lou sat at his desk fiercely marking papers with a pen. She cleared her throat.

  “Uncle Lou, I have an issue to discuss with you.”

  “Sit down.” He did not look up.

  She sat warily, noting the unusual neatness of his desk. It would be nice to toss some papers on it, just to muss it a little. The Spartan quality was not typical of Uncle Lou. Neither was the unusual curtness to his tone.

  It must have been a doozy of an argument.

  “I’ll try not to take much of your time, Uncle. I only wished to inform you that a few nights ago, as well as last night, strange lights outside awakened me. The whole experience made me quite uneasy.”

  His head stayed bent over the irritatingly neat pile of papers, but his fingers began to tap the pen ominously. “I fail to see your concern.”

  “I suppose,” she said slowly, “there is no need for concern if you do not think so. I merely wanted to pass along the information, as Mendez is still on the loose.”

  He didn’t respond but she couldn’t help but notice his shoulders tense up. “You’re grumpy today, aren’t you?”

  “No, merely busy,” Lou said curtly.

  “Hmm, I’d be glad to help you.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you would be. I’ve been told I have you to thank for righting my account ledgers.”

  “That rat.” Gracie’s hands clasped tightly but her words toward Trevor were without rancor. Would she be banned from Uncle Lou’s house now? Had her parents been told? Another lecture on the proprieties of a lady and her upbringing would surely drive her mad. “It’s true I’ve straightened the numbers in your ledgers. I hope that doesn’t upset you.”

  Uncle Lou looked up, lips twitching. “Did you find anything interesting?”

  To lie or not to lie?

  “Numbers are always fascinating,” she finally hedged. “But if I may, I would recommend noting the source of your extra income. It would better serve you to keep the books more orderly. I would be glad to check your arithmetic anytime.”

  “Thank you, Gracie. I’d appreciate, however, you staying away from the books here on out.”

  Her cheeks burned. “I’m sorry, Uncle Lou. I understand if you don’t want me to straighten them, but perhaps you should hire someone.” She tried to smile, but there was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. He was truly angry with her. And now he knew she was aware of the unexplained income in his ledgers, as did Trevor.

  She murmured her farewell and left Uncle Lou still hunched over his desk. If Uncle Lou was Striker then he could be dangerous. But surely not to family….

  The swish of a broom floated through the darkened hallway. Mary must be cleaning. Gracie longed to help but Mother had been horrified by the new calluses on her palms and had forbidden her from taking part in any more cleaning activities.

  Besides, Mary most likely wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

  She glanced up the stairs and noticed her bedroom door ajar. Leaving the steady sound of Mary’s sweeping, she headed up.

  She stopped in the doorway, comforted by the familiar scent of lavender perfume mixing with the airy aroma of lemon. Light streamed in from the window and the floor glowed. Mary must have polished it recently. She sauntered to the window and looked out. It was such a beautiful day, and with Mother stuck in bed, why, she could go anywhere….

  A walk would be pleasant. She moved away from the window and absentmindedly shut her closet door.

  On her walk she’d do a bit of reconnaissance.

  Chapter Twenty

  The breeze outside felt brisk but not as biting as the past few days. Gracie pulled her scarf away from her lips and reveled in the clean air before stopping to take stock of he
r location. The house faced north and her window sat on the east side. The lights had flickered to the left of her window, so that meant she must walk northerly.

  Her cheddar and chicken sandwich swung beside her in an old lunch pail she snagged from the kitchen cupboards. It bumped against her hip as she marched toward the place at the base of the mountains where the lights had flashed again last night. Uncle Lou might put her off, but there was something strange about people wandering around in the dead of the night. There was clearly a mystery here.

  Her feet made little sound as she tromped through thin layers of snow. She inhaled deeply. A sense of peace came over her. She could not remember this feeling being a part of her Boston days. The quiet she assumed would bore her to tears had instead soothed her.

  Fifteen minutes later she reached the area she figured the lights had flashed from. Nothing suspicious lurked in the brown shrubs and white snow. She walked a circle around the area, scanning the ground for footprints or even horse prints.

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  Her stomach growled and she lowered herself to a smooth stone. She’d eat, and then continue walking. If no signs of last night’s meanderings turned up, at least she’d get some exercise.

  Only the rustling of the wind disturbed the silence around her. She closed her eyes.

  Thank You, Jesus, she found herself praying, for this incredible land. Please bless the people who live off it. Watch over Mary and Uncle Lou. Please guide them in their feelings and give them wisdom. And I also need wisdom. I need help, Lord. I don’t want to be disobedient to my parents but I need to be independent. Please teach me Your ways, patience and wisdom. Give me understanding. Forgive my rebelliousness and desires for my own ways. Help me find Striker.

  She let her words float away with the wind and sat on the rock in tranquility, content to let God speak to her heart should He so choose.

  After several minutes, her stomach rumbled again so she gobbled down her sandwich. It was such a relief to be able to eat as quickly as she wanted with no thought to manners. She polished off the sandwich, brushed the crumbs from her hands and stood.