Her Western Heart (Seeing Ranch series) (A Western Historical Romance Book) Page 16

  A cart?

  It wasn’t a usual rustling tool. Nothing slowed a traveling party down like a cart.

  “Morning,” Mitch called as he and his men got closer.

  The group stilled, the strangers turning their horses to take in the newcomers.

  “How you all doing?” Mitch asked, bringing Lady as close as he dared. If things turned sour, space would be good—so would the pistol at his side.

  “Wonderful,” a man with a handlebar mustache smiled. “Cotton Bellevue.” He tipped his hat.

  “I’m Mitchell Reed and these here are my men. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” As he spoke, he took in Bellevue’s men from the corner of his eye. With the exception of one, they were all wiry and past prime working age.

  “Mr. Reed, could you perhaps point us in the direction of the closest town?”

  “Shallow Springs. A few miles that way.” Mitch jerked his head in that direction. “Not to be rude, Mr. Bellevue, but I hope you don’t mind me asking what business you have in town. We’ve been having a bit of trouble around here lately and—”

  “Ah, yes! No worries at all. You’re wary of strangers. I understand. My comrades and I are merely traveling across the West, putting on free shows for the public and selling our fine medicinal ointments and potions. Johann, if you will.” He gestured to the oldest man, who ambled down from his bench in front of the cart.

  Side doors to the cart were flung open, displaying racks of buckled down bottles and jars.

  “Snake oil,” Samuel muttered from somewhere behind Mitchell.

  Cotton Bellevue frowned. “Oh, no, not at all! Why, take a bottle for free, son, and see for yourself the magic it performs. Rickets, sprains, fevers—it cures all!”

  “Exactly,” Samuel retorted. “Because it’s snake oil.”

  Mitchell nudged Lady forward, blocking Samuel before the conversation could escalate. “Thank you very much, Mr. Bellevue, but we will pass. We’re looking for something else of a different nature.”

  Bellevue shrugged. “Suit yourself. We hope to see you in town, though. Our show is suitable for all, so bring the wives and the little ones.”

  With that, the medicine show turned in the direction of Shallow Springs, taking with it Mitchell’s hope of finding the rustlers that day.

  He caught Beau’s eye and had to look away right away. Failing himself was one thing. Constantly letting everyone else down as well was another.

  “Back to the ranch,” he announced, leading the way.

  The four of them rode home in silence. With the morning’s mystery solved, Mitch’s thoughts were back on Gemma. She’d acted so odd down in the creek bed, hinting they postpone the wedding, then mentioning she had something to tell him.

  She might be leaving after all, he sadly realized.

  He hated the thought like he hated the ghostly rustlers. And what was worse was that he hated that he couldn’t blame her at all.

  23

  23. Gemma

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Unable to help herself, Gemma entered the kitchen in near-tears. “They must be hiding them in new places,” she exclaimed. “I could not find a single egg outside of the coop! And only these five were in it.”

  She showed Clara the pathetically-filled basket. All day, it had seemed as if the world were against her. She had tried to tell Mitchell the truth about her past, but not getting the chance to had only twisted the thorn in her soul in deeper. Everything seemed hopeless.

  “That’s no great sorrow,” Clara said, taking the eggs. “Those hens are sneaky, but they’re not that smart. Don’t fret. We will find their new hiding places in no time at all.”

  Gemma collapsed onto a kitchen chair. “I fear it does not matter for me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I...” Gemma bit down hard on her lower lip, working it between her teeth. “I have not been completely honest with Mitchell and the time has come for me to do that.”

  She warily watched Clara, ready for her to press for more information. Instead, she just came and joined Gemma at the table.

  “Honesty has to be cultivated. It’s hard.”

  “Yes.” Gemma let out a heavy breath. “It is. I was going to tell him the truth this morning, but we were interrupted. And, if I am to be honest, it gave me a bit of relief to not have to do it right away.”

  Clara studied Gemma’s face so intently it made her want to squirm in her seat. “Mitchell is a good man and I think you are a good woman. You will figure it out.”

  “That is all?” Gemma asked, perplexed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I expected a bit of a scolding. Goodness, I deserve it. Or, at the very least, for you to ask what I am hiding.’

  Clara patted Gemma’s hand. “That’s for you to tell the man you are marrying.” She chuckled. “Although, if you’re concerned about me not finding out about what’s going on, don’t be. Secrets do not last long around here.”

  “Oh,” Gemma meekly answered, not sure what to say.

  “It’s cooling off nicely out there. How would you feel about walking into town and checking the mail? Mitch forgot to see to it when he picked you up from the stagecoach and I’m expecting a letter from my sister.”

  “I can do that.” Having not left the ranch since she had arrived, a short trip into town sounded just like the excursion Gemma needed.

  A few minutes later, with one of Clara’s bonnets shielding her face from the sun, Gemma set off for town. Although there was some banging and hollering coming from around the tool shed, there were no direct signs of Mitchell. Gemma wound the string of her purse around her fingers and stared at the ground as she walked, thinking back to their few minutes together that morning.

  He had lit up when he saw her coming down into the creek. Just thinking about it made Gemma warm and tingly all over.

  I want him to look at me like that every day for the rest of our lives.

  It was partly a prayer and partly wishful thinking, but Gemma didn’t know which it was more of. With her mind muddied by thoughts and worries, stumbling into town came as a surprise.

  Shallow Spring’s main street was a bit busier than it had been the one other time she had visited it, with everyone she passed saying “hello”. That was one of the biggest differences between New York and Shallow Springs. Back east, people walked by her on a crowded street like she did not exist. Here, they all took their time to offer greetings. That one simple difference made Gemma warm and cozy inside. So what if there were no department stores or operas here? Shallow Springs had heart.

  Not sure where the post might be found, Gemma had to ask an older woman, who pointed her toward the hotel. As it turned out, the mail was kept in a small room off the hotel’s main hallway. The owner led her to it, unlocking the door and retrieving the one letter addressed to Winding Path Ranch.

  “Thank you, sir,” Gemma murmured, taking Clara’s letter and heading back outside.

  “You don’t have anything to post?” he asked, making her turn around.

  “Oh, no.”

  His wrinkled face scrunched up like he couldn’t believe it. “No letters to family back home?”

  His question was a pinprick to her heart. Of course, she couldn’t write to family or friends back home. She could perhaps risk sending Abigail or Penelope a letter, but what if someone else saw it and alerted her parents or William Picoult? They would find out where she was and come for her. Unless…

  “If I send a letter from here, will the receiver know where it came from?”

  “Not unless there’s a return address on it.”

  Excitement brewed in Gemma. “Then, perhaps I will. Thank you.”

  “The missus has some pen and ink you can use, if you like. Stagecoach is coming tomorrow, so you best get any letters written now.”

  “Please. That would be wonderful.”

  A few minutes later, Gemma was seated in the dining area Mitchell had brought her to her first da
y in town, paper and inkwell in front of her. She stared at the blank sheet, working to formulate the letter in her head before she so much as put a letter down.

  She would tell her parents not to worry about her, that she was somewhere safe and happy, and that they must not try and find her, as their search would prove futile. She would also explain to them that facing marriage to William Picoult had torn her spirit asunder. She had found a new and more suitable husband for herself.

  She wished she could include a return address so they could write back, but it wasn’t possible. Gemma’s mother might understand why she had done what she had, but her father certainly wouldn’t. If he possessed the name of the town she was in, he would only come looking for her.

  Sitting up straighter, Gemma dipped her pen and began to write.

  Dearest Mother and Father,

  It is with a heart both full of joy and sadness that I write this letter. As much as I know it is wrong to disobey one’s parents, I could not repress my soul’s desires any longer. I have found a new home, as well as a husband.

  There, Gemma stopped writing. As her pen had flown across the page, so had the brutal truth crept into her heart. She was not absolutely certain she had found a new husband. Not really. The obstacles still in their way were too gigantic.

  More specifically, the one obstacle left was still too gigantic. Gemma would stay with Mitchell no matter what happened to the ranch, but she still did not know if he would stay with her once he found out about her past.

  Hot tears clouding her vision, she crumpled up the paper and screwed the lid on the ink well.

  “Thank you very much,” she told the hotel owner as she went out the door, being careful to keep her puffy face turned away from him. “But I think I will not be sending a letter this week.”

  With Clara’s one letter stowed in her drawstring purse, she trudged out of town, her steps and heart both heavy.

  Halfway to the ranch, rumbling wheels alerted Gemma to an approaching wagon. Stepping back a bit, she turned to greet whoever was passing. If people always made sure to say “hello” to each other in town, she supposed, then it was the same out on the road.

  The wagon was driven by a tanned, tall man, the back of it loaded down with bags of feed. “Whoa,” he called to the horses, who came to a stop not far from Gemma.

  The man raised his hat. “Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  “It’s a hot one to be walking out here.”

  He was right. The temperature had increased extraordinarily since she’d left the ranch, the fair weather Clara had commented on not lasting long. Sweat was collecting under Gemma’s dress, soaking her skin and making her want to get back to the ranch and dive straight into the creek.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Winding Path Ranch.”

  “You don’t say.” He looked at her in surprise. “You must be Mitchell Reed’s new wife.”

  The last word hurt, but he couldn’t have known that it did. “Yes, sir. Gemma. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Fred Greene. I own the ranch right next to Winding Path. How about a ride home?”

  Gemma almost sighed in relief. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  Setting the brake, Mr. Greene came down from the wagon to help Gemma climb up. Once they were both seated, the horses restarted their journey, their tails swishing at the buzzing flies.

  “Your appearance was quite perfect,” Gemma admitted. “I did not even realize how hot it was getting until you stopped.”

  Mr. Greene’s smile showed off a mouth full of straight, white teeth. “I’m mighty glad to be of service. How is Shallow Springs treating you?”

  “It’s… very nice, thank you.”

  She certainly wasn’t about to go into the specifics of her dramatic life with a stranger, nice as Mr. Greene seemed. Eager to get the attention off of her, she searched for something else to say.

  “You were visiting town, Mr. Greene?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Didn’t have time for it today, but I had to go.”

  Gemma glanced back at the stacks of feed filling the uncovered wagon. “You must have some very hungry horses.”

  “Mostly cattle.”

  “They don’t eat grass and hay?” Gemma frowned. Mitchell’s cattle mostly grazed freely, from what she had seen.

  “They do.” Mr. Greene cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “So, are you taking over for the housekeeper there?”

  “No. Clara will be staying. She’s really a lovely woman. I would hate to see her go. Do you know her?”

  “I knew her husband. A good man.”

  Mr. Greene propped his boot up on the front lip of the wagon. A silence stretched out. Gemma knew she needed to say something, but she still felt too weighed down by the day. Her head was full of nothing but dark clouds. Mr. Greene shifted his weight again, looking as uncomfortable as she felt.

  “I’ve heard about the troubles over at Winding Path,” Mr. Greene finally said.

  Gemma sighed. “Yes. It’s most unfortunate.”

  “My condolences. It’s hard when a ranch starts going under, especially if it’s a family one.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, not able to get her voice any higher. She did not particularly want to talk about the ranch’s troubles, but at least they were not sitting in absolute silence anymore.

  Mr. Greene shook his head. “The cattle going missing… then, some getting sick… then, the Northern fence damage...”

  “Other ranches don’t have these troubles?” Gemma asked, genuinely interested.

  Mr. Greene’s tongue pressed into the side of his cheek as he gave it some thought. “Well, now, they do. Just not usually so much at once. Sometimes, we ranchers just run into bad times. Best we can do is deal with them in any way we can.” He looked her way. “What were you doing in town today?”

  “Picking up the mail.” She patted her purse.

  “Anything of interest?”

  “Just a letter for Clara.”

  “I get these penny savers that have stories in them. You like stories?”

  Despite the awful day, Gemma smiled. “I love them! Back east, I read dime westerns. Are any of these stories like those?”

  He scratched his jaw. “Some of them. They’re about places all over the world. Each issue only has a couple stories, but they’re good ones. I have an old pile of them in my barn. I can have a hand drop them off for you sometime.”

  Gemma could hardly believe her ears. “That would be wonderful,” she enthused. “I cannot thank you enough.”

  “My pleasure. It’s good to have a new neighbor.”

  Stories to read! She’d only brought her favorite dime western with her from New York and the main room at Winding Path only contained a few books. But now, thanks to Mr. Greene, she would have something to distract her mind with at night. And it did need distracting.

  “Here we are,” he announced.

  Gemma looked around herself in shock. They were halfway up Winding Path’s driveway. She’d been so excited about Mr. Greene’s offer to loan her his penny savers that she hadn’t even noticed when they turned off the main road.

  Stopping the horses, he came around to help her down.

  “Thank you, Mr. Greene. I really am very glad I ran into you today.”

  He gave her a wink. “Same here. You have a good day now, you hear? I’ll send those savers over soon.”

  With a wave goodbye, Gemma carted herself into the house. Though the whole week had been both the most tumultuous and exciting one of her life, she was glad she had found yet another nice person in Shallow Springs. Even if Mitchell did send her back to New York, she would always have the kind souls like Clara, Nat, and Mr. Greene to remember.

  24

  24. Mitchell

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mitchell dragged himself up the hill, watching the last golden rays of the sun burst across the ranch. He’d always found the land beautiful, but tonight, it wa
s almost too gorgeous to look at.

  The rest of the day after leaving the medicine show had gone on as usual. There were always animals to feed, calves to catch, horses to shoe, water to carry. The work had never ended before and Mitch was still praying it wouldn’t. After his hopes getting up that morning, he’d found it hard to stay strong all day long. Some hours, all he wanted to do was just lay down and sleep, just be done with the ranch and all his worries.