Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (10 page)

“Mamma! Aunt Katy! Come look.”

“Stay on the porch, Theresa,” Mary called anxiously and went to the window. “My goodness! Six wagons and,” she paused to count, “ten men on horseback. There’s twenty-five or thirty men. Oh, my! He said some men were coming, but I didn’t expect this many.”

“I’m thinking that Mr. Rowe never does things on a small scale,” Katy said looking over Mary’s shoulder at the line of men and wagons going by. The men, dusty and whiskered, all looked toward the funerary; a few of them waved at Theresa and ogled the women stating out the window. “Just look at them,” Katy said disgustedly. “They all look alike. All cut from the same dirty cloth.”

“Of course they’re dirty. They’ve been traveling for days. What did you expect?”

“Exactly what I’m seeing,” Katy said tiredly and went to sit in the rocker. “At least they’ll have their own cook, and we’ll not have to bother feeding
Genghis Khan
anymore.”

“Katy! I’ve never known you to take such a dislike to anyone. Why do you call him that? Who is Genghis Khan?”

“He was the cruel, sadistic warrior-ruler of Mongolia during the thirteenth century. More than likely he was one of Rowe’s ancestors.”

“Oh, no! Rowe isn’t Asian. He told me his mother was from Greece, his father was Scandinavian. He’s very interesting to talk to.”

“Oh, he’s quite the world traveler. He speaks Latin and Greek and heaven only knows what else.”

“I’ll miss him.”

“So will I,” Katy said with a deep sigh of relief. “But it’ll be nice.”

Katy leaned her head back and rocked gently. The wagons and the horsemen had passed, but the dust still hung over the road. She felt edgy. She was silly to let that man work her into a state of nerves with all that talk about former lives, not allowing them to leave Trinity, and spending her life with him. Nonsense, all of it.

Thank goodness he would be busy and easier to avoid in the future. He was maddeningly arrogant, and she sensed that he was attracted to her sharp wit and equally sharp tongue. He was probably surprised to find a woman out here in the wilds who knew how to do something more than clean fish and chew hides. A smile tilted her lips when that thought crossed her mind. It had been a mistake to exchange barbs with him, yet it had been enjoyable until he began to talk as if he owned her. To be in his company was to invite trouble, something she would avoid in the future.

“Are we going to wait for Mr. Rowe, Mamma?”

“No, love. I’m sure he’ll eat with the men who came today.” Mary lifted Theresa up onto the stool and pushed it close to the table.

“I wish he’d eat with us.”

“He’s busy, ladybug. You’re going to have to settle for your mamma and your Aunt Katy,” Katy said, taking her place at the table.

“Mr. Rowe likes me.”

“Of course, he likes you. You’re the prettiest little girl in Trinity.”

“Papa didn’t.”

“Yes he did,” Mary said staunchly. “He just didn’t say so.”

“He didn’t let me sit on his lap or tell me stories.”

“Maybe he thought you didn’t like stories,” Mary said lamely. “Now, clean your plate so you can have some gooseberry pie.”

“Mr. Rowe likes gooseberry pie.”

“We’ll save a piece for him. How’s that?”

“He was going to make me a swing.” Theresa’s lips began to quiver. “But now, he won’t.”

“Of course he will. The men being here won’t change that, honey. Would you like some butter and sugar on your rice?” Mary asked.

“He won’t come back. Aunt Katy hates him.” Theresa burst into tears.

“Ah . . . ladybug.” Katy looked helplessly at the small tearstained face. “Is that what gives you the mulligrubs? Honey, grown-ups can have a difference of opinion, but that doesn’t mean they
hate
each other.”

“You . . . said he was a . . . dark devil, and that’s bad—”

“She didn’t mean anything bad, honey. Your Aunt Katy’s mouth is like a runaway horse sometimes. She says things she doesn’t mean, just like when she’s play-acting. Isn’t that right?” Mary asked Katy.

“Sure. Now if I’d said he was as ugly as a horny toad, or he was an old flibbertigibbet, or smelled like a billy goat, you’d have laughed. Come on, ladybug, dry up and give me a big smile so I can eat. My belly button is sticking to my backbone.”

“You’ll not call him . . . bad things?”

“I promise.”

Theresa smiled through her tears. “I love you, Aunt Katy.”

“I love you too, honey.”

The resentment Katy felt toward Rowe knotted her stomach and made it almost impossible for her to finish the meal. He had not only won her sister over but little Theresa as well. Damn him! When she found a way to leave this blasted town, Mary and Theresa would go with her, and she would like to see Mr. Garrick Rowe try to stop her.

Six

The town had come alive.

Before, there had been only the sound of the wind whipping around the vacant buildings, rattling the loose windows, rippling over tin roofs. Now, coarse masculine laughter, boot heels on the boardwalks, hammer against steel, and the sound of an axe striking wood drifted up to the funerary. Within a few hours, the men had built a stockade for the animals and made a cookshack out of the building next to the long bunkhouse. Supper smoke was in the air.

As the sun vanished, darkness came quickly to the town in the valley. Lights shone from the windows of the saloon, the bunkhouse, and the stone building where Rowe had made his headquarters. In the funerary, after more than two months of loneliness, Theresa was excited about the sudden population and asked endless questions.

“Will they stay, Mamma? Do you think they’ve seen Papa? What did they bring in the big wagons? Will more wagons come and . . . bring little girls?” She stood on a stool while her mother washed her face, hands, and feet, then slipped her nightdress over her head.

Listening to Theresa’s chatter, Katy put the last of the just washed supper dishes on the shelf and flipped a clean cloth over the necessaries left on the table. An unexpected rap on the door caused three heads to turn toward that solid slab of wood and the bar that lay across it. Katy picked up the rifle, checked the load, and went to the door.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Rowe.” There was no mistaking the voice, or Theresa’s squeal of joy on hearing it.

Katy lifted the bar. The door swung back and Rowe’s big body filled the doorway.

“Good evening,” he said, ignoring the rifle pointed at his midsection. “May we come in?” His eyes, with a faint glint of amusement, held Katy’s.

She nodded and lowered the rifle.

“Mr. Rowe!” Theresa squealed. “Did ya come to make my swing?”

“Not tonight, Sugarplum. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Maybe never,” Katy murmured softly, but it brought his dark eyes back to her. He gave her an amused grin before he stepped over the threshold and entered the room.

Katy returned his grin with a haughty stare, then looked past him to the faces of the two men who had removed their hats and come in to stand beside him.

“Ladies, I’d like you to meet Anton Hooker.” He indicated a tall, bookish-looking man with thin blond hair and wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Good evening,” Hooker said politely.

“And Hank Weston, the foreman.” The big red-haired man shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, plainly uncomfortable. “The ladies are Miss Katy Burns and her sister, Mrs. Stanton. The young lady is Theresa.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Mary lifted Theresa down from the stool and came forward with her hand extended, giving their guests a generous and cordial reception. Katy stood where she was and nodded her acknowledgment to the introduction, very much aware that Rowe’s dark eyes were on her again. “Won’t you sit down?” Mary was saying.

“Thank you.” The men stood hesitantly after Mary was seated, waiting for Katy to sit down, but she shook her head and leaned against the front wall of the building. They each took a chair. Theresa ran across the room and climbed upon Rowe’s lap as soon as he was seated.

“Theresa, you shouldn’t,” Mary admonished.

“It’s all right, Mary,” Rowe said, settling the child on the side away from his injured thigh. “I like to hold pretty girls.” He looked at Katy over Theresa’s head. She stood stock-still, head tilted back, arms folded. The lamplight made a halo of the shiny blond hair that had come loose from the pins and hung in disarray around her face. Blue-gray eyes stared back at him with a mixture of suspicion and exasperation in their depths. Puzzled by her hostility, he raised his brows in silent question.

“We got gooseberry pie.” Theresa placed her small hand on Rowe’s cheek to turn his face toward her.

“I suppose you ate it all.” His fingers gripped her small midsection and she giggled happily.

“We saved a piece for you—a big piece cause Mamma said you was big. But Aunt Katy said you—”

“Theresa remembered your saying you liked gooseberries,” Mary said quickly.

Smile lines bracketed Rowe’s wide mouth. He glanced at Katy’s expressionless face, then smiled into the trusting face of the child. Theresa snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder, her thumb in her mouth. He didn’t appear to be uncomfortable cuddling the little girl in his arms in the presence of his friends. In fact, he seemed to be rather pleased that she had run to him and climbed onto his lap. It was another strange thing about Garrick Rowe for Katy to note and file away in the back of her mind, to ponder over later when she had the time.

“Come sit down, Katy. Hank and I have a business deal to put to you and Mary.”

Out of consideration for the guests, Katy refused to show that she was irritated at Rowe for inviting her to sit down in her own home. She pulled the stool out from the table and moved it so that he had to turn his head to look at her. She sat down and folded her hands in her lap.

“I never imagined a funerary could be made to look so homey.” Anton Hooker spoke with a clipped Northern accent that brought back memories of the war to Mary and Katy.

“Necessity,” Mary said. “When we were left here alone we explored all the buildings we could get into without breaking a window and discovered this one was the best suited for our purpose. Of course, if the owner should come back, we’ll vacate.”

Hooker looked at Rowe as if he expected him to say something, and when he didn’t, Hooker said, “Rowe explained your reason for being here. You’re mighty lucky. This area is full of outlaws, not to mention Cheyenne and Sioux who are mad enough at George Custer to take hair wherever they can get it.”

“Oh, dear! An Indian uprising? It seems there’s no end to the violence out here.”

“I’ve not heard of any sizeable raids this far west,” Anton Hooker said. “It would take a considerable force to come up against the number of men we have here.”

Anton Hooker was talking, but Katy watched the foreman, Hank Weston. He had dark red shaggy hair, a clean-shaven face, shoulders and biceps that bulged with muscles, and large freckled hands. He had planted his heavy boots wide apart, rested his forearms on his thighs, and twirled his hat between his spread knees. His light blue eyes were focused on Mary. Katy had always thought that Mary was extremely pretty. She was soft and sweet and biddable and undemanding; the type of woman a man wanted. Uneasiness coiled in her stomach as she felt a sudden premonition that Hank Weston might be thinking that she and her sister were women of loose morals. He hadn’t said a word beyond his first greeting, but his eyes had been busy, first roaming over their home, and then over Mary’s generous curves and soft brown hair. Damn him!

Anton Hooker was too much of a gentlemen to stare. He was more Mary’s type, Katy found herself thinking. He looked as if he had some refinement and would understand the predicament of two lone women in such a place as this. She decided to appeal to him.

“Mr. Hooker, my sister and I have been stranded here for more than two months. We want to go back to Laramie as soon as possible. We’d be grateful if you would arrange for an escort to take us to Bannack or to Virginia City where we could take the stage.”

All eyes turned to Katy. She could feel the heat of Rowe’s gaze, feel him willing her to look at him. Her eyes were on Anton Hooker. He glanced at Rowe then at Hank Weston before bringing his eyes back to her.

“That isn’t a decision I can make, miss. You’ll have to speak to Rowe about that.”

Katy refused to look at Rowe. “Surely you can’t refuse to let us ride out in one of the freight wagons when it goes out for supplies.”

Anton stirred nervously. “We brought supplies for several weeks, miss. At any rate, it wouldn’t be a safe trip. You’re safe here—”

“Being safe is not the issue, Mr. Hooker,” Katy said firmly. “There’s nothing for us here. We want to go back to Laramie.”

“Don’t badger Anton, Katy.” Rowe shifted the now-sleeping child in his arms and moved his chair back so that he could look at her. “I’m the one you’ll have to deal with.”

Katy’s blue eyes swept over Rowe in a manner that could only be contemptuous. “Ah, yes.” Coolly uplifted brows asked his intentions.

“For the time being, you’ll have to stay here in Trinity.”

Outraged astonishment was plain on Katy’s face. Her eyes spit blue flame. “Genghis Khan has spoken,” she said calmly, choking back her temper.

“Perhaps he has.” Rowe grinned wickedly.

For a moment her eyes, like daggers, looked into the predatory gaze of eyes as black as a bottomless pit, then she lowered her lids as alarm tingled through her. He was as hard as stone. None of the men would help them unless they had his permission. How on earth were they going to get out of this godforsaken place?

“It’s useless to pout, Katy.” Rowe’s deep, smooth voice broke into her thoughts. “You and Mary and Theresa are as safe here as you’d be in a church in Denver. You’re free to move around the town. Hank and I will see to it that the men treat you respectfully.”

She lifted her lashes and glared at him. A black brow over glittering black devil-eyes quirked upward. The spawn of Satan obviously thought he had all the cards stacked in his favor, and he was enjoying his control over her.