Chapter 13
13
F ran woke to a light tap at the door with a foreboding sense of panic building in her chest.
What had happened the night before? Edgar had never returned to let her know the resolution of Ricky’s situation. Or if they’d discovered anything about the man watching them on the street.
It was still dark outside the hotel window.
Another light tap on the door had her out of the warm bed, her feet bare and the plank floor cool enough to jolt her fully awake.
Had Underhill’s men found them?
“Fran?”
The surge of relief at hearing Edgar’s voice through the wood panel actually brought tears to her eyes.
She blinked them away and cracked the door open.
In the soft lamplight in the hallway, he was a welcome sight, rumpled shirt and Stetson and all.
She tucked her hair, loose down her back, behind one ear and made sure she was hidden behind the door. She didn’t have a wrapper, after all.
“You girls ready to ride out?”
“What? You just woke me up, and Emma’s still sleeping…” She let her words trail off as she registered the corner of his mouth that had ticked upward. And then she played back his question in her mind. “No railroad?”
“No.” Nothing more, just the simple answer.
“Ricky all right?” she asked.
Shadows in his eyes darkened.
She wanted to throw her arms around him. Comfort him. But in her state of dishabille, that would be terribly improper. Even though they were married. Someone could pass in the hall and see.
She settled for a wobbly smile. “I’ll wake Emma.”
The morning had passed in a blur of rounding up the cattle in the near-dark and passing out of Tuck’s Station.
They’d left town before the sun had come up. She suspected it was Edgar’s way of protecting her and Emma from whoever might be following them.
But it made for a drowsy morning, especially with the bright spring sun glaring in her eyes.
She was glad to take a mid-morning break.
Emma had been quieter than ever. She hadn’t slept the night before. In their shared bed, Fran had felt her constant restlessness.
She was ready for this to be over. Would Underhill’s obsession with Emma never end? What possessed a man to such a crazed state?
She waved to Edgar as she stepped down off the wagon. Emma went to take a private moment in some nearby brush, and Fran just walked a bit away from the wagon, stretching the kinks out of her still-sore muscles.
The grass in this area was taller than her knees, and dotted with wildflowers. It smelled fresh and springy, and she felt hope for the first time in a long time.
He hadn’t made any declarations. But didn’t actions speak louder than words? This morning had given her a tiny kernel of hope.
Contemplative, she sat down among the prairie grass, letting the sun warm her shoulders.
Then she thought she’d like to feel it on her face, so she laid down and spread her arms, face turned up to the sky.
It stretched, limitless and blue, like the possibilities before her.
Could she and Emma be happy on a ranch? She thought so. Could Emma find peace? Without a constant shadow over them, Fran was hopeful.
She’d gotten used to the work of a cattle drive. And although the daily chores of a homestead were probably much different, working alongside the cowboys had given her the confidence that she could do what needed to be done.
How would Underhill make his move? He was sly, deceptive, controlling, dangerous. She couldn’t trust that he’d given up.
But those worries seemed far away in the warm morning sunlight.
She closed her eyes for a moment and the sunlight shone pink against her closed eyes. Soft shadows—clouds from high above—flickered.
She smiled.
She could be happy here. She knew it.
A shadow fell over her face.
She opened her eyes, raising up on her elbows to face the man standing over her.
“What are you doing?” Edgar’s voice revealed his curious confusion.
“Enjoying the day,” she retorted, lying back down to stare up at the puffy clouds against the blue sky. “You’ve been driving all of us so hard I thought I could take a few moments for myself.”
He settled beside her in the grass, heads tucked together, only inches apart. “Tyrant that I am, I’m only giving you two more minutes,” he said. He sat his Stetson on his chest.
He took a deep breath. She felt more than saw the motion, as his feet were pointed in the opposite direction of hers, and she couldn’t really see his chest.
“How long has it been since you stopped to smell wildflowers?” she asked, genuinely curious. “You haven’t stopped working since I met you.”
“It’s not always so bad,” he murmured. “Things around the homestead slow down in the winter months. There’s time for reading, games… But in spring there’s planting, calves being born, steers to sell…”
They were silent for a moment before he went on. “And I guess my brothers are probably right. I’ve been working more and not taking time to slow down and have fun like I used to.”
“Too afraid some eligible girl might catch your fancy?” she asked, only half teasing.
He snorted. “Didn’t stop you,” he said, reaching over to tweak her nose.
“Ha.” She swatted at his hand, and he captured her fingers. Slowly, he interlaced their fingers, surrounding her hand with the warmth of his larger one. He kept her hand, their clasp resting lightly on his shoulder.
“Just didn’t—don’t want to let my pa down. With Maxwell gone to medical school and Oscar married, more work falls on him.”
“But doesn’t your oldest brother still live on the ranch?”
“Yeah, across the valley. But he’s busy with his own family.”
“And the other brothers? Seems like they’re all of age…able to help take on more responsibility….”
He turned his head, the soft grasses beneath him rustling.
She turned to meet his gaze straight on. From only inches away, the intensity of his blue eyes caught her breath.
“And what of Ricky?” she asked softly. “Maybe he could bear a little more of the load?”
“You’re not going to let my excuses stand, are you?” he asked.
“Should I?”
That one corner of his mouth kicked up. “You’re intent on turning every cranny of my life inside-out, aren’t you? The only one who challenges me.”
“Only what needs it,” she murmured.
He moved toward her and gently kissed her forehead, a brush of his beard against her skin.
She waited for him to apologize, or say the kiss had been a mistake, but none of that came. Was he beginning to soften toward her?
He pushed to his feet and extended a hand to her. She accepted his help to stand and brushed at the few pieces of grass that clung to her skirt.
“I’m not going to get a frog in my supper, am I?” he teased, making her giggle.
She knew they needed to push forward; he’d told her earlier that it was imperative to get the cattle to Cheyenne on time or the buyer would back out of the deal.
But he graced her with a long, level look, showing her some deep emotion in his gaze, before he released her hand and turned to mount up. He waited for her to get into the wagon before he rode off.
Something was changing between them. She could feel it.
If they could get things settled, would she really get the fresh start she wanted? Would Edgar accept her as his wife—for keeps?
That question distracted her for the rest of the afternoon.
Edgar might have gone a little crazy. It was the only explanation for the thoughts swirling through his head all day.
Ricky was hung over and useless. Angry and distant. But thoughts of Fran kept Edgar from being able to maintain an appropriate level of anger toward his wayward brother.
When he’d left Fran after finding her daydreaming in the prairie grass, he’d imagined her sprawled in the spring grasses back at his pa’s homestead. With him beside her.
They’d stopped briefly for lunch. All she’d done was hand him a cold biscuit and a thick slice of ham, but when he’d ridden out to spell one of the other cowboys he thought about what it would be like to see her rumpled and with her hair unbound over the breakfast table.
And that distracted him. Matty had to whistle at him, and Edgar realized he’d allowed a whole troupe of steers to escape past him. He spent the next several minutes rounding them back into the main herd and lecturing himself on keeping his mind on task.
Which worked until he started thinking about seeing her around the supper campfire. Maybe…maybe they could sneak away and he could steal a kiss.
He was on the opposite side of the herd from the chuck wagon when a group of riders thundered over a bluff and into view.
Fear sliced through him, sharp and painful in its intensity. He must be falling for her if a threat against her had this powerful an effect on him. The fear was followed by a deep sense of unease.
A sharp whistle to his brother and a wave at the horizon sent Matty and his brace of pistols back to the wagon. They’d planned for this. Seb and John also rode toward the wagon as Edgar made his way around the herd.
Although the approaching men didn’t seem to be in any hurry. They came on at a steady walk.
Edgar didn’t like the numbers. By his count, there were sixteen of them, and twelve cowboys in his group.
Except his cowboys were busy keeping the herd in line.
Without at least a few riders constantly circling, the herd would scatter. If they wandered too far, it could take hours or even days to round them up again.
And he didn’t have that kind of time, not with the buyer’s deadline looming.
Which meant he couldn’t spare many of their twelve to keep guard over the girls, should they need it.
It wouldn’t be a fair fight, if lead started flying.
He’d given Fran a pistol to hide in the front of the wagon, but dearly hoped she wouldn’t need it to protect her sister.
By the time Edgar thundered up to them, the wagon had rolled to a stop and Fran and Emma stood huddled between his brother and the wagon’s scanty protection. The riders neared.
Edgar jumped off his horse, leaving it standing untied behind the wagon. If he or the girls needed to take off, having it unencumbered would be important.
Both girls were whiter than the wagon’s canvas cover when he stepped up between them. Fran relaxed infinitesimally as she registered his presence.
“This the Underhill you been worrying about?”
She nodded, mouth pinched tight. “In the middle, on the black horse. I don’t know the other men.”
The horse was a beautiful animal. Well cared-for, with good lines. Obviously expensive. Fran had said this Underhill had money, and riding that animal, it was obvious.
The men around him…not so much. They had the look of cowpokes, unless a body looked closer. Their clothes were in good condition, not worn like the other cowboys he’d been riding with these last few days. Their saddles were tooled and fancy.
They looked like hired guns.
And that he didn’t like at all. If the man’s purpose was legitimate, why all the firepower? The last thing Edgar wanted to do was put his brothers, or Fran and Emma, in harm’s way.
Matty was out in front of the wagon and spoke over his shoulder. “Saw something shiny reflecting from the man on the big bay. Might be a lawman.”
He almost didn’t hear Fran’s soft gasp as Seb said, “Pretty sure the one on the gray dappled is the same man we saw back at Tuck’s Station, too.”
Edgar let his palm rest on Fran’s lower back. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Or Emma.”
She whispered something under her breath, but he couldn’t make out the words as the riders reined in with a rush of hoofbeats and creaking leather. Had she been praying?
Underhill reined in and smiled a cruel smile.