by Jodi Thomas
Startled by her honesty, Win leaned forward, his hands wrapped around his coffee cup. “He’s only a horse, Cait, not Satan himself. He didn’t kill your father out of meanness or hatred, but because of his nature. By putting him in a pen you took everything away from him and he’s fighting back the only way he knows how.”
“You make him sound human.”
Win shook his head. “No, you’re the one who’s making him human. Hating him for killing your father is like”—he struggled to find the right comparison—“like blaming a gopher for your horse tripping in a hole.”
Cait stared at him, her features blank, but he knew she was considering his words. She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I don’t like gophers much either.”
Win spotted the barest twinkle in her eyes and couldn’t help but smile. “Me neither, but I don’t blame them for doing what they were born to do.”
Cait took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I understand what you’re saying, Win, but Deil is different. When I look in his eyes, I get the feeling he knows exactly what I’m thinking.” She shivered and rubbed her arms where goosebumps rose. “He scares me.”
“I suppose if I’d seen him trample my father, I’d feel the same way.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever stop hating him,” Cait confessed, her voice husky.
“You will. Someday.”
The sound of a horse’s hooves interrupted them, and Win stepped over to the window. A man dismounted by the hitching post and strode toward the house, raising a cloud of dust as he slapped his hat against his thigh. Although ten years had passed since he’d seen him last and the man had gained a few pounds, Win recognized him. His breakfast settled like a cannonball in his belly.
“It’s Frank Duffy,” he said to Cait.
She frowned. “What’s he doing here?”
“He used to work for your pa now and again, didn’t he?”
“Until he signed on full-time with Crowley’s outfit five years ago.”
“Miz Brice, you in there?” Duffy called out, pounding on the door.
Cait swung open the door. “Morning, Frank. What brings you here so early?”
The big man’s gaze shifted past Cait to Win, who stood with his arms folded over his chest. Duffy’s eyes widened then narrowed. “Taylor?”
“Hello, Duffy.”
“Never thought I’d see you back here.”
Win could feel the tension in the cabin rise, and saw Cait’s puzzled frown as she noticed it, too. “Tremayne wanted me to tame a horse for Cait.”
“That black devil?”
Win nodded.
“He killed Brice. The murderin’ son-of-a-bitch oughta be shot.”
“What do you want, Frank?” Cait interrupted, her tone sharp.
Duffy swung his attention back to Cait. “Beulah Grisman’s at Doc’s place. It don’t look good.”
Cait’s face paled. “What happened?”
“Doc didn’t say. Just asked me to let you know on my way back to the ranch. He said the old lady’s askin’ for you.”
“How long has she been there?”
“Guess she come into town yesterday and went straight to Doc’s.” Duffy shrugged his meaty shoulders. “That’s all I know.”
Cait’s frightened eyes met Win’s. “I’ve got to go.”
“I’ll go with you,” Win offered immediately.
“No. Someone has to stay around in case the cat comes back.”
“Cat?” Duffy interjected. “You got problems with a mountain lion?”
“There was one hanging around the mares last night,” Win answered. “One of the mares foaled overnight so there’s a good chance the lion will come back.”
“I’d best let my boss know. He’ll want to put out some extra guards.” Duffy eyed Win. “You plannin’ on stickin’ around?”
“I’m only staying until I break the stallion.”
“Glad to hear it.”
What Duffy didn’t say was just as loud as his words. Frank Duffy was one of those men who didn’t like Indians, and always made a point to badger Win when they were alone.
“I’d best get back to work. Spring’s a busy time,” Duffy said.
“Thank you for letting me know,” Cait said.
“Yes, ma’am. I hope everything works out. Beulah ain’t the most likable, but she’s been around these parts for longer’n most of us.” Duffy backed out of the cabin. “Bye, Miz Brice.” He glanced at Win and said with less warmth, “Taylor.”
Cait closed the door behind him and leaned against it. She looked like she was on the verge of collapsing.
“Are you all right?” Win asked, concerned by her pallor.
She nodded, then grabbed her hat from the rack and opened the door, but paused before running out. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Win squeezed her shoulder gently. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the chores around here.”
Cait closed her eyes and swallowed. When her eyelids flickered open, her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. “She means a lot to me, Win. I owe her my life.”
“Your life?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be back when I can.” She turned and fled.
Win clapped his hat on his dark head and stepped onto the porch. He braced his right shoulder against the post and watched Cait saddle her pinto mare. What was she hiding? What secret did she and the old lady share?
Cait mounted her mare and trotted down the road. She looked back and waved. Win lifted a hand in return, but she’d already turned away.
Win tipped his hat back and rubbed his pounding forehead. He hadn’t expected to see Duffy again. It was men like Duffy who had convinced Win his pa was right. Folks didn’t take kindly to an Indian carrying on with a white woman, and oftentimes it was the woman who suffered the shame. It didn’t matter that Win was only one-fourth Indian. He’d protected Cait the best way he knew how.
CAIT recognized most of the people on the boardwalk and absently greeted them. She only wanted to see Beulah and find out what had happened.
She stepped into the doctor’s office and blinked at the relative darkness after the bright sunlight. After slipping her hat off to let it hang down her back, she rang the little bell on the desk.
Ann Mercer, dressed in a black dress with a starched white apron and hat came out from the back room. “Cait. I’m so glad you’re here.” The nurse clasped Cait’s hands. “Beulah’s been asking for you.”
Cait’s heart was pounding so loudly she was surprised Ann couldn’t hear it. “What happened? Is she all right?”
Ann’s expression grew somber. “I’ll let the doctor talk to you.”
The room spun and Cait gasped. “What’s wrong with her?”
But Ann only led Cait up the stairs to the rooms Doc used for seriously ill or injured patients. Cait’s memories of this place were anything but good. Her father’s broken and bloody body. The bitter smell of medicine and alcohol. The cloying scent of death.
Cait forced herself to breathe steadily, to shut out the horrific images that returned to haunt her.
“Wait here. I’ll get the doctor,” Ann said. She left Cait standing in the hallway while she entered the same room where Tremayne Brice had died.
Cait tilted her head back against the wall and stared at a crack in the white ceiling. A tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away impatiently. She’d had a bad feeling about Beulah the day they went into town. Why hadn’t Cait checked on her the next day? Beulah wasn’t a spring chicken anymore and she lived all alone. She could’ve died there and nobody would’ve found her for days.
Another tear escaped. If she hadn’t been so caught up in Win and the past, she would’ve noticed Beulah hadn’t shown up when she said she would.
The door opened and Ann emerged, followed by Dr. McKay. Four inches over six feet and weighing over two hundred pounds, Dr. McKay looked more like a logger than a doctor.
“What happened? How is she?” Cait ask
ed immediately.
Dr. McKay’s brown eyes filled with compassion. “Beulah doesn’t have much time left. I’m sorry.”
Cait’s vision faded in and out and she felt someone steady her.
“Cait? Can you hear me?” the doctor asked.
She blinked and found Dr. McKay’s concerned face directly in front of her. “What—”
“She’s known about it for some time, but didn’t want to tell anyone, especially you. She wanted to spare you.”
Cait’s heart tightened with fear. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She was having pains in her chest and stomach, but didn’t come see me until she started coughing up blood.” Dr. McKay licked his dry lips. “She knew it was only a matter of time then.”
“She should’ve told me!” Anger sharpened Cait’s voice and she glared at the doctor. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
Ann rubbed Cait’s arm. “You know Beulah better than any of us. Would she have wanted someone fussing around her?”
Riddled with guilt and pain, Cait could only shake her head. “I didn’t even notice,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Beulah was a master at hiding her pain.” Dr. McKay smiled slightly. “She’s also a stubborn old woman.”
Cait released a watery laugh. “That she is.” She took a deep breath and locked her gaze on the door hiding Beulah from her. “Can I see her?”
“Of course.” Dr. McKay opened the door for her. “Try not to tire her.”
Her mouth suddenly bone dry, Cait nodded. She forced herself to walk into the dim room, her knees trembling. At first she couldn’t even see Beulah buried within the bedclothes. Then she spotted her withered face, which was the same color as the milky white pillow. Cait curled her fingers into her sweating palms and the ball of dread that had dropped into her stomach grew.
“Beulah?” she called out softly.
The wizened woman, who appeared years older than she had four days earlier, opened her eyes. She seemed to have trouble focusing and Cait moved closer, leaning down to clasp her cool, bony hand.
“I’m right here, Beulah,” Cait said, sinking into a chair close to the bed.
Beulah turned her head and her rheumy eyes settled on Cait. The barest of smiles touched her dry, blue-tinged lips. “What’s with the . . . the sad face?” she asked in a weak voice.
Cait attempted a smile, but knew it fell flat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Beulah’s thin eyelids flickered. “Because I . . . I didn’t want you . . . carryin’ on. I’ve made . . . my peace with my Maker. D-don’t know where I’ll . . . end up, but I done the best I could.” She wheezed and began to cough with a deep, harsh sound that made Cait’s chest ache in sympathy.
Cait leaned over Beulah and touched her leathery cheek. “Shhhh. Take it easy. No need to rush.”
Beulah’s hacking finally subsided but it took a few more minutes for her to regain her breath. “I only got . . . one last thing to do.” She paused and her eyes filled with moisture. A tear rolled down the side of her face into her thin gray hair. “You was like . . . a daughter to me, Cait. I . . . know I never showed it, but . . . I love you like you was . . . my own.”
Cait’s throat constricted and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. “You were like a mother to me, Beulah. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” Her voice broke.
“You’da survived. You’re . . . a strong one. Like me.” Again Beulah stopped to catch her breath. Her lungs rattled. “That fellah . . . Taylor . . . he’s the one . . . ain’t he?”
Cait nodded, not surprised by her perceptiveness. “He doesn’t know.”
“Tell him!”
Cait flinched at the forceful words. “I-I can’t.”
“Why?” For a moment, Cait saw Beulah’s former strength of will in her eyes.
“He ran out on me. I hated him.”
“You love him.” Beulah closed her eyes as her breath rasped noisily.
Cait bowed her head, thoughts and feelings skittering around like water on a hot griddle. She’d spent ten long years hating him. He’d abandoned her, left her to face bearing their child alone. Then she’d miscarried and lost her ability to have more children. She’d blamed Win all these years, yet wasn’t she equally at fault? If anyone had forced anyone, it was Cait who’d forced herself on Win. He’d tried to resist, but she’d continued to tease him, and she’d been so smug when he’d succumbed to her. So who was truly at fault?
“You were . . . only a girl,” Beulah said, as if reading Cait’s thoughts. “But you’re . . . a woman now. Don’t let . . . him get away again.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You . . . c-can do anything you . . . put your mind to.” Beulah gazed at her with affection, pride, and love.
“I’ll try.”
Beulah stared at her a long moment. “I ain’t . . . gonna ask you to promise.” The rasping grew louder. “Your decision. Your life.” Beulah’s eyes closed and Cait could sense her spirit leaving.
“No, Beulah. Please.” Cait perched on the edge of her chair, grasping Beulah’s thin hand between both of hers.
Beulah took a deep, shuddering breath, then lay still.
Cait fell to her knees beside the bed and buried her face in the colorful quilt.
Now she was completely alone.
Chapter Seven
WIN ROCKED RHYTHMICALLY in the chair he and Cait used to squabble over, remembering the past with bittersweet nostalgia. The deepening twilight added to the melancholy that had plagued him all day. Earlier he’d managed to keep busy feeding the horses, as well as green-breaking one of the mustangs. The horse needed more work to make a decent cattle horse, but he knew Cait could handle that part of the training. He’d seen her do it enough when they were younger. He’d also spent a couple of hours talking to Deil and managed to lure the stallion close enough to eat a thick carrot Win had tossed on the ground only three feet from where he stood. He knew he’d only won a single skirmish. He still had the main battle ahead of him.
Now more than ever, Win was anxious to tame the stallion and put as many miles between himself and Cait as possible. There was no doubt she was drawn to him, just as he was tempted by her. But now that Duffy knew Win was staying with Cait, Win couldn’t spend a minute longer here than he had to. When he arrived, he’d thought Tremayne would be there to act as a chaperone, but alone with Cait, he knew the gossip was only a whisper away.
A movement down the road caught his attention and he stood to see the figure more clearly in the disappearing light. He recognized the black and white pony first. As Cait approached, he noticed the slump in her shoulders. Apprehension slithered down his spine.
Cait drew her pinto up by the corral and Win strode out to meet her.
“How is she?” Win asked.
Cait’s spine stiffened but he couldn’t see her face as she concentrated on removing her mare’s tack.
“She’s—” Cait cleared her throat. “She’s gone.”
Win silently damned fate for taking Cait’s friend so soon after her father’s death.
Cait carried her saddle into the barn and Win followed. She stacked the saddle in its proper place but remained standing there, her back to him as she fingered the latigo laces. “She’d been wasting away for months and I didn’t even notice.”
Win wasn’t certain which was worse—her grief over Beulah or her self-loathing. “I’m sorry, Cait,” he said awkwardly.
“First Pa, now Beulah.” She turned slowly and raised her gaze to Win. The hollow sadness in her eyes was like a spear through his chest. “Are you going to leave me, too, Win?”
He ignored his own warnings to keep his distance and hugged her. “Awww, Caity.”
She stiffened, then slowly relaxed into his embrace, her weight resting more fully against him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek in the center of his chest. The same protectiveness he’d felt for her when they were children swamped him. He’d never felt this fi
erce emotion with any other woman.
He rubbed her back with a soothing up-and-down motion and rested his chin on her crown, whispering gentle, calming words. He didn’t realize she was crying until her tears soaked through his shirt, dampening his skin. Tightening his embrace, he kissed the top of her head.
“Let it all out, Cait. It’s okay,” Win murmured.
Dust motes swirled around them and the horses’ quiet whickers wafted in with the cool evening air. Insects buzzed and an owl hooted.
Win had lived the past ten years riding from one ranch to the next, spending his money in every saloon he could find, and never leaving more than a soon-forgotten memory behind. He’d never been tempted to stay in one place longer than it took to do what he was hired to do. There was always another job, another saloon, and another woman down the road.
None of those things were what he wanted. Not anymore. Cait had stolen his heart all those years ago and he hadn’t even realized it was missing until this moment. But what could he do about it?
“Are you hungry?” he asked when she shifted in his hold.
“Not really.”
“Did you eat something in town?”
He felt her shake her head against his chest.
“Why don’t we go inside and I’ll see what I can throw together?”
Cait eased back and lifted her head. “Last time you did the cooking, we ended up gnawing on burnt beef and nearly raw potatoes.”
He chuckled, remembering his attempt long ago at making supper when he’d complained about Cait’s cooking one night while he and his pa’d been visiting. “I’ve never criticized a woman’s cooking since.”
He expected a chuckle or maybe a smile, but Cait merely looked at him somberly. “Were there a lot of women, Win?”
Surprised by the question, his amusement bled away. He shrugged and looked past her. “A few.”
“Why didn’t you get hitched to one of them?” There was only curiosity in her voice.
He forced a laugh. “One or two tried to harness me, but I’m not the marrying kind, Cait. I always wanted to follow the wind, see what lay down the next road.”
