Angel Creek (4 page)

He hadn't spent those ten years living in the lap of luxury. He had supported himself in various ways: as a cowhand, gambling, even as a lawman for a while. He knew ranch work inside out, and he was handy with a gun, but that alone hadn't kept him alive. A cool head, sharp eyes, and iron determination had served him well. Luke Cochran wasn't a man to mess with; he didn't let anything stand in his way when he wanted something. If the cost was high—well, he was willing to pay it if he wanted something bad enough. There wasn't much that could stop a man who was willing to pay the price, in blood or money, to get what he wanted, and he knew it.

But with Ellery's death the Double C had become his. It was already profitable, but he meant to make it even more so. Colorado was on the brink of statehood, which would open up a gold mine of opportunities to a man smart enough and tough enough to take them. He hadn't spent all of those ten years working at rough jobs; for the past two he had been in Denver, working with the territorial governor to secure statehood,
learning how power worked, instantly seeing the vast applications of it. He had been part of the convention that had met in Denver the previous December to draft a constitution, and it was due to be voted on in July.

The value of statehood to the Double C was almost incalculable. With statehood would come settlers; with settlers would come the railroads. The railroads would make it infinitely easier for him to get his beef to market, and his profits would soar. He wanted the Double C to be the biggest and the best. It was all he had left now; the soil embraced his family in death even as it had sustained them in life. And as the Double C became richer he would work within the lines of contact he had already established in Denver. The two would feed each other: The Double C would make more money, and he would have more influence in Denver, the more influence he had in Denver, the more he could sway decisions that would affect the Double C, thus making it even richer.

He wasn't ambitious for the political aspect of it, but he needed to make certain the ranch would continue to prosper. He was willing to pay the price. The ten years out on his own had taught him some hard lessons, finishing the process of hardening that had begun in boyhood. Those lessons would come in handy now that he had an empire to build.

An empire needed heirs.

He wasn't in any real hurry to tie himself down, but he hadn't been back long before Olivia Millican, banker Wilson Millican's daughter, had caught his eye. She was pretty and cool and refined, socially adept and always well-mannered. She would be a
perfect wife. A woman like her had to be courted, and Lucas was willing to do it. He liked her; he figured they would get along better than most. In another year or so she'd make him a fine wife.

But this year he'd be busy putting his plans into action.

There were so many things that he wanted to do. One of them was improving the herd, bringing in new bulls, trying new crossbreeds to produce a hardier steer without losing any quality in the meat. He also wanted to try different grasses for grazing, rather than letting the herd graze on whatever happened to be growing.

And he wanted to expand. Not too much right away; he didn't want to start off by overextending himself. But after producing a better herd he wanted to produce one that was bigger as well, and that meant more land for grazing, more water. He well knew the value of a good source of water; it could mean the difference between life and death for a herd. Many a rancher had gone under when the water dried up.

Building the ranch up would give him the solid base he needed to fulfill the rest of his ambitions. It was the first step, the most necessary step.

He had a good water source now, a small, lazily moving river that wound around the ranch. It had never gone dry that he could remember, but there had been a couple of summers when it had slowed to little more than a trickle. It had always rained before the situation became dire, but someday the rain might not come in time. Rainfall wasn't heavy in Colorado anyway; most of the water came from the snowcaps. A
good year depended more on the winter snows than the summer rains, and it hadn't snowed much this past winter. A smart rancher always had more than one water source, just in case. Some streams would continue to run while others dried up.

One of the things he'd argued about with Ellery was the need for another good water source, Angel Creek specifically. Angel Creek and the river on the Double C came from the same source, a larger stream that divided in two and flowed down opposite sides of the mountain. But at the point of division the bed of Angel Creek lay lower than the other riverbed. Thus what runoff there was from the mountain during the dry weather would flow into Angel Creek, leaving the other dry until the water level in the stream rose enough to overflow into the higher riverbed.

Lucas had wanted to claim the narrow Angel Creek valley just for its water, but Ellery had refused, saying that the Double C had enough water to take care of its own, and anyway, Angel Creek was on the other side of the mountain with no good way to herd the cattle across it. They'd have to be moved
around
the mountain, and that was too much trouble. Besides, the valley was too small to support a large herd. Lucas had disagreed with his father's reasoning.

Angel Creek. Lucas narrowed his eyes, remembering how lush the valley was. Maybe it would be Cochran land after all.

He sought out his foreman. “Toby, didn't someone settle on Angel Creek some years back?”

William Tobias, who had been ranch foreman as far back as Lucas could remember, grunted an affirmative.
“Yep. Nester by the name of Swann.” A slight curl to his lip indicated how much he disliked even saying the word “nester.”

Lucas grunted back, a scowl settling on his face. Like all cattlemen, he didn't care for nesters or the fences they put up on what had been open range. But maybe the nester on Angel Creek would consider selling. From what he'd seen of nesters, though, they were as hardheaded as mules.

Maybe this one would have more sense. It was worth a ride over to Angel Creek, at least, because he'd never know unless he asked.

A man on horseback could pick his way through any of the narrow passes, though trying to move a herd over them would have been stupid. Lucas eyed the sun and calculated that he had plenty of time before nightfall to ride over there and back, so there wasn't any point in waiting.

He wasn't optimistic about talking the nester into selling, and it put him in an irritable mood. If Ellery had listened to him, Angel Creek would already be his. Or he could have claimed it for his own before the settlers had started moving in if he hadn't been too young and hotheaded to plan ahead. Looking back and realizing what he should have done was just a waste of time.

The little homestead surprised him as he rode down the broad slope toward the farm buildings. There were only two cows and a bull, but they were fat and healthy. A lone horse in the corral looked sleek and well cared for, even if it wasn't a prime specimen of horseflesh. Chickens pecked contentedly at the ground, scarcely paying him any attention when he
rode up and dismounted, tying the reins to a post while he looked around with interest. The small cabin, though roughly built, was neat and sturdy, as were the barn and fences. In the back was a plot for a large vegetable garden, the ground recently broken in preparation for spring planting, though it was still a bit early. He couldn't see anything out of place or untended, and his slim hope that the nester would sell disappeared. If the place had been rundown he would have had a chance, but this homestead was prospering. There was no need for the man to go anywhere else.

The cabin door opened, and a slim young woman stepped out onto the porch, a shotgun in her hands. Her face was calm but alert, and Lucas saw that her finger was on the trigger.

“State your business, mister.”

A shotgun made him wary at any time, but he was doubly edgy facing one in the hands of a woman. If she got excited, she might accidently kill either him or his horse, or both. He tamped down a quick rise of anger and made his voice low and soothing. “I don't mean you any harm, ma'am. You can put that shotgun down.”

The shotgun didn't waver. The twin barrels looked enormous. “I'll make my own judgment about that,” she replied calmly. “Too many cowboys think it's funny to trample my garden.”

“You don't have a garden yet,” he pointed out.

“But I do have livestock to run off, so I'll keep this gun right where it is until you answer my question.”

He could see the green of her eyes even in the shadow of the porch where she stood. There was no
fear or uncertainty in her gaze, nor any hostility, come to that, only a certain purposefulness. A little bit of admiration tinged his anger. The nester was one lucky man to have a wife with this sort of gumption, he thought. Lucas was abruptly certain that she would hit whatever she aimed at. He was careful not to make any sudden moves as he reached up and took off his hat. “I'm Lucas Cochran from the Double C. I came over to make your husband's acquaintance, Mrs. Swann, and talk a little business with him.”

She gave him a cool, level look. “George Swann was my father, not my husband. He died six years ago.”

He was beginning to get irritated at being held at bay. “Then maybe I could talk to your husband. Or your brother. Whoever owns the place.”

“I don't have a husband or a brother. I'm Dee Swann. This is my land.”

His interest sharpened. He looked around the tidy little place again, wondering who helped her do the work. Maybe there were other women on the place, but even that would be unheard of; women simply didn't work a homestead on their own. If their men died, they went to live with relatives somewhere. He listened but didn't hear any voices or movement inside the cabin. “Are you alone here?”

She smiled, her expression as cool as her eyes, challenging him. “No. I have this shotgun.”

“You can put it down,” he said sharply, his irritation now plain. “I just came by to get acquainted, not to do you any harm.”

She looked him over carefully, and he had the feeling it wasn't what he'd said that reassured her, but rather her own private assessment of him as a man
that prompted her to lower the muzzle of the shotgun toward the floor and nod at him. “It's dinnertime,” she said. “I eat early. You're welcome to join me, if you'd like.”

He wasn't hungry, but he seized the opportunity and followed her into the cabin. It was only two rooms and a loft, but it was as neat inside as out. The kitchen was on the left; what he assumed to be her bedroom was on the right. There was a comfortable chair pulled over next to the fireplace with an oil lamp on a small table beside it, and to his surprise a book lay open on the table. He looked around, noting some rough, handmade shelves lined with books. She wasn't illiterate, then.

She had gone straight to the wood stove and was ladling steaming soup into two big bowls. Lucas took his hat off and sat down at the sturdy table just as she placed the bowl in front of him. A plate of biscuits was already on the table, as well as a pot of coffee. The soup was thick with vegetables and tender pieces of beef. Lucas found himself going at it as if he hadn't had anything all day.

Dee Swann sat across from him, eating as composedly as if she were alone. Lucas watched her, studying her face. She intrigued him. She didn't flirt with him the way he was used to women doing, or even seem to be aware that he was a man beyond the simple fact of identification. She was straightforward in her speech and actions, but he thought that calmness just might be a cover for the heat underneath. It was in her eyes, long and green, with banked fires in them.

At first glance she was plain, but closer examination made him realize it was an impression created by her
utilitarian clothing and severe hairstyle; her black hair was pulled back and twisted into a tight knot at her nape. She had an exotic sort of attractiveness, with high cheekbones and a wide, soft mouth, but they weren't the kind of looks that were blatantly fetching. The heat of sexual arousal began to build in his loins and belly as he watched her eat, dipping daintily into the soup without any indication that she even remembered he was there.

“Don't you have any other family?” he asked abruptly, determined to make her pay attention to him.

She shrugged and put down her spoon. “I have cousins, but no one close.”

“Wouldn't they take you in?”

Those green eyes studied him for a long time before she deigned to answer. “I suppose they would have, if I'd asked. I preferred to stay here.”

“Why? It has to be lonesome for you, as well as dangerous.”

“I have the shotgun,” she reminded him. “And no, I'm not lonesome. I like it out here.”

“I suppose you have plenty of men friends.” How could she not have? A young, attractive woman, alone at that, would attract all sorts of attention.

She laughed. It wasn't a maidenly giggle, but the full-throated sound of a woman who knew how to enjoy herself. “Not since they learned I know how to hit what I aim at. After I peppered a few, the others decided to leave me alone.”

“Why did you do that? You might have been married by now.” Her laughter made the heat intensify. Whatever her reason, he was glad she hadn't
married, because he'd always made it a point to stay away from other men's wives even when the wives in question were willing.

“Oh, I've had some marriage proposals, Mr. Cochran. Three, I think. I'm not married because I don't want to be. I don't plan on ever getting married.”

In his experience, all women wanted to get married. He sipped his coffee and eyed her over the rim of the cup. “If you got married, you'd have a man to do the work around here.”

“I can handle the work just fine. And if I got married, it wouldn't be my land any longer, it would be his. I'd rather be my own woman.”