A Man with a Past by Mary Connealy

TWENTY

Another horseback ride.

Without rememberin’ another blasted thing about himself, Falcon looked at the wild hills they were riding through and wanted to get away from everyone.

He was bringing up the rear. So he watched his family . . . strange notion to have family. It didn’t seem right to him, and yet there they all were. And riding ahead and leading the pack was Cheyenne.

He imagined vanishing into those hills, and taking her with him.

He even thought maybe she’d come along. Then he thought of Patsy and knew she’d’ve never come, and he’d’ve never asked her to.

Shoving that aside, he rode along to visit his new sister-in-law’s pa. He was havin’ some trouble keeping track of who all his family was, and he didn’t think that had a thing to do with takin’ a knock on the head.

At least, little as he cared about all of this, the ride they were taking led to somewhere that might be interesting. Falcon had yet to meet Oliver Hawkins, and what he knew sounded like the man was no one to admire.

Trying to ignore the call of those mountains as he rode, he thought about sleeping in a crowd instead of out under the stars. It hadn’t suited him. He’d slept in the bunkhouse, shared a set of beds stacked one on top of the other with Andy on the top bunk.

He’d never heard tell of such a thing. Of course maybe he had, but he doubted it. Beds stacked up to crowd lots of men under one roof. Strange arrangement.

Tonight there’d be a stack three high if you counted the dog. Andy had figured out a way for the dog and pups to slip under the bed, making a dark cave for the little family. Every one of the cowpokes seemed to have adopted the dogs.

When Falcon went to the bunkhouse after they ate to stock up on bullets, Andy told him that Rubin had put some salve on the dog’s cut. She’d just licked it off. One of the men had fashioned a bandage by wrapping it tight, but not too tight, around her. She’d chewed it off.

In the end, they’d let her be.

Falcon’s bed was decent. The cabin wasn’t overly warm with the windows open. The cowpokes were friendly, and none too inclined to ask nosy questions.

Falcon liked it in there, but at the same time, he’d considered borrowing an ax, right there in the dark of night, and heading into the woods to build himself a cabin.

And now, because he’d shoved the lunatic inclination to build a cabin aside, he rode with his family to Win’s pa’s house.

It was strange how Win had to be coaxed and almost bullied afore she’d come along. Turned out she hadn’t told her pa she was married, and her pa had never come storming over to complain about it.

They’d all figured the sheriff would tell him the day he went over to talk to Hawkins about Tuttle, and they expected Hawkins to come right over demanding to be told what was going on. But maybe the sheriff figured a woman’s pa knew she was married, and it never came up.

Win was the only one of their number who had a pa, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

Of course, none of the Hunt sons wanted anything to do with their pa, either. But with Clovis being dead, there was no real need to consider him and plan to avoid him.

Cheyenne’s pa, along with Molly and Andy’s, was long dead.

Plenty of ways to die out here, it seemed.

Oliver Hawkins though, he was alive and well, and it was clear as rainwater that Win didn’t want to see him.

But she came along, too. Riding overly close to Kevin, which seemed kinda nice. They’d all agreed—well, maybe not Win, but she was foolin’ herself and no one else—that her pa was bound to notice she was married. Had to happen one of these days.

She could keep hiding out, or she could go face him now with her Hunt family surrounding her.

So they were all heading over except Molly. That woman seemed to dearly love her kitchen. And Andy had stayed to practice cowboyin’. The foreman, Rubin, said he had work the kid could do.

Falcon rode around a curve in a nicely widened and leveled trail to see the Hawkins ranch house. He gasped. He heard the same from Kevin. The rest, of course, had seen this white-board monster before.

Falcon had thought Cheyenne’s house was grand. But it was log and stone, made out of what was to hand in these parts.

This house had to’ve been shipped in. Every little piece of it.

Three full stories of neat boards. It was surrounded on all sides he could see with a covered porch and white railings. The front doors were wood, with glass panels in them in a rainbow of colors. And the wood was carved in a way that would take Falcon a year of hard work, all fine details, with shining, carved brass doorknobs on a double door, and hinges to match. The windows were all glass, something just lookin’ for a chance to break, or so Falcon thought.

His mind flashed to his cabin. Wooden shutters. Leather for hinges. A wooden latch that dropped into place where it might’ve had fancy brass knobs. His head throbbed, and he turned his attention to the mansion ahead.

This was the house of a wealthy man. Or a fool. In Falcon’s opinion, it was probably both.

Cheyenne reined her horse in, swung down, and tied the mare to the hitching post near the barn. Oliver didn’t have one close to the house. The rumor was he didn’t think a line of tied-up horses looked right standing in front of his place.

Cheyenne would fix that if she married him.

True, a day ago, when she’d been in Falcon’s arms, she’d abandoned the whole notion of marrying Oliver. But then she found out Falcon might be married.

She snuck a glance at him.

Knowing he was here to stay, all she could think of was getting away.

And, since she couldn’t be with Falcon, she didn’t want to be with anyone. That fit with Oliver real well.

And she knew Oliver was willing.

And she knew Oliver would step back nicely and let her run this ranch to suit herself. He’d shown little inclination to take charge, just hired his work done.

She could run this place and do it well.

They all tied their horses and headed for the back door of the house. Cheyenne knew Oliver liked to come to the front door of the RHR ranch house. No one else ever did that. So maybe they should go to his front door, treat him as he treated them.

She hammered with the side of her fist on the back door. Considering the size of this ridiculous house, she didn’t expect anyone to hear her. So she’d wait a few seconds, then go barging in and holler until Oliver showed himself.

The door swung open before she could reach for the knob.

A woman stood there, pretty, not very old. Wearing an apron and with her dark hair in a knot at the back of her neck.

The woman’s rather sharp blue eyes shifted to Win, then she said, “Hello. I’ll get Mr. Hawkins. He’s in his study.”

Cheyenne nodded. The woman bustled away.

Cheyenne stepped inside even though they hadn’t really been asked in. But this was Win’s house. Win could come in and bring her husband . . . and his family . . . now her family.

Cheyenne gave Win a long look. “Who is she?”

“Pa’s housekeeper and cook. She’s been here just a few months. He had another one when I first came back, but she quit. He wrote an ad in a paper back east to get Mrs. Hobart. That’s all I’ve ever called her. She’s a widow, Pa said.”

“She’s your age.”

Win followed Cheyenne into a large entry area with pegs for hanging up coats and hats. Cheyenne shed her hat.

Cheyenne noticed her old friend was holding Kevin’s hand so tight her knuckles were white. “A few years older, I think, but not too many.”

“And what about Percy Ralston? He works in his own office in this house, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, and he has his own cabin, it’s part of his pay.”

Cheyenne pulled her gloves off and tucked them behind her belt buckle. “I suspect the sheriff hauled him off.”

Wyatt muttered. “We probably should’ve checked with the sheriff before we came here, but it’s a long ride out of the way.”

Since they’d already talked about doing that, debated it near half to death in Cheyenne’s opinion, she wasn’t going to start up about it again. They’d already decided seeing Oliver about his land and cattle came first.

Wyatt hung up his hat on an empty peg beside Cheyenne’s and dropped his gloves to the floor beneath them.

They all trooped into the kitchen just as Oliver came almost running out. “Winona! Is something wrong?”

He came at her, arms spread wide. Kevin made a sudden move—a surprising move—and blocked Oliver from giving Win a hug. Cheyenne found that shocking.

From the look on his face, Oliver did too.

“What is going on here?” Oliver’s eyes noted that his daughter was holding Kevin’s hand. “I met you the other day at the RHR when you stopped me from hugging my daughter then.”

Some of the color faded from Oliver’s cheeks as he asked, “Winona, is something wrong? Are you hurt again?”

“Pa.” Win had to look over Kevin’s shoulder to talk to Oliver.

Cheyenne knew Win spent little time with her pa, but why did Kevin think she needed to be protected from him? A new husband’s possessiveness? Or was it more?

“I’d like . . . that is, well . . .” She cleared her throat.

“Win and I are married, Oliver.” Kevin gave him a smile Cheyenne considered very insincere. “Or should I call you Pa?”

Wyatt started coughing. Cheyenne thought it sounded like he was covering up a laugh.

“You’re married?” Oliver squawked like an angry hen. And why not? This was how his only daughter, only child, told her father she’d gotten married?

“Yes, Pa. We eloped. And then there was some trouble, and it’s taken me a couple of days to get over and tell you.”

About five by Cheyenne’s count.

“Yes, the trouble. Tuttle attacked you. Tried to kill you and”—Oliver’s eyes shifted to Kevin—“and this man here. Sheriff Corly was out. But that was days ago.”

“I was terribly upset, as you can imagine. I’m sorry.”

Oliver slipped past Kevin, though Kevin was watching very closely, and patted Win’s hand.

Win could play the fragile lady quite well.

“Enough with the wedding talk,” Wyatt cut in. “Did you talk to the sheriff this morning?”

“Why no. I haven’t been to town.”

“He was riding out here,” Wyatt said, all business.

“Oh, um, I did saddle up and go for a ride this morning. I must have missed him. Mrs. Hobart didn’t mention it.”

“We found cattle stolen from our ranch and some from yours.” Wyatt told the story rapidly. “Hidden in a valley high up on the mountain that borders our properties. It’s land we own, but somehow there was a deed in town with Percival Ralston’s name on it.”

“What?”

Cheyenne felt some sympathy for Oliver. His eyes were now on Wyatt, but they kept going back to Win as if his eyes were iron and Win and her news were a powerful magnet.

“You say Percy Ralston did this?” Oliver stepped back, then back again until he bumped into his kitchen table. He almost fell over a chair and grabbed it, then sat down hard.

“Yep.” Wyatt nodded. “The sheriff knows about it. He was coming out here to arrest Ralston this morning.”

“I-I don’t know. I haven’t talked to Ralston at all today.”

“We want to look around his cabin and at your bookwork,” Wyatt said. “We want to find more proof that Ralston forged a deed to a chunk of RHR land and see if he’s been up to any other trouble. I expect the sheriff hauled him off. Do you know if he searched his cabin?”

Oliver shook his head. Then he snapped his fingers. “Ralston sent one of the cowhands over this morning with a note saying he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be in.” Oliver looked over his shoulder toward the door that led into the rest of the house.

Oliver looked at Win and stopped talking about Ralston. “Win, my baby girl, married. Come and sit down. Kevin, you too. All of you. I want to hear everything. About the wedding and about the rustled cattle.”

They heard the slam of a door. Wyatt charged out of the kitchen and through the house, Cheyenne just a pace behind him. They got outside in time to see Mrs. Hobart galloping out of the yard, bent low over her saddle. Heading down the trail that forked to lead to Bear Claw Pass.

Cheyenne and Wyatt turned to look at each other. Oliver was right behind them, then everyone else came out of the house into a clog on the broad front porch.

“Where does Ralston bunk?”

Oliver pointed to a good-sized house made of the same clapboard that the big house was made of, except it was raw boards, not painted the shining white of Oliver’s mansion. And those boards looked so new they weren’t weathered yet. “That’s his place.”

“I wonder where Mrs. Hobart went tearing off to?” Win asked. Not sounding all that fragile and ladylike right now.

Her pa didn’t seem to notice.