by Amy Faye
They got back on the horse. Just a few places more to check. Then on the way back, they could hit the auction houses. Easy. They'd be back home within a week, and with a little luck, she'd be able to find a way to get her own ride, so that she could finally escape Glen's all-too-comfortable grasp.
Fourteen
They were later than he would have liked. Before the auction would have been ideal, but the road was the road. The truth was, as uncomfortable as sitting two-to-a-saddle was, he liked it more than he was ready to admit.
After all, a good-looking woman in his arms was hardly something that he was used to. He would take advantage of the opportunity as long as he could.
They pulled up in front of the auction house when the horse was still fresh, and Glen knew right away that they were later than he would have liked from the sound of the auctioneer calling out prices. He let himself off and then helped Catherine down and busied himself with tying the lead off while she went inside.
They had plenty of time to wait. There was no need to interrupt the auction in progress, unless they were sure they saw their cattle on the block. A dozen head at most, it would be odd to sell at auction. But if they mixed markings, it would be even more suspect.
Glen wasn't sure what to think about the whole thing. If he'd resorted to stealing, then he would hardly have held onto it. But then, he would have just sold the cows for meat, and they'd checked every town within twenty miles, and none of them had given him anything like the impression that they were lying. They hadn't seen the cattle.
The room seemed to be heating up as the prices spiraled higher, the energy of the buyers getting more and more frenetic. The voice of the auctioneer, shouting out prices as fast as his mouth would allow, drove them constantly to greater excitement. If the crowd got any hotter, Glen thought, they'd have a riot on their hands before long.
And then, as soon as things seemed as if they couldn't get any stronger, the auctioneer waved his hands and announced that they were done for the day. The buyers would be given their winnings as soon as they were all settled up. Stewards would be coming by to deal with the details.
Glen walked up, keeping his posture Army-straight. "Maybe you can help me, Mister."
"Next auction's not until Thursday, son." From this close up, Glen could see the sweat streaking the man's face. He poured himself a glass of water and drank deeply.
"I'm looking for some information, just a couple of quick questions."
The auctioneer let out a deep sigh, but he turned and faced Glen, Catherine pressed up beside him. "What do you folks need?"
"I own a small ranch a way south of here, and we've been having a bit of a cattle rustling problem. Sheriff seemed to have his hands full with other things, so we thought we would just ask around. Have you seen any underweight steers coming through here? Perhaps a few calves?"
"I've seen as many cattle coming through here as I've seen people. Anything special about these ones?"
"Have you got a pencil?"
He handed one over to Glen, and he drew out his brand. "The calves would wear that brand."
He handed the pencil over to Catherine, who drew a symbol. "That's the other you might've seen."
The man looked at them carefully, and then shook his head. "I don't think I've seen these. We've got a log-book, but I don't want to get your hopes up. You seem like good folks. I feel for you, I do, but I don't know that we'll be able to do anything for you."
"If we could just take a look at the last few days' records—"
"Out of the question. But I can try to get you that information in a few hours. There's a saloon across the street, they serve a mean steak, and if you tell 'em Buck sent you, they'll treat you right."
"We'll be back in a few hours, then," Glen said, letting his breath out all at once. They were going to have a long wait ahead of them, then. He tipped his hat to the man and started making for the saloon across the way. If he mentioned that Buck sent them, they'd treat him right.
Or so he'd heard.
The place wasn't as bad as she'd thought, Catherine decided. She had worried that it would be the sort of place… well, the sort of place that Billy and Glen would have met each other in. At least during the day, the place gave off a good impression of a family-friendly establishment as long as she stayed away from the bar itself.
A pretty twenty-year old waitress came over and brought a chilled brown bottle. Catherine had avoided drinking most of her life, but the time on the road had tired her out. She had already been too far gone before, and now she just wanted to relax a little. They still had a ways to go ahead, and if she didn't let herself go for one night, she'd go crazy.
She took a drink, ignoring the taste as best she could, and ignoring the burn a little better. She wasn't going to make it through the whole thing if she didn't hurry it up, but the stuff made her gag to drink too deeply. So instead she turned to watch the band.
Glen would be back soon, she reminded herself. That was all she needed to worry about. There were four of them on stage, and the music wasn't half-bad. The place wasn't any more full than she would expect for a half-hour before supper, but the dance floor was well-used and there were plenty of people dancing.
She could feel the alcohol hitting her, just a little bit, and she pushed the bottle away. No reason to go too far. After all, a woman has to make sure she doesn't put herself into a bad situation. That sort of thing was dangerous at the best of times, and she had to admit—it wasn't the best of times.
She sucked in a deep breath as she saw Glen come in. He didn't seem to be doing much better than she was with the long trip. Where he'd previously been able to hide so much from her about how he was feeling, she could see now that he was frustrated, and above all, tired.
He slid into the seat beside hers.
"You mind?"
She saw him gesturing toward the bottle and shook her head. Not one bit, if he wanted it.
She wanted to relax, she thought again. And the best way to relax…
"Dance with me," she said softly.
He shook his head and took a deep drink.
"You don't want to know what I learned?"
"A whole lot of nothing, from the look on your face."
"Not a bit," he said softly.
Catherine stood up and grabbed his arm, pulling him. He let her pull him up to his feet. "Dance with me," she repeated.
He made a face, but he didn't refuse. That was progress, she thought. Then she pulled him onto the floor. It took her a moment of awkward fumbling before she realized that he didn't know how. She wasn't sure what was more endearing—that he didn't know, or that he'd tried to hide it.
"Put your hand here," she said softly, moving his hand to her hip, where it wormed its way into the back of her mind. She took his other hand in hers and they started dancing. It was simple, it was good, and she liked it.
When she felt herself leaning into him, and when she felt her lips on his, she wasn't as surprised as she should have been. She certainly wasn't as surprised as when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"You two the ones looking for calves? Say they been stolen?"
Fifteen
Glen pressed his head back into his hands, knitted together behind his neck, and put on his best neutral expression. They'd moved off the floor, and he was thankful for that, at least. He'd already gone too far, given a little longer he might have lost his self-control completely.
He couldn't afford that. She wasn't his woman, and she wasn't going to be. He had to remind himself of that, because it was easy to let it slip in the moment, when he'd spent so much time with her the past week. When hers was the first face he saw after he woke up. And her looks didn't hurt matters, either.
"Now that you've found us, what can we do for you? Mister…"
"Huh? Beck. Avery Beck. I'm a rancher a few miles north of here, and I came down to sell my stock. Thought I'd have a look around. I've been here a week now, just to see what sort of stock goes through. It
's looking like I come back in Spring."
"Did you have something to tell us about our rustling problem?"
"Oh, yeah." He nodded. The man was older than the both of them added together, and Glen had to wonder how it was that he managed to keep his ranch together at his age. No doubt with a bit of help from his staff. "Fella approached me after one of the auctions. Seen I hadn't bought nothin', and he asks if I'm interested in buying some calves. He says he's got to get rid of them, on account of his brother being hurt bad by one of the bulls. So he's got a great deal."
"Then what?"
"I figured I would go see what he had. If it were anything worth buying, or if I got 'em for a song, I'd take him up on his offer. But I ain't desperate. I've still got most of a herd goin' back home, you know?"
"You think the calves were stolen?"
"I counted… I couldn't say. I stopped after three different marks. 'Course, I didn't want to see how good the man was with the iron on his hip, neither, so I just said that I wasn't still in the market."
Catherine heard the story and wasn't sure how much she wanted to believe it. He was damn near telling them exactly what they wanted to hear, and that was what worried her.
The story might have been genuine. That would mean that their trip had finally paid off, and she could finally relax. No more need to wander into another town, ask around again, pretending like this was the first place they were checking. No more waiting, knowing that they wouldn't find anything.
But the fact was, there wasn't a hell of a lot to the story, either. She couldn't avoid that. Glen's expression remained cut out of stone, even as he continued asking questions. Where did the man say he'd come from?
Said he'd come from East of town, ten miles out. Catherine knew that wasn't true, but she wondered if it wouldn't be worth looking into. Might be, there was something true in the story. Just not the whole thing. In her experience a half-truth was easier to tell than a whole lie. But then again, she hadn't broken any laws. Least, none of the ones that people were arrested for.
With Billy's help, she'd broken more than a few of the Bible's laws. That hadn't made it easier to hide herself, it had just made her hide herself better.
Glen nodded beside her. "Why you tellin' us this, Mister Avery Beck? Good Samaritan?"
The man's chest puffed up in pride, but he deflated a moment later. "I figure it might be worth a hot meal, maybe. But if you don't think so, then I'll head on home."
"You haven't mentioned the man's name yet," Glen countered. "Give us a name, and we'll sit and drink with you."
The man looked over at Catherine. She could feel his eyes on her, could feel him sizing her up. She hadn't said anything yet. She had to take some strength from that fact. Whatever he was thinking of her, she could try to take advantage of that, but he'd have to make the first move.
"Her too, eh?"
The man gave a big wink to Glen, whose eyes fluttered shut for a moment. She was starting to see it. He might be able to turn it off when he tried hard, but he had his tells, sure as anyone.
"She'll drink what she wants to drink, and she'll do what she wants to do. She's the boss, I'm just a hired hand."
"That right," the older rancher said. He sounded a little surprised, but it was only a moment before he'd re-calibrated the situation. She wasn't being silent out of deference. She was letting her man control the situation because she had him in hand, and he spoke with her mouth.
"The name might have been fake. I don't know. But he says his name was Rod Dawson. Wore a light-colored coat… cloth, not leather. Heavy coat. Red hair. Blue eyes, I think. About this high."
He put a hand a few inches over his own head. Avery Beck was not a short man, which meant that Rod Dawson was downright tall.
"Thank you, sir." Glen's hand went up to signal the waitress. She came over, and Avery ordered his food.
Glen did Catherine's share of the drinking. He wasn't sure what the man's game was. He wasn't wearing clothes like he needed someone else to buy him dinner. Until there was proof it was something else, he assumed that the man was looking for some company.
That being said, he knew that there wasn't much evidence in either direction. He'd have to stay on his toes, because if there was a trick, then the carpet could come out from under them at any moment. He took the risk to drink, though. The man's taste was good, and he could afford it. If this was all it cost to get the information he needed…
"You'd be willing to testify to all this in a court of law?"
The old rancher smiled a crooked smile. "'Course."
"Good."
The dinner went by slow. The man had nothing to say, and Glen was being careful with his words. The only thing he wouldn't see coming from the man, if it happened, would be if he was fishing for information.
He was careful not to give his name, and he was exceptionally careful to confuse the relationship between him and Catherine. Anything he could do to get the attention off the reasons for his presence there would help.
He could feel the drink going to his head, and finally he stood back from the table. "I think I need to find a room, boss. I'm—ah, feeling it a little."
Glen let a smile touch his lips, not realizing that he'd already been smiling a little since his gaze fell on Catherine. He put down a ten-dollar bill. That should cover it, he figured.
The hotel next door was heaven sent. He could still walk, and if he focused, he could do it looking mostly normal. But if he'd had to go far, well, it would have gotten interesting.
He rang the bell at the front, waited for someone to come and help him.
"I need two rooms, please," he said, a little louder than he had intended.
"One night?"
"That's right."
"That'll be six dollars," came the answer.
Glen fished out the money. The alcohol was hitting him harder than he had figured.
Catherine took the billfold from his hand and counted out the money, pushed it across the counter. Glen watched her take the keys from the man, and started to make his way for the stairs.
He could still walk, and he was in control of himself. Mostly. When his toe caught on the stair, though, he took a spill and Catherine wrapped her arms around him. Apparently she thought he was drunk.
She dragged him into the first room, helped him into the bed. She even knelt down in front of him, helped ease his boots off his feet. He hadn't realized how badly they ached.
"You alright?"
Not exactly, he thought. He was missing something. Forgetting to say something important.
Oh, right.
He stood up and wrapped his arms around the beautiful woman he'd had his arms around for the last five days, and took another kiss from her. This time nobody was going to interrupt them.
Sixteen
Catherine's eyes shot open when she felt him pull her in close, but by the time his lips pressed into hers, she had already figured things out well enough.
She should have pushed him away. She should have told herself not to enjoy it. She didn't. She wanted it as much as he did, and she wasn't going to deny herself. She let his lips trace the line of her jaw, enjoying the pleasure when he kissed her neck.
She tried to pretend that she wasn't feeling any of it for a moment. She wasn't the kind of woman who wanted to be kissed like this, after all. That was wrong. She pulled away, breathless and flushed with pleasure.
"You're right—I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. Good night." Glen said it so fast that she didn't have time to do anything. Catherine smiled a moment and walked back to the door, closed it, and turned the lock.
"Who said anything about that?"
He was already on his feet and on her by the time she turned back toward the room. He caught her lips in a kiss, his hand catching behind her head. The feeling of them together was electric and she couldn't refuse it, not even if she wanted to.
She let him push her up against the door. Rough and firm, yet gentle. His body was hard and strong, m
ore than anything that she'd felt in a long time. She wanted him, she realized. She wanted him badly, and she was going to get what she wanted. That, or she was going to go crazy trying to get it.
Glen's hands were on her hips, pulling her body against his. Catherine decided to take the initiative back, leaning her face into his neck, tasting his skin and then biting into it. Glen groaned and pressed in against her.
She could feel his hardness, pressed against her belly, and she let her hands go exploring it. Her palm pressed against his jeans, moving down and lower, and he bucked against it, unable to stop himself.
Glen brought his hands up to the front of her dress, finally starting to work the buttons. He remembered the sight of her taking the dress off herself. He had done the right thing in telling her no—but God did he want to say yes. Right now he wouldn't have been able to do it if he had to again.
He could feel his fingers fumbling, the electric shock of pleasure surging through him making his hands shake, driving him completely wild. He kept it together enough to turn one button open, then a second. Then she pulled away from him and did them herself.
Deprived of her exploring hands, he stepped back. Glen could still feel the alcohol effecting him, could still feel how much it was making his head buzz. He needed to get clear, but it was so hot in the room, and…
He noticed that Catherine had gotten her dress halfway undone, and it was starting to slip down her shoulders. His eyes widened at the thought, at the milky-colored, smooth skin that it revealed, and the implication of what was to come. His pants got tighter.
The shoulder slipped further, baring a breast. Had she not been wearing anything under that dress, or was it his imagination? This time he didn't turn away. He'd barely managed to get a glimpse before, not that he had wanted to. At the time, he'd been surprised, even a little concerned by it. Now he took his time.
He sure wouldn't have thought she had three children. Her breasts were a nice size, looked good. As good as he could imagine, topped with rose-pedal nipples. Catherine caught him looking and moved a hand to cup her breast.
