by Lola Rebel
"I'm sorry," he offered, not sure what had happened. He only knew that she was upset, and though he couldn't say what he'd done, he knew it was his fault.
Glen waited a long time, his hand resting there on her knee, her face buried in her hands, hoping that he could give her some kind of comfort, but he knew that he wasn't going to help much.
Just as he started praying for something to happen, something that would help him understand what to do next, he heard a door hinge creaking open.
"Mama?" Ada stood in the door, rubbing bleary eyes. "I'm thirsty."
Catherine's reaction was immediate, and Glen stood up and stepped back. It seemed like she'd flipped a switch in her head, and now she was a completely different person. She was a mother, now, not just a woman, and she couldn't let her daughter worry.
"One second, sweetheart." She poured a cup from a clay jug of water and went back to the little girl. Glen recognized that whatever he did, he had nothing else to add to the situation. She needed to be alone, and he'd let her have her privacy.
He stood up and walked out. If he was upsetting her, then he shouldn't remind her that he was there by saying good night.
Ada was sitting in her lap again, but Catherine could tell her daughter was about ready to fall asleep sitting up. She was defiantly forcing herself to stay awake to finish the cup of water. When Ada finally slumped her head against her mother, Catherine took her back to the bedroom and laid her down. Started unbuttoning the dress she'd worn.
The action just made her remember what a fool she must've made of herself. How badly he must have thought of her now. Well, it didn't much matter what he thought of her. Not really. She did what she had to do, and that was how it would be.
She looked at the luggage she'd halfway packed a few days before. Thought about the church dress she had sitting at the very bottom of the pile. She wanted to pray, wanted the comfort that it would bring. But she wasn't going to.
She didn't deserve it. She'd let Billy stop her going, and even after he left, she hadn't picked the habit back up. She didn't deserve to have the rewards if she wasn't doing what she knew she should have been doing.
She laid her head back and tried to understand what was wrong with her. What had she been thinking? He'd been sitting there, as professional as could be, and she had just assumed that he—her face burned again.
She had never taken to drinking. Her father had always warned her against it, and being a preacher's daughter, she wasn't exactly keen on the stuff in the first place. After all, it was what caused so many of the problems in this world. That's what she'd always been taught.
But Lord, she wanted a drink now. Something to make her feel better. If Billy had still been there, she would have been able to take his whiskey. But she'd cleared the stuff out after he left.
She wanted to go to church, and she wanted to pray.
But why on earth would God listen to a harlot like her?
Nine
Glen wanted another cup of that coffee, but he couldn't bring himself to go back into the house. Not after what had happened the night before. He'd be humiliating himself, and more than that, he'd be humiliating Catherine. So he decided it would be wiser not to go in this morning, and certainly not ask for a cup of her delicious coffee.
Instead, he was taking a headcount. Of everything. He moved hers first. It would be easier to separate his part of the herd than hers, he figured. So he'd cornered the little steer calves and then got the big herd moving out of the pen.
Keeping a count was harder. They moved fast, and there were enough that he was having trouble keeping it accurate. He thought he counted nine-hundred ninety, but he wasn't certain. Not absolutely certain. He could have missed ten, easy.
Then he moved his own on out. Counted. Fifty even. They'd taken three in one damn night. Herding them back inside, he wanted the coffee even more, because whatever he was going to do about it, it was going to be a long night.
He put his hand on his pistol instinctively and tried to count the steers on the way back in. Nine-hundred and ninety-three this time, but his count of the calves had been accurate far as he could tell. He growled out his disapproval. Who on earth would steal calves?
Couldn't take them to market. You'd barely get what he'd paid for them. Nobody would buy them as fresh stock. He didn't have a lot of confidence in what he was doing on the ranch, yet. But he knew enough to know, you didn't buy a cow with someone else's brand on it. Not if you were legitimate, at least.
Selling the beef would be easier, but it still left the problem that it couldn't be worth the risk. He considered that they might have wandered off in the night. That was certainly possible—before he had left to range them. When he'd come back, the gaps in the fence had been closed, and the boys were nowhere to be seen.
Glen knew more about horses than he did about cattle, but he was pretty certain that they didn't jump fences too good. Which meant they'd busted the fence again, or someone had opened the latch on the paddock and guided the calves out.
It was a quick job to ride the line of the fence. The boys had done good work. If he saw them again, which he doubted, then he would have to let them know that he approved. The implication wasn't hard to pick up on, though. Glen frowned and started heading toward the house. Making damn sure to close the latch as secure as it would go. He wouldn't let the steers just wander off because of his own foolishness.
If this was serious, then he would need to take it seriously. He didn't want to, but he hadn't been given a choice. He was here, now, and that was how it was going to be. Like it or not.
Catherine heard Glen come in. Then she pretended not to, because she didn't want to think about him. She certainly didn't want to think about what she'd been doing the night before. She had been thankful when he didn't come for the house that morning, but now here he was, after all.
"You were right," he growled. "There's ten missing, by my count."
She let out a long breath. Ten head gone, that was near five hundred dollars by itself. It wasn't a loss that she liked, but she could handle it. It could have been worse, but there was time enough for things to keep getting worse.
"Okay," she answered, still looking out at the cattle, grazing the already-short grass inside the paddock. "What's your point?"
"Three of them mine, from last night."
She nodded her understanding. She couldn't muster a whole lot of sympathy, but she knew what it felt like to lose part of her stake. Especially when it was already small.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I'm fixin' to go into town and talk to the Sheriff."
"It won't do you much good," she answered.
There had been a time when she'd thought that was the right answer, too. She'd been a woman, alone out there save for her children and the steers, and some strange men had been around, stealing from her. She was right to be afraid.
But the Sheriff hadn't even come out to look into it. Hadn't sent a deputy around. After a month, she'd decided a better investment would be to buy herself a repeating rifle and keep it in the bedroom. If things went real wrong, she'd at least be able to defend herself. The money mattered, but she wasn't going to let things get out of focus.
"What do you suggest, then?"
She sighed and finally turned. She hoped he couldn't see where she'd been crying last night. She hadn't been able to avoid seeing it in her eyes when she finally woke up this morning. But then, she'd never been kind to herself in regard to her looks. Perhaps she was overestimating it.
Then again, maybe she wasn't.
She thought the answer that she knew he wouldn't want to hear. Get used to it, because there's not much to be done. Then she looked at the way he wore that gun on his hip, like it was made to be there, and she thought, not much, but there is something.
"I don't know," she answered instead.
"You know anything about who's behind it?"
"I don't."
"Then I guess I'll have to have the Sheriff
look into it. You might think he won't look into it, but I can't go taking the law into my own hands, can I?"
She supposed he couldn't. But as she watched him walk back out the door, she didn't like the feeling she was getting that it didn't much matter whether or not he went. It would just be one more log on the fire, and if the Sheriff had been ignoring it all these years, it could only mean one thing.
The only reason he wasn't finding those men was because he wasn't looking for them.
She didn't like what that meant for Glen's chances, and she didn't like what it meant for his safety if he tried to push the matter.
Ten
Glen Riley mopped the sweat away from his forehead for the third time since he had left the ranch. It was only an hour's ride, and he could have taken it in less time if he wanted to push the horse.
Scouting had taught him to take his time, and gambling had only reinforced the habit, so he let the horse off easy. No rush, no hurry, and no reason to panic. The Sheriff's office would still be there if he took an extra fifteen minutes. After all, he didn't need to spook anyone.
Catherine hadn't struck him as a foolish woman, but she also seemed like the sort of no-nonsense person who sometimes jumps to conclusions in their hurry to get to the point. More than likely, she had just gotten the wrong impression from the Sheriff, and she'd left before he had a chance to follow up. After all, he reasoned, as he pushed the door to the Sheriff's Office open, who would elect a Sheriff who didn't do his job?
Catherine's hands were already hurting from the dishes. She closed her eyes and tried to force her hands to loosen up. She didn't need to be rubbing so hard, but the reality was that he was getting to her, and as much as Catherine didn't like it one damn bit, she couldn't deny it.
He'd find out soon enough what it was like, but what made it that much worse was knowing, herself, what she'd gone through since he had shown up. Barely a moment's rest. When she closed her eyes, all she could see were the chisel-cut lines of his face and the strong arms, the toned body that looked like he hadn't gone a single day without using every part of his body.
Grant would learn in his own time how little going to see Sheriff Barnes would do him. That much was sure. But he couldn't know what she was thinking about while he was doing it. She'd be humiliated, and what's more, what little reputation she had after Billy was done with her would be ruined.
She could deal with the looks of consternation, with the heavy atmosphere in town. She'd dealt with it since not long after they moved into town, and she would have to keep on dealing with it.
She set the dish aside, polished to a bright shine from rubbing it twice as long as it needed. She forced herself to keep going, gritted her teeth and focused on what she was doing. She needed a distraction, and by God she was going to have it—whether her thoughts wanted to play along or not.
The house would be spic and span by the time he got back, and if that didn't put the sin that had consumed her thoughts out of her head… well, she'd figure that out if it came to that. She hoped it wouldn't.
Glen tapped his fingers on the Sheriff's desk in frustration, but he wasn't going to cause a fuss. After all, he had a crime to report. But a man who needed to eat, needed to eat. So Glen waited for him. After all, he reminded himself: the man was the duly-appointed Sheriff of Carbon County.
He didn't look like much, but Glen had met plenty of incompetent men, folks who barely knew how to wipe their ass without help, and he didn't seem like that. He was fit and trim, but no more than most. When Glen had walked in, he'd taken a hard look at the gun hanging at his hip before deciding not to discuss it.
Glen, in turn, had loosened the belt as he came in and let it lie on the ground beside him. Only polite, he supposed, and if he needed it—he wouldn't—then it was still within fairly easy reach. Just not right at hand. If it helped the man to be at ease, well, Glen was about to ask him a favor so he certainly wasn't going to press it.
He watched the man pour a cup of coffee from a pitcher, noted that the Sheriff didn't offer him any, and then leaned back as the Sheriff walked over, sliding sideways into his seat.
"Mister Riley. Nice to meet you. New in the area?"
"Bill Howell sold me his ranch, and I came to start working on getting myself settled."
"Excellent!" Glen could see how the man had gotten where he was. He was a likable sort of man, and gave off an air of being genuine. The truth was that the man could care less what his story was, Glen decided. He might have not even known Bill, which was a little odd but nothing too out of the ordinary.
A Sheriff in a county this large, there must be five or ten thousand people living in his area. The folks in the city, sure. But outside that, maybe he didn't know much. Just vaguely-remembered faces, and a knack for looking unsurprised.
"Thank you, sir, it's a mighty fine county you've got."
Sheriff Barnes gave a wide, toothy grin. "We aim to keep it that way, sir. Now, what can I do for you?"
"Well," Glen began, licking the salty sweat away from his lips, "I didn't bring too big a herd, but I couldn't help noticing a few missing here and there."
"I'm sure they just ran off," the Sheriff offered. "Have a look 'round, and you'll be sure to find them."
"That's what concerns me, Sheriff. I don't think that's the case. In fact, I know it not to be. The fence is in fine condition, and I had a full herd last night. Yet, today, I'm three short."
The Sheriff leaned back in his chair, scratching his blonde hair. "Well, that's a funny story, I'll admit. Do you have any idea who it might be?"
"Well, on account of I just got into town, I can't say I do, sir."
"Well, that's a shame." Barnes stood up and reached out a hand. "I hope your luck turns around. We'll try to look into it, but without much to go on, I don't think there's much hope of my deputies turnin' anything up. I'll be in touch. The Howell ranch, you said?"
"That's right. Thanks for your time, Sheriff."
"Please. Call me Jim," he said. The same toothy smile. Glen knew the type. He had to revise his opinion of Jim Barnes.
He might not know every rancher living out on the frontier, but he knew Bill Howell. Sheriff Barnes was a gambler if Glen had ever known one. He couldn't say for sure where the lies were, but he knew one thing as the absolute truth.
Glen shouldn't expect too much in terms of investigating. Whatever was going on, he knew, he wasn't going to like what he found, and Jim Barnes was going to be right at the middle of it.
Catherine watched out the window, scrubbing the glass to get it as clean as she could hope for. It was the last big job, and with Ada and the twins napping for who knew how much longer, she was in a hurry to get it done. But she was watching outside, as well.
Any minute, that cowboy was going to ride up, and she was going to have to go through the tangle of her feelings again. Part of her wanted to get away from it, to figure out a way to avoid thinking about it.
But another part of her, a big part, was waiting for the first glance she could get of the man riding over the hill. She rubbed the glass harder and tried not to think about it.
Eleven
Glen didn't need to hear Catherine say she told him that the trip would end up being useful. It wasn't helpful and he didn't much appreciate it, either. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to say it, and it didn't mean he didn't deserve it.
So instead he fought to keep his back straight as he started to close in on the ranch. After all, there was plenty to be worried about, with how things had gone, but there was plenty he could do about it.
After all, he was smart, and he was capable of keeping a close watch on the cattle. If he knew they were being stolen, it wouldn't be too hard to call on the only good skill the Army had ever taught him.
Tracking was useful in and of itself, but it was dispensable when you were out scouting ahead, alone or with only a partner for days at a time.
Now it would be useful again. Get a sense which way they headed, and then use
good old-fashioned investigation to figure out where they were being taken. Go to the places that people got rid of cows they didn't want any more, and see if anything had been sold lately.
Well, that sounded good, at least. It wasn't exactly lost on him that he didn't know where many of those places were. It was something he would need to have in the back of his mind when he was running a ranch, no doubt, and especially when it was still as small as his would be when this mess was all cleared up.
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.
