The Horseman's Frontier Family

“You should know we’ve had more trouble,” Clint said. “The Ramseys’ barn burned down last night. It was a total loss.”

Lije’s expression turned grave. “There weren’t any fatalities, thank the good Lord.”

Gideon shook his head in disgust. “Did they get all the animals out?”

“All but a milk cow,” Clint supplied. “They were fortunate.”

“Any idea how it started?”

“Not yet. Lars and I are looking into it.” His younger brother’s features hardened. “If it turns out it wasn’t an accident, we’ll find out who the perpetrators are and go after them.”

“These incidents are stirring up suspicion amongst the townsfolk, which is the last thing we need.” Sighing, Lije wearily massaged his neck. If Gideon knew his brother, he’d probably stayed up half the night tending to the Ramsey family’s needs. “Without unity and a sense of brotherhood, what kind of town will Brave Rock be?”

Not a place any decent folk would want to live, Gideon answered silently. If he were still a praying man, he’d ask God for assistance. Since he wasn’t, he’d just have to trust Clint’s prediction. The troublemakers would make a mistake eventually, which would lead to their arrest and, ultimately, peace for Brave Rock’s residents. Hopefully sooner rather than later, before someone got hurt or outright killed.

* * *

“Hold him steady. I’m almost done.” Evelyn’s pencil scraped across the page in light strokes. “I think this one is some type of earless lizard. We’ll look it up tonight before bed.”

Fortunately, she knew exactly which trunk contained their books. Drake had argued against bringing them out here, saying she wouldn’t have time for such unnecessary luxuries, but she’d been adamant. Walt enjoyed studying the pictures in the encyclopedia and almanac. And she wouldn’t dream of leaving her journals behind. They contained drawings and descriptions of all sorts of things—Rose Hill, their church in Virginia, flowers, butterflies and birds she’d encountered—a pictorial history of her life. Of course, Drake hadn’t seen any value in them.

“Done.” She snapped the book closed.

Walt raised the bluish-gray-and-black lizard closer to his face, ran a finger along its spindly spine and gingerly set it on the sloping bank, watching intently as it scurried behind the rocks. Shrugging, he turned to her. Red ringed his mouth, evidence of the berries he’d eaten for dessert. She picked up the basin of dirty dishes and carried it to the stream. Crouching beside him, she dipped a rag in the cool water. “Let’s clean your face, sweetheart. It’s a wonder you didn’t get a tummy ache from all those strawberries.”

Wearing a long-suffering expression, he stood still and let her work. Affection bubbled up in her. He was so beautiful, her little boy. His olive skin, dark, expressive eyes and distinctive features had been handed down from his Russian grandmother, Nancy Petrov Chaucer, just as they had been to Evelyn and her brothers. There wasn’t a single sign of his Montgomery heritage. Was that the reason Drake hadn’t bonded with him?

Sighing, she kissed his cheek, which he rewarded with a tight hug. When he stiffened against her, she leaned back. His eyes were huge. “What’s wrong?”

Twisting, balancing her weight with a splayed hand in the grass, she spotted Gideon’s wagon slowly approaching. There, trailing behind it, was a Guernsey cow much like the one they’d left at Reid’s. That wasn’t Mirabelle, however.

Taking Walt’s hand, she stood and watched as the aloof cowboy eased his team to a stop in front of the stable. After setting the brake, he climbed down and, striding to the cow, untethered her and led her across the field in their direction. What in the world?

The brim of his black Stetson cast his eyes in shadow; his stubble-covered jaw and chin were set in grim lines. As if she exuded a foul stench, he stopped a ways out, his mouth unsmiling. Gloved hands gripping the lines, he extended them to her.

“This is Petra.”

“That’s a Russian name.”

A sigh lifted his vest-clad chest. “Bought her from a Russian family.”

“There are Russians here?” During their stay in Boomer Town, the tent city that had sprung up along the border of Unassigned Lands in the weeks preceding the land rush, she’d encountered Poles and Czechs but no Russians. “My mother came to America when she was a little girl. She taught me the language. What are their names?”

“Kozlov.”

“Where is their claim? Can you take me?” Excitement shimmered through her. Her brothers hadn’t cared to learn the language. She’d enjoy conversing with native speakers again.

He gave her a long measuring look. “I reckon I could do that.”

“Forget I asked.” What’s gotten into you, Evelyn? To willingly accompany this man anywhere would be unthinkable. “I’ll locate them on my own.”

Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, he said, “I’ve got supplies to unload. Can you take her now?” Again he lifted the leads.

“What do you expect me to do with her?”

“Take care of her. She’s your milk cow, after all.”

“Mine?” Her gaze volleyed between the cowboy and the russet-hued beast. “I don’t understand. Did my brothers—”

“They have nothing to do with this.” He shoved up his brim, revealing those piercing wolf’s eyes, a turbulent, stormy gray. “Your son needs milk.”

As if that were enough justification for a gesture such as this. “You can’t mean to tell me that you purchased Petra for us?”

Gideon’s gaze flickered to Walt, and his face altered. Pain-ravaged was the best word to describe him. Tormented. Jaw working, he dragged his attention back to her.

“For Walt.”

Dazed by what she’d seen, Evelyn took halting steps forward. He veered back, maintaining distance as he transferred the leads to her. Then he left.

Evelyn stared after him. A thousand bewildered questions skated through her mind with no clear-cut answers.

Petra shifted, straining to reach the grass. A milk cow. Gideon Thornton had brought them a milk cow. He’d become aware of their need and met it, no questions asked, no payment demanded.

Something was very wrong here.

* * *

“Can’t you see what he’s doing?” Reid paced a trail in the grass, his gestures stiff and jerky, while she scrubbed her single black dress in the wash basin. “He’s obviously trying to make you think he’s one of the good guys, someone to be trusted.”

Evelyn paused, soap bar resting against the ridged washboard, and gazed at Petra grazing contently in the field, then at Gideon heaving another log into place. Even from this distance, the man’s impressive strength was on display. His biceps had to be as large as small tree trunks! “Why would he care what I think?”

Her brother shot her a dubious look. “Please tell me you’re not really that naive. What do you have that he wants?”

The name on the stake. “Rightful ownership of this claim.”

“Exactly.” He snapped his fingers.

“Let me get this straight. You think he bought the cow not as an act of kindness but as a bribe. He’s going to try and convince me not to contest the claim.”

“That’s right.”

Resuming her task, she mopped her forehead with her sleeve. “Doesn’t sound like something he’d do.”

“Oh, what, now that you’ve spent a whole day in his company you know what kind of person he is?”

“No, of course not. It just doesn’t seem like he’d put forth that kind of energy on a plan that isn’t foolproof. He’s rather busy, if you can’t tell.”

Glancing toward the stable, Reid smirked. “Yeah, well, his single-mindedness will only benefit us. When all is said and done, that will be your stable, sis. Yours and Walt’s. It’ll save us from having to build it later.”

Her gaze once again drawn to the taciturn middle Thornton brother, she experienced a pinprick of disquiet. How would she feel if she’d worked that hard on something only to have to leave it behind?

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Her twin was suddenly squatting in front of her, his coffee-colored eyes boring into hers. His ivory felt hat sat at a rakish angle on his head. “Don’t feel sorry for the guy. He doesn’t deserve your compassion, Evelyn. Remember, he’s trying to steal Walt’s inheritance. He’s taking advantage of a widow and her fatherless child.”

She disliked it when Reid read her mind like that. Some things a girl preferred to keep private. Lifting her chin, she met him stare for stare. “I could never forget that.”

Studying her with narrowed eyes, he finally nodded, then frowned again at her navy blue skirt and white scoop-necked blouse. No doubt he disapproved of her not wearing proper mourning clothes.

“Before you say it, I own only one appropriate outfit.” She lifted the long-sleeved, too-elegant-for-everyday-use black blouse out of the sudsy water. Aware of Evelyn’s scant wardrobe, her mother-in-law had made her several outfits to wear to church services. Not a fan of black, she’d rarely worn this particular one. “I have to wash it sometime. Besides, it shouldn’t matter what I wear out here when there’s no one around to see.”

Again, a long, slow perusal. “Evelyn, I—” Frowning, he stared at the ground beneath his dusty boots. “I’ve wanted to ask you about Drake ever since...” Cautious eyes met hers. “Look, the accident shocked us all. I know you have a huge burden to shoulder. Walt’s silence adds to that, I’m sure, but I’m worried about you. We all are.”

Laying the soap aside, she rinsed the material and wrung out the excess water. “There’s no need to worry. I assure you I’m fine.”

For her brothers’ sakes, she’d tried her best to hide her unhappy marital state. After all, Theo had introduced her to Drake Montgomery, and all three brothers had encouraged her to accept his proposal. If they’d discovered the true state of affairs between her and her husband, they would’ve blamed themselves. And perhaps intervened, which could have ended in violence. So she’d playacted.

Reid followed her to the rope she’d strung up between two oaks. “That’s the problem. A woman who’s just lost her husband should not be fine.”

“Everyone grieves differently.” Hooking the clothespins in place, she checked to see that Walt was still cavorting with Lion and Shadow along the stream bank. “Besides, I’ve a lot to keep me busy these days. There isn’t time to dwell on our loss.”

“You were inconsolable after Ma and Pa died,” he pointed out, following her back to the pile of laundry awaiting her attention.

“That was different.”

“Evelyn—”

“Reid.” Holding up a hand, she shot him a quelling look. “No more. Please.”

He opened his mouth to speak, shook his head and snapped it shut again. As she bent to her task, relief speared through her. Her brother could be relentless. Somehow she doubted this was the last time she’d hear of this.

“I’d better go.”

“Thanks for the rabbits. I’ll make a nice stew for supper.”

“That’s nice.”

Hearing the note of distraction in his voice, she looked up and caught him staring in Gideon’s direction, a troublesome glint in his eyes.

Popping up, she slipped her arm through his. “I’ll walk you to your horse.”

Unfortunately, they had to walk past the stable to where Rusty was tethered to the corral fence. Just as they came abreast of the door opening, Gideon emerged and bumped into Reid.

“Sorry,” Gideon muttered.

Shaking free of her hold, Reid sidestepped to block his exit. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, Thornton?”

“It was an accident,” he clipped out, holding himself erect. Aloof. “No need to make more of it than it is.”

Although about the same height, Gideon had at least forty pounds of solid muscle on her brother. The outcome of an altercation between the two men wasn’t difficult to envision.

Reid poked a finger in Gideon’s chest. “Nice try with the milk cow. But I’m wise to your schemes, and so is Evelyn. Don’t think you can charm your way into keeping what doesn’t belong to you.”

Gideon’s head reared back. His icy gaze slammed into her, silently accusing. “My motivation had nothing to do with the dispute.”

Was he speaking the truth? Or was he just a clever actor?

Aware of the ratcheting tension, Evelyn tugged on her brother’s forearm. “Reid, please. Let it go.”

“Steer clear of my sister and nephew, you filthy cur.”

Color climbed up Gideon’s neck. His massive hands curling into fists, he stuck his face close to Reid’s. “Or what?”

Oh, no. Gideon’s legendary temper was about to be unleashed.

“Oh, you’ll find out what,” Reid sneered.

“I don’t cotton to threats, especially from a man who’s trespassing on my land.”

“Why, you—”

“Don’t do this.” Evelyn hauled on Reid’s arm with all her might but couldn’t budge him. “Think of Walt.”

Beneath her fingertips, she felt his thick muscle quiver, and she thought Reid would shake her off again. He surprised her, however. With a parting promise that this conversation wasn’t finished, he guided her to the corral. A sigh gusted from her lungs. Crisis averted.

This time. What will happen the next time your brothers come to check on you? What if she couldn’t talk them down? Theo, Brett and Reid loathed the Thornton brothers. Now that Gideon stood in the way of her inheritance, the state of affairs would only deteriorate.

Someone was likely to get hurt, which would only serve to traumatize Walt further.

No matter what, she couldn’t let that happen.

Chapter Four

“I want a word with you.”

Gideon gritted his teeth as he walked along the stream. Why couldn’t the Montgomery woman leave him alone? Didn’t she have the common sense to know not to provoke a riled beast? The rage coursing through his body made him feel more beast than human. This lightning-quick temper was a curse that had originated in childhood, about the time his father dumped him and his brothers at Cousin Obadiah’s, went off to fight for the North and never returned. With God’s help he’d learned to control it. There’d been exceptions, of course, like the time he broke Theo Chaucer’s nose.

Lately, that control was slipping more often. Despite his antipathy toward the Lord, he recognized he wasn’t strong enough to master it by relying on his own strength.

He glided his hat along the surface of the water, scooping a fair amount into the crown. Then he upturned it over his head, the cool liquid shocking the anger out of his system. Slowly rising, he turned and climbed the gently sloping bank to where she stood waiting beneath the cottonwood branches, her black boot tapping out an impatient rhythm. Her molten-molasses gaze accused him of all sorts of ills. May as well get this over with.

“I’m listening.”

“You almost lost it just now, didn’t you? I could tell you wanted to plant your fist in my brother’s face. Well, I’m warning you right now I won’t stand for violence. Not in front of my son.”

Shame flooded him. Not once had he lost his temper in front of a woman. Not even his wife. Whenever he and Susannah had quarreled, he’d gone off alone to sort through his feelings. He wouldn’t dream of doing so in front of a child.

“I won’t do anything to worry Walt. You have my word.”

One thick brow arched in disbelief. “According to my brothers, that’s not worth much.”

The nerve of her. Spine rigid, Gideon turned his back on her as his ire stirred anew. He’d taken quite enough from this mouthy female. She’d questioned his honor at every turn.

Like a dog worrying a bone, she darted around him, forcing him to hear her out. “Until our case goes to court, my brothers will be coming out here regularly to check on us. How can I trust you won’t resort to violence?”

“Maybe you should revisit what just happened here. It’s your brother you should be lecturing, not me.”

She batted at a stray curl that had escaped the pins holding her shiny locks in place. She wasn’t wearing mourning black, he noted. The pure white blouse lit her skin with a healthy glow, accentuating her waist where it tucked into her billowing navy skirt.

“Look, I know you don’t give a fig about me or my family. I know that we’re on opposite sides of a feud that began many, many years ago, and when it comes to this land, we both want it for ourselves. But I’m begging you—” her husky voice wavered as she flung a hand toward the field where her son played “—have compassion on that little boy out there. He’s been through a lot in his short lifetime, more than any child should have to endure. All I want is for him to be happy and free of worry.”

The sheen of tears in her expressive eyes startled him. This was the first sign of vulnerable emotion he’d glimpsed in the fierce widow. Walt had recently lost his father. To what else was she referring?

He opened his mouth to question her, recalling in the nick of time that it wasn’t his concern. Their past was their business, not his. Soon they would be out of his hair. An unfortunate reminder of a troublesome time.

Anxiety pinched her features.

As a father, he had no trouble identifying with what she was feeling. Good parents desired the best for their children, instinctively strove to protect and nurture.

Attempting to soothe her unease, he spoke quietly and surely, injected confidence in his stance. “The boy has nothing to do with our troubles. I won’t do anything to traumatize him.”

Lips compressing, she studied him, gauging his sincerity. Finally, she nodded.

“I will warn you, however. I won’t stand idly by if provoked beyond reason. I will defend myself. I suggest you make sure your brothers understand that.”

Spinning on his heel, he left her there with her mouth hanging open. He mentally shrugged. Wasn’t his fault if she caught a fly.

* * *

Gideon stirred awake to the sound of the stream trickling past on its course to the Cimarron River. The tent stretching above him was washed in orangey-pink, evidence of dawn’s arrival. Woodpeckers scouted for breakfast in the elms stationed midway between his tent and the stable, and a frog chirruped a throaty greeting.

Easing to a sitting position, he leaned forward and parted the tent flaps to soak in the prairie’s serene beauty. Buttery light gilded each individual blade of grass, every wildflower tilting its face eastward, every glossy leaf dangling from the trees, so that it seemed to him a vista of pure golden goodness. He’d grown accustomed to this. The thought of leaving it—and the dreams it nursed like a greedy infant—made his insides seize up something terrible.

There was nothing else to do but continue his work and, when the time came, present his case and attempt to convince the judge of his rightful ownership.

Dressing quickly in denims and a blue-and-white-striped shirt, he straightened his pallet and pillow and retrieved the bulging laundry sack from the corner. These were his last pair of clean trousers, which meant he couldn’t put off a trip into town any longer. He tried to space them out as much as possible. In general, people drained the life out of him. Their nosiness and frivolous chatter gave him a headache. He was an oddity, he knew. A lone wolf who craved solitude and space to think. Does not get along with others, his teacher had once observed to his ward, Cousin Obadiah. Possesses a superior attitude. Gideon grimaced. That had earned him twenty lashes and a week of bread and water for supper.

Elijah and Clint were the only ones who really understood him. They accepted him. Didn’t try to change him like Susannah—

Shoving to his feet, he strode to the stream and splashed his face and neck and wet his collar-length hair. Tying on a neckerchief, his fingers brushed the scruff on the underside of his chin. Time for a shave and haircut.

As he stirred the fire and set the scuffed tin pot to boil, he kept a watchful eye on the other tent, hoping she’d prove to be a late riser. Conversation anytime was a stretch. Before breakfast bordered on criminal. What was more, he couldn’t fudge his way through. Evelyn Montgomery required all the focus and concentration he could muster.

Low on provisions, he made due with corn mush that was about as tasteless as tree bark but filled his belly. He carried his coffee with him to the stable, stopping to greet Star and Snowball, a three-year-old gray he’d bought shortly after his arrival in Boomer Town. Their friendly greetings never failed to soothe him. Horses didn’t judge him or push him to be something he wasn’t. He understood animals better than he did most people. Actually preferred their company, if truth be told.

Star nudged his shoulder.

“Searching for treats, huh?” he ran a hand through her mane. “You’re outta luck. But I’ll see if I can’t scrounge up a carrot or two in town. How about that?”

She dipped her head, seeming to agree with him. A fleeting smile lifted his lips.

“Gotta go.” He pushed away from the fence. “The faster I get this stable up, the sooner you’ll have a roof over your heads.”

Inside the structure, he surveyed his progress. The walls reached his waist. Since he couldn’t physically lift the logs any higher without help, he’d have to rig a pulley system.

The sound of feet shuffling in the dirt behind him had him spinning about, hot coffee sloshing over the mug’s rim. His heart settled back into a somewhat normal rhythm when he spied his pint-size visitor.

“Walt.”

The boy hovered just inside the opening, his hands twisting behind his back, large, dark eyes surveying the interior with interest. His shirt buttons were off-center, the wrinkled hems uneven, and his wavy hair hadn’t yet seen a comb this day.

Gideon searched the field beyond the opening, suddenly desperate for Evelyn’s presence. He did not want to be here alone with a walking reminder of his dead child.

“Where’s your ma?” he croaked, throat muddy with trepidation.

Pointless question. He hadn’t heard Walt Montgomery emit a squeak, let alone an intelligible response. Not that the child was slow-witted. Far from it. Intelligence shone in those Chaucer eyes.

He pointed a chubby finger in the tent’s direction.

“Is she making breakfast?”

Walt shook his head, folded his hands and pressed them against his cheek.

“She’s still asleep?”

When he nodded and wandered over to the neat piles of tack—saddles, blankets, bridles and more—Gideon tamped down panic. “Uh, maybe you should go back to your tent. Your ma will worry if she wakes and finds you gone.”

The little boy ignored his suggestion, touching a hesitant finger to this item and that, bending at the knees, peering closer. Inquisitive as well as intelligent.

And without a father. Just as Gideon had been at that age.

Drake Montgomery’s image resurfaced in his mind. Gideon could clearly recall the expression of hatred, of reckless resolve that drove him to push himself and his mount beyond their limits. He could still hear the frantic pleas for help as he lay writhing in pain. What kind of man had he been? What kind of husband? Father?

Taking another swallow of the bitter coffee, Gideon dislodged the misplaced curiosity. Not his business, remember?

Still standing in the same spot, he watched as Walt drifted over to the corner where the building tools were stacked. He picked up a hammer, tentatively testing its weight. When the boy lifted a beseeching gaze to him, Gideon was hurtled backward in time, to before the war that divided the nation and ripped his father from him, to a time when things were simple and good. His father had taught him how to pound nails into wood. How proud Gideon had been to be his helper.

Spurred by poignant memories, he set the mug on the ground and, retrieving a discarded wood round, located the box of nails. He could spare a few minutes for a lonely little boy, even if it meant resurrecting pain that would devour him from the inside out if he let it.

* * *

Evelyn woke with the distinct feeling that something was off. But what? She lay motionless for a long moment, not breathing, trying to pinpoint the source of her unease. Breathing. Walt’s soft breathing wasn’t filling the tent’s cramped interior. The absence of it aroused all sorts of dire imaginings.