Promises Kept (10 page)

The day Colt turned sixteen, it came as no surprise to his father that he left the ranch with the intention of tracking down and killing Creed Thomas. Colt traveled from town to town, but Thomas was always a few days ahead of him. He felt like he was playing a game of cat and mouse. If it hadn’t been for the love of his father and brothers, and missing the ranch, there was no question in his mind that he would never have returned home until he found Thomas.

He’d been on the hunt for almost two years when one night in Texas he had an experience he’d never forget. He was sleeping out under the stars when he woke to what he thought was someone talking to him. Listening intently, he knew no one was there, but suddenly he was filled with a longing for home. He realized God was telling him it was time to go home. Even though he hadn’t completed what he’d set out to accomplish, he accepted that he needed to return to Wyoming. That very night, he saddled his horse and headed back to Promise. He couldn’t say he’d forgotten his hatred for Thomas, but he knew he could wait until the time was right. He was confident their paths would cross one day, just as sure as the sun would rise the next morning.

As the years passed, Colt was thankful he’d had the good sense to return home that day. The ranch was where he belonged; it was the place that gave his life meaning and purpose. It was the place where he found peace. There was no denying there were plenty of times when running an operation the size of the ranch could be downright frustrating. Like now, when he was worried about his cattle being slaughtered, unable to hold anyone responsible because of a crooked sheriff. If it wasn’t the droughts, then it was blizzards, or diseases, or squatters, or rustlers. Ranching was not an easy life, and certainly not for the faint of heart. It made him respect all the more what his father had left behind.

If nature wasn’t enough to deal with, there would always be men like Wallace to contend with. Even as he thought about the challenges, Colt knew he wouldn’t change his life for anything. He would make only one change: His brothers would be working with him, side by side, sharing the responsibilities, the joys, and the heartaches. He’d told them they would always be welcome if they ever got the itch to become ranchers again. Secretly, he wanted that more than he’d ever wanted anything. He missed them more than he thought possible. Not a day passed that he didn’t wish he would look up and see them riding in. He wished he could go back in time and change the way he handled things after his father’s death, but that wasn’t the way life worked out. He just hoped one day his brothers might give him another chance.

Colt was leaning over the dining room table when Victoria walked into the room, followed by Bandit.

“I’m sorry if I made you wait.” She noted his hair was damp, as though he just came from his bath. Her gaze went to the array of food on the table, and she realized how hungry she was.

“Perfect timing. I just finished carrying the food to the table,” Colt explained. “Helen wasn’t feeling well and decided to retire for the night.” He thought it best not to mention that she left to go to her house on his ranch. Plus, he had his suspicions that Helen wasn’t ill, she just wanted him to dine alone with a pretty lady. She was always dropping hints that he should invite some of the single women from town to dinner.

The thought of this big strapping man carrying the delicate china to the table made Victoria smile. “Everything smells delicious,” she told him.

Her cheeks had more color, Colt thought, and she definitely looked more rested. “Were you able to get some shut-eye?”

“I almost fell asleep in the tub,” she admitted, taking the chair he held for her.

Colt chuckled, willing himself not to think of her naked in a tub. “That makes two of us.”

“Isn’t Mr. Bartholomew here?”

“I’m sure he’ll be along. Bartholomew does things at his own pace. He wouldn’t want us waiting for him.”

“No one else is joining us?” she asked, thinking it was an abundance of food for three people.

“Just the three of us tonight. Tate Wagner—he’s a sixteen-year-old boy who works on the ranch—usually eats with me, but he’s visiting his family tonight.” It wasn’t unusual for Colt to have some of his other men dine with him, but sensing how nervous Victoria was around men, he’d asked them to eat in the bunkhouse tonight. He hoped with no one else around she might be inclined to talk more freely.

Colt reached over and placed his large palm over the top of Victoria’s hand, causing her to jump. Her eyes darted to him, but seeing he’d lowered his head, she did the same. He said a quick prayer, released her hand, grabbed his fork, and stabbed the largest piece of meat on the platter. He held it to Bandit’s nose and the dog gently took the meat from Colt’s fingers. “Good boy,” Colt said, then poured some water in a bowl and placed it on the floor.

Victoria was surprised at his thoughtfulness, not to mention he seemed oblivious to the fact that Bandit’s water bowl was a fine piece of china. “He’s probably had more to eat today than he has in weeks,” she said. She thought the hopeless look in Bandit’s eyes was beginning to fade the longer he was with her.

Without thinking, Colt plopped a large piece of meat and a huge spoonful of mashed potatoes on Victoria’s plate. “He does look like he’s had a few miles of bad road. But he’s a smart dog, doesn’t beg, and he has good manners.”

Victoria was staring at the mounds of food he was adding to her plate. He was giving her as much as he’d stacked on his plate. As hungry as she was, there was no way she would be able to eat half of it.

Seeing her eyes glued on her plate, Colt realized what he had done. “Sorry, I guess I’m just used to piling it on Tate’s plate. We have hearty appetites after a full day’s work.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, each trying to think of something to say. Victoria was first to break the silence. “When did you say the next stagecoach would come through?”

“Two days from now.” Colt couldn’t keep himself from staring at her blue eyes. Earlier they were a bright blue, but under the candlelit chandelier they were a deeper blue, like the sky at dusk. For the hundredth time that day he wondered why a beautiful woman found herself in such circumstances that she would contemplate marrying a complete stranger. What man wouldn’t be curious about her? “Bartholomew said you planned to bring your boys with you.”

“I had planned to bring the boys here after . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence for fear of succumbing to tears again. Since Bartholomew had told him about the boys, she assumed he probably told him about her advertisement too. “Mr. Barlow responded to my ad for a husband,” she said plainly. “I wanted to see if he would be suitable before the boys joined me. They stayed behind with Mrs. Wellington. The boys and I have rooms at the boardinghouse, but I was hoping to make a home for them here.” She stared at Colt, expecting to see the condemnation in his eyes for what she had done. Most men would think only a fallen woman would consider finding a husband in such an unusual way.

Colt thought about her admission, and noted the one thing she didn’t mention was what had happened to her husband. She must be widowed, he thought. He admired her for trying to find a suitable home for her boys. By his estimation, it took a woman with a lot of grit to survive with three mouths to feed. One would never expect a delicate woman like her to have what it took to travel out West by herself to find a husband. But as his father always said,
it wasn’t the size of man that he took measure of, but the heart of him
. He figured the same thing held true for the fairer sex. This woman was no hothouse flower, not by a long shot. While she might be wary of men, that fear hadn’t hindered her from making a trip few men relished. It was a grueling journey, well over a thousand miles, and it wasn’t unusual for a stagecoach to have problems with equipment or animals, and pray that was the least of it. The accommodations along the way were ill suited for females, as privacy was a rare commodity. It didn’t bear thinking what might have happened to someone like her if they had been attacked by Indians or robbers. As pretty as she was, she undoubtedly had encountered several unwanted advances along the way. Now that he thought about it, the derringer in her bag made perfect sense.

He gave her a steady look, thinking she reminded him of his mother, small and graceful but stronger than she appeared.
Don’t go there
, he told himself. “It can’t be easy for a woman to make a way with two boys.”

From her experience, most men didn’t give a thought to what it was like for a woman to make her way in the world. Without a family or a husband, there were few options for women to earn a living. As she knew so well, many young women in her situation ended up in some saloon selling drinks, or worse. The same fate had been awaiting her. Thinking of the boys, her eyes welled up again. She’d cried more today than she had in a long time. Taking a deep breath, she blinked away the tears, refusing to give in to self-pity. “Mrs. Wellington pays me as much as possible, but I’ve been saving for two years, and am no closer to having a home for us.”

Hearing a knock at the door, Colt said, “That must be Bartholomew.”
Damn
, he thought, just as she was beginning to open up they had to be interrupted. He excused himself to go answer the door.

Chapter Ten

Standing over Mr. Barlow’s body, Victoria gazed at his serene face. She recalled how he had described himself in his letter. He wasn’t a handsome man, but she thought he had a kind face. No one had mentioned his age, and she guessed he was in his sixties. That made her wonder why he’d never married.

Colt watched Victoria’s face as she stared at Chet. He would have given every head of beef he owned at that moment to know what she was thinking. A few minutes passed in silence before he escorted her outside so she would be spared seeing the coffin nailed closed. Once Colt and Bartholomew lifted the coffin into the buckboard, they left to take Chet to the farm for burial alongside his mother and father.

Arriving at the Barlow farm, Colt stopped at the house so Victoria could freshen up. He stayed to greet the ranchers as they began to arrive to pay their last respects to one of their own. Bartholomew took the coffin to the cemetery where Colt’s men were waiting beside the freshly dug grave.

Victoria walked outside to find Colt waiting for her. Slowly, they made their way toward the cemetery. When Victoria spotted some wildflowers in the field, Colt stood patiently while she picked them for Mr. Barlow’s grave.

Two dozen people were silent as they gathered around the gravesite; the only sound came from the women’s skirts whipping in the wind. Victoria glanced at the assembly, studying the solemn faces of Mr. Barlow’s friends. Her gaze moved to Colt standing alone, a head taller than any man there. She could see the sadness in his dark eyes as he stared off in the distance. The only outward sign of his tenuous hold on his emotions was his tightly clenched jaw. Knowing he was struggling to maintain control gave her a glimpse into his character. A tall, handsome boy walked to his side, and Colt placed his hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. Victoria assumed it was the young man Colt mentioned at dinner last night. His face held such admiration when he looked at Colt that it made her wonder how the twins would react to the larger-than-life cowboy.

Colt reflected on the friend he was burying way too soon. He’d stood over too many graves, and this was a loss that was hitting him hard. It saddened him to know that the plans Chet was making for his future, plans that included a bride, would never be realized. Life had a way of getting away from a man, he thought. All the more reason for his brothers to come home before it was too late. It was days like this when the absence of his brothers hit him hardest. Most times he was too busy to ruminate about not having his family near. But burying his friend today reminded him how lonely it was not to have someone to share the times of sadness or the moments of joy.

Victoria moved to stand near him, bringing his thoughts back to the present. Her cheeks were moist with the tears she shed for the man she didn’t know. The wildflowers she clutched in her hands looked as fragile as the woman holding them. He noticed she had pulled the ribbon from her hair to hold the bouquet together.

Bartholomew, standing at the head of the coffin, was the first to speak. “We all knew Chet to be a quiet, decent, hardworking man.” He hesitated and pulled a folded piece of paper, yellowed and brittle with age, from his pocket. “I found these words writ by Chet in his Bible.” His voice was low and raw with emotion, and everyone remained perfectly still, listening intently. With shaking hands, he unfolded the paper. He looked up at the faces gathered around the coffin. “I reckon his own words say more about the man than my words ever could.” He started to read what Chet had written.

“I thank you, Lord, for giving me this life, and have some measure of hope that with Your help, I made something of it. I’ve not been a perfect man, but I’ve tried to help those in need, and I have always been grateful for the kindness of others.”
After taking a deep breath, Bartholomew turned his watery eyes on Colt.

Looking at Bartholomew’s withered face, Colt thought he looked like he’d aged fifty years overnight. He could see in the older man’s eyes that he didn’t have it in him to say more, so he stepped forward.

“Chet liked to read the works of Mr. William Shakespeare, and I think these words were penned for a man like Chet.” Colt started, his deep baritone voice cracking with emotion. He paused in an effort to collect himself, twirled the hat in his hands a few times, trying to swallow the large lump in his throat. “‘Men of few words are the best men.’” He wanted to say more, but too many feelings threatened his hard-fought battle for control. He’d only cried one time in his life, the day his mother was killed. He’d learned long ago to keep a tight rein on his emotions. Another reason he didn’t want to let anyone too close: He didn’t want to feel the pain when they died or left.