Her Western Heart (Seeing Ranch series) (A Western Historical Romance Book) Page 18

  Gemma’s lower lips trembled ferociously. She bit down on it to keep it still. “My parents were forcing me to marry a horrible man. I just could not go through with it, Clara. I could not! And I know that I must tell Mitchell the truth, but I am afraid he will hate me for it. Even if the ranch’s troubles stop and he can marry me, he may not want to. He might send me back to New York.”

  Sobs wracked Gemma’s chest, and she struggled to keep her head up straight.

  “There, there,” Clara cooed, patting Gemma’s back. From her apron pocket, she pulled a handkerchief and handed it over. “Wipe your eyes, now.”

  Gemma did as she was instructed, the kindness Clara was displaying working as a salve on her aching heart. Even if Mitchell did hate her after she came clean, at least one person on the ranch had shown her a bit of compassion.

  “I know I should have never kept such a secret,” she hiccupped in between the last few sniffles. “And I may not even deserve his forgiveness...”

  “Now, you can stop right there,” Clara sternly said. Her cutting tone was so unexpected that Gemma’s mouth fell open. “Everyone deserves forgiveness. It doesn’t matter what they’ve done. God forgives everyone, and that means that it’s our job to do the same. The way it seems to me, this fellow you were to marry wasn’t such a nice one. Am I right?”

  “Absolutely,” Gemma whispered, shivering over the memory of the way William Picoult had hungrily looked at her.

  “So, leaving that behind isn’t so much a great sin. But lying to your future husband sure is.”

  Gemma hung her head.

  “But I see the way Mitch has changed since you’ve gotten here, young lady, and it’s been in a big way. Sure, he’s up to his eyeballs in problems right now, but that doesn’t change the way he lights up when you’re around.”

  From under her wet eyelashes, Gemma peeked up at Clara. “You think he will forgive me?”

  Taking the bread basket back, Clara stood and went to the stove. “I think you have a mighty good chance. Mitchell Reed has a heart that’s softer that most would think. Come on, now. Let’s get these rolls back out there before those men barge in here like a hungry pack of wolves.”

  Gemma softly chuckled. “I thought you said they could wait.”

  “Oh, for a minute.” Clara winked. “After that, they’re likely to turn into mad men.”

  Gemma stood, feeling much lighter than when she had come into the kitchen to cry.

  “Trust in God,” Clara added, her face serious. “And Mitchell. He cares for you and that means something.”

  Gemma nodded. Her throat was too thick for words, but soon, she would let Clara know just how much her assurances had helped.

  A few of the men had left the supper table, but most were still there. As Gemma set the basket back in the middle of it, she caught wind of Mitchell’s voice from somewhere nearby.

  “…best I can tell...”

  Turning, she peered around the doorway and found the front door cracked. Taking a sharp glance over her shoulder—and finding everyone else occupied—she snuck from the dining room and to the door.

  As she put her hand on the knob, another voice stopped her.

  “Half of his land is all rocks,” Beau’s recognizable deep rumble said.

  Mitchell sighed. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

  “No one would have because most people wouldn’t be that dirty. And we don’t know he has anything to do with it, so don’t fly off the handle just yet.”

  “I’m going to take a look at that fence.” Mitchell’s voice was full of tension. Now, Gemma understood why he hadn’t yet come in to supper. Something was bothering him again.

  “I’m coming with,” Beau responded.

  Their footsteps sounded on the porch and Gemma thought fast. She should have just turned around and gone back to supper. That would be the appropriate thing to do, the expected thing to do.

  But she did not want that. She wanted to be by Mitchell’s side, with him through whatever was going on. Since arriving at Winding Path, she had mostly been a spectator to its troubles, with the exception of the discovery of the yew. She had been removed from Mitchell, watching his struggles from afar.

  Well, no longer would that be the case. If Mitchell, God willing, became her husband, she would do everything she could to care for him. That meant standing by his side through the hardest times.

  “Mitchell!”

  She was out the door and flying down the steps. In the moonlight, the two men turned to her.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked, holding her breath.

  “Just fine. Don’t you worry. Go on back to supper.”

  “I am coming with you.” She took a step toward him, not backing down. Beau’s head turned to Mitchell’s and Mitchell himself didn’t move.

  “We’re just going to check on a fence,” he gently said.

  “The Northern fence?”

  A pause. “Yes,” he finally answered.

  “Let me go as well.”

  She prepared herself for an argument, but none came. Just another long silence followed.

  “There are holes in the field,” Mitchell said. “Be careful stepping.”

  Gemma’s heart filled with happiness and she rushed to join his side. “Is this because of what Mr. Greene said?”

  “The Northern fence hasn’t been tampered with… not that we know.”

  Gemma nibbled on her lip as they walked, thinking of the man who had given her a ride home earlier that day. He had seemed so nice, offering condolences and penny saver stories for her to read. “You think that he has something to do with the cattle missing and getting sick?”

  “It’s too soon to make accusations...” Mitchell’s sentence trailed off, his voice high like he had intended to continue the thought.

  “But yeah,” Beau jumped in. “He could have some knowledge of what’s going on.”

  The field was just as pockmarked as Mitchell had promised. Gemma stepped carefully as she lifted her skirts and followed the two men. After what seemed like an exceptionally long walk—so long that Gemma began to doubt they were even still on Winding Path’s land—they stopped and Beau lit the lantern he’d been carrying.

  They began a slow, single-file walk along the fence.

  “I did not know this was here,” Gemma commented.

  “Mostly, the cattle roam free,” Beau answered. “But we have a few fields closed off. The calves and sick cattle sometimes need fences.”

  A sharp hiss sounded from in front of them. Mitchell had crouched next to the fence, the lantern held up close to his face. “It’s cut.”

  It was only two words, but they were filled with such venom that Gemma’s stomach twisted. She felt momentarily afraid to approach Mitchell.

  “Look here,” he said, pointing at a broken log between two upward posts. The whole length of the fence had two rows of logs running along it, each of them nestled against the upright ones.

  “I’ll be,” Beau breathed. “It’s clean.”

  “Chopped with an ax.” Mitchell stood straight up, the glowing lantern casting an eerie light on his grim face.

  “That is awful,” Gemma gasped. “How could someone do such a thing?”

  Mitchell’s set jaw twitched. “Men are capable of a lot when they’re hungry for money.”

  “Let me see that.” Taking the lantern, Beau walked a bit farther down the fence. The lantern swung with his steps, the only light in the field other than the half-covered moon. Gemma and Mitchell stayed where they were, silent and immobile. A chill wafted around Gemma’s shoulders, but whether it was from the night air or the realization of what was happening she couldn’t tell.

  “Everything is normal down there,” Beau announced with his return.

  Gemma just had to voice the one question that wouldn’t stop pressing on her mind. “Did Mr. Greene do it?”

  Across the lantern light, Mitchell and Beau exchanged another one of their heavy looks.<
br />
  “We’re about to find out,” Mitchell answered.

  26

  26. Mitchell

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mitch’s ears pounded the whole walk back to the house. Fred Greene… All this time, Mitch had been turning over every rock in Shallow Springs, pointing accusing fingers at any man who seemed the slightest capable of stealing or poisoning.

  But he’d never suspected Greene. Not really. The thought that it could be one of his neighbors had crossed his mind once or twice, but he’d quickly written that idea off. There was a comradery between ranches. They looked out for each other, helped haul each other up when they were down. For someone Mitch had known for so long to pull the rug out under his feet… At first, it was unthinkable.

  But the more time Mitch had to let the theory soak in, the more sense it made. Greene’s ranch had been around for years, but the land his structures were on wasn’t as good as the land the other ranches owned. There was good, fresh grass and plantable ground to be had near the other end of the valley, but the cattle had to be driven over a day to get to it. It was something Greene had been doing for years, much like many ranchers did. Some ranches hardly kept their cattle around. They were always off in the hills and on the plains, being guided around hands who camped out under the stars.

  Mitch was lucky with Winding Path in the sense that he had plenty of good land to both grow crops on and feed his cattle off of. He’d assumed his neighbors were still doing well—Lord knew they at least weren’t having rustling issues—but could it be he’d been wrong? Had Greene gotten tired of driving his cattle across the valley? Was he targeting Mitch’s ranch? If Mitch became disheartened enough, he’d have to sell the ranch and move away, leaving all those green acres up for grabs.

  Mitch’s temples pounded at the thought of such a betrayal. It was too soon to directly accuse Greene of anything, but he sure as heck had some questions to ask the man.

  “Fetch Nat,” Mitch told Beau as the lights of the dining room came into view. Nat was the biggest and strongest hand on the ranch. Though he had a boyish smile and an easy-going demeanor, Mitch had seen the man in a fight. He didn’t mess around. Though Mitch wasn’t looking for trouble that night, there was no sense in not being prepared, should trouble come their way.

  “Davis, too,” Mitch called after Beau, who was tromping up the steps. Four was the perfect number. Too few and they’d be undermanned. More than that and it might look like they were showing up for a fight.

  “What are you going to do?” Gemma asked. Thanks to the light from the house, he could finally see her face. Her eyes were wide, full of either fear or apprehension. Mitch’s heart sank to his feet. Beautiful, spirited Gemma… He’d brought her into this whole mess, however unknowingly. She had come west expecting a life of moderate normalcy, and instead, she had gotten this mess.

  It was up to him to make things right for her.

  He burned to caress her cheek, to show her with his touch that not only did he care, but everything was going to be all right. Though he mostly refrained from touching her when he wanted to, in this moment, he didn’t stop himself.

  She sucked in air as fingers skimmed across the softness of her face. Lashes fluttering, she took a tiny step closer to him.

  “Mitchell,” she whispered.

  “Mm?” He couldn’t take his eyes off hers. Even in the night, they captured his gaze and sucked him in.

  “You did not answer me,” she throatily said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to go over to Greene’s and talk to him.”

  “You really think it is him? Is it not dangerous to just go over there in such a way?”

  He sighed, bringing his thumb dangerously close to the corner of her mouth. Gemma’s lips parted, her soft, lower one brushing the pad of his thumb.

  “Maybe,” he admitted.

  Her brows pushed tight together. “Is there not a sheriff who can go instead?”

  “There is one,” he admitted. “But he’s at home now, probably getting ready for bed. There’s no use in bothering him until I have some real information.”

  With her face wrinkled up, she didn’t look convinced in the slightest. “I will go with.”

  “No,” he sharply said. “You stay here.”

  “So, it is dangerous.”

  Mitch opened his mouth, but then, just ended up closing it again. It was hard to win with this one.

  “I cannot lose you,” she whispered, her voice frantic. “Not after I have just found you.”

  Her words twisted every part of Mitchell’s soul and body. “Gemma...”

  He wanted to tell her that he could not lose her either, that whatever she had to tell him didn’t matter, that he would care for her no matter what, that she was his and he was doing his best to be the kind of man she deserved.

  He wanted to tell her that he loved her.

  He couldn’t do any of that, though. Not yet. As many promises as he wanted to make, he still wasn’t sure if he could keep them all.

  “Don’t worry,” he settled for saying. “I have Beau and the others with me. We’re just going to talk.”

  Gemma sucked in her bottom lip. “All right.” Her eyes flicked down to his holster, which held his pistol, but she said nothing else.

  Mitch forced himself to drop his hand from her face. “Go on in. Help Clara clean up. We’ll be back in no time at all.”

  She took a few tentative steps toward the house, then stopped. “Come and see me when you come back, just so I know everything is all right.”

  Mitch swallowed against the ball of emotion in his throat. It was just what he wanted: someone to wait up for him at night. “I will,” he promised.

  With a soft nod, she turned and climbed the steps. No sooner had the front door shut behind her than it opened again, Beau, Davis, and Nat spilling out onto the lawn. The air crackled at their appearance, full of the kind of charge that fills the land when there’s a particularly big lightning storm headed in. Just from that, Mitchell could safely assume Beau had filled the other two men in on what was going on.

  They quietly made their way to the horse barn, where they saddled up and rode out, two by two.

  “We’re just going to talk,” Mitch said after a minute of silence on horseback. “That’s all.”

  He shot Davis and Nat purposeful looks. They wouldn’t be able to read his face in the dark, but he got the sense they could feel the intention being aimed at them.

  “What makes you think Greene is the one behind all this?” Davis asked.

  Mitch sighed. “I don’t know for sure it’s him, but he told Gemma today that he was sorry to hear about the damage to our Northern fence.”

  “That fence is fine!” Nat exclaimed. “I checked it just yesterday.”

  “Exactly,” Beau quietly chimed in.

  “We checked it,” Mitch added. “And it’s not fine. Someone broke it. The axe marks are right there for anyone to see.”

  Davis sharply swore. “I never liked that man. He’s always talking up a racket in town, saying how he got cheated with his land.”

  Mitch sat up straighter in his saddle. “The land was for the taking when he came here. A man could pick out his plot, send the money in, and it was his.”

  “But all the best land was already taken,” Beau put in.

  Mitchell stewed in that. The way things were adding up, he couldn’t help but suspect he was onto the revelation he had been endlessly looking for. With each step Lady took toward Greene’s ranch, another one of his muscles tightened up. He couldn’t get Gemma’s worried look out of his head, or the odd sense that he was making a mistake out of his gut.

  We’re just going there to talk, he reminded himself. There would be no need for guns, sharp words, or the sheriff.

  The couple miles to Greene’s ranch seemed to take no time at all. A flash of lightning lit up the clouds above it, illuminating the row of buildings there. With it, a fresh breeze made Mitchell’s shirt flap a
gainst his chest.

  Greene’s main house was smaller than Winding Path’s, having been built from a more pragmatic point. It was the home of a bachelor, with no porch and minimal windows. As the group rode into the main yard, Mitchell stayed atop Lady and squinted his eyes against the darkness.

  “Evening!” someone called from near the barns.

  A man emerged from the dark and Mitch recognized him as Otis Harvey, Greene’s foreman. “It’s a bad night to be riding around,” he commented, coming up to the four men on horseback. “There’s a storm blowing in.”