Western Romance Collection: Rugged Cowboys Part 20

"So I was sittin' there across from-"

"My former husband," she finished for him. The thought of Billy had almost stopped hurting before Mr. Riley had shown up. She could see his cattle, a meager fifty head, grazing out front.

"Yes, ma'am. From your husband. He'd been losing all night, you know? I'm not sittin' there with the intention of takin' anyone's last dollar. But he was insistent on givin' it away, and I'm sittin on a queen-high straight, so when he raised-" He mopped the summer heat from his forehead with the back of one well-toned arm. "Well, I asked if he was good for it, and he a.s.sured everyone he was. So I took the bet."

She already knew that he wasn't. Billy had never been a great poker player, but he was a fine liar. Right up until it came time to settle up, then suddenly the mistakes all seemed to pile up right in front of him. As if they were completely unforeseeable. It had been a sticking point for her, once upon a time. When Billy's problems had been her problems.

Now she was free from him, or at least that's what the Judge said. Divorce wasn't how Catherine had seen her life going. She hadn't seen her kids growing up with their dead-beat father wandering around Colorado losing the money they'd set aside for their children's future at a poker table.

Catherine wasn't like her ex-husband. She wouldn't walk away from a bad situation, and she knew how to play the hand she was dealt. It looked bad, but that didn't mean she was going to pretend it was anything but what it was.

"Well, when the table starts to clear up, what do I see but Bill Howell trying to sneak off. He at least had the sense not to try to pull some cash back off the table, but he still had to settle that money he was so good for." Glen set down his hat on the couch beside him. He looked up at Catherine, whose expression hadn't changed much since he had sat down.

She was a handsome woman, what hair she hadn't pulled back falling in pretty rings around her face. Whatever had happened between her and her husband, he couldn't begin to guess. It must have been something serious for a man to leave a woman like this. Then again, Bill Howell struck Glen as the sort of man who was gunning to lose whatever he set his hands on, so perhaps it made sense that he'd have given up on her.

"I'm not seeing how this relates to me." Catherine's voice was clipped and hard. Glen swallowed hard.

"So I figure he's the type who figures he can just cop a whuppin', and I'll walk away. But he keeps promising he's good for it. He takes me back to a run-down hotel on the edge of the town-place I'm surprised he hadn't gotten broken into-and says just wait a minute outside. I'm no fool, ma'am. I follow him in, and he seems surprised to see me. The way he was going through luggage, I figured he might be fixin' to pull a gun on me. So I was watching extra close. He turns around with a piece of paper, folded up. That paper, right there."

He tapped the paper he'd laid out on the table. The paper that read "DEED" across the top, and had an 'x' marked beside the printed name "William Howell".

"He said it would more than cover what he owed, so would I please take it and forget the debt."

Catherine let herself sit back, thinking. That was Billy, all right. To a T. She didn't have to guess where he'd gotten the deed. The night before he left, he'd sworn up and down he had left it in the safe. He'd sworn he was coming back in a few days, too. Just a quick trip down to Laramie. Like a vacation. He'd left most of the money they had just made from the herd along with it.

She hadn't been fool enough to believe him completely, but she hadn't expected how little he had left her. Three silver dollars, and a paper with a big, poorly-drawn heart.

She had smiled at it. Still had the paper, folded up in her little jewelry box. The thought of it sitting there made Catherine want to get up and toss the thing into the stove, but she stopped herself.

"So what is it that you wanted, exactly, Mr. Riley?"

His mouth twisted in discomfort. "Well, you see, that's the trouble, Missus Howell. I had it in my head that he'd offered to sell me property that no one was usin'. I spent what I had gettin' the cattle out there and payin' a few men to help me get them out here. So you can see where I might have a problem just leavin' it be."

She looked over his shoulder again. They were too young to sell for any profit. More than likely, he'd lose his shirt if he tried to get anything for them at all. She could feel for him, that was sure. But she couldn't exactly justify letting him take her ranch, neither.

"Well, Mr. Riley, I don't-"

"You can call me Glen, Ma'am. I'm not n.o.body."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. This is my land. Bought with my money. My children have lived here their whole lives. What's more, Billy walked away with what money we did have."

Glen's jaw tightened. He didn't like the sound of that. He hadn't had the time or inclination for a wife, but sometimes, he figured marriages just didn't work out. Two people heading different directions. No need to judge anyone for that.

That wasn't what seemed to have happened. He thought of the children upstairs. They were the worst part of all of this. They hadn't done anything to deserve to be left alone. The boys needed a father in their lives-but then, he was getting ahead of himself.

If he could have bought her out of her half, he would have. It might have helped them find someplace more comfortable for a single mother and her three kids. But the money just wasn't there.. He wasn't any sort of ranch hand, never knew much about cattle, but he figured he'd be able to learn it. The boys he'd hired had given him just about enough advice to get him started.

The one thing they'd made sure he knew was that he'd gone in a little deeper than he shoulda. These cows would take six months or more to fatten up. Oh, he'd be able to buy feed and get 'em seen to on credit. Folks knew the score. But he wouldn't see a cent his first year, not with these cows. Not with the prices he'd paid for 'em.

"Well, I don't want to cause any trouble for you, ma'am." He set the hat back on his head, went back out to his horse. Glen had only bought four things, with the money that his thirty years up to that point had added up to.

He'd have plenty of time to figure it out over the next few days, but he could see this wasn't going to solve itself in one afternoon, and the horse needed feeding.

Cattle were a mystery to him. The men, he'd gotten lucky. Horses, he knew just well enough to buy a ride he wouldn't regret.

His hands had recommended he start carry a gun again, for dealing with varmints. And as for the pistol hanging at his hip-Glen knew pistols. It sat just right on his leg, just like the Colt he'd given returned when he'd finished his duty.

Two.

Catherine turned over in her bed, the summer heat not the only thing keeping her awake. What right did that man have to come around and try to tell her that he had the rights to her house? For that matter, what did he plan on doing with it?

She knew what she had expected him to say. Pack a bag. She'd been tensed for it to come the entire conversation they'd had. Instead he'd gone back out, signaled the two hands he'd brought with him, and then they'd gone out to bring the cows around to her corral. Though he surely thought of it as 'his' corral, now that he had a piece of paper that said he owned the place.

It was downright strange having a man around the house again, and not in a way that Catherine liked one bit. The worst part was that instincts she thought were gone and buried were rearing their ugly heads. She would be lucky if she didn't have a pot of coffee on for him tomorrow.

She let out a breath. Three men for fifty head of cattle. She smiled at the idea. One could have driven so few by himself without much trouble. He couldn't have known a whole lot if he let himself get swindled like that. What was worse, though, was that having him right across the way made her miss other things.

Things she shouldn't be getting from him. Things she didn't really want, but her body protested nonetheless. She turned over again, pushed the sheets off her body with her feet, and let the night air cool the thin layer of sweat on her skin. She just wanted to sleep.

She'd been fine the night before he came. What difference would one day-or a man sleeping in the barn, regardless of how handsome he was-make?

Glen wanted to get to work. He had never sat still for long in the Army. He'd always been on the move. Always something else to be done. He figured that it was no different now. There would be plenty to do here, and he'd never be quite done.

He looked out at the cattle, sleeping out in the field. Dark shapes in the night. He was new at this, but he knew enough to know that she was in over her head with all these cattle.

If what she said was true, and her good-for-nothing husband had walked out with all of their money, then he figured she must have let go the guys she had working the herd when she couldn't pay 'em no more. The thought frustrated him, not for the first time.

He thought about the way she had looked in that living room. With plenty of time to think about it, this late at night, he was realizing more and more how surprising a woman she was. She had n.o.body to help her. The eldest couldn't have been more than seven, from what he'd seen of the children before she'd shooed them off to their room.

Yet, the cattle seemed fed. The house was in good shape, at least so far as he could tell. And she had looked-well, G.o.d had played a role in how good she looked, he reckoned. But she certainly hadn't hurt her chances of looking d.a.m.n good. She looked like she was in control of her life.

Glen didn't love that he had to walk into it this way. But whatever he thought didn't matter a whole h.e.l.l of a lot. How could he have known that there was someone else living there? He couldn't, he knew. It was just how things went.

But that didn't make him feel any better. If he had it to do again, knowing what he would be walking into, he would have let her keep the place. Would've taken his payment out of Billy Howell's hide just for what he'd done to his wife, never mind squelching on his debts.

But now he was in too deep, and he was stuck there. He leaned back against a bale of hay, ignored the smell, and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be another early day. He hadn't had one for a long time before a week ago.

He was slipping back into the life he'd had in the army easier than he had expected. Waking up with the sun, working fast and hard. He didn't know how to feel about it, but he knew well enough that he didn't want it to keep happening.

Catherine didn't look like someone who had spent the whole night tossing and turning, she thought, looking in the polished hand-mirror. She looked alright. Not that it mattered-after all, no one would see her whose opinion mattered. Just that gambler who had shown up on her property with a sad story and a sadder herd of cattle.

He'd brought a pair of boys along with the journey, and if she understood right, he had paid them in advance. How long their term was to be, she didn't know. But if it were more than just the journey north, she had a herd herself that needed tending...

She pushed the thought away before it could root itself in her mind. She couldn't afford to think that way. They would be fine, come time to sell. It had taken years to recover to the point where she didn't spend most of her night in a panic, but now they were close.

Just one or two more drives. That was what she had to tell herself every time anything happened. Ada had a cough that was making Catherine a little nervous, but she was telling herself it was just a summer cold.

Once they sold, they'd be able to buy the herd for next season, and maybe even have enough to be comfortable again. The way Catherine had always been back east. She heard the voice in the back of her head again. Write home, it said. Daddy would take them back in. He would love to meet his two grand-daughters. He'd like little Cole, too, though he was still too young to spend a whole lot of time.

Glen's arrival, and the news that the deed to the property she'd bought with what little money her father would send had resurfaced, threw a monkey wrench into those plans.

She heard the door open and close, and before she saw Glen Riley coming 'round the corner into the kitchen, she'd already turned to the jar of coffee grounds to brew a pot. She cursed herself for it, but she'd already started, and he'd notice if she stopped. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was making her uncomfortable.

"Mornin', ma'am."

Glen waited for her to answer him. He was used to being alone. Waking up alone. Spending most of the day alone. When he'd left the army and taken up card-playing, it had felt new and interesting to be near people. But the room was always empty around him. n.o.body to talk to even at the table. They weren't friends, they were people whose money he was planning to take.

Being near a family like this, even if it wasn't his family, reminded him of a time before he'd joined up. When he'd lived with Ma, Pa, Sarah, and Millie. The memory, more than anything, was what had made him come in. But as he reminisced the silence stretched out uncomfortably until finally Catherine turned around and put a cup of coffee down in front of him.

"I appreciate it, Missus Howell."

"That's not my name, Mister Riley."

Her voice had a hard edge. He'd stepped on something sensitive without meaning to, he realized, and it didn't take long to figure out what had upset her. She didn't continue, and Glen decided it would be smarter to let it go.

"I figured I'd let you in on what I was fixin' on doing, if you don't mind." She raised her eyebrows as if to tell him to come out with it. "I have the boys on a few extra days past what we expected to take getting here, and we made better time than expected, so they'll be here through the end of the week. I gave 'em instructions to listen to any requests you have, so if you want 'em to help you out-"

"I'll be fine on my own," she answered. She crossed her arms across the chest of the pretty dress she was wearing. Glen knew she was angry, but he couldn't bring himself to blame her for it.

"And I figured we could go into town, if you like, and see what we can do about this little dispute. You got a judge around here?"

After a long moment she nodded, and finally he picked up the coffee. Now that he was pretty sure she wouldn't have spit in it just to spite him. It was d.a.m.n fine, better than anything he'd brewed for himself.

It took him a moment to push the thought back out of his mind. Her coffee was strong and well-made, but that was all it was. No need to start drawing up plans for a wedding just yet.

Three.

Catherine cursed her d.a.m.n fool pride, watching Glen Riley leave. She needed-well, she needed more than she wanted to think about. The cattle could do to be let out to pasture, but she didn't have the time, and she couldn't afford the help herself.

Catherine stopped in the children's room and put Ada in charge. She would be back before they knew it, just a quick trip into town. Once she knew the kids understood, she headed to her room. She couldn't go into town in these old clothes.

The suitcase under her bed came out and Catherine's hand moved to wipe the dust off before she could stop herself. She hadn't worn her church clothes in far too long, she thought. It had been an embarra.s.sment when she'd decided that she didn't need them hanging up any more, but to see how long ago that was...

She pulled them back out and looked them over. Not too bad, and after all this time. She wasn't sure what kind of hurry they were in, so even though the clothes could use an ironing, she tried not to think about it as she slipped the clothes on, then looked down at herself. She was surprised they still fit as well as they did.

She hadn't worn the dress since before Ada was born, and Catherine had thought that she had gained some weight in the years since. But the lean years that they'd faced since Billy left had at least given her the happy benefit of fitting into her nice clothes from when she left Baltimore and moved out here with her new husband.

Glen was waiting outside for her, holding her cup out for her as soon as she came through, and then he thought better of it immediately. "Where should I put this?"

She took it and turned back through the door, set the cup beside the washing basin, and then she was back out. "You'll have to forgive me, Mister Riley," she started. "I haven't a horse of my own."

"I can walk," he offered. It wouldn't have been the first long walk he'd taken under a hot sun, but the way she pursed her lips, he got the impression he had said something wrong. Glen had the good taste not to ask what had upset her.

He understood that she wasn't happy about him being there, and he understood why. She was right to be angry, but that didn't change the situation, and the situation was that he couldn't leave whether he wanted to or not.

"What, then?" He tried to mask his frustration. He had no real right to be annoyed-she was in a hard position-but here he was, trying to sort out their dispute, and she was too prissy to sit on a horse while he hoofed it alongside? Pretty looks or sad story be d.a.m.ned.

He'd read her wrong. He had been envisioning her as some kind of tough heroic woman, putting up with all her problems with a hardness that exemplified the West. Perhaps he had put too much on her.

"I can ride behind, if you take it slow. There's no need for you to walk."

He adjusted his hat on his head to shield his eyes, and then nodded. He didn't like it, but then he could barely stand being near her. Even being in the same room with her was distracting. He had known better than to make a.s.sumptions. h.e.l.l, he'd just been berating himself for making them, so to make another in the same breath-Glen let out a breath and stalked off to get his horse.

He took it slow. He'd need as much time away from Mrs. Howell as he could get before he started to get funny ideas in his head. One of them would have to leave, and it was sad no matter who lost out, but that didn't mean that they could avoid it.

Especially the way she seemed less and less pleased to see him every time they crossed paths. Given the lukewarm reception she'd had for him when Catherine met him at the door the first time he'd knocked, he couldn't figure how bad it would get before she tried to slit his throat while he slept, and he didn't much want to try and find out.

As he walked the horse back out he tried to figure out which would be less improper. If she was really going to insist on this, Glen at least didn't want to open himself to any accusation of impropriety. He had kept to himself as best he could, but she needed to know what he was planning, and so he'd gone in.

Now it had turned into all this. Finally he helped her up into the saddle, then pulled himself up behind her. The saddle was made for straddling, rather than sitting side-saddle, so neither would be comfortable, this way, but at least she'd be... a bit more secure, at least.

Wrapping his arms around her to get a grip, though, he realized exactly how bad a mistake he had made. Catherine shifted, trying to find the most comfortable position, and spurred the horse into a walk.

The feeling of his arms wrapped around her waist felt uncomfortable in just the right way. It was just one more thing playing into the little fantasy world that her mind was trying to create all by itself. She didn't want to think about him the way she was.

She certainly didn't want to enjoy the feeling of a man's arms wrapped around her. Not after she had finally banished the thought of Billy having a change of heart and finally realizing that his wife and children meant more to him than a few lousy dollars.

Glen Riley would be the same, she knew. It was only a matter of time, and he'd show himself for what he was. He was a gambler, and like all gamblers he would be moving on before too long, and it didn't much matter who he hurt along the way.

Four.

Catherine's heart was in her throat the whole way back to the ranch, under the setting sun. Underneath it all, she had thought that somehow, it didn't much matter whose name was on the deed. He was her husband, for Pete's sake, and that meant that if it was in his name, it was in her name. The father of her children.

When she'd realized he wasn't coming back, she'd been hurt. More than hurt, she'd been beside herself, but she didn't have the comfort of being able to waste time on it. There had been work to do, bills to be paid, whenever she managed to find the money. Catherine sc.r.a.ped together the minutes over the past four years and dealt with it when she could.

But she hadn't really spent much time thinking about the basic realities of what their separation meant. They had always agreed, privately-the ranch was hers. She'd bought it, but it was legally convenient to put it in Billy's name. How much did a few words, spoken in private, count for?

Not much, according to Judge Burch. She'd have to vacate the premises. No legal right to stay, he'd said. Glen Riley owned the land, and it was through his good Christian charity that she would be allowed to stay, or not.

Oh, everyone was plenty sympathetic. Even Glen, who made the strangest expression when the Judge had come back with his verdict. She'd mistaken it for a smile at first, but there wasn't any happiness in his face. Nor in his demeanor. He'd just walked up and taken the bill of sale and the deed, and started making his way to the back.