Pete (The Cowboys)

by Leigh Greenwood

  Then she woke up.

  The relief was tremendous. As horrible as it was, as terrified as she still was, she was awake, safe in bed with Pete. Remembering his warning never to touch him while he was asleep, she whispered, “Pete.”

  She got no answer.

  “Pete, please wake up.”

  Still no answer.

  She fumbled in the drawer beside the table until she found a box of matches, and struck one.

  There was no one there. Pete wasn’t in bed.

  Then she remembered he’d said he and Eddie might be up a long time talking about the roundup. Quickly, before the match could burn her fingers, she lit the lamp she kept beside the bed.

  The clock across the room said 2:37 A.M. She wasn’t certain she’d wound it properly, but she could hear it ticking. Pete shouldn’t be up this late. He’d never be able to get up in the morning. He was working too hard, probably determined the ranch wouldn’t fail like his hardware store. She’d go down and make him come up to bed. He wasn’t going to fail this time.

  She found her slippers and put on a robe.

  Belser’s door was closed. So he’d come back. She had mixed feelings about that. She felt bad about firing him. She probably would have let him stay if Pete had let her. At the same time, she was glad Pete had insisted Belser leave. He would never accept Pete’s ownership of the ranch. She didn’t want her children being brought up with stories of how their father had cheated Belser out of his rightful inheritance.

  The house looked eerie in the dark, lamplight casting long, ominous shadows that jumped and swayed with every step she took. She told herself she was spooked because of the dream, that nothing could possibly happen to her as long as she was in the house, certainly not with Eddie and Pete still up.

  But long before she’d crossed the huge living room, Anne knew there was nobody in the office. The door stood ajar. No light came from within.

  Pete was gone.

  She told herself not to be foolish. He was here. He had to be. She just had to think where. In the kitchen. He and Eddie probably got hungry. Or wanted more coffee. Relieved to have found the answer, she turned and hurried to the kitchen.

  Empty.

  Panic threatened to overcome her determined effort to remain calm. She whirled and ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and down the hall toward the room where Eddie slept. She stopped. She didn’t need to wake him up. She could hear him snoring softly. She wasn’t alone. Everybody else was here except Pete.

  Where was he?

  Her first impulse was to wake Eddie and tell him something had happened to Pete. Instead, she backed away from the door, turned, and headed back toward her own bedroom. She didn’t know what Pete might be doing, but she was certain he’d be furious if she woke everybody up and started a search for him.

  She returned to her room, closed the door, and got back into bed. Where was he? What could he be doing? Why on earth would he be out in the middle of the night? He never would have done that when he was a boy. He didn’t even want to sit on the porch after dark. She was glad that had changed. She liked sitting out at night and watching the stars.

  But an uneasy feeling started to grow inside Anne all over again. Pete had changed an awful lot. She had liked the changes. She had been happy he’d grown into a man capable of handling his inheritance. She had thought several times it was a shame Uncle Carl hadn’t lived to see that Pete had turned out a whole lot better than he’d ever thought possible.

  But now, even though she tried to push the thought away, she couldn’t rid herself of the dreadful suspicion that maybe Pete had changed too much. Maybe it wasn’t possible for a man to learn to be so completely unlike himself in ten years. Nobody else thought he could change. She wondered again if he might have made up that story about failing in business in Illinois. She didn’t know why he would have done something like that, but maybe he’d done it to make Uncle Carl think he’d turned out to be just as much of a failure as Uncle Carl expected. Instead he’d gone to Texas and learned to be a cowboy so when he inherited the ranch, he’d know exactly what to do.

  That would explain all that business about Isabelle and Jake. It would also explain why he could do everything better than anybody else.

  Only one thing was wrong.

  If he’d gone to Texas, how had he sent all those letters to her from Illinois? Why did the letters she’d been getting over the last ten years sound like the Peter she knew before, not the Pete who was her husband now? Had he done that intentionally, fooled her, too, so nobody would know what he was doing?

  It answered everything perfectly. As long as she could believe it, she wouldn’t have to doubt Pete. She could go on loving him, depending on him, enjoying being treated with kindness and thoughtfulness. She could look forward to a future as the cherished wife of a powerful rancher, as the mother of sons and daughters who would be just as wonderful as their father. She would never have to worry about having nowhere to go, about being ignored and despised because of her Indian blood.

  But what if that weren’t true?

  She didn’t even want to think of that. The possibilities were too numerous, too dreadful. If that were true…

  She heard the faint sound of a footstep in the hall. Very quickly she turned out the light and slid down into the bed.

  Moments later the door opened. She knew without looking that Pete had entered the room in stocking feet. She lay perfectly still while he tiptoed around to his side of the bed. She could barely hear the sound of his clothes as he carefully slipped them from his body. She felt the bed give as he eased his weight down onto the mattress. He gradually got fully into bed and pulled the covers over him. She felt his head relax into the pillow. A soft sigh escaped him.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I thought you’d be asleep hours ago.”

  He sounded startled, as if someone had sneaked up behind him and yelled Boo!

  “I was. I had a bad dream.” She struck a match, lighted the lamp, and turned toward him. “I went downstairs looking for you, but you weren’t there. Eddie’s been in bed a long time. I know because I heard him snoring. Where have you been?”

  “Outside checking the horses.”

  “In the dark?”

  “It’s not dark with all that moonlight. You can see practically as well as day.”

  “You used to be afraid of the dark.”

  “I wasn’t afraid.”

  “You didn’t like it.”

  “No kid likes the dark. I was just brave enough to admit it.”

  Nobody else had called it bravery. His father had been angry, his uncle disgusted. His brother had laughed. “How did you get over being afraid of the dark?”

  “Working at night loading wagons, delivering stuff, walking home after I closed the store. Half the time I’d get to the store before the sun came up.”

  Why was it that perfectly reasonable explanations didn’t seem enough anymore? She had no reason not to believe him. He didn’t hesitate when she asked questions. He didn’t seem upset or angry or even wonder why she wanted to know where he’d been. He’d probably jumped when she spoke because he’d expected her to be asleep and her voice coming out of the dark startled him.

  “Why couldn’t you check on them in the morning?”

  “I need to do other things in the morning.”

  “Let Eddie do it.”

  “I like to do things like that myself. Then I know the kind of mounts we have and what I can expect from the riders.”

  “How did you learn so much about horses?”

  “I told you, my friend from Texas. I spent a great deal of time with him. He taught me a lot.”

  “You said you went to Texas?”

  He hesitated. “I hoped you’d forgotten about that.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s how I lost the store.”

  “Then why did you go?”

  “I knew Uncle Carl had to leave me th
e ranch because there wasn’t anybody else. I wasn’t coming out here to let him make fun of me again. I wanted to know what to do, to be nearly as good as Uncle Carl was. Only he died before I could show him. I went back to Illinois to try to save the hardware store, but it was too late.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? From your letters, I thought things were getting worse and worse.”

  “They were at the store, but I didn’t want you to know about Texas, in case Uncle Carl was right. I had a friend mail my letters so they’d all come to you from Illinois.”

  “You cared that much about what I thought?”

  “I always cared what you thought. You were the only one who didn’t think I was a total loss.”

  Even Peter’s mother had preferred his brother. That must have hurt.

  “Anything else you want to know?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Good. I’ve got to get some sleep.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Good night.”

  “Good night”

  He must have fallen asleep instantly. She could hear the sound of his steady breathing almost the moment his head hit the pillow. She slid down under the covers. It made her feel really good to know her opinion had always been important, but she wished he’d told her about Texas and the store. She’d have understood. She’d been treated a lot like him. Maybe that was why he was being so nice to her now, because he knew what it was like to be ignored.

  She’d rather he did it because he loved her.

  She didn’t know when being loved became so important. She hadn’t thought about it when she asked him to marry her. She’d just thought they’d be friends the way they’d always been. But now that wasn’t enough. She wanted love. She wanted children. She wanted forever.

  But some little voice in the back of her head warned her to be careful. It cautioned her to pay close attention to everything he said and did. The voice said he was too different and the changes too perfect.

  She wouldn’t listen to that voice.

  But it wouldn’t go away.

  Pete cursed himself for a fool. He should have known Anne would wake up and want to know what he was doing wandering about the ranch at night. He’d never thought he was such a glib liar, but the answers had rolled off his tongue. He guessed he’d picked up more about Peter than he realized.

  This story about going to Texas was a good idea. At least it explained why he could do so many things Peter apparently would never have been able to do. He just hoped she wouldn’t ask him any more questions. He didn’t like having to lie to her. He’d have to tell her the truth one of these days, but he couldn’t now.

  It was too dangerous, and he had no assurance she would believe him.

  “Are you sure Belser hasn’t come down yet?” Anne asked Dolores.

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “We’ve been so busy, I didn’t realize until now I hadn’t seen him, but he never sleeps this late.”

  “Eddie said he was drunk when he came in last night. Maybe he’s sleeping it off. No point in getting up if all he has to do is pack his gear and leave.”

  “I guess not, but he’s got to get up. Everybody will leave before long. I don’t want to have to be the one to make him leave. What would I do if he refuses to go?”

  “Shoot him,” Dolores said.

  “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not? You’d shoot a lobo wolf. Belser is just as bad.”

  “He’s just angry he didn’t get the ranch.”

  “He’s always been a nasty man. I never liked him.”

  Anne was helping Dolores in the kitchen on what had been the most hectic morning she could remember. All the men had slept at the ranch the night before and eaten breakfast there in the morning. They expected to leave for the roundup by noon. Since finishing breakfast, the men had been hurrying to get their gear in order, choose their horses, make sure they were properly shod and had no saddle burns or sore feet.

  The cook had been in and out of the house all day, getting supplies for the chuck wagon, setting aside what he would send for later. His temper had caused clashes with Dolores several times already. Anne would be glad to see him leave. He might be a fine cook for the men, but two cooks in any kitchen was one cook too many.

  Once she and Dolores had finished putting the food away and washing the dishes, Anne confined herself to keeping two coffeepots going. The harder the men worked, the more coffee they drank. It also kept her out of the line of fire between Dolores and the maestro of the chuck wagon.

  One of the young hands, named Ray, came inside. “Cookie wants me to collect that side of bacon now.”

  “You know where it is,” Dolores said. It always irritated her to have anyone messing around in her storeroom.

  “Before you do that, go upstairs and wake Belser,” Anne said. “I’d go, but I don’t think it’s proper for a lady to go into a man’s room.”

  Ray grinned. “Glad to oblige, ma’am. Just tell me where to find him, and I’ll have him downstairs in a jiffy.”

  “Up the stairs and turn left,” Anne said. “It’s the next-to-last door.”

  “Clean your boots before you go into the house,” Dolores ordered.

  The young cowhand grinned again. “I already done that, Miz Dolores. I knowed you’d have my hide if I tracked dirt inside the house.”

  “Tell that to your cook,” Dolores said.

  “I don’t tell Cookie nothing,” Ray said. “I like to eat.”

  “That man thinks he can do anything he wants just because he’s the range cook,” Dolores fumed, once again on her favorite subject.

  “The men say he’s the best cook in Wyoming,” Anne said.

  “They’d be afraid to open their mouths if he was the worst. He’s a tyrant.”

  The door opened, and another young cowhand entered the kitchen. “Ready for another pot of coffee, ma’am.” He grinned. All the hands seemed to be in a great mood. They were looking forward to the roundup.

  “Everybody’s awfully thirsty,” Anne said.

  “It’s stirring up all that dust that does it. Got to have something to wet down a man’s throat.”

  “Do you think you’ll need another pot?”

  “It’d be nice if you could keep ’em coming until we pull out. The men sure do like their coffee. Especially the old ones.”

  The “old ones” couldn’t have been more than twenty-four or -five. Cowhands didn’t grow old. They soon looked for an easier line of work or tried to start a ranch of their own.

  “I’ll grind some more beans. Just let me know—”

  Ray came back into the kitchen, his face drained of color. “Belser ain’t coming down,” he said.

  “Oh, yes, he is,” Dolores said. “If he thinks he’ll lie in that bed all day, he’s got another think coming.”

  “He ain’t thinking nothing,” Ray said. “He’s dead.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Dolores said. “You just have to shake him harder. He went to bed drunk as a skunk.”

  “He ain’t drunk,” Ray said. “He’s dead. Stone cold. Stiff as a board. There’s a knife sticking out of his back.”

  Anne didn’t believe Belser could be dead. Nobody got killed in his own bed. Besides, no stranger had entered the house last night. The doors were never locked, but she was sure she’d have heard if anybody had come up the stairs.

  “That’s impossible,” Dolores said. “You’ve got to be mistaken.”

  “Go see for yourself,” Ray said. “I sure as hell ain’t going up there again.”

  “Get Pete,” Anne said to the cowboy who’d come for the coffee. “Tell him to come here right away.” Ray went out with him.

  Anne didn’t know what Pete could do, but her first thought had been that Pete would take care of everything.

  “Did you hear anything last night?” Dolores asked after both the cowhands had left.

  “No.”

  “Me, neither. And I didn’t see any sign that anybody had been
in the house.”

  “Who would want to kill Belser?” Anne asked. “Nobody liked him much, but he was leaving.”

  The two women stood there, each absorbed by her thoughts, until the kitchen door was flung open.

  “Ray said Belser’s been killed,” Pete said as he entered the kitchen, followed closely by Eddie and Ray.

  “I don’t know,” Anne said. “Neither one of us has been up there.”

  “Well, we have to go now.” He held out his hand toward her. “Will you go with me?”

  She’d seen death before, but she’d never seen anyone who’d been killed. The horror of it made her so weak she could hardly move. The fact that it had happened in the house, in the bedroom next to where she and Pete had slept, made it seem even more horrible. She had been sound asleep at the moment someone drove a knife into Belser’s body. Just the thought caused her to shiver.

  “I’ll go.” She knew she had to.

  No one spoke as they left the kitchen, ascended the stairs, and approached the door to Belser’s room.

  “Did you move him?” Pete asked Ray.

  “No,” he answered. “As soon as I opened the door, I saw that knife in his back. I knew he weren’t going to wake up.”

  Anne wouldn’t have touched him either. Just the thought of it caused her to grip Pete’s hand more tightly.

  “I know you don’t want to go in, but it’s best we all see it. Then there can’t be any question about what anyone saw.”

  He didn’t have to tell Anne this was a murder, that there’d have to be an investigation. She knew that already.

  The door to the room stood open, apparently just the way Ray had left it. They all entered the room, Pete and Anne first.

  The scene looked so quiet and ordinary, and Belser looked so peaceful, it was hard for Anne to realize he was dead. He was on his stomach, his head turned toward them, his arms and legs flung out from his body, the bedclothes thrown on the floor. He had gone to bed in his underwear, his discarded clothes and boots scattered around the room.

  The only disconcerting image was the knife sticking out of his back.

  “That looks like one of my kitchen knives,” Dolores said.