Moon Over Montana (McCutcheon Family Series Book 5)
Page 7
“Okay, Daughter, we’ll start here and ride about fifteen feet apart. Let’s go.”
Charity made her way slowly into the bawling herd, her cutting horse well versed in the action. Nervously, the cattle fanned out at a trot, opening a path. She halted and let the cattle settle. They stopped and looked at her. Several dropped their heads back to eat, while others still eyed her suspiciously.
When they were calm, she took a few slow steps. She was close enough that she could reach out and touch some if she were so inclined. With a keen eye, Charity did a quick study of each heifer’s face, looking for any sign the animals had problems eating or breathing. In advanced stages of lumpy jaw, the heifer would be weak and unsteady on her feet.
“See anything?” Flood called over.
“Nothing yet. But I sure love the smell of these cattle. It’s good to be ranching.”
She swatted a fly out of her face and her thoughts meandered to the bunkhouse and how much she loved the hands. Then to Frances and what he’d said.
Who was Fancy Aubrey anyway? Even only hearing the elaborate saloon-girl-sounding name once, it was firmly branded in her mind, never to be forgotten. Surely, with a name like that, she was beautiful. Sultry. Sexy. Totally tempting to a man like Brandon. And totally the opposite of Charity’s tomboy ways.
A heifer in front of Charity lifted her tail and made a perfectly round splat of cow dung on the ground.
Brandon liked self-assured women. Ones who could take care of themselves as good as any man. Didn’t he?
Two hours passed in the hot sun, making her chaps feel all the heavier on her legs. Almost finished with this herd, Charity reached for her canteen and took a mouthful of cool water.
Riding slowly forward, she spotted an unusually short heifer in front of her that had her nose to the ground but wasn’t eating. Listlessly, the bovine turned her head and glanced in Charity’s direction, but didn’t trot away.
“I think I’ve got one over here, Pa,” she shouted through cupped hands. “I’ll bring her out.”
Charity took her rope and shook out the loop. With very little effort, because the cow was so close and didn’t seem to have the volition to run off, she landed her loop nicely over the animal’s head. Charity dallied her rope around her horn and started for the edge of the herd, where her pa was waiting. When she had the heifer away from the other cattle, she pulled it to a trot so her father could catch the heifer’s hind feet. That accomplished, they stretched her out on the ground.
The red Hereford’s tongue hung from the side of her mouth as she struggled, her eyes wide with fear. Charity dismounted her palomino, the horse keeping the rope stretched taut, and met her father at the cow’s side.
“Let’s get this done,” Flood said, holding one of several two-foot-long willow switches he’d brought along.
Charity stroked the frightened animal a few times on the neck, then put a knee on the heifer’s shoulder and gripped her head. Her gloved hands slipped off the cow’s slimy nose. She took a second hold. “I’ve got her.”
“All right. Here we go.” Flood squatted down and stuck the willow into the back of her throat, careful not to cause any harm.
The frightened animal opened her mouth but shut it quickly.
Charity took a firmer grip, ready to hold her mouth open once she gave in. “Come on, girl, this won’t hurt a bit.”
Flood tried again, this time lying in the dirt belly-down so he could get a better view to the back of her mouth. He squinted through the dust and flies. Admiration for all that her pa was filled her.
Flood tossed the switch away and rolled back to his knees. Climbing to his feet, he dusted off his clothes. “Yeah, I saw something that looked suspicious.” He gave a small tug on his rope and his horse took a step forward. With the slack, Flood released the heifer’s hind hooves and she struggled to stand. Charity and Flood stood back.
“You want to take her back to the ranch and I’ll check the animals at Three Forks?”
She looked at the heifer that, now with her feet free, ran the length of the heading rope as far away from them as she could get. Her horse pivoted, keeping a taut line. “That’ll take you a long time doing it alone.”
“I’ve done it before and I’m sure I’ll have to do it again.”
“Okay, then,” she replied.
“I’ll see you at supper.” He gave her the smile she remembered from childhood. She enjoyed working with her father just as much as she’d enjoyed sitting on his lap when she was four years old.
She pointed at him. “Be careful!”
He laughed, looking so much like her brothers, it took her breath. “You be careful, Charity. I mean that, girl!”
Chapter Eleven
Wednesday morning found Brandon behind his desk in the sheriff’s office, going through the daily journal. One page. Two events, four sentences. Someday he’d have a deputy who followed his orders.
Each evening, even if the town was peaceful and nothing of consequence had happened, Brandon made a few quick notes. It helped with timetables if he had to backtrack on some larger issue. Jack’s two entries were the Klinkner explosion and the near riot in the saloon that had been sparked by Hayden’s mail-order bride.
Brandon snapped the book closed.
That reminded him, later this morning he planned to ride over to the mill and speak with Norman and Ina. Friday, he’d head out to the Heart of the Mountains and talk with Charity, then Saturday was the barn party at Luke’s. He couldn’t make up his mind on how he thought Charity would react to his news. One moment, he believed she’d be excited for him and totally open to the idea of moving, and the next, he thought this could be the end. But that was only if he decided to take the job.
He sighed. He missed her. After spending so much time together in Rio Wells, without her parents watching their every move, he knew he couldn’t live without her. In the hayloft, she’d given him a small taste of her passion and he’d liked it very much. He always knew she’d be a match for him. And it was finally happening. In one month. He could hardly wait.
Jack hurried through the door. “We got us a telegram.”
Brandon stood and took the message from his deputy.
NEED YOUR HELP IN PINE GROVE STOP COME RIGHT AWAY STOP
It was from the sheriff of Pine Grove, an elderly lawman who should have retired years ago, and who depended on Brandon probably more than he should.
Brandon’s stomach tightened. “I wonder what this is about.”
“Never know with Huxley.”
Brandon looked out the door, thinking, then walked to the hat rack. “Looks like we’ll be heading over to Pine Grove. I’ll do a few errands and meet you back here in an hour.”
“Shouldn’t I stay in Y Knot?”
“No. It sounds urgent. If it is, and I need you, I don’t want to have to wait for you to get there.”
Jack didn’t look all that pleased. Brandon could tell he was searching for an excuse to stay. “I’ll let Hayden know he’ll be in charge while we’re gone. See if he’ll stay in town.”
“Fine,” Jack bit out crossly. “Don’t see why I just don’t stay behind.”
“Because Y Knot is paying you to work, not sit around. You got that?”
His face colored. “You bet, Brandon.”
“I hope so.”
• • •
Brandon rode down Creek Street, troubled by the news from Pine Grove. Dismounting at the hitching rail at the mill, he crossed over to the house as Ina opened the door and stepped out. She smiled.
“Thought that was you, Sheriff.”
“Good morning, Ina,” he replied, touching the brim of his hat. “Are Norman and Hayden around?”
“You’ll find them hard at work in the mill—or at least you should.”
Hayden spotted him as soon as he crossed the threshold of the tall planked building that smelled of freshly cut shavings and hot grease. He dropped the lever that released the belt. The circular blade slowed to a
stop and quiet filled the area.
Norman looked up from where he’d been feeding the logs, and Morgan, the man Brandon had met last night at June’s barn, came in from the back door. All three, dressed in their overalls and bandannas, ambled over to where he waited.
Hayden stuck out his hand and Brandon gripped it. “Heard you were back.” Hayden’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. He looked good. Well fed. Rested. Seemed married life agreed with him. “Glad you came out.”
“Thanks, Hayden. Norman,” he said with a nod. “Mr. Stanford.”
Hayden chuckled. “Morgan mentioned meeting you in the livery. I’m sure he doesn’t mind you calling him Morgan.”
Morgan nodded but didn’t say anything.
Norman, the shortest of the tall men, looked around at the faces. “Anything special bring you out, or is this a social call?”
“Up until about ten minutes ago it was going to be social, but now it’s business. Hayden, can you stay in Y Knot a day or two and keep watch? You can call on the McCutcheons if the need arises.”
“Sure. But why?”
Brandon pulled out the telegram and gave it to Hayden. Hayden read it aloud, then shook his head. “What’s it about?”
“It’s a mystery. But I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’m taking Jack with me.”
“There’s not much pressing here that Pa and Morgan can’t manage,” Hayden said. “Do you want me to come along to Pine Grove?”
“I’d feel better if you stayed in Y Knot. I’m not expecting to, but there’s a possibility we might remain overnight.”
Hayden smiled and clapped Morgan on the shoulder. “Do you mind me cutting out on the two of you?” he asked, looking between his brother-in-law and his father.
“’Course not,” Morgan replied.
Hayden’s smile widened. “I’ll bring Heather along. I’m sure she’ll like staying a night in the hotel.”
Brandon couldn’t fault his friend for wanting to show his girl a good time. “She won’t distract you?”
“Yes, she will—that’s the point. Not much happens in Y Knot, Brandon, don’t worry.”
“Thanks.”
Brandon reached in his pocket and handed Hayden a silver badge.
Hayden was right. Seemed Brandon had missed the only excitement in years when he’d left after Charity. Being the sheriff in Y Knot meant acting as a go-between for shop owners with a burr under their saddle, housing drunks on the weekend so they could sleep off a snoot full, and lining up the townsfolk who had complaints to air when Judge Wesley came through. His last big case was three years ago when he arrested Earl Morton and Will Dixon, the men who’d hamstrung the McCutcheons’ yearling bull.
“I’d best be going,” he said. “I still have a few things to do.” Like get a note to Charity telling her he’d come out to the ranch tomorrow evening. Most likely, she’d have Esperanza cook up some nice meal.
A bout of nerves tightened his stomach when he tried to envision how the touchy conversation would go. He’d tell her about the upcoming interview with Timberlake, and how much this opportunity meant to him. Then, if she was receptive, he’d ask her thoughts on the possibility of moving to Kansas City after they married—if he got the job.
Those were a lot of ifs.
“Do you have time to come in the house and meet Heather?” Hayden asked. “She’s been listening to all our stories about you and Charity.”
And surely getting a good laugh. “Any other time I would,” Brandon said honestly. He truly was curious about the woman who had tamed his friend so quickly. “I have a few things to accomplish before we head over to Pine Grove. How about I meet her at Luke’s shindig this Saturday night? We’re announcing our engagement there.”
Brandon laughed to chase away the pinch of worry in his gut. We will be announcing it, won’t we?
“Funny to have a party for a one-month engagement.” He shrugged. “But then I don’t know the ways of women and what goes through their minds.”
Norman shook a finger in his face. “Pay attention. Those things are important to the fairer sex, son. The sooner you learn that, the happier you’ll be.”
A silly smile curved Hayden’s lips. “Same thing he told me. And you know, it’s true.”
“I’m off, then.” Brandon turned on his heel and went for his horse, the troubling telegram still in his hand. He’d head home, throw a few things in his saddlebag, and meet Jack back at the office. Before that, he’d stop by the Hitching Post to see if the mop boy would ride out to the McCutcheons’ with his message. The kid had done it before in the past for two bits. With any luck, he’d be free to do it again today.
Chapter Twelve
Charity rode into the ranch yard, the heifer still straggling at the end of her rope. Frustrated as all get-out from tussling with the young heifer every step of the way, she slumped in the saddle while she wet her bandanna with water from her canteen. She swabbed her face, enjoying the cool, wet rag on her sun-scorched skin. It had been a hot two-hour ride home. The whole day, the sky had been cloudless, giving the sun full rein.
The bunkhouse porch was deserted, the ranch house quiet. She spotted two new steers in the sick corral, put there by one of the other cowhands. Hers would make five. As soon as she accomplished the chore of depositing the stubborn animal into the pen without letting the others escape, she’d go inside and take a nice cool bath.
Her heifer mooed pitifully to the others, and they looked her way. Charity dallied up short, with the intention of dragging the young cow inside, when the sound of buggy wheels drew her attention to the road that led from town to the ranch. She squinted.
After a second look, she recognized the driver as the young man who offered his mop and bucket around town to any business that would pay. She’d seen him a few times dumping water off the boardwalk in front of the saloon, or inside one of the shops. Next to him sat a beautiful woman.
Charity wiped her arm across her damp, gritty face, knowing she must look like hell.
The buggy drew to a halt a few feet away. The woman, of unspeakable beauty, wore a dress much too elaborate for a rancher’s wife. Her hair was coifed just so, and her piercing blue eyes didn’t miss a thing.
Charity shifted in the saddle uncomfortably. Before she could ask what they wanted, Roady and Matt galloped into the yard, dismounted at the bunkhouse hitching rail, then beat a path over to the buggy as if their pants were on fire.
“How do, Fancy. Harold,” Roady said, tipping his hat.
Fancy!
Matthew greeted them, then glanced at Charity and nodded. His amused expression at her dusty, disheveled appearance was irritating.
“Hello, boys,” Fancy purred. She glanced at Charity as if waiting to be introduced.
With his hat in his hands, Matthew jumped at the chance. “This is my little sister, Charity. Charity, this is Fancy Aubrey, the new saloon girl at the Hitching Post. She arrived in Y Knot when you were out of town.”
Of course she’s Fancy Aubrey. I should have known at first glance!
Charity didn’t know what to think of her brother and Roady acting like fools over the saloon woman who hadn’t been a girl for a good fifteen years, if Charity were to guess.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Aubrey,” she said, pasting on a confident smile. “What brings you out our way this warm afternoon?” She was tempted to add, Brandon’s not here.
Before the woman could answer, Roady propped his boot on the step board on Fancy’s side of the buggy and leaned forward. “We were surprised as all get-out to see your buggy pull onto the property.”
“It’s still a free country, Mr. Guthrie, the last time I checked.” Her eyes flashed a challenge and her chin tipped up.
“You misunderstood,” Matt said quickly. “It’s just that not many visitors come calling way out here.”
“Actually, I have a note for Miss Charity,” Harold said, holding out a twice-folded piece of paper. “From the sheriff.”
“Harold had just agreed to take me for a buggy ride when Brandon—” She broke off, then amended with a beautiful smile, “When Sheriff Crawford came into the saloon.” A slight blush colored her cheeks, but Charity didn’t miss the shrewd look in her eyes.
A double dose of jealousy hit her like a locomotive breaking from its track. Thoughts of Brandon drooling over the curvaceous beauty had her warmer under her collar than she already was from ranching in the hot sun. It didn’t help that Matt and Roady were acting like schoolboys.
“Thank you, Harold. I appreciate you coming all the way out here.”
Fancy waved her handkerchief and then touched it to her nose as if something—possibly Charity’s filthy clothes—wasn’t quite to her liking. “We best let you get back to whatever it was you were doing.”
• • •
From her dressing table, with a towel still wrapped around her wet hair, Charity glanced at the note from Brandon on her bed, still folded exactly where she’d tossed it. It might be childish of her, but she’d yet to read it. Just something about it coming from that woman set her teeth on edge.
She’d concocted a vision of the sexy woman and Brandon talking and laughing. It played over and over in her mind without respite, no matter how hard she tried to divert her thoughts. Exactly like what Francis told her at the bunkhouse.
Had Brandon used the excuse of sending her a message as a legitimate way of seeking out Fancy Aubrey?
Obviously, the two had talked about her. It didn’t feel right. Even if the bath had done wonders to ease away her tense muscles from so many hours in the saddle, her mind was still uneasy. But it’s not Brandon’s fault that Harold already had a chore to do, she argued with herself. He hadn’t known Harold had agreed to take Fancy for a ride this afternoon.
Charity didn’t like the bitter feel of insecurity wedged in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t usually the jealous type—at least since the trip to Texas. It was generally the other way around.