In a Cowboy’s Arms

by Janette Kenny

  “Sheriff Logan,” he said, and Maggie bit back a smile. “It’s important that I speak with Mrs. Jarrett.”

  The housekeeper was already pushing open the door. “Come right in, sheriff. Have a seat in the parlor while I announce your arrival to Mrs. Jarrett.”

  Dade escorted Maggie into a fussy room dominated by an intricate étagère laden with all manner of prize possessions. The furniture consisted of a deep claret brocade sofa, and a gentleman’s and a lady’s chair. Pastoral landscape and still life paintings hung on the wall.

  A life-size portrait of a girl roughly four years old filled the space above the mantel. Her black hair was done in curls held with pink bows that matched the trim on her frilly dress.

  She was neither beautiful nor homely. Just an average child who seemed far too stern for one that age.

  The scuff near the door had Dade and Maggie turning around. This painfully thin woman had to be Mrs. Jarrett.

  She walked into the room with the aid of a cane. Her steel gray hair was scraped back off a face that didn’t appear to have smiled in ages, if ever.

  “That’s my daughter Melanie,” Mrs. Jarrett said. “Tomorrow will mark the twenty-first anniversary of her death.”

  “My condolences, ma’am,” Dade said, and Maggie murmured her sympathy as well.

  Mrs. Jarrett eased down on the lady’s chair that faced the mantel, but turned a bit to stare at Maggie. “Who are you?”

  “My wife,” Dade said.

  Maggie promptly clacked her teeth together to keep from gaping and dropped onto the sofa a bit harder than she’d intended. But Mrs. Jarrett wouldn’t have noticed for she’d turned to fix her full attention on Dade, who’d taken the place beside Maggie.

  “What brings a sheriff to my door?” Mrs. Jarrett asked.

  “I’m looking for my sister,” he said.

  Mrs. Jarrett regarded him with cold gray eyes. “If she was a domestic I hired once, I suggest you speak with my housekeeper. She would know the staff that has come and gone over the years.”

  “She wasn’t a servant, ma’am.”

  “Then what was she?”

  “A child,” Dade said. “Your late husband claimed her off the orphan train back in ‘74. But I heard she didn’t stay with you long.”

  Mrs. Jarrett’s mouth puckered into an unbecoming knot. “Orphan train, indeed. I refused to raise his bastard when my own precious daughter was barely cold in her grave.”

  Maggie felt the tension roll off Dade in waves and marveled that he could keep a civil tongue. “She wasn’t a bastard, ma’am. She is my sister, and I’d surely like to know who took her in after you turned her out.”

  The old woman glared at him as she got to her feet, and Maggie was sure she wouldn’t answer. “Barton was his name. He owned a cattle ranch in Colorado. That’s all I know, so leave me be.”

  Dade rose, and Maggie did too. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Jarrett turned her back on them and stared at the portrait of her daughter. Maggie was certain she’d never seen such a bitter woman. If only she’d had the heart long ago to channel the affection she’d had for her daughter to a lonely orphan girl.

  “What do we do now?” Maggie asked once they returned to the buggy.

  “Hard to say. A lot of ranchers back then owned a helluva lot of cattle but damned little land.” Dade set the buggy in motion, the hard set of his features betraying more tension than she recalled seeing in some time. “I’llhead down to the stockyards. Hopefully somebody there will remember him.”

  And if they didn’t? Well, they had a name to go by this time. That was far more than they’d started with.

  The lowing of cattle reached her long before they arrived at the depot. But though wooden pens extended as far as she could see, there were few cattle waiting to be loaded onto the train.

  “Damn, I don’t like leaving you here,” Dade said. “But it could take a spell and a good deal of walking and talking to find anyone who remembers Barton. They may not feel inclined to talk if a woman’s around.”

  She certainly understood the need for prudence. “I’ll wait inside the depot.”

  At first she thought he’d balk, but he gave a curt nod and got out. He flicked the railroad agent some change. “Keep an eye on my buggy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dade guided Maggie to the depot and stuck his head inside first, likely checking to see if Allis Carson was lurking. But instead of hustling her inside, he took her by the arms and stared into her eyes.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.

  She smiled, nervous about what the future would hold now. “Take your time.”

  Dade hesitated as if he wanted to say more, then he dipped his hat brim and was gone.

  Maggie crossed to one of the windows and watched him cross the railroad tracks. In moments he’d disappeared amid the warren of pens and cowboys.

  If Mrs. Jarrett was right and Barton was a Colorado rancher, dare Maggie return there with Dade?

  Nervous energy expanded within her and kept her on edge. Yes, she was worried that Dade wouldn’t find Daisy. She worried that Allis Carson would find her and drag herback to Burland. Back to Harlan Nowell and a forced marriage to Whit Ramsey.

  The notion of confronting Whit face to face crossed her mind. It’d come to her last night but had gotten muddled with everything else that had happened this morning.

  Now she looked at it anew. He was surely due a piece of her mind for hiring a bounty hunter to track her down like she was a criminal. And just maybe she could convince him that she wasn’t about to marry him either.

  She walked to the ticket window, determined to make a stand for once.

  “How can I help you, ma’am?” the ticket agent asked.

  She blew out a heavy breath. “I need to send a telegram to Burland, Colorado.”

  Chapter 22

  After an hour of asking around the stockyards about Barton, Dade found an old man who claimed to have known him.

  “Yep, Barton drove his cattle up the old Santa Fe trail until they put the train through,” the old man said. “Ain’t seen or heard from him since.”

  “Anything you recollect about him?” Dade asked.

  “Well, he was a Texan and one big mean sonofabitch. Fought in the War of Rebellion, and he didn’t hold with no truck from nobody.”

  Not the kind of man Dade would have wished Daisy to end up with. “Was he a family man?”

  “Never mentioned having a wife or young’ns, but then I ain’t one to pry.” The narrow-eyed glare the old man gave him said he thought Dade was doing just that. “Why are you asking, boy?”

  Dade saw no use in lying. “I was told that Barton adopted my sister when her first adoptive family gave her up.”

  “Can’t help you there.”

  He wondered if the old man would, even if he knew. So many of the old-timers were close-mouthed about their pasts, and many had good reason.

  “Where’s Barton’s ranch?” he asked.

  The old man scowled and kicked at a red rock, and Dade knew he was debating about being honest or clamming up on him. “He had a spread in Las Animas near the Purgatoire River.”

  “Much obliged,” Dade said.

  He took his leave of the old man and trudged back to the depot, having enough information now to set out west. West.

  Dammit all, he hated to haul Maggie back to Colorado. But what could he do with her in the meantime?

  Maybe it’d be best to just head east and stick around St. Louis until Maggie was accepted in the nursing school. He’d waited twenty years to find Daisy. Another few weeks shouldn’t make any difference.

  He’d promised to watch over Maggie, and he was honor bound to do just that. Only he knew deep inside that his reasons for staying with her went far beyond that.

  She’d nested in his heart. Thinking of her made him smile. Being with her eased the turmoil that lived deep in his soul. Making love with her was the best th
ing that had ever happened to him.

  He could see himself waking up beside her for the rest of his life and feeling fulfilled. He could see her flitting around a nice house, the mistress of her own home. Their house.

  That’s all it took to pop the image.

  He’d lost his shares in the ranch. He had no place to call home. No money to buy a place, and no job to support a wife.

  He had nothing but three horses, saddlebags, and a pannier that held his few possessions. Even if the gossip Miss Jennean had passed on to him held merit, he wouldn’t beable to offer Maggie a home like she was accustomed to off his share of the Crown Seven.

  She greeted him with a smile when he stepped into the depot, and all his noble ideas of letting her go threatened to crumble. He had to hold to his promise. He had a few weeks left to enjoy her company, and he damn sure was going to savor every second.

  “Barton runs a ranch near Las Animas,” he said.

  “Is that far from here?”

  He shook his head. “It’s halfway between here and Pueblo.”

  She paled, and he knew she’d just realized they’d be uncomfortably close to the area she’d escaped. “We’ve come close to going full circle in a week.”

  “Yep.” He jammed his thumbs under his gun belt to keep from reaching for her, torn between doing what he ached to do and doing the right thing. “If you want, we’ll head to St. Louis–”

  “No. I’m going with you.”

  That suffocating fear that she’d want to leave him vanished like smoke. They’d come this far together. They might as well ride it out to the end now.

  He took her elbow and smiled at the feeling of rightness that came over him. “Let’s head back to the livery.”

  “I hope that the liveryman has a place where I can change into my trail clothes,” she said.

  Damn, he hated putting her through another long ride. “I’ll be right back.”

  He strode to the ticket counter. “When’s the train leave for Santa Fe?”

  “In an hour and twenty minutes.”

  That’d give them time to eat breakfast before pulling out. “I need passage to Las Animas for two passengers plus space for three horses and tack.”

  The ticket agent tallied up the cost. It’d take a chunk out of his savings, but he wanted to get there before nightfall.

  Dade doled out the money and pocketed the tickets and stockcar vouchers. He returned to Maggie and escorted her out the door.

  “We’re taking the train to Las Animas,” he said.

  “We are?”

  “I want to get there before dark.” And he wanted her rested for a change. “Let’s return the buggy, get our horses and gear, and head back here. Once the horses are in line to be loaded on, we’ll find a diner.”

  “It sounds wonderful.” Too wonderful. Too right.

  Maggie let her hand rest in his a bit longer than necessary, desperate to steal a caress, relieved beyond words that she wouldn’t have to ride a horse all day again.

  Her pleasure was tinged with guilt. She wasn’t sorry she’d sent a telegram to Whit, but she should tell Dade what she’d done.

  But throughout their meal, she never could find the right time to tell him. She’d wait until they were on the train headed west.

  The ride to Las Animas was enjoyable, partly because it was uneventful and partly because Maggie had the pleasure of Dade’s company. More than once she’d seen young ladies cast longing looks his way, but he never gave them one bit of encouragement.

  He’d be a faithful husband, she thought.

  But she feared he wouldn’t be hers.

  Even if her telegram dissuaded Whit from his pursuit of her, she knew Dade wouldn’t make that type of commitment when his own future was so questionable.

  And always, his drive to find Daisy overshadowed his own wants–whatever they may be.

  “What are your plans once you are reunited with Daisy?” she asked.

  “That depends on her,” he said. “I’d be happy to live close to her home and be a part of her life again, if she wanted me to.”

  Those last five words held a wealth of longing and fear. He’d been denied his family for too long, but would Daisy welcome the brother she hadn’t seen in twenty years? Would she be content to have him suddenly live on the fringe of her life?

  The whistle screamed, and the train slowed. They were here, and she still hadn’t told him what she’d done.

  Later. She’d find the right time to tell him later when they were alone.

  Dade was convinced he’d been lied to about Barton when day turned to night and he still hadn’t found anyone in Las Animas who’d heard of him. He wouldn’t be surprised if the old man at the stockyards had sent him on a wild goose chase out of spite.

  The death of Mrs. Jarrett’s daughter had soured her on life. But he’d believed the old-timer in Dodge City when he’d told Dade about Barton. Now he wasn’t sure.

  He’d started asking if anyone knew the Texan shortly after he and Maggie ate dinner in the hotel restaurant. With her safely tucked away in the room resting, he tramped the streets asking damned near everyone he passed if they knew Barton.

  So far none had.

  He was about to give up for the day and head back to the hotel and Maggie when a wrangler of advanced age who’d been leaning against the corner of the dry goods store straightened as Dade approached. Something about the man triggered a warning in him.

  That feeling turned to alarm when the man stepped in his path. “You still looking for Barton?”

  “I am,” Dade said. “You know where I can find him?”

  “Yep. Got him a spread near the Purgatoire River, not far from La Junta, which is why folks around here don’t much know him.”

  “But you do,” Dade said, not entirely convinced.

  “Worked for Barton for ten years back in the day when money could be made rounding up mustangs,” the wrangler said. “If you want, I can draw you a map showing you how to get there.”

  Dade was torn. If he’d have found just one other person who’d known Barton, he’d have believed this man.

  He had doubts, but not enough of them to refuse a map to the ranch. “I’d be mighty grateful for directions. What’s the name of his spread?”

  “Circle DB,” the wrangler said as he thumbed a cigarette paper from a pack. “Named it after his daughter.”

  Daisy Barton? Dade went hot and cold inside watching the wrangler sketch a crude map with the stub of a pencil, willing this to be the time he finally found his sister.

  “How big a place is it?” Dade asked, taking the map and studying the faint lines and squiggles.

  “Not much to talk about now. Barton ran cattle on thousands of acres, but only held title to a squatter’s portion.”

  That would explain why the wrangler didn’t work for Barton anymore. His ranch, cattle, and hired hands had been severely reduced. He just hoped the place hadn’t fallen into squalor.

  “Much obliged for the map,” Dade said, and tossed the man two bits.

  It wasn’t much by any standards. But he had to watch his pennies after splurging on the train ride.

  He crossed the alley and passed an adobe building that turned a rich brown in the setting sun. The shop next to it was a modern glass-front style that housed an assay office and an attorney.

  Dade glanced back at the wrangler, but he was long gone. He poked his head inside the office door to find the clerk donning his bowler hat, likely about to leave for the day.

  “You ever hear of a Circle DB ranch down around the Purgatoire River?” Dade asked.

  The clerk mumbled the name over and over. “Sure. Was a time when they ran more cattle than anyone else in these parts.”

  “Thanks for your time.”

  Dade picked up his pace, anxious to get back to the hotel and tell Maggie the good news. They’d head out tomorrow morning, but tonight would be theirs to savor.

  She was sitting by the window when he walked into thei
r room. For a moment he just drank in the sight of her. She was on his mind more times than not. She was in his heart too. How was he going to be able to let her go?

  He locked the door before crossing to her. “The ranch is half a day’s ride from here.”

  She met him halfway, her arms open and her smile welcoming. “I’m going with you.”

  He drew her into his arms and kissed her, drinking in her passion like a man parched for water. Refusing her never crossed his mind.

  As long as they were together, she was his. He damn sure didn’t want to think beyond that point right now.

  The guilt that had been nagging at Maggie drifted from her mind as Dade’s hands made bold sweeps up and down her body. She never knew a caress could bring every nerve in her body to life. She hadn’t believed that touching a man could give her so much pleasure.

  But then she’d never met a man like Dade before.

  She glided her palms up his muscled arms and curved her fingers over his shoulders, bowing into him. “Mmm.”

  “That’s it.” As she hoped he’d do, his arms came around her and held her tight. “Move with me.”

  The unease and hesitation that she’d honed from a young age to keep people from getting too close to her drifted away, replaced by a sense of safety that she’d only felt with him. Yes, he’d vowed to keep her safe, but his protectiveness went beyond duty.

  In his arms she not only felt protected, she felt wanted. She felt loved, and that was something she’d never experienced before.

  Nobody had ever loved Margaret Ann Sutten. At least nobody that she could remember.

  She sensed each rise and fall and matched him.

  Her clothes fell away slowly with him pausing to kiss the skin he’d bared. He ripped his clothes off quickly, which was fine by her because she longed to run her hands over his skin, marveling at the muscles that flexed at her touch.

  He kissed her so deeply her head reeled and her knees went weak. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would have crumbled at his feet.

  She realized she trusted him to give her pleasure too, and oh, how he could pleasure her. He rocked against her in a slow, sultry tempo that she fell into naturally. She let her head loll back as sensation after sensation pounded through her, thinking she was decadent for letting him do the seducing while she enjoyed every second of the sensual adoration.