Authors: Janette Kenny
Cowboy Come Home (9 page)
With that she kicked her mare into a gallop and left him standing there eating her dust. He should let her go. Let her get her fill of inspecting the land. Get her out of his hair for the rest of the day.
But the fact remained that Ned could’ve followed them up here. He could be up to no good, waiting for a chance to strike.
No matter what his past differences were with Daisy, he wasn’t about to let any harm come to her. Not if he could help it.
He took off at an easy trot after her, content to follow at a distance. To avoid any more talk at least for today. To just watch her.
He’d been uneasy telling as much as he had about himself, doling out a bit more for her to piece together. What would she say if she knew the truth? That he’d been dumped on the steps of the Guardian Angel’s Orphan Asylum when he was a few days old. That the nurses at the asylum had named him because they figured he’d been born on the third of March and someone thought it was a fitting name.
That nobody had ever wanted him.
That he’d lived all his life with that hole in his identity, wondering if the next man or woman he passed was his blood kin. Wondering if he had any blood kin at all.
No, he didn’t want Daisy getting any closer to him, for she was bound to ask more questions about his past. About his family. About his dreams.
He’d said enough. Too much really. Any more and she’d pity him, and that was the last thing he wanted.
She turned her horse south and rode less than a quarter mile before reining up sharply. Dust kicked up in a cloud as her spirited mare shied and scrambled back.
Visions of her riding hell-bent onto a rattler thundered through his mind. He spurred his gelding into a gallop, his body protesting the unnecessary jostling, his heart racing faster than the horse beneath him.
He pulled up beside her with his sidearm drawn, his gaze scouring the ground. Nothing coiled, rattled, or slithered off into the brush that he could see.
But something had sure spooked Daisy. Her face had leached of color, and her eyes were wider than the big silver conchos on her fancy saddle.
He shifted closer and laid a hand on her thigh, jolting from the spark that arced from her to him. “What is it, Daisy?”
“There,” she said, her voice trembling as she pointed to a rag caught in a tangle of brush near an outcropping.
His eyes narrowed on the spot, and his insides heaved, then knotted. It was a red plaid shirtsleeve with the decayed remains of a hand dangling from the cuff.
Trey swung from the saddle and ground reined his gelding, his gaze sweeping the area slowly before focusing on that arm again. Couldn’t tell a damned thing from here. Doubted he’d know much more when he got closer.
But he couldn’t just ride off. He had to see this to the gruesome end now.
He climbed through the barbed wire fence at the back edge of the property, and eased toward the body, still alert for rattlers. All was quiet save the wind whistling around the rocks, the sound low and mournful.
Being up close didn’t give him any clearer idea of what had befallen the man. Scavengers had gotten to him. What remained wasn’t recognizable, though the fancy silver buckle on his belt was oddly familiar.
Trey squatted beside the dead man, eyes narrowing and anger kicking up a notch. The back of the man’s clothes was intact, but the shirtfront was shredded and stained red. The jeans from the knees down were damned near threadbare and ripped, and the leather toes of the boats were worn bare.
Memories of the excruciating pain of being dragged behind a galloping horse lanced through him. Made his stomach knot up tighter than a noose.
“Do you recognize him?” Daisy asked, intruding on his dark thoughts.
“Nope, but I’m guessing he didn’t die of natural causes.”
“You think he was killed?” she asked, her voice rising.
“Sure do.”
Sun caught the hook on a watch fob still fastened to the dead man’s vest. There were dark reddish stains on the vest as well.
Trey tugged on the chain. He could hardly believe a watch was still attached to it.
The gold was badly dented and scratched. On one side
CS
was stamped without flourish or embellishment, as if hundreds of such watches had been produced and doled out, which is exactly what had happened. On the other a
W
had been etched, proof that the owner wanted to personalize his watch.
CS
was stamped without flourish or embellishment, as if hundreds of such watches had been produced and doled out, which is exactly what had happened. On the other a
W
had been etched, proof that the owner wanted to personalize his watch.
As he recalled, Sam Weber had been a Confederate soldier. Sam had also favored big silver belt buckles and silver toe tips on his boots.
Trey had to use his pocketknife to pop open the badly dented watch cover. The timepiece was ruined, the ivory face shattered.
The back fell off on its own, and inside the back cover was another inscription.
To Sam, with deepest affection, Lydia.
To Sam, with deepest affection, Lydia.
“Just what I feared,” he said at last. “It’s Sam Weber.”
“My God. Poor man didn’t get far at all.”
If that wasn’t the oddest damned thing to say he’d eat his Stetson. He stood to face her. She was still astride her fine horse and managed to look both regal and vulnerable.
It was that combination that had gotten him in trouble with her before. At least that’s what he’d told himself.
“You know something about Sam that I don’t?” he asked, wondering what she’d heard, wondering if she was an innocent about it all like she claimed to be.
She bit her lower lip as if unsure what to say or unsure of how much to confide. “Hollis said that Sam went away one day without any good-byes or explanations.”
“Weber just up and left?”
“Hollis assumed he grew weary working for Ned and quit.”
“Like I did?”
Her face flushed a dirty red, proof he’d gotten through to her this time. “Well, apparently not the same if this poor man was dragged to death.”
He swore and strode back to the fence, easing through it with care. “I was lucky.”
She stared at him, not blinking, barely breathing. Even the wind seemed to lay by as she obviously mulled over the fact that he hadn’t intended to leave the ranch and her.
“You’re sure Ned did that terrible thing to you?”
“Damned sure. Bet he was the one who did this to Sam Weber too.” He grabbed his gelding’s reins but didn’t gain the saddle yet. “Only difference is Barton likely told Ned to get rid of me for good for daring to romance you.”
“Daddy wouldn’t have done that.”
He snorted and swung onto the saddle. “Like hell. I saw Barton horsewhip a hand once for running his mouth about how much he wanted to get cozy with you.”
The man had been drunk and talking way out of turn. Hell, if Barton hadn’t stepped in, Trey would have. It wasn’t as if he’d scarred the man. Scared the hell out of him was more like it. Sent him packing then.
But that was Barton’s way. Swift punishment followed by getting booted off the JDB, for Barton wouldn’t condone any men looking at his daughter with anything but respect.
“Ned would’ve done this one on his own,” he said.
“I’m sure Ned decided to do that to you as well without Daddy even being aware of it.”
He pulled a wry grin. Shook his head. “The problem with putting somebody on a pedestal is that he will shatter when he eventually falls.”
“Daddy wouldn’t have had you dragged to death behind a horse,” she said. “Horsewhipped, maybe. But he wouldn’t have had you killed.”
Trey heard the conviction in her voice. She’d never believe Jared Barton capable of meting out Western justice as he saw fit. Refused to even think that he’d order something as brutal as a hanging or a dragging.
“Barton would be proud of you for having such blind faith in him.”
She jerked her head back as the truth in his words slapped her. “That wasn’t my daddy’s doing. I suggest you think back to who you crossed.” A couple beats of silence drummed the stillness. “I’m sure I wasn’t the only woman you seduced and left.”
There had been damned few women he’d gotten tangled up with for any length of time. Daisy had been the only good girl. While he’d known he was playing with fire the longer he romanced her, he couldn’t stop dancing in the fire of her desire either.
If Barton hadn’t stepped in to put a stop to it, who else would have paid Ned to do him in? The man she was to marry? Or someone else on the JDB?
Someone took matters into his own hands. He was still banking that Ned was the culprit.
“Maybe Ned feared I’d end up married to you and he’d have to take orders from me,” he said, thinking out loud. “What’s funny is if he’d just waited another couple of months I’d have been gone.”
She went still as death then, the color draining from her face. But it was the hurt in her eyes that lashed him, laying his old wounds open.
“You never told me you planned to leave,” she said.
He shrugged. “Told you I wasn’t the putting-down-roots sort of man, that I had nothing to tie me down.”
“I was just a diversion to you then?”
Hell, how to answer that? The memory of holding her, loving her, had robbed him of sleep far too many nights. It still did. But he was in no position to compete for her hand.
Even if he was, what kind of woman cheated on the one she was promised to? She could spout all the righteous chatter she wanted. She’d done her intended wrong by crawling into the hay with him.
“You were engaged to marry Kurt Leonard.”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t have gone through with it.”
His eyebrows lifted, and he almost smiled. “You saying you’d have gone against your daddy?”
“I couldn’t marry Kurt after what we’d done.”
Strong words, but he read the hesitation in her eyes. She’d have been hard-pressed to go against Jared Barton’s wishes.
As for him, he wouldn’t have stood a chance of gaining her hand. Not that he ever thought he had a snowball’s chance in hell of marrying her. Barton wouldn’t have let a two-bit drifter like himself claim Daisy’s hand, even if that cowpoke had a bit of jingle and prime horses. He’d known that going in.
That’s what had convinced him to claim his shares of the Crown Seven by Christmas Eve.
If he’d just divested Barton of his savings and moved on sooner. If he’d ridden out months beforehand instead.
He’d have owned land. He could’ve returned sooner and asked for her hand.
If he just hadn’t gotten so tangled up in Daisy’s arms that he hadn’t wanted to leave ...
That he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her. To stop dreaming of her. To forget that she made him feel things he hadn’t believed possible.
“Did you actually believe that I would go through with that marriage to Kurt after we’d made love?” she asked, her voice strained yet ringing with a note of anger.
“Sure I did,” he said, and every time he’d thought of her in the arms of the other man he’d wanted to fight Leonard for her hand.
But he was a cowpoke without a home or a family or a name. Leonard had roots deep in Texas and a ranch to rival Barton’s.
He’d have treated Daisy in the manner in which she’d been raised. She never would’ve had to want for anything.
“Didn’t what we shared mean anything to you?” she asked, and this time he saw the glint of tears in her eyes.
Shit, she was fixing to start bawling. Though he’d do damned near anything to avoid being around a weeping woman, he wouldn’t lie to her either.
She wanted flowery words, and he couldn’t tell her something he didn’t believe existed. “You know damned well I enjoyed making love with you, but I never promised anything more, Daisy.”
She drew in a shaky breath, holding back her tears. “At least you’re honest.”
He was for the most part. How he truly felt about her was something he couldn’t explain. Something he couldn’t even figure out himself.
“Why didn’t you marry Leonard?” he asked.
She looked at him then, and he cringed at the hurt banked in those glittering eyes. “For a cowboy who professes to know the cattle business, you sure are pitifully ignorant about the ways of the heart.”
Before he could find a rejoinder for that verbal slap, she reined her mare around and took off back toward the ranch house.
Trey watched her, sorely tempted to follow. In the end he climbed back off his horse and untied his bedroll.
He had to let her go. Had to put her from his mind.
He had to gather up Weber’s remains and bury them properly back at the ranch.
He’d cut a deal with her to see him by. A bit of dallying on the side would only complicate things.
Nope, he had to keep their roles separate now. She was the boss lady. He was her foreman.
This time he was going to do this right. This time he wasn’t going to be swayed by a pair of soulful eyes, lips that begged to be kissed, and a ripe body made for loving him.
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