Into the Light (9 page)

“I thought you agreed to put her in the south corral by herself,” Trey said through his teeth.

“I did, and that’s where I put her,” Herman said defensively. “Somebody moved her in with the saddle string.”

The wonder of it was that Irene wasn’t hurt worse. How long had she been stuck in a corral with a dozen or more horses half again her size, every one determined to teach a newcomer her place? He’d have to abandon the trip to town or at least give her a day to recover.

“You can use one of the wagon team,” Herman said. “A better horse will get you there quicker anyhow.”

The insult to his willing little mare made Trey madder. She could have suffered a broken leg from those kicks instead of minor wounds. If she ate and relaxed for a hour or so while he groomed and doctored.... Trey led her into a stall.

“You fork some hay down for her, and I’ll start cleaning her up.”

“I’ll do it. You go back to the house, and I’ll let you know when she’s ready.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Help if you want to.”

The two of them worked in silence, both grim with anger.

Herman finally spoke as he dabbed blue gall remedy on the wounds. “Some of the boys don’t think much of giving a horse like this special treatment.”

“I don’t give a damn what they think,” Trey said. “If anything like this happens again, some of them are going to be looking for other work. If I can’t figure out who did it, I bet I can talk my father into hiring a whole new crew around here.”

“Am I part of the crew?”

“I don’t know. You decide.”

Rather than insult Herman further, Trey stood aside and let the older man harness Irene, only stepping forward to make sure nothing rubbed on a wound. Holding the mare’s head as Herman ran the buggy shafts up, Trey’s anger faded enough for memories of lessons learned during years of surviving in wild and lonely places to surface. He ran his fingers over every bridle strap, moved on to the reins....

Each rein had a neat slice almost all the way through, hidden near the stitching that secured the rein buckle.

“Herman?”

When Herman looked around, Trey didn’t say a word, just twisted the leather to show the cut.

“You ain’t accusing me of doing that, are you?”

Trey stared at the old man a moment. He’d known Herman since he was a boy. “No, I’m not, but you must have an idea who did do it. How about those hands who don’t like my horse?”

“Nah, there’s a big difference between putting that mare in a crowded corral with bigger horses and cutting reins. Maybe you wouldn’t get hurt too bad, but maybe you’d get killed, and a man who can’t walk far would be in more trouble than most if he got tossed out of a runaway buggy.”

Herman’s anger switched from Trey to the unknown perpetrator. They went over the harness and buggy from end to end. Nothing else was amiss on the harness, but one of the buggy wheels was loose.

“Wheels work loose over time,” Herman said.

Trey didn’t bother unclenching his jaws to answer. No one could calculate for sure, but this loose wheel would have come off somewhere between the ranch and Hubbell, spooking his horse, which he’d be unable to control when the reins broke. Of course gentle little Irene might not have spooked, or not enough. She might even listen to his voice.

They fixed the wheel, replaced the reins, and Trey did his best to ignore the echoes of Alice shouting at him reverberating in his head.
I’ll kill you myself.

H
OVERING AT THE
edges of the Harvest Fair for an hour or two had never let Deborah appreciate the scope of the event. Drummers, farm wives, and local craftsmen had set up tables in any open space they could find and hawked everything from patent medicines to fruit preserves. Jugglers, clowns, and musicians performed on every street corner.

Deborah thought she spotted what had to be a gypsy fortune teller in front of a garish tent painted with a moon and stars, but her sisters dragged her in another direction before she could be certain. In truth, ricocheting from one sight to another with her sisters made Deborah realize her aunts and uncles were right — she did miss Judith and Miriam, even if missing them wasn’t the cause of her recent misery.

“Oh, let’s get an ice cream.” Miriam grabbed Deborah by the arm and headed for the wrought iron tables and chairs outside the ice cream parlor.

“There’s no room,” Deborah protested, but of course by the time they crossed the street, a table magically became available. Things like that happened for her sisters.

“I want one of those,” Miriam declared, pointing to a chocolate sundae topped with a cherry redder than anything that grew in nature.

“Me too,” said Judith, looking at Deborah expectantly.

The watch pinned to Deborah’s dress showed noon was still an hour away, and on top of a perfectly satisfactory breakfast they had already had frankfurters, popcorn, and cider. Still, the day was warm for late September, and ice cream....

“Peach ice cream for me,” Deborah said.

“That’s what you always get.”

“Because I like it.” As she listened to her sisters chatting, Deborah scanned the groups of people passing by. So many strangers. The fair attracted people from neighboring towns and even neighboring counties. She could look right at him and never know. He’d asked about her hair color. Tonight she would ask him....

Stop it. He won’t be there. Just stop it.
She forced herself to pay attention to her sisters’ conversation again.

“It goes to show you. The devil is probably handsome too,” Judith said, gesturing with her spoon toward two men standing on the walk, waiting for a table. “William says he’s a good worker. Too bad he’s a Papist.”

Deborah recognized one of the men. He had on a dark gray suit today, tanned skin golden against the white of his shirt. Under the brim of a slouch hat, his face no longer looked bony, and he no longer leaned on his cane as if he’d fall without it. His eyes met hers for long seconds, and all the chatter from her sisters and others around them faded to a slight hum.

“Don’t stare.” Judith’s hand on her sleeve brought Deborah to her senses. She shifted and angled in her chair so she couldn’t look again without turning. He was still staring. She could feel his eyes on her and feel heat spreading across her cheeks in response.

“See?” Judith said smugly. “You’ve never stared at a man like that before in your life. Admit it, he’s a beauty.”

Oh, yes, he was handsome as the devil, and probably was one, every bit as bad as his father. His slim elegance made every other man she knew seem coarse and ordinary in contrast, but a beauty? What an odd thing to say about a man. Not only that... “He can’t be a Papist,” Deborah said.

“Of course he can. He is. It’s a rare Irishman who isn’t.”

What?
“Webster Van Cleve isn’t Irish. I don’t think his mother is either.”

“Not Van Cleve,” Judith said impatiently. “The Irishman standing right there beside him. It’s a good thing I love my husband because Mr. Lenahan is almost enough to make me wish I were still single and Catholic.”

Deborah shifted the other way on her chair and glanced quickly over her shoulder. Her imagination had not played her false. Van Cleve the Third was still looking at her. If he was going to do that, she wished she could see his eyes better, see what color.... Appalled at the direction of her thoughts, she jerked back around, forgetting to look at the other man.

“Yes, I see what you mean. He’s very handsome,” she said, relieved her voice sounded normal in her own ears, and hoping her acquiescence would end Judith’s interest. It didn’t.

“I’m surprised they’re still friends,” Judith said. “He came out here with young Mr. Van Cleve, helping him when he first came home from wherever. He needed help. He could barely walk on crutches. And as soon as Van Cleve, Jr., made it out to his daddy’s ranch, he let the Irishman go. How’s that for following in his father’s footsteps?”

“He’s a third,” Deborah said, then wished she hadn’t.

“What?”

Her stupid remark had both her sisters staring at her, and the speculative look on Judith’s face made Deborah even more nervous. “This Mr. Van Cleve, the one right over there, is not a junior. He’s a third. I know because Mr. Lawson and Mr. Ascher sat behind me at the shooting contest in July, and I had to listen to them gossiping like old hens about him.”

“That’s right. You defended him that night at dinner,” Judith said.

“Caleb defended him,” Deborah said — defensively.

Two older women left their table, and the men moved toward it. After a few words, Trey Van Cleve took a seat and his friend went inside the shop.

“The poor man hasn’t learned,” Miriam said. “He’s still waiting on Mr. High and Mighty.”

Deborah clamped her jaw tight. She wasn’t going to say another word on behalf of the Third in her sisters’ presence. “I’m finished,” she said instead, pushing her dish of half-eaten ice cream away.

“Shall we go find the rest of the family and see how the aunts are getting along with all the children?”

That distracted Judith finally. She had fussed and fretted before leaving her four-year-old daughter and year-old son, even with Aunt Em, even for a little while.

Deborah regretted ending the time alone with her sisters, but sometimes Judith was all too good at reading Deborah’s mind, and right now Deborah was thinking she wished her mysterious stranger was not a college boy but Trey Van Cleve’s age. The Third had to be closing in on thirty, definitely man not boy.

She took a last peek at him from under the brim of her hat as she rose and followed Judith and Miriam to the sidewalk. Imagining her stranger looked like that wouldn’t hurt either.

T
REY WATCHED THE
Suttons with mixed feelings. Having women that beautiful nearby always improved the scenery, and the one, the most beautiful of the three, was downright inspiring. Still, those three were related to Cal Sutton in some way, which made them dangerous.

He caught sight of a ring on the left hand of the spoon-waver in the blue dress. She was the only one whose voice carried well enough he’d heard a few words, and those words made it clear Jamie had another admirer. Which made Trey wonder what kind of married woman she was.

The three of them were almost like peas in a pod, but not quite. Blue Dress had rounder, softer features. Pink Dress wasn’t much more than a girl, definitely the youngest, with features just a little sharper.

Green Dress. Aah, the best of the three beauties was trying to hide in her plain, moss green dress and a hat with a brim so wide and floppy it shadowed her face until she tipped her head just so. Keeping an eye on her until she did that graceful little tilt again had been worthwhile. Big, dark eyes, even features as lovely in profile as when facing him....

If Green Dress thought the oversized plain dress hid the gentle swells of breast and hip and tuck of waist that the stylish, fitted dresses on her sisters highlighted, someone ought to point out her mistake. A shapeless sack couldn’t disguise that much pure femaleness when she moved.

He wanted to believe if that one was married she wouldn’t be waving spoons at Jamie. He wanted to believe she wasn’t married and was the kind of woman who would wrap her arms around a man’s neck, kiss him in public, and laugh with him afterward. He wanted one like that as much as Jamie wanted a good Catholic girl.

Trey grinned, earning a startled look from a matron at the next table. Sensations he’d worked at controlling as a boy shot through him unchecked, welcome. Green Dress had just provoked reactions in his body he’d been afraid had died in Cuba, leaving him sitting here feeling on top of the world.

He ought to track her down and thank her, but getting close enough to one of the Sutton girls for a hat tip and “good afternoon” could be fatal if Cal Sutton caught him at it.

Trey’s mood turned dark at the thought. At least he’d have to do something to incur Sutton’s wrath. Merely drawing breath had provoked yesterday’s sabotage. And Sutton would do a quick, professional job. He wouldn’t make a sloppy try at murder disguised as accident.

Confronting Alice with questions would only work her into a seething rage, dangerous for her and for the child she carried. And how could she loosen the wheel? Would her husband do it for her? Would Daniel, or one of the hands?

Trey didn’t want to think it. She was his sister. They’d grown up together, two children alone among adults on the vast ranch. They had been best friends, played together, kept each other’s secrets, conspired to drive tutors to distraction. How could he believe she’d really try to kill him? Yet who else would do such a thing?

The sight of Jamie, weaving through the other tables with an extra large bowl in each hand, pulled Trey away from his unhappy speculation.

“Is there really ice cream under all that?” he said as Jamie thumped the dishes down and dropped into the opposite chair. Heaps of whipped cream, fruit, nuts, and syrup hid any ice cream lurking in the bowls, which meant Jamie still clung to the belief Trey needed fattening like a bacon pig.

“There is, and you’d better eat every spoonful, or there’ll be no supper for you.”

“A starving lumberjack couldn’t eat all that.”

“But you will.”

Trey explored until he found the vanilla ice cream under it all, made sure a little chocolate sauce was also on the spoon, and tasted. Cold and creamy. Sweet and good.

He dug in and didn’t slow down until the dish was half empty. Jamie didn’t do as well. In fact all he seemed to be doing was stirring things into slop.

“You seem preoccupied today,” Trey said.

“I need to talk to you about something.” Jamie made a face and threw down his spoon. “It’s presumptuous. I don’t want to do it, but my sister and her husband twisted a promise out of me. I wrote them they’d do better here than in New York, and so they came, you know.”

“Aah. This is the sister you wouldn’t let me meet for fear she’d take pity on a crippled heathen and marry me?”

“The very one. Since she’s safely married now, you can meet her.”