An Unexpected Redemption

by Davalynn Spencer

  He glanced at Betsy. “I hope.”

  She must have telegraphed her reaction to the sorrel, for it danced and side-stepped, as if eager to get going.

  Clay fidgeted with anticipation and tugged at his gloves, too big on his young hands. Garrett prayed the boy didn’t come unseated.

  “You don’t need to get close the way you do with cows,” Cade said. “Give them room. They’ll come runnin’ at first, but don’t chase them. We don’t want them stumbling and tearing a ligament. They’ll ease up after a while.”

  “You planning to rest them like before?” Betsy took a short rein on Ginger.

  “In Echo Valley, that first park we came through. They should be moving easy by then, and we’ll spread out around them until they settle and start grazing. Then we’ll meet at this end of the valley and do our own grazing on what Deacon packed for us.”

  Garrett screwed his hat down. He and Clay took off behind Deacon, and when the old cowboy cut left, they cut right.

  Another whinny pieced the cold air, and a dark patch started moving across the grassy park before them. Rink’s ears held tight on the drifting mass, and he leaped into a gallop at the touch of Garrett’s heel.

  Low rolling thunder rose from the valley floor, a couple hundred hooves beating a get-away behind the lead mare. Deacon’s mount ran like a racehorse across the flat and soon outdistanced the herd. Garrett and Clay were closing the gap when Garrett spotted a white mare, black foal at her side, running at the edge of the band of fifty or so.

  Not much in life was more beautiful than horses running free and wild, heads high, tails and manes dancing behind them like flags.

  A bay mare ran at the point, ears pinned, head lunging with each long stride. Deacon closed in, waving his hat, and she veered north to where Garrett and Clay tightened the noose. The mare turned, and soon the bunch was running back up the park toward Cade and Betsy.

  The sun had crested the near range, and the horses headed into it, slowing somewhat with Cade and Betsy riding wide. They funneled in at the river, and Betsy tore through the pass ahead of them, she and her little red mare light and swift with the band hard on their heels. For a moment, Garrett’s heart galloped away from him as he envisioned the rocky ground she covered a few lengths ahead of fifty running horses.

  He and Clay followed the band into the narrow canyon, Deacon and Cade close behind. By the time the horses reached the mouth of Echo Valley, they’d slowed considerably before fanning out across the grassy park.

  Betsy waited, watching the horses settle, then she trotted around behind them and met up with Deacon and Cade.

  Clay sat tall in the saddle, his smooth cheeks ruddy from the wind of their ride, blue eyes bright with pleasure at the challenge.

  “You did good.” Garrett gave the boy a direct look.

  Satisfaction straightened his shoulders.

  “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

  “No, sir. I’ve moved a few cows on the farm, but nothing this exciting.”

  Garrett could relate. Riding drag with a remuda on a cattle drive, or even point on a bunch of slow-moving beeves, was a sight less daring.

  The men ground-tied their mounts, but Betsy took the sorrel a few paces beyond and stood apart, watching the mares graze.

  Garrett singled out the white with a black foal at her side, then looked back at Betsy. Sure enough, she was watching the pair.

  When she dropped her reins and joined the circle with her meal pack, she was quiet, content. Calmer than Garrett had ever seen her. She was almost a different woman, and he wished he’d known her before.

  A maverick thought for sure. The trails they’d each ridden over the last half dozen years couldn’t be any more unalike or farther apart. His driving herds north, before and after Abilene and George Booth. Hers in Denver doing he had no idea what.

  She dropped down beside him and set to.

  Why are you here, Betsy Beaumont? And what brought you home now?

  It wasn’t so much the sheriff side of him that wanted to know, but the lonesome side.

  “They came in easy.”

  Her quiet comment broke through his ruminating.

  No tension between them, just two people talking to each other, open and uncluttered as the sky. His curiosity was killing him, no decision ever harder than the one he faced at that moment—enjoy her company and their peaceful surroundings or take advantage of the situation and pry into her thoughts.

  “It must feel good to be back,” he said.

  She broke her biscuit in two and took a bite, unlike the men who shoved them whole into their mouths, himself included.

  “It does. Life is uncomplicated out here with just the parks and horses to think about.”

  No argument there.

  She bit into the second half, regarding him as she chewed and then swallowed. “You ride like you know what you’re doing.”

  He chuckled. “You could say that.”

  She watched him, waiting for more.

  “I trailed a few herds up from Texas.”

  “You have family in Texas?”

  “My grandfolks. They raised me.”

  “How’d you end up as the Olin Springs sheriff?”

  “Long story.” That he wasn’t going into at the moment, since it was her story he wanted to hear.

  “So there’s more to you than a Colt .45 and a lawman’s star.”

  “And there’s more to you than a velvet handbag and a Remington type-writer.”

  She smiled and contemplated the stand of timber bordering the valley on the north. “There was a time in my life when I thought I’d never leave this ranch. That I’d spend the rest of my days either riding Blanca or working yearlings in the round pen.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  A cloud scuttled across her face.

  He read the signs, another maverick thought circling his good sense. This time he followed it. “Forgiveness is hardest when it’s ourselves that need forgiving.”

  She cut him a look through her lashes without raising her head, then packed up her meal and walked back to her horse.

  The sun warmed Garrett’s back as he sat watching the mares and foals graze their way across the valley. He mulled over what he could have—should have—said to Betsy that might have turned out better, but there was no point in it.

  Truth often hurt. A fact he’d learned firsthand.

  Cade rolled up his dinner remains and stuffed them in his saddle bags. “We’ll walk ’em back easy,” he said to no one in particular as he mounted. “But keep an eye on the bay in case she changes her mind.”

  Garrett swung to his seat and trotted around to flank the band on the south side. Clay stuck close. Like a flock of birds, the mares flowed as one body, moving easy down the park toward the ranch. When the border fence came into view, Betsy gave the sorrel its head and rode for the wide gate. She unlatched it without dismounting and swung it back against the fence, then casually walked her horse into the pasture. The band followed, parting around her like the Red Sea around Moses.

  That woman had as much business sitting at a type-writer for Anthony Rochester as Garrett did slingin’ hash at Bozeman’s. But getting inside her head was harder than getting in the bank vault without the combination.

  A couple hours at best, and they’d be heading back to town. He wanted to talk to her again while they were here on the ranch, where she seemed to spread her soul out over the land, not tuck it inside proper manners in Maggie’s dining room.

  There was more to Betsy Beaumont than he’d first figured, and he wanted to find out all he could before town life corralled her again.

  CHAPTER 16

  Elizabeth cut Blanca and her foal away from the herd and edged them toward the barn corral. The mare’s soft eye and the easy way her ears followed Elizabeth made her think the horse might remember her. But when Blanca let her walk up to the foal with outstretched hand, she was certain of it. A nicker and nudge of the fine white head ag
ainst her shoulder started tears behind her eyes.

  “How I’ve missed you.” The whisper squeezed out of a tight throat, and she was grateful that no one had followed her to the barn. Cade and Deacon understood, of course. But Garrett and his sidekick could nose their way into her privacy at any moment.

  Just like Garrett had nosed his way into her hidden wound and poured in his salty truth.

  She focused on the filly, black as type-writer ribbon, like Blanca had been as a foal. Slowly she ran her hands along the dark neck and withers, over the back, smiling as the filly’s flesh quivered beneath her fingers. Ears swiveled back in nervous curiosity, but the eye was gentle. The filly was sound and strong, like its mother, and Elizabeth hoped Cade wouldn’t sell it.

  Better than that, she’d buy it from him. As soon as she had enough money set aside.

  Under different circumstances, the foal would have been hers, but she’d left everything behind, essentially cutting ties to property as well as family. Finding Blanca still on the ranch was more than she’d hoped for.

  But Cade never had been much like their father.

  She turned the pair out with the others, then unsaddled Ginger and rubbed her down and brushed her. A ration of oats rewarded her for the day’s work while the men took care of the others.

  The barn was ripe with the smell of fresh hay, and Cade had it piled high, with more stacks fenced off in the pasture. The mares would fare well this winter, the cattle too, better than most ranchers’ herds.

  She slapped dust from her skirt and sleeves on her way to the house, then went inside to check with Sophie. Garrett would want to leave soon, but Elizabeth had a couple of things to do first.

  “How was it bringing in the horses again?” Sophie came down the stairs, her face glowing with long-held affection. Not a miserly bone in her body, she knew what the horses had meant to Elizabeth growing up.

  But Elizabeth had things she needed to say. “How is Mae Ann?”

  “Resting.” With a sigh, Sophie fell into one of the wing chairs. “She ate a good dinner—as good as I can convince her to eat. But she won’t starve. I keep telling her she’s feeding two people and needs to keep her strength for the baby.” She glanced up with a wry smile. “Truth laced with a bit of bribery.”

  Elizabeth took the other chair, sitting on the edge, eager to share her heart and not wanting to linger and miss what might be her only opportunity during this rushed visit.

  “Sophie, you’re a true friend. And I want to apologize for how I treated you when—”

  “You don’t need to say a thing.” Sophie reached for Elizabeth’s hand. “I could see what was coming. Anyone could. We’ve been neighbors and friends all our lives, Betsy. I couldn’t be mad at you if I tried.”

  Elizabeth let the pent-up tears fall, unashamed in the warmth of Sophie’s faithfulness. “I live with such regret. Seeing you and your mother, and Deacon and Cade’s welcome, means more to me than I can say.”

  Sophie smiled her sweet, crooked smile. “Regrets never did anybody any good. Don’t waste your heart on them.”

  Elizabeth palmed her face. “I know. But I just don’t very often remember that I know.”

  “From what I’ve managed to worm out of your brother, with Mae Ann’s help, you’re doing what matters, which is making a fresh start.” She fiddled with the corners of her apron. “Edward just up and left you?”

  Hearing someone else speak the truth robbed some of its sting.

  “My regret pales only to my humiliation.”

  “Oh, Betsy, please don’t.” Sophie pressed her apron corners flat. “I’m not much for platitudes, and I know it sounds simple-minded, but it’s true that everyone makes mistakes.”

  And hers were bigger than most.

  “So will you and your friends be staying for supper?” She slid a sly glance at Elizabeth.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “And how do you know what I think? Did you learn mind-reading in Denver?”

  Elizabeth rose and pushed her loose hair behind her ears, realizing she’d lost her ribbon in the ride. “I hear it in your voice. Like you said, I’ve known you all my life.”

  Planting her hands on her hips, she turned on Sophie in mock severity. “While we’re on the subject, I saw the way you looked at that Clay fellow Garrett brought along.”

  Sophie jumped up. “I do believe the beans I started this morning are cooking dry. Can’t have them scorching now, can I.”

  Elizabeth went out the back door laughing and stopped on the covered porch. Mama’s garden plot looked the same as always, but fuller for the time of year. The last of the tomatoes still hung round and red, waiting to be harvested.

  A sharp wind swept off the mountains, whipping her hair across her face. She pulled it back with one hand and set out toward the hill north of the house, where the ponderosa stood like a sentinel. Cade had written to her about the graves, told her that he hadn’t buried their parents in town but on the land they loved.

  It was time she visited them as well.

  Gray-bellied clouds churned over the mountains and rolled down into the valley, dampening the sun’s warmth and light. She hurried up the gentle slope, racing against the storm to the great tree’s shelter.

  A small fence bordered two cedar crosses, and a pink rose flourished between them—all new additions since she had last climbed the hill. She stepped over the low pickets and knelt between the graves. Weathered and gray, each cross bore hand-carved names. Deacon’s doing, no doubt.

  “I miss you, Mama.” Tears welled and she let them fall unchecked as she leaned to trace the letters of her mother’s name. “I was foolish. I went against everything you taught me. I’m so sorry…”

  Her voice blew away on the rising wind, and with a wrenching sob, she hugged her waist and doubled over the grave.

  ~

  Garrett stood on the back porch, Betsy’s oversized coat on his arm and her blue hair ribbon in hand. He’d found it lying on the ground near the corral and recognized it from the ride.

  Atop a hill behind the ranch house, she knelt beneath a big ponderosa pine, near what looked to be two crosses. Her parents’ grave markers, he’d wager. He hated to intrude on her grief, but they needed to get back to town before a full-fledged storm kept them from leaving at all.

  He rolled the ribbon around his finger and slipped it in his vest pocket, then set out, slowing near the top to listen. No sound came from Betsy’s bent form as she swayed over one of two graves, hair blowing like a curtain against her face.

  He cleared his throat.

  She lifted her head, calm and unstartled, as if she’d heard him coming. Her cheeks were wet, and her dark eyes pooled like bottomless wells.

  Stepping over the low border, he draped the coat across her shoulders and helped her to her feet, instinctively wrapping his arms around her. She didn’t resist, but leaned into him and rested her forehead on his chest. He held her, taking the rising wind with his back, determined to protect her from the coming storm but unable to shield her from the squall within.

  He hadn’t held a woman in a long time, and then it’d been only a boy’s eagerness. Now it was different, and Betsy Beaumont was more woman than he’d ever encountered. Something about her drew him and made him ache to hold her as long as she’d let him.

  The old tree sighed above them, mourning the dead, and she stepped back, gripping the edges of her coat and looking up at him like he knew her deepest secrets.

  For the life of him, he wished he did.

  They walked down the hill in silence, and when they reached the house, she stopped and shrugged into the coat. “I’m going to gather what’s left of the tomatoes for Mae Ann.”

  “We need to leave as soon as possible with this storm blowing in.”

  “I’ll be ready before you get the buggy hitched.” Halting, she faced him. “Whose buggy is that, anyway?”

  “Lolly wasn’t up to another trip.”

  Her hands found her
waist. “You rented a rig.”

  “Either that or bring you back on Rink. Behind me.”

  She snorted. “If you think I’d ride double with you all the way back to town, you are sadly mistaken.”

  Relieved to find her sorrow displaced, he squared off. “Well, if you couldn’t handle it, it’s just as well I brought a buggy.”

  “I can handle anything you throw at me, Sheriff Wilson, but I refuse—”

  “Just bein’ neighborly, Miss Betsy.” He touched the brim of his hat. “It’s a long walk back.”

  She snapped like dry twigs, and he nearly laughed, giving away his pleasure at seeing her high spirits return.

  She marched through the garden gate and began ripping tomatoes from over-grown vines. Rather than wait around for her to take up target practice at his expense, he went inside.

  Cade sat at the kitchen table, looking like the bank had just called in his loan.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Cade,” Sophie tried to reassure him. “She’s just further along than anyone thought. She may have miscalculated.” The girl blushed, and Garrett joined her, his ears heating up to what he figured must rival the tomatoes.

  He beat a trail through the house and out the front door.

  Deacon leaned on the corral, one foot planted on the bottom pole and Clay his mirror-double next to him. Now there was a pair to draw to. The old cowboy was probably just what the kid needed. Someone to teach him a trade and keep him out of trouble.

  But Garrett didn’t know enough about him to leave him out here on the ranch. He could be exactly what he’d boasted—a thief. And exactly what he’d tried to prove—a man who could hold his liquor.

  Garrett’s gut told him the boy was neither.

  Maybe Erik could use a tack and stable boy at the livery. Let him sleep in the loft.

  He harnessed the buggy horse, checked Rink’s hooves, and tied him behind the rig. Then he joined Clay and Deacon.

  “Get your horse ready to ride,” he told the boy. “We’re leavin’.”