Carla Kelly (32 page)

“You don't know why he's so worried about James.”

“I really don't.”

The letter to the Shumways and one to the Gillespies went to Gun Barrel two days later with Paul and Doc. She noted, as they sat around the table with the hands after breakfast, that Paul had only told everyone they were going to Wheatland and Gun Barrel. She also noticed that when he left their bedroom, he had strapped on his gun.

His eyes followed her gaze, and he rubbed gently at the frown between her eyes. “Just insurance, sport.” They went down the stairs together, his hand on her shoulder. “Walk with me?”

“Always.”

He chuckled. “Just as far as the horse barn today: last-minute instructions for the next-in-command.”

“Which would be Matt, since he's your new foreman,” Julia reminded her husband.

“Nope. You're the executive officer of this cowpunching corporation. Matt has his instructions, which he will tell you every morning. Yours are to see that he follows them. He'll make a full report each evening over supper. Ask him all the questions you want.”

She nodded. “I can do that.”

They stopped by the horses and watched Doc swing into the saddle. “Doc said he has a few orders of his own,” Paul said. He kissed her and mounted.

“I do, indeed,” Doc said, “and I'm speaking as Doctor McKeel. Absolutely no heavy lifting over ten or fifteen pounds. That's an order, and you'll obey.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, saluting.

“No joking, Mrs. Otto.” He leaned down, and his gaze reminded her of Paul's. “If you have any troubles at all, even minor things, send Colby for Elinore Cuddy.”

“Not Alice? She's closer.”

Doc shook his head. “I watched Elinore at the cow gather. Sure, she got a little green over the oysters, but she stuck with you at the sonofagun stew.” He straightened up. “I rode over to the Cuddy's place yesterday and asked her.”

Oh, you did?
she thought. “I hope you told her to come visiting.”

“I actually did.”

And you blush better than my husband
, she thought as Doc tipped his hat to her and started from the horse corral.
Oh, I do love to see a grown man blush.

Paul leaned down from the saddle for another kiss. “I know that look,” he whispered, on his way back up. “Behave yourself, sport.”

“Paul, you…” She stopped and gave him her sunniest smile. “… know me rather well.”

His grin said it all.

“Where you headed, Boss?” Colby asked, as he saddled his own mount.

“Big doings in Wheatland and maybe Torrington. I'm on the prowl for farmers who'd like to grow me hay.”

Paul tipped his hat to Julia too. She stood by the corral and watched until he was just a speck through the cut in the ridge.

“He's not settled in his mind about that note or the bonfire, is he?” Colby commented as she stood there, watching the two men leave the valley.

“No, he's not. Better to be safe, wouldn't you say?”

“A thousand times better.” He nodded to her and walked his horse toward Matt Malloy, who stood with Paul's cousins. After a moments’ discussion, the men mounted their horses and headed in the opposite direction. Julia noted with some relief that Colby looked back at her, then gave her a small salute.

Thank you, Paul, for leaving me with protectors
, Julia thought as she looked for one last glimpse of her husband.

Julia kept Charlotte busy all week, letting her assistant do the strong-smelling cooking that sent her into the parlor to lie down. By afternoon, when her insides were tamer, she instructed her willing helper in the fine art of yeast dough. Charlotte worked diligently, not saying much, because that wasn't the Indian way, but paying close attention to Julia's directions. By the end of the week, Julia turned over the bread making to Charlotte.

“You've obviously been taking good care of your cousin's little sweethearts for six months,” Julia said. Shy, she touched Charlotte's arm. “I think you've done a wonderful job.”

Charlotte's normally solemn face glowed with the pleasure of the compliment, reminding Julia forcefully of her own delight in a compliment from Paul, back when he was Mr. Otto, and she was his cook.

As the week passed, she began to sense something different about herself, and it had nothing to do with the child she carried. She realized how gracefully she had settled into her new role on the Double Tipi, that of the stockman's wife, trusted by her husband. She regretted that Matt called her Mrs. Otto now, instead of Julia, but she understood. When he gave his report each evening over supper, describing what he and the hands had done, she paid close attention, asking questions. She didn't worry about appearing foolish and ignorant, because she was coming to understand ranch work. When she didn't understand, she said so frankly.

“Why's my husband doing this, Matt?” she asked one night, when the others had returned to the bunkhouse and he still sat in the dining room with Charlotte. “You know far more than I do, and we all know that.”

“He told me once, ‘Malloy, every time you put yourself in the saddle, you court danger and death. Anything can happen.’ ” He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes serious, reminding Julia that he had changed too, with new responsibilities. “He wants you to be able to run this ranch.”

She nodded, disturbed by his candid reply.

Matt must have seen the discomfort on her face, because he spoke with a certain shyness Julia found touching. “I think he's already taking care of his children by making you strong.”

“I believe you're right, Matt,” she said as she rose from the table. “Thank you for putting the matter so plainly.” She smiled at the two of them, sitting close together, their shoulders touching. “I'd be happy now if you'd help Charlotte with the dishes.” She laughed. “Charlotte would be even happier.”

Charlotte beamed at her and rose to clear the table.

Julia sat for a long time at the desk in Paul's office, going through the journals he had left there with a note:
Take a look at these, Julia
. When she had helped him occasionally last year with the ranch accounts, he had often sat with her at the old kitchen table, writing in his journal. She looked through them now, reading his careful notations about early work, branding, ear marking, diseases, and weather. Every event was dated. She closed the book, impressed with what she held in her hands. With capable hands and a willingness to work hard, anyone could run this ranch by following Mr. Otto's journals.

He must have known what she would be thinking, as she looked at the most recent journal and found a note there addressed to her.
My darling, my ranch is your ranch
, she read.
I’ ll never fear for our children, because you are here, looking after all of our interests, even as I do
. The responsibility he had placed on her took her breath away. No one had ever depended so much on her as her husband did now. Remembering what he had told her about eternal potential, what he asked of her humbled her.

She spent a long time on her knees beside their bed that night, grateful for a careful husband who was leaving nothing to chance. She missed him with every fiber of her being, still a little amazed at herself, the independent Julia Darling, who had become so twined with Paul Otto. She had come to the Double Tipi with nothing in common with her employer. Here she was a year and a half later, in love, married, carrying his child, sharing his beliefs because they were her beliefs. They had everything in common now, but she knew such a blessing would always be a bit of a mystery to her. She had read somewhere—she knew she would never be a scripture scholar—about the Lord's tender mercies. The phrase had baffled her, but she understood it perfectly now; she saw tender mercies everywhere.

After praying, she climbed in bed and pulled his pillow close to her body, breathing deep of bay rum and a little wood smoke, comforted because he had left men he trusted in charge of his growing family.

Funny how seeing that rider on the ridge the next morning could thrust comfort far from her mind. There he sat on his horse, surveying the sleeping ranch below. She dressed quickly and hurried downstairs, still running her fingers through her short hair. Paul had been right—it was easy to fluff it. As she went to the side porch, to stand there in the angle of the house and see the rider without being seen, Julia decided it was better to see him on the ridge, rather than to wonder if he had already circled behind the buildings and made a stealthy approach.

To her relief, Colby Wagner, spurs and jingle bobs setting up a racket, came from the horse barn toward the house. Julia motioned to him. He glanced at her and then looked in the direction of the ridge where she pointed. He nodded and headed into the corral.

Not taking the time to throw on a saddle, he bridled his horse and swung up, keeping himself between the barn and the ranch road.

Julia sighed with disappointment. The rider on the ridge swung his horse about and set off at a gallop, away from the ranch buildings.

“Be careful, Colby,” she murmured, hoping now that their mysterious visitor had ridden away and was not preparing to ambush her protector. She closed her eyes, hoping not to hear gunfire.

Except for the wind rustling the cottonwoods along the river, all was silence. She stood for a long while on the porch, hands on her belly, unaware she was doing that until Colby rode into the ranch yard again. She looked down at her hands, shaking her head over her puny protection of her child.
I suppose I will do that now
, she thought.
It must be a reflex
.

She went inside the kitchen and started the coffee brewing, then hurried to the horse corral, where Colby was now saddling his horse. She leaned her elbows on the fence rail, and he walked toward her, slapping one glove in the other hand in obvious frustration.

“Was he even there or a figment of my imagination?” she asked.

“Oh, he was there,” Colby said, the disgust high in his voice. “Big as life, for a scrawny…” He paused. “Can you clue me into a polite word for someone who preys on women and children?”

“There isn't one.” She thought a moment and drew a ragged breath. “Call him a sonofagun, the gentleman from Rawhide Buttes.”

He pushed his hat back and gazed at her. “Mrs. Otto, you're way too polite to last long on the Double Tipi.”

Something in his words made her want to dig down a little deeper and not let him see her fear. “Colby, I am on my second year on the Double Tipi, I'll have you know,” she told him, her voice crisp. “I have no plans to ever leave this ranch.”

“Sorta thought you'd say that,” Colby admitted. “I'm saddling up to take a harder look for our, uh, gentleman from Rawhide Buttes.”

She started to agree, then shook her head. “No, not until you ask Matt Malloy.”

“You're the boss when the big boss is away,” he countered.

“Then the little boss is telling you to ask Matt Malloy,” she stated. “No arguments, Colby, even though I know you mean well.”

He shrugged. “Have it your way, Mrs. Otto,” he told her, then touched his fingers to his hat brim and returned to saddling his horse. “I'll go ask him when I'm finished with this.”

I do intend to have it my way
, she thought,
even though I greatly appreciate your concern for me
.

She returned to the kitchen as Charlotte came from her room, braiding her hair, a question in her eyes. Julia told her what had happened, and she frowned.

“Do you think that rider knows my cousin is off the place?” Charlotte asked.

“I have no idea,” Julia replied. “Of course, he may have seen him in…” She stopped, remembering that Paul had asked her not to mention Lusk. “… in Torrington or Wheatland,” she finished, sitting down at the kitchen table.

Two Bits jumped into her lap, and she petted him, drawing comfort, as always, from his oversized purr. “Let's have flapjacks and sausage this morning, along with fried eggs, Charlotte. Let me see if I'm brave enough to attempt the sausage.”

She was, even though she had to go to the side porch a few times to take deep breaths of air that wasn't redolent of grease and sage. She knew Charlotte wouldn't have minded taking over, but Julia continued to mull over Colby's words, hoping others didn't see her as too light weight for ranch life. It was one thing to cook for hire, and a far different thing to invest her heart and soul into the Double Tipi.

“But it's done and I have,” she murmured as she poked the sausage around.

Over breakfast, Matt vetoed Colby's wish to track the ridge rider. From the thin-lipped look Colby gave the new foreman, Julia could tell he didn't agree.

“No argument, Colby,” she said, passing the biscuits. “Anyone out there is long gone, and there's work to be done here.”

“I'm just thinking of your safety,” Colby replied.

“I know, but Matt's right,” she told him, even though his concern touched her heart.

“Thanks for backing me up,” Matt told her later after the hands were preparing to mount up for a day's work checking fences.

“You're the foreman,” she said. “It's as simple as that.”

He nodded, pleased, and started to leave the kitchen. Julia stopped him with a light touch on his arm. “Matt, what did we do to get so lucky?” she asked.