Читать книгу Love on the Range - Jessica Nelson - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Heart slamming against her sternum, Gracie backed up, then realized the futility of such an endeavor. Her imagination set sail as the rider’s shape morphed into a more recognizable figure. One who wore Trevor’s conspicuous hat.

Relief rushed through her so fast her knees trembled. Trevor often came to meals but she had not been alone with him since their conversation at the train depot. She fumbled with her skirt, the memory of feeling dowdy the first morning here flustering her into a nervous state. She took a deep breath.

That was ridiculous. Gracelyn Riley did not get nervous. Especially over a man.

She straightened her shoulders, willing some starch into her backbone as the horse thundered up to her. The beast stopped mere inches from her nose. Swallowing a squeal, she stepped back.

“Hello, Trevor. What are you doing out here?” She looked up at him, shading her eyes from the morning sun.

“That would be my question for you.” His deep voice carried a sterner note than usual.

“Is there a problem with me walking in the grass?”

“Let’s just say you know nothing about the Oregon desert. Anything could happen to you out here, and you wouldn’t know how to deal with it.”

The rich scent of horse and leather floated to her. The sun warmed her cheeks and his hat cast a shadow over his face. No doubt he wore that stubborn look he’d sported on the bench.

A hot flush of anger zipped through her. Finally out from beneath her parents’ confining rules, no man was going to tell her what to do. Her shoulders stiffened. “Your presumptions about me are astounding. Move your horse so I may continue on my way.”

Trevor’s stallion shuffled in front of her, heavy hooves pounding the dirt. He looked ready to break into a gallop. He snuffled, a loud, wet and hungry sound. She eyed the large teeth warily as the horse chomped at the bit.

Perhaps a more mannerly approach would work best. “Please move your horse.”

“Why don’t I give you a ride back?”

“No, thank you. I am enjoying myself, and you seem…” She didn’t want to finish. Offending him was not in her best interests.

“Seem what?” he asked, scar quirking upward with that annoying eyebrow of his.

She backed up another step. “Uh, like you’d rather ride than walk.” She banished the word irascible to the back of her mind.

“I like walking.”

He slid off the saddle. They walked together, the horse trailing them. Gracie wanted to talk to relieve the silence, but her mind had become curiously blank. No need to talk his ear off as she’d done at the depot.

Trevor shortened his stride to match hers. For a time the horse’s plodding footsteps and the whispers of the grass in the breeze were the only sounds to keep them company.

He finally broke the silence. “What do you think of the ranch?”

“I find it charming. Have you lived here long?”

“Lou and I go way back. I knew him when he bought the place and I came to work for him shortly thereafter.”

“Do you enjoy it?” Gracie glanced at him, admiring the determination that marked his face. “The work, I mean? I’ve always thought business, besides mathematics, would be dreary.”

“I like order, structure. The thrill of competition and hunting out the perfect stock.”

She laughed. “You don’t seem adventurous, but I suppose you are, in a different sort of way.” A sigh escaped. “It is unfortunate that adventure is difficult to come by out here. A desert has little in the way of exciting activities. I fear I’ll be dreadfully bored until spring.”

Trevor snorted.

She ignored the derisive sound. “Do you plan to own your own ranch someday? Being someone else’s right-hand man is not the same as being in charge.”

“Someday I’ll buy a ranch.”

“You’d do well with it, I’m sure.”

A flicker of emotion crossed his face. “Thanks. How’s everything going for you at the house?”

“Lovely. Uncle Lou is a real sport. It’s wonderful how he financially supports the suffrage movement. Women deserve the right to participate in the choosing of our elected state representatives. Don’t you agree?”

“Change subjects quick, don’t you?”

She grimaced. “I apologize.”

Something like a smile snagged the corners of his lips.

“Women are citizens, just like any man,” he finally said after an interminably long silence.

An enlightened cowboy. For a moment, Gracie didn’t know what to say. Dragging in a deep breath, she looked over at him. “A man’s treatment of a woman’s basic rights says much of his character.”

Her toe caught against a rock and before she knew what was happening, she landed on her elbow. She winced at the sting and moved to stand.

Rattling filled the air. She stiffened, confused. Within seconds she saw the snake poised in front of her. For a second it seemed as though her heart stopped beating.

Then Trevor was beside her, raising his arm. He moved so fast she didn’t understand what he did until the rattling stopped and the only sound was gunfire echoing across the uneven landscape.

Breath shallow, Gracie stood carefully. “Thank you.” She clasped her hands tight but their shaking wouldn’t stop.

He holstered the gun, expression unreadable. “You okay?” His fingers reached toward her, then withdrew. By unspoken assent, they began to walk again, skirting around the area where the mangled carcass of a rattler must surely rest.

She wouldn’t know as she kept her gaze averted. “I see what you mean about dangers.” Good. Her voice sounded normal.

“Actually, most rattlers are curling up in crevices by now. That was strange.” He glanced at her.

Still shaky, she attempted to give him a smile and for her trouble, stumbled over a shrub again. She instinctively grabbed Trevor’s arm for support. A bright spot of red on her sleeve snagged her attention.

Blood.

The ground shifted below her. Trevor’s muscles flexed beneath her fingers as her knees lost their strength. He hauled her up and his fingers dug into her shoulders. “What’s the matter with you?” His eyes, so very dark in the morning light, searched hers.

“My pardon. The sight of blood—” she gulped “—makes me faint.”

Trevor released her and ran his hand across his chin. “You’re saying you can’t handle blood?”

Gracie knew her face must be crimson. She looked away. It was a most embarrassing disorder. “Again, my apologies.” She searched for a new topic and blurted out the first thought that came to her. “Your arms feel as though they’re hewn from rock.”

“I have reasons to stay strong.” He smirked. It transformed his face from rugged granite to soft strength.

Her heart fell faster than she could catch it.

She cleared her throat. “I suppose ranching does require strength.” She had to be mindful of her goal to find Striker for an exclusive interview. She should pick Trevor’s brain. Anything to calm her racing pulse. “Some say Striker frequents this area.”

“On to another subject now, huh?”

“Well?” They picked their way across the ground, Gracie careful to keep a respectable distance from her attractive companion.

“Who says these things?”

“The papers, people who’ve claimed to see him.”

He quirked a brow. “That so?”

“I have reason to believe he lives close by.” She studied him for a moment. “You don’t know the man, do you?” He kept walking and she shrugged. “Of course not. You do exude a dangerous edge but I don’t think you have the wild spirit to hobnob with government agents. Don’t get me wrong,” she added when he shot her a disgruntled look. “I’m sure you could handle any situation, but it’s obvious you’re a bit on the stodgy side. Besides, Striker is rumored to be an older man.”

Trevor stopped and she almost stumbled into him. He planted his hands low on his hips, looked up at the sky and groaned. His hat hung down his back. “I’m stodgy? Miss Explorer can’t find adventure in a wilderness.”

“Well, Mr. Cruz. I certainly did not mean it as an insult.”

“I know what you meant, Miss Riley.”

“Oh, look, we’re almost to the house.” Gracie pointed out the obvious and quickened her pace.

“Slow down, woman. Just meant you got a little bit of snobbishness about you.”

Snobbishness, indeed. She twisted around and eyed him. “That may be. At the moment, I do not care to debate it.”

“Ya got your skirts all twisted in a knot, don’t you, Gracie? Bet your mama wrinkles her face that way when she gets her dander up.”

Gracie didn’t remark on his outrageous words, or his sarcastic, exaggerated accent. She had one question, then she’d head up the porch steps and escape the rude man. “Do you always carry a weapon?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a reason?”

“Seems obvious enough to me. This is dangerous territory, home to more than one kind of snake.” His eyes turned serious. “Don’t go wandering by yourself, Gracie.”

“If you are referring to Mendez, Striker will take care of him. In the meantime, I’ll speak with Uncle Lou about looking around.” She used a polite but distant voice to cover her annoyance. “Thank you for walking me back.”

They parted, but once Gracie was in the warm house she rushed to the front window of the study and watched Trevor leave.

* * *

Later that day, Gracie visited Uncle Lou in his office. He had a smooth voice and smelled of sandalwood. He gave her an earful of stories about his life and local gossip but he didn’t mention Striker. As he spoke, Gracie pondered the rift between him and her parents. He seemed charming, successful, everything her parents admired. But even with all his blessings he despised the mention of God. That made her curious, too. She didn’t ask him about it because she didn’t want to be pushy.

She exercised restraint once in a while.

Eventually Uncle Lou had to leave, but not before giving her permission to use his stationery and pens. On his way out, he flicked an envelope her way, and she squealed when she recognized Connie’s tight handwriting on the front. She’d force herself to write a quick note home first, then read Connie’s letter.

If only she had a telephone, but she’d been told this area of Harney County was too distant for telephone wires. Somehow she’d get to Burns. Even if she had to walk. The coordinates she’d been given were only a guess. Connie was supposed to verify them and send more—perhaps in this letter…

Gracie finished writing home, making sure to inform her parents once again that she wouldn’t be marrying Hugh.

She left the envelopes on Uncle Lou’s desk, and then went into the hallway. A scarred oak bench sat against the wall. She sank down on its padded floral seat and ripped the letter open. Connie’s dark, bold letters jumped out. Gracie smiled and read with haste.

Dearest Gracie,

It is incredibly boring here without you. Elizabeth and Laura do not have your sense of adventure. I am writing this the day after you have left. You see, I am already resorting to letter writing to keep myself from yawning.

My dearest friend, please come home soon. I am staying indoors for the most part, as rumors of the influenza are increasing. I have heard that Anne Holbrook has it. Pray for her.

I am planning a huge party for my twenty-fifth birthday. You’ll be back by spring, no doubt.

I should have come with you to Oregon. I suppose you are having grand adventures while I am trapped in the rigid society of the Bostonians.

Not so rigid anymore, perhaps. I have bought another set of trousers. I love them, Gracie. I am convinced they are here to stay.

I love you, dearest friend. Have a wonderful experience, and I shall see you soon.

Love Always,

Connie

P.S. It is rumored Striker has gone west. Oregon or California. The ladies are all atwitter about your idea for an article. It is high time you were paid for your writing. Cousin Jane couldn’t find the coordinates she promised you. She fears they’ve been lost for good. Beware Mendez. Sources claim he’s been seen in Oregon for what could only be nefarious purposes.

Gracie lowered the letter. No coordinates? Nothing?

Footsteps sounded in the next room. Tall and lean, Trevor strode into the hall, glowering. “Is Lou in?”

“He left to go somewhere with James about an hour ago.” She stood, the letter still clutched in her grasp, and forced a smile even though her insides had sunk to her feet.

Trevor glanced at her hands. “A letter already?”

“Oh, yes, from my dearest friend, Connie. She sent it the day after I left. I suppose it came rather fast.”

“How are things back home?” He’d stopped in the middle of the hall. His hands pushed through his hair in an agitated motion—eyes distant.

“She says rumors of influenza are increasing and one of our acquaintances has caught it. Other than that, she is wondering if I have had any adventures. She longs to meet Striker, as do I.” Disheartened and a bit wary of Trevor’s mood, she rambled on. “Unfortunately, adventures in the desert are unlikely. Do you ever wish to live in the city? Somewhere exciting?”

Trevor’s eyes snapped into focus. She wished she’d bothered to straighten herself after lunch. She squared her shoulders.

“The country is just as exciting,” he said flatly.

“Perhaps I need to explore a bit more.” At least in Burns, where someone must know something of Striker. “It is dreadfully boring here, is it not, Mr. Cruz?”

Trevor frowned. She thought it boring? For a moment Gracie sounded just like Eunice and Julia. The comparison to the women he despised made his chest clench up. The fact he’d begun to like Gracie only made things worse.

He stepped forward until he towered over her. She was tall for a woman, with curves that couldn’t be hidden beneath the popular dresses, but there was something about her large doe eyes and thick brown curls that caught him unaware.

Then there was the contrast between her tendency to chatter and her ability to hold an intelligent conversation on a number of topics. At least what he’d observed during meals. He’d considered her a decent woman. Sure, he’d only known her a bit but he usually counted himself a good judge of character.

And Lou liked her.

But, barring Mary, she sounded as superficial as all the other women he’d known.

He stepped forward and Gracie backed up against the wall, rosy lips parting in surprise. He wanted to intimidate her. Unfortunately, she didn’t look cowed, just flustered.

“Do you usually become angry when people do not care for your desert, Mr. Cruz?”

“It’s not your opinion that bothers me but the shallowness inherent in your tone.”

“Me, shallow?” She visibly blanched, and then recovered by lifting her chin. “I apologize for my attitude. I hadn’t meant to offend you. It’s only that I’ve important things to do and instead I am stuck in a desert when I need to find Str—people, lots of people, and I cannot do that here.”

Gut tight, Trevor stepped away from Gracie. He’d heard her slip of the tongue. Considering the intelligence he’d received today, things were going from bad to worse. And now he had to deal with this…socialite. His teeth ground together. He had the sneaking suspicion she thought Oregon was home to old-time sheriffs riding down outlaws.

But beneath anger lurked interest and with effort he reined it in. She was his boss’s niece. Disregarding everything else going on in his life, that was reason enough to back away.

“Too bad you’re stuck here,” he said disdainfully, then spun to leave.

“Wait,” she called after him. “Aren’t you going to tell me why you’re so angry?”

Trevor turned and crossed his arms.

“Connie tells me I’m a good listener. She shares all her little dramas with me.” She caught her lip between her teeth. “It’s true. Connie has tons of men trouble.” Nodding, she tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Most people grow defensive because they’ve been hurt in some manner. What was I saying that irritated you? That the desert is dreadfully boring? Or was it something else entirely…?” She stopped chattering when he advanced swiftly.

A ferocious need clamored through his chest, locked his jaw.

“Are you angry again? I was just trying to help,” she stuttered, backing up a few steps.

“Gracelyn, I would suggest you go to your room and start a quilt before I do something…unseemly.”

“I assure you, Mr. Cruz, unseemly doesn’t faze me. And my sewing skills are atrocious, anyhow.” She stood rooted to her spot.

Frowning, he crossed his arms. If he suggested she don a pair of trousers and run into the mountains, she probably would, just for the fun of it.

She made a little squeak when he moved closer. Looking flushed and sounding breathless, she said, “You’re an intriguing man. Why aren’t you married yet?”

The hurt that lassoed through him was unexpected. He felt his features freeze into something tight and painful. “You just can’t help being nosy, can you?”

Then he strode down the hall and slammed out the front door into the brisk October breeze.