Revealed (Intrigue Under Western Skies Book 3) Read online

  Naturally, she’d be attracted to an older man who showed her attention.

  He’d have to take care not to encourage her. Maybe he should discuss that with Rhyan and Carianne. Especially, since they seemed to find every excuse to throw him together with Katherine. He knew them well enough to know they didn’t do it on purpose. They just called on his help because he was easy-going and convenient.

  Still, he didn’t want to take a chance on wounding Katherine’s feeling. He had sisters and knew how tender the feelings of young women could be. Like the petals of a rose, they bruised easily.

  Trouble was. He found her attractive too. Those soulful, sad violet eyes were enough to kick every protective nerve in his body in gear. He’d have to do a lot better job of watching himself than on the ride out.

  But hang it, when he’d arrived to pick up Katherine and Carianne and seen Katherine’s sweet, innocent face drawn into a dejected bow, he’d worried he’d said something last night to offend her. So he’d teased and came as close to flirting as he ever had in an attempt to cheer her. He’d managed to coax a few smiles out of her before they’d reached their destination.

  When he lifted her from the wagon, the widest smile yet crossed her fresh, pretty face. He kept his hands around her waist longer than he should. Then his pulse kicked up a notch and reminded him he needed to keep her at arm’s length, maybe even further.

  He jerked his gaze to Carianne. “How long do you ladies need?”

  “At least an hour. I’d say an hour and a half to be on the safe side. I promise not to detain you longer than that.”

  “Take your time. I’ll check back in an hour and a half. If you’re not through by then, I expect I can find something to do.”

  “Do you want to say howdy to Charley?” Carianne’s grin was downright mischievous.

  As if he didn’t see Charley every day at the ranch. “I saw her this morning when we practiced with Cloud. Just give her my regards.”

  If he was like the typical man, he’d use Charley to discourage Katherine’s interest. Charley had already made it plain right in front of Katherine she belonged to him. But he wasn’t about to hurt either young lady.

  He touched the brim of his hat in farewell and climbed back on the wagon. It took barely a minute to reach the mercantile, where he set the brake and jumped to the ground.

  Instead of going into the mercantile, he crossed the street. There’d be plenty of time to load up later. He dodged two men riding pintos, followed by two hounds. Looked like Charley’s cousins, but Colt couldn’t be sure since he’d never seen the men except in rodeo costumes.

  He stepped onto the weathered sidewalk and trekked toward the sheriff’s office. Quentin Vaughn had resigned his job as a United States Marshal and taken the post as sheriff last winter when Sheriff Tate stepped down.

  The whole town was surprised when Quint married Gertrude Colvic. He’d become interested in Gertrude while investigating her husband’s accidental shooting death last summer. Apparently the couple corresponded frequently during the following months. They had married shortly after the former marshal took the job as sheriff. Westerfield counted itself lucky to have received an experienced lawman in the bargain.

  “Hey, Colt.” Jim Sanders, one of Sollano’s best wranglers, drove a buckboard with one hand on the reins and the other arm wrapped around his new bride.

  He waved. “Hey, Jim, Lanny.” A giggle floated in the air as they passed by.

  Why was it everybody could find a mate but him? It hadn’t bothered him too much until Rhyan and Carianne married, and he became the oldest unmarried man in the community. Maybe that’s why he’d spoken for Charley. He’d gotten an uncanny feeling time was running out and began praying in earnest the Lord would send him a wife.

  There was Charley.

  Ma had given up nagging him about every available woman from miles around. Not that there were many close to his age. Yeah, time was running out. Then, when he saw the tears in Ma’s eyes when she held Carianne’s baby, it hit him hard. He wanted a son of his own—or a daughter. Actually, two of each.

  But mostly, he wanted someone to love. To talk to. Way into the night.

  Charley seemed perfect. Their love of horses drew them together. She was fun to talk to. A real down-to-earth gal. Everything he’d wanted in a woman.

  Then she’d joined the Wild West Show. He’d known she performed in a circus before coming to Westerfield, but he’d thought she’d gotten that out of her head.

  He was wrong. The more popular Charley became, the more she craved the attention.

  Not that he objected to his wife having an outside interest, but he didn’t like the idea of her prancing around a ring in a skimpy costume for a bunch of caterwauling men. He was afraid if he asked her to give it up before her contract with the Wild West Show, she’d refuse. So he never asked.

  Maybe he was wrong to look for someone with similar interests. Rhyan and Carianne were as different personality wise as any two people could be. Rhyan had a skeptical, cautious manner. He wasn’t as bad as before he’d accepted Christ. He could trust the Lord now, but he still had trouble trusting people.

  On the other hand, Carianne flew into life with both arms wide open. A perfect complement to Rhyan.

  What was done was done. He was promised to Charley.

  Colt opened the sheriff’s office door to the sound of hammering. Sheriff Vaughn was nailing wanted posters to the wall. As the door hinges groaned in closing, Quint twisted his bushy, graying head around. “Be with you in a second, Colt,” he mumbled around a nail in his mouth.

  The job finished, the sheriff slid into the chair in back of his desk and laid beefy arms on the top. “What can I do for you? Don’t tell me those rustlers are stealing horses now.”

  Colt sat across from him. “No—not mine, anyway. How’s Gert and the young’uns?”

  “Fine as a baby’s hair. Can’t call those two oldest boys young’uns anymore. They’re about man-size and doing most of the farm work. Don’t know what I’d do without them.” His moustache stretched with his smile. “I leave the girls to Gert.”

  Colt chuckled. “That’s probably a good idea. Were you ever married before, Quint?” He’d wondered about that. The sheriff had to be over forty.

  “Nope. I was with the Texas Rangers for a while, then ten years as a marshal and on the road most of that time. Not many women like a husband leaving every other month and maybe not coming back.”

  That it took Quint so long to find a good woman gave Colt some renewed hope in case Charley changed her mind. He hadn’t turned thirty yet. But the idea of taking on a woman with a passel of young’uns like Gertrude was daunting. He’d like for them to come one at the time. And be his from the beginning.

  “You have any leads on the rustlers yet?”

  “Nah. I’ve checked with all the farmers and ranchers around. They’d be the first suspects since the thief would have to have somewhere to put the cows.”

  “Kind of hard to hide cows. You checked Sollano yet?” He laughed, meaning it for a joke.

  The sheriff chuckled. “That would be a good place to hide cows, wouldn’t it?” He turned serious. “I suspect there’s some shady characters working out there, but Rhyan will have to do the checking. It would take me a coon’s age just to interview everyone.”

  Quint reared back in his chair. “I did talk to Rhyan the other day. He told me something interesting. He’s letting that new fellow to town, Otto Booker, rent some land over near the bluffs. It crossed my mind he might be driving the cattle out there.”

  Rhyan hadn’t mentioned that to Colt. He moved to the edge of his seat. “You mean that wild country? That’s nearly thirty miles away and never been cultivated. Besides, I was told Booker wanted a farm. It would take years to get the land in shape to farm, and the place is more than a daylight’s worth of time to get to and from civilization.”

  “Booker’s a strange one. Mrs. Jenkins over at the boardinghouse says he stays holed
up in his room all day and only goes out at night. Then might not show up for a couple of days. The missing cows had to be taken at night.” Quint shrugged. “I sent a wire to the sheriff at Booker’s last known address, but haven’t heard anything yet. I’m going to go out where Rhyan said he’d rented to Booker as soon as Tate can come in and keep the jail while I’m gone. Won’t be for a while. Tate’s laid up with a broken leg.”

  The former sheriff agreed to stay on as a part-time deputy until the town hired a permanent one—something they’d delay as long as possible, if Colt knew the counsel as well as he thought. “There’s an old abandoned farmhouse out there. Oliver Cason used it as a line shack back when they were driving cattle, but I’d hate to live there.”

  He got to his feet and settled his hat back on his head. “Guess I’d better let you get back to work. I’m just wasting time while Carianne and Katherine are at the Western Gates. Rhyan didn’t want them traveling alone, so I’m an escort today.”

  Quint got up to walk him to the door. “Katherine?”

  “Rhyan’s sister.”

  “Oh, yeah. I heard all about his mama and sister coming to town. Gert scorched my ears about the mama. They put her in the same category as Jezebel.”

  “Well, Katherine’s sweet and innocent, but she naturally loves her ma. Arabella’s pretty sick now, so maybe the ladies will have a little charity once they get used to the idea.”

  “Since when have you ever known women to forget any tasty bit of gossip?”

  Colt knew a lot of men like that too, but the sheriff’s question didn’t call for a reply, so they shook hands. “If I see anything worth mentioning, I’ll let you know.”

  Chapter 8

  Katherine had never seen anything like it. The library, larger than the one at Sollano, commanded a third of the building, soaring three stories and furnished with a variety of décor, besides endless rows of books. Floor to ceiling windows anchored the double doors. Carianne explained they were where a saloon’s swinging doors used to be.

  Fiction and nonfiction books divided the sections. The second floor loft overhead with a wrought iron staircase and railing revealed several children lying in different positions of repose with books in hand. Occupying a circle of chairs beside the window, three ladies read, occasionally peeking over the tops of their books to the loft.

  “Come this way,” Carianne whispered.

  Katherine tagged along to a set of double doors. As soon as Carianne opened one of them, giggles greeted them. She quickly pulled the door behind them and moved to the counter of what appeared to be an ice-cream parlor.

  A quick glance around the room indicated they offered more than ice-cream. Popcorn in a huge glass container stood at the end of the corner. Cookies showed under a glass covered platter. Behind the counter a variety of beverages marched along the shelves.

  The source of the giggles came from two young girls sitting on stools around a small table, sipping root-beer floats. How long had it been since she’d had a root-beer or ice-cream? Little more than a year ago she’d been as care-free as those girls. When Papa was alive. Mama was well. And she didn’t know Rhyan Cason was her brother.

  Now strangers filled her world, including a blond rancher who, not only gave her goosebumps, but drew her like a storm-tossed ship to a beacon.

  Carianne hooked her by the arm. “I want you to meet Dorcas Wagner. She’s managing our parlor and hotel and one of my best friends.” Apparently, everyone was one of Carianne’s best friends.

  “Dorcas, this is Katherine, Rhyan’s sister. She and their mother recently arrived from Charleston.”

  Katherine noticed that same scorn on Mrs. Wagner’s face as had pinched Mrs. Comings’s features when she’d met her earlier. A sense of pride lifted Katherine’s chin a bit. She offered her hand when it was apparent the woman wouldn’t.

  “Nice to meet you.” Mrs. Wagner reached over the counter to shake Katherine’s hand, her grimace indicating she thought it was anything but nice. She took the towel hanging across her shoulder and wiped her hands. “If you will excuse me, I have to get this ice-cream packed.”

  “Of course. We were just passing through,” Carianne said.

  Busy with scraping the churn’s dasher, Dorcas seemed not to have heard, and Carianne turned to Katherine. “Dorcas is just helping out until we find a permanent employee to take care of the parlor and the upstairs lodging.” She gestured to the staircase beyond the counter which led to the upper floor.

  “It seems impossible this used to be a saloon,” Katherine said. She’d never seen the inside of a saloon but figured it wouldn’t be this clean and fresh.

  The place reminded her of an elegant carnival. Above the smell of popcorn, cookies, and drinks, another scent hung in the air. Fresh cut wood. And paint. The whole place was spanking new. She supposed even a saloon would have smelled like that when it was new.

  “We’ll talk another time, Dorcas.” Carianne swept past Katherine.

  Her watering mouth compelled Katherine to send a lingering look at the velvety frozen cream Dorcas stuffed into a frosty tin. It was hot today, and ice-cream would be so good. She hadn’t tasted the treat since Papa had taken her to a shop the summer before he died.

  If she had any money, she’d have bought a dish of vanilla. Such treats were beyond her reach the past year, but now she lived in luxury. No, Rhyan and Carianne had already given so much, it would be greedy to ask for more. Maybe Carianne could give her a small job. Much looked to be done about here and few to do it.

  She swallowed her drool. Carianne didn’t offer to buy ice-cream, and Katherine didn’t have the nerve to ask. She had to hustle to catch up with her sister-in-law, who covered the tiled floor in purposeful strides.

  As she followed Carianne, she cast another backward glance at the confections stand and found Dorcas staring at her with contempt.

  What had she done to earn such obvious disgust? The woman didn’t even know her. Then she remember Rhyan’s words, “People around here remember what happened when Mother left.”

  Was he talking about Dorcas and that woman at the mercantile? According to Rhyan, they’d consider Katherine innocent, but he was wrong. They considered her flawed—a product of sin. Unfit for decent society.

  Fire burned her cheeks as anger flew over her, urging her to return to the woman and give her a piece of her mind.

  But Carianne held yet another door open for her, so she choked down the temptation and entered a narrow hallway. Only two side doors broke the tunnel, one on each side. An engraved sign on the left displayed the word, “Ladies.” The sign on the opposite door said, “Gentlemen.”

  “Our indoor privies,” Carianne whispered and swept around her, moving to the opening at the other end.

  Sunshine beckoned from a pillowed vestibule. Spread out on all sides, an immense amphitheater came into view. The center reminded Katherine of a circus ring. A riding circle formed the outside while a raised platform commanded the center.

  Carianne pulled the brim of her straw hat on her brow to shield her eyes from the blazing sun and peered to the left and right. “Charley is probably in the stables.” She took off at a brisk pace around the circular path.

  They’d not reached the other side before Charley came out of the center building at back, waving both hands. She wore her customary garb of plaid shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. The only concession to femininity was the blue ribbons that held her shining hair in two tails.

  “Let’s meet in the stable master’s office.” She wiped her damp brow with the back of her hand. “It’s cooler in there.”

  Katherine wouldn’t have taken this for stables if she hadn’t seen horses’ heads sticking out of stalls. This section of the Western Gates, like the front, smelled of new construction with the additional scents of hay and manure.

  Charley stopped in front of a door, and it swung silently on well-oiled hinges. The window’s transom was opened to let in a stiff breeze.

  “I have something
you’ll want to see.” Carianne moved to the desk’s chair but didn’t sit. Instead she laid the valise she’d been carrying on the desk. She unbuckled the flap and pulled out a poster.

  Katherine and Charley leaned over the desk to stare at the poster of a painting advertising the Western Gates Wild West Show featuring Charley Ryder.

  The background was this arena. Katherine could easily pick out the details. A fire flamed around the image of a silver horse leaping, its front hooves high, intent on passing through the ring.

  No one could miss the point of interest, however. Charley rode the horse. The artist had enhanced the beauty of her smiling face. Her glamorous features. Her fantastic costume. A smile curved her full lips, and she stared through the flames from under long lashes with a look of supreme confidence.

  The turquoise bodice of her costume glittered, revealing every curve of her body. The skirt of a diaphanous bluish-silver material flowed in the wind as Charley’s right leg floated above the horse. Floated was the only word for it. Her left leg was hidden from view and it appeared she supported herself on the horse with nothing but her left hand.

  Katherine glanced at Charley. A wide smile etched her face, and her eyes sparkled like gemstones. She took the poster almost reverently. “I love it,” she said.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to perform that stunt by next month?” Carianne asked.

  Charley laughed. “Of course. I’ve ridden Cloud around the ring like that dozens of times.”

  “But you haven’t jumped through a ring of fire.”

  Charley finally tore her gaze from the poster. “Don’t worry. We’ll be ready. Except—” She caught her lower lip in pearly teeth. “Grayson is giving the signals, and he may quit if he doesn’t get a raise soon.”

  Carianne took the poster and returned it to her valise. “Well, that’s his decision, but I can’t afford to give anyone a raise at present.”

  “Why not? The ranch must bring in lots of money.”