Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (5 page)

“How is Mr. Gallagher?”

“Sam says he’ll live if the fever don’t take him.”

Mara removed linens from her trunk and hurriedly made up the bed. She heard Sam Sparks leave the house and looked out the window to see him walking toward the bunkhouse where a group of men stood talking to Aubrey. She tidied her hair and opened the connecting door between her room and Brita’s.

The room smelled of vinegar, whiskey, and burned alum. Pack lay on his back. A blanket covered him from his knees to his hipbones. Above that was a flat belly, a thick chest shadowed with dark curly hair, muscled shoulders, and arms as big as Mara’s legs. Mara could see where Sam Sparks had stitched the flesh on his thumb. Brita’s chair had been moved close to the bunk. She reached a crippled hand to turn the wet compress that lay across her son’s forehead.

“He seems to be sleeping.”

“Aye. He be dosed with laudanum.”

“Do you want to get back into bed, Brita? I’ll sit beside him for awhile.”

“No, child. I be all right.”

“I want to help you. My father was very fond of Pack. He brought him to the school one time.”

“Pack was fond of Shannon. Child, why did ye come to this place?”

“I was homesick. I wrote that I was coming.”

“Sure ’n ye did,” Brita sighed deeply.

“Things are going on that I don’t understand. Why are there no crops planted? If Mr. Sparks works here, what does he do? He doesn’t look like a farming type of man.”

“Mara Shannon, ye shouldna be here. Trell will be takin’ ye back come mornin’. Ye can tell that to Cullen when he comes.”

Mara searched the eyes of the woman who looked older than her years and found genuine concern there. She went to kneel down beside the chair because it was an effort for Brita to hold her head up to look into her face.

“I’m not going back. I own this property. My father worked hard to get the money to pay for it. Cousin Aubrey sent money to pay for my schooling, and I appreciate that; but I’m of age and I want to control my own inheritance. I plan to talk with Cousin Aubrey tonight.”

“Child, child.” Brita shook her head sadly. “Let it be. Go back to yer school. This be no place for a gentle lass.”

“I can’t go back. I’ve already been replaced. This is my home,” Mara said gently. “Can’t you understand that?”

“Home. Aye, would that we ne’er left the green land o’ Ireland.”

Mara stood. “Don’t worry. I’m not the type to fold up under the first hard blow.” Heavens, she told herself, if that were true, she would have crumbled when she first saw the destruction done to her home. “Now, I’ll fix us something for supper.”

“Mara Shannon, there be naught to fix. Trell brings me a plate from the cookshack.”

“A cookshack? How many men are here?”

“Why don’t you ask someone who knows?” The voice came from behind her and Mara turned.

A man lounged in the doorway. Her first impression was that he was a short man, young, and with a handsome, sullen face. This was Cullen. He resembled the father who stood beside him. Mara had steeled herself for the meeting with Aubrey and his son, and despite the uneasiness she felt, she was determined to face them boldly.

“Who are you?” Mara knew who he was. She asked the question as an opening to what she felt was going to be an unpleasant encounter.

“I’m the one who runs things around here. Who are you?”

Bluntly Mara answered him. “I’m the one who
owns
things around here.” She said the words curtly, snapped her mouth shut and waited for an explosion.

The surprised look on the man’s face turned to smoldering anger. His eyes narrowed and he glared at her. “I advise you to get your prissy tail back to Denver.”

Mara forced herself to appear calmly contemptuous of his rudeness. “And I advise you to keep a civil tongue in your head if you plan to spend another night on this property.”

“Ha!” He came into the room and looked down at the man who lay on the bunk. “Do you think he’ll help you throw me out?”

“No. But this will.” Mara drew the pistol from her pocket and pointed it at him. She heard Brita draw in her breath.

Cullen turned cold, blue-gray eyes on the girl, aware of her defiant stance, her eyes that met his unafraid.

“You’d better put that peashooter away or you’ll hurt yourself.”

Mara looked into eyes that were level with her own. They were hard and cruel. She drew in a shallow breath but never allowed her eyes to waver from his.

“You should be worrying about yourself. It’s pointed at the third button on your shirt.”

“Cullen?”

“Shut up, Pa.”

“Your things are on the porch. If you can’t be civil, take them and leave.” The anger that had started down in the pit of Mara’s stomach had surged up, causing her to throw caution aside. She stood motionless, waiting for Cullen McCall to make the next move.

“You’d best draw in your horns,
Cousin
Mara. You’re in my territory. Out here it’s the strong who survive.”

“Are you threatening me? If so, you should know that before I left Denver, I made out a will leaving this property to the school. They have a battery of lawyers who will cover this place like a swarm of ants if they don’t hear from me. Schools are hungry for money,
Cousin
Cullen.”

Surprised at being able to lie so easily, Mara felt faintly giddy. She had no idea how much time went by while she stared at Cullen. She watched his face twist with bitterness and smoldering anger. Then he strode from the room. She could hear the beat of his boot heels on the parlor floor and then on the porch. Aubrey lingered.

“Ye had to go ’n get him riled—”

“Is he always so rude?” Mara put the pistol back.

Brita answered, “Cullen can charm the skin off a snake when he wants to.”

“Evidently he didn’t want to. Keep your son away from me, Cousin Aubrey. I won’t tolerate his abuse.”

“He’ll cool off.”

“I don’t care if he does or not. Right now I’m more interested in something to eat. Brita tells me she gets her meals from the cookshack.”

“Trell will be bringin’ it.”

“After tonight I’ll cook for myself and Cousin Brita. I want a list of supplies you have on hand, and you and I will go over the account books.” Anger was still in her voice.

“Account books? There ain’t no such.”

Mara looked at him in stunned silence, and for a moment she almost felt sorry for him. He stood looking down at the floor.

“Do you mean to tell me that you don’t keep records of what comes in and what goes out?” Aubrey didn’t answer. “When did you cease farming?”

“This ain’t farm country. Yer pa knowed it at the last.”

“He’s right, Mara,” Brita said. “Shannon’s dream of fields and fields of potatoes was naught but a dream. The land, the weather be not suitable.”

Mara had to believe what they said when she looked down into Brita’s pleading eyes. So many things crowded into her head that she found it incredibly hard not to keep asking questions.

“If you don’t farm, what do you do? It takes money to live. Where does it come from?”

Aubrey shrugged. “Cullen runs some cattle.”

“And the men in the bunkhouse are drovers who work with the cattle?”

“What else would they be doin’?”

Aubrey’s face closed and he looked away. “Now ’n where else could it be comin’ from?”

Mara tried to steel herself against softening, but it wasn’t her nature to stay angry for very long. When she spoke again, her tone was softer.

“Now I see why you didn’t want me to come here. But I’m here, and I’m staying. I want you to know, Cousin Aubrey, I can not abide disorder. This house, my home, will be put in order so that I can live here decently. You and Brita are welcome to stay as long as you want. I owe you that out of consideration for what you have done for me in the past.”

“Kind of ye,” Aubrey muttered. Mara chose to ignore the sarcasm in his voice.

“I insist on having an accounting of how many cattle I own, because I assume it was my money that bought them.”

Aubrey’s shoulders slumped. Age and inactivity had thickened his waist, and his soiled shirt barely came together over his protruding stomach. His eyes, however, glittered angrily and his lips set defensively.

“Ye ain’t goin’ to let up, are ye?”

“No. Why should I?”

Aubrey was still. Only his eyes moved. They examined her from head to toe.

“What about Gallagher? Be ye set on keepin’ him sniffin’ ’bout ye?”

Mara turned her eyes from his and looked down at the unconscious man before she answered.

“Mr. Gallagher is your wife’s son and my father’s friend. Regardless of the disagreement you and your son have with him, it seems to me that you could be civil to him for Brita’s sake. Pack is welcome in this house for as long as it takes him to recover from his injuries. Which, by the way, I feel you and your son know more about than you have let on.”

Anger tightened the muscles in Aubrey’s face. “Be ye accusin’ me ’n Cullen?”

Mara let her silence speak for her. They stared at each other, and suddenly Mara felt good. Cousin Aubrey knew that she was no spineless creature who would scurry back to Denver and leave her property to be managed by him and his son.

“Do we understand each other, Cousin Aubrey?”

“What I be understandin’ is that ye’re a stubborn, foolish lass with naught but air for brains!” He wheeled and walked away.

THREE

Mara slept uneasily in the strange bed with the pistol under her pillow. She had undressed in the dark because there were no coverings for the two windows. Physically and mentally she was exhausted. After the meeting with Aubrey and Cullen, her mind was plagued by even greater turmoil than that she had experienced when she arrived with Pack Gallagher.

Several times during the night she was awakened by voices in the next room, and once in that deep blackness she had awakened to a strange sense of unease that brought her to full awareness. She looked out the window to see four horsemen ride in and turn their horses into the enclosure beside the bunkhouse. She lay down again and closed her eyes wearily. She dozed fitfully and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

Morning came. As soon as she opened her eyes, she noticed the door that opened into the parlor was ajar. It made her realize how vulnerable she was. A poignant loneliness possessed her. She was alone, really alone in this hostile house except for poor, crippled Brita and the boy, Trellis. Thoughts raced around and around in her head. Why had Cullen McCall been so antagonistic toward her? Why had Aubrey acted as if she had no right to be here? She knew she couldn’t live here alone. She had to share her home with Brita and Aubrey. That thought held, and she resigned herself to it. But she would not allow these two overbearing men to intimidate her.

Mara lay thinking that it had been foolish of her to insist that she have her old room. What had been suitable for her as a child was not suitable for a young woman alone. She would take the upstairs rooms for herself where there was only one door to lock, the one leading to the stairway. There she would be able to dress or undress without the fear of someone seeing her through the windows. Where was her imagination taking her? She was planning to fortify herself in her own home! Well, if that’s the way it had to be—so be it!

She got out of bed and used the granite chamber pot she had slipped under the bed the night before. Later, in a brown work dress, an apron tied snugly around her waist, her auburn hair secured in a topknot, Mara went out to the kitchen. A wave of hopeless despair swept over her when she viewed the clutter. Where to begin? She had just poured water into the basin to wash when she heard hard steps on the porch at the side of the house. Apprehension held her motionless. It had to be Cullen. Aubrey didn’t move that fast. Mara wished she didn’t have to face him so early in the morning. She needed time to adjust to the drab, unfriendly atmosphere of the house.

A boy looking amazingly like Trellis came tramping through the parlor to the kitchen. Carrying a pot of coffee with a rag wrapped around the handle, he walked past her, then set the pot down on the range with such force that the liquid came out the spout and splashed onto the hot iron, creating a hissing sound.

“There’s your goddamn coffee!”

Mara was taken aback by the words and the vicious way the boy spat them out. She concentrated on soaping her hands and rinsing them.

“I can see that.” Mara dried her hands on her apron because there was no towel on the rack. “You must be Travor. I’m Mara McCall.”

“I know who the hell you are. Everyone on this ranch knows who the hell you are.”

Arrogantly he returned her stare. With feet apart, balancing on the high heels of his boots, the boy defied her. His face was so like the face of his twin, yet so different one would never mistake one for the other. This boy’s face was hard, arrogant, and a sneer twisted his lips. He wore range clothes, and about his slender hips was strapped a wide gun belt.

“Good. I’m glad that they know the owner has arrived.”

“Cullen said you threw that up to him. What does a prissy ass like you know about running a ranch?”

“Get out and leave her alone, Trav.” Trellis came from his mother’s room.

“Are you going to make me, sissy boy?” Travor put his hands on his hips and spit out the words spitefully.

“If I have to,” Trellis said quietly.

Mara looked at the gentle boy with new respect. He was ready to do what he had to do to back his words.

“You don’t have to, Trellis. I will.” Mara thought it time she began to exert her authority, or there could be a fight. “Leave, Travor. Get out and don’t come back until you can behave yourself.”

“Where do you get off ordering me to get out?”

“Because this is my house, and I don’t have to put up with bad-mannered children.”

A flush reddened his cheeks. Sparks of anger danced in his eyes. There was no doubt that by calling him a child she had hit upon a sore spot.

“I could show you a thing or two,
lady!
”

“No doubt you could, but I’m not interested in hearing anything from a spoiled little boy.” She turned her back on him, went to the work counter and began to fill a pan with soiled dishes.