Salvation in the Rancher's Arms. Kelly Boyce

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СКАЧАТЬ a distance. Tiny lines creased the edges of his eyes, and his full mouth pulled itself into a severe line. There was no give or softness to be found anywhere. He was all harsh angles and rugged maleness. It overpowered her senses, and she let him pull her along without protest.

      He led her away from Shamus, down the hill toward the church, his hand solid and firm where it gripped her arm. It had been a long time since a man had touched her. Warmth spread through her and she cursed her body’s weakness. So much like her mother.

      She gritted her teeth against the thought and found her voice. “Where are you taking me? The boys—”

      “Boys are fine,” he said, casting a quick glance behind them to where Ethan and Brody stood with Freedom.

      So close, his eyes were even more potent, neither brown nor green but a mottled shade of both, and set above a pair of razor-sharp cheekbones burned by the elements. Poking out from beneath his hat, thick brown hair curled up at the ends and whiskers, tinted red where the sunlight touched them, prickled his jaw.

      “You’re the man who brought Robert home.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      She waited for more as he directed her around Mrs. Lyngate and her brood of eight children, but the man was silent as a church on Monday morning. She struggled to keep up with his swift gait, gathering her skirts in her free hand.

      “Do you mind telling me what my husband was doing in Laramie that got him shot?”

      His gaze drifted over her, making her tremble, as if he had reached out and brushed his fingertips against her bare skin. The sensation left her unsettled.

      “Maybe that question is best answered at another time. I’ll be at the Pagget this evening. Seven o’clock.”

      Before she could respond, the stranger propelled her into the crowd in the courtyard and the pressure on her arm disappeared, leaving her staring at the broad expanse of his retreating back. Another round of platitudes began. Rachel accepted the condolences, realizing he had left her safely ensconced in the bosom of the mourners where Shamus wouldn’t dare accost her.

      But Shamus waited, standing near the outskirts of the crowd. His pale blue eyes pierced her. Then he smiled, all arrogance, before turning and leaving. She had avoided him today, but it was a temporary reprieve.

      She wasn’t as blind as the townspeople believed. She knew all about Robert’s gambling debts. Shamus made sure of it. She also knew that, if he decided to call in the markers, she would have no way of paying them back save to sell him her land.

      And Shamus Kirkpatrick was not the type of man to let a little thing like Robert’s death keep him from taking it.

      * * *

      Caleb sat in the dining room of the Pagget Hotel wishing he had picked another location for his meeting with Mrs. Sutter. He’d chosen it out of convenience, since he was staying there, but the tired-looking décor and even more tired-looking waitress made him rethink his decision. The place had a faded and worn-out feel to it, as though its heyday had come and gone years before.

      For himself, he couldn’t have cared less. A campfire and can of beans were all he needed, but a lady like Mrs. Sutter deserved nicer surroundings. And given the news he was about to deliver, a comfortable setting was the least he could provide. But it was too late now.

      He motioned for the waitress to refill his cup of coffee, hoping this one would taste better than the sludge served earlier. The dark liquid she poured into the chipped mug reeked of tree bark scorched in the fire. He’d seen warmed tar with a more appetizing consistency.

      Mrs. Sutter appeared at the threshold separating the small dining room from the main lobby, her hands clasped tightly at her waist. An air of vulnerability lingered around her as she stood on the precipice as if trying to decide whether to continue on or retreat. The urge to protect her against what he needed to do surged up, and he struggled to stuff it down as Mrs. Sutter dropped her hands to her sides, straightened her narrow shoulders and stepped forward.

      Caleb stood as she approached his table.

      “Evenin’, ma’am.” He nodded, then remembered his manners at the last minute and rounded the table to pull out her chair. She was already half seated by the time he reached her. Apparently Mrs. Sutter didn’t stand on ceremony.

      “Thank you for meeting me, Mr.—” She stopped. Confusion marred the clean lines of her face. Again, he was struck by her simple beauty. She shook her head and folded her hands primly in her lap. “I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”

      He hesitated. He’d had used many over the years. But for some reason he didn’t want to lie to her. He didn’t delve into why.

      “Beckett,” he said. “Caleb Beckett.”

      She smiled, a small, halting expression lost in the dark depths of her eyes. “Mr. Beckett.”

      The name sounded foreign. Like returning home after years away and finding the landscape had changed shape. Yet, when she said it, her tone and the small hint of a smile made him remember the boy he used to be. For a brief moment, a sense of belonging enveloped him.

      He quickly shook it off and returned to his seat across from her. “Would you like something to eat?” A pale cast marred her skin. The shock of the past twenty-four hours had exacted a toll, he suspected, despite her outwardly calm demeanor.

      “No. Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.” She pursed her lips and two narrow lines formed between her brows. He curled his hand into a fist to keep from reaching over and smoothing them out. She didn’t deserve to be put through this worry and distress.

      “You’re welcome, ma’am.” Although he had little choice. They had business to discuss and the sooner he got it done, the sooner he could leave.

      Mrs. Sutter let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping on the exhale. “I am hoping you can give me some answers.”

      “Answers?” He stared down into his coffee cup and turned the mug around in his hands. This was the part he had dreaded.

      “Do you know why my husband was in Laramie? He told me he was purchasing cattle at the auction, but...”

      But purchasing cattle didn’t get a man shot in the chest and stuffed in a pine box.

      Her gaze did not waver; even without looking at her, he could feel it on him. Despite Sutter’s unflattering description of his wife, Caleb found her straightforward manner appealing. He found her appealing, a fact that disturbed what little peace he had. He chose his words with care.

      “Could be he did attend the auction.”

      “But that’s not where you met him.” She lifted her chin. “I would prefer if you would be honest with me, Mr. Beckett. Do not feel you need to spare my sensibilities or protect me from the truth. I’m quite capable of handling it, whatever it is.”

      He didn’t doubt it for a second. Rachel Sutter didn’t strike him as the type to shirk from the storms life threw her way.

      “I met your husband at the Broken Deuce. There’s a poker game held there every year during the auction. A lot of money can change hands. Fortunes won or lost at the turn of a card.”

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