Lonely Rancher Knocked And Said “I Was Told You Need A Rancher The Widow Saw His Daughter Behind His

Chapter 5

Frost silvered the grass on the morning Deke Rawlins arrived, and the first thing Eleanor noticed was that he wanted to be seen coming. Three riders, moving at the deliberate pace of men who had made their point many times and expected it to be remembered. Rawlins was broad through the shoulders, with pale eyes and a scar that dragged the corner of his mouth up into a permanent sneer; the two behind him wore their meanness casually, like an old coat.

Gideon came out of the barn with a pitchfork in one hand, took one look, and said, “Cami, inside. Now.”

“But Papa, I haven’t finished—”

“Inside. Now.”

The child, who had never heard that tone refused, vanished. Eleanor touched her shoulder as she passed and stepped forward to meet the riders at the gate.

Rawlins touched his hat in a mockery of courtesy. “Mrs. Vance. Deke Rawlins, representing the interests of Mr. Cornelius Beaumont.”

“I know who you are,” Eleanor said. “State your business.”

“Business is simple enough.” His gaze slid past her to Gideon, and his lip curled. “Hired yourself a new hand, I see. Bit soon after your husband’s passing, wouldn’t you say?”

“My hire is none of your concern.”

“Everything on this range is Mr. Beaumont’s concern.” Rawlins dismounted, and the two men behind him followed suit, spreading out just enough to make the point. “Especially when your cattle keep wandering onto his ground. Found near a dozen head with your brand watering at his spring yesterday.”

“That’s impossible. We moved every head of cattle last week. I’d have known—”

“You calling me a liar, Mrs. Vance?”

Gideon stepped forward fluidly, placing himself half a stride ahead of Eleanor without seeming to move. “She’s saying you’re mistaken. Easy enough to settle. Why don’t you show us these strays?”

Rawlins studied him with narrowed eyes, and Eleanor saw something flicker in that pale gaze — not quite recognition, but a wary reassessment. Men who carried guns for a living had a way of scenting their own kind. “Strays cross lines all the time,” Gideon continued, his tone pleasant, even friendly. “We’ll ride the fence today, turn back anything of yours. No harm done.”

“No harm.” Rawlins laughed, an ugly sound. “Mr. Beaumont’s patience is about worn through, is all. This is the third time this year. He’s starting to think maybe a widow woman can’t run a spread this size. Thinking maybe she’d be better off selling to somebody who can.”

“I’m not selling,” Eleanor said.

“Not yet.” The scarred smile widened. “Course, winter’s coming. Accidents happen. Cattle die. Barns catch fire. Terrible, dangerous thing, ranching alone.” His gaze drifted to the house, lingered on the window where Cami’s face appeared for an instant before Eleanor heard Gideon’s low command behind her. The child vanished. “Especially with a little one about. Dangerous country for children.”

The air went very still. When Gideon spoke, his voice had dropped to something soft and lethal. “You’re right. It is dangerous country. Men disappear out here all the time.” He smiled, showing nothing. “Fall off their horses in the dark. Get lost in snowstorms. Sometimes they threaten the wrong family and just — vanish.”

Rawlins’s hand moved toward his gun, and stopped when Gideon’s smile widened a fraction. “But of course,” Gideon said, “you’re only here about the cattle. Neighborly concern. We appreciate that. Tell Mr. Beaumont we’ll check the fence today. Any strays, returned promptly.”

For a long moment nobody moved. Then Rawlins stepped back, and there was something that might have been respect in his pale eyes, or might have been a promise. “See that you do. Mr. Beaumont’s generosity has limits.”

He swung up into the saddle, and as the three rode out he reined in once, turning to look back at Gideon. “You look familiar, friend. Have we met?”

“Doubt it. I’m just a drifter working for wages.”

“Funny.” Rawlins’s eyes glinted. “You don’t sit a horse like a drifter.” He wheeled his mount for the road. “Be seeing you.”

Eleanor stood frozen long after the dust settled, and discovered she was shaking. Gideon took her elbow and guided her inside, where Cami waited, white-faced, on the hearth. “Who are those men, Papa?”

“Nobody important, sunshine. Go check on the kittens, would you?”

When she was gone, Eleanor sank into a chair, her voice flat. “He threatened her. He stood in my yard and threatened that child.”

Gideon poured her coffee with steady hands. The muscle in his jaw said the rest. “Tell me about Beaumont.”

“Cornelius Beaumont owns more range than any man in the territory. Three thousand head, maybe more. He’s been buying up the small spreads for years — ‘by whatever means necessary,’ I think the phrase is.” She wrapped her hands around the cup and felt them come warm by slow degrees. “Thomas always said Beaumont had his eye on our water. We’ve got the best year-round stream for twenty miles, and with Thomas in the ground, he figures I’m easy pickings. I’ve had offers. Generous ones, on paper. When I refused —” She gestured at the door. “That visit just now. It’s been building. Cut fences. Scattered cattle. Nothing I could ever prove.”

Gideon was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was careful, like a man stepping onto ice he knew might not hold. “Rawlins knows me. Or knows of me. And he’s not wrong to think he does.”

Eleanor waited.

“I was a lawman once. Deputy marshal down in Kansas, before Cami was born. Good at it, too. Maybe too good.” He stared into his coffee, not seeing it. “I put a lot of men away. Made enemies the way a banker makes interest — steady and compounding. One of them found my house when I was out on the line. Ruth was alone with the baby.”

“Oh, Gideon.”

“She got between them and the gun.” His voice scraped across the words. “The bullet went through her. I came home to — to a house I couldn’t walk back into. She held on for weeks. The wound festered, the fever came, and there was nothing I could do but sit in a rocking chair and watch her go. I killed the man who’d done it. Felt nothing but empty.” He turned his hand palm-up on the table, and after a moment Eleanor laid hers in it. “Turned in my badge the next day. Took my daughter and started riding. Been running ever since, I suppose. Running from what I was. What I did.”

“You protected your family,” Eleanor said. “There’s no shame in that.”

“Didn’t protect them well enough.” His fingers tightened around hers. “But I won’t make that mistake again. If Beaumont wants this ranch, he’ll have to come through me.”

“It isn’t your fight.”

He looked up, and his eyes were terrible and gentle at once. “Cami hadn’t truly smiled in months before we came here. She’s learning. She’s growing. She’s a child again for the first time since she lost her mother. You gave her back something I couldn’t.” His voice held. “You think I’ll let anyone threaten that?”

They sat in silence, hands clasped across the table. Outside, the wind was rising. Somewhere out on the dark plain, a message was already riding ahead of itself toward the man who collected other men’s land, and it carried the name Whitaker, and it would not be a friendly one.