McKettrick's Choice (20 page)

Melina looked at her sadly. “Women like you live in houses like this one, Lorelei. Tillie and me, we're cut out to be cooks and maids.”

“It isn't right,” Lorelei protested, but her voice was small, and she twisted her hands together in her lap.

“A lot of things aren't right,” Melina said.

A brief, difficult silence fell.

“You can stay with me, on my ranch, as long as you
need to,” Lorelei said, when she couldn't stand it anymore. “You and the baby.”

Melina smiled. “You won't live on that ranch for long, Lorelei,” she replied, with as much certainty as if she could look into the future and read it like a book. “You'll marry Holt and go back to Arizona Territory with him.”

“I wouldn't marry that man if he were—”

“The last man on earth?” Melina finished, with gentle humor. “Don't be so sure he isn't, at least as far as you're concerned.”

Lorelei felt a twinge of indignation. “I'd be in a sorry state indeed if I needed a husband to survive—especially one like him. Anyway, he wouldn't marry me. He thinks I'm stubborn and self-centered and heaven only knows what else.”

Melina went right on rocking, but now her smile had a smug air about it. “You drive him crazy, and that's exactly why he
would
marry you. A woman could do a lot worse than Holt McKettrick, you know.”

“I don't see how,” Lorelei retorted, disgruntled. She stood and snatched up her calico dress. “I'm going out to make some purchases,” she said. “Would you like to come along?”

“No, thanks,” Melina answered serenely. “I mean to sit here and pretend that this is my house, and Gabe's going to come walking through that door any moment and ask me what's for supper.”

Lorelei's throat cinched itself shut again, and tears filled her eyes. She was careful to keep her back to Melina while she changed into her calico dress.

Half an hour later, in the second shop she visited, she
made her first and most important purchase—a bolt of blue-and-white gingham for Mary Jackson.

She liked to keep her promises, even when she had no earthly idea how she'd go about it.

“W
E'RE SCRAPING
the bottom of the barrel with this bunch,” Rafe remarked none too quietly, surveying the motley gathering of down-on-their-luck cowpunchers lined up on the sidewalk in front of the Rusty Buckle Saloon. “I think I've seen a couple of those mugs on Wanted posters.”

There were twelve in the crew, all told. A more unlikely bunch of disciples Holt had never seen. But, then, he was no messiah. “We've got a herd to drive north, and we can't afford to be choosey,” he told Rafe. “These poor excuses for cowpunchers will have to do.”

Rafe sighed, resigned. “Now what?”

“Get them outfitted with saddles and the best horses you can find,” Holt replied. “The gear they've got is pitiful.” He tugged at his leather gloves and ran a glance from one scraggly end of the assembly to the other. Raised his voice. “My brother Rafe is the ramrod on this drive. You'll do as he says or answer to me. We ride out at daybreak tomorrow morning—Rafe will tell you the place—and anybody who shows up drunk will be fired on the spot. You've all been paid a week's salary in advance, to take care of any obligations you have here in
Laredo. You'll earn every cent I pay you. The drive will be long, it will be hard and it will be dangerous. If you feel inclined to change your mind, now's the time to say so, because once we hit the trail, there'll be no turning back. I reckon you comprehend well enough, without my telling you, that a man on his own wouldn't stand much of a chance in the country we'll be passing through. I feel obligated to make that clear, nonetheless.” He paused, took a breath. “Does anybody have a question?”

An old codger belched. A young fella with bad skin hitched up his gun-belt. But nobody said anything.

Holt slapped Rafe on the shoulder. “Have at it,” he said. “I'll meet you back at Heddy's in time for supper.”

Rafe resettled his hat. “What are you figuring on doing in the meantime?” he asked, with a touch of suspicion.

Holt's first instinct was to bristle, but he got past it soon enough. Rafe didn't have to be there; he could have stayed on the Triple M, in the bosom of the family, and tended to his own business. Instead, he'd ridden all the way to Texas and offered his help. “I told you about Frank Corrales,” he said. “He was the one who sent that rider up to the ranch to let me know Gabe was in jail in San Antonio. Frank hasn't been seen or heard from since. I mean to ask around, see if I can track him down.”

“You told me about him, all right,” Rafe said, keeping one eye on the wranglers, who were getting fidgety, standing in a row like that. “Gabe seems to think he's dead. I gather you don't agree?”

“Frank Corrales saved my life half a dozen times. I did the same for him once or twice. Even in the middle of an Indian fight, with our backs to the wall, we could practically read each other's minds. If he was dead, I'd know it.”

Rafe considered the reply. “Good enough for me,” he decided.

“Get these sorry specimens off the street before they get arrested for loitering,” Holt said, and walked away.

 

T
HE
C
APTAIN AND
J
OHN
had set up camp out behind Heddy's barn. Either they didn't like the beds they'd been given, on the side-porch, or they didn't want to get too used to fleshly comforts, knowing the trail ahead would be a rough one. Holt didn't know which, and he didn't give a damn, since they were both old enough to decide such things for themselves. The sun was low on the western horizon as he approached their fire.

John saw him coming and poured a mug of coffee without being asked. “Rafe was by a while ago,” he said, as Holt took the cup. “Told us you'd hired on a sad collection of barflies and drifters.”

Holt smiled grimly. The coffee was hot and strong, and it burned his tongue. “The pickings were slim,” he admitted. “By now, the best wranglers are driving the last of the summer herds up to Abilene and Kansas City.”

The Captain, hunkered down by the fire, poured a dose of whiskey into his own cup and looked up at Holt, squinting in the last blaze of daylight. “You find out anything about Frank Corrales's whereabouts?”

A sinking feeling quivered in the pit of Holt's stomach, and he shook his head. “No,” he admitted, at some length. “Plenty of folks know who he is, but if he's been through Laredo in the last few months, nobody saw him.” He blew on his coffee, then ventured another sip. “Did you two sit around here on your hind-ends all day, or did you stock up on supplies for the trail like I told you?”

John smiled benignly. “Wagon's full,” he said. “Good
thing Tillie and the baby are staying here, 'cause there wouldn't be room for them in the back.”

The reminder of the baby made Holt uneasy. “I spoke to the marshal today,” he said. “If the boy's got folks anywhere, he'll find them. It might take some time, but eventually Tillie's most likely going to have to give Pearl up.”

John closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes,” he agreed. “I know. I can't say I'm not dreading it. She's powerful fond of that little fellow, and if somebody claims him, I don't know as she'll be able to stand it.”

“Might never come to that,” the Captain said quietly. “Meantime, they'll both be safe. Heddy'll see to that.”

“She's a character, Miss Heddy is,” John reflected. “How'd you come to know her, Holt?”

Holt crouched, tossed the dregs of his coffee onto the fire and listened to the sizzle. “Heddy and me, we go way back,” he said, in his own good time. “She ran a…business in Abilene.”

The Captain arched one busy eyebrow. “Would this be the kind of ‘business' I'm guessing it was?”

“Probably,” Holt said.

“I'll be damned.” The Captain grinned. “I wouldn't have figured you for the type to be taken with an older woman.”

“I said she
ran
the place,” Holt replied. “There's a big difference between that and looking after customers.”

John muttered something—no telling what.

Just then, Heddy herself trundled around the corner.

“Come on in and get your supper,” she ordered. “Bad enough you'd rather sleep on the ground than in my good beds. If you think you're going to turn your noses up at my cookin', too, you're sadly mistaken!”

Holt laughed and got to his feet. John and the Captain followed suit.

“I would never turn down one of your fine suppers, Miss Heddy,” John said.

Heddy beamed at him, blushed like a schoolgirl and even patted her hair.

Holt and the Captain exchanged glances.

The Captain shrugged. “You just never know,” he said, and grinned to himself.

 

M
ELINA RAN
a reverent hand over the bolt of blue-and-white checked gingham when Lorelei pushed back the brown wrapping paper to reveal it.

They were in Heddy's modest front parlor, with the lamps lit, and the sounds and scents of supper preparation drifted in through the open doorway.

“It's very fine,” Melina said, and swallowed. When she looked at Lorelei, her eyes were wide with yearning. “I guess Mary will sew this right up into a dress as soon as she lays eyes on it,” she added.

Lorelei's heart pinched. She'd almost purchased a length of crimson taffeta for Melina—it would have suited her so well—but she knew her friend's pride would make it hard to accept such a gift. “Yes,” she agreed. “I suppose she will.”

Tillie stepped over the threshold, dandling Pearl on one slender hip. “Miss Heddy says come to supper before it gets cold,” she said.

Lorelei was starved—she hadn't eaten since breakfast, having been out most of the day—but she knew Holt was already in the kitchen. She'd sensed his presence in the house even before she heard his voice.

“We're coming, Tillie,” Melina answered. “Hold your horses.”

“I'll just put this away,” Lorelei said, refolding the brown paper. It was her own business what she bought, but if Holt saw that gingham, he was bound to say there was no room in the wagon for a bolt of cloth, and she didn't want to butt heads with him.

Melina nodded, and Lorelei headed for the front staircase.

Upstairs, in the corridor, she hurried along with her head down—and collided hard with Rafe. Mary Davis's blue-and-white checked gingham toppled to the floor.

Rafe chuckled and put out a hand to stop her when she would have bent to retrieve the package. “I'll get it,” he said.

Lorelei's heart was pounding. She pressed a hand to her chest and concentrated on catching her breath.

Rafe straightened, holding the parcel and grinning. “Thought I was Holt for a moment, did you?”

There was no sense in prevaricating. “Yes,” she admitted.

“He doesn't bite, you know,” Rafe teased. “Not real often, anyhow.”

She smiled, perhaps a little wanly, and took the bolt of gingham back. The wrapping crackled. “I'm not so sure of that,” she said. “I bought the comb you wanted for your wife, and the doll for your little girl, too. It's cloth, with button eyes and yarn hair.”

A distant expression drifted into Rafe's blue eyes. “I sure do miss them,” he said. “Especially around this time of day, when it's time to have supper. Emmeline's always got a lot to tell me when I come in off the range.”

Lorelei wanted to touch Rafe's arm, reassure him somehow, but it wouldn't be seemly. He was another woman's husband, after all, and a stranger besides. “I
wish Holt were more like you,” she said, without meaning to say anything of the kind.

Rafe looked both amused and puzzled, but he let the statement go by without remarking on it. “I reckon you'd best hurry,” he told her. “Heddy's got quite a spread laid out down there in the kitchen.”

Lorelei nodded gratefully, regretting that she'd mentioned Holt at all, and made for the room she shared with Tillie, Pearl and Melina.

This would be her last night of comfort, she thought, as she laid the bundle of cloth down on the foot of her bed, and probably her last night of safety as well. And for all of that, she couldn't wait for morning.

Hastily, she smoothed her hair and washed her hands and face at the basin. Then, after drawing a deep breath on the landing, she descended into the kitchen by the back stairs.

Heddy's table was indeed laden with all sorts of good things—a roast, mashed potatoes and gravy, biscuits, three kinds of vegetables and two kinds of pie.

John and the Captain had already filled their plates, and they sat on the back step, eating and tossing the occasional morsel to the dog. Rafe and Holt stood when Lorelei came into view, Rafe easily, Holt as an apparent afterthought, and with a nettling air of reluctance.

“Sit yourself down,” Heddy ordered good-naturedly, from the rocking chair near the stove. “Have to dig right in around here. My food don't last for long.” She held Pearl on her lap, feeding him small bites of creamy potatoes, while Tillie sat at one end of the table, eating hastily, but with good appetite. Melina, seated to Holt's right, smiled as Lorelei took the empty chair to his left.

Holt and Rafe sat down again, and took up their forks.

“I told you there wouldn't be any word of Frank,” Heddy told Holt, taking up the threads of a conversation that had begun before Lorelei entered the room. “If that handsome devil was within fifty miles of Laredo, I'd know it. He'd have been at my back door wantin' a piece of peach pie.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lorelei saw Holt smile, but barely, and bleakly. “If he shows up here,” he told Heddy, “tell him I'll be back at John's place, outside San Antonio, in the next two weeks.”

“You think he's dead?” Heddy asked.

Holt stiffened, and Lorelei wondered who Frank was, and what he meant to the man beside her. Not that she would have considered asking.

“No,” Holt said, breaking a hot biscuit in half and slathering both sides with butter. “I do not.”

“I wonder,” Heddy mused, sounding worried. “If he's alive, he'd know you're in Texas. And if he knew that, you'd have heard from him by now. He'd want to help get Gabe out of jail.”

From across the table, Melina caught Lorelei's eye.

Inwardly, Lorelei flinched. She tried not to think about her friend's man, and the fact that her own father had sentenced him to death.

“Most likely,” Holt said evenly, “he's just lying low. Judge Fellows and that Bannings shyster railroaded Gabe. Maybe Frank figures they'd do the same to him.”

The remark stung, as it was surely meant to do, and Lorelei flushed. Did Holt hold her responsible for her father's actions? Her hand trembled as she lifted her fork to her mouth. She was upset, but her appetite hadn't dwindled, and she was darned if she would let Mr. McKettrick drive her away from that table.

“Frank's probably in Reynosa,” Melina put in.

Holt stopped eating. “What makes you say that?”

“He's got family there,” Melina replied, and took a long drink from her glass of milk. “If he thinks the law is after him, that's where he'd go.”

Lorelei had to look at Holt then, pride be damned. She was too curious about his reaction to this announcement to do anything else.

Holt was staring at Melina as though his life might depend on his ability to describe her every feature in exquisite detail. “Reynosa—that's where we're off to,” he said slowly. “To buy cattle, I mean.”

“Could be he knows we're headed that way, and he's waiting,” Rafe surmised.

The Captain rose from the step, empty plate in hand, and came into the kitchen. He stood watching Holt, his expression solemn. “How far do you reckon Reynosa is from here?” he asked, very quietly.

Lorelei felt a strange tension stretch between the two men.

“Four or five days,” Holt said, at some length. His gaze swung to Lorelei. “Three, without the wagon and the women.”