Grace be a Lady (Love & War in Johnson County Book 1) (9 page)

Raney
thinks highly of him. You think highly of Raney.

For
some reason, that observation dogged Thad all the way into Buffalo. Pa hadn’t
come right out and said anything nasty about Nate Champion, but he’d made it
pretty clear the man was nothing but a malcontent and troublemaker. Between
trying to start a separate stock growers association and blaming the big
outfits for rustling their
own
cattle, Champion was a burr under
everyone’s saddle.

Thad
rode up to the Occidental Hotel and dismounted. Raney had liked Ella, as well.
Swore she was a good, decent, hard-working woman. She’d been livid over the
murder and wrote some fiery letters to several of the papers, letters only one
newspaper had run, the Buffalo Bulletin.

“Well,
good afternoon, Thad. What brings you to Buffalo?”

Thad
followed the voice of Doc McCain coming out of the hotel, patting his stomach.
A tall man with white hair and a white beard, he also preferred white suits. A
strange choice, but somehow the man managed to keep them nearly spotless.

“Afternoon,
Doc.” Thad wrapped the reins around the hitching post and stepped up on the
boardwalk. “Came to check on some paperwork at the courthouse. How are things?”
He stuck out his hand for a shake.

Doc’s
grip was limp. “I’m sorry to say, Jasper and I prepared Maggie’s body for
burial this morning. Such a terrible tragedy. I will miss her.” He reached
inside his breast pocket and pulled out a cigar. “But Jasper built her a lovely
casket. Lined it with blue velvet.”

Thad
stared at his boots and heard the match strike. Frustrated by nagging doubts,
he wanted to walk on, grab a bite of lunch, and go to the courthouse. Go about
his normal business, but for some reason, he couldn’t. “Doc, was Maggie’s death
an accident?

Doc
nearly dropped his cigar. He glanced around as if someone might be listening
and brushed ashes off his lapel. “Why would you ask a thing like that? Fires
happen all the time.” The older man’s gaze steadied and a somber, warning tone
entered his voice. “Besides, the dent in her skull could have been caused by
her fall.”

Thad’s
shoulders sagged. “But it wasn’t.”

“In
this town, with all the feuding that’s going on, Thad, the simple answer is her
dress caught on fire and she died in the blaze. There’s no way to prove
anything else, and I wouldn’t try. It’d be a good way to wind up dead.”

Thad
leaned on the counter in the tax office and filled out the check with the
payment, but his hand worked on its own. His thoughts kept circling back to Maggie.

Thad
had ridden into Buffalo to handle the humdrum tax filings for the ranch, but
now he couldn’t shake the sense he was into something over his head. Doc’s
warning about Maggie and what might really be going on around here nagged at
him; nagged at him like a screechy, old fishwife.

Finished
with the check, he slid it across the counter to Ray Calhoun, the graying,
soft-spoken clerk of court. “Thank you, Ray.”

“Thank
you, Thad.”

He
nodded at the old man and ambled back out into the late afternoon sun.

Standing
on the steps of the courthouse, twirling his hat, Thad told himself to get on
home. There was nothing in Buffalo he needed to worry about.

But
that felt like a lie.

For
Maggie’s sake, he could ask one simple question and know which side of things
to come down on. He scratched his nose and nodded.

Fine.
One question.

“Sheriff,”
Thad slapped his hand into the beefy paw of “Red” Angus, and received a
friendly smile in return. Thad hadn’t expected it to be so easy to find the
lawman, but here he had come sauntering down the boardwalk. No way to avoid
him.

“Thad,
good to see ye, laddie.”

A
short, stocky fella with blazing red hair and a thick mustache, the Scotsman
had proven himself a brave, reliable lawman. That, despite an early start in
Buffalo as a frequent patron of saloons and soiled doves.

Side
by side, the two continued walking north.

“What
brings ye into town?”

“Filing
some tax paperwork.” Thad removed his hat, ran his hands through his hair,
replaced the Stetson. “Listen, I wanted to ask you . . .” He trailed
off, and the two men stopped.

Angus
faced him and lifted a copper-colored brow. “Aye, ye’ve somethin’ on yer mind?”

Thad
blew air through his lips, acknowledging the stupidity of this question. “Off
the top of your head, best guess, how many head of cattle have gone missing in
Johnson County?”

The
sheriff’s other brow shot up. “Do ye want the count from the Cheyenne papers . . .
or the truth?”

Thad
pulled away from the man’s penetrating blue eyes and scanned the street. “It
was a simple question.”

Sucking
on his cheek, the sheriff studied Thad, as if weighing whether to bother with
him. After a moment, he nodded and resumed his walk. Thad didn’t want to follow,
but he did.

“Five
livestock cases have been adjudicated this year,” Angus said, as if reciting a
legal docket. “They involved a grand total of twenty animals; five horses,
fifteen head of cattle, four different men. The plaintiffs in all five cases
were big cattle operations. All five defendants were owners or employees of
small, independent outfits, and all five were acquitted.”

“
Five
cases?” Thad was stunned. “Then the rustlin’, the
deprivations
to the
herds
that Wolcott and the others are always hollerin’ about, they’re just . . .?”

“Hmmm.”
Angus scratched his chin. “I think the word ye’re searchin’ for is
lies
.”

“But
the newspapers . . .”

The
sheriff also had built a reputation for cutting to the bone with the truth. He
didn’t disappoint. “. . . are bought and paid for by cattle
barons and politicians. They print what they’re told to print.”

Thad
shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head, a little disgusted with
himself for having buried his head in the sand. “All just to keep out
homesteaders?”

“Men
build kingdoms, Thad. It’s the way the good Lord designed us. Big, little—size
dusna matter. It seems the bigger the kingdom, the more willing a man becomes
to protect it.” Angus’s face clouded. “I will say, though, I’ve never seen such
an organized . . .
campaign
, if ye will. The papers are
being used to paint the whole of Johnson County as a den of thieves. According
to them, the acquittals prove that. There is no law here, they say.” He pursed
his lips and drummed his fingers on his thigh. “I believe they’re buying
themselves cover for something with all these lies, Thad. If ye get wind of it,
I would appreciate knowing.”

Grace
had seen enough of Thad Walker for one day, thank you, especially after the
humiliating rescue from the creek, followed by two miserable hours in the
saddle. If not for his poncho, she would have frozen to death, while he rode
off joking about how nice the weather was for a swim.

When
she finally dragged herself back to the ranch, Raney told her to throw her
belongings in her saddle bag. Grace would be going along for a meeting in
Cheyenne. First, though, the two would be joining the Walkers for dinner, and
they were taking Bill with them.

Now,
the three of them sat on the wagon seat, quiet, lost in solitude as they rolled
across the autumn-tinged hills. Grace barely had the circulation back in her
toes. Still, she didn’t have Bill’s problems. He looked terrible. Beneath his
hat, his skin was sallow and paper-thin. Grey smudges filled the hollows under
his eyes. He still smelled of smoke. She’d never seen a more broken man.

The
wagon rolled through the gate welcoming them to the Lazy H. The Walker house
came into view; surprisingly, a less impressive home than Raney’s. A simple,
single-story structure of clapboard siding, its three brick chimneys, all
belching smoke, rose above the tin roof. Milled white posts supported a long,
plain front porch. The lone rocking chair near the front door moved eerily in
the breeze.

A
tall, barrel-chested man burst through the screen door to welcome them as Raney
drove the wagon in. Thumbs tucked into his belt, he stopped at the top of the
porch steps and nodded at the group. “Raney. Bill.”

Raney
pulled the reins back, stopping the horses. “Earl. This is my new hand, all one
hundred pounds of him. Greg, this is Earl Walker.”

Earl
barely acknowledged Grace as he hurried to help Raney down. Bill climbed down
behind her, and the Walker patriarch grasped his hand in a friendly way. “It’s
good to see you, Bill. I’m sorry for the circumstances.” Bill responded with a
soft grunt. Earl laid a hand on his back and glanced at Grace. “Boy, take the
wagon over to the barn. I’m sure these horses could use some water.”

Boy?
Offended,
but trying to hide it, Grace scooted over and grabbed the reins. As her party
disappeared inside, she trotted the horses over to the barn. Nearby, cowboys
decorated the front porch of the bunkhouse like vines, draping themselves over
rocking chairs and porch rails, smoking, chewing, and spitting. Grace heard the
chuckles as she rolled by, but ignored them. She probably was quite a sight.
All
one hundred pounds of her.
Most of the cowboys she’d met so far had at
least another seventy-five or so pounds on her, even the short ones.

She
steered the horses to the trough and set the hand brake.

Now
what was she supposed to do? Should she go inside? Raney had asked her to come
along, but something about Earl Walker didn’t exactly welcome the hired help.

“We
get some pretty high winds in this part of Wyoming,” a man drawled from
somewhere behind her. “You don’t put some meat on those bones, you’re liable to
wind up in Kansas.”

Grace
glanced over her shoulder. A tall, lanky cowboy descended the bunkhouse steps
and leaned back on the hitching post. Licking a cigarette, he grinned at her. A
man out for sport. The demeanor was all too familiar.

Ignoring
him, she jumped down and sidled over to the horses, who were enjoying the cool
water.

“Tell
me,” the man said, sauntering towards her, “You get full wages when you start
shaving?”

Grace
took a deep breath and met the man’s gaze, but kept her peace. Much more,
though, and she was joining Raney, and Earl Walker would just have to entertain
an extra guest.

The
ranch hand laughed and raised his eye brows. “My, that’s a pretty intimidating
look. Reckon you can back it up?”

“Hey,
Trampas,” one of the other cowboys called from the porch. Grace recognized the
man’s bobbing Adam’s apple. Jay. “Thad calls him Buttercup.”

Trampas
hooted and slapped his leg. “Now that’s funny.” He leaned down into Grace’s
face. “What’s up, Buttercup?”

Done,
she patted a horse good-bye and made to march past Trampas. She wasn’t
surprised when he grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Whoa, there, little fella,
we’re just having some fun. No need to run off.”

She
debated her response. If she fought back, then, like Bull, this man would lay
into her. She should keep her mouth shut, but a
man
who showed fear
might never live it down, and then her life would only get harder. “I get it. I’m
small and scrawny. Why that’s so funny, I don’t get.” She glanced at his hand
on her arm. “But if you don’t take your hand off me, mister, you’re going to
draw back a nub.”

Trampas’s
face darkened. His lips tightened, and so did his grip. “Boy, I can stomp you
into the ground and wipe you off my shoe faster than—”

“Trampas,
there a problem here?” Thad’s irritated voice singed the air, from the main
house to the bunkhouse. Cowboys straightened up, fidgeted, found things to stare
at on the ground.

Trampas
hesitated only a moment then released Grace. “No, sir, just introducing myself
to Raney’s new hand.” He took a small step back as his boss crossed the yard to
join them, but kept his gaze on Grace.

The
set of Thad’s jaw and the curl in his fist revealed a man who wanted a fight,
if the foreman cared to oblige. He nudged Trampas’s shoulder, stealing his
attention. “I’m disappointed in you, Trampas. What’s next? Taking candy from
babies?”

The
ranch hand’s eyes darted to the main house, then back to his employer. He
licked his lips, as if pondering his response. “Just havin’ a little fun is
all.”

“Fun’s
over. Greg, supper’s ready. Raney sent me out here to fetch you.” He nudged
Grace away from Trampas. As she passed by, she heard Thad whisper, “Any time,
Trampas.”

Then
he was beside her, ushering her toward the main house.

“You
did right. Trampas thinks he can run over you, he won’t quit. And the men’ll
respect that you stood up for yourself.”

Dressed
in a crisp white shirt, brown tweed vest and camel-colored trousers, Thad didn’t
look a thing like the dusty cowboy who had taught Grace to toenail lumber or
move cattle. His blue eyes glimmered with a friendly welcome for her, but she
saw concern, too. “You’ve got friends all over this county, don’t you? Who is
that fella?”

“Trampas,
our foreman.” Disgust laced his voice. “Pa hired him a couple of years ago. The
only thing he ever did that I respected was he quit Bothwell after they killed
Ella. Said he couldn’t stomach lynching a woman.”

“Good
to know the man has standards.”

Thad
shoved his hands in his pockets as they climbed the steps to the main house.
“Pretty low ones, in my opinion. I think he takes advantage of Pa. And I
suspect he’s rustling cattle, but we haven’t been able to prove it.” He pulled
the door open for Grace. “But I will.”