Читать книгу Salvation in the Rancher's Arms - Kelly Boyce - Страница 12

Chapter Five

Caleb had never been to this part of the country before, and as they rode out of town toward the mountain range rising against the sky, he was staggered by the beauty that surrounded him. Tree-lined horizons with purple peaks stretched heavenward, while endless meadows of determined wild flowers poked their heads out of the raw earth anxious to erupt into full bloom.

They followed a winding creek, the sound of the gurgling water a balm to his battered soul. For a few blissful seconds Caleb closed his eyes and allowed himself to breathe deeply, taking in the fresh air and the feel of wide open spaces and peace.

A man could die happy here.

Why Sutter, who’d had everything a man could ask for, had gambled it all away baffled Caleb. A man like that didn’t deserve a good woman like the one sitting next to him. Then again, neither did Caleb.

Man is born to trouble. And you most of all.

Caleb opened his eyes, his grandfather’s words lingering in the air around him. It galled him to admit the old man had been right.

As much as the land called to him, staying would lead to problems he couldn’t fix. He might hold the title to the Circle S ranch, but it didn’t belong to him.

It’d be best all round if he got himself gone.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught Mrs. Sutter looking at him. He gritted his teeth. He’d let his guard drop.

She watched him as if she were searching for something in particular. Caleb resurrected his defenses. There was nothing there she needed to see, nothing that would give her any ease.

Mrs. Sutter turned her attention back to the rutted road and pointed to her right when they reached a divide. “This way.”

He steered the buckboard, shifting the reins in his hands. He tilted his head in the direction they hadn’t taken. “Where’s that lead?”

“Shamus Kirkpatrick’s land.”

Kirkpatrick. He guessed the man would be in for a bit of a shock when he realized his plans for getting the land had been undercut. Caleb considered the outstanding debt owed Kirkpatrick by the widow. Likely he could pay it if she’d let him. He’d accumulated a fair bit of savings between winnings in card games and odd jobs as he traveled from town to town. With no home of his own and no one to spend it on, he’d socked money away and let it grow. He may as well put it to good use. Maybe the good turn would help atone for past sins, balance the ledger slightly.

“I understand Kirkpatrick was pressing you to sell him your land to pay off debts,” Caleb said, venturing into territory the firm set of her mouth told him she didn’t want to tread. The scowl did nothing to detract from her beauty.

“Where did you hear that?”

Caleb shrugged and adjusted the reins in his hand. “People talk.”

“Does no one in this town know how to mind their own business?”

“Might be they’re concerned.”

“Could be they need to pay more attention to their own affairs and less to mine.” Her voice turned hard, but underneath he recognized a current of shame. She had a lot of pride, likely it was the only thing keeping her going right now.

“Planned how you’re gonna pay that?”

She turned to face him, her dark eyes smoldering with unspent anger. “My only source of income was my land, Mr. Beckett. Without it I’m left with nothing and no means to pay anyone anything.”

“Will Kirkpatrick forgive the debts?”

The muscle near her jaw twitched. “Shamus is not a man to relinquish what he’s owed.”

Shamus. Her use of his given name made Caleb wonder how close their relationship was. “Then he’ll want his money.”

“He’ll want something,” she whispered, her composure slipping enough to reveal what that something would be.

A cold, animalistic anger clenched its sharp claws around Caleb’s chest. Would Kirkpatrick expect her to pay off her debt with her body? The very thought rankled him in a way he couldn’t shake. She deserved better than that.

“I could pay the debt—”

“You’ve done quite enough already, thank you. I don’t want or need your charity.”

The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air. She may not want it, but they both knew she needed it.

“Do you have family?”

“Just the boys. Robert’s parents passed away several years back.”

“And your own people?”

Her features tightened. “Dead as well.”

Just his luck. Rachel Sutter had no one to turn to.

Save for him.

The weight of obligation settled on his shoulders like a yoke.

They rode in silence. Caleb tried not to think about the woman sitting beside him or how things were about to change for the both of them, whether they liked it or not, thanks to one man’s greed and desperation. There had been no reason for Sutter to put his ranch up that day, but the fool wouldn’t listen to reason. Now, here they were, trying to sort through the consequences. The buckboard crested a hill and in the distance he could see a small home. So small Caleb wondered how everyone fit inside. It must have made for some cramped quarters.

Over to his right, a short distance away, were a few more outbuildings placed in what could only be described as a haphazard manner that made little sense. It was as if no forethought was put into where things should go. He noted a barn, two tiny cabins, one close to the house, the other closer to the barn, and a larger cabin further up the rise. As they drew closer, he picked out a chicken coop, a corral and a freshly tilled garden. Closer to the house, a gnarled oak crept upward toward the midday sky, the first hint of buds dotting its branches. Come summer, with the leaves in full bloom, it would cast a welcome shade across the narrow porch lining the front of the house.

Despite the odd configuration of buildings, it was a pretty spot. Homey.

He didn’t belong here.

Next to him, Mrs. Sutter stiffened, the movement bringing her leg against his. A shock of sensation shot through him. He bit down on the sudden rush of unwanted desire. He should have taken care of that in Laramie, but Caleb had never developed a taste for whores. And he hadn’t the time to find himself a lonely widow.

Until now.

But this widow was strictly off limits.

“Company?” He nudged his chin in the direction of the black horse tethered next to the porch. Something told him his day was about to become even more complicated.

Mrs. Sutter spoke through gritted teeth. “Shamus Kirkpatrick.”

It said a lot about the man that he had the audacity to show up the day after she’d buried her husband.

“I could ask him to leave if you—”

She cut him off, a frantic edge to her voice. “Don’t say anything about the deed. Please. The boys don’t know yet, and I need time to figure out how to tell them. I know this isn’t any of your concern but...” She sent him a pleading look. “Please.”

He stared at her a moment, an unwanted need to protect her welling inside of him. He knew he would regret getting involved, but he couldn’t tell her no. Not when she was looking at him with those soulful dark eyes and one of her hands rested on his arm, a fact he was pretty sure she was completely unaware of.

“Reckon I could do that.”

Mrs. Sutter glanced down at her hand and snatched it back, curling the fingers into her palm and resting it against her belly, holding it in place as if she were afraid it might reach out voluntarily and touch him again.

“Thank you.”

Caleb nodded and pulled up on the reins, irritated with his reaction. The absence of her touch was far too noticeable. When they reached the house, he set the brake and jumped down from the buckboard, patting Jasper’s rump as he passed behind him. He’d kept Jasper tied to the back of the wagon for the ride up, letting the draft horse he’d purchased in Laramie do the work of pulling them. By the time he reached Mrs. Sutter, she was about to jump down. He reached up and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her to the ground.

“I don’t need—” She didn’t have time to finish her reprimand before her feet hit the ground.

“Nothin’ wrong with a man helpin’ a lady down.”

She glared at him. It disturbed him how much he enjoyed it. So much so, he let his hands linger at the curve of her narrow waist. Once again he was struck by how small she was. One stiff mountain wind and she’d all but blow away. Yet he had no doubt her deeply rooted resilience would beat back the wind until it regretted ever making the attempt.

Her hands curled into fists on his shoulders. Mere inches separated their bodies, and God help him but he liked the feel of her in his hands. He watched her swallow, avoiding his gaze.

“You can take your horse down to the barn and stable him there.”

“Think I’ll come inside first.”

Her hands pushed at his shoulders and she slipped out of his grip, stumbling slightly before catching herself.

“That isn’t necessary.”

“I think it is.” He wasn’t about to let her face Kirkpatrick alone. The man would be less inclined to browbeat her for the money if Caleb was there, and if Kirkpatrick tried, Caleb would put a stop to it. His hand brushed his hip. He wondered how long it would be before he got used to not finding his Colt strapped there.

She inched away from him and started toward the porch, keeping her voice low. “I appreciate your silence on the matter of the deed until I figure things out, but my business with Kirkpatrick doesn’t concern you.”

Caleb shrugged and caught up with her on the step. “My house. My concern.”

“Mr. Beckett—” But whatever admonishment she meant to deliver was lost as he opened the door and motioned her inside with a sweep of his hand. She shot him a glare as she marched past.

He walked in behind her and turned his back away from the door. The house had a strange unfinished feel to it, as if whoever built it had given up partway through. The front room served as kitchen, dining room and sitting area with little room left over to maneuver. It held a cookstove, a kitchen table large enough to sit eight and a narrow cot that rested against the far wall. A door next to the cookstove exposed a narrow hallway he assumed led to a bedroom. The whole setup gave the house a cramped feel and he itched to set it right.

The large black woman he’d seen at Sutter’s funeral stood, arms crossed, near the counter, her expression angry and apologetic all at once.

Kirkpatrick set his coffee cup down with slow deliberation and rose from his seat to greet them, as if it were his kitchen they had walked into. Tall and broad, dressed all in black, he made an imposing figure. Caleb guessed him to be closing in on fifty, given the lines around his eyes and the threads of gray marring his coal-black hair. Though his smile was congenial, his eyes held the cold flatness of a snake’s.

Kirkpatrick ignored him, addressing Mrs. Sutter. “Rachel.”

Caleb didn’t much care for the familiarity the two shared. Instinct told him their relationship went beyond just being neighbors, and the notion disturbed him for reasons he chose not to explore too closely.

Mrs. Sutter acknowledged Kirkpatrick with a short nod before conducting the introductions. “This is Shamus Kirkpatrick. Mr. Beckett is the one who brought Robert home.”

Kirkpatrick nodded in his direction. “Much obliged,” he said, as if Caleb had done him a favor, then turned back to Mrs. Sutter. “We should talk.”

“The woman just buried her husband, Mr. Kirkpatrick. I’m sure whatever business you have can wait a few days.”

Mrs. Sutter’s back went rigid. He guessed the widow wasn’t used to having someone speak up on her behalf.

Kirkpatrick’s pale eyes met his gaze. “Won’t take but a minute.”

“It can wait,” Caleb repeated, more firmly this time. He would deal with her umbrage later.

Kirkpatrick fell silent and tension smothered the air in the room. He turned to Mrs. Sutter and smiled. The gesture held no warmth. “Got yourself a new protector, do you now, Rachel? You certainly wasted no time. But, then again, neither did your mama.”

Her swift intake of breath, as if the words had inflicted a deep wound, were all Caleb needed to end the conversation.

“You’ll be leaving now.” He walked in front of Mrs. Sutter to get to the door, blocking her from Kirkpatrick with his body. He didn’t know what that reference to her mother had meant, but he wasn’t about to stand around and let the man land another verbal strike. With one swift shove the door flew open. “I’ll see you out.”

He followed Kirkpatrick, leaning his hip against the porch railing to ensure the man had no intention of lingering. Kirkpatrick untied his horse from the hitching post and swung up into the saddle, settling himself before looking down at Caleb. “You’d best not get yourself involved in this, Beckett.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at the threat.

“I guess I’ll be the judge of what I should and shouldn’t get myself involved in.” Not that he had much of a choice. Like it or not, he was involved.

He’d grown careless. Ignored his instincts that Mrs. Sutter was a danger he would do better to avoid. But his reaction to her had hit him unaware and now, in the span of a day, he had become entangled in her life.

Worst of all, he could not become quickly untangled without leaving her and her family at the mercy of this villain.

And that, he realized, watching Kirkpatrick ride off in the direction of his own land, was something he could not do.

* * *

Rachel dropped hard into the chair vacated by Kirkpatrick, her head collapsing into her hands. Part of her hated the way Caleb Beckett had stepped in and taken over. Another part of her was secretly relieved. Shamus’s barb about her mother had turned her tongue to lead. Usually his references to her mother were veiled, subversive, and made when only the two of them could hear, his little way of letting her know he had not forgotten. Today he had brought their secret into the open, with a stranger standing in the room. Humiliation had raced through her veins and stolen her voice.

“We’re in trouble, Free,” she whispered into the still silence of the room.

“’Cause of the debt?”

Rachel pushed herself to her feet and walked to the door, looking through the screen. Mr. Beckett was halfway to the barn with the buggy, but she didn’t expect he’d linger there for long. He still hadn’t told her his intentions and not knowing made a restless nest of eels roil in her belly. She placed a hand against it, hoping they would settle, but it did no good.

“He owns the land.”

She heard Freedom approach her. The older woman’s arms wrapped around her protectively. “Kirkpatrick don’t own anything, baby girl. We’ll figure a way out of this. You been tendin’ this land since you was Brody’s age, and ain’t no one goin’ to take that from you.”

Rachel shook her head, the reality of her situation pounding into her with each heartbeat. “Someone already has. Robert put our land up for collateral in a card game. He lost it to another man.”

Freedom’s head turned, following Rachel’s gaze toward the barn.

“Mr. Beckett?”

Rachel nodded.

“Oh, baby girl. What we gonna do now?” Freedom’s arms tightened around her, and Rachel was glad for their support.

“I don’t know, Free. Like you said, we’ll figure out something.” But what that something was, she couldn’t say. She was plum out of ideas. “I guess I best go talk to Mr. Beckett and try to figure this mess out.”

Rachel extricated herself from Freedom’s motherly embrace to head in the direction of the barn and an uncertain future.