An Improper Proposal

by Spencer, Davalynn

  A cold thought snaked through the back of his mind. If he’d taken money from the box for Betsy that day, he wouldn’t have been in the bank when …

  And where would Mae Ann be?

  He scrubbed both hands down his face with a groan. He’d spent enough of his life mulling over what he couldn’t change. He had to make a fresh start, leave the past in the past, and move forward with Mae Ann.

  He thumbed through the bills and counted out what he figured would pay off the note on her farm and allow her to keep the funds she had in her account. A smile tugged his mouth as he recalled her bracing the bank teller about that issue and winning.

  Satisfied that all was in order, he returned the money box and then reached for the open Bible. Something caught his eye. Small words penned beneath his parents’ wedding date, in the colonel’s hand, but with lighter strokes. Cade had missed them before.

  Maybe it was the play of light that brought them off the page. Or maybe it was the press of an unseen hand that made him note the reference: Proverbs 18:22.

  Closing the book soundly, he pushed it to the front of the desk. He’d read it later, when he wasn’t so worn out. He made to stand and his chest seized with a sudden grip—that unseen hand squeezing until one heartbeat stumbled into the next. He grabbed the Bible and fell against the chair back, searching until he found the book of Proverbs, the eighteenth chapter, the twenty-second verse.

  Yellow lamplight warmed the page, and the words seemed to come alive and sink into his soul. Words that his father had noted but never shared. Words that Cade had not read or heard … until Pastor Bittman spoke them the day of the wedding.

  Hands trembling as he gripped the old book, he blinked against his blurring vision, tears spilling on the thin paper.

  “God forgive me for not forgiving him.” The prayer scratched up from Cade’s throat, healing an old, deep wound. He was no more perfect than his father, maybe even less so. For the colonel had realized what Cade nearly missed: Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the LORD.

  His mother had definitely brought favor to the colonel’s life, and Cade knew the blessing applied to Mae Ann as well. He palmed his eyes and opened the ink bottle atop the desk, then he dipped the pen and made an entry below his name: Married Mae Ann Remington, 15 May 1880, Olin Springs, Colorado. In smaller script beneath her name, he wrote Proverbs 18:22.

  Deacon stomped his boots on the stone porch, pulling Cade back to his current situation. He left the Bible open for the ink to dry and went to the kitchen, where he set the cold biscuits in the oven and stirred milk into the gravy. After supper, he’d heat a kettle of water and soak the mud and grime from his skin.

  The front door creaked Deacon’s slow entry, and he came around the wall looking as if he’d pulled the buckboard himself. Cade set hot coffee at his place, then served him up a plate. If he knew Deacon, the old man would mosey down to the creek with a bar of soap tonight or tomorrow or sometime this week. Good thing Mae Ann was sleeping or she wouldn’t let him push himself up to the table in his condition.

  “Appreciate your help today.” Cade took his seat, uneasy with Mae Ann’s empty chair to his left.

  “You’da done the same for me.” Deacon forked in half a biscuit, trailing gravy in the process. Quick to wipe his mouth on his sleeve, he cut the next bite smaller. Cade found where Mae Ann kept her napkins and brought two to the table.

  “She sleepin’?”

  Cade nodded, his mouth full.

  “I reckon it weren’t too cozy on the knoll last night in the mud.”

  “No, but we were out of the worst of it.” Cade swigged his coffee. “You see any sign of Smoke?”

  Deacon shook his head. “It come a-rainin’ so hard, washed away all her tracks. But if she’s not bogged down or broke a leg, she’ll come home. Horses are bad as people, wantin’ to bunch together and keep an eye on one another.”

  Cade wondered for the hundredth time why Deacon had never married and had a family of his own.

  “All the cookies are gone.”

  Cade chuckled, not surprised in the least.

  “I hope she’s up and around to bakin’ another batch sooner than later.”

  He eyed the man he’d known all his life, and cut into another biscuit. Deacon had never been one to come out and share his feelings. Missing Mae Ann’s cookies was about as close as he’d get to saying he liked having her around.

  “She’s staying.”

  Deacon looked up with a spark in his eye. “That so?”

  Cade swallowed a smile. “Judge ruled in her favor and I’m buying the farm. Soon as we get the wagon fixed, we’ll ride in and sign the papers.”

  Deacon huffed. “Didn’t see hide nor hair of MacGrath while you was gone.”

  “He was in Cedar City. Showed up at the hearing and made an enemy of the judge, from what I could tell.”

  Deacon tore a biscuit in half and swabbed his gravy. “I rode over to Reiker’s under a full moon two nights ago. Not a chicken on the place.” He wadded the napkin. “The missus’ll be plumb upset about it.”

  “You kept your word.”

  Another huff. “Shoulda gone the last full moon.”

  They finished every biscuit and drop of gravy, and Deacon lumbered off to do whatever he did in the evening at his cabin.

  Cade washed their dishes, added boiling water to the rosy-smelling bath already drawn, and soaked his shoulder while he washed away the dirt. Tempted to sleep right there, he forced himself out, dressed, and went upstairs to check on Mae Ann again.

  Leaning close, he drank in the scent of her, lifted a strand of her hair, and thumbed its silkiness. His throat tightened with gratitude. Satisfied that she was well and resting, he went to his room and fell into bed. As grateful as he was, knowing she slept across the hall wasn’t near as comforting as holding her in his muddy arms beneath the stranded wagon.

  She might as well be a hundred miles away.

  CHAPTER 24

  Mae Ann woke with a start, worried by the pale light teasing her window rather than a setting sun. Had she really slept all that time? Cade’s door stood open, and she peeked in to find him lying across his bed facedown in clean trousers—spent, no doubt, from yesterday’s ordeal. In spite of his injured shoulder, he’d fought to keep them safe in the storm, and he’d succeeded.

  She hurried to the kitchen, fleeing the heated blush that attended her recollection of their night beneath the wagon, and coaxed a banked coal to life for a fresh pot of coffee. Cade would be famished when he woke, and more than likely sore from all the strain on his shoulder. If Dr. Weaver learned of it, he’d have him on bed rest for a month.

  The biscuits and gravy from the night before were gone and dishes had been washed and laid to dry on the sideboard. A bucket of warm milk waited nearby—Deacon’s handiwork, bless his crusty ol’ heart. She smiled as she took up her egg basket and headed for the barn.

  Morning’s cool breath was nectar to her lungs, and her heart skipped lightly at the realization that the ranch was truly her home now, and not just in her dreams. She recalled Deacon’s mention of a possible fire the night of the storm, and though he’d not said as much, she knew he suspected the blaze had been at Henry’s place.

  Their place, soon to be part and parcel of Parker Land and Cattle Company. Containing her excitement was as futile a struggle as keeping bread dough from rising.

  “Mornin’, ma’am.” Deacon held a ladder rung in place against the back wall, a hammer in his other hand.

  “Good morning, Deacon. And it’s Mae Ann, please. Isn’t it a glorious day?”

  He tucked the hammer under his arm and pulled a heavy nail from his pocket. “That it is.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  He patted his stomach. “Last night. Polished off every last drop of gravy and your fine biscuits. Even let Cade have a couple.”

  “I’ll fix you some eggs and hotcakes if you’d like. Coffee’s already perking. I know it’s la
te for you, but I overslept.”

  “You and Cade had quite a time of it in the storm, jamming the wagon in that juniper patch and all. I figured you’d be sleepin’ a lot longer.”

  Feigning a sudden interest in the wall-mounted ladder, she let her eyes wander to his inscrutable face for any hint of what Cade might have shared. As always, she came up with nothing. “Well, if you’re not hungry, I’d like to thank you for milking the cow and ask you a favor.”

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at her straight-on.

  “Would you please saddle Ginger for me? After I gather the eggs, I want to go for a ride.”

  Deacon’s mustache twitched from side to side. “Beggin’ your pardon, does Cade know you’re wantin’ to ride off by yourself? My guess is he’d want to go with you.”

  Sensing a wall of fatherly concern rising in opposition, she presented her most pleasant but firmly planted posture. “I’ll not wake him. He needs to rest after struggling with the wagon and not wearing his sling. I just want to get some fresh air.”

  She’d had more than enough fresh air in the last two days, but if she told Deacon where she was headed, he’d fight her tooth and nail. He shuffled his feet, as uncomfortable as a fox caught in the henhouse. “It’s not safe, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so. Could be ne’er-do-wells hangin’ around, not to mention MacGrath.”

  MacGrath. Humph. He’d better not be, but just in case, she’d take Cade’s gun. She looked toward the tack room. “I’d attempt saddling Ginger myself, but I’m not sure I know the finer points of securing a bridle, and I’d hate for some mishap on the way.” She grimaced at the overtly feminine ploy, but she wanted the horse properly saddled and ready to ride, and if using a woman’s wiles was what it took, so be it.

  Deacon shook his head and scratched his jaw, worry adding wrinkles to his weathered face. Why was he so hesitant?

  “I doubt Cade’ll be too happy when he hears about it.”

  She gave him her brightest smile. “I’ll be home before he realizes I’m gone—in plenty of time to bake a fresh batch of cookies for dinner.”

  ~

  Stinging slightly from her blatant manipulation, Mae Ann changed into her split skirt and tall boots, slid Cade’s handgun into the saddlebag, and called Cougar to accompany her. She hadn’t returned to the farm since burying Henry, and now that it was to be part of the ranch, she wanted to take stock of what could be salvaged and what could not.

  She cut north for Pine Hill and reined in near the crosses, pleased by the prospering rose. She felt as vigorous in her own way, sensing fully the Lord’s blessing. His face did indeed shine upon her. He had given her a home, a husband, and great peace.

  Continuing north with the meadowlarks’ encouragement, she drank in the earth’s sweet perfume after the storm. Everything was fresh and clean, and she reveled in the sense of new beginnings. She clucked Ginger into a lope, marveling at the cerulean sky and rolling grassland that spread unfettered between mountain ridges. She felt exactly the same—unfettered. Free yet belonging to someplace, to someone.

  Cougar ran beside her, and soon the farm buildings came into view. She slowed to a walk, and the dog’s ears perked. He lowered his head and growled.

  “What is it, boy?” She reined in and listened for what could have made the dog nervous, but heard only the echoing meadowlarks in the open fields.

  And bawling cattle.

  Cougar growled again.

  Henry had no cattle, and she’d not passed any Parker cow-calf pairs in the north pastures. Had some broken through the fence during the storm?

  Distracted by the mournful cries, she rode into the yard before noticing two horses tied at the flimsy corral. Fine hairs rose on her arms as if charged by lightning. Cougar continued to growl, his eyes wary.

  Deacon was right. She should not have come alone. Yet this was her land and she had every right to be here. Whoever owned the horses might have penned the calves, and she steeled herself to challenge them.

  A creaking floorboard captured her attention. A man leaned against a post on the sagging porch. Another man stepped out of the barn, and a flare lit in the back of her mind.

  She gathered Ginger to whirl away, but the men rushed her from each side. One grabbed her about the waist and pulled her roughly from the saddle. She slapped him and he laughed, his tobacco-fouled breath washing over her with sickening familiarity.

  “I told ya this weren’t over yet, missy.” He pressed his grimy face into her hair. “Don’t you just smell fine as a flower?”

  He dragged her into the house and threw her onto a mat in the corner.

  As he closed in on her, she spit in his face. “You murderer.”

  He raised his hand, and she screamed. “Cougar—home!”

  A gunshot and a yelp, and her heart burst in grief before his fist slammed her against the wall and into darkness.

  ~

  If Deacon was not more uncle than foreman, Cade would fire him on the spot. The man faced him, hat in hand as Cade held the coffeepot and a tin cup, forgetting that one would fill the other. “When did she leave?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” The words churned out of Cade’s gut like black bile.

  “I tried to talk her out of going, but she insisted. Said you needed to rest after what you and her been through. And your shoulder—”

  “Hang my shoulder!” He slammed the pot and cup down on the table, shooting knives into that very part of his body.

  “She took the yella dog with her.”

  Cade scalded Deacon with a glare. “A lot of good that’ll do her.” Only partly sorry for berating the old cowboy, Cade ran both hands down his face, dumbfounded that she would do such a thing. “You could have refused to saddle her horse.”

  Deacon’s blue eyes narrowed to slits. “And have her go off half-cocked with a loose cinch if she’d done the saddlin’? You know as well as me that she was goin’ whether I helped her or not. At least she’s rigged up proper.”

  He was right. Cade fell into a chair at the table and propped his head in his hands.

  Deacon joined him. “She promised to be home ’fore you knew she was gone, in time to bake …”

  Cade cut him a look, and Deacon’s words washed out.

  Holding on to Mae Ann and keeping her safe was exactly like what he’d told the sheriff—holding oil in his hand.

  “Well, do you know which way she went?”

  “Toward Pine Hill.”

  She’s going to the farm. Cade shoved himself to his feet. “Saddle your horse and mine. We’re going after her.”

  Deacon strode out and Cade followed, stopping only to grab the two Winchesters from the gun rack and his Colt—which was missing. Confounded woman. He strapped on his father’s Army issue and tied down the holster.

  On his way to the barn, Cougar came limping across the yard, looking back every so often with a whimper. Cade ran for the dog, and his heart slammed into his chest at its grazed and bloody shoulder.

  He would kill MacGrath.

  With the ground still soft from the storm, it wasn’t hard to track Mae Ann and Ginger. They followed her trail uphill, to where she’d stopped near the graves. It came back to him then, the day she’d come down to the house, a pail on her arm. She was watering a rose cutting that she’d planted between the cedar crosses. Another selfless act that he’d given no notice of. Like so many other things she did for him. Fear cinched a steel band around his chest, and he turned back to her tracks that took off north across the pastureland, straight for the farm. He spurred Cricket into a run.

  As they neared the farm, a familiar sound greeted them that shouldn’t have. Cade reined in behind a cedar clump, far enough away to see the outbuildings but not be seen. A half dozen head bawled in the corral, and he’d bet his Winchester they all carried the Lazy-P.

  He and Deacon skirted the house and dropped their horses’ reins fifty yards out. He thumbed the ring on his small finger
. If he’d put it on Mae Ann’s finger yesterday when they first got home, maybe she wouldn’t have ridden out here today.

  He’d let her down again.

  Ginger grazed nearby, and two other horses were tied to the flimsy corral. The smell of burned hair and hide hung in the air. If Mae Ann weren’t in danger, he’d look for the running iron or cinch ring used on those steers. He signaled Deacon to cut around the other side, and then slipped through the brush toward the house, catching bits of an argument. His blood chilled and he drew his gun.

  “Why’d you go and do a fool thing like that?”

  “Shut up and let me think.”

  “Well, you better think quick. We got beeves to drive up to that Cripple Creek butcher, and we don’t need a woman taggin’ along.”

  “She’s not goin’ with us.”

  Cade cocked the hammer and inched closer.

  The voice dropped. “You go check the horses. I got somethin’ to take care of right now.”

  Cade hit the porch the same time as Deacon and kicked in the door. One man fired as Cade rolled and shot, hitting the man’s gun hand. Deacon’s rifle held the other fella in his tracks, hands in the air.

  The bank robbers.

  Cade itched for revenge, for what they’d done to Mae Ann, for what they were about to do to her, but he holstered his weapon. And smashed his fist into the gunman’s face.

  The cur slammed to the floor like a felled tree.

  Cade and Deacon tied the pair belly-down across their saddles for a trip to town, then he slapped the shooter’s hat on his saddle horn and leaned close to his swollen face, lip split and bloodied and not near as cocky as he’d been at the bank. “Appears to me it’s over, mister.”

  Inside, Mae Ann lay against one wall, out cold but alive. She looked unharmed otherwise, but he’d soon know for certain. Lord help him if those two had so much as laid a hand on her. His throat thickened and his chest nearly cinched off his air. Thank God he’d made it to her in time.

  He carried her outside to Deacon, then tethered her horse to his and swung into the saddle.

  Deacon lifted her to him, his eyes shining, as grateful as Cade and apparently heartsick for his part in the near tragedy. “I’ll take them two cayuses into town and leave their load with the sheriff. Come back for the cattle later.”