Salvation in the Rancher's Arms

Well, if she stopped everything would catch up with her and she’d end up passing out again from the weight of it all.

Her skin burned anew with the humiliation of succumbing to such weakness, a luxury she could not afford. Muriel, the waitress who’d brought her breakfast, had told her Mr. Beckett moved with lightning speed, shoving the table out of the way to get to her before she hit the floor.

The woman all but swooned retelling the story, as if it were some romantic tale from a dime novel and not the most embarrassing thing to happen to Rachel since...well, since she didn’t know when. Last night’s debacle left her mortified. One minute she was standing to leave and the next...

The next she was swooped up in a pair of strong arms.

The memory came unbidden. She tried to remember specifics, but the entire episode was hazy, save for the sensations his touch had conjured. The strong arms carrying her, the solid chest where she’d rested her head. The rapid beat of his heart as he rushed her upstairs. And the gentle way he had laid her upon the mattress, his palm touching her cheek. She’d tried to answer him when he called her name, but she’d been too weak to respond.

She shook her head. No doubt her state of mind tainted the truth. She sincerely doubted a man like Caleb Beckett could be considered a romantic hero in any way, shape or form. He had the edge of an outlaw rather than a shining knight.

Not that Rachel believed in shining knights. She had disabused herself of their existence a long time ago.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and marched into the livery.

She stopped inside the door, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. The scent of hay, horses and manure mingled in the air around her, but she had spent too much time in her own barn to pay it much heed.

She found Mr. Beckett brushing long strokes down his horse’s back in one of the stalls. The horse, a beautiful paint, nipped playfully at the brim of his hat. He chuckled and spoke in low tones. She couldn’t make out the words, but the sound surprised her, drew her in. She stood silently for a moment and watched. He’d removed his sheepskin jacket and tossed it over the edge of the stall door. His broad back shifted with each stroke of the brush, mesmerizing her. There was a fluidity to his movements, and while one hand brushed in a rhythmic pattern, the other rested on the animal’s neck, petting it. The horse nickered in response to the sound of its owner’s voice.

The unguarded moment surprised her. She had expected to arrive to find him glaring down at her, arms crossed, impatience stamped into every ruggedly handsome feature while he counted the hours before he could toss them off the ranch. This hint of good humor threw her.

Then again, who wouldn’t be in good humor after the boon of winning a prime piece of land through no more effort than the turn of a card?

The muscles in her neck tightened.

“You gonna stand there all day?”

She jumped. “I...I...how did you know I was here?”

He peered over his shoulder. Whiskers shadowed his square jaw. The brim of his hat hid his eyes, and still she could feel the force of his gaze through every inch of her body. There was something about this man. Something beyond the rugged face and strong body. He had a presence, commanding and vibrant. No doubt she could have walked into a room blindfolded and known instantly if he occupied the same space. The awareness irritated her.

“I could sense you there.”

Rachel swallowed. A shivery tremor swept through her veins as his answer echoed her own thoughts.

She fought to get her voice out without trembling. “I wanted to talk to you. About last night.”

“Figured.” He rested an arm on the short stable wall and stared at her. Hot liquid poured through her veins from the strength of his full attention.

She gripped her hands in front of her and forced her spine straight, ignoring the strain on her muscles. He was not going to make this easy. “I guess I owe you some thanks for catching me when I—” She couldn’t say the word, couldn’t admit to the weakness.

“Fainted?”

She squinted into the dimness. Was he smiling? His mouth quickly resettled into an unreadable line and she wondered if it had just been a trick of the light.

“Yes, I suppose. Thank you.”

“Not necessary.”

“Well...either way.” She shifted on her feet. “I think we need to speak about the deed to my land. Am I to understand you now believe you own it?”

He didn’t answer right away. He made one last stroke down the paint’s neck and walked out the back, rounding the stalls and coming up behind her. She spun on her heel to face him, surprised to find him so close. Her body’s response to his nearness hit her square in the stomach and she took a quick step back.

There was a hard-bitten practicality about the man. It showed in the efficiency of his movements and the economy of words he used to convey an opinion. But his eyes held something different, something softer that gave him a sense of humanity. She wondered what his story was. Had he always been this way? Or, like her, had life hammered away until the person he became was far different than the one he had started out as? Perhaps she could talk reason with him, convince him to—

“No believing about it,” he said. “Your husband put the deed in to meet the raised stakes. I won the hand.”

So much for reason.

“A-And that’s legal?” Could she contest it? There had to be a law to prevent people from doing something as colossally idiotic as throwing away every last acre they owned on a stupid card game!

“Yes, ma’am. It’s legal.”

And, even if it wasn’t, by the time the circuit court judge made his way to town for her to plead her case, Mr. Beckett could have parceled off sections of land, sold them to the highest bidder and been long gone.

Her heart sank into her worn leather boots, taking her hopes with it. She stared at Mr. Beckett’s chest, absorbing what he told her. The tiny red checks on his shirt had faded until the color barely existed and one buttonhole was empty, the frayed remains of thread poking through the hole.

Caleb Beckett owned her land. She had lost everything. The room swayed around her.

“No, you don’t.” He reached out and closed the gap between them, placing a hand on either elbow to hold her steady. “None of that, now.”

His voice reached deep inside of her. She closed her eyes, fighting the uncomfortable ache his touch created and allowed herself one brief moment of respite where someone else took the burden and she did nothing more than hang on.

She opened her eyes and stared at his chest again. “You’re missing a button,” she whispered.

“Beg pardon?”

“On your shirt. You’re missing a button.” This was what she noticed. Her entire world was collapsing around her and all she could think about was how his shirt was missing a button. She must be losing her mind.

He let go of one arm and reached for the front of his shirt, pulling it out far enough to see the damage. His forearm brushed against her breast and her body tightened involuntarily. He didn’t apologize. The touch was so brief and light perhaps he hadn’t even noticed. But she had. An unexpected jolt shot from her breasts to the tips of her toes, hitting every place in between.

“Guess I’m not much of a seamstress.”

She nodded and pulled away, walking farther into the livery to put space between them. It was hard to breathe when he stood close. She almost preferred passing out over the strange commotion his nearness created. It made no sense. She didn’t know this man, this stranger, yet she responded to him like a common harlot.

Like her mother.

She threw off the thought and held her ground. She could not afford to weaken. “If it isn’t too much to trouble you with, Mr. Beckett, perhaps you could tell me just what it is you plan to do now that you own my land.”

* * *

Caleb mulled the question over in his mind, trying to clear the storm that touching her had stirred. His shoulder still held the phantom imprint of where her head had rested the night before when he’d carried her to her room. His arms still bore her weight.

What were his plans?

All night he’d lain awake wrestling with the question. It had seemed cut-and-dried as he rode out of Laramie toward Salvation Falls. He would sign the deed back to Sutter’s family and leave. As much as having a place to call home appealed to him, he knew that kind of life was not meant for him. He had learned his lesson on that account the hard way.

But watching Mrs. Sutter hold herself together while her life fell apart, threw him off balance, a sensation he didn’t much care for. Sutter had left his family in a bad way financially, then gone and got shot before he could make reparation. But it was obvious his wife had carried the burden of his ineptitude for far longer than the few days Sutter had been dead, and it had worn her down until she teetered on a sharp edge.

The easy thing would be to give her back the land as planned. Easy, but wrong.

From everything he’d learned so far, that would accomplish nothing more than throwing her from the pan to land in the fire. This Shamus Kirkpatrick had a bead on her land and the means to demand it as payment for debts owed. From the glimpse Caleb had of the man at the funeral, Kirkpatrick didn’t strike him as the type who would back off when his quarry was in a weakened state.

If Caleb signed the deed over to her, he would be leaving her at Kirkpatrick’s mercy.

It made him wish he’d handed the deed over to the sheriff upon his arrival in town and kept on riding. Then, he wouldn’t know the particulars and wouldn’t be bogged down by this unwanted sense of responsibility.

But nothing about this godforsaken situation was straightforward. He was halfway up the creek and his paddle was still sitting on the shore. If he was smart, he’d jump out and swim to it. But like a fool, he was letting the current take him farther upstream.

“Guess maybe I’d like to see the ranch.”

Tension tightened her rose-tinted lips and robbed her cheeks of color. Her dark eyes grew starker in contrast. “Yes...of course.”

“We could ride out this morning. If you feel up to it,” he added. Last thing he needed was her fainting again, tumbling to the hard ground and injuring herself. He didn’t need to add anything more to his already full conscience.

“I will require transportation. I sent Freedom and the boys on ahead with the wagon.”

“I have mine. We can take that. I can pick you up at the hotel in an hour.”

She nodded absently, wandering over to the stall. Jasper greeted her with a bob of his head before nestling his muzzle into her outstretched hand.

“It’s a beautiful horse.” She stroked the bridge of his nose. Jasper nickered in response, arching his neck. The horse was a world-class Romeo. Next thing, he’d be rolling over in his stall and expecting her to scratch his belly.

“I won him in a card game,” Caleb said, without thinking.

She stopped mid-stroke. “Of course you did.”

Her hand dropped away and she stepped away from Jasper. The horse glared in Caleb’s direction, holding him responsible. He couldn’t fault the horse, he supposed. Mrs. Sutter was a beautiful woman, a strange mix of resilience and vulnerability that made a man want to—

He stopped the thought there. He would not be falling into that trap again. Marianne had taught him where that kind of thinking got a man. His business with Mrs. Sutter was just that—business. He’d do well to keep that in mind and not let himself waver while he figured a way to get them both out of this mess.

“I will be ready to leave in an hour,” she said, brushing past him without a second glance.

Caleb closed his eyes, his resolve shaken by the sweet scent of violets left drifting in the air after she passed.

What had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Five

Caleb had never been to this part of the country before, and as they rode out of town toward the mountain range rising against the sky, he was staggered by the beauty that surrounded him. Tree-lined horizons with purple peaks stretched heavenward, while endless meadows of determined wild flowers poked their heads out of the raw earth anxious to erupt into full bloom.

They followed a winding creek, the sound of the gurgling water a balm to his battered soul. For a few blissful seconds Caleb closed his eyes and allowed himself to breathe deeply, taking in the fresh air and the feel of wide open spaces and peace.

A man could die happy here.

Why Sutter, who’d had everything a man could ask for, had gambled it all away baffled Caleb. A man like that didn’t deserve a good woman like the one sitting next to him. Then again, neither did Caleb.

Man is born to trouble. And you most of all.

Caleb opened his eyes, his grandfather’s words lingering in the air around him. It galled him to admit the old man had been right.

As much as the land called to him, staying would lead to problems he couldn’t fix. He might hold the title to the Circle S ranch, but it didn’t belong to him.

It’d be best all round if he got himself gone.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught Mrs. Sutter looking at him. He gritted his teeth. He’d let his guard drop.

She watched him as if she were searching for something in particular. Caleb resurrected his defenses. There was nothing there she needed to see, nothing that would give her any ease.

Mrs. Sutter turned her attention back to the rutted road and pointed to her right when they reached a divide. “This way.”

He steered the buckboard, shifting the reins in his hands. He tilted his head in the direction they hadn’t taken. “Where’s that lead?”

“Shamus Kirkpatrick’s land.”

Kirkpatrick. He guessed the man would be in for a bit of a shock when he realized his plans for getting the land had been undercut. Caleb considered the outstanding debt owed Kirkpatrick by the widow. Likely he could pay it if she’d let him. He’d accumulated a fair bit of savings between winnings in card games and odd jobs as he traveled from town to town. With no home of his own and no one to spend it on, he’d socked money away and let it grow. He may as well put it to good use. Maybe the good turn would help atone for past sins, balance the ledger slightly.

“I understand Kirkpatrick was pressing you to sell him your land to pay off debts,” Caleb said, venturing into territory the firm set of her mouth told him she didn’t want to tread. The scowl did nothing to detract from her beauty.

“Where did you hear that?”

Caleb shrugged and adjusted the reins in his hand. “People talk.”

“Does no one in this town know how to mind their own business?”

“Might be they’re concerned.”

“Could be they need to pay more attention to their own affairs and less to mine.” Her voice turned hard, but underneath he recognized a current of shame. She had a lot of pride, likely it was the only thing keeping her going right now.

“Planned how you’re gonna pay that?”

She turned to face him, her dark eyes smoldering with unspent anger. “My only source of income was my land, Mr. Beckett. Without it I’m left with nothing and no means to pay anyone anything.”

“Will Kirkpatrick forgive the debts?”

The muscle near her jaw twitched. “Shamus is not a man to relinquish what he’s owed.”

Shamus. Her use of his given name made Caleb wonder how close their relationship was. “Then he’ll want his money.”

“He’ll want something,” she whispered, her composure slipping enough to reveal what that something would be.

A cold, animalistic anger clenched its sharp claws around Caleb’s chest. Would Kirkpatrick expect her to pay off her debt with her body? The very thought rankled him in a way he couldn’t shake. She deserved better than that.

“I could pay the debt—”

“You’ve done quite enough already, thank you. I don’t want or need your charity.”

The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air. She may not want it, but they both knew she needed it.

“Do you have family?”

“Just the boys. Robert’s parents passed away several years back.”

“And your own people?”

Her features tightened. “Dead as well.”

Just his luck. Rachel Sutter had no one to turn to.

Save for him.

The weight of obligation settled on his shoulders like a yoke.

They rode in silence. Caleb tried not to think about the woman sitting beside him or how things were about to change for the both of them, whether they liked it or not, thanks to one man’s greed and desperation. There had been no reason for Sutter to put his ranch up that day, but the fool wouldn’t listen to reason. Now, here they were, trying to sort through the consequences. The buckboard crested a hill and in the distance he could see a small home. So small Caleb wondered how everyone fit inside. It must have made for some cramped quarters.

Over to his right, a short distance away, were a few more outbuildings placed in what could only be described as a haphazard manner that made little sense. It was as if no forethought was put into where things should go. He noted a barn, two tiny cabins, one close to the house, the other closer to the barn, and a larger cabin further up the rise. As they drew closer, he picked out a chicken coop, a corral and a freshly tilled garden. Closer to the house, a gnarled oak crept upward toward the midday sky, the first hint of buds dotting its branches. Come summer, with the leaves in full bloom, it would cast a welcome shade across the narrow porch lining the front of the house.

Despite the odd configuration of buildings, it was a pretty spot. Homey.

He didn’t belong here.

Next to him, Mrs. Sutter stiffened, the movement bringing her leg against his. A shock of sensation shot through him. He bit down on the sudden rush of unwanted desire. He should have taken care of that in Laramie, but Caleb had never developed a taste for whores. And he hadn’t the time to find himself a lonely widow.

Until now.

But this widow was strictly off limits.

“Company?” He nudged his chin in the direction of the black horse tethered next to the porch. Something told him his day was about to become even more complicated.

Mrs. Sutter spoke through gritted teeth. “Shamus Kirkpatrick.”

It said a lot about the man that he had the audacity to show up the day after she’d buried her husband.

“I could ask him to leave if you—”

She cut him off, a frantic edge to her voice. “Don’t say anything about the deed. Please. The boys don’t know yet, and I need time to figure out how to tell them. I know this isn’t any of your concern but...” She sent him a pleading look. “Please.”

He stared at her a moment, an unwanted need to protect her welling inside of him. He knew he would regret getting involved, but he couldn’t tell her no. Not when she was looking at him with those soulful dark eyes and one of her hands rested on his arm, a fact he was pretty sure she was completely unaware of.

“Reckon I could do that.”

Mrs. Sutter glanced down at her hand and snatched it back, curling the fingers into her palm and resting it against her belly, holding it in place as if she were afraid it might reach out voluntarily and touch him again.

“Thank you.”

Caleb nodded and pulled up on the reins, irritated with his reaction. The absence of her touch was far too noticeable. When they reached the house, he set the brake and jumped down from the buckboard, patting Jasper’s rump as he passed behind him. He’d kept Jasper tied to the back of the wagon for the ride up, letting the draft horse he’d purchased in Laramie do the work of pulling them. By the time he reached Mrs. Sutter, she was about to jump down. He reached up and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her to the ground.

“I don’t need—” She didn’t have time to finish her reprimand before her feet hit the ground.

“Nothin’ wrong with a man helpin’ a lady down.”

She glared at him. It disturbed him how much he enjoyed it. So much so, he let his hands linger at the curve of her narrow waist. Once again he was struck by how small she was. One stiff mountain wind and she’d all but blow away. Yet he had no doubt her deeply rooted resilience would beat back the wind until it regretted ever making the attempt.

Her hands curled into fists on his shoulders. Mere inches separated their bodies, and God help him but he liked the feel of her in his hands. He watched her swallow, avoiding his gaze.

“You can take your horse down to the barn and stable him there.”

“Think I’ll come inside first.”

Her hands pushed at his shoulders and she slipped out of his grip, stumbling slightly before catching herself.

“That isn’t necessary.”

“I think it is.” He wasn’t about to let her face Kirkpatrick alone. The man would be less inclined to browbeat her for the money if Caleb was there, and if Kirkpatrick tried, Caleb would put a stop to it. His hand brushed his hip. He wondered how long it would be before he got used to not finding his Colt strapped there.

She inched away from him and started toward the porch, keeping her voice low. “I appreciate your silence on the matter of the deed until I figure things out, but my business with Kirkpatrick doesn’t concern you.”

Caleb shrugged and caught up with her on the step. “My house. My concern.”

“Mr. Beckett—” But whatever admonishment she meant to deliver was lost as he opened the door and motioned her inside with a sweep of his hand. She shot him a glare as she marched past.

He walked in behind her and turned his back away from the door. The house had a strange unfinished feel to it, as if whoever built it had given up partway through. The front room served as kitchen, dining room and sitting area with little room left over to maneuver. It held a cookstove, a kitchen table large enough to sit eight and a narrow cot that rested against the far wall. A door next to the cookstove exposed a narrow hallway he assumed led to a bedroom. The whole setup gave the house a cramped feel and he itched to set it right.

The large black woman he’d seen at Sutter’s funeral stood, arms crossed, near the counter, her expression angry and apologetic all at once.

Kirkpatrick set his coffee cup down with slow deliberation and rose from his seat to greet them, as if it were his kitchen they had walked into. Tall and broad, dressed all in black, he made an imposing figure. Caleb guessed him to be closing in on fifty, given the lines around his eyes and the threads of gray marring his coal-black hair. Though his smile was congenial, his eyes held the cold flatness of a snake’s.

Kirkpatrick ignored him, addressing Mrs. Sutter. “Rachel.”

Caleb didn’t much care for the familiarity the two shared. Instinct told him their relationship went beyond just being neighbors, and the notion disturbed him for reasons he chose not to explore too closely.

Mrs. Sutter acknowledged Kirkpatrick with a short nod before conducting the introductions. “This is Shamus Kirkpatrick. Mr. Beckett is the one who brought Robert home.”

Kirkpatrick nodded in his direction. “Much obliged,” he said, as if Caleb had done him a favor, then turned back to Mrs. Sutter. “We should talk.”

“The woman just buried her husband, Mr. Kirkpatrick. I’m sure whatever business you have can wait a few days.”

Mrs. Sutter’s back went rigid. He guessed the widow wasn’t used to having someone speak up on her behalf.

Kirkpatrick’s pale eyes met his gaze. “Won’t take but a minute.”

“It can wait,” Caleb repeated, more firmly this time. He would deal with her umbrage later.

Kirkpatrick fell silent and tension smothered the air in the room. He turned to Mrs. Sutter and smiled. The gesture held no warmth. “Got yourself a new protector, do you now, Rachel? You certainly wasted no time. But, then again, neither did your mama.”