Читать книгу A Cowboy Of Convenience - Stacy Henrie - Страница 12

Chapter One

Near Big Horn, Wyoming, July 1901

Vienna Howe didn’t immediately take note of the knocking at the door. From inside the ranch house kitchen, she thought the pounding sounded more like the distant thwack of a hammer than anything else. She blew a breath upward to disrupt the blond hairs sticking to her damp forehead, her hands covered in pastry dough. The wranglers at the Running W Ranch never turned down her food—especially not dessert.

“Who’s at the door, Mommy?” Two-and-a-half-year-old Harriet, known as Hattie by everyone on the ranch, looked up from where she sat at the nearby table, pretending to feed her baby doll. The doll had been a gift from Vienna’s employers, though Edward and Maggy Kent had been and always would be her dear friends, first and foremost.

The thudding noise repeated and this time Vienna cocked her head to listen. “Is that the door? I thought the boys might be fixing a fence.” She grabbed a towel to wipe off her hands and headed for the door.

“I wanna see who’s there.” Gripping the doll about the neck, Hattie trailed her through the dining room and into the front hallway.

Remembering her apron at the last minute, Vienna untied it, hung it on the nearby hall tree and smoothed her hand down the front of her wrinkled white blouse and long skirt. She opened the door to find the sheriff standing there. Not the one from the nearby town of Big Horn, either. Sheriff Tweed, from seven miles away in Sheridan, looked relieved that someone had at last answered his knock.

“Just startin’ to wonder if no one was around, after all,” the man said as he removed his hat.

Vienna shot him an apologetic smile. “So sorry to keep you waiting, Sheriff. I was baking in the kitchen.”

“That’s all right.”

When he didn’t say anything more, she added, “I’m afraid my daughter and I are the only ones here. Edward is in town, and Maggy and Mrs. Harvey are gone on official detective business.” In addition to helping her husband run their successful horse ranch, Maggy Kent operated her own small detective agency with the help of the Kents’ head cook and housekeeper, Mrs. Harvey.

“I saw Mr. Kent earlier, which is how I knew you’d likely be here, Mrs. Howe.”

She blinked in surprise. “You’re here to see me?”

“Mommy, what does he want?” Hattie tugged on Vienna’s skirt, reminding her of her daughter’s presence—and the little girl’s rapt attention.

At that moment Westin “West” McCall, the ranch foreman, strolled across the yard toward the porch, a ready smile on his face. “Howdy, Sheriff. What can we do for you?”

“Howdy, McCall.” The sheriff smiled back. “I’m here to speak to Mrs. Howe.”

West glanced at her, his expression and honey-brown eyes as wary as the emotion now churning in her stomach. “Everything all right?”

“Not to worry, son,” the sheriff said, turning back to Vienna. “But I’m afraid I need to speak with Mrs. Howe in private.”

Vienna scooped up Hattie and walked past the sheriff. “West, do you mind watching her for a few minutes?”

“Not at all.” The man gave Hattie a gentle smile as he took her from Vienna and set her on her feet again.

The little girl gazed up adoringly at him. “You can help me feed my baby, Mr. West.”

“Now remind me what her name is again,” he asked as he led her in the direction of the corral.

“Hattie! Like me...”

Vienna felt both gratitude and pain watching the pair of them. While she was thankful her daughter had honorable male figures in her life such as Edward Kent, the wranglers and most especially West McCall—Hattie’s favorite by far—she still grieved and worried over her little girl’s lack of a father in her life.

“Come on into the parlor, Sheriff,” she said, waving the lawman inside. Once he stepped into the house and followed her into the room, she motioned for him to take a seat on the sofa.

He declined with a shake of his head. “I won’t be long, but you might wish to sit down, Mrs. Howe.”

“All right.” Her heart pulsed faster with dread as she sank onto the sofa and folded her hands demurely in her lap. “What is it you wish to tell me?”

The man shifted his weight, his gaze more on the hat in his hand than on her. “There’s no easy way to say this.”

She gave a stiff nod, though he wasn’t looking at her, then swallowed hard. “Is it something to do with my aunt?” After the death of her parents, she’d lived with her aunt and uncle, who had represented Sheridan’s high society for many years. Her uncle had passed away two years ago, at which time her aunt had gone to live with Vienna’s cousin in Buffalo.

“No, it isn’t about your aunt.” The sheriff finally looked her directly in the eye. “It’s about your husband, Mrs. Howe. I learned earlier today that Chance is...well, he’s dead, ma’am.”

Dead? Vienna blinked in surprise before staring down at her hands, waiting for some emotion to push through her shock. When it came, it felt more like resignation than sorrow.

Chance Howe hadn’t been her husband in the true sense for the past three years, which he’d spent in the Wyoming territorial prison for arson before being released just a few days ago. And before that... A shiver that had nothing to do with the sheriff’s news and everything to do with her five-year, turbulent marriage tripped up Vienna’s spine.

Reflexively the memories brought a flash of fear, but she reasoned it away. She’d been safe from Chance for a long time now, and that wasn’t about to change, especially if he was no longer among the living.

“How did it happen?” she asked.

Sheriff Tweed looked away again. “He...um...got in a fight in Sheridan after a card game. The other man had a revolver. I was told it was over quick, no suffering on his part.”

“I see.” And she did. The drinking, the gambling, the temper—they’d been Chance’s companions long before she’d married him. Unfortunately it hadn’t been until after their wedding that she’d learned that tragic fact.

The man sent her a contrite look. “I figured you’d want to know right away.”

“Yes, thank you for your trouble.” Vienna rose to her feet.

Placing his hat back on his head, the sheriff moved toward the open parlor door. “No trouble, Mrs. Howe. What’ll you do with your ranch now?”

She hadn’t set foot on the HC Bar Ranch since the night she’d finally found the courage to leave Chance in order to provide a stable home for their unborn child. Chance had owned the place outright before they’d married, so there’d never been a mortgage to be paid. Vienna had half expected he’d gamble away the place someday. Thankfully that was no longer a possibility. Perhaps that was one blessing to come out of his time in prison—it had kept Chance away from the card tables. Though Vienna couldn’t help wondering what sort of state the ranch was in after three years of neglect.

“I...I’m not sure,” she answered honestly.

While she loved living and working at the Running W and was grateful for the safe haven it had provided for her and her daughter, she still longed to have a home of her own again, something to pass down to Hattie. That longing had first sprouted inside Vienna when her parents had died and she’d been forced to sell their floundering ranch. And it had only increased after she’d gone to live with her aunt and uncle, in a home that never truly felt like hers.

The sheriff dipped his head in acknowledgment as he stepped out the front door. “I’m sure there’s time enough to decide. The funeral’ll be tomorrow.”

“Oh, of course.” Should she attend? Would she be expected to say something? Panic clawed at her throat at the thought of addressing a crowd, especially if she had to talk about Chance, until Sheriff Tweed spoke again.

“I took the liberty of speakin’ to the pastor myself. He’ll conduct a short service at the grave site at the cemetery in Sheridan.”

Vienna didn’t have to conjure up her relieved smile. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

“These things are never easy, ’specially under the present circumstances.”

He’d been the one, along with Edward and West, to come to her rescue that awful night when Chance had kidnapped her after she’d left him. Few knew the real reasons for Vienna separating from her husband prior to his arrest and most of them, with the exception of Sheriff Tweed, lived at the Running W.

After asking what time she needed to be there for the funeral, Vienna bid the man goodbye. She shut the door and returned to the kitchen. But even the thought of making pastries didn’t fill her with her usual calm and delight. She covered the dough with a towel, stashed it in the icebox, and headed outside through the back door.

The afternoon felt warm, but a nice breeze kept the air from being too hot. Vienna glanced in the direction of the corral. Hattie sat on the top rung of the fence, while West stood beside her, holding her in place so she wouldn’t fall. As if sensing Vienna’s presence, West turned his head in her direction. She pointed toward the mountains to indicate she needed a walk. With obvious understanding, he dipped his chin in a nod.

The wordless communication between them had been one of many things Vienna had appreciated about their friendship, both prior to her marriage to Chance and then again since coming to the Running W. There’d even been a time when she’d thought—hoped, really—that she and West were becoming more than friends. But she’d been wrong.

Vienna pushed aside recollections of the past as she slowly walked toward the Big Horn Mountains. The pastures, fields and trees, cloaked in their summer greenery, never grew old to her. She’d moved to this area with her parents at the age of eleven, six years after the tragic death of her older brother, and had quickly fallen in love with the wild beauty of the land. Her appreciation for ranching, though, had never fully developed. She still preferred gardening, and more recently cooking and baking, than she did riding or caring for horses.

Did she want to keep the HC Bar, then? Vienna plucked up the long stem of a wildflower and ran it along the tall grass growing beside the horse trail. Moving into town and opening a café or a restaurant sounded more appealing to her than running a ranch. Besides, she couldn’t operate such a spread by herself. That had been one of the reasons she’d sold her home after her parents’ deaths. If her brother hadn’t died as a child, perhaps the two of them could have managed the place together. But at sixteen years old, and an orphan, Vienna had had little choice except to leave.

The thought of selling yet another property, even if she’d only lived at the HC Bar for two miserably unhappy years, filled her with a physical ache. She wanted—no, needed—to give Hattie the sense of home and purpose she herself had lost. And she couldn’t do that if she stayed at the Running W. This was someone else’s dream, someone else’s land. She was simply borrowing security and stability here; she hadn’t yet created them permanently for herself and her daughter. And a café or a restaurant... A business like that would be hers, yes, but would it give her the same sense of permanence that came from standing on her own land?

“Help me know what to do, Lord,” she murmured out loud as she came to a stop, her eyes rising to the mountain peaks.

She’d managed to keep the little remaining money she had from the sale of her parents’ home hidden from Chance and she had saved most of her wages from working for the Kents as their assistant cook. It might be enough to reestablish the HC Bar as a working ranch again or to do something else if she sold it. But which path should she take?

Tossing aside the flower, Vienna spun around and walked briskly back the way she’d come. Chance’s death might have been a complete shock, but she had enough faith to believe there was purpose and timing in it, too. And while she might not have all the answers yet regarding her future, she did know one thing for certain. As much as she hated the thought of leaving this place and its people or of being entirely on her own, with a child this time, it was time to go.

* * *

West McCall threw another glance in the direction Vienna had gone on her walk. He’d wanted to press her for information about Sheriff Tweed’s news, but the pensive look on her pretty face when she’d exited the house had told him that she needed some time to herself first.

This undercurrent of protectiveness for Vienna wasn’t new, and it had only grown stronger when she’d come to live at the Running W three years ago—and then when West had learned her scoundrel of a husband was bound for prison. And now that protective instinct included taking care of the little girl he held firmly in place on the fence post next to him.

He’d thought Hattie Howe fairly cute when she’d been a squirmy, bright-eyed baby with a healthy set of lungs he could often hear clear down at the bunkhouse. But the moment the little girl had taken to following him around and calling him “Mr. West,” he’d been a goner. The kid had wormed her way into his guarded heart, which no one, not even her mother, had completely breached in years.

“What’s the new horsie’s name?” Hattie asked him.

West pushed up the brim of his hat. “Don’t know that Mr. Kent has named her yet. What would you name her?”

“Um...” The little girl peered up at him with large green eyes that matched her mother’s. “How ’bout Hattie?” A triumphant smile lit her face.

Pressing his lips over a laugh, West pretended to think the suggestion over. “You don’t think that’d get a bit confusing? We already have Hattie the girl and Hattie the doll.” He tipped his head toward the toy she still held under her arm.

“But it’ll be Hattie the horsie,” she countered with an arch look. “So it’s different.”

How could he argue with that? he thought ruefully. Hattie began kicking her shoes against the fence, sending the new horse skittering away at the loud, repetitive sound.

“Remember what I taught you about makin’ noise around the horses?”

She squinted up at him, then brightened. “We have to be real quiet.” Bringing her pointer finger to her mouth, she made a loud shushing sound.

“That’s right,” West said with a chuckle. “Which means no kicking the fence, especially with a new horse around.”

Her brow furrowed as she glanced down at her feet. “I’ll tell them to be quiet.” Then she shushed her shoes.

West laughed fully this time, and Hattie joined him a moment later, even though he suspected she didn’t know what they were laughing about.

“There’s Mommy.” She wiggled in his grip, indicating she wanted to get down.

Sure enough Vienna was walking back toward them. West lifted Hattie off the fence and set her on her feet. The little girl darted across the yard to greet her mother.

“Mommy, there’s a new horsie, and I want to name her Hattie. And my feet weren’t bein’ quiet so I had to shush them. Like this.” She repeated the quieting action, her narrowed gaze on her black shoes.

A faint smile lifted Vienna’s lips. “That’s wonderful you’re learning to be quiet around the horses, Hattie.”

“Mr. West teached me.”

Vienna looked at him, a mixture of appreciation and regret in those beautiful green eyes. They reminded him of a pair of jade earrings his mother used to wear. The color of the stones mirrored the exact shade of Vienna’s eyes.

Did his mother still own those earrings? It had been more than ten years seen he’d last seen them or their owner. The reminder threatened to pull him toward darker thoughts—ones he typically buried under an easygoing demeanor and plenty of hard work.

“Mr. West has been a wonderful friend and teacher to you, Hattie,” Vienna said as she glanced away.

Has been? A feeling of foreboding settled in his stomach at her use of the past tense. Maybe it had only been a slip of the tongue...or maybe whatever news the sheriff had brought her meant something in their lives was about to change. Though he hoped not.

“You all right?” he asked in a low voice, falling into step beside her and Hattie.

Vienna nodded. “Hattie, will you go pick those wildflowers by the stable there? I’d like to put some on the supper table for the Kents tonight.”

“All right, Mommy. But you gotta hold Hattie for me.” With that, the little girl shoved the doll at her mother before racing toward the small stable that stood next to the ranch house.

When her daughter was out of earshot, Vienna turned toward him, her hands clutching the doll to her middle. “Chance is dead,” she said without preamble.

“What?” West gaped in shock at her. “When?”

“Yesterday apparently. There was a...a fight and he was shot, though it sounds like he didn’t suffer.”

A desire to comfort Vienna filled him, a longing to reach out and take her into his arms as he’d done years ago—and then again the night he’d helped rescue her from Chance’s crazy kidnapping scheme. But things had been more formal between them for a long time and he wasn’t sure if Vienna would appreciate the comforting gesture or not.

“I’m real sorry, Vienna,” he said, hoping she sensed his sincerity. While he despised Chance Howe for the way the man had treated his wife, he didn’t fault Vienna for feeling grief over her husband’s demise.

She offered him a thin smile of acknowledgment. “Thank you. I don’t really know how I feel about it.”

West could relate far better than she knew. How did one respond to loss when it had been preceded by so much conflict and harshness?

“I suppose I feel mostly sad, more for him than for myself or Hattie,” she admitted. “He and I have lived apart for so long now that it’s more like hearing about the death of a distant acquaintance than a spouse.”

“I’m glad to hear he didn’t suffer.” No matter his anger toward Chance and his choices, West didn’t like the idea of him suffering any more than the man already had. After all, Chance Howe had lost his wife and child long before he’d lost his life.

Vienna dipped her head in a slow nod. “Me, too.”

“Will you tell Hattie?” West still didn’t know how much Vienna had told her daughter about the girl’s father and it wasn’t his place to ask. He was their friend and possible protector but nothing more.

Gazing at her daughter who was filling her tiny fist with flowers, Vienna sighed. “I’ll tell her soon. In some ways, it may be easier to explain that her father passed away than if he’d lived and I’d had to prepare her for him coming back here. Someday I’ll need to tell her the truth of all of it, but not yet.”

“Sounds wise to me.” He matched her steps as she moved toward the house.

Her expression conveyed genuine relief. “I appreciate that. More often than not, I feel anything but wise.”

“What will you do now?” Not that Chance’s death was likely to have much of an impact on her. West already knew how little Vienna cared for ranching and how much she enjoyed working at the Running W—same as he did. Having his own spread was still his ultimate dream, but in the meantime, he couldn’t ask for a better or more generous employer than Edward Kent.

Vienna stopped walking, and for a second, West didn’t think she was going to answer his simple question. Then she darted a quick look at him.

It might have been short, and yet, it was long enough for him to see unmistakable remorse in her eyes. The sight set off a warning bell inside his head. He had a sinking suspicion he wasn’t going to like what she was about to tell him.

“Hattie and I will be leaving the Running W soon,” she said in a quiet but resolved tone.

West didn’t feel one ounce of pleasure at knowing his suspicion had been correct. “Where will you go?”

“Back to the HC Bar. I don’t know yet what I’ll do with it or where we’ll end up. But it’s time Hattie and I found a home of our own.”