Cowboy Come Home

by Janette Kenny

  By the time he drew aside the barn, all of the hands were milling around the area between the bunkhouse and the corral. And smack dab in the middle of them was Daisy, her straw hat perched at a jaunty angle and her wide eyes trained on him.

  He felt that stare clear to his soul and something inside him shifted, softened against his will. Once again the hardest thing he had to do was tear his gaze away from her troubled one. But putting her from his mind was impossible.

  Trey swung off his horse and strode to the travois. “Miss Barton found this man up on the north end of the property on the other side of the fence. I found a watch on him that belonged to Sam Weber.” That dredged up grumblings among the men. “Take a look and see if you recognize anything.”

  The young hands from the JDB hung back, most turning an unnatural shade of green at the sight of the remains. The older hands ventured closer, each face showing a fair amount of revulsion.

  “Them’s Sam’s boots,” one of the men said. “Recollect the day he got them fancy tips put on them, but they’re sure gone now.”

  “That’s his belt buckle,” another man said, and the others nodded and grumbled a bit more.

  One of the JDB hands heaved, then clapped a hand over his mouth and took off running behind the barn. Wasn’t long before another young cowpoke followed, either in commiseration or struck with the same affliction.

  All of the other men looked shocked, clearly sick at what had happened to one of their own. All except Hollis Feth, who took a gander and didn’t blink.

  The older man’s poker face revealed nothing, but then Hollis had likely seen worse cases during the war. “Appears he took a beating. Dragged, maybe.”

  “Just what I thought,” Trey said. He suspected he’d found the man Ellsworth left behind. “Any idea who had it in for Weber?”

  Hollis worked his mouth, taking his time answering. “Seeing as he was the ramrod and didn’t hold with no tomfoolery, I reckon he acquired a good deal of enemies.”

  “Was Ned Durant one of them?”

  “They locked horns on several occasions,” he said. “The last was after Galen left the JDB on Daisy’s birthday. Durant made a trip up here a week later to tell us he’d be taking over.”

  “Did Durant want the thoroughbreds?” Trey asked.

  Hollis dipped his chin. “He accused Weber of stealing them.”

  Trey looked to Patrick, whose face was hard as bedrock. “He corner you too?”

  The wrangler nodded. “I told Weber what the boss wanted done. He told me to tell anyone who asked that the horses were gone by the time I came back from the JDB.”

  So Sam Weber set himself up for that fall. Saved Galen Patrick’s hide as well.

  “I want to know what this is all about,” Daisy said, looking from Galen Patrick to Hollis Feth before locking gazes with Trey.

  He read the impatience in her eyes and was glad she wanted to know. That she wasn’t just letting the men handle the ugly part of this business.

  “I suggest Hollis and Patrick join us at the house while the men see to Sam Weber’s burial,” Trey said. “The ranch have a plot for the hands?”

  “Up on the ridge, alongside the family plot. I’ll put on coffee,” Hollis said, and started toward the house with the wrangler following suit.

  Trey turned to the hands remaining. All were young, and more than a few were green about ranching. All looked like they’d rather do anything than bury a man.

  “I-I’ll see to him,” Ansel said, surely the youngest and scrawniest cowpoke Trey had ever seen.

  The boy from the JDB had made plenty of mistakes on the drive up here, but he had owned up to them. He didn’t back down.

  Trey nodded. “I’ll leave you in charge then.”

  That earned him a stiffening of bony shoulders. Might make a man out of the boy yet.

  He turned to Daisy. “After you, boss lady.”

  She spared the dead man one last look, then headed for the house. Trey heaved a sigh and fell into step beside her.

  “Am I right to guess that this all started after Mr. Patrick delivered my mare to Daddy?” she asked.

  “That’s the way it looks to me.”

  “Ned Durant again?”

  “Yep.” Trey grabbed her arm and stopped her, got her looking up at him again. “He’s dangerous, Daisy. Hard telling what he’ll take in his mind to do.”

  “I can see that now.”

  “You might think of moving ...”

  “No! I’m not going anywhere.” She jerked free of him and continued on to the house, her pace quick and her back painfully stiff.

  He scrubbed a hand over his chin and sighed. Damned stubborn woman.

  But he thought more of her for digging in her heels and staying than if she had hightailed it. Surprised him too.

  The curious and protected Daisy he’d known had changed. She had a backbone of steel and treated him with cool regard most of the time.

  That should have been enough to douse any desire for her. But it didn’t.

  As he trailed the inviting sway of her hips into the house, he admitted he liked and wanted her more than ever.

  Daisy eased onto the big chair at the head of the kitchen table and waited for the men to file in and take their places. Hollis Feth went straight to the old cast iron stove and proceeded to make coffee. Galen Patrick hesitated a good spell before straddling a kitchen chair, looking uneasy about being in the house.

  Trey had yet to walk through the door, which wasn’t surprising to her. That man danced to his own drumbeat and damned anyone who tried to change the tempo.

  Just keeping that in mind kept the fire on her annoyance with him burning steadily. She couldn’t believe he’d planned to leave her all along. That he’d come back with a demand for his due and a brutal story of being nearly killed.

  In the span of an hour she’d gone from being hopeful that she and Trey could work together to being outraged over his devil-may-care admission. She didn’t doubt Ned had tried to kill him. But it infuriated her that he insinuated that her daddy had ordered it done. That her daddy could torture a man to death without batting an eye.

  She’d been ready to sever her agreement with Trey then. Until Hollis Feth had all but confirmed that her daddy wasn’t the gentle giant that she remembered. That he had a brutal side as well. That he could mete out Western justice to those who crossed him.

  Hollis had been the first man she’d seen when she rode back to the ranch. When he asked her why she looked like she was hunting for bear, she told him. “I’m thoroughly disgusted with my foreman, who claims I’ve placed my daddy on a pedestal.”

  “Now what brought this on?” he’d asked.

  “I spotted a dead man half hidden behind an outcropping and Trey suspects the man was dragged to death,” she said, and right before her eyes Hollis changed from a laid-back ranch cook to a man who was as coiled and dangerous-looking as a rattler. “He insinuated that my daddy was capable of meting out such cruel punishment.”

  “Which you don’t believe for a minute,” Hollis said.

  “Daddy wouldn’t torture a man.”

  Hollis shook his head and stared at the far horizon, his smile disappearing faster than the taunting promise of rain. “War changes a man, Daisy. Hardens him. Brings out something deep inside him that can shame him. Scare him too in the deep of night when he’s lying beside a good woman who’s tried to gentle him.”

  A good bit of apprehension sank into her, for she’d never remembered her daddy being anything but gentle. Yet she’d known the men he employed feared him. That they walked the straight line he drew at the JDB. That none of them defied him.

  None except Trey March when he tempted fate to romance her. Could her daddy have found out sooner than she knew about her and Trey? Had he ordered her lover punished? Who in the world was she to believe?

  The scuff of boot heels at the doorway brought her gaze up to meet Trey’s. The air seemed to crackle around her, and she fought the urge to dr
aw back from his knowing stare. But he gave her no more than a passing glance before taking the chair at the opposite end of the table.

  And wasn’t that just what they were? Opposites whose lives had collided like two stars in the heavens, blazing with fire and energy before exploding apart.

  The fire should’ve died. It should’ve withered in her heart for good, burning away the longing and the dreams.

  Yet her body still remembered the passion. Still ached for his touch, even knowing now that given the chance he’d love her when it suited him then ride out of her life.

  She couldn’t deal with that now. Wouldn’t give in to the wanting.

  Her daddy owned two ranches that were different as night and day. His old life here seethed with memories of another family lost to him. A ranch rich with new thoroughbreds and old secrets.

  His vast West Texas spread bore his brand. The only home she remembered. The fancy house he’d built for her mama, where Daisy had found love and loss. Where she’d grown from a little girl to a woman.

  The JDB was Daisy’s home. Though her mama died here, she’d been brought back to the JDB. Daddy rested in peace beside her. Or did he?

  That ranch had dried up along with her dreams this spring. She couldn’t hide behind her daddy any longer. She couldn’t rely on strangers to take care of business for her.

  “If any of you know about any friction between my daddy and Ned Durant, I want to hear about it,” she said, determined to get the truth out on the table.

  Trey hiked a thumb at Patrick. “Tell her what happened when you took the mare to Barton.”

  The wrangler squirmed on the chair, but he maneuvered the matchstick he’d been worrying to the corner of his mouth and looked up at her. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she read a note of apology in his eyes.

  “It was the damnedest thing,” Galen Patrick began, his gnarled fingers curled around a tin cup and his head bent so she couldn’t see his eyes. “Soon as I got to the JDB, Ned saw that I got the mare settled then fetched Barton. Your daddy was mighty pleased with the finish I put on that mare.”

  “So am I,” she said, meaning it. “The mare is a joy to ride.”

  Patrick lifted his chin, and she read the sincerity in his eyes that were the color of worn leather. “First thing Ned wanted to know was how many more I had in that condition. Before I could give him an answer, Barton flat out told him that this mare was the last of the thoroughbreds.”

  “Daddy lied to him?”

  “He sure did, and then he gave me a look that told me to keep my trap shut.” He hunched his shoulders. Frowned. “Ned just fired questions at him about what the hell was he running up here. Barton told him mustangs and longhorns. That he’d tired of dealing with the blooded stock and sold the lot of them to the fellow he’d outbid at auction.”

  This was more confusing than before. “Why in the world would Daddy lie about the horses when Ned could’ve ridden up here any time and seen they were still here?”

  “Barton had that covered,” the wrangler said, and took a long drink of his coffee. “As soon as I got back to the Circle 46, I was to handpick the men to help me drive those thoroughbreds north, but instead of taking them to a buyer, we were to hide them in a box canyon. Even left a man up there to keep watch day and night.”

  It was just more proof that her daddy had lost trust in Ned Durant. In fact it sounded as if he feared Ned would rustle the horses.

  “Why didn’t Daddy just fire that man?” she asked, not expecting an answer.

  The chair creaked as Patrick leaned heavily on the back, flicking nervous glances at Hollis and Trey. Her stomach cramped, and her heart felt heavy. Troubled.

  “Tell me the rest,” she said, her voice more strident than she’d intended.

  Patrick sighed. “I think Barton just might’ve done that.”

  “You aren’t sure?”

  “I heard them talking low and heated but couldn’t make out what riled Barton so,” Patrick said. “It was after Ned stomped off that Barton told me to get back to the Circle 46 and hide the horses. That he was through with Ned. Didn’t say why. Didn’t tell me what he and Ned had been arguing about.”

  My God, had Daddy fired Ned Durant?

  She thought back to that day. A month had passed since her fall from the loft. She was still gripped with heartache over the loss of her baby, a crushing loss that was stronger than any shame she felt, worse than when she told her daddy the whole truth.

  That month cooped up in the house gave her time to grieve and heal enough to function. So when he gifted her with the mare, she allowed herself to be a fanciful young girl again, if only for an hour.

  She had ignored the prickle of unease that something bad troubled her daddy and the urge to ask what was wrong. He never would tell anyone. He’d never discussed the ranch business with her. Never.

  Besides it was her birthday. She’d done as her daddy suggested and taken a quick ride on her new mare, no more than going out a couple of miles and back.

  When she’d returned, Ned had met her at the barn, his face solemn. He’d told her then that her daddy had suddenly taken ill. That he’d collapsed. That he was dead. That he’d sent a man to town to fetch the undertaker.

  The rest of that day was a blur, as was the one after it. She had run to the house and lost herself to grief while Ned continued to do his duty as foreman.

  “Do you think Daddy fired Ned?” she asked, looking from her daddy’s oldest friend to the man who still took her breath away.

  Trey thumbed his hat back and snared her gaze in his dark penetrating one. “Yep. I’m guessing he caught Ned up to no good.”

  “That’d be my guess,” Hollis said. “Damned shame he didn’t tell Patrick here what was going on, but there ain’t nothing can be done about that now.”

  “There is if we can prove Ned had a hand in what happened to Sam Weber.”

  All eyes turned to Trey again.

  Her thoughts tumbled back to his claim that Ned had dragged him near to death. That hateful act had been the reason he’d disappeared, even though he admittedly hadn’t intended to stick around the JDB and her for long.

  If Trey was telling the truth ... If Sam Weber had died by Ned Durant’s hand, then her daddy’s old foreman was a far more dangerous man than she’d ever thought.

  She’d fired him.

  She’d put Trey March in his place. A man he’d tried to kill once before.

  Ned would surely be out for blood this time. Their blood.

  Chapter 9

  A few hours later, Daisy gathered with the cowhands as they buried Sam Weber in a plot at the family cemetery. He hadn’t been the first cowhand to die and find eternal rest here, but years had passed since the last burial had taken place, with her mama and nanny being the last interred.

  Each man paid his silent respects before going about his chores again. Everyone but Trey.

  On the walk up here, she’d paid more attention to his gait. The way he held himself. The stiff rack to his shoulders.

  He’d always walked with slow, masculine pride, his long legs seeming to measure each step, with his lean hips rocking a slightly jarred cadence and his broad shoulders shifting just enough to draw a woman’s attention.

  She’d noted the change in him, but thought his movements were indicative of the anger bottled in him. That he was just holding himself in check around her. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  If he’d been dragged and laid up as long as he claimed, the slight hesitation in his gait and his stiffer stance could be attributed to a near life-ending injury. And lingering pain?

  She touched her left temple where a dull headache had begun to thrum. They always came when she concentrated too hard, like she’d been doing today.

  A strong, warm hand splayed on her shoulder, and her head snapped up. Trey stared at her with dark eyes that had seen far too much agony in his young life.

  “You all right?”

  “A mild headache. I’ve been plagued
by them all my life,” she said. “Or rather the life I remember.”

  He canted his head to the side, those eyes of his probing hers now, tickling the fringe of a memory that was buried deep inside her. “How far back can you bring to mind?”

  She frowned, testing her memory before speaking. “Eight. It was autumn and still hot, but my mother dressed me up in yards of petticoats and lace just the same for the harvest festival.”

  His mouth quirked in a smile. “Bet you were a fetching little girl.”

  “I’ve been told I was a spoilt child.”

  “No doubt in my mind.”

  Her cheeks warmed at his light teasing, the tension banding her slowly letting go and taking her headache with it. It’d been that way from the start with Trey. She’d felt drawn to him. Comfortable just being near him.

  It was as if she’d known him all her life—loved him all her life. And that was pure craziness.

  Just like of late when disjointed images flashed before her eyes of her huddling next to another little girl on the hard bench of a train filled with children. Of standing on a loading platform in the cold clutching each other’s hands. Of a stern woman grabbing hold of her and dragging her away.

  And the last one, of her breaking away and running. Crying. Falling.

  “What’s troubling you, Daisy?”

  She shook her head, hesitant to voice her fears. He’d never asked before. Never seemed concerned, and she’d not been of a mind to unburden herself to him, not when there was another diversion, something that she’d far rather do.

  But today it seemed right to tell him. It was something she’d never done, not even with Ramona, for the older woman would always shake her head and tell her to speak with her papa when she tried to remember her childhood.

  “I get memories of myself that make no sense at all,” she said, and told him without embellishment about seeing herself on a train crowded with other girls. “Daddy said that I must’ve read a story and it stuck in my head.”