Chapter Twenty-Nine
Amy tucked Maggie’s last dress into a drawer in Lydia’s guest room, then carried the now-empty carpetbag back toward the kitchen, where Noah stood beside the table clutching his wooden boat.
They had arrived at Lydia’s house less than an hour earlier with enough clothes for several days, though Noah had spent most of that time worrying over where his boat would be kept.
“The boat can sleep on the washstand,” Lydia said as she wrapped a loaf in a cloth. “It will have an excellent view of the basin and very little chance of drowning.” Noah frowned at the idea, though Amy noticed he held the boat less protectively afterward. “It needs water.”
“It also needs a captain who doesn’t launch it into a poisoned creek,” Lydia replied, and the humor in her voice softened the warning enough that Maggie continued playing without looking frightened.
Amy set the carpetbag near the door, wishing the word hadn’t pulled her thoughts back to Bell-Whitaker Ranch.
Caleb and Russ had ridden into town at first light with Jonah’s papers secured beneath Caleb’s coat, and Amy had brought Noah and Maggie here soon afterward with enough belongings to stay for several days.
She had presented the visit as another chance to spend time with Lydia and her children, though the real reason had been impossible to ignore; Bell-Whitaker Ranch had become dangerous, and Caleb wanted Noah and Maggie somewhere Calvin Dray couldn’t easily reach them.
Maggie grabbed Amy’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Amy, you should stay, too.”
Amy brushed a loose curl away from the child’s cheek. “I need to return home before Caleb comes back.”
“You could wait here,” Noah suggested, although his attention remained fixed on his boat. “Caleb would know where you were.”
The suggestion carried more worry than the boy likely wanted her to hear, and Amy recognized Caleb’s influence in the way Noah tried to hide fear behind practical reasoning. She rested her hand against his shoulder, feeling him hold himself stiffly before relaxing beneath her touch.
“He’ll expect me at the ranch,” she said gently. “I’ll be careful, and I won’t be alone after he returns.”
Lydia set down her knife and turned away from the table. “You could remain until supper without causing the ranch to collapse from neglect. Caleb has survived thirty-one years without your supervision, even if his recent improvements may make that difficult to believe.”
Amy smiled because Lydia clearly wanted her to, yet unease remained beneath it.
Caleb had carried Jonah’s evidence to Sheriff Boone with a determination that should have reassured her, but his silence during breakfast had revealed how much rested on the sheriff’s response.
The papers were strong evidence connecting Hollis Creed and Calvin Dray with the many ranch accidents over the years, but they may not prove concrete enough to help their case.
“What if Jonah’s records still don’t give the sheriff what he needs?” Amy asked.
Lydia’s expression softened as she moved closer. “Amos Boone won’t ignore evidence merely because Calvin Dray wears a cleaner coat than the men who do his dirty work.”
“He said they needed witnesses willing to speak.”
“Russ knows half the ranchers in this territory and has argued with most of the other half. He’ll find men who’ve had enough of being frightened.”
Amy glanced toward the window, where the afternoon sun warmed the yard and made the quiet road beyond Lydia’s gate seem harmless.
She wanted to believe Calvin Dray’s power had begun to weaken the instant Jonah’s letter came to light, yet men who built their lives on others’ fear rarely surrendered just because the truth had been discovered.
Lydia followed her gaze. “Caleb knows what he’s doing.”
“He thought he knew what he was doing when he kept the cut fence from me.”
“That was Caleb protecting everyone according to his own methods, which are rarely run by the rest of us.” Lydia folded her arms, and the firmness in her expression carried affection rather than criticism.
“He has spent years believing love gives an enemy another place to aim. You’re teaching him that shutting people out creates its own harm. ”
Amy looked toward Maggie, who had begun explaining to Eloise why Lydia’s guest room needed better curtains, while Noah tested the strength of his boat’s sail with one careful finger. The children had already lost too much, and Caleb’s fear of failing them rested heavily on his shoulders.
“He’s trying,” Amy said.
“I know.” Lydia reached for Amy’s hand and squeezed it. “Trying matters, though it doesn’t excuse a man from learning faster when his wife has already explained herself clearly.”
The remark carried Lydia’s particular kind of warmth, practical enough to comfort without pretending fear had vanished.
Amy thanked her, then knelt beside Maggie and reminded her that the visit would last only a few days.
Maggie accepted this after making Amy promise twice that she would return, while Noah demanded assurance that Caleb would come with her.
Amy gave it, hoping the promise remained within her power to keep.
She left Lydia’s house after the children had settled near the kitchen table with bread and preserves.
Her ankle still ached beneath the fading bruise, but the walk to the small wagon didn’t trouble her enough to justify staying.
Caleb had asked her to avoid unnecessary strain, and she had agreed, but refused to let caution turn into another prison.
The road home passed between open pastures and low stands of cottonwood, with late sunlight stretching across the rutted track through the trees. Amy kept the mare at an easy pace while her thoughts returned to Caleb at the sheriff’s office.
She imagined him standing near Sheriff Boone’s desk with Jonah’s letter spread before them, his shoulders rigid while Russ supplied names and dates Caleb had never known.
The truth had already changed the way Caleb carried his grief, but Amy understood that learning Jonah’s reasons couldn’t restore the years they had lost. Caleb would need time before forgiveness became anything more than a mere possibility.
A rider suddenly appeared where the road narrowed between the trees.
Amy noticed him early enough to slow the mare hitched to the wagon, but he guided his horse into the center of the track before she could decide whether to turn around.
He wore a dark coat, and a pale scar crossed his jaw beneath the brim of his hat.
Hollis Creed.
Caleb’s description returned with such clarity that fear moved coldly through her, though Amy kept both hands steady on the reins.
Creed stopped several yards ahead and rested one gloved hand on his saddle horn. “Mrs. Whitaker.”
Amy’s mind raced through the distance to Lydia’s house, the empty road behind her, and the small pistol Caleb had placed beneath the wagon seat after the fence was cut. Reaching for it, however, would require lowering her hand where Creed could see.
She lifted her chin instead. “You appear to know me, sir, although I don’t recall an introduction between us.”
His mouth curved faintly. “Your husband must have mentioned my name, I imagine.”
“He mentioned that you threaten ranchers for a man too cowardly to speak for himself.”
The satisfaction in Creed’s face cooled, and Amy regretted the sharpness only because anger might make him less predictable.
Caleb’s pride often drove him into confrontation, while Amy’s strengths lay elsewhere.
She tightened her hands around the reins and forced herself to remain composed.
Hollis Creed had stopped her alone on an empty road for a reason, and giving him any clearer glimpse of her fear or temper would only tell him where to press next.
Creed guided his horse closer until the mare shifted in her traces. “Calvin Dray offered your husband a chance to avoid further loss, you know.”
“Poisoning cattle is an unusual way to open negotiations.”
“He’s found that loss changes a man’s understanding of value.” Creed glanced at the road behind her. “Whitaker may grow more reasonable once he realizes how much he has left to lose.”
Amy heard the warning beneath his measured tone, but she refused to look toward Lydia’s house. Any sign that the children were there might reveal more than Creed actually knew.
She held his gaze instead. “If Mr. Dray believes threatening my family will make Caleb easier to persuade, then he understands my husband very poorly.”
Hollis Creed studied her face, and the stillness around him felt more dangerous than anger. “Every man becomes reasonable once you find something he values more than his pride.”
Her fingers curled around the reins a little tighter. “Is that why you stopped me?”
“I stopped you because stubborn men often mistake a wife’s courage for security.
” His gaze moved across the wagon before returning to her.
“Whitaker may have endured cattle losses without changing his answer, but wives and children are easier to frighten than ranchers who believe pride will feed them.”
The threat struck at every fear Amy had carried since bringing Noah and Maggie to Lydia’s house. She pictured Caleb returning to an empty ranch, then forced the image away before Hollis could read it in her face. “I think you should leave,” she said as firmly as she could manage.
Creed’s expression turned quietly amused. “Your husband gave me a similar order.”
“He has more patience than I do.” Amy kept her voice even, even though her heartbeat felt loud enough to reach his ears. Creed watched her for a long moment, deliberately silent, then turned his horse toward the trees.
“Tell Caleb that Mr. Dray remains willing to discuss the ranch,” he said as he moved away without looking back. “However, his generosity may not survive another refusal.”
Amy waited until the sound of hoofbeats had faded beyond the cottonwoods, holding herself still.
Moving too soon felt like admitting Creed had succeeded in frightening her.
The road remained empty, and the mare shifted restlessly beneath the reins while afternoon light continued to shine across the road.
Then, fear broke through every careful barrier Amy had raised.
She drove toward the ranch faster than her ankle or the uneven road should have allowed.
Every shadow in the trees looked like another rider, and every bend seemed capable of hiding Creed’s return.
She fought the urge to look behind her because the mare needed both her hands steady and all her focus, yet the distance to Bell-Whitaker Ranch felt twice as long as it had that morning.
The house finally appeared beyond the pasture, and Amy drove into the yard faster than she should have.
She climbed down with more haste than care, catching the wagon rail when pain shot through her ankle.
Before moving away, she reached beneath the seat and pulled out the small pistol she’d thought of earlier.
Keeping the weapon close, Amy worked quickly to free the mare from the wagon, her attention darting toward the road whenever the harness buckles slowed her. Once the mare was loose, she led her through the nearest pasture gate and secured it behind her.
Amy then hurried toward the house with the pistol gripped in one hand, her injured ankle protesting every uneven step.
Once inside, she closed the front door and turned the lock before crossing the parlor to pull the curtains shut.
She checked the back door next and secured the kitchen latch, then returned to the parlor.
Caleb’s rifle rested above the mantel, but Amy kept the smaller pistol with her as she moved toward the front window.
Her hands had begun to tremble now that she was safely inside.
She stood near the front window, hidden behind the curtain, listening for hoofbeats.
Hollis Creed had wanted to make her afraid, and Amy hated that he had succeeded.
He had also made one mistake. He’d believed that fear would send her fleeing from Caleb and the children. Amy pressed her hand against her chest and watched the road through a narrow gap in the curtain. Fear may have followed her home, but it would find her waiting beside Caleb when the fight came.