Western Romance Collection: Rugged Cowboys Part 22

She saw him coming and hoped he wouldn't come in. Her heart wasn't ready for what was going to come next. He had to accept her offer of rent payment. Had to. If he didn't-she couldn't say what he wanted from them, but she couldn't keep waiting on him to decide she wasn't worth keeping around.

She repeated it over and over in her head. Any minute, any second. She said one thing out of line, and suddenly she'd be out of the place. That was if he didn't get a wild hair and decide all of a sudden that he wanted the house, and he wanted it now. And he wouldn't have no women and her children staying in the place with him.

If he did, it would be unpleasant, but unpleasant didn't mean she could do anything about it. That was the worst part. So even though it wouldn't be pleasant, she'd set out a hundred dollars, set out neatly on the coffee table in front of her sofa.

She looked in on Ada and the twins, hoped again that he wasn't coming. Knock, knock.

He didn't come straight in, but when she opened the door, there he was. Still wearing that pistol of his, still looking as good as ever. The days on the road hadn't changed him much, and she still wanted something she couldn't afford to give him. She shook her head.

"Mister Riley, what brings you around?"

"Ma'am, I thought we should talk about a few things."

"So did I," she agreed. "You first, Mister Riley."

He had already started moving toward the sofa when he asked, "you mind if I take a seat?"

"Not at all," Catherine answered. She'd been planning to ask him to sit down, but he had already started making his way over by the time she remembered her manners.

He settled in. "I need to know what makes you think there's a rustling problem around here. I know you've got the more desirable steers, for sure-but I ain't had any problem with mine, and I haven't seen any trouble out there."

Catherine's face twisted up, and Glen almost regretted asking the question. If doubting her was going to upset her that much, then he shouldn't have asked. But he couldn't decide what the right answer was if he couldn't see the problem with his own two eyes.

"A few years back, I had a smaller herd, and they were easier to manage. Even if I had a little less time with Ada and the twins being too young to fend for themselves, I could find the time to do an accurate headcount. We lost seven head the first year, and twelve the second year. But I managed to get a good deal on the beef and we still made a profit, so..."

"So, let me see if I'm understanding. You don't know, not to a certainty, that they're still doing it?"

She avoided his eyes, but that did seem to be the case. No matter.

"I talked to the Sheriff about it, but he said he didn't know enough to do anything about it. Said that it would take too much work to find pretty few head. No idea who'd been doing it, either."

Glen nodded. "Alright, but what if they moved on, or got arrested on something else? Or rustling someone else's cattle? Couldn't they have stopped?"

Catherine nodded after a moment. "It's possible. You could give them a count tomorrow, if you like. I have a round thousand head."

"I'll do that, then."

She nodded her understanding. "Did you have anything else you needed to talk about?"

"Yeah, I did."

Catherine's heart dropped. She could hear it in his voice, something had been moving through his head, some thought, and now that it was time to say it, he was slow to say it to her. Only one thing would cause that kind of reaction, the kind of thing that she was hoping that he would leave off.

The kind of thing that she'd been hoping to avoid with her rent payments.

"What's that?"

"Well... naw," he decided all of a sudden. "What's this? What did you have to talk about?"

He gestured with his eyes at the stack of bills in front of him.

"That's a hundred dollars, and it's yours. If you swear to let us stay the next five months. I'll be able to sell my steers, and then we can talk about more rent payments."

Glen looked at the money and then looked at her. His face was surprisingly blank, as if he weren't particularly tempted by it. This was her big gamble. She needed that money, but now she was willing to give it up if it meant a little more safety in the long-term. Like an investment.

If he turned it down, then how was she supposed to keep going? She couldn't keep letting him hold that over her.

"Twenty dollars a month?" She wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"That should be plenty."

"I don't know," he said, sucking a breath between his teeth.

It wasn't enough, she thought. He was trying to decide if he should tell her to make a bigger offer, or just refuse flat out. She couldn't afford any more, though. She'd done the math, and if he said it wasn't enough, he was right. She was using at least three acres of land. Twenty dollars an acre, she owed him sixty a month.

She had hoped he wouldn't know that, but if he did, even if he tried to cut her a deal-she couldn't afford another fifty, not if she wanted to buy feed for the winter and food for her family. There weren't many favors left to call in, and she hadn't been in a position to start earning new ones.

He looked up from the money.

"No, ma'am. I'm sorry, but no." He pushed the money away. "But if you want a promise, then I'll give it to you. But I do need something from you, if you want to stay."

She looked at him, tried to decide what he wanted. He was getting all uncomfortable again. She had only known men to look that uncomfortable over one thing. Catherine knew where this was going, and she didn't like how much she didn't mind.

Eighty.

Glen didn't like admitting that he still knew next to nothing about the trade he'd decided to pursue. He wasn't sure how obvious it was, but he sure as h.e.l.l didn't like asking a woman swimming in her own problems to take time out of her day to show him what he needed to know. That was the least pleasant part.

He didn't like how hard he was having to fish for words, neither, but some things were unavoidable, in the end. "What I need, is your help with somethin'."

She pursed her lips, and then nodded after a moment. She picked up the money from the table, walked away, and disappeared into the bedroom. He waited a while, and when she came back her hands were empty. She closed the door to her children's room, and then started working the b.u.t.tons on her dress.

Glen's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He shot straight up and turned to look out the window, not looking at her as he called back.

"What in the h.e.l.l are you doing?" It took him a long minute to realize he'd cursed at her, so he added at the end, sheepishly. "Pardon my french."

Catherine's face burned. She had just kind of a.s.sumed, true. And she wasn't eighteen any more. There were plenty of prettier girls out there. But it wasn't fun to be told, point blank and to her face, that he wasn't interested. That she'd been going all off on her own, and a.s.sumed.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I just... a.s.sumed, you know."

"a.s.sumed-what? Naw!"

She couldn't see his face, but Catherine could imagine that his face was as red as his s.h.i.+rt. Her own, as well. She wanted to go back to her bedroom. Wanted to pretend she hadn't done it. Wanted to imagine that none of it had ever happened.

He would let it go, right? He'd already made it quite clear that he wasn't interested in her, not in that way. "What, then?"

His voice was softer, now. "You decent?"

Her fingers were shaking as she did up the b.u.t.tons on her dress. "Yes."

"You wanna explain to me what that was all about?"

"No," she answered. There had been a time when she wouldn't have considered it. When it wouldn't have occurred to her. Billy had never been able to pay off his debts, though. It burned her to admit, but he'd worked out some downright un-Christian ways to pay off his poker buddies when he'd gone in too far over his head to make it even with a promise to get them back next time.

She'd had to take a scalding hot bath after to even start to feel clean again, and now she was feeling that way again. As if there was something dirty about her, beneath the skin. Something she wouldn't be able to clean off, because it was something wrong with her.

Glen turned. She looked as embarra.s.sed as he felt, and then she abruptly slumped into a chair beside her, dropped her face, and started to cry. Was he supposed to comfort her? Lord only knew he'd wanted to. Just like he'd wanted to reconsider his refusal. But it wouldn't have been right, and he hadn't done it then.

Would it be pus.h.i.+ng things too far to try to make her feel better? Whatever misunderstanding that had happened between them, he had a lot to do with it. She might feel better if he left her alone completely. But the sight of her sitting there, weeping, tugged at his heartstrings.

He moved tentatively from the sofa, knelt down in front of her chair and put a calloused hand on her skirt. Her beautiful face was twisted up in sadness, and her cheeks were blotched red, but as much as it worried him to see her looking like that, it didn't diminish her beauty.

It wasn't time to think about things like that, though, he reasoned. No, he had to calm her down. Still, when he put his hand on her she only started to cry harder, her shoulders shaking with the sobs.

"I'm sorry," he offered, not sure what had happened. He only knew that she was upset, and though he couldn't say what he'd done, he knew it was his fault.

Glen waited a long time, his hand resting there on her knee, her face buried in her hands, hoping that he could give her some kind of comfort, but he knew that he wasn't going to help much.

Just as he started praying for something to happen, something that would help him understand what to do next, he heard a door hinge creaking open.

"Mama?" Ada stood in the door, rubbing bleary eyes. "I'm thirsty."

Catherine's reaction was immediate, and Glen stood up and stepped back. It seemed like she'd flipped a switch in her head, and now she was a completely different person. She was a mother, now, not just a woman, and she couldn't let her daughter worry.

"One second, sweetheart." She poured a cup from a clay jug of water and went back to the little girl. Glen recognized that whatever he did, he had nothing else to add to the situation. She needed to be alone, and he'd let her have her privacy.

He stood up and walked out. If he was upsetting her, then he shouldn't remind her that he was there by saying good night.

Ada was sitting in her lap again, but Catherine could tell her daughter was about ready to fall asleep sitting up. She was defiantly forcing herself to stay awake to finish the cup of water. When Ada finally slumped her head against her mother, Catherine took her back to the bedroom and laid her down. Started unb.u.t.toning the dress she'd worn.

The action just made her remember what a fool she must've made of herself. How badly he must have thought of her now. Well, it didn't much matter what he thought of her. Not really. She did what she had to do, and that was how it would be.

She looked at the luggage she'd halfway packed a few days before. Thought about the church dress she had sitting at the very bottom of the pile. She wanted to pray, wanted the comfort that it would bring. But she wasn't going to.

She didn't deserve it. She'd let Billy stop her going, and even after he left, she hadn't picked the habit back up. She didn't deserve to have the rewards if she wasn't doing what she knew she should have been doing.

She laid her head back and tried to understand what was wrong with her. What had she been thinking? He'd been sitting there, as professional as could be, and she had just a.s.sumed that he-her face burned again.

She had never taken to drinking. Her father had always warned her against it, and being a preacher's daughter, she wasn't exactly keen on the stuff in the first place. After all, it was what caused so many of the problems in this world. That's what she'd always been taught.

But Lord, she wanted a drink now. Something to make her feel better. If Billy had still been there, she would have been able to take his whiskey. But she'd cleared the stuff out after he left.

She wanted to go to church, and she wanted to pray.

But why on earth would G.o.d listen to a harlot like her?

Nine.

Glen wanted another cup of that coffee, but he couldn't bring himself to go back into the house. Not after what had happened the night before. He'd be humiliating himself, and more than that, he'd be humiliating Catherine. So he decided it would be wiser not to go in this morning, and certainly not ask for a cup of her delicious coffee.

Instead, he was taking a headcount. Of everything. He moved hers first. It would be easier to separate his part of the herd than hers, he figured. So he'd cornered the little steer calves and then got the big herd moving out of the pen.

Keeping a count was harder. They moved fast, and there were enough that he was having trouble keeping it accurate. He thought he counted nine-hundred ninety, but he wasn't certain. Not absolutely certain. He could have missed ten, easy.

Then he moved his own on out. Counted. Fifty even. They'd taken three in one d.a.m.n night. Herding them back inside, he wanted the coffee even more, because whatever he was going to do about it, it was going to be a long night.

He put his hand on his pistol instinctively and tried to count the steers on the way back in. Nine-hundred and ninety-three this time, but his count of the calves had been accurate far as he could tell. He growled out his disapproval. Who on earth would steal calves?

Couldn't take them to market. You'd barely get what he'd paid for them. n.o.body would buy them as fresh stock. He didn't have a lot of confidence in what he was doing on the ranch, yet. But he knew enough to know, you didn't buy a cow with someone else's brand on it. Not if you were legitimate, at least.

Selling the beef would be easier, but it still left the problem that it couldn't be worth the risk. He considered that they might have wandered off in the night. That was certainly possible-before he had left to range them. When he'd come back, the gaps in the fence had been closed, and the boys were nowhere to be seen.

Glen knew more about horses than he did about cattle, but he was pretty certain that they didn't jump fences too good. Which meant they'd busted the fence again, or someone had opened the latch on the paddock and guided the calves out.

It was a quick job to ride the line of the fence. The boys had done good work. If he saw them again, which he doubted, then he would have to let them know that he approved. The implication wasn't hard to pick up on, though. Glen frowned and started heading toward the house. Making d.a.m.n sure to close the latch as secure as it would go. He wouldn't let the steers just wander off because of his own foolishness.

If this was serious, then he would need to take it seriously. He didn't want to, but he hadn't been given a choice. He was here, now, and that was how it was going to be. Like it or not.

Catherine heard Glen come in. Then she pretended not to, because she didn't want to think about him. She certainly didn't want to think about what she'd been doing the night before. She had been thankful when he didn't come for the house that morning, but now here he was, after all.

"You were right," he growled. "There's ten missing, by my count."

She let out a long breath. Ten head gone, that was near five hundred dollars by itself. It wasn't a loss that she liked, but she could handle it. It could have been worse, but there was time enough for things to keep getting worse.

"Okay," she answered, still looking out at the cattle, grazing the already-short gra.s.s inside the paddock. "What's your point?"

"Three of them mine, from last night."

She nodded her understanding. She couldn't muster a whole lot of sympathy, but she knew what it felt like to lose part of her stake. Especially when it was already small.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm fixin' to go into town and talk to the Sheriff."

"It won't do you much good," she answered.

There had been a time when she'd thought that was the right answer, too. She'd been a woman, alone out there save for her children and the steers, and some strange men had been around, stealing from her. She was right to be afraid.