Chapter Nine

Sam swore viciously as he rode away from the school. What in the hell was wrong with him? Why was he doomed to fall in love with the wrong woman?

He might no longer be a seventeen-year-old boy, but he wasn’t the man Catherine Eaton wanted, either. No, ignorant Sam Connors didn’t even come close to meeting her standards. She wanted a man who was extraordinary, a genius, for God’s sake.

And what was wrong with her? Didn’t she know he’d ruined her? Didn’t she know she could be carrying his bastard child? Was the thought of marriage to him more horrible than scandal and disgrace?

Apparently so.

The pain he’d sworn never to feel again assaulted him, the agony of rejection, of being judged and found unworthy. The wind whistling in his ears became a woman’s scornful laughter, echoing into the night. Catherine hadn’t laughed, but then, he hadn’t given her the chance. This time he’d had the good sense to protect himself, salvaging his pride if not his heart. It was small comfort.

Catherine wasn’t sure whether she felt more stupid for having surrendered yet again to Sam Connors or for having decided ahead of time she was going to. How could she have been such a fool? How could she have forgotten the kind of man he was? How could she have thought herself strong enough to handle the pain of his rejection?

She began the next day with a splitting headache, which worsened the instant David arrived, thus reminding her she had promised to help Sam keep him away from Jessica. However, when the Nylan children arrived, Jessica was not among them. According to Tommy, Jessica had decided she was too old for school and wouldn’t be coming back.

Catherine’s gaze immediately sought David’s. He looked guiltily away, but she saw the relief he could not hide. Catherine shared his relief. Still, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to talk the situation over with him. Maybe she could spare him some of the same kind of pain she was experiencing.

That afternoon they began their lesson by mounting canvases, one of the more physically demanding tasks an artist must master. David’s wiry strength was more than equal to the job, and Catherine stood back, admiring how tautly he stretched the fabric.

“How did Jessica’s portrait turn out?” she ventured after a few minutes of watching him in silence.

His eyes widened in shock, and he flushed scarlet. “Who told you?”

Oh, dear! How could she explain the circumstances under which she came by this information? “Your brother is very concerned about you,” she tried.

Fortunately, David was too mortified to wonder when Sam had spoken to her. “Nothing happened, Miss Eaton. Didn’t Sam tell you?”

“I believe Sam is worried about what may happen in the future.”

“Nothing,” David said emphatically. “Sam already warned me about girls like her, but I... well, I guess I forgot, but I won’t forget again.”

“What do you mean, Sam warned you about ‘girls like her’?” Catherine asked apprehensively.

David blushed again, concentrating on tapping in a tack at exactly the right spot. “I... well, he said if a girl will... you know, with me, then she’ll do it with anyone. A man doesn’t want a wife like that, now, does he?”

David’s earnest expression sent the heat rushing to Catherine’s own cheeks. So that was what Sam thought! No wonder he hadn’t made a proposal. He didn’t think she was worthy of marriage. Of course, he knew he had been her first and only lover, but apparently that made no difference. Now Catherine felt doubly a fool and totally humiliated. Why, he probably thought he could come to her any time he pleased now. He probably thought she was his mistress.

“I’m sorry,” David was saying, seeing her reaction. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I’m not embarrassed, and Sam’s right, of course. You’re entirely too young to be thinking about marriage. You have to plan for your education first.”

David’s hand froze, the tack hammer raised to strike. His robin’s egg eyes were bleak when they met hers. “What education do you think I’m going to get after this?” he asked, gesturing to include the one-room school.

For a moment Catherine had no answer. In Philadelphia, David’s talents would have been encouraged, and he would have been given every opportunity to improve them. Even if his family did not value art, he would have been sent somewhere to improve his mind. But here things were different. Here a boy learned the skills he needed from the back of a horse, not from books. David already possessed more academic knowledge than he would ever need to manage the Spur. And of course Sam had long ago informed her he had no intention of furthering David’s education.

“What would you like to do?” she asked the boy.

He stared at her thoughtfully, lowering the hammer and straightening from his task. “I’d like to go to the school where your father used to teach.”

Oh, yes, she thought, and that would be just the beginning. Then he should go to Europe, to study with the masters. And then... She couldn’t let her imagination go any farther. She had already raced past the possible in dreaming of David at the Pennsylvania Academy. A few months from now, David would be a full-time cowboy, browned and toughened by the sun and wind, all dreams of artistic achievement forgotten.

Except they wouldn’t be forgotten, as she well knew. They would remain, stifled and frustrated, souring in his heart until he grew bitter long before he grew old. How could she let it happen?

“David, have you told Sam what you want to do?”

He shook his head, raising the hammer and assaulting the tacks again. “You know what he’d say.”

“Maybe he’s changed his mind. I mean, he didn’t think you could learn to draw any better than you already did, but look at how much you’ve improved. If you told him how you feel...”

He looked up hopefully. “Maybe you could talk to him.”

“Me?”

“Sure. He—he likes you,” David said reluctantly, plainly unhappy with the idea. She knew Sam had been right when he had guessed David was jealous of his brother’s attentions toward her. She only hoped David never learned the full extent of those attentions.

“I’m sure you’re mistaken about Sam’s feelings for me. Besides, I’ve already meddled enough. He’s hardly likely to appreciate any more suggestions from me on how to handle you. Remember, you were the one who convinced him to let me give you lessons in the first place. If it will help, you can tell him I have friends in Philadelphia with whom you could stay, any one of several families who would watch over you like a son. He wouldn’t have to worry about your being alone so far from home. And the classes aren’t so very expensive... ”

David was shaking his head. “It won’t matter. None of it matters. He doesn’t want me to go away at all. The Spur is our home, it’s all we’ve got, Miss Eaton. He wants me to love it as much as he does.”

“And do you?”

David shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “It’ll always be my home.”

“But you love painting more, don’t you?”

David drew a deep breath and let it out on a shaky sigh. “Sam could never understand.”

Common sense told her he was right, but against her will, she recalled times when Sam had surprised her with his reasonableness and good judgment. Perhaps there was still hope. “David, Sam loves you very much, and he wants you to be happy. I think if he knew how important this is to you, he might change his mind.”

“Are you just trying to make me feel better?”

“No, of course not! Your brother is a reasonable man, and he’s kind and—” Her throat constricted, and she could not go on. If only Sam were as perfect as she made him out to be. Fortunately, David was too lost in his own thoughts to notice her distress. When she had control of her voice again, Catherine said, “When you’re finished there we’ll mix some paints.”

David nodded absently.

The next day Catherine asked David if he had spoken to Sam. The boy explained Sam had been as grouchy as a bear with a sore paw ever since Sir Herald had been killed. David was waiting until his brother was in a better mood before broaching the subject. Catherine agreed this was a good strategy.

Meanwhile, she instructed David on the methods of mixing oils and delighted in his unorthodox creations. At night she slept poorly, afraid Sam Connors might try to see her again.

And, as much as she hated to admit it, afraid he wouldn’t.

She spent the weekend with the Tates now that Alice’s mother had recovered from her miscarriage. They lived on a ranch not too far distant from town, so Catherine accompanied them back in for their Saturday shopping.

The main street was crowded with horses and wagons. Drivers called greetings to each other or shouted warnings to pedestrians. Catherine found herself searching the busy sidewalks for Sam’s familiar figure, telling herself she only wanted to avoid him. When she failed to find him, she could not explain away the pang of disappointment she felt.

Twila waved at her when she entered the store but she was busy with a customer, so Catherine wandered down the aisle toward the rear of the cavernous building, leaving Mrs. Tate to wait at the counter until Twila was free to fill her order.

Catherine was examining some dress goods when she noticed the two strangers she had seen last Sunday come in. If anything, they looked even more disreputable than before, but Catherine could not shake the feeling they were not what they seemed. She waited, and sure enough, they finally wandered down near where she was standing.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, catching them by surprise. They obviously never expected a lady to address them.

They each tipped their hats and the one called Bones sketched a little bow.

“ ’Morning, ma’am. Miss Eaton, ain’t it?”

Catherine nodded.

“We better mind our manners, Skeeter. This here’s the schoolteacher,” he said with mock solemnity.

Skeeter smiled his vacant grin, showing those marvelous teeth. In the confines of the store, Catherine couldn’t help but notice that neither man gave off an overly offensive body odor. Apparently, they weren’t as slovenly as their ragged clothes indicated.

Determined to learn what she could about them, she returned Skeeter’s grin. “Where are you gentlemen from?”

“Oh, here and there,” Bones said.

“Mostly there,” Skeeter added. Catherine caught the twinkle in his eyes, eyes that held the light of more intelligence than his demeanor indicated.

“Have you found a job yet?”

“Yes, ma’am. We went to the farm like Mr. Shallcross said, and we got jobs right away. Planting was mostly over, but we’ll be here for the harvest. That’s when a farmer needs help most,” Bones informed her.

“So I’ve heard,” Catherine replied wryly, noticing a twinkle in his eye, too. Close up she was able to see details about them she had missed at their first meeting. Bones’s lankiness did not equate to clumsiness. His awkwardness was studied, intentional. Behind Skeeter’s grin lay a fine bone structure, firm chin, and high forehead, denoting character.

And underneath the straggly beards, both men were actually handsome, something they had taken great pains to conceal. In Catherine’s experience, attractive, intelligent men didn’t go around in rags. These men were undoubtedly trying to disguise their true selves, and Catherine had no trouble discerning why. Her only concern now was on which side these men were secretly working.

“I hope someone has warned you about the men who are cutting fences,” she said pleasantly.

The two exchanged a look, a habit Catherine had observed before. Were they deciding on an answer or merely expressing their amazement at her question?

“We heard about it,” Bones said, “but folks are saying the ones who done it have hightailed it out of the country.”

“So they say, and I’m afraid that if more fences are cut now, people might suspect any newcomers to the area.”

Skeeter’s grin grew broader, and Catherine saw a flash of admiration in his eyes. Bones chuckled outright. “Now, Miss Eaton, you wouldn’t be trying to scare us, would you?”

“I have a feeling you two don’t scare very easily. It would take more than a warning from a schoolteacher to run you off, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am, it would,” Bones said. “ ’Specially since we ain’t causing nobody any trouble. We got ourselves some good jobs here. Why should we leave?”

“Why should you come here in the first place?” she countered.

For a second, Catherine glimpsed the cunning in Bones’s eyes and warning prickled down her spine. If these men were working with the Taggerts, she was courting danger.

Then Bones was smiling again, all traces of concentration gone from his expression. “We come here ’cause we thought we might find work, and when the work’s done, we’ll be on our way again. Don’t bother yourself none about us. We ain’t going to get in any trouble. Come on, Skeeter, we got to see Mr. Shallcross about some supplies.”

They tipped their hats again and hurried away. Catherine released her breath in a long sigh. Good heavens, she really must be losing her mind. First she carried on like a madwoman with Sam Connors, and now she was confronting men who might very well be dangerous. As Sam had pointed out to her, this wasn’t even her fight. When would she learn not to meddle in other people’s business?

Still, she could not resist asking her hostess if she had noticed anything peculiar about the two men with whom she had been speaking. Nadine Tate, a slender, attractive woman only a few years older than Catherine, stared after them thoughtfully.

“A hundred-dollar saddle on a forty-dollar pony,” Nadine murmured.

“What?”

“Their guns,” Nadine replied. “The men look like they’ve seen hard times but their guns are awful nice.”

Catherine recalled the scarred leather of their holsters and disagreed. “Somebody probably wore those gunbelts in the war,” she said, thinking they must be at least twenty years old.

“Not the gunbelts, the guns. Didn’t you notice how new they were?”

No, she hadn’t. Her trained eye had failed her for once, but perhaps that was because she still felt uncomfortable at the thought of men going armed and refrained from examining the six-shooters virtually every adult man wore. “What is odd about their wearing new guns?”

“If they can’t afford decent clothes, why would they have such expensive weapons?”

Once again Catherine felt the prickle of warning. “Do you think they might be hired gunmen?”

Nadine shook her head. “Why would hired gunmen get jobs shoveling manure?”

“To disguise their identity,” Catherine suggested. “They could get jobs punching cows just as easy and keep themselves just as secret. Why swallow their pride?”

“But if they were hired by the farmers to fight the fencing, it would be most logical for them to work for a farmer, wouldn’t it?”

Nadine waved away the argument. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re both being silly. Guns or no guns, those two fellows don’t look any more dangerous than a baby. Come help me pick out some fabric. Alice needs a new dress for school.”

Catherine tried to forget the two men, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of impending disaster. Last Sunday she had decided to tell Sam what she had noticed about them, but she had completely forgotten. Considering the circumstances of her last meeting with Sam, this was understandable. Now, in spite of that last meeting, she felt even more compelled to warn him, but the likelihood of having an opportunity to do so seemed quite remote.

Or at least it did until Nadine Tate took a hand. The next morning both Sam and David attended church. David greeted her warmly as she walked by with the Tate family. Sam nodded without speaking. Not wanting him to guess the way her whole body quaked at his nearness, Catherine did not meet his eye.

When the service was over, Catherine and Nadine joined a group of ladies in the yard. Catherine let the gossip drift around her, barely aware of the subjects under discussion as her nerves tuned themselves in to follow Sam’s every move. Surely he wouldn’t dare approach her here, not in front of all these people. And why should he approach her at all? They really had nothing more to say to each other.

Apparently, Sam agreed. He kept his distance, and after a while, Catherine began to relax. Suddenly, she realized the subject of the gossip had changed and she was the new topic.

“... all your suitors,” Twila was saying slyly.

“What about them?” Catherine asked, wishing she had been following the conversation more closely.

“Some of them have already managed to get Nadine to invite them to dinner today, but not the most important one,” Twila explained, still looking smug.

The other women tittered, and Catherine grew uncomfortably warm. She took solace in the assurance that Sam was not trying to continue the pretense of courtship, however. At least she would be spared that humiliation.

But only briefly. Opal gave Nadine an elbow to the ribs and pointed to draw her attention to where Nadine’s husband stood talking with Sam Connors. Giving Catherine a wink, Nadine excused herself and wandered over to them.

Feeling a little faint, Catherine closed her eyes and prayed Sam would refuse to cooperate in this obvious attempt at matchmaking.

“I think we can quit looking for them Taggerts now,” Al Tate was saying to Sam. “They just wanted to get even with you for shooting at them before they lit out.”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, then noticed Nadine Tate coming to take possession of her husband. He touched his hat brim and wished her good morning.

“ ’Morning, Sam. Nice day, ain’t it?” she asked, taking her husband’s arm. “Al, we’d better be going along home. We’ve got some guests coming for dinner. Seems Miss Eaton draws a crowd wherever she goes.”

She barely glanced at Sam, but he knew the remark was for his benefit. He’d been the victim of enough matchmaking attempts in his life to recognize a hint a mile away, and he responded exactly the way she wanted him to: jealously blazed hotly in his gut at the thought of those other men sniffing around Cat. Which of them would she take to her bed next?

Rage flooded up in him like a crimson tide, and for a moment he didn’t even hear what Nadine was saying.

“…you and Davy’ll join us for dinner.” She smiled expectantly, and Sam realized he had been issued an invitation.

He knew he shouldn’t go. He’d have to be crazy to subject himself to the pain of seeing her with other men and watching her pick her next lover, but he heard himself say, “Much obliged. Me and Davy’ll be glad to come.”

Nadine’s smile grew conspiratorial. “You know, Sam, somebody’ll have to bring Miss Eaton back to town this afternoon. If you came out in a buggy, you could offer to do it and spare Al the trip.”

“Where would Sam get a buggy?” Al asked, obviously confused by all this plotting.

“Mathias Shallcross would lend him his, I’m sure,” Nadine said confidently. “We’ll see you later, Sam,” she added, turning her husband and leading him away.

Sam cursed silently. He’d be a fool to borrow that buggy. Cat might well refuse to go with him. Besides, what would be the point? They could hardly exchange two words without fighting.

But if she were with him, she couldn’t be with anyone else, now, could she?

Catherine couldn’t believe this was happening. How could she have allowed herself to be tricked into allowing Sam Connors to take her home from the Tates?

All afternoon she had successfully avoided him, helping Nadine with the cooking and serving, finding a place at the table as far from him as she could get, and keeping David by her side as a buffer.

Just when she’d been congratulating herself on her success, Nadine had asked if she wouldn’t mind letting Sam take her home and saving Al the trouble. How could she refuse without sounding ungracious?

Consequently, she now found herself riding with Sam Connors alone, in a buggy. David was nearby, of course, riding his horse and not very happy about the arrangement. She thought again of his jealousy and felt a pang, but it was minor compared to the fury she felt at her own predicament.

She sat as far away from Sam as she could get, which wasn’t far enough, she realized with dismay. Although he was being as careful as she to avoid any physical contact, his mere presence was overwhelming in the enclosed vehicle. Memories of earlier intimacies teased at her consciousness. She hugged herself tightly and kept her eyes straight ahead.

“This wasn’t my idea,” he said as the Tate ranch buildings receded from view.

She glanced over in surprise. “Whose idea was it, then?”

“Nadine’s. She told me to borrow Mathias’s buggy so I could take you home.”

“You didn’t have to do it,” she pointed out, wondering how he could expect her to believe he didn’t relish having her at a disadvantage.

“If you didn’t want me to drive you home, you should have said so,” he snapped, more annoyed than he had any right to be.

“How could I refuse and ask Mr. Tate to make a special trip?”

His expression reminded her he had faced the same problem. She looked quickly away, unwilling to feel any sympathy for him. She’d be safer if she could hold onto her anger.

Casting about for a neutral subject with which to fill the looming silence, she settled on his brother. “David is doing remarkably well with his painting.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You have?” she said in renewed surprise. So far David had left all of his oils with her.

Sam shot her another annoyed glance. “I may not be a genius, but I can tell good work when I see it.”

What on earth did he mean he wasn’t a genius? Deciding not to inquire into what was obviously a sensitive subject, she asked, “When have you seen his work? Except for the nude woman, I mean.”

“He’s got half-a-dozen pictures in his room.”

“Really? I had no idea,” she cried, forgetting her inhibitions for a moment. “What is he doing?”

Sam shrugged. “Tress and scenery.”

“Landscapes.”

He frowned at her correction, but she hardly noticed.

“And you say they’re good?”

“They look fine to me, but of course, I’m no fancy artist.”

Fancy artist. The words brought back a rush of memories of their first night together. “I’m not one of your fancy artists, but I’ll make you happy,” he had said. Of course, he hadn’t said how long the happiness would last. What she couldn’t understand was the bitterness behind his words. Anyone would think he was the one who had been used so shamefully.

But she couldn’t point all this out to Sam Connors. “One needn’t be an artist to appreciate art,” she said tactfully, remembering David wanted to go to Philadelphia. Before he could Sam would have to be placated and convinced. “Your brother is extremely talented, talented enough to impress anyone.”

His eyes narrowed, even though he didn’t look at her. “You’ve done a good job of teaching him.”

He didn’t sound as if he appreciated her efforts. “I only give him a little guidance. If he could study with the men who taught me, he could learn so much more.”

Sam’s dark gaze turned to her suspiciously. “Why would he need to do that?”

Catherine’s heart lodged in her throat. She had gone too far. Hadn’t she told David she was not the proper person to discuss this with Sam? Judging from the flinty gleam in his eye, she had been right. “He wouldn’t need to, but I’m sure he’d enjoy it,” she said with forced lightness, turning away to admire the scenery, as if the matter were of little importance.

She held her breath, but Sam did not pursue the subject. She tried to think of something to distract his thoughts. After a few minutes of silence, she recalled the two strangers she had wanted to warn Sam about. She glanced over at him, trying to gauge his mood. He’d probably think she was meddling again, but why should his opinion matter anymore?

“Have you seen those two new men who’re working out on Shultz’s farm?”

He looked at her sharply. “What two men?”

“They call themselves Skeeter and Bones. Have you seen them?”

He studied her for a long moment. “No, I haven’t.”

“There’s something strange about them.”

“What do you mean, strange?”

“They’re... well, they’re not what they pretend to be. Their clothes are ragged and they look like down-at-the-heels drifters, but they aren’t.”

“What makes you think so?”

Catherine hesitated, remembering how Twila and Mathias had laughed off her observations. Sam would be even more skeptical, but she plunged ahead. “I noticed details about them that don’t fit. They seem to be poor, yet the guns they wear are expensive.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You know a lot about guns, do you?”

Fighting a surge of irritation, she said, “Of course not. Nadine made the observation.”

“I thought you said you noticed the details.”

Biting back a sharp retort, she went on doggedly, “They’re teeth are too good.”

“Their teeth!” he echoed incredulously.

“Yes,” she insisted. “Men who labor for a living usually have poor teeth—broken, missing, discolored. These men have good teeth. And they’re nice-looking, too. Attractive men usually take more pride in their appearance than these two do.”

Sam’s expression hardened. “I guess you noticed just about everything about them, didn’t you?”

The question sounded like an accusation, so Catherine did not bother to respond. “They pretend to be stupid, but they aren’t. You can see it in their eyes. They’re cunning and they’re smart, and they’re up to something.”

“And just what do you think they’re up to?”

“I was hoping you’d know, but if they aren’t working for the big ranchers, they must be working for the other side. The Taggerts were stupid and vicious, and look how much trouble they caused. These men are capable of much more, and that makes them even more dangerous.”

Sam’s steady gaze was unsettling, but she refused to look away. He had to understand how serious she was. At last he responded, shaking his head in wonder. “You’re a piece of work, Catherine. Next thing you know, you’ll be seeing boogies behind every bush.”

“These men aren’t boogies!” she exclaimed in frustration. “At least meet them yourself before passing judgment.”

“I intend to.” He turned back to driving the horse. “I doubt I’ll be as impressed as you were, though. From what I’ve heard... from other men... the worst damage these two might do is shooting themselves in the foot.”

Catherine glared at him, but her fury was wasted since he didn’t deign to notice it. How dare he make fun of her? How dare he imply a man’s opinion was more reliable than hers? It would serve him right if these fellows cut every foot of his fence into bite-sized pieces!

Fuming, she scrunched herself into her corner of the seat and stared off into the distance, willing the miles to pass quickly. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Just when she was beginning to regain her composure, he said, “Cat?”

Her nerves sprang to attention, responding instinctively to the nickname that had become almost an endearment between them. Resisting her body’s reaction, she hugged herself even tighter and turned to him disdainfully.

His dark eyes were guarded beneath the shadowed brim of his hat. “Why did you tell me about those men?”

“Because I thought you might be interested in averting any more trouble before it starts.”

“Why do you care?”

The question stung. Why did she care? What difference did it make if Sam Connors lost everything he owned? Or if he were ambushed some dark night? Pain twisted her stomach, and she bit her lip. It made all the difference in the world, but of course she couldn’t say that.

“I... I’m concerned for the community. When you... when you were shot at the Nylans’ house, parents were afraid to send their children to school. Heaven only knows what would happen if real violence broke out. More people would be hurt, and the children—” She looked away, unable to hold his intense gaze.

Could he see her love? Had he guessed he was the one about whom she was most concerned? Did he sense how tenuously she held her emotions in check? How humiliating it would be to have him guess her true feelings for him, feelings so strong even his cruelty couldn’t kill them.

“The children?” he prodded. “That’s all you care about?”

“I care about everyone in the community,” she snapped. What did he want, a profession of her undying devotion to him?

Fortunately, he did not press, although she could sense his growing displeasure. The atmosphere within the confines of the buggy grew more tense with each passing minute, and Catherine greeted the sight of town with relief. Soon this ordeal would be over and she would never have to be alone with Sam Connors again.

They were approaching the schoolyard when he turned to her and said, “Have you chosen a replacement yet?”

She blinked at the hostility of the question. “A replacement for what?”

“For me. Have you picked a new lover yet?” Catherine gasped in outrage.

“Is that why you were mad I brought you home? Did you have other plans for the afternoon? Who were you going to meet?”

“You bastard!” she cried, remembering only too clearly what he had told David about women who let a man have his way. “For your information, I have no intention of replacing you. Unlike some people, I learn from my mistakes, and you were the biggest mistake of my life. Stop this wagon right now and let me out!” Sam was already reining to a halt. Quickly, she gathered her skirts and sprang from the buggy. She would have run for the sanctuary of the schoolhouse, but she had only gone a few steps when she saw David was waiting for them in the yard.

He waved a greeting and sauntered over, leading his horse. She blinked away the tears of fury and managed a semblance of a smile. Behind her she heard Sam retrieving her carpetbag from the back of the buggy. If she could hold herself together for just a few more minutes, it would all be over, she told herself.

“Davy, will you take the buggy back to Mr. Shallcross?” Sam asked. “I’ll bring your horse and follow in a minute.”

Catherine’s stomach turned over. Her apprehension must have shown on her face, because David frowned uncertainly. “I can wait for you.”

“I’d like to talk to Miss Eaton alone.”

David’s expression hardened, and for a moment she glimpsed the Connors stubbornness. “You talked to her the whole way out from the Tates.”

Sam came up beside them, carrying the carpetbag. She didn’t look at him, but she felt his presence with every fiber of her being. “We’re not quite finished. We need a few more minutes.”

The brothers stared at each other for what seemed a long time. David made a silent resistance, but he was no match for Sam.

“You’ll be right along?” the boy asked.

“Yes,” Sam replied, and David surrendered.

Catherine knew a cowardly urge to beg him not to leave her, but she resisted it, stiffening her spine. She’d prove herself a match for Sam Connors and his filthy accusations.

“See you tomorrow, Miss Eaton,” David called as he hurried off to the buggy. Neither she nor Sam moved a muscle until they heard the buggy clatter into motion.

“Cat—”

“I have nothing more to say to you, Mr. Connors,” she declared, whirling away. She’d only taken one step when he grabbed her arm and jerked her to a halt.

“Cat, wait—”

“Don’t touch me!” She swung without thinking. The crack of flesh against flesh stunned her, and for a moment she did not realize the hand that had struck his face was hers. Then she felt the sting and saw his shock and knew the horror of it.

“Oh!” she whispered, clasping the guilty hand with the other and clutching it to her breast as if to hide it.

His black eyes flared, and for a moment she trembled with terror lest he strike her back. Fearing even to breathe, she watched the play of emotions across his face as he fought for control of his temper. Slowly, the anger drained away, leaving only a strange sadness. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she said, furious to hear her voice shake.

He drew a ragged breath. “I told you before, you make me crazy. I say things I don’t mean.”

“Oh, you meant it, all right. David told me what you think about women who—” The words strangled in her throat, and she stared up at him helplessly, fighting tears.

He reached for her but she flinched, so he dropped his hand, looking as helpless as she felt. “Maybe we both say things we don’t mean,” he tried.

“I don’t!” she said bravely, lifting her chin in defiance. “I never want to see you or speak to you again.” This time when she fled, he made no move to stop her.

She slammed the door behind her, leaning against it. For several minutes she stood there, panting as if she had run a mile. Then she heard the horse clopping out of the yard, and she ran to the window. Yes, he was leaving!

But instead of relief, she felt only despair. The tears she had fought began to flow now, and she lifted her hand to stifle a sob. He was an awful, horrible man. How could she still love him so much?

Sam glanced back once. He thought he saw the curtain move, but perhaps it was only wishful thinking. Why would she be watching him leave? And if she were, it was only to make sure he was gone.

He swore roundly, cursing his own stupidity, and realized he’d been doing that a lot lately. This time he’d really put his foot in it, though. He must truly be losing his mind.

Good God, what had ever possessed him to accuse her of having another lover? Hadn’t he seen the way she had avoided all the men this afternoon, hiding behind Davy as if he were a shield? The only thing Sam couldn’t figure out was what had made her so standoffish. She was acting as if he’d seduced and abandoned her, as if she were the one who had been rejected.

Hell, hadn’t he offered for her? Hadn’t he...

Realization came like a lightning bolt. No, he hadn’t offered for her, not really. He’d been so sure she didn’t want him that he hadn’t given her a chance!

Sam reined to a halt in the middle of the street and looked at the school again. He should go back right now and confront her. What in the hell was he waiting for?

“Sam!”

The sound of a running horse brought his head around, and he saw Davy galloping toward him. The horse skidded to a halt, and Davy’s blue eyes met his in challenge. “What are you and Miss Eaton fighting about?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business. You got no right to treat her bad. What did you say to make her look so scared?”

“Scared?” Sam repeated in amazement. “She wasn’t scared.”

“She sure as hell was, and I want to know why. You didn’t try anything, did you? If you ever laid a hand on her—”

“Whoa! Hold up there!” Sam said, lifting his hands in surrender. “I know Miss Eaton’s a lady.” The words echoed in his head, and he recognized his own conviction. Cat may have surrendered to him, but she’d never do such a thing lightly. There was more to it for her than simple lust, just as there had been more to it for him, too. “What makes you think she was scared of me?”

“The look on her face, the way her eyes were kind of wild. If you didn’t try anything, why did she look that way? What did you say to her?”

“I—” Sam hesitated, wondering what explanation he could give. “I was... Catherine is a fine-looking woman, Davy. You’ve noticed, too. Hell, you’re in love with her yourself.”

Davy opened his mouth but nothing came out, and Sam saw the truth dawning on him. “You... you... ” he stammered at last, “you’re in love with her, too?”

Sam nodded grimly and watched despair claim his brother. “But she doesn’t feel the same way,” Sam said. “That’s what we were fighting about. I guess I thought I could force her to, but women don’t take kindly to forcing—or at least she doesn’t.”

Davy’s despair mollified somewhat. “She don’t like you then?”

“I’d say so,” Sam admitted reluctantly, fearing it was an understatement. He glanced back at the schoolhouse again.

“Leave her alone,” Davy warned, and Sam figured he was probably right. Better to let things calm down a little before trying to talk to her again. Besides, Davy would never let him near her again today.

Sam kicked his horse into motion. “Come on, let’s get on home.”

As they rode, Sam brooded over what had happened between him and Cat, thinking back to the very beginning and replaying every conversation they had ever had.

How could he have been such an idiot? The woman had given herself to him, made love with him, made him feel pleasure he’d never dreamed existed, and he’d acted like a jackass. He’d imagined her rejection without ever giving her a chance, and then he’d been too much of a coward to risk asking her. God, no wonder she hated him! And how could he ever change her mind?

The next afternoon Catherine had David set up the easel outside so she could watch him paint. Although she had forced herself to forget most of her conversation with Sam, she did remember what he had said about David’s painting.

She was dying to see the work he had done in private, but she also knew if David had wanted her to see it, he would have shown it to her. At the very least, he would have told her he was working at home, too, so she must assume he wanted it to be a secret.

“Sam is very impressed with the improvement in your work,” she remarked, giving him an opening if he wanted to use it.

“Did you two talk about me yesterday?”

“Not very much,” she assured him, seeing his concerned frown. “I just commented on how pleased I was with your progress, and he agreed. I’m afraid I did mention you going to Philadelphia—it just slipped out, I’m sorry—but I only said it was a shame you couldn’t.”

David nodded absently. He laid a few brush strokes on the canvas, then turned back to her. “You don’t like Sam much, do you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked in surprise.

“I mean, do you like him or don’t you?”

Like was far too neutral a word to describe any of her feelings for Sam. “We don’t seem to get along very well,” she allowed.

David smiled smugly. “He told me what you two were arguing about yesterday.”

“He did?” Catherine asked in alarm.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to worry. I think he’ll leave you alone from now on. He’s figured out he can’t make you fall in love with him.”

Catherine stared at him blankly. Surely, she must have misunderstood his last statement. “Make me fall in love with him?”

“Yeah, he’s—”

David paused when they heard someone calling Catherine’s name. Twila Shallcross was hurrying over to where they were seated beneath the willows. “Have you two heard the news?”

“What news?” Catherine asked apprehensively as she rose from her seat on the ground.

“There’s been more fence cutting, the worst yet. Davy, your fences was cut, and so was Tate’s and Price’s and Pettigrew’s. Either they’ve got themselves an army, or somebody didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“Was there a lot of damage?” David asked.

“Luckily, not much. Seems like they just wanted to hit as many ranches as possible.”

“I’d better get on home.” He gave Catherine an apologetic look.

“Yes, go ahead,” she urged, although she realized their very provocative conversation would not be completed now.

He gathered up the easel, and Catherine told him not to worry about the rest of the things, that she’d take them in.

Twila sighed as she watched him go. “Seems like I’m always bringing that boy bad news.”

“At least no one was hurt this time.” Catherine’s hands trembled slightly at the thought, and she closed them into fists.

David disappeared into the school and quickly reappeared without the easel. He gave the two women a hasty wave before he mounted his pony and rode away.

Twila patted Catherine’s arm. “Don’t look so worried. This is really the best thing that could’ve happened.”

“Are you serious?”

“Sure. So long as the troublemakers was laying low, nobody could do anything. Now they’ve started up again, they’re bound to get themselves caught. Then maybe life can get back to normal.”

“Normal?” Catherine couldn’t even remember what that felt like.

The sun hovered on the horizon by the time Sam and his men arrived at Pettigrew’s ranch. Amos Pettigrew stood on the porch, his stocky figure silhouetted in the open doorway. “Get down and come in, Sam. Your men can get something to eat over at the mess house if they’re hungry.”

“Thanks, but Mrs. Tate fed us. Boys, rest your saddles while Pettigrew and me have a palaver.”

Pettigrew’s house was little more than a cabin and boasted none of the amenities of the Spur. The front room held a motley collection of crude homemade furniture, which bore the scars of countless spurs and cigarettes.

“Whiskey?” Pettigrew asked when they were inside.

“Sounds good,” Sam replied, slumping wearily down into the only comfortable-looking chair in the room.

Pettigrew went to a battered sideboard and poured two generous glasses. Sam gratefully accepted one of them, taking a large swallow and savoring the soothing warmth.

“How bad did Tate and Price get hit?” Pettigrew asked, putting a chair closer to where Sam sat.

“The cutters were in a hurry, I’d guess. They cut every piece of fence between fifteen or twenty posts on each ranch. Seems like they just wanted us to know they were back.”

“Then you think it was the Taggerts?”

Something in the way Pettigrew asked the question warned Sam it was more than idle curiosity. “Who else could it have been?”

“Anyone else,” Pettigrew said too quickly. “I mean, maybe Nylan did it, or one of the farmers, or how about those two strangers who’re working for Shultz? Nobody knows anything about them, and we do know we haven’t been able to find hide nor hair of the Taggerts. They must have left the country by now.”

“Maybe they came back.”

Sweat had beaded on Pettigrew’s forehead even though the room was comfortably cool, and Sam noticed his skin had turned an unhealthy shade of gray.

When he did not reply, Sam asked, “Amos, do you know something about all this?”

Pettigrew stiffened, already preparing a denial, but Sam could see the inner battle he waged with himself. At last his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Sam, I want you to know, I didn’t have anything to do with them killing your bull. If I’d known they were planning to—”

“Are you saying the Taggerts work for you?” Sam bolted up from his chair, knocking his glass to the floor with a crash.

Pettigrew lurched to his feet, hands raised defensively. “I didn’t mean for things to go this far, Sam. Please, let me explain.”

Trembling with rage, Sam fought for control of his temper. “I’m listening,” he said tightly.

“I... God,” he murmured, running a hand through his thinning hair. “I can’t believe I did it now, but it seemed like the right thing.”

“Just spit it out,” Sam snapped.

Pettigrew drew a ragged breath and sank back into his chair as if his legs could no longer hold him. Sam sat down, too, perching on the edge of his seat.

“When Gus fired the Taggerts, I hired them. I only wanted them to do one job, and then I’d let them go. I told them to cut your fence again.” Pettigrew flinched at Sam’s hiss of fury, then continued carefully. “I figured if you got mad, you’d help me clean out all these free-grassers once and for all.”

“A real smart plan, Amos,” Sam said sarcastically.

“I’m not proud of myself, especially after what happened later.”

“And what was that?”

“I went to pay them off, and they told me if I didn’t keep paying them, they’d cut my fence. They would’ve ruined me, Sam,” he wailed, but Connors offered no sympathy. “I was even afraid they’d kill me if I refused, so I agreed. What else could I do?”

“Did you pay them for killing my bull?” Sam asked through gritted teeth.

“No! I never gave them another dime, not after that, I swear! I expected to hear from them, but when I didn’t and you couldn’t find them, I figured they’d run off.”

“And now they’re back.”

“You don’t know it was them,” Pettigrew was sweating profusely now. “Why’d they come back? And they haven’t contacted me. If they was around, they’d be wanting more money, wouldn’t they? And why would they cut my fence?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask them when I find them,” Sam said, rising to his feet again. “I guess I’ll be going now, Amos. Suddenly, I don’t like the smell in here.”

“Sam, I’m sorry,” Amos cried, following him to the door. “I never thought—”

“Then you should have,” Sam replied coldly. “You lost a good friend tonight, Amos.”

“You won’t tell anybody it was me, will you?” he begged. “I’ll be ruined. Nobody’ll ever speak to me again.”

Sam didn’t answer. He had no intention of spreading the ugly story, but he also felt no need to put Pettigrew’s mind at ease. “Come on, boys,” he called as he stepped outside. “Let’s head on home.”

As they rode, Black George fell in beside Sam. “Did Pettigrew have any ideas who it might’ve been?”

“He thinks it’s somebody new, maybe those two fellows Shultz hired.”

“What do you think?”

“I think I’ll find those fellows and see what they have to say for themselves.”