Bloody Sunday (10 page)

Luke had a feeling that might be the longest speech he ever heard from the old woman. He said, “You must not like it that the new Señora MacCrae is running the ranch now.”

“It is hers by right,” Teresa said. “That was Señor MacCrae's decision to make.”

“Of course. If they were happy together—”

From one of the doors at the side of the room, Glory asked, “Luke, why are you questioning my housekeeper?”

He looked over at her, saw that she had changed into a dark blue gown that dipped low into the valley between her breasts. She was dressed for dinner, all right.

And maybe more.

“I'm not questioning anybody,” Luke said. “Just making conversation.”

Glory's voice held a hint of coolness as she said, “If there's anything you want to know about me, or about my relationship with my husband, you can just ask me. I think there's a connection of sorts between us.” She paused. “After all, I
did
save your life.”

Luke inclined his head in acknowledgment of her point and said, “Of course. I meant no offense.”

“None taken,” Glory said as she came farther into the room. Her raven hair was loose tonight, instead of being put up as it had been the night before. It flowed around her face and onto her shoulders in a dark, lustrous tide. She went on: “Dinner will be ready soon. Until then, would you like a drink?”

“Sounds good,” Luke said.

Teresa retreated to the kitchen. Glory went to the sideboard and poured drinks for herself and Luke. As she handed one of the glasses to him, she said, “I keep getting the feeling that there's more to you than is apparent, Luke Jensen.”

“I could say the same about you, Mrs. MacCrae,” Luke replied as he lifted his glass to her. She clinked hers against it, and they drank.

“What are your plans after the inquest tomorrow?” she asked.

“I haven't made up my mind yet. Your foreman wants me to leave.”

“Gabe? Why would he want that?”

He couldn't tell if she was being disingenuous, or if she really wasn't aware of how Pendleton felt about her. He said, “I think he's a little jealous.”

“Really? Of what?”

“Of the fact that I'm in here about to have dinner with you, and he's out there in the bunkhouse.”

Glory looked surprised. She shook her head and said, “You can't be serious. Gabe doesn't have any interest in me. He's been courting a woman in Painted Post.”

“Painted Post is half a day's ride away from here,” Luke pointed out. “You're a lot closer.”

“I'm also his employer.”

“And until recently you were also his boss's wife. That doesn't always stop a fella from feeling things he knows he shouldn't.”

“Well, I just can't believe that,” Glory said. “I've never given him any reason to think—”

“A man doesn't always need a reason.”

She turned to the sideboard and frowned as she poured another drink.

“I'm going to pretend we haven't had this discussion,” she said. “I don't need anything else complicating my life right now.”

“All right. I'm sorry I said anything.”

Glory shook her head and said, “No, I asked. You just answered. But you didn't tell me what you plan to do.”

“What would you have me do?”

She looked him squarely in the eye and said, “You could stay here and help me keep Harry Elston from running me off this ranch.”

“Be your hired gun, in other words, the way Elston has Verne Finn around.”

“It's not exactly the same. Finn's just a mercenary. You and I . . . Somehow it seems to me that we're kindred spirits. You live here on the frontier, but yet you're more than that.”

Luke let a harsh note creep into his voice as he said, “Don't give me more credit than I've got coming. I'm not some pampered Eastern gentleman, and I never will be.”

“If you were, I wouldn't want your help.”

Luke had a little whiskey left in his glass. He tossed it back and contemplated everything they had just said. Despite his show of reluctance, Glory was really playing into his hands. If she hired him, it would give him the perfect excuse to stay here until he found the right opportunity to take her into custody . . . assuming he still wanted to.

Twenty-four hours earlier, he had been convinced she had murdered Sam MacCrae, along with Alfred Jennings back in Baltimore. Now he had begun to have nagging doubts about whether she was responsible for MacCrae's death.

And if she hadn't killed MacCrae, could he be absolutely certain that she had murdered Jennings? She had been charged with the crime, which meant the law in Baltimore believed her to be guilty, but lawmen sometimes made mistakes just like everybody else.

Luke tried to force his thoughts away from that possibility. It wasn't his job to determine guilt or innocence. That was up to a judge and jury. He would collect five grand just for turning her over to the law so she could stand trial. What happened after that was none of his business.

There was more to life than blood money, though. No matter how much he might deny it, he wanted to know the truth. One way to start might be to figure out who was really responsible for gunning down Sam MacCrae.

And all he could do was hope that Glory's beauty wasn't muddling his mind too much.

Teresa appeared and said, “Dinner is ready, señora.”

“You still haven't given me an answer, Luke,” Glory said as she looked at him.

“If you want me to stay for a while, I'll stay,” he said. “That doesn't mean I'm working for you, though. We'll talk about that later, once we've seen how things go.”

“So for now you remain my guest.”

He shrugged and said, “If that's what you want to call it.”

“That means after we've eaten, you can go out to the bunkhouse and gather your things. If you're a guest, you'll stay here in the house, in one of the guest rooms.”

“Pendleton's liable not to like that,” Luke warned.

“Gabe may be the foreman, but I still call the shots on this ranch.”

Luke didn't figure there was any doubt about that.

 

 

Dinner was as good as it had been the previous night, but afterward Glory said that she was tired and had a headache, so she didn't suggest they have brandy to top off the meal.

“It's been a long day, and tomorrow will probably seem even longer,” she said.

Thinking about the inquest, Luke said, “You may well be right.”

“Teresa will show you to your room.”

“If you're sure you want me to move in here.”

“I'm not worried about my reputation, if that's what you mean,” Glory said with a smile. “For one thing, most of the people in Painted Post who don't like me already consider me a hussy, and for another, having a she-wolf like Teresa in the house will insure that everything remains proper.”

“The thought of anything else never crossed my mind,” Luke lied.

He had thought about it, all right. Any man who laid eyes on Glory MacCrae would. But as much as he enjoyed the company of women, he wasn't a slave to the passions of the flesh and never had been.

Glory came over to him and rested her hand on his arm for a moment.

“Good night, Luke,” she said.

“Good night.”

She hesitated, and he knew that if he wanted to, he could lean down and kiss her. She probably wouldn't object.

But as she had said earlier, he didn't really need any extra complications in his life, either, so he just stood there giving her a faint smile until she turned away and vanished down one of the corridors.

As if she had been lurking, waiting for Glory to leave—which she probably had been—Teresa appeared from one of the other corridors and said, “This way, señor. Your room is down here.”

In the opposite direction from Glory's room, Luke noted.

Teresa showed him to a room that was furnished with a comfortable-looking bed with a thick straw mattress, a woven rug on the floor, a small table with a basin and a pitcher of water, and a couple of chairs. Yellow curtains hung over the arched window. One wall had a portrait of the Virgin Mary on it.

“You will sleep well,” Teresa said. “The Madonna will watch over you, and nothing will disturb you here.”

Luke took that to mean he shouldn't disturb anyone else, either. He said, “
Gracias
, señora.”

“The memory of Señor MacCrae will be honored!” she blurted out.

“I agree completely,” he assured her. “I'll be back as soon as I fetch my things from the bunkhouse. You don't have to wait up for me, though. I can find my way back here.”

“See that you do,” she said.

He waited until her back was turned, then grinned as she swept out of the room. She might not like the new señora very much, but she was protective of Glory's honor anyway, because it reflected on the honor of the late Sam MacCrae.

Luke went out to the bunkhouse, pausing to put on his hat and buckle the gun belt around his waist again before he left the main house. When he entered the long, low building, he saw that the door to Gabe Pendleton's room was open. The foreman sat on a stool, cleaning his Colt. When he glanced up at Luke, he tried to make it casual but didn't quite succeed.

“You're back a mite earlier than I expected,” Pendleton commented.

“Yes, but I'm not staying,” Luke said. “Mrs. MacCrae has invited me to stay on for a while as a guest, and I took her up on it. She wants me to sleep in the main house.”

“Is that all you took her up on?” Pendleton snapped.

“That was all that was offered,” Luke said coolly. “Not that it's any of your business.”

“Anything that happens on this ranch is my business.”

“Right down to what the lady does in the privacy of her own home?”

Pendleton set the gun aside and stood up quickly. For a second, Luke thought the foreman was going to take a swing at him. He hoped he wasn't going to have to fight Pendleton. His muscles already ached from the ruckus with Whitey Singletary in Painted Post.

“You like to push a man, don't you, Jensen?” Pendleton asked in a tight voice.

“Not particularly. But I have a habit of pushing back.”

Pendleton glared at him for a second, then said, “I don't tell Mrs. MacCrae what to do with her personal life. That's her business. But I'll look out for her interests in every other way.”

“Fair enough.”

“I don't know what you're up to, Jensen, but there's something you're hiding. I'm sure of it. So I'm keeping an eye on you, and if you try anything funny, I'll be ready . . . and you'll be sorry.”

“You've got me all wrong, Pendleton,” Luke said, even though to a certain extent the foreman was right about him. He hadn't told the truth about why he'd come to Sabado Valley. He wouldn't reveal that until he was ready to make his move.

And that time wouldn't come until he had found out more about Glory MacCrae and the tangle of violence and tragedy that swirled around her.

He stalked over to his bunk, gathered up his meager possessions, and stowed them in his saddlebags. As he draped the saddlebags over his left shoulder, Ernie Frazier asked from a nearby bunk, “You're not pulling out, are you, Mr. Jensen?”

“Just moving into the house, Ernie,” Luke said. “Mrs. MacCrae has decided that I'm a guest, not a member of the crew, so I need to stay in one of the guest rooms.”

“Oh.” Ernie didn't look very happy about this new development, either, and Luke recalled that the young wrangler seemed to have a crush on Glory. Once the word got around, this whole bunkhouse might be a hotbed of jealousy, he thought.

“‘The face that launched a thousand ships',” he murmured, “‘and burnt the topless towers of Ilium.'”

“Huh?” Ernie said with a frown.

Luke shook his head and waved away the question. He said, “Never mind. I'll see you, Ernie. I'm not leaving the ranch, just moving across to the house.”

“All right, Mr. Jensen.”

Luke wouldn't have been completely surprised if he'd found Glory waiting for him in his room when he got back to the house, but it was empty in the light of the single candle burning on the table. That was probably a good thing, he thought. He hung his saddlebags over the back of a chair, then moved the other chair close to the bed. He took off his gun belt and coiled it, placing it on the chair so that the butts of the Remingtons were handy if he needed them in a hurry during the night.

Once he'd taken off his boots, blown out the candle, and stretched out on the bed, it was a while before he went to sleep.

His brain was too full of questions, and answers were in short supply.

“How did you sleep last night?” Glory asked him at breakfast the next morning.

“Fine,” Luke said, which was stretching the truth by a considerable amount. Not only had he had trouble dozing off, but once he did, his sore muscles had stiffened up, so that every time he shifted on the mattress, twinges of pain disturbed his slumber. He thought he was lucky Whitey Singletary hadn't battered him even more during their fracas.

Glory looked fresh and lovely in a denim riding skirt and white blouse with a brown rawhide vest over it. When Pendleton came in to ask her if she wanted the wagon team hitched up, she said, “No, just have Ernie or Vince saddle my horse instead. I'll ride to town with you and Luke.”

Pendleton had his hat in his hands. He turned it over, fidgeting with it as he said, “It's a good long ride to Painted Post.”