Letter to a Lonesome Cowboy

by Jackie Merritt

  Mack frowned. Was she on the verge of tears? Heck, he hadn’t gone to so much trouble to make his sister cry.

  “I thought you’d be thrilled,” he mumbled, lowering himself to the chair he’d used most of the day.

  “Well, I’m not,” Suzanne retorted.

  “Aren’t you gonna read Rand’s letter?”

  “Rand? That’s his name? Mack, do you realize that you might have put us in contact with…with some kind of pervert?”

  “I don’t think he’s a pervert,” Mack said with a laugh. His expression sobered. “Read his letter, sis. He’s foreman of a big cattle ranch in Montana. He’s somebody!”

  “Well, do you think a pervert or a criminal would admit it in a letter? Use your head, Mack. Men don’t advertise for wives these days. Not men with anything going for them, for heaven’s sake.”

  Mack frowned down at the letter in his hand. After a minute he said, “Well, I believe every word Rand wrote. He even said he’d send you the money to get to Montana.”

  “So he could do what when I got there? Mack, this whole thing is absurd. Can’t you see that?”

  Mack was wearing his stubborn expression. “You don’t trust anybody.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it. But I certainly have no reason to trust a man I’ve never met.”

  “Well, how’re you gonna meet him if you won’t even read his letter?” Mack shouted.

  “Don’t yell at me, Mack. What you did is abhorrent, and I will not—let me repeat—I will not be a part of it.”

  Mack got up, tossed Rand’s letter on the sofa next to his sister and stormed out of the room. Suzanne sighed heavily as his bedroom door slammed shut. She knew Mack hated living in an apartment; she knew he hated his school and this section of Baltimore. Their parents had left a very small estate, and she could not afford any better life-style than what they already had. For that matter, without a job she couldn’t really even afford that, and if she didn’t find a job very soon, she and Mack were in for some very bumpy times.

  But he was still only a boy, and she knew he didn’t fully grasp what she was going through. He actually believed that marrying her off to some idiot in Montana was a solution to their problems. How very, very sad.

  Desultorily she picked up the envelope and looked at it. Maybe she should turn it over to the police. Wasn’t it illegal to cross state lines with letters of a dubious nature? Sighing again, she shook out the contents of the envelope onto her lap. The snapshot was the first thing she picked up. Her eyes widened in surprise as she studied the handsome man in the photo. Dark hair, blue eyes, it looked like, and rugged, manly features. Clean-cut, though—really a very attractive man.

  But dare she believe this was a genuine photo of the letter writer?

  Curious in spite of her misgivings, she unfolded the letter and read it. “Oh, my God,” she whispered when she came to the part about her being a beautiful woman. What photo had Mack sent him? She wasn’t a troll, by any means, but beautiful?

  In his room Mack was whispering into the telephone to Kip. “She won’t even read Rand’s letter. I’m going, Kip. With or without Suzanne, I’m going to Montana.”

  Suzanne did not sleep well anymore. Her daytime worries went to bed with her, and too many times she woke up in a sweat, struggling to pull herself out of some awful nightmare. Again tonight, breathing as though she’d just run a footrace, she sat up in bed and battled tears. What was she going to do? She had to find a job that paid enough to live on. So far all she’d run across were minimum-wage clerical positions, and she was an accountant, a good accountant.

  Her digital clock read 3:23 a.m. She needed more sleep, but the thought of another nightmare made her shudder. Getting out of bed, she pulled on a robe and slippers and left her room. Passing Mack’s room, she stopped at the door to listen. All was quiet and she continued on to the kitchen, where she switched on the ceiling light and put the teakettle on the stove to heat water for a cup of instant cocoa.

  When the cocoa was ready, she sat at the table, sipped the hot drink and worried. How much longer could she go on without a job? Not financially speaking. Financially she knew almost to the day how long that small savings account would last. But on an emotional scale, how much longer could she bear living like this? Mack was one problem after another. His latest prank was as ridiculous as it was dangerous, and he was too immature to realize it.

  Her lips pursed. She would not forget what Mack had done until she let Rand Harding know that she was appalled by the whole idea of advertising for a wife.

  Getting up, she went to the living room, took Harding’s—if that was really his name, she thought disdainfully—letter from the top of her small desk where she had tossed it last night, found a pad of paper and a pen and returned to the kitchen table. It didn’t take her long to write her thoughts.

  Mr. Harding,

  First of all, I did not answer your ad, my teenage brother did. Secondly, I don’t know whose photo he sent you, but it certainly wasn’t mine. Let me make myself very clear, Mr. Harding. I am not now nor ever could be interested in an advertisement such as yours. I find the entire idea of advertising for a wife repugnant and disgusting. As for your letter, I can only say that I have never read such drivel in my life. If you’re lonesome, it’s your own doing. I could not care less. Please do not contact me again, and don’t attempt to contact my foolish young brother, either. If you do I will turn this whole ridiculous matter over to the police. That is not a threat, Mr. Harding, it’s a promise.

  Suzanne Paxton

  Suzanne addressed an envelope, inserted her letter, put a stamp on it and left her apartment to walk to the mail drop at the end of the hall. The hallway was chilly and she hurried back to her warm kitchen to drink the rest of her cocoa.

  After swallowing the last of it, she rinsed the cup and left it in the sink. She had to try to get some more sleep tonight, because she had to rise early, wake Mack to get ready for school and then prepare herself for another day of job-hunting.

  Sighing heavily, she returned to her room and bed.

  Suzanne’s alarm clock awakened her at 6:00 a.m. Yawning, she got up, put on her robe, went into the bathroom, washed the sleep out of her eyes and brushed her teeth. On her way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, she rapped on Mack’s door. “Time to get up,” she called. No sound reached her ears. “Mack? Wake up.”

  Still no sound. No groans of protest or the blast of music from Mack’s radio, which he always turned on the minute he came to every morning.

  She tried again, this time knocking louder. “Mack?” Anger suddenly gripped her—Mack was so darned inconsiderate sometimes—and she turned the knob and pushed the door open. His bedding had not been disturbed, and Suzanne’s first thought was that he’d snuck out in the night and hadn’t bothered to come home again. Her lips pursed tightly. Didn’t she have enough on her mind without this?

  Honest to God, she thought, if she didn’t love Mack so much she would hate him. How dare he stay out all night? How dare he cause her unnecessary worry on top of what she already had to bear? Had he no understanding at all of their situation?

  She was about to yank his door closed when she noticed the vacant spot on his nightstand where his radio ordinarily sat. Her heart skipped a beat as her anger evolved into fear. That radio meant the world to Mack, and she couldn’t see him taking it to a friend’s house or hauling it around while he wandered the streets. Was anything else missing?

  A quick examination of his closet and bureau made Suzanne’s knees go weak. Mack’s favorite clothes were gone! She swayed, and grabbed the corner of the bureau for support. That was when she saw the piece of yellow paper taped to the mirror over the dresser. Letting go of the bureau she tore the paper loose. It was a message from Mack.

  Sis, I don’t want you getting all hot and bothered about this, but I went to Montana. Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. I’ll say hello to Rand Harding for you. Love, Mack.

 
; “Oh, no,” Suzanne moaned. In the next instant she was running for the kitchen and that letter from Rand Harding. What if Mack had taken it with him? Although she’d written Harding’s address only a few hours ago, she didn’t remember any part of it except for Montana. She only breathed again when she had it in her hands.

  When her bank opened its doors that morning, Suzanne was its first customer. She went to a teller and closed out her savings account. Her heart sank when she realized that Mack had helped himself to a good half of their money. Although the money belonged to both of them, the account was in Suzanne’s name. He must have forged her name on the withdrawal slip, she realized. He’d done it before. It would take every penny they had left now to find her brother and bring him home.

  But that was exactly what she was going to do.

  Three

  J. D. Cade was as good as Rand had predicted. The man was a natural, one of those people born to ranching. He seemed to love animals and could gentle the orneriest horse with a few soft words.

  Humans, now, were a different matter for J.D., Rand noted. It wasn’t that J.D. was unfriendly, he just wasn’t talkative. He eluded questions about himself, usually tactfully, but if tact failed he used other methods to ward off curiosity, such as he’d done with Dale at the supper table.

  It surprised Rand that Dale hadn’t been put off by J.D.’s challenging snub that evening. To the contrary, the younger man seemed to follow J.D. like a shadow. Rand couldn’t figure out what was going on in Dale’s head, but the arrival of J. D. Cade had definitely changed Dale’s disposition from sunny to brooding. And anytime Rand spotted J.D. on a horse, he knew Dale wouldn’t be far behind.

  But Rand couldn’t concern himself with the relationships of every cowboy he hired. There was too much variance in personalities for all of them to be friends, and he’d learned long ago to stay out of disagreements that didn’t involve the ranch. Rand was certain that if and when J.D. got tired of Dale shadowing his every move, he would handle it.

  Frankly, Rand wished he had a dozen men like J. D. Cade in his crew. But he knew that men of J.D.’s ilk might stay on a job for years or take the notion to leave after a week. J.D. himself had said he didn’t know how long he’d hang around when he’d taken the job, and in Rand’s opinion it was the God’s truth: J.D. simply didn’t know.

  Rand’s habit was to discuss chores for the day at the breakfast table. Most of the time he broke up his crew, sending three or four men to do one thing, three or four to do another, and so on. The experienced men knew what had to be done each day almost as well as Rand did, but the greener hands always waited for their daily instructions.

  This morning Rand announced that the whole crew would be working together. “I want the trees and brush scoured on Granite Mountain for stray cows and calves. We’re going to start branding the new crop in about a week, and I’ve seen some Kincaid cattle on the mountain with my own eyes. Bring them in.”

  When breakfast was over, the men left and Rand headed for the office. His own chore for the day was one for which he had little affection: paperwork. He plopped down behind the second desk in the room, upon which George had already placed a stack of unpaid invoices. They would remain unpaid until Rand initialed them, signifying approval. Rand sighed, considering the boring day’s work ahead. He wondered if the mail would bring another letter from Suzanne. That event would surely brighten his day.

  A few minutes later George wandered in with a mug of coffee and sat at his own desk. The older man chuckled under his breath at the frown of concentration on Rand’s face. George liked paperwork and accounting. He always felt a little thrill of satisfaction when his books balanced on the first try. He was an old-school bookkeeper—everything was done by hand. No computers for him, no sirree.

  Rand worked with a red pencil, writing notes on the invoices, muttering in undertones, looking as though he was in great pain. George lit his pipe, puffed on it a couple of times and chuckled again. Rand was a man of the outdoors, and the four or five days a month he spent in the office were obviously agonizing for him. But ranching was a business like any other, and it required paperwork.

  Rand looked up suddenly. “George, this invoice is for two cases of dynamite. I only ordered one.” His frown went deeper. “And we only received and used one.” They’d been blowing granite boulders out of a pasture a few weeks back, and had used the entire case of dynamite.

  George got up and went over to Rand’s desk. “Let me see that invoice.” He studied it for a moment, then went back to his own desk and dialed the company’s phone number.

  Rand overheard him checking on the invoice. George finished the phone call and turned to Rand, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “The records show that there were two calls, Rand, each for one case. Two were delivered. One for the ninth and the other for the tenth. The bookkeeper over there says both receipts were signed by Rand Harding.”

  “I signed for one case, and only one,” Rand insisted. “Call them back, George, and ask for a copy of those delivery receipts. Do you realize what damage someone could do to this ranch with a case of dynamite?”

  “Damned right I do,” George said, dialing the phone number again.

  Rand sat back, angry and frustrated. Now someone was forging his name? As frustrating as that knowledge was, however, it proved that the person responsible for all the dirty tricks on the ranch was living on it.

  Once again Rand mentally ran through the faces and names of his men. Damn, he couldn’t believe any of them were so devious. It was a darned good thing he went over the bills before George paid them, or they might not have caught this blatant deception.

  Well, the dynamite might be hidden somewhere on the place, but where? Rand shook his head, feeling almost dazed. He wouldn’t even know where to start looking for it. And when would the creep use it? On which part of the ranch? The buildings? The bunkhouse? God, if someone blew up the bunkhouse in the middle of some dark night, a dozen people would die. This was a hell of a lot more serious than a mutilated heifer.

  Rand reached for his phone. “I’m going to call Sterling and Wendell about this. They should know what’s going on.”

  He was told that Sterling was out of town, but Wendell’s secretary put him through at once.

  “Rand,” Wendell exclaimed, sounding genuinely glad to hear from him. “How are you? How’s everything at the ranch?”

  “We’ve got a problem, Wendell, a major problem.” Rand explained about the case of unauthorized dynamite, expecting Wendell to explode himself.

  But the attorney only said calmly, “It appears as though we have a thief on our hands.”

  “A thief! Hell’s bells, Wendell, I’m not concerned about a damned thief!”

  “Well, surely you’re not thinking that someone’s going to blow up the place?”

  The snicker in Wendell’s voice made Rand’s spine get ramrod stiff. Since when was a case of dynamite in the wrong hands a laughing matter?

  Rand’s voice turned cold as ice. “Sorry I bothered you, Wendell. I thought you’d want to know. Goodbye.”

  “Rand, hold on a minute! I’m sorry I didn’t react as you thought I should. It’s just that the idea of anyone blowing up an entire ranch is a bit preposterous. Things like that don’t happen around Whitehorn.”

  “Wendell, from what I’ve heard about this area, anything’s possible. I’m going to call Reed Austin. You might not think a case of dynamite in some fool’s hands is serious business, but I do. Goodbye.”

  Rand slammed down the phone, dialed the sheriff’s office and asked for Reed Austin.

  “Reed, I need some advice,” Rand greeted him. Again Rand explained about that second case of dynamite. “I think it’s still on the ranch. Got any ideas?”

  “This is getting serious, Rand.”

  “Yes, it is,” Rand agreed.

  Reed suggested a night watch and thought Rand could trust the new men who’d recently been hired.

  “They couldn
’t possibly be responsible for things that happened two and three months ago,” Reed stated. “Use them.”

  Rand took a relieved breath. “You’re right.”

  “And do a little looking around. This guy is clever, but maybe he’s a little too clever. Could be he stored that case of dynamite in plain sight. You know, Rand, sometimes criminals outsmart themselves. He’s gotten away with so much already, he might be feeling a little cocky. Have you talked to Sterling about this? I’m sure he’d want to know.”

  “Sterling’s out of town for a few days.”

  “Well, stay in touch,” Reed said. “And if you want me to come out there, just let me know.”

  “Will do, Reed. Thanks.”

  As Rand put the phone down he happened to glance out one of the office windows. A young boy with a backpack was wandering around the compound. He motioned for George to take a look out the window. George looked back at Rand and shrugged; he didn’t know the boy, either.

  Rand frowned when the boy started hiking toward the big house. He jumped up, grabbed his jacket and hat and hurried out of the office and bunkhouse.

  “Hey, kid,” he yelled while heading for the big house and that strange boy.

  The boy turned, hesitated a moment, then started walking toward Rand. Rand watched a large, goofy grin develop on the boy’s face as he got closer.

  “Hi, Rand,” he said.

  “Do I know you?”

  “Nope, but I know you. You’re Rand Harding, foreman of this ranch. I’m Mack Paxton. Suzanne’s my sister.”

  Rand gaped at the boy. It took a minute, but he finally got his bearings. “Is Suzanne with you? How’d you get out here? I don’t see a car anywhere.”

  “I hitched rides clear from the airport in Billings.”

  Rand frowned and cleared his throat. “Suzanne hitched rides?”

  “She didn’t come. She’s still in Baltimore.”

  “Is she coming?”

  Mack knew the jig was up. Rand Harding looked like his picture. He was a cowboy through and through, which thrilled Mack no end. But from the expression on this cowboy’s face, Mack knew that he had the same weird ideas about what kids should and shouldn’t do that Suzanne had. He decided he had no choice but to lie.