by Amy Faye
That was where he would need help, in having connections to the local area and making sure that he knew where he should be checking. He couldn't get that kind of information, not without looking like he was, well, investigating.
But, if he was lucky, he knew someone who had it already.
Catherine watched out the window, pretending she didn't know what she was looking for. It could have been for anything, she reasoned. It didn't have to be that she was waiting for him to come into view.
When he did, though, all deniability went out the window. Her heart jumped into her throat. Did he have anyone else with him? Maybe the Sheriff had only ignored her because she was a woman, living out there alone on the range. She'd be more likely attacked than robbed. Since she still had what little purity that Billy had left her, it didn't matter a whole lot, right?
But as she searched the skyline, trying to make out through the haze whether there was one figure or two, she was disappointed to see that it was Glen, riding in alone. He didn't look as disappointed as she had expected. Perhaps there was news.
Then again, perhaps her expectations were off. He was a poker player before this, and apparently a good one. A man like that would hide his reactions like it was as natural as breathing.
She let out a long breath and got busy. No time to watch him come in. She had to—she realized with a jolt that she didn't have to do much, after all. She was pretty much satisfied with the state of the house. She looked across it. Hadn't been this put together since she bought the place with Billy.
That it looked alright now was a blessing by itself. It had always been a house that was in use, rather than looking pretty. When Billy walked out, she kept it going as best she could for a few days, but then it had all gone out the window.
The twins took priority, then Ada, then the herd, and the house… by the time the house came around, she didn't have much energy to take care of it. It was all she could do to keep the place from falling down.
But letting herself fall back into cleaning as a way to get her mind off Glen Riley had proven a very effective motivator. Now the place looked about ready to have a magazine from back east come by and take pictures.
She had just settled into the sofa when she heard a knock come at the door, and already knowing who it was, she got up to let Glen in.
"Good afternoon," she offered, stepping back and letting him inside. "How did the trip into town go?"
He pinched his lips. "It could have gone better, ma'am. Could have gone much better."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Well, he says he won't investigate it. Says he doesn't know who is doing it, and he won't look into it too much."
"He said all that?"
"He said enough."
"So, what, then?"
"Then I investigate for him. It won't be too much work, I don't think. I can manage that much, and when I bring him the evidence myself, he can't help but act on it. He's the duly-appointed Sheriff of Carbon County, after all."
"So, what. You think he's just not doing it because he doesn't have a deputy to go investigate for him?"
"How big you figure this county is? The way I figure it, he might only have three or four. Probably most of the crime is in Rawlins, then beyond that maybe he has two men to spare to go out roaming. Maybe they're all out, or maybe they're waiting on something that they think is coming. Whatever it is, if I investigate myself, then they'll have to agree to make a few arrests."
"Why don't you just go offer to work as his deputy?"
Catherine knew that Glen was a gambler, and she'd seen him not react to things before. Then again, she'd seen some pretty strong reactions from him. What she saw now was him trying to pretend he wasn't reacting, but he didn't succeed like he usually did.
Normally, it was impossible to tell, except that she knew he'd have a thought about it. Now he stiffened half an instant, then tried to relax back into the position he'd been in before without letting her see.
But she did see, and whatever it was that he didn't like about the idea, it was pretty pretty strong.
"I've got the calves to worry about," he said after a while. A weak excuse, she knew. If she was managing with a thousand head, a thousand and fifty wouldn't exactly ruin her. Her cattle were doing just fine… even if they could have been doing better.
"So why are you telling me all this?"
"Well, there are two reasons. First, because it might be dangerous. After all, we're following a few men who have stolen, what, a dozen cattle at least? That we know of?"
More than that, Catherine thought. She nodded.
"So it could be I get caught. I don't plan on it, and I'm pretty good at staying out of people's way, but I don't want to take any risks with it, and I don't want it so nobody knows where I'll be."
"And the other?"
"I'm not going to be able to go too far with just followin' 'em, you know? Eventually, I'm gonna have to find my way to someplace they would get rid of the steers. They ain't likely to keep 'em, after all, not with the brands and earmarks showin' that they's stolen."
"I'm not sure what you're saying."
"Well, the problem is, that's not something I know too much about. I would need someone to show me where to go to research that kinda thing, and that's where you come in."
Twelve
Glen rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes. He couldn't sleep yet. Night guard was hardly a position he wanted to play. Then again, doing the right thing always meant doing something he didn't want to do. He wouldn't regret it in the end, if it meant that he caught the people responsible for stealing Catherine's cattle.
He realized after a moment that he had considered her things before he had considered his own, and wondered at that for a moment. But there wasn't much worrying to be done. After all, he did what he had to do, and that was that. Whether it was for himself, or for her, didn't much matter.
What mattered was that it needed doing, and he was going to be the one to do it. At first he didn't know if he was seeing anything. He couldn't afford any lights. Nothing that would let someone on the outside know that he was there. He'd been trying hard to still his breathing, still his movements, pressed back into a haystack.
Just more inky blackness in the black night, too dark to see anything, and never still for an instant. There was always something out there, something that was moving and trying to survive. The fact that he was only looking for one very specific thing, trying to do something very different, meant that he was relying on his eyes and relying on the fact that if he didn't catch them today, then it was only a matter of time.
But then he heard the sound of wood moving on wood, the soft creak of the block going up. Whoever was doing it was being careful—he didn't hear it come down on the peg on the other side of the gate, even as his ears strained against the night.
He looked harder, staying perfectly still. He didn't go for his gun. A gunfight in this darkness would only turn into trouble. He settled his hand on it anyways. He didn't want a fight. He would surrender if he thought it would save him, if they caught him there. But that might not have been a possibility.
There were three, at least. Two stood guard by the gate. He could barely make them out, but the fact that they were in near-constant motion helped to make out their movements. Their heads were swiveling from side to side, scanning the horizon too quickly to see anything clearly.
They'd catch movement, though, if it was there to be seen, and that was all they needed. The rifles in their arms were all Glen needed to see to know that he shouldn't pick a fight with them. It wouldn't be a little thing, a case of shooting a few warning shots and having them run off into the night.
They'd be shooting back, and he wouldn't be able to wing 'em and hope for the best. A gunfight between them would be them or him. He weighed his odds, and realized that he liked them. That is, of course, if he was itching to kill a body. He'd already had enough taste of that.
The cows they took were small. His. Two of
them. The three men hurried them along, got back up onto their horses, and as Glen watched them go, he took in a deep breath. His night was just beginning.
Catherine stepped out of her room and had to stifle a shout. She had to remind herself that she couldn't wake the children. They still needed their sleep, but if she was up, then she was up. And so, it seemed, was Glen Riley. Not only was he up, he was sitting on her sofa, a single candle lit and his hands resting on his knees.
"You think you could pour me a cup of your delicious coffee, Ma'am?"
"What are you doing in here?"
Part of her didn't mind that he was there, but another part of her mind was churning with questions. He had never come in without her permission before, except to pop his head in a minute to tell her if he was leaving the property. That he had come in, while she was sleeping, and waited there in the dark…
"I'll talk to you about it in a minute. Over coffee."
She noticed him rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, watched those rubbing fingers move to the sides of his head. If he'd slept, it hadn't been much. The man looked like he'd been through hell.
She decided not to question it. If he wanted to tell her what was going on, then he would. If not, then she wouldn't question it. It wasn't her place to question, anyways. She wasn't his woman, the dreams she'd had last night—and more than once in the nights before that—notwithstanding.
Instead, she pulled on her apron and got busy. A few cracked eggs, a couple thick slices of bacon, and the coffee. A few easy minutes later she dropped the plate in front of him, fishing a fork out of her pocket.
"Here you go." She busied herself turning on the oil lamps around the house, since the sun was still barely creeping over the horizon. "You look tired."
"They're going north. I followed them for 'round three hours before I lost the trail. Past where they would have turned around, if it were a trick, I think."
"Hm. Alright," she agreed, nodding. North. That was strange. If she were getting rid of cattle, she'd go down to Rawlins. North, there were only a few places. Maybe if they cut east, it would open up opportunities, but due north were only mountains.
At the same time, she had ideas. There were plenty of places a body could go, but they were hours and hours away, and there was no obvious choice. Every one of those towns would have someone looking for cattle, and every single one of them was just as out of the way as the next.
"We'll head out after the children wake up," she said softly. "You get some sleep while you can."
He swallowed the coffee and for a moment she thought he might just get up and force himself. He started to, too, but then he slumped back down and she saw just how tired he was. The man looked like death, in the morning light, and he was clearly having trouble staying quite upright. Finally he kicked off his boots, leaned over to rest his head on the arm of the sofa, and pulled his hat over his eyes.
She heard the children starting to stir, smelling the food. No doubt they were ready for something to eat. Hell, so was she. But she took care to keep it quiet. After all, Glen was sleeping, and finally, she felt like they were moving forward.
Someone was going to solve this problem once and for all. Greenhorn or not, whether he knew about cattle or not, he gave her the oddest feeling. It wasn't the attraction she'd been ignoring up to now, or at least that wasn't all of it.
She was surprised, but he was giving her the feeling that whatever happened, he would deal with it. The comfort was unexpected, but not unwelcome. She had the bacon sizzling by the time Ada and Grace came padding into the kitchen. Cole was a few steps behind, still rubbing the bleariness from his eyes.
Catherine put a finger to her lips.
Glen needed his sleep.
Thirteen
Glen kicked awake suddenly. He wasn't supposed to be asleep, he was supposed to be out there. Doing his job. His hat falling into his lap drew his attention to the present.
He wasn't out on the frontier any more. He was in a house. A seven-year old was sitting in a chair opposite him, kicking her legs and watching him intently.
Glen smiled at her. "Good mornin', Miss Ada."
"Mornin', Mister Glen."
"Where's your Mama at?"
"She's gettin' some clothes ready. She says she might be a few days." She said the last part with a strange tone in her voice. "That's what Papa said, though. I think he got lost, though, cause he wasn't—"
She broke off, and Glen could see her struggling not to have too much of a reaction. He sat forward and reached out a hand, put it on her shoulder.
"I know your Mama, and she won't get lost. She wouldn't ever do that to you, Miss Ada. But just in case, I'll be with her. And I've never gotten lost my entire life. The Army taught me to find places, too, so even if I don't know where I am, I'll be able to find my way back."
"The Army?" Her eyebrows furrowed deeper. "Did you kill anybody?"
Glen tried to ignore the shock that went through him. It was almost second-nature now. He'd spent the last three years hiding just about every reaction.
"No, Miss Ada. I was just looking out for places they wanted found." He liked the sound of that answer.
But it was a lie.
Catherine came through the door to her bedroom, hauling a thick suitcase behind her. Lord, but she looked as pretty as ever, and the way she looked at the children…
More than a pretty face, she seemed like a good mother. A good mother whose no-good husband had left her considerably more to deal with than anyone could expect her to be able to manage.
Ada's discomfort only served as an uncomfortable reminder that the ones most hurt by his departure, though, were his children. They'd go through life not sure what was wrong with them that made their father not want to stay by them.
It wasn't a thought that he liked, imagining them thinking that. But as much as he wanted someone to fix the problem, they didn't need a man like him to step in for it.
The first part of his life he'd been good at exactly two things. He'd been happy to call on his tracking expertise to help out, to make his new life work. His talent for shooting men… that was something he would sooner put behind him.
His tracking had given Glen plenty of time to hone both skills, but now it was time to put the gun away. That didn't mean he wasn't going to carry that burden the rest of his life.
Every time he strapped on the pistol, it seemed to whisper in his ear. The comfort of it on his hip. He didn't need to pull it out of the holster to know how easy it would be. How he could do the action real smooth, with no wasted motions.
He had practiced until he could move his hand slow enough to be accurate, and still beat nine men out of ten if he had to. But then, Colonel Bridges had never put a high priority on fair fights. A shot in the back would be just as good, if it helped clear out trouble.
Glen swallowed hard. He'd been fighting to ignore these thoughts for so long that it was coming hard. He didn't realize how long he'd been sitting there until he saw Catherine looking up at him expectantly.
He closed his eyes a moment to quiet his thoughts, and then stood up. Catherine turned to Ada. "What are you going to do if you need anything?"
"Go to Missus Henderson!"
"Good. And how do you get to her house?"
Ada turned around in a full circle before deciding on which direction it was and pointing. Glen couldn't keep the smile off his face, until he could. Then he didn't much want to.
Catherine was regretting the decision to sell the horse already. She'd only brought a little money, but she couldn't spend one more minute in that man's arms or she'd have to accept his marriage proposal. The one he hadn't made.
She thought back about Ada, worrying how she'd gotten along. It occurred to her again what it must look like, her coming into town nestled into the man's arms like she was. If anyone knew he wasn't her husband…
Well, if they knew anything about who her husband had been, there was already talk. How much worse could it get, jus
t because she was unchaperoned with a man?
She pulled the horse to a stop and Glen slid off the back, holding up a hand to help her down after he'd brushed off the dust from two days on the road. She decided it would be petty to ignore him. In spite of the spark it shot through her every time his skin brushed against hers, she took his hand and slid down herself.
Glen busied himself tying off the horse to the post, and she went on inside.
"Can we help you?"
Catherine frowned a bit, slipping into the routine they'd already formed over the past few days. It was easier to act as if she was hapless than it was to try to play the hardened investigator.
"I've been having some trouble, you see. Some of my cattle went missing—I'm sure you boys didn't have a thing to do with it, of course—but I think they'll have sold them off."
The butcher raised his eyebrows. "You've got a rustling problem, huh? Well, I don't know what to tell you. We know our sellers here. We only buy direct from ranchers. Helps to avoid those exact problems."
"Oh, no, of course. I understand. I just wanted to know if anyone came around, trying to sell off any underweight cows, perhaps?"
The man shook his head again, more insistently. "Nothing like that, ma'am. Good luck with your search. I'd suggest you ask around the Sheriff's office down in Rawlins."
"I'm afraid I did, you see."
Glen came in at a convenient time and finished for her.
"He seemed a little busy, so we thought we might ask around the area, just make sure they didn't take our cattle anywhere and try to pass it off as their own."
"No, sir. Nothing like that, as I was just telling your wife."
"Oh, no—"
"Thank you for your time," Glen said, taking her by the arm. She wasn't his wife, that was for sure. But as they left, she realized that he might have been right not to explain. Time was of the essence. More than a week out, who would remember a couple of cattle coming through?
