Love on the Range

by Jessica Nelson

  “I suppose I should retire for the night.” She stifled a yawn and stood, noticing with surprise that the tray once bearing mounds of food now held only crumbs. She paused on her way out. “One hundred acres is a rather tiny ranch, is it not?”

  Wariness flickered across Uncle Lou’s face. “I don’t plan on being here much longer, Gracie. China is calling.”

  “How will you make a living?” She looked from one to the other and saw immediately they were not pleased with her question.

  The scowl returned to Trevor’s face but Uncle Lou suddenly grinned. “Full of questions, aren’t ya? You ought to go into journalism.”

  “It’s only a matter of time and I’ll be there. Perhaps we can meet after lunch tomorrow and discuss our findings?” She waited by the door for an answer.

  “I don’t think so, Gracelyn.” Uncle Lou gave her a stern look. “Seems to me you ought to be a little more upset than excited.”

  “Human emotions are rarely cut and dried. I feel horrible because the jewelry means so much to Mother and Daddy. Other than that, this is quite an adventure. It’s about time one came my way.” She flashed them a wide smile and slipped out the door, leaving it open a crack.

  She bolted up the stairs to her room, suddenly not in the least tired.

  * * *

  The tightness in Trevor’s chest eased somewhat when Gracie left the room. He couldn’t think clearly when she was near, when the scent of her perfume snaked around him. The glint of her hair, the vibrancy of her eyes. He groaned.

  “You love my niece.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Like you said, she’s too young.”

  “I’ve been rethinking my stance.”

  His hands clenched knuckle-tight. “She’s not for me.” He wished she was. He wished he had the right to hold her hand, to listen to her heart. He wanted that desperately. “I can’t involve myself with anyone right now, Lou. I could get her killed.”

  Lou snorted. “Not likely. The furor’s dying down, as are your enemies. Once we take care of Mendez, you should be done. You were only a temporary agent. They don’t expect more than what you signed on for.”

  “She’s a Christian, Lou.” He paused. “You ever think about religion?”

  “I do my best not to think about it.” Lou’s boot tapped against the floor and the shadows danced across his eyes. He wasn’t getting younger. Trevor had his excuses for avoiding religion, but what were Lou’s? He realized with a start that in their long friendship, Lou had never said.

  “I’ve been reading the Bible a little.” Trevor felt like a fool for admitting it but confession to Lou was habit. “I’ve been thinking about God.” He let that hang in the air. To his surprise, Lou only cocked a brow.

  “A man’s got to do what he thinks is best,” he said carefully, then yawned. “I’m heading to bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow finding that witch. James can keep an eye on the women. After you check your property, head to the train station.” Lou’s forehead creased. “Mary won’t be happy to hear that Mendez is so close.”

  “Why would she?” Trevor stood and stretched his arms. “She’s got reason to kill him, I’d say.”

  “I’ll be the one to shoot….” Lou let loose a string of expletives.

  Trevor winced. Lou always could curse like a sailor. So could he, but lately he’d been feeling a change inside. Maybe all the Bible reading was affecting him.

  He put out the fire, then he and Lou carried the dishes to the kitchen by moonlight. On the way there, the shadows shifted strangely. The two men exchanged a look.

  Once in the kitchen, Lou dumped the tray with a quiet clatter into the sink.

  Lou’s voice broke the silence of the kitchen with his whisper. “Marry Gracie.”

  “She belongs in Boston,” Trevor said quietly. He felt affection for Gracie, but that didn’t mean they could marry. Her headstrong, willful ways would drive a man to insanity. But he’d heard her wisdom, seen the kindness of her heart. The glow of her eyes and the satin smoothness of her skin. He forced his thoughts away from their poetic wanderings and focused on Lou’s tired eyes. “She’s a risk I can’t take.”

  Lou shook his head. “I’m getting older and there’s one thing I’ve learned. It’s not the things I’ve done that I regret the most, it’s the things I haven’t.” Lou hesitated. “I was wrong about you two. She’s good for you, Trevor. She wants you. Take what you can.”

  “She’s still longing for Striker.”

  Lou crossed his arms. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “She thinks he’s a hero, not an assassin.”

  “Striker finds criminals. If he took a few out, it was for the good of the country. Nothing to feel guilty about.”

  Trevor looked away. “Council Bluff wasn’t for the good of the country.”

  “It was meant to be for good.” A deep silence fell between them.

  Was Lou remembering the screams? The child lifeless on the ground? Trevor cleared his throat.

  “Those outlaws are dead now. They’ll never kill innocents again,” Lou said. “As for the little boy, he was an accident. You didn’t see him.”

  “I should have.” The boy had run by just as Trevor opened fire. He’d been struck down, dead before Trevor dropped his gun. Sorrow pressed so deeply on his chest that he wanted to collapse beneath the weight of it.

  Lou reached over and squeezed Trevor’s shoulder. “Forgive yourself. What happened there won’t be repeated.” He released his grip and gave Trevor an uncharacteristic pat on the back. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Trevor waited in the kitchen as Lou left. He heard the creak of the stairs as Lou ascended and waited for the sound of his door. It wasn’t long in coming. Trevor allowed himself a small smile. If Lou would admit to his own feelings, Mary would be married by now.

  So much for advice.

  His thoughts shifted to Gracie.

  He couldn’t possibly be right for her. She was used to servants, caviar and French silk. He could afford those things with all he’d saved, but he didn’t want them. Didn’t need them. From his viewpoint, she needed a rich, high-society husband.

  But not Hugh.

  That arrogant whelp would bore her within a week. He would stifle her sense of fun and creativity. He would slowly strangle her with propriety. She needed someone who could give her adventure, who was secure enough to allow her the freedom to explore, but strong enough to protect her.

  Speaking of adventure… He started out of the kitchen.

  He had an eavesdropper to catch.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The scent of Trevor’s cologne showed up before he did. That spicy, slightly foreign cologne preceded the raspy creak of the floorboards only by a second, but enough to forewarn Gracie. His steps were measured and precise. He knew she was here, of course. She should’ve jumped up after Uncle Lou passed and escaped to her room.

  The whole attempt at eavesdropping proved fruitless. She hadn’t been able to hear anything they’d said over the crackle of the fire. Now she was caught. Again.

  “Gracelyn, you can come out now.”

  She peeked around her corner at the commanding whisper. Pale blue moonlight filtering in through the front door window panes lit the tall form in the hallway. Was he angry? She slipped out of the shadows and found him at the base of the stairs, closer than she’d realized.

  “Eavesdropping again?” he murmured.

  “I need a bit of water.” Not an outright lie, she comforted herself as her dry throat attempted to swallow. Her fingers tightened the belt on her sleeping robe.

  Why did he not move? He stood in front of her, solid as the mountains outside the house.

  “I will see you in the morning.” S
he attempted to slip past him but he caught her arm with a gentle grip of steel. She ground her teeth at the restraint. “Remove your hands at once.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “I think we’ve done enough talking.” She yanked her arm away and put her hands on her hips.

  “You might want to keep it down,” Trevor cautioned.

  She sighed, suddenly weary beyond measure. “What do you want?”

  She could feel his eyes measuring her features, probing. An undesired thrill raced through her veins.

  “I want to kiss you,” he whispered gruffly.

  Warmth soared through her. A hopeless warmth that couldn’t stay. “Please don’t.” She stepped back to put space between them. “There are many things I like about you, Trevor, but we both know a relationship between us will be impossible. You have made it very clear to me.”

  “You’ll find a nice, rich man to satisfy you with the things you’re used to. Choose wisely.”

  “Ha,” Gracie scoffed. Wariness quickly morphed into irritation. “Thanks for planning my life. For your information, I don’t want a rich man. I want a good one. One I can adventure with. One who loves me for who I am and likes me in trousers. I’m twenty, the daughter of very rich, socially acceptable parents. I’ll marry when God shows me I should, and no sooner.”

  “And your plans for Striker?”

  “They are not your business.”

  Trevor’s eyes flashed in the dimness. What was he thinking? Did he understand? “Our attraction is out of line,” he said.

  “Life is much different than your garden. Imperfect, uneven.” Her fists left her hips and reached for his hands. She pressed his fingers against her cheek, relishing their work-roughened texture. “But one thing is similar. Our attraction will die if not watered, if not fed. That’s life.”

  “And God?”

  “What about Him?” she asked.

  “His plans for you might be different than what you think, what you want.”

  She nodded, sadness filling her. “You’re very right. I believe though there are some things He puts in our hearts that never die.”

  “Like what?”

  “Love.” She let go of his hands, missing their warmth immediately.

  He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck in long, tired strokes. “I guess you best be getting to bed.”

  Gracie moved onto the stairs. “I guess I should,” she said sadly.

  Trevor didn’t say any more, just raised his hand in farewell, slipped into his coat and let himself out into the bitter night.

  * * *

  Gracie’s trip to the train station proved successful.

  “Sure,” the grizzled man behind the station counter said, smacking his tobacco loudly. “I seen that woman. Most perfect yellow hair I ever done seen. Boarded yesterday morning, guess ’bout before noon.”

  “Did you notice where she was going?” Gracie leaned across the counter.

  “Now why would I know that?” He smacked again.

  Gracie could tell he was lying. “If I knew where she was going I could catch up. I have a reward, of course, for whoever can point the way. I suppose I should try the porters.” She turned toward the train platform but stopped at his grunt. She swung slowly back around.

  “Now how much would this reward be?” He peered up at her out of crooked spectacles and his mustache twitched.

  “I believe I’ve a dime for the person who can tell me where Miss Williams was headed. I’m certain there are porters who will remember her. Please do not consider the matter anymore.” She rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms and hoped the man’s greed would kick in a little faster.

  His beady brown eyes held her for a moment. “I’m thinkin’,” he said slowly, “that twenty-five cents might refresh my memory.”

  “It might, but there are plenty out there for whom a dime is more than enough for a snippet of information. Please, continue your paperwork and I’ll find someone with a clearer memory.”

  “Los Angeles,” he blurted out.

  “I’ll want to see proof of that.” She looked down to where the little man sat and tried to ignore the distaste souring her stomach.

  He pushed a record book in her face and with a grimy fingernail pointed to a signature. Julia Williams. As flourished and loopy as the woman herself. It was enough. Gracie plucked a dime from the pocket in her wool dress and let it clatter onto the counter.

  “Thank you, sir.” She marched out of the little station, down the platform, and unloosed the holding rein that held Velvet to the hitching post. She ran her hand down Velvet’s smooth neck before pulling herself onto the mare’s back. She adjusted her skirt. Her black silk faille hat was stuffed into her jacket pocket. Hopefully Mother wouldn’t notice the crinkles in the material, but the morning was too beautiful to shield her head from the sun.

  So Julia had gone to the big city. There seemed to be little chance of retrieving the jewels. Gracie’s heart was heavy as Velvet cantered the miles back to the house.

  They would surely go home now and she would probably never see Trevor again. Too late she realized she loved the stubborn cowboy. Maybe falling in love with someone else was still feasible. She couldn’t imagine it, though. Trevor was unique. He possessed an indefinable quality that set him apart from others. Some kind of control, an authority that other men lacked. Moreover, he did not appear to be intimidated by her dreams and goals, as Hugh was.

  Yes, if circumstances were different perhaps they would’ve had something to build on.

  Velvet released a soft whinny and Gracie looked up to see someone riding toward her. The day was clear with few clouds in the sky and the hardened snow glittered beneath the rising sun.

  Trevor.

  She recognized the controlled posture. He sat the horse who’d thrown him. He pulled his mount up beside her and tipped his hat. She bit back a grin. Trevor did not usually resort to such gentlemanly techniques. She nodded in return.

  Together they trotted toward the ranch. “Did you discover any news?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Thought we told you to stay at the house.”

  “You mentioned something of that nature. But it’s too late to fret about it now. I have discovered your mother took the train to Los Angeles.” Sliding a glance to his horse, she frowned. What if he threw Trevor again? “Have you named him?”

  “Her, and no, I haven’t. Los Angeles? We could intercept Julia.” He said it so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

  “I don’t see how we could do that.”

  “Lou and I have friends. We’ll send a post and request them to remove her from the train and search her for the jewels.”

  “Are these friends reliable?” Her hair whipped into her face and she pushed it back.

  Trevor looked over at her. “They’re authorities. They’ll handle the situation. Soon as Lou gets back I’ll have to ride into town with him.”

  At last, a trip to Burns. “May I come with you?”

  “Why?” He threw her a suspicious glance.

  “I’m not going to interview the townspeople about Striker’s nefarious past deeds, if that’s what worries you. I simply must buy more Christmas presents. We’ve only a few weeks left, you know.”

  “I’d forgotten.” He stared ahead. “Christmas is big in your family.”

  “Of course. It’s the birth of our Savior. I suppose you don’t celebrate Christmas.”

  “We exchange gifts,” he answered lightly.

  “Do you decorate?”

  “Not really. Mary’s usually the only female there, and sometimes Lou and I are gone on business.” He held the reins loosely in his large hands, and yet she could see that the horse was under his complete control. Warmth blossom
ed in her chest.

  “You’re very special, Trevor.”

  “So you keep telling me.” He said nothing more.

  * * *

  After leaving Gracie at the stables, Trevor galloped to his place. He tugged the saddle and bridle off the young mare and tied her to the post with water and oats. Like Julia had taught him. Memories of his mother washed over him. For all her faults, she’d taught him to love horses, to care for them and respect them. They’d spent hours in the desert—riding, free, laughing.

  Frowning, he headed to his garden. The smell of fresh soil hadn’t yet materialized and the bare, snow-dusted earth spoke of loneliness.

  There were few weeds at this time of year. In fact, not much of anything was growing. He knelt down and, with reverence, touched one tiny green shoot. It was an early bloomer and probably wouldn’t make it. Despite the lack of growth around the small plant, other seeds lay just beneath the hardened soil, taking in nutrients and preparing to spring up at the right time.

  Gracie had been right last night. He kept his garden neat and orderly. Almost perfect. But life couldn’t be that way. Why did he expect it? He glanced up at the sky as if he could find God looking down at him, but there was nothing but blue space.

  What made a person able to believe? The more he thought on the things he’d been reading, the more he wanted to find the faith to trust. He sat back in the dirt and crossed his arms over his knees.

  The sound of an Oregon junco floated on the winter breeze. The small sparrow perched on the roof of his house, dark head bobbing up and down as he warbled his song. Then his little body flitted away, as if he had no worries at all and knew his exact destination.

  Perhaps faith was that easy, Trevor mused. The sparrow had no worries, he just lived and trusted that the One who made him would also watch over him.

  But who had watched over Trevor? No one. Not one person had protected him from vicious beatings, from the taunts of hypocritical people who knew his mother, knew his father and punished Trevor for their actions.

  But you’re alive, a voice pressed from within. You are alive.