A Man with a Past by Mary Connealy

SEVEN

Here came that son-of-a-sidewinder again. This time Cheyenne was going to ignore him and keep branding.

“Wyatt, Cheyenne, Win’s been shot!”

His words hit Cheyenne like a lightning bolt. She dropped everything without seeing what was in her hands. It might’ve been a calf.

“She’s not bad hurt. She’s been doctored. But she needs someone with her.”

Cheyenne ran for her horse, slapped a bridle on it, and swung up bareback. “Where is she?”

“At the ranch—”

She spurred her horse and was riding for home between one heartbeat and the next.

Bent low over her horse’s neck, she heard hooves pounding behind her and glanced back to see Wyatt was astride, taking out after her. Kevin barely a pace behind.

She faced ahead and left them in the dust.

“She’s not bad hurt.”

Those words echoed in her head, helping her fight the terror.

“She’s not bad hurt.”

It was impossible not to think that somehow, in a land that had gotten purely peaceful in recent years, this shooting didn’t have something to do with these surprise brothers.

When she reached the ranch, a blond, gangly kid came running out like he’d seen a gunshot wound.

“She’s all right.” The boy waved his hands at her and broke off the mad dash. “You go on in. I’ll put your horse up.”

That was mighty neighborly of him. Maybe he was making himself useful because he knew he was as wanted as a swarm of locusts.

“I tend my own horse.” She just could not stop snarling at everyone. She made a dash for the barn and stripped the bridle off her mare, and turned her into the corral. Then ran for the house. The kid stayed at her side, yammering about a scratch and a few stitches.

It helped her to enter the house in less of a panic.

As she went in, she heard Wyatt and Kevin coming into the yard.

Cheyenne surveyed Win. “You’re sitting up?”

“Yep, and near ready for supper.” Win sounded unsteady, and she was milk white. She sat straddling a chair so her arms were crossed on the back of it. But she wasn’t, in fact, hurt badly. Cheyenne could see that.

“I’ve got a shirtwaist on that buttons down the back so you can check it.” Win reached up and grabbed Cheyenne’s hand, and their eyes met. An anchor. Cheyenne realized something that threw her like a branded calf.

Win was the strong one of the two of them.

It’d never been like that before. Win had always preferred the RHR to her home. She stayed in Bear Claw Pass teaching school when it was in session, but the rest of the time, ever since she’d returned from finishing school, she’d been out here. She didn’t even go home for holidays. Her pa came over here instead.

Her pa seemed like an easygoing man to Cheyenne. Lazy but harmless. A tiny part of her admitted he was a man who looked like he needed someone to run his life.

Cheyenne and Oliver Hawkins had spoken a few times, and he’d let it be known he admired her.

Since this . . . this disaster of having her land stolen, she’d talked to him a number of times.

Whatever Win’s reasons for being over here all the time, Cheyenne had viewed her oldest friend as needing support. And Cheyenne had been that support.

But looking into Win’s eyes, Cheyenne felt like she was looking at solid ground in the middle of a raging flood. Win had been that solid ground since the will. And Cheyenne had let Win shelter her as best as Win was able.

It struck hard for Cheyenne to see herself as weak, but there was truth in it. She couldn’t get her feet under her. She’d fight to do it, then before she knew it, off she went, raging along with the floodwaters again. Win had helped her, at least kept her head above water.

“Molly did a great job tending me.” Win gestured toward a young blond woman. “This is Kevin’s sister. And his brother, Andy.”

Molly stood at the stove, wearing a tidy calico dress, blue splattered with white flowers. A young woman so feminine and pretty she made Cheyenne feel like an uncivilized savage.

Andy stood beside Molly where they both cooked. Something about them seemed strange, like they were all three, Win, Molly, and Andy, trying to appear unnaturally calm when there was a gunshot woman in their midst.

“Kevin’s ma remarried when she heard the Sidewinder was dead,” Win said. “And that means their parents weren’t legally married, and it caused no end of trouble for them back in Kansas.”

Cheyenne studied them. Molly and Andy. Just perfect. Kevin hadn’t just come here to steal her land, he’d brought his whole family with him to aid in the invasion.

Cheyenne nodded because the only words she wanted to speak were ugly enough they were better left unsaid. She peeked at the wound but didn’t remove the bandage. It was too tidy, and anyway no one tried to stop her. If they had, just to be fighting against someone all the livelong day, she’d’ve probably insisted on unwrapping the bandage and checking for herself.

“Molly’s had some practice doctoring. She sewed me up and bandaged my back. She’s very skilled.”

“You know doctoring?”

Molly had turned away and was getting a meal. Doctoring, cooking, what was there this little beauty couldn’t do? None of this was her fault, and Cheyenne felt plenty of shame at her anger. That didn’t make her any more cheerful.

Wyatt came charging in and wanted to know Win’s version of what had happened.

“I’m fine, Wyatt.”

“Where were you? Where exactly did—”

As they bickered, Molly set a meal on, and after a lot of fussing, they all sat down at the table. Kevin began a prayer, but suddenly Wyatt broke in, “Where’s Falcon?”

Cheyenne had been trying to forget the third brother.

Kevin quickly explained how Falcon found him and Win in the woods and had gone after the man shooting at them. Kevin and Wyatt looked hard at each other, then shoved back from the table, grabbed what food they could tote along, and rushed for the door.

“Be careful,” Cheyenne warned grimly. “If Falcon’s as good as you say he is, and they got him, then we’re all in terrible danger.”

After Wyatt and Kevin left, the rest of them ate, but the meal liked to have choked Cheyenne.

As Molly finished her stew, she said they weren’t going to take Kevin’s full third of the land, like they were giving her a nice generous gift. Kevin had said it earlier, but it made Cheyenne’s jaw clench tighter and tighter and tighter. She held herself in control, fought for it.

Win got Molly and Andy talking about their lives back in Kansas, which sounded miserable enough Cheyenne could see why they didn’t pass up a chance to steal her land.

“You two need to sleep in here tonight,” Win said. “Wyatt will be in here, but we should get Kevin in here, too. There is safety in numbers.”

Cheyenne had been holding up through all the talk until Win invited these fools into the house. She slammed her fists hard on the table.

Win jumped and gasped in pain from the sudden movement.

“I’ll not take charity from such as you all.” Cheyenne shoved her chair back hard, knowing she was acting the fool, but the hurt inside churned until she couldn’t keep it in. She wanted to cry, but that was a weakness she couldn’t let them see. So instead she erupted.

“I told your brother, and I’ll tell you—that land is mine. You’ve stolen it from me. To give me a good chunk of it back as if it’s a kindness? Well, that makes me want to pull a gun and start firing.”

Molly moved to put herself between Cheyenne and Andy. Cheyenne fought the urge to roll her eyes. As if Molly could stop her if Cheyenne was really of a mind to do violence.

With a mean kind of laugh, Cheyenne made her decision. “I’m not going to shoot you. Hanging would be the result, and that would probably just make things easier for everyone.”

Cheyenne ignored the sinking feeling that she might actually be right about that. “I’ve had an offer of marriage. It’ll get me out of here, and I’m taking it.”

She stormed toward the stairs, going to her room to pack, though she wasn’t going to tell this lot her plans.

“Cheyenne, stop!” Win shouted.

Cheyenne looked back. Only staying because her friend asked her to.

“What offer? Who proposed?”

“I’m surprised you don’t know. I thought he’d’ve told you.”

“Told me? Who do I ever talk to? One of the cowhands here? Some friend of Wyatt’s?”

Cheyenne hadn’t meant to announce it. Hadn’t even decided to do it until she couldn’t stand to be in this house anymore.

“Your pa proposed to me, Win. After he heard I’d lost everything.”

“Pa?” Win looked truly shocked. “He’s too old for you.”

Cheyenne brushed aside her friend’s objection before glancing at Molly and Andy. “I won’t share a home with thieves. I’m leaving first thing in the morning. Tomorrow I’ll accept your pa’s proposal.”

“Calling him ‘your pa’ instead of by his name seems like a real bad sign.” Cheyenne didn’t miss the sarcasm in Molly’s soft voice.

She left the room at a near run and didn’t stop until she slammed her bedroom door. No one came after her, and that was lucky . . . for them. She’d said she was leaving in the morning, but she began stuffing things in a satchel. Planning, thinking, running away. And high time.

Cheyenne spurred her horse. Fighting tears. Furious tears.

And she didn’t let them fall.

She’d sworn long ago to never again let Clovis Hunt make her cry.

Oh, she might’ve gotten carried away a few times, but if she had the control she usually had, there were no tears. And there wouldn’t be any today.

She should have just ridden straight over to the HR and accepted Hawkins’s proposal.

But nightfall was coming. She couldn’t do that now. Even she, a woman who wore men’s britches and worked right alongside the cowhands, couldn’t do something that outrageous.

She didn’t exactly want to go agree to marry him tomorrow, either, but sure as certain she couldn’t do it now.

Because Win’s ranch was west of the RHR, Cheyenne rode east. If she had followed the road past the Hawkins Ranch, it would take her to Bear Claw Pass. Another place she didn’t want to be.

Her horse thundered along. The sky overhead was still light, but the sun neared the edge of the mountain peaks to the west. She took the only real direction that made sense.

North. Into the wild. She knew a fallen oak that she could use to get across the fast-moving river there.

Her heart chose the direction before her mind caught up.

If she could just be alone for a while. Think. Get away from all these blasted, newly discovered relatives.

Get away from being poked in the face every minute of every day by the betrayal of the man who should have been her father.

Not by blood. She had only vague memories of her birth father, though she’d heard so many glowing stories that she felt like she remembered a lot about him. And they had a picture. But he’d never been a real part of her life.

The man who came along next though, Clovis, he stepped into what should have been a father’s place.

Cheyenne’s only vivid memories of a father were him, and she’d despised him. And he’d done the favor of hating her right back, it seemed, though he’d treated her no worse than Ma or Wyatt. She’d never thought his behavior toward her had any special cruelty. He was just a sidewinder of a man, and she’d made a bitter acceptance of the fact that he wasn’t to be escaped.

And then he’d died.

It should have been a happy day to finally get that man out of their lives for good. Instead, he’d found a way to strike a blow of spite from the grave.

And she couldn’t stop the searing pain. The only way to stop the tears was to grab hold of a terrible fury.

Wending her way along a familiar trail, she pulled her horse to a stop. Wyatt would be upset about this. He’d come after her. And he knew her well. He’d come this way eventually.

Because she expected that, she’d brought along a pencil and paper. She took the time to leave him a note where he’d be sure to find it, telling him to leave her alone. She used a knife she’d brought from the house with this purpose in mind—not wanting to give up her own knife—and stabbed the note into a tree.

She rode on, higher . . . slower, deeper into the wild. The mountains rose up in this direction. She had a lot of places she could go, and she wouldn’t choose one. Instead, she’d just wander awhile. A day or two . . . or ten . . . or a hundred. And while she wandered, she’d think. She’d thrown Kevin’s offer of land back in his face. But that was pride and foolishness. Her temper was so crazed that things came out of her mouth she shouldn’t say.

So she’d keep riding until she got herself back under control. She probably should have done this right after they read the will. She might be calmer by now.

An owl hooted in the woods, and the trail closed around her like a cloak. The threat of tears eased. She’d always loved the wilderness. If she lost her home to strangers, then so be it. She’d find another home.

She thought it, but her heart wasn’t ready to accept it yet.

Meandering along, she saw how narrow the trail was getting. Lodgepole pine branches were a ceiling overhead. As she went higher, the branches were low enough that she had to push them aside or duck to avoid them.

Finally, she had to dismount and walk.

Wyatt felt terrible about the situation. Since they were children, they’d talked of the day the land would be theirs. Grandpa had been one to speak of handing down his land. He’d loved what he’d built here and wanted his daughter and his two grandchildren to share that love.

And they had. The four of them, seeing as how Clovis was rarely around, had been a good team.

And they’d talked of adding more land, the good and bad of that. Was the ranch big enough? How much could one family handle? Was there a moral limit to how much they should have? There were plenty of others who wanted to ranch.

Grandpa had been a man of God. He’d insisted they all ride into town for the church meeting on Sundays when the weather allowed. They’d gone in many a Wednesday night for a singing when it wasn’t calving time or branding time or roundup time or wintertime.

She let the darkness ease into her bones. She prayed. Sincerely asked God to forgive her for how badly the pain had twisted her.

Thought of the book of Job and all he’d lost and how he’d never cursed God.

Well, for heaven’s sake, she wasn’t going to curse God. This was none of His fault. Nothing about Clovis Hunt had a thing to do with God.

But her anger.

That was a sin.

And that was why she needed to be alone.

It was branding time, and it didn’t suit her to ride off like this, but she had to be alone until she could go back and accept what life had given her. Or decide if she’d keep going, strike out on her own, find her own home somewhere else.

Or get married.

Oliver didn’t run his ranch beyond hiring cowpokes, but she could. The idea, when she’d had a ranch stolen from her, had a strong appeal.