Love on the Range

by Jessica Nelson

  “Claims he was looking for me.”

  “An unlikely explanation.” She swallowed hard, knowing they had only seconds of privacy. “Tell me honestly, is Uncle Lou Striker? I simply must know because, if he is not, I intend to go at once into Burns. Mendez was looking for him, you know.” She scrunched her nose. “He wanted to kill him. I only wish to interview Striker.”

  “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Should I be? Striker is a hero, there is no doubt of it.” She quirked a brow at Trevor and couldn’t resist adding, “Sometimes I think I’d like to marry the man, as long as he’s not Uncle Lou.”

  “You shouldn’t make rash judgments on hearsay.”

  “I believe I’ve heard this lecture already.” She smiled at Trevor, who looked stiffer than the corsets Mother used to wear. “You must admit that not only is the man an exciting adventurer, but a person of honor and integrity, as well.”

  “More information from your sources?” Trevor leaned against the wall and regarded Gracie quizzically.

  “Of course,” she answered.

  “And those relationships tell you Striker is a good man?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Better than Hugh?”

  Heat suffused her face. “Striker would never attack a woman.”

  “Hugh attacked you?” Trevor stiffened and his eyes glittered fiercely.

  She backed up a step. “Perhaps attack is too strong a word. Not really attack—more of a forceful kiss—but never fear, I took care of the matter. He will not try anything like that again.”

  Trevor reached out and pulled her to him, his fingers a vise on her arms. “Did you tell your parents?”

  “Really, Trevor, it is none of their business.”

  “Are you insane? You need to tell them.”

  She shoved away from him. “I will not. It is quite embarrassing.”

  “What’s embarrassing?” Her father wheeled out from the study, followed closely by Edith and Hugh.

  “This,” Trevor said, and with long strides he reached Hugh, drew back his right arm and punched the golden boy squarely in the jaw.

  Hugh crumpled without a sound.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “You’ve made a huge mistake.”

  “Think so?” Trevor rubbed sore knuckles along his jaw, watching as James drove his Ford away.

  Lou rolled a toothpick between his teeth. “Yep. You’ll regret it.”

  “Being a Christian isn’t the worst thing in the world, Lou.”

  “Maybe not.” A grudging response. “Now we have to hope Gracie doesn’t share her thoughts on Striker’s whereabouts with all her friends at the paper. This place has been a sanctuary.”

  “She doesn’t know who he is.”

  “She knows you’re close. Thinks you’re me. If trouble comes, we’ll face it. But becoming a Christian?” Lou spit the toothpick over the edge of the porch. “That’s a whole ’nother can of worms. I figured you might do it to get the girl. But you’re letting her ride off into the sunset with her parents and that fancy-pants thief. I can’t figure it, Trevor. What’s in religion anyway?”

  “Not much,” Trevor answered ruefully. “You gotta read the Bible. This isn’t about religion.” He paused. “And much as it irks me, we’ve got no proof Hugh took those jewels so you might want to curb your accusations.”

  “I found this when I was sweeping his room a few minutes ago.” Mary held up a small pearl earring. “He looked so squeaky-clean. I’m glad he’s gone, as well as Mendez. It’s a relief to be out from beneath that cloud. And now you’re free, Trevor.”

  “I guess so. Lou can keep up with the government, and I’ll watch the ranch.”

  “I don’t understand why you punched him,” said Lou. “It didn’t set well with William and Edith. They bustled out real quick. At least I don’t smear people’s characters without reason.” He smirked.

  “Gracie didn’t mind the punch.”

  “Her parents did.”

  Trevor scowled. “They’re gone now and we can go back to our lives. After Christmas we’ll go to the bank and I’ll buy half the ranch.” He looked across the acres stretching in front of the house, at the rapidly disappearing smoke from the truck.

  James had offered to take the family to the train station, and they’d left immediately after breakfast.

  Trevor shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the house. Everything would be strangely silent without Gracie around. Empty, even.

  “This means we won’t be having a Christmas tree, doesn’t it?” Mary glanced over at Lou. “I’ll miss her.”

  “You can have a tree if you want.” Lou stood next to Trevor, arms crossed. “Trevor and I need to see about finding a place to stick Mendez. Then we’ll find that cave and clear it out. Hopefully, there’s no poison floating around. I suppose we’re going to have to find Julia and get things straightened out. You ready, Trev?”

  “Yeah.” He ignored the strange tightness in his chest and hoped he wasn’t coming down with anything.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until nightfall that Trevor returned home. His house sat dark and silent, as somber and quiet as dinner at the house had been. He couldn’t believe Gracie made that much difference in the atmosphere, but apparently she had.

  In his bedroom a package lay in the middle of his bed and he approached it cautiously. No telling who Julia was going to poison next and he wouldn’t put it past her to kill her own son. Thank goodness they’d gotten a telegram out to George, telling him to pick her up as a possible murder suspect. Mendez might’ve been a criminal but taking the law into her own hands was plain wrong, even if she was somehow trying to atone for past sins.

  The handwriting on the package was not Julia’s, however, but Gracie’s. He recognized the small, precise writing from letters he had brought to town for her. Picking up the package, he hesitated, then ripped it open. A paper floated down to the floor and he ignored it as his eyes lingered on the gardening tools and heavy book. The tools lay partially encased in a leather pouch that filled the room with the scent of wood smoke and lavender. He pulled out a small hoe and saw his name engraved at the base of the handle. His throat constricted and he set the gift on his bed before reaching down for the letter.

  Dearest Trevor,

  I’m leaving today. I plan to visit in the summer but in the meantime I am on a quest to find the elusive Striker. You do know he has retired? I have decided that if Uncle Lou is not the man, then he knows who is. If you have any information, please write to me, as I will be resuming my search for Striker in order to land a job with the Woman’s Liberator.

  Perhaps the next time we meet I will be wearing trousers and will no longer bore you with my obsession for finding Striker. I do hope I was not too much of a bother to you.

  Thank you for those amazing kisses. It will be difficult, no doubt, to find another who kisses as well as you.

  May God bless you in all your endeavors.

  Forever in my heart,

  Gracie

  Trevor carefully folded the paper and placed it in his top drawer. His gaze fell on his Bible, opened to Jeremiah, chapter twenty-nine. His finger found verse eleven.

  Lord, I still don’t know You too well, but I gotta believe You’ve got something good planned for my life.

  He closed the Bible and readied for bed.

  * * *

  Boston moved more busily than Gracie remembered. The crowd bustled around her, pushing and jostling, and she held more tightly to her Dotty bag. As she and her family waited for a taxi, she spotted a woman huddled in the corner of a shop. Her face, dirt-grimed, seemed frozen with misery. She was shivering.

  Gracie looked away and swallowed. Her own hands were l
oaded with clothes, jewels and money. That woman, from all appearances, had nothing but thin rags on her back.

  She glanced down at the leather jacket Mary had so kindly given to her and made a quick decision. She stripped it off and, pushing through the small crowd waiting for taxis, went to the woman.

  Rounded eyes the color of her mother’s sapphires gazed up at her.

  Gracie knelt down and draped her own coat across the woman’s bony shoulders.

  “Why?”

  The whispered question brought a lump to her throat.

  “Gracelyn!” her mother’s voice called her.

  She patted the woman’s shoulder. “Because you’re deeply loved. May God bless you.”

  She sprang up and headed back to the taxi waiting for her. She squished into the backseat, Mother in the middle and Hugh behind the driver. A last look, and then the automobile pulled away from the curb.

  “Really, Gracelyn.” Mother sniffed and handed her a white-linen handkerchief. “Wipe your hands.”

  “You could catch something from that riffraff,” Hugh added.

  She ignored him, as she had the entire train ride, despite the nudges, pinches and scowls from her parents.

  Snobs, all of them.

  Not like Uncle Lou, Mary and Trevor.

  She had not known her heart would feel this heavy, that at any moment tears might spring from her eyes. Somehow Trevor had captured her heart and she remained chained by her feelings.

  The only enjoyment she’d experienced on the way home had been seeing the purple mark on Hugh’s jaw. She wished she had put it there instead of Trevor.

  No doubt Hugh had stolen her jewels in order to discredit Trevor, as well. The man was completely ruthless. A coward.

  “We’re almost home, dear. It will be good to have our electrical amenities again. And we’ll have plenty of time to decorate the tree.” Mother slanted her a sidelong glance from her position between Gracie and Hugh.

  “I really don’t feel like celebrating.”

  “Nonsense. You are the most ardent of us all. We will celebrate the birth of our Savior as we always do.”

  “While others mourn the deaths of their friends? Didn’t you see the papers? The death toll is astronomical.” Gracie returned her face to the window.

  It was bad enough she’d face this Christmas without her dearest friend, but now she would also be forced to celebrate while dealing with the loss of her love.

  “Come now, Gracelyn,” her mother admonished. “You did not know Mr. Cruz long enough to pout about his absence. He is a scoundrel and best left in that desert where he belongs. Hugh here is a shining example of all that a hero should be.”

  “Hugh wouldn’t know heroism if he tripped over it.” Gracie faced the shock etched across her mother’s face and ignored Hugh’s sputtering. “Striker is the real hero and as soon as Christmas ends, I’m getting an interview with him.”

  William turned from the front seat to face his daughter. “I thought I forbid you to write for that scandalous, liberal poppycock.”

  “I have not written for them, Father. But I’m twenty, unlikely to marry and unwilling to live beneath your social restrictions any longer.” A deep fire spread through her bones. “You’re smothering me. The paper will pay me for my work as well as offer me a staff position should I succeed.”

  “But, Gracelyn,” gasped Edith, fingers reaching for her embroidered handkerchief. “What will people say? We cannot have it. We forbid it.”

  “This is a topic better discussed at home,” William said with a meaningful jerk of his head. The driver flushed and stared straight ahead.

  “Very well,” Edith muttered.

  Gracie shifted closer to the door and away from her mother. They could not keep her in this gilded cage forever. Surely God had nothing against her procuring a job and standing on her own two feet. There must be some sort of balance between obedience and following one’s calling.

  * * *

  Two months. Not quite as long as Gracie thought it would take to find Striker.

  After a morning of helping out at a small church in the poorer section of the city, Gracie went home, changed and headed to her appointment with Striker.

  Now she paused outside the ramshackle house, double-checking the address on the note clutched in her gloved hand. This must be it. She darted a look to each side before going up the steps and knocking briskly.

  Who would have guessed that searching for Striker would have yielded results so quickly? This could be the beginning of a real, paying job. Thanks to the minister of her parents’ church, William and Edith had come to the conclusion that a job would be the very thing to lift Gracie’s spirits and take her mind off the many changes in her life. Astonishingly enough, they had put aside their social niceties and gave their blessing to her pursuit of the elusive agent.

  After much research and many interviews, she’d received a tip from a trusted source that should she appear at this address at this time, she might very well meet Striker himself. Of course, she’d informed a few fellow writers of her plans on the chance the meeting somehow went awry.

  She pushed her scarf higher over her nose. Boston during February did not inspire any feelings of loyalty, but she also kept her face covered for protection. Although cases of influenza had slowed considerably, it would be wise to be cautious.

  Whatever was Striker doing in Massachusetts? Uneasy, she determined to be on her guard until his identity was established. Should this be a trick of some ruffian…she fingered the small blade hidden in the folded pocket of her skirt. She’d not be without means to protect herself.

  She knocked on the door again and shuffled her numbing feet. The door opened as her hand poised for a third hit and a square-shouldered butler appeared.

  “This way, ma’am.” He led her to a surprisingly chic sitting room and closed the door. She stood uncertainly for a moment, then went forward and sat on one of the expensive couches facing the fireplace.

  She wished, after all this time, that she felt more excitement. The sad fact was she longed for Trevor…and Striker could hardly hold her interest. She seemed to see Trevor everywhere. Even here the patterned rug covering the hardwood floor and the fireplace made of rocks reminded her of Trevor’s home.

  She hadn’t heard from him at all. The first few nights she had not been able to stop her tears, both for Connie and for Trevor.

  Christmas had been hardest. She visited Connie’s parents and that had been depressing. Then she’d come home and been forced to endure her mother’s cheerful clucking and rock-hard fruitcake.

  At least it was all over. Even Hugh had found another heiress and gone on with his life.

  She took out her papers and writing utensils and set them beside her on the couch. She pulled off her coat, scarf and gloves. If this was Striker’s house he sure knew how to hide. The outside looked ramshackle and disreputable but inside everything shouted money.

  Her knees bounced and she glanced at the clock on the wall. Why didn’t Trevor want her? After all this time, after those kisses and insightful conversations, he still did not want her. Mother insisted that looking at Trevor was like staring at a blank wall. Utterly useless. But Gracie had thought she could see past the wall. Had thought she’d seen love.

  She grimaced. Boy, had she been wrong.

  This very afternoon Mother informed her that Uncle Lou had left for another jaunt to the Orient and had probably taken Trevor with him. Gracie did not believe it.

  Trevor wanted to sit at his ranch and take care of the horses, the property and Mary. He didn’t want China and he didn’t want her.

  The funny thing was, Gracie longed for Oregon. She missed the quiet sunsets and the crunch of Velvet’s hoof in the snow. She even missed listening to Mary hum
while mopping the floor. Perhaps she’d grown too old to enjoy the city now. Whatever the reasons, the desert called to her as surely as God called Abraham and when her quest to find Striker ended, she would go back as an independent, employed woman.

  The door opened and Gracie rose immediately. This was it. She smoothed her hair and frowned when a stray strand fell into her eyes. She blew it away and watched as a tall, dark man let himself in. He shut the door with a thud and stepped toward her. The scent of exotic spices filled the room.

  “You! What are you doing here?” Pulse pounding through her body, she looked around his broad shoulders at the closed door. “Where is Striker? I have this note delivered to my house expressly granting me an interview at this address.” She glanced down. “Perhaps I got it wrong,” she muttered.

  “No, Gracie. I left that note.”

  “What prank are you pulling, Mr. Cruz?” She backed away but was all too aware of her heart thumping loudly against her chest, of the dampness in her hands. Her legs trembled.

  She thought when she saw him again she would be composed, but her body betrayed her. She swallowed past riotous emotions and set her shoulders. “I am waiting for Striker. Do you know him or did you lie?”

  “I know him.” Trevor advanced closer and grasped her shoulders, pulling her tightly against him. “But right now, I only want to know you, Gracelyn Riley.”

  “What game is this? I demand an answer.” She pushed against his chest halfheartedly. His cologne floated around her and she was afraid to look into those heavy-lidded eyes. The knowledge shook her.

  Since when did she back down when frightened? She forced herself to meet his gaze boldly and trembled at his look. His eyes glinted savagely with uncontained emotion.

  “You love me,” she breathed.

  “I will love you forever.” He lowered his head to kiss her.

  This time she did shove him forcefully, though she doubted it did much good. He loosened his hold, however, and she stepped back.

  “We have been here and done this before, Mr. Cruz.” Her hand waved wildly as she paced back and forth. “I must know your intentions.”