Promises Kept (15 page)

Pulling her hand from Wallace’s grip, she nervously glanced up at Colt and was startled to see him glaring at the man with what could only be described as a look of contempt. Glancing from one man to the other, she couldn’t help but notice the differences between them. Colt’s darkly tanned skin and his black eyes and hair provided a stark contrast to Wallace’s light, almost angelic appearance. Colt’s muscled shoulders and chest strained the seams of his shirt, and his well-worn jeans hugged his powerful thighs. Wallace was well-dressed, his suit tailored perfectly for his lithe frame. Colt’s loosely flowing, wavy black hair almost reached his shoulders, while Wallace’s pale hair was cut neatly above his collar, each strand in place. Colt’s large calloused hands spoke of his long hours laboring outdoors. The soft white hands of the stranger told her he was a man unaccustomed to manual labor, more likely a man who gave the orders. Of course, there was Colt’s ever present pistol; she couldn’t imagine the seemingly genteel Mr. Wallace armed.

Colt didn’t like the way Wallace was eyeing Victoria. “Did the sheriff give you my message?” he asked, hoping to take his attention off Victoria.

“He did,” Wallace responded smoothly. “You don’t actually believe I had anything to do with a fire on your property?”

Colt pinned him with a black glare. “The thought did occur to me.”

“I assure you I don’t resort to such tactics. The sheriff said you were waiting to speak to the judge, but that is a waste of your time.”

“We’ll see,” Colt ground out.

Wallace turned to Bartholomew. “Actually, it was you I wanted to speak with, but I was sidetracked by this lovely creature,” he said, smiling again at Victoria.

Wallace was smooth, Colt had to give him that. Even though he knew the man was lying through his teeth, he did need more proof than the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end whenever Wallace was around.

“What did you want with me?” Bartholomew asked.

“Since Chet didn’t have family, I assume the farm will be sold,” Wallace stated.

Bartholomew’s eyes widened and he glanced at Colt before he responded. He couldn’t help but smile at Wallace when he replied, “I reckon not, seeing as how he left all of his property to Miss Victoria.”

Wallace was surprised by this piece of news. “I was of the understanding this young woman was of no relation to Barlow.”

“Relation or not, he left her the land,” Colt ground out.

“Miss Victoria was Chet’s betrothed,” Bartholomew added, and Colt bristled at the comment. He reminded himself to tell Bartholomew to keep that piece of information to himself in the future.

Wallace recovered quickly, turning back to Victoria with a sympathetic smile plastered on his patrician face. “My condolences then, Miss Eastman. I was not aware of your engagement.”

Victoria simply nodded, and Wallace questioned further, “So Chet had a will?”

Colt was about to say it was none of his business, but Bartholomew spoke up again. “Yes, and it was properly witnessed.”

Annoyed that he hadn’t been aware of Barlow’s will, Wallace planned to go right to the bank to hear an explanation from Mr. Ford. He paid Ford a tidy sum to keep him informed of any situation where he might profit. He surmised McBride was already ingratiating himself with Victoria so he would have first chance to purchase the farm when she sold. His eyes swept over Victoria again. It would be no burden to spend some time with her. He might be persuaded to marry her since she obviously wanted a husband if she was engaged to a man old enough to be her father. That thought made him wonder why she had settled for Barlow. She was beautiful enough to grace his table, and she appeared to be a lady of breeding. “Would you be available to—”

He was interrupted by the approach of the stagecoach driver. “You ready to leave, ma’am?”

“Are you leaving Promise?” Wallace inquired.

All eyes moved to Victoria, but before she could form a response, her attention was diverted by a plump, red-haired woman scurrying across the road hailing the stagecoach driver.

“Wait! Tom!” the woman yelled. “I’ve a letter I need you to take.”

Victoria glanced back at the men and saw they were still awaiting her response to Wallace’s question. “I’m not leaving now. My plans have changed,” she answered.

Wallace gave her a wide smile. “That is good news. Might I ask to escort you to dinner this evening at the hotel? Since you are already in town, it will give us the opportunity to become better acquainted. There are some matters I would like to discuss with you.”

Bartholomew didn’t like the idea of Victoria going anywhere with Wallace, so he spoke up, thinking to apprise her of Wallace’s intentions. “Mr. Wallace has a ranch on the other side of the farm. He wanted Chet to sell to him.”

The situation between Colt and Wallace became clear to Victoria and explained Colt’s acrimonious attitude toward Wallace. Both men wanted the land, and because of that they were most likely enemies. But why Colt thought Wallace was involved with the fire on his land was another question. Obviously, there were many things going on here that she was not privy to, but she wanted to live on the Barlow farm. Her farm. Home. These men could settle their differences; their feud didn’t have anything to do with her. She would never sell Mr. Barlow’s land. And she wouldn’t waste one minute worrying about men wanting to argue over buying property that was not for sale. This was a fresh start for her and the boys, and she wouldn’t allow these two men to interfere with their future.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wallace. As it happens, I have business to attend to today. Perhaps another time. But be assured, sir, that the Barlow farm is not for sale,” she told him politely but plainly.

“Your farm,” Bartholomew corrected. He was so pleased with her response to Wallace he wanted to give her a big hug.

Victoria gave him a teary-eyed smile. “That may be, but we will always call it the Barlow farm.” That would be her only way to honor Mr. Barlow. She glanced at the stagecoach driver, who was pulling her valise from the roof. She missed the look that passed over Wallace’s pale features, but Colt didn’t.

“I will hold you to that promised dinner. It was a pleasure meeting you,” Wallace said, bowing politely before he walked away.

Colt watched him cross the road in the direction of the bank. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Wallace made Victoria an offer on the land, or tried to find a way to steal it. He expected him to be a gentleman about it at first, but if Victoria refused to sell, he’d resort to other tactics.

“I need to send a telegram to Mrs. Wellington and tell her the news. I will get everything settled here and take the next stage out,” Victoria said. She leaned down to Bandit and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are going to get a family after all, and you will have a farm to run on,” she told him.

“Ruby? Is that you?” The redheaded woman who had hailed the stagecoach driver approached them.

Victoria quickly straightened to face the woman. “I’m Victoria Eastman,” she replied anxiously.

L. B.’s hand flew to her chest and she staggered backwards. Her ashen face looked like she had just seen an apparition.

Colt grabbed her arm to keep her from falling over, and Bartholomew hurried to her other side to help Colt support her weight.

“L. B.? Are you ill? Do you need the doc?” Colt inquired. He’d never seen her in such a state.

“No no, just give me a minute,” she uttered on a ragged breath, her eyes never leaving Victoria’s face. “I’m sorry, you look very much like someone I used to know,” she uttered by way of explanation. “Someone I haven’t seen in a long time.”

The color drained from Victoria’s face and her heart started pounding. She was certain she had never seen this woman before. She tried to maintain a calm demeanor when she responded. “Think nothing of it, these things happen.”

“Let’s get you over to the doc’s office,” Colt offered.

Taking a deep breath, L. B. straightened, brushing aside Colt and Bartholomew’s support. “Nonsense, I’m as fit as a fiddle. I was just startled. This gal looks so much like . . . well, no matter. I made a mistake.”

Colt released her arm but hovered near her in the event she had another spell. “Victoria, this is L. B. Ditty. She owns the saloon.”

“L. B.?” Victoria questioned.

L. B. chuckled wryly. “That’s all anyone around here calls me. I never tell anyone my real name; only Sam, my bartender, knows that. I’ve never seen you around here before. Are you visiting Colt?”

“Miss Victoria was going to marry Chet, but now we just found out he left her the farm,” Bartholomew informed her.

Colt rolled his eyes. Bartholomew couldn’t seem to keep a thought in his head, finding it necessary to tell everything he knew. He guessed the news would spread around town soon enough anyway.

Glancing at Colt, L. B. said, “Well, there’s another hitch in Wallace’s plans for that land.”

“I don’t think he will give up easy,” Colt replied flatly.

“That’s the truth of it,” L. B. agreed, the color coming back to her plump cheeks. Her gaze moved back to Victoria. “You have the most unusual eyes. I’ve only seen one other person with eyes that blue.”

“I’m told that often.” Victoria was uneasy with the way the woman was staring at her. She had never met this woman, of that she was sure. She couldn’t imagine anyone forgetting such a character.

“Where do you hail from?” L. B. inquired.

“St. Louis. I work in Mrs. Wellington’s boardinghouse there.”

“Chet was a fine man,” L. B. told her. Realizing how her statement might be interpreted, she gave Victoria a level look and added, “Now don’t go thinking he visited the saloon—he didn’t. But me and him had conversed a time or two. He was a smart man, and that’s a nice piece of land out there. It should make you a fine home.” Ready to make her departure, she nodded to Victoria and Bartholomew, then said to Colt, “I’ll be seeing you tonight, I reckon.”

Colt wished the road would open up and swallow him right there and then. Was there one woman left in that saloon who hadn’t made it clear to Victoria that he was a fairly regular customer?

Chapter Fifteen

Colt escorted Victoria to the bank so she could discuss Chet’s will with the banker before he took her back to the farm. Once he dropped her off at the farm he momentarily considered turning the buckboard around and going back to town to have a talk with Lucy. Maddie hadn’t behaved as rudely as Lucy, but he intended to ask her about that stunt in front of the hotel. He hadn’t seen Maddie since . . .
How long has it been?
Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t been in the saloon since he returned from his uncle’s funeral in St. Louis. That meant he hadn’t seen Maddie in a long time. That in itself was unusual, since he’d seen her on a fairly regular basis for several years. But he decided he wasn’t going to be seeing her tonight either. He’d already been away from the ranch too long today and he had a lot of work waiting for him. Since tomorrow was Saturday, he’d go to town with the men and play some poker, and he’d have that talk with Lucy and Maddie.

In her meeting with the banker, Victoria learned that Chet had left her a substantial amount of money as well as the land. At least, it was more money than she had ever seen. She couldn’t fathom why Mr. Barlow had been so kind to a woman he didn’t even know, but she was thankful. No one had ever been so generous to her. Having the money meant she wouldn’t have to depend totally on the income from the sales of her reticules. Before Victoria left St. Louis, Mrs. Wellington had suggested she send samples of her hand-sewn reticules to shops in San Francisco and London. Mrs. Wellington assured her that the shops would place orders for her designs. She hoped Mrs. Wellington was right because she could use the extra income.

It wouldn’t be an easy life for a woman and two small boys on the farm. But no matter what, there was no way she would sell that land. She had Bartholomew to help her, and together they’d find a way to make it work.

“Victoria,” Bartholomew yelled from the door.

Victoria and Bandit walked from the kitchen to greet him. “Come in. Can I get you some coffee?”

“Yes, ma’am, a man could get used to your fine coffee.” He followed her back to the kitchen. “I wanted to tell you that tomorrow I’ll go to town to get some supplies so I can build beds for those boys.”

“Oh, Bartholomew, that would be wonderful! Thank you so much,” she exclaimed. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ride with you and pick up some things.”

“I’d love the company,” he told her sincerely. Without her, he would have been terribly lonely with Chet gone. He couldn’t wait for those boys to arrive; it had been a long time since he’d been around children. “I bet you’re missing your boys.”

“Very much, and I miss Mrs. Wellington too. I’ve grown very fond of her.”

“Tell me about Mrs. Wellington,” he said, taking a drink of the coffee she poured him.

By the time Colt got to the ranch, his mood hadn’t improved. Tate met him at the stable while he was unhitching the buckboard.

“Tom and Helen went back to their house,” Tate said.

Colt was surprised that Helen felt up to leaving. “Why did they do a fool thing like that?”