Promises Kept (9 page)

She was quiet as they rode, her thoughts centered on Mr. Barlow and how fate had a way of squashing all her dreams. She was grateful Colt didn’t ply her with questions; he seemed content to ride in silence. After they had ridden a few miles, she said, “I was surprised to see you here.”

“I was surprised too,” he admitted. “I only learned Chet planned to marry when I got back from St. Louis. He didn’t tell me who he was marrying.”

Smoothing her skirt with her hands, she tried desperately to think of something to say to change the subject. She didn’t want to discuss what was to have been her impending marriage, but his broad shoulders crowding her made thought nearly impossible. After a long while she relaxed enough to ask, “Is your ranch far away?”

“By buckboard it will take about an hour.” He didn’t say he was going slower than normal since he figured she had to be tired of being jostled around after that stagecoach ride. He glanced down at the dog who was trying to nudge his nose between them. He still had the hat in his jaws like a lifeline. Colt smiled at him. “Did you bring that dog all the way from St. Louis? I don’t remember seeing him at Chet’s before.”

“I saw him on the side of the road and the stagecoach driver let him ride with us.” She placed her arm around the dog’s neck. “I call him Bandit.”

Colt nodded, thinking to himself that Miss Victoria Eastman might be as skittish around men as a sportin’ gal in church, but anyone could see she had a soft heart for animals. That made her okay in his book.

“Mr. McBride, were you a good friend to Mr. Barlow?”

“You can call me Colt. Chet’s family was on this land as long as mine. I knew him all my life. He was a good man.”

Nearly on the verge of tears again, she took a deep breath before she said, “I would like to go pay my respects to him.”

“Eli . . . the man who works for Doc Barnes, he tends to the . . . deceased. He’ll have Chet ready by tomorrow. I’ll take you to town in the morning and we can both pay our respects. I’ll send some men to tell the other ranchers the funeral will be held at noon tomorrow at the family cemetery.”

Victoria felt obligated to tell him about her relationship with Mr. Barlow since it was obvious she had never met the man. Still, she hated to admit her circumstances to a complete stranger. “I came out here to see if Mr. Barlow was a man I could marry,” she said softly.

Colt had to strain to hear her. It seemed to him that she had to force the words out of her mouth. He could understand how it might embarrass her to confess the reason for coming to Wyoming, particularly to marry a complete stranger. He wanted to ask her a lot of questions, that was a fact. The first one would be how a beautiful young woman like her, with a couple of kids, got into such a fix. But he sure didn’t want to talk about her almost marriage to Chet. He wondered what he would have done in St. Louis if he’d known she was looking for a husband. That was a question he would have to think about later. Right now, the silence was becoming uncomfortable, so he had to say something to acknowledge what she had confided. “You came a long way.”
That was profound. Couldn’t I have thought of something better to say?

Not a word passed between them the rest of the way.

Chapter Nine

The entrance to the McBride Cattle Ranch was remarkably simple, yet unlike anything Victoria had ever seen. Two large posts, one on each side of the entryway, were topped by a huge log eight feet off the ground bearing the name of the ranch, McBride Cattle Company, etched deep. Mounted on top of the log was a large pair of horns whose former owner must have been a monstrous Texas longhorn. After they passed through the entryway, Colt glanced at Victoria. “We’re on my land.”

Looking around, Victoria saw nothing that resembled a structure. Every few minutes she scanned the horizon for a glimpse of his home, but nothing came into view except more cattle and more land. She was so tired she wished she could crawl in the back of the buckboard with Bandit to sleep. More time and distance passed before she asked, “Exactly how far away is your home, Mr. McBride?”

“Colt,” he reminded her. “We’ll be there in a few more minutes.”

“You must have a lot of land.” It seemed like they had ridden as long as her journey from St. Louis to Wyoming.

Colt chuckled at that. “Yes, ma’am, it takes a lot of land for cattle.”

A large home finally came into view. The massive structure was not what she expected. The magnificence of the formidable log and stone home silhouetted against the infinite expanse of blue sky took her breath away. It was a much grander home than one would ever expect in this secluded part of the country.

“Oh my,” she said softly.

“The old home place burned down and I built this one a couple of years ago.” Colt pulled the buckboard in front of the house and helped her down.

To her surprise, there were delicate pink tea roses climbing up one side of the house, lending a softer appearance to the expansive stone home. “It’s beautiful. Do you have a large family?”

“Two brothers. Jake’s a U.S. Marshal, and Lucas, well, I’m not sure what he’s up to now, but he was busting broncs down in the Arizona Territory.”

Once inside, Victoria followed him up the staircase. It was difficult for her to comprehend how his brothers could leave such a beautiful place. She would never leave a home like this. “Do you see them often?”

“It’s been a few years.”

Noting a sadness that seemed to come over him, she didn’t ask more questions about his brothers. She understood the need to keep some things private.

Colt opened the door to a large bedroom, easily five times as large as her room at Mrs. Wellington’s. Victoria’s eyes immediately went to the tub in the far corner of the room. What she wouldn’t give for a long, hot bath.

Colt caught her eyeing the tub. “You must be spent. I’ll have water carried up for you, and some grub to hold you over until dinner.” Glancing down at the dog that followed them up the stairs, he added, “I’ll get him something to eat too. Maybe he won’t eat the rest of that hat.”

Smiling, Victoria said, “I’ll take him outside. I didn’t realize he followed us upstairs.”

Moving to the door, Colt bent over to rub Bandit’s ears. “He can stay in here with you. If you need anything, just yell for Mrs. Morris.”

Victoria was hanging up her dresses from her valise when there was a soft knock on the door. “Come in.”

An elderly white-haired woman entered carrying a tray filled with ham, biscuits, and jam. “Miss Eastman, I’m Helen Morris. I’ve brought you a little snack.” She crossed the room and placed the tray on the table. “Colt said you probably hadn’t eaten all day.”

“Please call me Victoria. This is so kind of you, but you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. I just pulled the biscuits from the oven.” Mrs. Morris turned a critical eye on Victoria. “Land sakes, you’re just skin and bones.” She pulled the chair out from the table. “Now sit yourself down and dig in. This is my special homemade blackberry jam. Colt is having the men bring water for your bath, so you have time for a bite.”

“I have to admit those biscuits smell delicious,” Victoria told her earnestly, taking a seat at the small table.

Mrs. Morris reached for a large piece of ham on the tray and tossed it to Bandit. “That ought to hold you till supper, too.” Bandit seemed reluctant to release the hat, but the piece of juicy ham won out.

Mrs. Morris was still chatting away when the two men came in the room to fill the tub. After the men left, she placed a towel and a bar of soap on the stand beside the tub. “Honey, you’ve had a terrible time; now, you get some rest before dinner. We eat about six o’clock, but we can make it later.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. Please don’t change dinner plans on my account.”

Mrs. Morris left the room and Victoria eyed the steam coming from the water. She decided she wanted a bath more than she wanted food. Downing only half of her biscuit, she gave the remaining half to Bandit and started to undress.

Colt walked to his bedroom and poured himself a whiskey. Dropping into his favorite oversized leather chair, he sipped his drink and thought about Chet. It was difficult losing a friend, and even more so knowing that Chet had been looking forward to being married. He would have been spending this very night with his bride. As it turned out, his friend had waited too long to decide to marry. He had no time left.

Thinking about how quickly time passed allowed his thoughts to drift to his brothers. Talking to Victoria about them brought feelings to the surface that he didn’t often like to rehash. There was a time when he thought no brothers were closer than the three of them. Their mother had been killed when Colt was twelve years old, and being the eldest, he shouldered much of the responsibility of raising his brothers. Their father, Kerrick McBride, died almost nine years ago, and his unexpected death hit the brothers hard. Everyone saw the elder McBride as the very foundation that held the McBride Cattle Company together, but Colt was particularly devastated by his father’s death. He’d worked by his father’s side since he was a boy, learning every aspect of running a successful cattle ranch. Even though he and his brothers shared an uncommon bond, Colt considered his father his best friend. The very day they buried the elder McBride, every cowboy on the place looked to Colt as boss. Without hesitation, he assumed that role, and out of necessity he had to forgo his grieving for his father. He threw himself into work, more times than not putting in eighteen-hour days trying to hold the ranch together. That first winter was the worst they had ever experienced, and he’d been close to losing the ranch. As it turned out, he ended up losing half his cattle, but he’d managed to hold the ranch together. He made a vow that first year that he would do whatever it took to make sure the McBride legacy would be intact for future generations. In tough times he reminded himself that his father had faced his share of hardships and made it through. There was no way he would lose the ranch, not as long as he had breath in his body. Considering his brothers hadn’t been home in years, and his own lack of interest in starting a family, there were times he wondered why he pushed himself so hard. There was no guarantee there would even be future McBride generations.

Looking back, he knew it was the months following his father’s death when he emotionally separated himself from his brothers. Not intentionally, he’d just lost himself in his work, the only way he knew how to deal with the loss of his father. It had never occurred to him that his brothers might feel there was no longer a place for them on the ranch. Within a year Jake took off to become a U.S. Marshal, and Lucas left with no particular destination in mind. It wasn’t that his brothers didn’t love the ranch; he knew they did, but his very soul belonged on this land, it was in his blood, the air in his lungs.

There was only one time in his life when he’d considered a different line of work. Gunslinger. His mind drifted back to the events that led him to that decision when he was just twelve years old. He’d taken his mother into town to shop while he picked up supplies for his father. As he was loading the buckboard, his mother walked out of the general store, chatting with the owner. Across the street, two men stalked out of the saloon, arguing over a game of cards. Creed Thomas, a known fast gun, had accused Dunc Gaines of cheating. Thomas said Gaines was dealing from the bottom of the deck. Tempers flared, and Colt thought he was going to see a fistfight. Instead, the two men squared off in the middle of the road with a few feet separating them. Within seconds, men from the saloon spilled onto the sidewalk to watch the action. Having never seen a gunfight before, Colt was spellbound. Even these many years later, he could recall the events as they unfolded, moment by moment. It was as though every movement, every blink of an eyelid was in slow motion. He saw the faces in the crowd. Some men jeered, while others scrambled out of the way, diving for cover. Looking into the eyes of Creed Thomas, Colt knew the moment he was going to draw, and he felt like he had a premonition. It was that moment of realization that propelled him into action. He leaped toward his mother as he shouted for her to get down. Both men cleared leather, but Creed Thomas shot Gaines dead quicker than a man could spit. Gaines hit the dirt, and his pistol discharged when it slammed to the ground. Colt hadn’t reached his mother in time. The errant bullet found her heart. In that split second, Colt and his brothers lost every ounce of beauty and gentleness in their lives. His mother was a beautiful, tenderhearted woman, loved by all who knew her. She was the polar opposite of Kerrick McBride, who was as tough and rugged as they came. But around his mother, his father was as gentle as a baby calf. Colt never really recovered from the feeling that he’d failed in his responsibility to take care of her like his father had instructed that morning. His father hadn’t blamed him. He’d told Colt over and over that her death was an accident, there was nothing he could have done, but his words fell on deaf ears. Colt lost more than his mother that day. He’d lost his faith.

A few days after they laid their mother to rest, the sheriff told them Creed Thomas had been drinking and losing at cards for hours that fateful day, and he was spoiling for a fight. The men in the saloon swore that Gaines was not cheating, but it was a fair fight, so the sheriff couldn’t charge Thomas with a crime. Even though the sheriff ran Thomas out of town, it did nothing to assuage Colt’s anger. He wanted revenge, and he vowed he would have it one day.

Within the hour after his mother’s funeral, Colt grabbed two of his father’s pistols and started practicing. That first day he practiced his draw until he couldn’t lift his arms. Not a day passed that he didn’t practice for hours. By the third week his brothers joined him. A few months later, they were all fast draws and more importantly, deadly accurate shots. Their father hadn’t discouraged them; he wanted his boys to be able to protect themselves with pistols if necessary. The way he saw it, pistols were a necessity if a man was going to survive in a land where guns oftentimes did the talking. Within months, Colt knew he had a faster draw than Creed Thomas, but he continued to practice.