Western Romance Collection: Rugged Cowboys Part 24

But then he heard the sound of wood moving on wood, the soft creak of the block going up. Whoever was doing it was being careful-he didn't hear it come down on the peg on the other side of the gate, even as his ears strained against the night.

He looked harder, staying perfectly still. He didn't go for his gun. A gunfight in this darkness would only turn into trouble. He settled his hand on it anyways. He didn't want a fight. He would surrender if he thought it would save him, if they caught him there. But that might not have been a possibility.

There were three, at least. Two stood guard by the gate. He could barely make them out, but the fact that they were in near-constant motion helped to make out their movements. Their heads were swiveling from side to side, scanning the horizon too quickly to see anything clearly.

They'd catch movement, though, if it was there to be seen, and that was all they needed. The rifles in their arms were all Glen needed to see to know that he shouldn't pick a fight with them. It wouldn't be a little thing, a case of shooting a few warning shots and having them run off into the night.

They'd be shooting back, and he wouldn't be able to wing 'em and hope for the best. A gunfight between them would be them or him. He weighed his odds, and realized that he liked them. That is, of course, if he was itching to kill a body. He'd already had enough taste of that.

The cows they took were small. His. Two of them. The three men hurried them along, got back up onto their horses, and as Glen watched them go, he took in a deep breath. His night was just beginning.

Catherine stepped out of her room and had to stifle a shout. She had to remind herself that she couldn't wake the children. They still needed their sleep, but if she was up, then she was up. And so, it seemed, was Glen Riley. Not only was he up, he was sitting on her sofa, a single candle lit and his hands resting on his knees.

"You think you could pour me a cup of your delicious coffee, Ma'am?"

"What are you doing in here?"

Part of her didn't mind that he was there, but another part of her mind was churning with questions. He had never come in without her permission before, except to pop his head in a minute to tell her if he was leaving the property. That he had come in, while she was sleeping, and waited there in the dark...

"I'll talk to you about it in a minute. Over coffee."

She noticed him rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, watched those rubbing fingers move to the sides of his head. If he'd slept, it hadn't been much. The man looked like he'd been through h.e.l.l.

She decided not to question it. If he wanted to tell her what was going on, then he would. If not, then she wouldn't question it. It wasn't her place to question, anyways. She wasn't his woman, the dreams she'd had last night-and more than once in the nights before that-notwithstanding.

Instead, she pulled on her ap.r.o.n and got busy. A few cracked eggs, a couple thick slices of bacon, and the coffee. A few easy minutes later she dropped the plate in front of him, fis.h.i.+ng a fork out of her pocket.

"Here you go." She busied herself turning on the oil lamps around the house, since the sun was still barely creeping over the horizon. "You look tired."

"They're going north. I followed them for 'round three hours before I lost the trail. Past where they would have turned around, if it were a trick, I think."

"Hm. Alright," she agreed, nodding. North. That was strange. If she were getting rid of cattle, she'd go down to Rawlins. North, there were only a few places. Maybe if they cut east, it would open up opportunities, but due north were only mountains.

At the same time, she had ideas. There were plenty of places a body could go, but they were hours and hours away, and there was no obvious choice. Every one of those towns would have someone looking for cattle, and every single one of them was just as out of the way as the next.

"We'll head out after the children wake up," she said softly. "You get some sleep while you can."

He swallowed the coffee and for a moment she thought he might just get up and force himself. He started to, too, but then he slumped back down and she saw just how tired he was. The man looked like death, in the morning light, and he was clearly having trouble staying quite upright. Finally he kicked off his boots, leaned over to rest his head on the arm of the sofa, and pulled his hat over his eyes.

She heard the children starting to stir, smelling the food. No doubt they were ready for something to eat. h.e.l.l, so was she. But she took care to keep it quiet. After all, Glen was sleeping, and finally, she felt like they were moving forward.

Someone was going to solve this problem once and for all. Greenhorn or not, whether he knew about cattle or not, he gave her the oddest feeling. It wasn't the attraction she'd been ignoring up to now, or at least that wasn't all of it.

She was surprised, but he was giving her the feeling that whatever happened, he would deal with it. The comfort was unexpected, but not unwelcome. She had the bacon sizzling by the time Ada and Grace came padding into the kitchen. Cole was a few steps behind, still rubbing the bleariness from his eyes.

Catherine put a finger to her lips.

Glen needed his sleep.

Thirteen.

Glen kicked awake suddenly. He wasn't supposed to be asleep, he was supposed to be out there. Doing his job. His hat falling into his lap drew his attention to the present.

He wasn't out on the frontier any more. He was in a house. A seven-year old was sitting in a chair opposite him, kicking her legs and watching him intently.

Glen smiled at her. "Good mornin', Miss Ada."

"Mornin', Mister Glen."

"Where's your Mama at?"

"She's gettin' some clothes ready. She says she might be a few days." She said the last part with a strange tone in her voice. "That's what Papa said, though. I think he got lost, though, cause he wasn't-"

She broke off, and Glen could see her struggling not to have too much of a reaction. He sat forward and reached out a hand, put it on her shoulder.

"I know your Mama, and she won't get lost. She wouldn't ever do that to you, Miss Ada. But just in case, I'll be with her. And I've never gotten lost my entire life. The Army taught me to find places, too, so even if I don't know where I am, I'll be able to find my way back."

"The Army?" Her eyebrows furrowed deeper. "Did you kill anybody?"

Glen tried to ignore the shock that went through him. It was almost second-nature now. He'd spent the last three years hiding just about every reaction.

"No, Miss Ada. I was just looking out for places they wanted found." He liked the sound of that answer.

But it was a lie.

Catherine came through the door to her bedroom, hauling a thick suitcase behind her. Lord, but she looked as pretty as ever, and the way she looked at the children...

More than a pretty face, she seemed like a good mother. A good mother whose no-good husband had left her considerably more to deal with than anyone could expect her to be able to manage.

Ada's discomfort only served as an uncomfortable reminder that the ones most hurt by his departure, though, were his children. They'd go through life not sure what was wrong with them that made their father not want to stay by them.

It wasn't a thought that he liked, imagining them thinking that. But as much as he wanted someone to fix the problem, they didn't need a man like him to step in for it.

The first part of his life he'd been good at exactly two things. He'd been happy to call on his tracking expertise to help out, to make his new life work. His talent for shooting men... that was something he would sooner put behind him.

His tracking had given Glen plenty of time to hone both skills, but now it was time to put the gun away. That didn't mean he wasn't going to carry that burden the rest of his life.

Every time he strapped on the pistol, it seemed to whisper in his ear. The comfort of it on his hip. He didn't need to pull it out of the holster to know how easy it would be. How he could do the action real smooth, with no wasted motions.

He had practiced until he could move his hand slow enough to be accurate, and still beat nine men out of ten if he had to. But then, Colonel Bridges had never put a high priority on fair fights. A shot in the back would be just as good, if it helped clear out trouble.

Glen swallowed hard. He'd been fighting to ignore these thoughts for so long that it was coming hard. He didn't realize how long he'd been sitting there until he saw Catherine looking up at him expectantly.

He closed his eyes a moment to quiet his thoughts, and then stood up. Catherine turned to Ada. "What are you going to do if you need anything?"

"Go to Missus Henderson!"

"Good. And how do you get to her house?"

Ada turned around in a full circle before deciding on which direction it was and pointing. Glen couldn't keep the smile off his face, until he could. Then he didn't much want to.

Catherine was regretting the decision to sell the horse already. She'd only brought a little money, but she couldn't spend one more minute in that man's arms or she'd have to accept his marriage proposal. The one he hadn't made.

She thought back about Ada, worrying how she'd gotten along. It occurred to her again what it must look like, her coming into town nestled into the man's arms like she was. If anyone knew he wasn't her husband...

Well, if they knew anything about who her husband had been, there was already talk. How much worse could it get, just because she was unchaperoned with a man?

She pulled the horse to a stop and Glen slid off the back, holding up a hand to help her down after he'd brushed off the dust from two days on the road. She decided it would be petty to ignore him. In spite of the spark it shot through her every time his skin brushed against hers, she took his hand and slid down herself.

Glen busied himself tying off the horse to the post, and she went on inside.

"Can we help you?"

Catherine frowned a bit, slipping into the routine they'd already formed over the past few days. It was easier to act as if she was hapless than it was to try to play the hardened investigator.

"I've been having some trouble, you see. Some of my cattle went missing-I'm sure you boys didn't have a thing to do with it, of course-but I think they'll have sold them off."

The butcher raised his eyebrows. "You've got a rustling problem, huh? Well, I don't know what to tell you. We know our sellers here. We only buy direct from ranchers. Helps to avoid those exact problems."

"Oh, no, of course. I understand. I just wanted to know if anyone came around, trying to sell off any underweight cows, perhaps?"

The man shook his head again, more insistently. "Nothing like that, ma'am. Good luck with your search. I'd suggest you ask around the Sheriff's office down in Rawlins."

"I'm afraid I did, you see."

Glen came in at a convenient time and finished for her.

"He seemed a little busy, so we thought we might ask around the area, just make sure they didn't take our cattle anywhere and try to pa.s.s it off as their own."

"No, sir. Nothing like that, as I was just telling your wife."

"Oh, no-"

"Thank you for your time," Glen said, taking her by the arm. She wasn't his wife, that was for sure. But as they left, she realized that he might have been right not to explain. Time was of the essence. More than a week out, who would remember a couple of cattle coming through?

They got back on the horse. Just a few places more to check. Then on the way back, they could hit the auction houses. Easy. They'd be back home within a week, and with a little luck, she'd be able to find a way to get her own ride, so that she could finally escape Glen's all-too-comfortable grasp.

Fourteen.

They were later than he would have liked. Before the auction would have been ideal, but the road was the road. The truth was, as uncomfortable as sitting two-to-a-saddle was, he liked it more than he was ready to admit.

After all, a good-looking woman in his arms was hardly something that he was used to. He would take advantage of the opportunity as long as he could.

They pulled up in front of the auction house when the horse was still fresh, and Glen knew right away that they were later than he would have liked from the sound of the auctioneer calling out prices. He let himself off and then helped Catherine down and busied himself with tying the lead off while she went inside.

They had plenty of time to wait. There was no need to interrupt the auction in progress, unless they were sure they saw their cattle on the block. A dozen head at most, it would be odd to sell at auction. But if they mixed markings, it would be even more suspect.

Glen wasn't sure what to think about the whole thing. If he'd resorted to stealing, then he would hardly have held onto it. But then, he would have just sold the cows for meat, and they'd checked every town within twenty miles, and none of them had given him anything like the impression that they were lying. They hadn't seen the cattle.

The room seemed to be heating up as the prices spiraled higher, the energy of the buyers getting more and more frenetic. The voice of the auctioneer, shouting out prices as fast as his mouth would allow, drove them constantly to greater excitement. If the crowd got any hotter, Glen thought, they'd have a riot on their hands before long.

And then, as soon as things seemed as if they couldn't get any stronger, the auctioneer waved his hands and announced that they were done for the day. The buyers would be given their winnings as soon as they were all settled up. Stewards would be coming by to deal with the details.

Glen walked up, keeping his posture Army-straight. "Maybe you can help me, Mister."

"Next auction's not until Thursday, son." From this close up, Glen could see the sweat streaking the man's face. He poured himself a gla.s.s of water and drank deeply.

"I'm looking for some information, just a couple of quick questions."

The auctioneer let out a deep sigh, but he turned and faced Glen, Catherine pressed up beside him. "What do you folks need?"

"I own a small ranch a way south of here, and we've been having a bit of a cattle rustling problem. Sheriff seemed to have his hands full with other things, so we thought we would just ask around. Have you seen any underweight steers coming through here? Perhaps a few calves?"

"I've seen as many cattle coming through here as I've seen people. Anything special about these ones?"

"Have you got a pencil?"

He handed one over to Glen, and he drew out his brand. "The calves would wear that brand."

He handed the pencil over to Catherine, who drew a symbol. "That's the other you might've seen."

The man looked at them carefully, and then shook his head. "I don't think I've seen these. We've got a log-book, but I don't want to get your hopes up. You seem like good folks. I feel for you, I do, but I don't know that we'll be able to do anything for you."

"If we could just take a look at the last few days' records-"

"Out of the question. But I can try to get you that information in a few hours. There's a saloon across the street, they serve a mean steak, and if you tell 'em Buck sent you, they'll treat you right."

"We'll be back in a few hours, then," Glen said, letting his breath out all at once. They were going to have a long wait ahead of them, then. He tipped his hat to the man and started making for the saloon across the way. If he mentioned that Buck sent them, they'd treat him right.

Or so he'd heard.

The place wasn't as bad as she'd thought, Catherine decided. She had worried that it would be the sort of place... well, the sort of place that Billy and Glen would have met each other in. At least during the day, the place gave off a good impression of a family-friendly establishment as long as she stayed away from the bar itself.

A pretty twenty-year old waitress came over and brought a chilled brown bottle. Catherine had avoided drinking most of her life, but the time on the road had tired her out. She had already been too far gone before, and now she just wanted to relax a little. They still had a ways to go ahead, and if she didn't let herself go for one night, she'd go crazy.

She took a drink, ignoring the taste as best she could, and ignoring the burn a little better. She wasn't going to make it through the whole thing if she didn't hurry it up, but the stuff made her gag to drink too deeply. So instead she turned to watch the band.