Larkspur (26 page)

“He says I’m not your woman. He saw it in a dream.”

“He’s vain and has more pride than brains. Because Crazy Horse took another man’s wife, he thinks he can, too.”

“But . . . I’m not your wife. Oh . . . oh—”

The horse tossed his head protesting the slow walk. Buck’s arm tightened around her.

Kristin dared not look up at him again. She pressed her face to his shirt and kept it there. She was aware of the smooth easy stride of the horse as he carried them easily across the open ground and of the wind that stirred her hair. When she finally lifted her head to look down, her fear was gone in the sheer exhilaration of the ride. Her eyes, bright with excitement met his.

God help him. The full realization of what had happened to him hit him with the force of a thunderbolt! He loved this woman with all his heart and soul.
You fool! You miserable
fool!
He would hold the secret in his heart and never tell her, for he’d not be able to endure her scorn if she knew.

With anguish Buck realized that he was what he was, and she was what she was. Out here on the Larkspur she was grateful for his protection. In town she would be ashamed of his rough looks and rougher ways. She deserved a preacher, a banker, or even a merchant. No way on God’s green earth could the two of them hitch for the long haul; he’d better get that piece of business out of his mind.

The best way to put an end to it would be to go to Billings and get himself a strong woman of childbearing age. He’d wait until he’d settled with Forsythe and Kristin was in her own house on her land. She’d have plenty of suitors to choose from.

Her laugh was a soft, husky sound. She tightened her arms around him, hugging him, her face nestled against his strong body.

“I think I like riding a horse. I might turn out to be another Martha Jane Canary, the woman they called Calamity Jane.”

Buck closed his eyes. He had heard of the notorious Calamity, but right now the scent of Kristin misted through his brain like a fog, and he wished the ride might never end.

Chapter Sixteen

A
t the edge of the porch he lifted her down from the horse. Even though he was careful to set her gently on her feet, it was as though she were no more than a sack of grain being delivered to the door. Then without a word he turned his horse and went to meet the Indian he called Bowlegs. The two of them talked for a short while, then disappeared behind the ranch buildings. Kristin waited to see if he would wave, but he didn’t and she went into the house.

Had she been mistaken or had his heartbeat pounded in rhythm with hers as he held her tightly to him? And was it wishful thinking that caused her to believe she felt his face in her hair, and the trembling of the work-roughened hand that held hers? Kristin felt a hot flush of embarrassment that she had been so foolishly happy and chided herself for being a love-starved old maid.

Puzzled by his sudden coolness, she roamed restlessly about the house. Then she went to the porch and looked across the grassland to the road she had traveled on the freight wagon. Lonelier than she’d ever felt in her life, she went back in the house. Finally, she sat at the table and looked through a stack of old, well-worn newspapers but saw nothing there to catch her interest. Needing something to keep her hands busy, she picked up the wool coverlet and began pulling on the yarn.

Time passed slowly.

At dusk she lit the lamp, shook down the ashes in the cookstove and added a handful of kindling and a stick of wood. She put the teakettle on for tea and sliced the boiled potatoes left over from the noon meal into a skillet. With supper warming on the stove and the table set, she sat in one of the big chairs to wait for Buck to come in.

Life was not simple. Kristin massaged her temples with her fingertips. She didn’t understand how she could have
feelings
for Buck Lenning. She didn’t even know the man. Heavens! He could have run off and left a wife and children, or he could be an . . . atheist!

Land a livin’!
she scolded herself. Buck had come here at age sixteen—if what he had told her was true. That ruled out leaving a wife and children. Was he being kind and protective of her because he needed her land to get access to his? That worked two ways. She needed him in order to hold on to hers.

Buck felt responsible for her. It was an extension of the obligation he had felt toward her Uncle Yarby for saving him and tending to him when he was young and helpless.

At age twenty-three Kristin had given up hope of finding a man whom she could love and who would give her children. She wanted a special man who would share her dreams of building a strong, loving family like Uncle Hansel’s. A man she could turn to in the night and into whose arms she would go eagerly when he reached for her. She had not met a man she could think of as
husband
—until now, and she had not detected a single clue that he wanted her in that way.

Supper was a silent affair. Buck greeted her when he came into the kitchen, then washed and ran the comb through his hair. His facial features reflected none of his thoughts. His big work-hard body demanded nourishment, and he ate with a hearty appetite. He didn’t linger when the meal was over as he sometimes did. After thanking her for the supper, he went out the door and closed it firmly.

Kristin was so lonely after he left that she wanted to cry. It was the first night since Buck started sleeping in the bunkhouse that she would spend without getting up a couple of times during the night to see about her uncle. After she put the kitchen in order, she carried the lamp to her small room and prepared for bed. The cloth she had hung over the glass window gave her privacy, so she stripped and washed, wondering if ever again she would climb into a tub of warm water for a treasured bath.

At length Kristin stretched out on the bed. She felt an ache in each muscle, a stiffness in her bones, and a heaviness in her heart.

*  *  *

Forsythe met Mark Lee at the door and together they went down the hallway to the study. Once inside, Kyle closed the door.

“Ruth is upstairs, but I’d not put it past her to come down and listen at the door, so talk low. The fewer who know about this the better.”

“I hope to God
nobody
knows about this but you and me!” Mark took out a handkerchief and wiped his face.

“Why are you sweating? Who’ll know and what could they do about it if they did.” Kyle went to the other side of the desk and sat down. “I’ve already put out the word to that tight-ass banker that she’s signed the Larkspur over to me. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Mark took a sheet of paper from his leather case and placed it on the desk.

“I traced the signature several times on this thin paper.”

“How did you get the book away from the hotel desk clerk?”

“I told him I had to compare a signature on a legal document to be sure the person was who
he
said
he was.
”

“Let’s see what you can do.”

Mark placed the signature sheet of paper over a blank page and carefully traced Kristin’s name with a pencil. When he finished, he held up the blank page and showed Kyle the indention made by the pencil.

“I’ll trace this with the pen and ink and it will be just about perfect.”

“Damned if it isn’t!” Kyle was pleased. “Sign the paper giving you power of attorney, and we’ll get it up to the territorial capital.”

Thirty minutes later the papers were signed and back in Mark’s leather case. They toasted each other with Kyle’s best brandy and settled back to enjoy a cigar. Business was never far from Kyle’s mind.

“Did you find out anything about this Stark fellow who claims he’s here to buy land for a Kansas City banker?”

“Not yet. I sent a wire to a friend of mine in Denver. He’d know of any herds coming up from Texas.”

“That smart-mouthed kid with Stark needs his ass busted. I’d like to have him under my command for a few weeks. I had some like him in the army and know how to take the sass out of them. The more mouthy they are the easier they are to back down.”

“He didn’t back down from Greg Meader. According to the old man at the livery, he outdrew him and sent him packing with his tail between his legs. Bruza was raising hell at the saloon because Meader left town without telling him.”

“Where did he go?”

“Up to the camp, I imagine.”

Kyle shrugged. “Where’s Stark and that kid hanging out?”

“Saloon mostly. Ate a couple of meals at Gates’ Café, so Lyster tells me.”

“Getting chummy with them?”

“Hard to tell yet.”

“Del will put a stop to it if they are.” Forsythe puffed on his cigar. “Stark’s story didn’t hold water. He seems mighty interested in the Larkspur.”

“It’s going to take some doing to bust Lenning away from that place.”

“A couple dozen men should do it.”

“Don’t forget Lenning has Sioux drovers, and that old fool Ryerson is dragging his feet about selling. He could team up with him.”

“Once Lenning is gone, Ryerson’ll buckle under.”

“Do you think the Anderson woman went out there?”

“She didn’t take the train. I believe that she went to Larkspur on a freight wagon. Someone helped her to get to the freight yard. If it wasn’t Cletus Fuller, then who?”

“It was probably Cletus,” Mark said slowly. He was uncomfortable. The killing of Fuller had shaken him. When Mark had teamed up with Forsythe, he hadn’t known the man was so . . . ruthless.

“Could have been Bernie Gates. I’m keeping an eye on him and his sister. I’m thinking a fire at the café would run them out of town before Del gets back.”

“A fire could burn down the whole town!” Mark exclaimed in alarm.

“As long as that woman is around, Del will have his mind in her drawers and not on the job I’m paying him to do.”

“What if the Anderson woman comes back to town and claims she didn’t give me the power of attorney?”

“She won’t. We’ll manage for her to be found scalped. A patrol will find that blond hair hanging from a lodgepole.”

The colonel spoke so matter of factly and so coldly that chills went up Mark’s back. Feeling a sudden urge to get away from the man, he stood and placed his glass on the sideboard.

“I need to get back to my office and finish the letters to go out on the train in the morning.” It was the only excuse that came to Mark’s mind. Forsythe had often kept him there until the wee hours of the morning, drinking and talking about
himself.

The colonel walked with Mark to the door. He put his hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve done a good job, Mark. When I’m governor of this state, you’ll have the job of attorney general. It’s good to work with a man I can trust.”

“Thank you, Colonel.”

The two men shook hands. Forsythe waited in the doorway until Mark was out the gate and walking toward town before he closed the door and headed for the stairs.

In the upstairs bedroom, Ruth DeVary stood before her bureau brushing her hair. She looked at her face in the mirror. The large bruise on her cheekbone was fading. How had she come to this degrading state? Two years ago she had thought she was lucky to secure a position with this well-situated man. She had entertained the thought that he might fall in love with her and marry her; then the struggle to support herself after her husband had been killed would be over.

That would not happen now. In the beginning she had refused to sleep with him, then after a few months she had relented even though she had suspected the meanness that lurked beneath his well-bred facade. Several weeks ago it had erupted, and now the slaps were almost an everyday occurrence. One reason, she realized, was that it was difficult for him to be the stallion he once had been and, of course, he blamed her.

“Ruth!” he bellowed. “I’m coming up. Get down here and close up the house while I’m getting ready. Then get your clothes off and get into bed.”

She heard him bellow her name and dread settled like a knot in her stomach. Merciful heavens! The slight affection she’d had for him had turned to loathing the first time he struck her. All she had left was her looks and her pride, and he was doing his best to destroy both.

“What am I to do?” she asked herself as she hurried out of the room.

*  *  *

Cleve Stark rapped three times on the door of the shed attached to the back of the restaurant, a signal previously arranged with Bernie Gates. When Bonnie opened the door, he and Dillon slipped into the darkened room. After the door was firmly closed, she struck a match, lit the lamp and looked at Cleve.

“We were afraid you weren’t comin’.”

“We waited until we were reasonably sure we could get here without bein’ seen.”

“I’ve got to get my sister outta this town before I blow Mike Bruza to hell,” Bernie blurted. “They’ll hang me and she’ll be left to fend off the likes of Del Gomer.”

“We’ll go, Bernie, as soon as you’re able to travel.” Bonnie moved over and placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder.

“Fat lot of good that’ll do. Trouble will just follow,” he replied with resignation.

Cleve and Dillon squatted on their heels beside the door.

“I knowed right off ya was lawmen.” Tandy, sitting on a three-legged milking stool, spat tobacco juice in the can at his feet.

“It’s bound to come out. We want to find out as much as we can about Forsythe before that happens.”

“He was here when we got here less than a year ago,” Bernie said. “It didn’t take us long to learn who was runnin’ thin’s in this town. The merchants, the banker, all kowtow to him. Lyster gets his orders from him. Guess you could tell that. Most folk go along and keep their mouths shut. But christamighty! Killing old Cletus Fuller was a purr-dee mean low-down thing to do.”

“Why’d they do it?” Dillon asked.

“ ’Cause he helped a woman, who had inherited from her uncle, get out of town before they could force her to sign over the Larkspur.”

“Bernie helped her, too. Forsythe sent a man to beat him up. They’d have killed him if not for . . . if not that I came home from church.”