Chapter Eight
The sound that woke Cash wasn’t loud at first—just the faintest tremor in the stillness of the night. But he had spent too many years listening for trouble to ignore it. His eyes snapped open, body already tensing as he lay still, listening.
Then he heard the growing ruckus outside. A sharp, panicked whinny, followed by several more—and then the heavy thud of hooves against hard earth.
His pulse kicked up, and he threw off the covers, sitting upright in bed. That wasn’t normal. The horses didn’t spook for just no reason. Panicked, he grabbed his gun from the bedside table, and was already halfway across the room when another sound cut through the night—louder this time.
The sound of open gates, banging freely in the night.
His gut clenched. “Son of a—!”
He raced out of his room and down the hall as fast as he could, shoving open the front door, yanking on his boots.
As soon as he stepped onto the porch, the chill of the night overcame him, spreading gently against his scorching hot skin.
He hardly noticed it. His attention was fixed on the source of the trouble.
The nearby corral gate was wide open, and so was the barn—all the doors and gates swinging on their hinges. Dark silhouettes were darting across the open pasture, hooves pounding the dirt.
The horses… completely free.
Cash swore under his breath, anger and rage eating him up from the inside out.
He didn’t even need to guess who was behind this.
Remington. That coward.
Cash clenched the handle of his gun and jogged quickly toward the corral. Think!
First, round up the doggone horses. Second, smack every danged one of those good-for-nothing ranch hands they’d hired out of town. Third, make Remington regret the day he’d ever heard the name of the Montgomery Ranch.
He was about to turn to whistle into the house for his brothers when the movement of a much smaller silhouette caught his eye. Someone was already slipping through the open gate of the corral.
For half a second, his breath stalled. What in the world?
Josie Tate.
She was already approaching Red, one of the more skittish geldings, taking him firmly by the halter. He tossed his head, and then Cash heard her start whispering to him.
Her voice was soft, so soft he couldn’t hear the words, but that didn’t matter. He knew one thing for certain: his spooked horses could easily trample that girl into the dirt. And they could do it fast.
He lunged for the corral fence, clambered up, and launched himself bodily over it, boots slamming to the ground inside the ring of fencing.
Red’s nostrils flared, and he jerked his head up, but Miss Tate still had hold of his halter, and she was still whispering.
“Miss Tate…” he hissed, but it seemed that whatever she was saying was working. The gelding stilled slightly and let out a small snort. His head lowered, and he didn’t fight her grasp anymore.
One down. Twelve to go.
Cash walked up slowly, determined not to spook Red any further. Miss Tate turned as he approached her. “I heard the noise when I was up with Samuel.” Her voice was almost breathless as she explained. “Figured you might need some help.”
Cash glanced over to thank her and froze. Now that he was up close, he could see her a little better under the dim light of the moon.
She was in a nightdress.
One that had belonged to Ma.
The fabric was thin, and it clung to her in a way that it certainly had never done on Ma. Her auburn hair was ruffled in messy waves that fell beautifully over her shoulders. Her skin was light, soft, milky… and even the faint glow of the ranch lanterns provided light enough to see—
Face burning with embarrassment, Cash tore his eyes away. That’s enough of that!
He had no business noticing how pretty she looked in the doggone lanterns. He ground his teeth, keeping his eyes fixed on a spot above Red’s back. “Some of ‘em are already way out in the fields,” he explained gruffly. “I need to round ‘em up before they get too far.”
“I can help,” Miss Tate said as Cash took Red by the halter.
He hesitated for a second, then shrugged off his shirt and handed it to her, careful to keep his eyes averted. “Here. You’ll freeze out here.”
She didn’t accept it right away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell that she was staring at him wide-eyed. A moment passed, then another. Finally, when he almost couldn’t bear it, she took his shirt, pulling it around her shoulders without a word.
Cash exhaled and led Red back to the barn, putting him in his stall and latching the door firmly.
Then he grabbed a handful of halters and lead ropes and strode back out of the barn.
Still keeping his eyes averted, he handed her some of the halters and then kept marching toward the bunkhouse. He could hearing her patter after.
As soon as he got to the bunkhouse door, he let out a sharp whistle. “Horses loose! Get out here and help!” Then he trotted up to the house and slammed on a bedroom window. “Horses loose! Let’s go!”
They’d better move double quick. There was work to do. A lot of it. And he wasn’t going to do it alone.
***
After almost two hours of wrangling, the last of the thirteen horses was finally in the barn. All of them were now shuffling peacefully in their stalls, nickering contentedly, as though nothing had ever happened.
Cash took a deep breath, letting his shoulders relax for the first time since he’d woken up as he secured latch he’d just fixed.
Thank God he did fix it. Otherwise, tonight would have been even harder.
He shook the metal bolt three or four times, making sure it would hold, then looked out across the barnyard at the retreating group of men. Luke and Beau wouldn’t be staying in the house tonight. Instead, they were heading back to the bunkhouse with the hired help to discuss shifts for patrol.
After tonight, they’d probably stay out there for good, at least until the trouble with Remington had passed. As many hands as possible needed to be ready at a moment’s notice.
Clearly there had been more than a little frustration on their part after that decision. Everyone had grumbled about Cash’s order, as if he hadn’t also been woken up by this mess. He was dead tired, just like they were. And he knew it would make for a hard day tomorrow.
But at least the horses were safe.
“That should do it,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow as he turned away from the barn door.
He glanced at Miss Tate, who still stood beside him, wrapped in his shirt, her arms folded across her chest. It hung loose around her small frame and the sleeves were rolled up several times so her hands could be out.
It was an oddly humorous picture, and despite his exhaustion, he found himself biting back a snicker.
He was starting to get a little chilly himself, now that he’d stopped running around.
“Might as well head back to the house,” he said, nodding toward the main building. “Nothing more to do out here tonight. Besides, if Samuel wakes up, he’ll want to know you’re close by.”
Miss Tate nodded, and together they walked toward the porch.
He was beginning guilty for being so brash with her earlier, letting her hide herself in her room for supper.
Her excuse about recovering hadn’t fooled him. He knew why she’d done it. He’d scared her.
It had been his fault. The poor girl was already terrified of men, and he’d let his frustration after seeing Jane completely change his attitude toward her. She didn’t deserve that.
He opened his mouth to speak—to apologize, or something—but she spoke first.
“How did you get that scar?” she asked softly, pointing at his jaw.
His hand went instinctively to his scar, his fingers tracing the raised skin. “What, this? Saloon fight. Took a blade to the face.”
“A saloon fight?” Her eyebrows rose slightly. She sounded surprised. “You don't seem the type…”
Cash couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped him. “Not the type, eh? What type is that?”
“Oh, you know…” She waved her hand vaguely. “Scoundrels. Drunkards. Troublemakers who pick fights for sport.”
“And what makes you think I ain’t a scoundrel?” he asked, lifting a brow.
They reached the porch then, and he could see her face fully from the lamp that hung on the post. Her green eyes were glinting curiously as she studied him.
Then she tilted her head thoughtfully and shrugged.
“You’re brash, at times. A bit rough around the edges.
” A small smile touched her lips. “But Cash Montgomery isn’t a scoundrel.
He’s a hard-working man. A family man. Even if tonight was the first time I’d ever seen you work with the others, I could see that. ”
Cash’s heart began to beat faster. When was the last time he’d been complimented like that…? He couldn’t remember.
“Well,” he said quickly, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest, “I’m not the type to frequent saloons, I can say that much.” It was true. He didn’t care for saloons. Not anymore.
Her face became curious. “So how did you get into a saloon fight, then?”
Cash hesitated before answering. “It was a different time in my life,” he breathed, palming the back of his neck. “After my parents died. I… lost my way for a while. Tried to find it at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. Too many whiskey bottles.”
He shrugged, glancing away, embarrassed to admit it. “Got the scar when I disagreed with a fella about the ownership of a pocket watch.”
Then, it hadn’t been humorous, but now, a small smile came to him as he recalled the stupid tale, and how angry Beau had been at him and his recklessness.
The family’s reputation and ranch had meant everything to Beau—to all of them. And Cash had almost destroyed that reputation in one night.
What he didn’t mention was that the watch had been Pa’s. That he’d pawned it for drink money, and then sobered up long enough to regret it, go back, and pick a fight with the man who’d bought it.
He didn’t want to mention it now. It wouldn’t hurt her not to say that the fight had been the wake-up call he’d needed to pull himself together and throw himself into working the ranch, just like Pa had done before him.
But… if he was being entirely honest… that wasn’t quite his motive for keeping the details to himself.
She’d already told him what kind of man she thought he was. Her expression was soft, so soft that it almost made him uncomfortable. He found himself wanting her to keep looking at him like that.
“What about that?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the way her green eyes made his knees weak. He pointed to the thin white line on her forearm, just below the rolled sleeve of his shirt. “I noticed it the day I found you in the field…”
She looked down, surprised, as if she'd forgotten it was there. Her fingers brushed over the mark. “Carriage accident,” she said, so quietly that it was practically a whisper. Her eyes glazed over, as if she was seeing the past, not the present anymore. “When I was thirteen.”
Cash leaned against the porch railing, his eyes never leaving her lips as they told the story. “I thought I was grown,” she continued with a rueful smile. “Took my father’s buckboard out by myself. I was convinced I could handle the horses just like he did.”
She shook her head as a single tear fell down her cheek in a long, pitiful streak. “I was mistaken. Terribly mistaken. The buckboard flipped, and the horses took off like bats out of hell. Leaving me there. My papa came and found me a few hours later. I’m lucky all it gave me was this scar.”
Cash winced. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Papa said the same thing. After he took me severely to task about it, of course.” Miss Tate laughed, but there was a distant look in her eyes.
Sadness. “I learned a valuable lesson that day about respecting things more powerful than yourself. And about taking care of the life God had given me, after He’d spared me that day. ”
Cash nodded, understanding all too well. “God is good.”
“Always,” she said lightly.
They stood in silence for a moment, two scarred people, knowing their scars, and having become better for it.
“Seems we’ve both survived our fair share of things,” Cash said finally.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I can only hope we’re wiser for them.”
Cash nodded. “We should get some sleep,” he said reluctantly, clearing his throat. He didn’t want to end the moment. Miss Tate was different than anyone he’d ever met… and yet he knew almost nothing about her. “Dawn’ll be here before we know it.”
It felt a little like whiplash, all the thoughts and emotions swirling in his head just now. He tried to push them away as best he could.
Miss Tate nodded, but she made no move to go inside. “Mr. Montgomery?” she said suddenly.
He looked at her, curious.
Her face was pensive in the lantern light. “Whoever let the horses out... will they be back?”
The question brought him crashing back to reality. Remington.
“Probably…” he sighed.
And next time, it might not be so easy.