Trey nodded, relieved that so far Feth’s story was following what Fernando had told him.
“Terrible that Daisy lost her pa on her birthday,” Feth said. “Heard that she took it mighty hard.”
“Barton and Daisy were close,” Trey said, and Feth nodded.
Now Trey understood why she had insisted that her mare be tied to her buggy on the journey up here instead of being driven with the remuda. She wasn’t just being a spoilt princess.
She prized the horse that her pa had likely picked out for her and who Galen Patrick had trained because that mare was the last gift from her pa.
“Damned fine horse,” he said in honest appreciation. “Had Barton been ailing?”
“Don’t know about that,” Feth said. “Galen told us that the boss got into a helluva argument with Ned right before Barton gave Daisy her mare.”
His gaze locked on the old man’s. “Any idea why?”
“Nope,” Feth said, breaking eye contact. Trey knew he was lying but didn’t call him on it. He wanted to talk to Galen first. “One of the hands rode up the next morning to tell us Barton was dead.”
Trey scrubbed his knuckles along his jaw, thinking. All the time he’d worked at the JDB, he’d never heard Barton and Ned exchange a cross word. To think that they’d had a fight shortly before Barton’s stroke raked spurs over his curiosity.
Had the boss gotten so angry with his foreman that he’d brought on his own death? And what the hell had they fought about? The way Ned was managing the ranch? The disappearance of a couple of hundred beeves?
Whatever it was, it’d worked Barton into an apoplectic fit.
Wasn’t that just in Ned’s favor that Daisy was ailing at the same time. The foreman couldn’t have planned it better.
Or had he?
What else had Ned done on his own?
Memories of being waylaid thundered back into Trey’s mind. Of the rope biting into his flesh before he’d seen Ned’s horse take off at a gallop, kicking up dust and rocks that dug into him. Of the pain being so intense that he’d finally fallen into the black hole that promised reprieve. Of waking up deep into the night out on the mesa, bleeding and broken and hurting so bad he wanted to die.
Before he’d lost consciousness, Ned had told him straight up he was meting out the boss’s punishment for trifling with Daisy. God knew Barton was a protective sonofabitch where his daughter was concerned. But did he order Trey nearly dragged to death?
Trey was second-guessing that now. If Barton had wanted him gone for good, then why keep that tally in the ledger of how much Barton owed Trey? Why not mark that page paid in full or just rip it out as he had other debts? Why hold it open as if he expected Trey to return for his due?
Several of the hands had been surprised he’d shown up again after hightailing it. Daisy believed he’d just up and left the outfit. Could Barton have been unaware of the near deadly beating Ned had given him?
Trey bracketed his hands on his hips and welcomed the anger rolling through him. He’d believed what Ned had told him. Believed Barton wanted him dead.
But it was just as likely that Ned had found out he’d been romancing Daisy and took it upon himself to get rid of Trey. It was mighty clear everything had changed drastically on the JDB in the six months he had been gone.
When Barton died, Ned had just slipped in and taken over without anyone making a fuss. He sold off cattle, and Daisy let him do what he wanted.
Trey had been so sure she’d be married to Kurt Leonard now. Then he’d have stepped in to take over when Barton died.
But that hadn’t happened.
He could guess why she hadn’t married, but that’s all it’d be. A guess.
There was just too much unknown to speculate on with any certainty. One thing was clear. Daisy was in way over her head, and it was up to him now to keep the ranch and her from going under.
He huffed out a resigned sigh as his agreement with her settled over him. Yep, he had his work cut out for him just teaching her the ropes of ranching.
And he wasn’t convinced Ned was history.
Trey had best watch his back. The next time Ned might get lucky and kill him.
By mid morning Trey had taken stock of the remaining animals and the availability of supplies on the Circle 46. He credited Hollis with seeing that the storehouse remained stocked and Galen Patrick for keeping a vigilante eye on the horses.
The sixteen horses that Trey had herded up here from San Angelo last year were in their prime now. Reid would be pea-green with envy over these steeds, and that’d been on his mind when he’d won the four blooded horses.
Barton had a good eye for quality horseflesh too, and the thoroughbreds he’d bought at auction were coming into their own now.
The mare Barton had given Daisy for her birthday wasn’t a fluke in the herd. If they continued with the breeding program Galen had lined out, Barton’s dream here would sustain Daisy for years to come, as well as elevate the Barton name among Texas horse breeders. But it’d take longer than Trey had to teach her the ins and outs of raising thoroughbreds.
“We’ve had interest in the horses already,” Galen said, as they stood at the pasture that confined the blooded stock.
Trey could well imagine. “Wonder why Ned didn’t sell?”
Galen fell silent, but the sudden tension tightening his shoulders alerted Trey that he’d hit a nerve. “Wasn’t his decision to make.”
“That didn’t stop Ned from cutting down the cattle herd on the JDB.” Trey studied one of the stallions who stood out from the others, a big chestnut with impressive lines and alertness that he could appreciate. “I can’t see him turning a blind eye on these horses, especially if he’d had offers.”
Galen was clearly as nervous as a deer who’d just caught scent of a cougar. “Did Miss Barton give you the power to buy and sell without her consent?”
“Nope,” he said, and it didn’t bother him to be little more than a figurehead. “We worked a mutual agreement to see us both over a hump, nothing more.”
The wrangler kicked at a clod of dirt, then gave a reluctant nod. “Ned never saw these horses.”
Trey dipped his chin and let that news sink in. It was good to hear he wasn’t the only one leery of Ned.
“How’d you manage that?” he asked, curious how straight the wrangler would be with him.
“That day I delivered that mare to Barton at the JDB, he took me aside and gave me orders I was to follow no matter what,” Galen said. “When I got back here, I fired the three cowboys who were buddies of Ned’s on the excuse that the herd was being sold off and they wouldn’t be needed.”
“But that wasn’t the case at all,” Trey said.
Galen shook his head. “Barton wanted Ned to believe he’d grown tired of raising thoroughbreds and was just going to keep a few mustangs here.”
Trey’s nerves twanged at that news. So Barton hadn’t trusted Ned.
“Why the hell didn’t Barton just up and fire him?” he asked, not expecting an answer.
“Don’t know, but I had the feeling that Ned was holding something over the boss,” Galen said.
Blackmail? What the hell had Barton done that he was desperate to keep secret?
“About these buyers,” Trey began. “Was Barton aiming to deal with any of them?”
“Nope. Told me at the JDB that he’d said all he had to say to the gentleman from Kentucky when he’d outbid him in San Angelo.”
Trey hadn’t been aware of that. But then he’d been busy claiming his own horses.
“You remember the man’s name?”
“Charlton. Owns land and thoroughbreds in Kentucky and Wyoming. Wanted to add these to his stock.”
The name meant nothing to Trey, but then he’d never gotten involved in the horse world. That was Reid’s dream.
Trey knew the value of a good horse and hoped to get into prime stock one day too. But at this point in his life, a saddle-broke mustang was more valuable than a fancy th
oroughbred.
Kirby had raised him to be a cattleman. He understood beeves and enjoyed working with them, and he believed these white-faced Herefords he’d taken as back pay from Daisy would be the start of his own ranching dynasty.
Coupled with those thoroughbreds Barton had kept for him, he’d at last be equal to Reid when he claimed his share of the Crown Seven.
But with that dream gone, he had to figure out how to acquire land and keep his livestock. He let his gaze trail over the rolling pasture.
Maybe when the drought broke and Daisy returned to the JDB with her cattle, he could work a deal with her to let him stay on here. There was enough land for him to run his stock with hers.
If she even kept the thoroughbreds.
There was nothing saying she had an interest in them. As cash poor as she seemed to be now, she’d likely sell them in order to hold on to the JDB.
Yep, she might be willing to work a deal with Trey so he could buy this spread. He could stay on as foreman here for shorter wages, maybe sell off enough of his cattle to let him make a down payment on the land.
He wouldn’t have to deal with her on a day-to-day basis as he did now. He’d finally own something of his own.
“Barton mention who else was interested in them?” Trey said.
Galen shook his head. “Nope, just said another man had his eye on the horses.”
Ned would’ve likely known. If Barton hadn’t convinced him that the horses were history, he’d have sold them already.
Galen scuffed a boot in the dirt again, clearly restless. “Miss Barton say what she aims to do with the stock?”
Trey snorted. “Don’t think she rightly knows what to do. Barton kept her apart from the ranch, and Ned ran roughshod over the JDB.”
The wrangler thumbed his hat back and fixed Trey with a steely look. “It’s got to be mighty hard on her right now.”
“Yep. Barton didn’t do her any favor by keeping her ignorant of how things were run.”
“Well, from my experience, ladies in her position usually marry a man who knows ranching inside and out, or they sell out completely and head on into town.”
Just what Trey thought. “She claims she wants to learn the business from the ground up.”
Teach me, she’d asked him.
Just as she’d asked him to teach her how to kiss. How to make love. How to please a man and tell him what pleased her.
“Reckon that’ll keep you mighty busy then,” Galen said.
“No doubt you’re right.”
It wouldn’t be easy for her to start from scratch and learn the business. Wouldn’t be easy for him to be near her and explain the workings of a ranch.
But he couldn’t walk away. Not now.
Maybe being around a close working ranch would make it easier for her to understand. This old ranch had been the start of a dynasty before. There was nothing here to distract her. Nothing soft. Nothing done for her, even in the antiquated house.
Survival of the fittest.
Yet Daisy had already surprised him by making the journey here without complaint. She had grit—he’d give her that.
But did she have the drive her daddy had to rebuild the JDB? Time would surely tell.
Trey pushed away from the fence, casting a quick glance back at the house. “Guess I’d best see when the lady wants to start. I’ll be at the house if you need me.”
As he strode back that way, he saw in a new light just how neglected this place looked. It wasn’t rundown by any means. Repairs had been made when needed—the fairly new sheets of tin on the roof proved that.
But there were patches in the yard that were overgrown—places that might’ve once held flowers. The whitewash on the house had dulled to the point that the whole thing blended in with the terrain.
Instead of fancy curtains at the windows, the men had used flour sacks, and they were in poor shape. Unlike the shiny glass panes at the JDB, these windows appeared to be covered with years worth of grime.
She’d always had someone else doing for her. How the hell was she going to survive on her own?
Galen was right. She’d likely marry a man who’d take the whole damned thing over.
Trey tried to ignore the spurt of jealousy that erupted in him at the thought. His romancing with Daisy was in the past. He’d not make the same mistake.
Nope, if he managed to work a deal with Daisy for the ranch, so be it. She’d still own the JDB with its fancy house and fancy outbuildings. She’d end up miles from him, which was for the best.
He stepped into the kitchen and helped himself to another cup of coffee. It was strong enough now to damned near stand on its own, but he needed the jolt to face an afternoon with her.
Trey stepped into the parlor and frowned. No Daisy. Damn, was she upstairs?
“Daisy?”
Just the sigh of the wind around the eaves answered him.
He swore under his breath and mounted the steps. Her bedroom door was open a crack, but he couldn’t see anything. Didn’t hear anything either, though that would’ve been hard over the sudden hammering of his heart.
The last place he wanted to find her was near a bed. Yet here he was at her bedroom door.
“Daisy?” he said, louder than before.
Still no reply. Was she sleeping?
He knocked on the door. When she still didn’t answer, he shoved it open and stepped inside. The bed was made. No sign of her here.
Where the hell was she?
He crossed to the window and looked out, his heart hammering from a far different emotion now. She should know better than to wander off without letting him or one of the men know.
His gaze swept over the land for a sign of her. He was about to give up when he saw a flash of white climbing the knoll. What was she doing way out there?
Trey retraced his steps in a matter of seconds. He left his untouched coffee on the table and strode outside, his long legs eating up the distance. But it seemed to take forever before he climbed the same rocky knoll.
He swallowed the ass-chewing he’d been mulling over and stared at her standing alone in a small, fenced cemetery plot that he hadn’t known was even here.
The smart thing would’ve been to leave her in peace, but he couldn’t walk away. Still he kept his thoughts to himself and just let his shadow fall over her, let her be the one to speak first if she wanted.
“This is Daddy’s first wife,” she said at last, her voice nearly lost in the wind. “He never talked about her or my half brother.”
“Who told you about them?” he asked.
“Hollis Feth mentioned them yesterday. He told me that Daddy lost them both to a fever.” She ran a slender finger over the carved stone. “I can barely read the inscription, but I know her name was Corinne.”
He stepped closer and peered at the lichen-covered gravestone. Far as he could tell she was right about the name. He barely made out Beloved Wife below it.
Farther down was another name, the carvings far too small and nearly impossible to read from any distance. “What was his name?”
“I’m not sure. It starts with a D, but the rest of it’s so worn down I can’t make it out.”
Trey didn’t comment. In the year he’d worked for Barton, he’d never heard him mention his first family. But he was a bit surprised the man hadn’t named a son after himself.
“A,” she said, excitement in her voice now. “D. A. But the rest wasn’t carved as deeply.”
“Moss filled it in,” he said, and fished in his pocket for the pearl-handled knife that Kirby had given him, one of the few possessions he cherished, for it tied him to the man who was the closest thing Trey had ever had to a father.
She sat back on her haunches and lifted her face to the sun, eyes closed and expression intent. “D. A. D. A. Da—Dade ! That’s it.”
“I’ll be. That’s my foster brother’s name too.”
He crouched beside the stone and began chipping the lichen from the carving. Hard to say
what unnerved him most. Daisy’s nearness or the fact he felt her gaze on him.
“What happened to him?” she asked.
He swore to himself. This was why he never mentioned his past. Folks always wanted to know more, and he wasn’t one to share the few good things that he guarded, any more than he shared the pain.
“Don’t know. We drifted apart.”
But there were many times he thought of his foster brothers and wondered if he ever crossed their minds. If Dade had made the deadline to buy back his shares of the Crown Seven. If Reid had gotten his comeuppance.
The faintest outline of the carving was visible now. “D A V.” He ran the blade down the next letter. “I.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, leaning over his shoulder now and tempting him with her sweet scent and velvet-soft voice.
“Positive. Last letter appears to be an s. Davis Barton.”
Her sigh vibrated with disappointment. “I was so sure it was Dade. It felt right. It still does. How can that be?”
Trey hadn’t a clue, but it was damned spooky that she’d plucked that name out of the air, because his foster brother Dade had a blood sister name of Daisy. Had he mentioned it before when they’d laid tangled in the loft in each other’s arms? Had the name simply stuck in her head?
That had to be it. He turned to tell her as much, and his breath caught in his throat.
In less than a blink he had recognized an expression he’d seen countless times on Dade when he’d gotten lost in memories and worry over his blood sister.
She shook her head, and her confused gaze met his. Any resemblance vanished. Yep, it had to be a trick of the light.
“I wonder where I heard the name Dade?” she asked, though he suspected she’d aimed the question at herself.
“Reckon I told you about my foster brother Dade and his sister Daisy,” he said.
She nodded and turned her attention back to the tombstone. “Yes, of course. That must be it.”
Trey stood and fought the urge to pull her into his arms. She’d never looked so lost. So alone.
Feelings he knew well.
But he wasn’t about to dally with her again.
Cowboy Come Home Page 8
