She unwrapped the towel from her hair and worked her comb through her strawberry-blond locks, detangling as she went. Unable to withstand her curiosity any longer, she went over to her bed. So what if Fancy Aubrey had read Brandon’s personal correspondence to her? It wasn’t in an envelope, so that possibility was likely. There wasn’t one thing she could do to change what had already transpired, so she’d just have to accept it or go crazy.
The sight of Brandon’s bold print brought a flush of warmth to her insides. Smiling, she pictured his hand holding his pencil—writing a love letter to her, not Fancy Aubrey or any other woman. She was a lucky girl—and she’d best remember that.
My dearest Charity,
The days since our parting have been the longest of my life.
He was missing her, just as her mother had predicted. The month-long wait had him dreaming and writing letters.
You’ve made me a happy man by agreeing to become my wife. The days can’t pass fast enough to suit me. I should have thought a bit longer when your mother suggested we wait. I’d like to come out to the ranch to see you tomorrow evening. I have things to discuss before the barn party the following night. I can’t wait to kiss you…
Your devoted husband-to-be,
Brandon
Postscript—I am going to Pine Grove to look into some matter Sheriff Huxley telegrammed me about.
Charity reached up and touched her lips. She thought of the kiss they’d shared when he’d saved her from the rattlesnake in Rio Wells, and again later in the hayloft right above Uncle Winston.
She shivered, then closed her eyes, imagining what being his wife would be like.
“I have things to discuss before the barn party the following night.”
What did he mean? What could he want to talk about? Putting an end to this wait to get married? She sighed happily. She’d wholeheartedly agree if that was on his mind. He was an exceptional man.
Charity Crawford…she liked the sound of that. Now, she needed to stop daydreaming and remember to ask her mother about dinner, and what they should prepare to dazzle Brandon.
• • •
After a hard, fast ride, Brandon and Jack reined up at the sheriff’s office in Pine Grove. It didn’t take a moment for the sheriff and his pot-bellied deputy, Archie Bly, to meet them in the street.
“Over here,” the sheriff said, calling Brandon and the others to follow.
They crossed the road to the undertaker’s. A calf was stretched out next to the bodies of two men on a tabletop expansive enough to hold five or six corpses. Old Man Pickens, the undertaker, looked none too happy about having a bovine in his establishment. The pungent air hung dank in the room as the men gathered around. Death had a life of its own.
“You brought a dead calf inside?” Brandon couldn’t disguise his incredulity.
Sheriff Huxley tipped his head. “Didn’t want to feed the evidence to the wolves. Besides, saves my back from bending over.”
To each his own. “So, what happened?” Brandon gestured to the dead men on the table, both somewhere in their late twenties. Clean shaven; store-bought clothes. One had a hand-tooled belt that looked like it cost a pretty penny, with the letters DG carved in the tip. The younger of the two’s face was contorted in a grimace, as if he’d seen something horrible just before he died. Each had a single gunshot wound to the chest. “You know ’em?”
“This one.” The sheriff pointed to the victim on the left. “Drake Greenly. Lived an hour’s ride out of town by the river and come in once or twice a month for supplies. Had a claim out there. I don’t know the other. Owner of the mercantile said they was in last week, and thought he remembered Greenly calling him Smith. They was arguing and cussing each other out every other sentence. He heard Drake mumbling about giving Smith his due.”
Brandon nodded. He fingered through the contents that had been taken from Greenly’s pockets. A small knife, a nail, and three pennies.
“Where’d you find ’em? Any horses around? Or signs of a struggle? Looks like this happened yesterday or the day before.”
“Speak up, Crawford,” Huxley barked. “You know I’m going deaf.” Deep grooves marked the old man’s face and hands.
Brandon wondered if the grumpy codger was still up to the job. He repeated his questions.
“I didn’t call you here for the men. It’s obvious they killed each other in a pistol duel. Only worry now is who’ll pay the undertaker to bury ’em since they only had three pennies to their names.” He shook his head in disgust. “Damn hotheads. It’s the calf. See here.” He pointed to the animal’s shoulder, and then his hip.
The calf! “You telegrammed me about a dead steer?”
“Killing stock is breaking the law, same as robbing the bank.” Huxley glanced at all the men in succession, as if looking for affirmation. “Maybe someone just wanted a quick supper and got scared off before he could finish the job, since the little critter’s still intact. Strange, though, he was killed by arrows—two of ’em, not bullets. But the bad shots are curious to me.”
He pointed again to the back, and then the hip. “Either we got us an Indian with bad eyesight, or we got a cagey poacher wanting us to think we have an Indian with bad eyesight. Either way, I want ’em caught. Brandon, since you’re a darn good tracker, thought you could help me find the culprit. Ranchers don’t take kindly to anyone killing their stock—and neither do I. Any of my citizens found breaking the law in this town will pay the fine.”
“You summoned me to track a poacher?” Brandon couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. “What about your deputy?” he said, looking at the man standing next to Jack.
“Archie ain’t worth squat.”
Jack smirked and Archie sputtered angrily.
“I’d do it myself, but you know my eyesight ain’t what it used to be.” The old lawman swiped a hand across his mouth. “Besides, didn’t I just say you’re the best tracker in the territory?”
Holding his temper, Brandon stared into the man’s face until he felt his anger fizzle out. He’d grow old someday too. Resigned, he bent over the calf, looking at the wounds. “You been out where he was found?”
“Not yet. I was waiting on you.”
“How’d he get here?”
“Rancher brought him in.”
Brandon didn’t mind Sheriff Huxley calling on him for important matters. He was happy to assist, if he could. It was just he felt a sharp tug of urgency to get back to Y Knot. If he could only talk Charity into getting married directly and going with him to Kansas City. They’d turn the trip into a honeymoon. The more he thought about it, the more he felt he could convince her—and she’d see it as a sign of how much she meant to him. He rubbed his palms together in anticipation. That would work just fine.
“Brandon?” The sheriff was waiting on his reply.
He nodded. “Let’s go see what we can find. Jack, you may as well head back to town and relieve Hayden.”
“Will do,” Jack said, clearly pleased to get out of the work ahead. “When d’ you think you’ll be back?”
“This shouldn’t take me long. Most likely tonight or tomorrow morning.”
Outside, he drew in a lungful of clean, fresh air. He’d get the mystery about the calf cleared up and get his tail back to Y Knot and the ranch.
Chapter Thirteen
Friday morning dawned to overcast skies. Charity looked out her window, missing Brandon with all her heart. The chickens in the yard faced into the wind, their feathers ruffled as they pecked at the dirt. Lucky meandered out onto the bunkhouse porch, taking his hourly gauge of the weather that approached from the west.
When she heard excited voices coming from below, Charity hurried across her bedroom and out onto the upstairs landing.
Amy came through the door with Cinder in her arms. Faith, with Dawn and Holly, was already in the room speaking with her mother, along with Rachel carrying little Beth—a shortening of her middle name, Elizabeth, because Rachel and Matt had
named her after Faith when Luke’s wife all but saved the child during her difficult birth. That was a day Charity would never forget!
No boys in sight. It was a rare occasion to keep them in the house with their younger female cousins for long. They preferred to be out ranching with the men. Riding and roping and getting dirty.
“Good morning,” Charity called down happily, noticing Rachel’s and Amy’s protruding bellies. The women looked up and waved, a little windblown but beautiful. Their expanding waistlines looked so cute.
“Mornin’!” Dawn all but shouted in an excited three-year-old’s voice. She dashed for the stairs faster than any toddler should be able to run, and climbed with the same swiftness, her cousin Beth trailing in her footsteps. Dawn vaulted into Charity’s embrace with the force of a runaway calf, almost knocking her down.
“Whoa, little one, you’re strong,” Charity yelped after catching her balance. She swung Dawn around with a laugh. Putting her down quickly, she got ready for Beth’s assault.
“That comes from having an older brother and a father who like to roughhouse all the time,” Faith said. “I keep telling Luke he’s creating a handful, and he’ll be sorry when she runs off all her suitors with her strength and sense of competition.”
Charity now had Beth in full swing. The child’s brown calico dress swished out like a bell. Dawn waited with upstretched hands for another turn.
Rachel watched with a smile as she rubbed the bulge at her waist. “We came to talk about the party tomorrow, and about the wedding. We need to set the wheels in motion.”
A bit winded, Charity took each niece by the hand, marveling at how different the two girls were, and yet how the same. Where Dawn was fair, with blue eyes and hair like sunshine, accentuated by a splash of freckles across the top of her nose, Beth had Rachel’s darker coloring and coffee-colored eyes. Both were adorable. As was Cinder, their two-year-old cousin, with straight black hair as shiny as polished obsidian. That child watched their descent from Amy’s arms, a tiny smile curving her lips. When the three were back down among the group, Cinder clapped her hands together with flourish.
Amy dumped a cloth bag of toys out onto the middle of the rug in front of the large living room window. There were several dolls with soft hair made from red yarn, an old cigar box, more than a few blocks, and two toy chickens carved of wood.
Dawn and Beth pulled away from Charity and raced to get to the rag dolls first. Cinder reached her arms out with a cry, so Amy set her feet on the ground and she toddled over. Rachel pointed to a satchel by the door. “When they grow tired of those, I also brought along some things to occupy little hands.”
“Wonderful,” Claire said. “You girls get comfortable and I’ll go see what’s keeping Esperanza with the tea. Have you all eaten?”
Nods went around the room.
“Good. We have work to do that shouldn’t be put off another day. A month will be gone before we know it.” Her mother looked over to her. “Charity, entertain the girls until I get back.”
Claire swished across the floor in her full-length skirt and disappeared into the kitchen.
Amy sat down first and patted the cushion. “Sit here, Charity. I’ve hardly had a chance to chat with you since you got back.”
Charity complied, and Faith sat next to her. Rachel took the chair across from the sofa.
Claire returned and got comfortable. “What should we talk about first?”
“I want to hear about Brandon and how he proposed,” Faith said. She jiggled Holly in her arms when the baby opened her eyes and started to fuss. “You never did say.”
Everyone’s attention was riveted on her. “I, well—” She felt her face warming up.
Rachel laughed. “That’s all right. Some things aren’t meant to share. When will we see him next? At the party?”
Charity heaved a sigh of relief and thanked Rachel with her eyes. “No. Actually, he’s coming out this evening for dinner, just the four of us. He sent word by way of Y Knot’s mop boy.” I won’t give the saloon girl a mention. “Every moment without him feels like an hour.”
Rachel leaned in, a smile on her face.
“Now he’s sending love letters?” Faith teased. She glanced around at all the women’s faces. “Quite romantic. He’s changed a lot in the last few months. Hasn’t he, Charity?”
That was an understatement. It felt like a whirlwind since she’d left for Texas under the pretense of attending finishing school. “He has—and then sometimes I think he hasn’t changed a bit.”
Her mother cleared her throat. “Time is running short and we must stay on track. What do you think about the wedding cake? Charity likes spice—as do I—but Brandon prefers chocolate…”
• • •
Brandon took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, praying the rain would hold off for a few hours longer.
“Brandon?”
At the sound of Huxley’s voice, he secured his hat back on his head and walked to where the horses were tied.
“Find anything new?” Pine Grove’s sheriff asked.
“Nothing. But that doesn’t mean it’s not here.” He scanned the far hillside, perplexed. “Someone went to a heck of a lot of trouble covering their trail.” He’d circled the area more times than he could count. “Only thing I see are the tracks left by the rancher who brought the calf in.”
The sheriff gathered his reins. “I say we head back and return in the morning.”
Brandon looked around, agitated. He didn’t like admitting defeat. The perpetrator couldn’t just disappear into thin air—unless it was an Indian. They were much harder to track than whites.
“Aren’t you coming?” The expression on Huxley’s face was one of disbelief when Brandon squatted and ran his hand over the golden-brown grass one more time. “What’re you gonna do out here? Ain’t nothing more to learn. Besides, looks like rain.”
“That’s just it. If there is evidence to find, I need to do it now, before the rain washes it away. I’m not ready to give up quite yet.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ike tucked his fiddle under his chin and drew the bow across the strings skillfully for such a grizzled old cowhand. The notes weaved through the air like magic, the sound a silky ribbon fluttering in the breeze. The melody moved Charity’s heart.
Lucky and Smokey joined in with their guitars, creating a beautiful sonata. Several nicely dressed couples swung out into the middle of the barn to waltz. The straw on the ground provided a nice, shuffle-inducing dance floor.
Charity took note when her parents followed suit, moving together as perfectly as if they were made for each other. Her mother gazed up into her pa’s eyes, unmindful of who might be watching them.
Charity tried to smile as she tapped her foot with the music, but the corners of her mouth wobbled. After Brandon hadn’t shown up last night for dinner, she’d asked Roady to ride into town to see if he was all right. Roady returned with the news that Brandon was still in Pine Grove. Jack Jones was back and said the issue was nothing much, just a case of butchered stock, and that Brandon intended to be at the party tonight.
Jack had arrived alone an hour ago—and now stood with a cup of punch by the open double doors with Mr. Lichtenstein and Mr. Simpson, the merchant’s forgetful clerk. He’d come with no news about Brandon.
Luke meandered his way through the crowd toward where she was more or less hiding in the shadows by the empty stalls.
“What’re you doing back here in the dark?” he asked. “I’ve been looking for you for ten minutes. Everyone wants to talk to you. Congratulate you.”
“I don’t feel much like socializing without Brandon,” she replied sullenly. “What if something’s happened to him? What if he’s hurt and needs help?” She’d wanted to send out a search party after what Roady had reported last night, but Luke and the rest absolutely forbade it.
“Nothing’s happened to Brandon. He’ll be here. He won’t mess this up.” He tipped her
chin up with a gentle finger. “You better get used to him getting called away. He takes his job seriously, and that’s what makes him a darn good lawman. You’re made of stronger stuff, Charity McCutcheon. There’s a party going on and you’re the guest of honor. Do you want to make all the guests feel bad?”
Luke’s tone brooked no argument—and he was right. Just because she was down didn’t mean she should ruin the night for everyone else. She squared her shoulders, pasted on a smile, and pushed away her doubt about Brandon. She’d taken her mother’s words seriously her first night home, but maybe there was something to her intuitions. Maybe Brandon had been having second thoughts about marrying her and just didn’t know how to break it to her. Perhaps his absence last night, and now tonight, was his way of letting her down easy without having to explain himself. A flash of anger zipped through her before she reminded herself he’d just sent her that nice note. Brandon would never abandon her. Not after everything they’d been through together.
Luke grasped her hand and dragged her out to the middle of the dance floor, mixing into the flow of dancers next to Chance and Evie, and Matt and Rachel. Everyone in the room clapped when they saw her.
“There you are,” Rachel said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Hayden caught her eye from the punch bowl area and waved. Charity had yet to meet his wife, Heather, who stood next to him and another tall, dark-haired man who was unfamiliar to Charity. June Pittman was here too. Seemed the whole town had turned out.
On the next revolution, Charity answered, “I’ve been over there.” She pointed to the back of the barn.
Rachel gasped. “That’s no place for you! You can still have fun until Brandon shows up. Any word yet?”
Moon Over Montana (McCutcheon Family Series Book 5) Page 8
