The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches Read online

  “Good night,” she said.

  “’Night, ma’am,” Bat replied.

  She turned and walked toward the house, wondering if this was the last conversation she would have with Bat Wilson.

  Chapter 5

  Bat whirled his pony around and chased after a straying steer. He cut it off and drove it back toward the bunch Zeke and Billy were holding in a shallow ravine.

  “Think there’s any more up there?” Zeke called.

  “Not really, but I’ll ride up as far as the east fence line,” Bat said. “You fellas can head this bunch back home.”

  “Don’t get sidetracked by any sunsets or buzzards,” Billy told him with a grin.

  “Yeah, right.” Bat laid the reins across the pony’s neck and wheeled him away. It had been more than a week since the buzzard incident, and the boys were still making oblique references to it. And he hadn’t even written a poem about a buzzard. It wasn’t fair.

  Near as he could tell, Dwight hadn’t told anyone but the boss that Bat was leaving. The foreman had said he could tell the other men if he wanted to, and so far he hadn’t felt like it. If only some nine days’ wonder would happen for them to talk about, maybe then they’d forget about the poems. Nothing bad, of course. Bat didn’t wish for anything tragic to happen, but it sure would be nice for them to have a new topic to chew over in the bunkhouse.

  He rode all the way to the east fence alone and followed it up and down a few hills until he was sure they’d found all the strays on this part of the ranch. The boss wanted them all brought in to a pasture nearer the home ranch. Bat almost hated to go back, but he’d better start in that direction.

  When he reached the pasture a mile from the house, Dwight and the men were culling out some young stock. The foreman waved him over.

  “I need you to ride up to the house and tell the boss we’ve got three beeves with the Markham brand. See if he wants me to send them home now or wait. And tell him I’m sending three of the men out to ride the fence that borders Markham to see if there’s a break in it.”

  “Sure.” Bat wheeled his pony and trotted off toward the house. No sense hurrying in this heat. It had to be ninety degrees in the shade. Three head of cattle wasn’t many, but Mr. Lane always liked to know when his animals strayed and when someone else’s came on his land. Other ranch owners would let the foreman handle something as unimportant as this, but not Mr. Lane. He had to know every little thing that happened on his land, especially where the fences were concerned.

  This fencing business was fairly new. A few years ago, all the herds grazed together on the common range. But now, everyone was fencing off their own property and trying to make sure they had plenty of grass and water inside their fences.

  Bat pulled the bay up in front of the house and walked slowly up onto the front porch. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his neckerchief and then held the hat down at his side. Maybe one of the ladies would come to the door. On the prospect of seeing Miss Rilla, he wished he weren’t so grubby. Not that it mattered much.

  Mrs. Lane opened the door, and Bat stepped back a little, surprised that she was the one who responded. He hadn’t seen her much since her illness. She looked thin and pale, but he guessed that was to be expected.

  “Hello, Bat.”

  “Afternoon, ma’am. Is the boss in? I had a message for him from the foreman.”

  Mrs. Lane glanced over her shoulder and frowned. “He’s busy right now. Could you come back later? Or maybe I could give him the message.”

  “Sure. It’s just that we found three of Markham’s cattle over on our east range. Dwight sent some men out to check the fence line that borders Markham’s land, but he wanted Mr. Lane to know, and to ask if he wants us to drive them back right now.”

  Mrs. Lane blinked. For a moment, Bat wondered if she was going to speak or not. Finally, she said, “That’s fine, Bat. I’ll tell him.” She started to close the door.

  “Do you want me to wait for an answer, ma’am?” he asked quickly.

  “Uh…” She looked back into the house again and then faced him. “No, I don’t think so. If Mr. Lane wants to do something today, he’ll come out and talk to Dwight about it. Otherwise, you can assume he’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And thank you.”

  She shut the door softly.

  Bat stood there for a moment. That was the oddest encounter he could remember—if you didn’t count the one down by the creek with Rilla. Mrs. Lane gave him the impression she’d barely been able to hold herself up while she talked to him. Where was Rilla, anyway? She ought to be helping her ma get back to her bedroom. The woman obviously hadn’t regained her full strength.

  He turned away and walked down the porch steps. A soft whicker from beyond the side of the house drew his attention. Curious, he walked around the building. A large poplar stood a short distance from the house, casting a little shade in the summer sun. Beneath it, two horses were tethered.

  Bat studied the saddled mounts. He didn’t recognize them immediately, but the ranch had more than thirty horses in its string. But if two of the ranch men had left their horses for a short time, they wouldn’t have tied them in a place like that, off to the side of the house. They would have taken them across the yard to the corral.

  He looked over toward the fenced enclosure. Bluebell and a couple of other horses were milling about inside. Bluebell whinnied and paced over to the fence. The bay horse tied beneath the poplar answered her call. Bat scratched his chin. Something didn’t feel right.

  He stepped up close to the kitchen window, shaded his eyes, and peered in through the glass. Empty. Seemed like Rilla usually started supper about now.

  He backed away and tiptoed around to the back of the house.

  Rilla’s mother walked slowly into the parlor and made her way to her daughter’s side. Rilla reached out to support her, throwing a defiant glance at the two strangers in the room.

  “Who was it?” demanded the man nearest her.

  Rilla didn’t appreciate looking down the muzzle of a Colt .45. She liked having her parents threatened even less. She put her arm around Mama and gave her a little squeeze.

  “It was Bat Wilson,” Mama said.

  “Who’s that?” asked the man who stood next to Pa, who was kneeling beside his desk, next to the safe where he kept all the ranch funds. Pa had brought the money for the monthly payroll from town yesterday, and tomorrow was the men’s payday. Somehow these two crooks knew that and decided to strike before the men drew their wages.

  “He’s one of my cowpunchers,” Pa said.

  “What’d he want?”

  The first man had a bandanna covering his mouth and nose, but Rilla tried to memorize every detail of the parts she could see. Short, wavy brown hair, flinty gray eyes, sandy eyebrows and large ears.

  Mama drew in a deep breath. “The foreman sent word they’d found a few of our neighbor’s cattle on our range. I told him Mr. Lane would tend to it tomorrow.” Her words came out in a soft, breathy tone.

  “Please let my mother sit down,” Rilla said. “She isn’t well.”

  The man covering them with his weapon—“Gray Eyes”—hesitated then looked to his cohort, who nodded. Gray Eyes sidled over to the desk chair and pulled it across the carpet to where the women stood. Woolly, who had lain patiently at Rilla’s feet during all of this disturbance, jumped up and scrambled out of the way of the moving chair. Poor little fellow, he had no idea what was going on.

  Rilla grasped the back of the chair and turned it so her mother could sit without facing the thugs directly.

  “There, Mama. Sit down and rest. It’s going to be all right.”

  “You’d better not hurt them,” Pa growled.

  The robber beside him raised his pistol so it pointed directly at Pa’s face. “You keep your mouth shut and get that safe open, mister.”

  Mama sank into the chair and let out a soft sob, and Rilla patted her shoulder. She wasn’t afrai
d for herself, really, but the idea of what these men could do to Mama infuriated her. Even if they didn’t terrorize the family any further, the damage was done. Mama would never feel safe again in her own home, and Rilla knew she would think twice about riding out on the range alone.

  Mama sobbed again and leaned her head against Rilla’s side. Rilla put her arms around her and held her close. “It’s all right, dear. They’ll be gone soon.”

  Woolly sniffed around Mama’s skirts and looked up at Rilla with a muted whine.

  “It’s all right, boy. Lie down.” Rilla moved her hand in the signal for the trick, and Woolly settled on the rug at Mama’s feet.

  “Quit the chitchat,” the man near the safe said. He turned his attention back to Pa. “What’s taking so long, old man?”

  Pa gritted his teeth. “You’ve got me nervous.”

  That wasn’t like Pa. Rilla eyed him cautiously. Now was not the time for heroics. She fully believed these men would hurt them if he didn’t open the safe, and soon.

  A flutter of movement beyond Gray Eyes caught her notice, and she glanced toward the window. She froze and then looked away, schooling her features to remain steady. Whatever happened now, she mustn’t give away what she had just seen, although her heart leaped. And Woolly—if he noticed, he would jump up and bark.

  Outside the parlor window, squinting in through the glass, stood Bat Wilson.

  Bat was sure Rilla’s eyes had met his. He took in the scene, his throat tightening. Two gunmen. And they were forcing Mr. Lane to open his safe. Tomorrow was payday. It didn’t take a professor to put it together. Most ranches paid at the end of the month. Those outlaws had probably been hanging around town for the last couple of days to see who came out of the bank and find out where the more prosperous-looking ones lived.

  He had to do something, but what? There wasn’t time to ride out to where Dwight and the other men were working. If he fired a gun to attract their attention, the robbers inside would be warned. They might hurt the women. That was what made the sweat roll down Bat’s back. He wouldn’t feel so bad if it were just Mr. Lane in there. But Mrs. Lane—and Rilla!

  Crouching beneath the window frame, he removed his hat and eased upward for another look. Mrs. Lane was sitting down, clinging to Rilla, who stood beside her with an arm protectively about her mother’s shoulders. Mr. Lane was still at the safe. Stalling?

  Woolly. For the first time, Bat saw the dog, lying calmly at Mrs. Lane’s feet, but watching Rilla intently.

  Bat racked his brain. What could he do to help that wouldn’t further endanger the Lane family? He sent up a quick prayer for wisdom, but instead of a profound answer, lines from Rilla’s discarded poems galloped through his mind.

  Something feral in me…

  Yep, he felt a little on the wild side right now, but what to do?

  He packs light, only what he might need

  To face the next cattleman’s deed.

  A knife, lest the unexpected comes up;

  A few matches, courage, and a small tin cup.

  Hmm. This was something unexpected, all right. Was this his next cattleman’s deed? He had packed light, just like the poem said. He had his six-shooter, but he was outgunned. What else, a knife? He had one, but what good would it do in this situation? Matches… no. Courage? He pressed his lips together. He was willing to act, if he knew how. Was that courage?

  —and a small tin cup.

  That didn’t help either. But he’d thought when he read it that Rilla meant something that seemed insignificant. In a hard spot, an item the man thought of as incidental might turn out to be the key to his deliverance.

  An idea flashed through Bat’s mind. If only Rilla would look this way.

  Rilla forced herself not to look toward the window again, in case one of the robbers saw her and noticed Bat outside. Unless several other men were close at hand, there was nothing Bat could do to help them, and she didn’t want to involve any more innocent people. If Pa would just hurry and get the safe open, the thieves could get the money and leave, without hurting anyone. Her knees quivered. If this went on much longer, she might collapse from nervous strain.

  She couldn’t help it—as Gray Eyes watched intently while her father fiddled with the dial on the safe, she glanced toward the window again. She hoped her eyes didn’t flare as the shock hit her. Bat was gesturing with his hand, trying to signal her somehow.

  Rilla flicked a glance at the outlaws. They were still occupied with Pa and the safe. What was Bat trying to tell her? She dared to look toward him. He put his hand to his brow and pantomimed tipping his hat. What on earth?

  It struck her suddenly, and the adrenaline surge nearly did her in. Could she pull it off? She looked down at Woolly, who lay obediently on the floor, but with his hindquarters bunched, ready to spring up. Down low, near her side, she wiggled her hand, hoping to draw the dog’s attention. He didn’t seem to notice.

  She glanced toward the window, but Bat had disappeared. He was probably ducking down and staying out of sight, which was good. She wasn’t sure if doing as his motions suggested would help, but she supposed it was worth a try.

  She didn’t dare make a sound to attract the dog’s attention, for fear Gray Eyes would hear her, too. The outlaw turned his head and looked over at her. Rilla did her best to return his gaze with a bland look.

  The door to the safe swung open with a creak. Both robbers moved in closer to Pa, stooping to peer inside.

  Rilla squeezed Ma’s shoulder. A shadow made her glance toward the doorway leading to the kitchen. Bat stood there, his pistol in his hand. Again, he made the hat-tipping motion and nodded toward the floor.

  “Bring out that box,” one of the robbers said. “Is the money in that?”

  Rilla made the tiniest squeak with her lips. Woolly’s ears perked, and he looked up at her, eager for instruction. With her hand, she signaled up. Silently, the dog rose, his eyes still on her face. Rilla reached up and pretended to tip her hat.

  Chapter 6

  With a small yip, Woolly leaped toward Gray Eyes, who had bent down to see the cash box Pa pulled from the safe. Rilla sucked in a breath, fearing the robber would shoot Woolly, but he didn’t see the dog lunging toward him until it was too late.

  Woolly slammed into the robber’s side, throwing him off balance, but he managed to grab Gray Eyes’s hat and knock it to the floor.

  “Hey!” the robber jerked upright and away from the dog, but in doing so, he dropped his pistol.

  Bat strode into the room, his gun pointed at the second robber. “Drop it, mister.”

  Rilla’s father jumped faster than she had ever seen him move before. The robbers appeared to be one step behind in processing what had happened, and Pa snatched Gray Eyes’s pistol from the oak floor. He stepped away from the intruders and leveled it at the outlaw who still held a pistol.

  “Do as he says and drop the gun,” Pa said.

  The robber nearest the safe looked from Pa to Bat and back again. Slowly he bent and laid his gun on the floor.

  “Now both of you get over there in the corner,” Bat said. “Mr. Lane, what do you want to do with them?”

  “Get some rope. We’ll tie them up and get the sheriff.”

  “There’s some clothesline rope in the kitchen cupboard, Pa,” Rilla said.

  “Perfect,” her father said. “Go get it.”

  Rilla hurried past Bat and to the cupboard where she kept cleaning supplies and odds and ends. She grabbed the coil of leftover cotton rope and dashed back to the parlor.

  While her father and Bat tied the robbers’ hands behind their backs, she went to her mother’s side and knelt by her chair.

  “Are you all right, Mama?”

  Her mother turned her pale face toward her. “Yes, dear. I’m just fine. I’m so proud of you!”

  “I couldn’t have done anything without Bat and Woolly,” Rilla said. “Let me help you to your room now. You must be exhausted.”

  “Yes, I’d like to
lie down.”

  Rilla put her hand under Mama’s elbow, and she rose stiffly. They hobbled out of the room and down the hallway to the bedrooms. Mama sat down on the edge of her and Pa’s bed. Rilla knelt to untie her shoes for her.

  “You go on, dear. I’ll be fine now.”

  “Just let me make you comfortable.” Rilla removed the shoes and pulled a blanket over her mother. She smoothed her mother’s graying blond hair back off her forehead. “It’s going to be all right.”

  Mama smiled. “Yes, I know it is. God was watching over us.”

  “He certainly was.”

  “Now, don’t let me sleep too long,” Mama said. “I’ll want to get up and help you with supper.” Her eyelids fluttered shut.

  Rilla tiptoed out and closed the bedroom door. She leaned against it for a moment. “Thank You, Lord Jesus.” Pulling in a deep breath, she went back to the parlor.

  Pa and Bat had trussed the two men up and removed their bandannas. She studied their faces, but she didn’t believe she had seen either one of them before. Woolly had settled on the hearth rug with Gray Eyes’s hat and was gnawing on the brim.

  She walked over to her father. “Are they from around here?”

  “Drifters.” Her father frowned at her. “Don’t get too close, Rilla. In fact, I’d rather you kept right away until the sheriff gets here.”

  “All right.” She supposed that made sense.

  “Wilson, help me get them out to the barn,” Pa said. “We’ll tie their ankles once we get them out there and lock them in the foaling stall. They can’t get out of there. And then you can ride into town for the sheriff.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rilla stepped into the kitchen and listened as they herded the thieves out the front door. She went to the window and watched. With Bat and her father both on the alert, the robbers didn’t try to get away. A few minutes later, Bat and Pa came out of the barn. Bat went to where one of his cow ponies was ground tied. He must have ridden in on that horse when he brought the message to Mama. It seemed hours ago, but the horse stood patiently in the barnyard.