“Let me get a look at you,” Hagen said as he held her at arm’s length. “Good God, look at how you’ve grown.”
“Fifteen years will have that effect on a woman,” she laughed as she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “You’ve changed some, too, Adam. Taller and much more handsome. Have to do something about this, though.” She pulled at the Vandyke beard under his mouth. “Is that how they look in the fancy salons back east, brother?”
“It’s been so long since I’ve been there, I wouldn’t know.” Hagen hugged her again as he looked back at Trammel. “Close your mouth, Buck. You’ll let the horseflies in.”
Trammel hadn’t realized he was gaping and quickly closed his mouth.
Hagen said, “I’ve been away so long that I’ve forgotten my manners. Miss Eleanor Hagen, allow me to present my great friend Mr. Buck Trammel of New York City. Mr. Trammel, my sister Eleanor.”
“But everyone calls me Elena.” She curtsied. “Mother thought it sounded much more sophisticated.”
Trammel swallowed; his mouth suddenly dry. “Everyone just calls me Buck.”
She surprised him by rushing over and hugging him, too.
Hagen was clearly enjoying his friend’s embarrassment. “You must forgive my younger sister. We’re a bit informal around here. Life in the wilderness tends to soften one’s manners.”
She patted him on the chest as she broke off the embrace and took a step back. “It’s so good to have you both here. And two dashing men at that. We don’t get many visitors up here. Father won’t allow it. Oh, we do our fair share of socializing in town of course, but we rarely entertain here in the main house.” She looked around the room. “It’s a shame, really. Mother always dreamed of holding big parties here for all the other cattlemen and ranchers in the valley.”
“You’re the spitting image of Mother,” Hagen said. “I hope you know that.”
She blushed, which made Trammel’s heart even lighter. What the hell is the matter with me?
“Elena is the ‘E’ in our familial alphabet,” Hagen explained. “I was the first born, so I was named Adam. Then came my brothers Bart and Caleb, then my sister Deborah and our fair Elena here. Deborah’s been married for some time, hasn’t she?”
“To an old miner in Denver.” Elena frowned. “A dreadfully droll man, just like Father, though not nearly as intimidating.” She brought her hands up to her mouth as she looked around. “Don’t tell him I said that. He doesn’t like to be teased in front of other people. Not even me.”
“Your secret is safe with us,” Hagen said. “Where are Bart and Caleb?”
“Bart’s in Denver, too, managing Father’s affairs. Oil, I think. Caleb is in Cheyenne, exploring the possibility of opening a bank. He lives in Blackstone most days, but Father wants our bank to have a presence in the capital.” She lowered her hands to cover her belly, causing Trammel to notice the curves of her body and he quickly looked away. “How long will you be staying with us, Adam? Please say it’ll be forever.”
“That’s entirely up to Father,” Hagen said as they all sat down. Elena sat next to her brother on the couch. “He rode out to meet us, then disappeared.”
“You know how he is,” Elena said, then turned to Trammel to explain. “I hope he didn’t give you too much of a hard time. He’s like an old wolfhound. His bark is much worse than his bite. He’s a wonderful, sweet man once you get to know him.”
Trammel doubted that but smiled anyway for her sake. He had a feeling Miss Elena Hagen could make him believe just about anything.
“He’ll probably be back in a minute,” she said. “He’s just attending to some business, but I can tell he’s happy you’re here, Adam. He’s never been one to allow sentimentality to get in the way of commerce.”
“Or anything else,” Hagen said.
She took her brother’s hands in her own. “Promise me you won’t ever go away again, Adam. Please. We’ve missed you so.”
“Even Father?”
“I’m sure he has,” she allowed, “in his own way. But I was so young when you left, I feel as though I barely know you. I lived for your letters, you know? All of those tall tales from all those grand places you visited. And the opera house in Wichita? Imagine so much culture and refinement all the way out here.” She looked at Trammel again, her blue eyes wide and questioning. “Did you see many performances at the opera house in Wichita, Mr. Trammel?”
Of all the many kinds of houses in Wichita, Buck Trammel had never heard of an opera house being there and he found himself stuck for an answer.
“The Gilded Lilly,” Hagen helped. “Surely you haven’t forgotten so soon, old friend.”
“Yeah,” Trammel caught on. “I mean, yes. Many a fine voice can be heard at The Gilded Lilly most nights.” I never talk like this. What’s happening to me?
“Oh, I’m so jealous,” she said to her brother. “You’ve seen so much more of the world than I have. You must promise you’ll take me there one day.”
“Of course, my love,” Adam said. “Anything for you.”
She looked around at the tables and seemed to remember something. “Why, hasn’t anyone offered you refreshment? Where have my manners gone? What can I get for you? Whiskey? Father has a lovely bottle brought all the way from Scotland. Buys it by the caseload.”
Hagen perked up, but stopped when Mr. Hagen entered the room. He was as tall as Trammel had expected him to be and had a thick head of white hair that made him look as intense as he had on horseback. His black suit only enhanced his bearing. “You’re a Hagen, Eleanor. Not some damned servant. They can get their own drinks.”
The two Hagen children stood up. Trammel remained seated.
“Now leave us, child. I have business to discuss with these two.”
Elena squeezed her brother’s hand as she kissed him on the cheek. She went to her father and went on tiptoe to do the same to him. “Be nice, Papa. After all, we have a guest.”
She looked over at Trammel and smiled warmly. “Welcome to our home, Mr. Trammel.”
Trammel stood and smiled back. “Thank you, ma’am.”
The three men sat down when Elena left the room. And again, Mr. Hagen continued to look at Trammel. “You’re quite a size, Trammel. How tall are you?”
“Six feet and a half, last I checked,” Trammel said.
The old man grunted his approval. “Scottish blood, I take it.”
“On my father’s side. My mother’s from Norway.”
“That explains it,” Mr. Hagen decided. “Viking stock through and through. I know my husbandry, Trammel, be it animal or human.”
Adam cleared his throat. “Speaking of that which hails from Scotland, Eleana mentioned you have some whiskey—”
Mr. Hagen looked at his son for the first time. “You’ll have water in this house, by God. Or buttermilk. I know your fondness for spirits, boy, and I’ll not have you lose your senses under my roof.”
Adam sat back in the couch as if he’d been slapped. “But I’ve never touched a drop while I was here. I was too young when you sent me away.”
“Don’t let the lines on my face or the white hair on my head fool you. I have two good eyes to read and two good ears to hear plenty about what you’ve been up to back east. I know what you’ve been up to since you left here and not from those fairy tales you spun to my daughter in those letters of yours.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Opera houses in Wichita indeed.”
He looked at Trammel. “You look like a man who appreciates a drink, Mr. Trammel. You’re welcome to the whiskey if you wish.”
“Water’s fine for me, too.”
Adam got up and motioned to a place in the far corner of the room. “I take it you haven’t moved the bar?”
“Of course not. What kind of a damned fool question is that?”
Adam sighed heavily as he went to get the water.
Mr. Hagen looked at Trammel again and Trammel looked back. He knew the old cur was trying to get hi
s measure; trying to see if he’d buckle. He imagined most men did beneath that glare. The rancher seemed to have long grown accustomed to getting his way with most people.
Buck Trammel wasn’t most people.
As if he was reading his mind, Mr. Hagen said, “I don’t scare you, do I, Mr. Trammel?”
“No. You don’t.”
“Seen a bit of the world, have you? Like the man you rode in here with?”
“I’ve seen my share of it,” Trammel said. “And the man I rode in here with is your son.”
Those dark eyes narrowed. “I’ll not have anyone remind me of my family under my own roof, boy.”
“And I’ll not have anyone call me ‘boy’ or ‘son’ anywhere,” Trammel answered. “If you’re waiting for me to lose my temper or kiss your feet, you’ll be waiting a long time. You invited us in here, so we’re here. The second you want me to leave, just say the word and I’ll go. Just have your man bring my horse around and I’ll be on my way. Now I’m grateful for the comfort of your home and the warmth of your fire. But if you’re looking for a whipping boy, I’m not the one. I’d wager you pay someone handsomely for that privilege.”
Mr. Hagen glanced at his son. “Bring me a whiskey. One glass, not for you.”
Trammel could feel Adam tense from across the room. The old man certainly liked to give the spurs to people he thought could take it.
Mr. Hagen looked at Trammel again. “Tell me about that mess that happened in Wichita and tell it to me plain. Your friend over there has a tendency to use flowery words to obfuscate the facts. Got that from his mother.”
Trammel heard a glass shatter at the bar.
Adam said, “How the hell did you hear about that?”
Mr. Hagen still wouldn’t look at his son. “All that drinking must’ve softened his brain. I already told him I’ve got two eyes and ears that are still in working order. Not much happens between here and the Atlantic that fails to reach me. Nothing worth knowing anyway, and matters involving my sons still matter to me.”
“How touching,” Adam said as he carefully picked up the pieces of the shattered glass.
“Sentimentality plays no role in it,” the elder Hagen said. “It’s a matter of business. I can’t have any of my children’s embarrassments sprung upon me in the course of my business activities. A man of my wealth has considerable enemies, Mr. Trammel, so it’s only prudent that I know the worst about my relations before they do. Knowing the inadequacies of one’s family can be an advantage at the right time, and I have no intention of being caught out on account of ignorance or sentimentality. Now, tell me of what happened in Wichita and spare no details.”
Trammel told him about the deaths in The Gilded Lilly, the ambush on the trail, the attempted frame from Lefty Hanover, and the rescue of the women on the trail to Ogallala. The old man wanted it raw, and that’s just how Trammel told it.
And through it all, Mr. Hagen sat stone-faced as he took it all in; holding his whiskey in his left hand while his son was content with water. Adam had refilled his glass several times while the old man held the glass before him like a temptation. It was gold to his son, but sand to his father.
Trammel had seen the ruin whiskey could bring to Adam, but still found himself resenting the old man for it.
After the story had been relayed, Mr. Hagen sat quietly for a time as if he had just ingested a large meal. “That business with the women you rescued happen exactly as you told it?”
Trammel gripped his glass of water tightly. “You calling me a liar?”
“I’d have called you one if I thought that,” King Charles said. “I asked if you built up my son’s role in the rescue for his benefit. Friends have been known to do that for each other.”
“I’m not that creative,” Trammel told him, “and there was no reason to add more to it than what happened. Your son was very brave and probably saved my life. He definitely saved the lives of the women in that wagon train.”
Trammel didn’t think the old man’s glare could become any more intense than it already was, but it did as he asked, “And that surprised you, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “It did. Adam was a cavalry officer, so it shouldn’t have, but it did.”
Mr. Hagen shifted that glare to his son, his eyes shadowed by his thick brow. “That the way it happened?”
“Yes, Father. Mr. Trammel’s telling of the event is accurate.”
The old man pounded the arm of his chair. “Damn you! Can’t you just say ‘yes’ and leave it at that?”
Adam drained his water and held the glass on his leg. For the first time since Trammel had met him, Adam Hagen was cowed.
The old man spoke to Trammel again. “He got that habit from his mother, you know? Always filling his head with fancy ideas, which only filled his mouth with fancy talk. This isn’t a world made for fancy things, Mr. Trammel. Not out here in Wyoming. Fancy can cost a man his life out here.”
Trammel made a show of looking around the ornate room. “I noticed.”
Those dark Hagen eyes narrowed again. “I built this, damn you. By the sweat of my brow and the steel in my spine I built every slat of wood and every stone of this home from nothing. I broke this land before it broke me and, by God, I’m not ashamed of it.”
The words escaped Trammel’s mouth before he could stop them. “And you’ve got no reason to be ashamed of your son, either. Adam’s not a perfect man and he’s not a man like you, but he’s his own man. One I consider myself damned lucky to know. If you can’t see that after all I’ve just told you, then I guess we don’t have much more to say to each other.”
Mr. Hagen’s hand quivered a bit as he brought the glass to his lips and drained the whiskey in one surprising gulp. Surprising because Adam had filled it four fingers deep.
When he spoke, his voice bore no rasp from the liquor. “Are you a Christian man, Mr. Trammel?”
“In a fashion. I was brought up Catholic.”
“Catholic?” Mr. Hagen spat. “Popery, eh? More fancy ideals that have no place out here, or anywhere by my reckoning. But your people do believe in redemption and atonement, don’t they?”
“From what I remember.”
“And it would be un-Christian of me to withhold forgiveness from someone who has trespassed against me.”
Adam moved to the edge of the couch.
Trammel said, “From what I remember.”
“And you said my son made no promises to you when he invited you to come here.”
“I did.”
Mr. Hagen set his glass on the floor next to his chair.
Adam hadn’t moved from the edge of the couch.
“When I saw you boys riding here,” Mr. Hagen said, “I expected my boy had run through his money and was looking for a handout. I figured he’d lured you here with promises of wealth and other riches. I see now that isn’t the case.”
The old man grew silent again. Trammel decided that was probably as close as he could bring himself to admitting he was wrong. He hoped it would be enough for Adam, because it was likely to be all the apology he was going to get.
He was glad when Mr. Hagen finally turned to face his son. “You’ve been gone a long time, boy, and you’ve forged a great many chains you’re going to have to carry with you for the rest of your life. You’ve brought dishonor on this family many times over, though I’ll admit not as much as I had feared you would. I always thought you had too much of your mother about you, which is charming in a woman, but not in a man.” He pointed at Trammel. “But after what this man has told me today, I’d be a fool not to think that you might just be more than I had believed you to be.”
Tears streaked down Adam’s face. “Father . . . Papa, I’ve never been anything different.”
“Time will tell.” He stood up, and Adam stood with him.
Trammel took his time getting to his feet, sensing the end of something had come. Something good or bad, Trammel didn’t know, but something.
Mr. Hag
en spoke again to his son. “Do you remember the Clifford Hotel in town?”
“I do. We dined there often.”
“I own it now. Joe Clifford still runs the place, but I bought him out years ago. He’s getting on in years, and the time has probably come for him to step aside. I want you to help him run it with an eye toward taking it over eventually. It’s a good, solid business and, with some improvements, could be made even better.”
“Yes,” Adam nodded quickly. “Yes. I’ll be happy to run it for you, Father, if you’d like.”
The hard glare returned. “And by improvements, I don’t mean whores or excessive gambling, understand? I mean better accommodations. Better food and drink. Beds and bedding. That sort of thing. It’ll help us charge more than we currently do.”
“I understand, Father. I won’t let you down.”
“That remains to be seen.” King Charles looked at Trammel. “Sheriff Bonner’s a good man, but he’s getting on in years, too. Drinks and gambles more than he arrests people these days. You mentioned you have experience as a lawman of sorts back east, so you’ll be his deputy. Things have been getting out of hand in town as of late, and a man of your size might help discourage some of the criminal element in town from getting too comfortable. That sound fair to you?”
Trammel wasn’t sure how it sounded. He hadn’t counted on being a lawman again. He hadn’t counted on being much of anything again. But for Adam’s sake, he didn’t dare refuse. “I’ll be happy to do it.”
“Then it’s settled. I send my man Bookman into town with you to make the introductions.”
Adam smiled. “Johnny Boy Bookman is still here, eh?”
A withering glare made Hagen’s smile evaporate. “He’s put that behind him now. He’s been simply called John for the better part of twenty years. He’s my right hand, and I’m damned lucky to have him.”
Adam Hagen looked away. “Yes, Father.”
Charles Hagen pulled a gold watch from his vest pocket. “If you head back to Blackstone now, you’ll be there in plenty of time before dark. You’ll both have rooms at the Clifford. Bookman will see to that, too.”
He walked out of the room toward the front door. Trammel patted Adam on the back and urged him forward. Adam wiped away tears as he walked.
North of Laramie Page 13
