Catherine didn’t know what had possessed her to offer to wear one of two dresses her mother had put away in a trunk far beneath the bed, but she’d done it.
She felt foolish.
Her feet kept getting caught in the long skirt. She wasn’t used to the material blocking her way, and her stride was too long. She nearly tripped, sending a quail fluttering away through the long wild grasses.
She should’ve stayed behind with Pop.
Pop, who’d looked at her as if betrayed when Matty had revealed she was going with him on the visit.
Now she couldn’t ignore the glances the cowboy kept sending her way.
“What?” she asked, the sharpness of her voice revealing her testiness.
This was uncomfortable. She didn’t do social calls.
“Nothing.”
She didn’t believe him. She felt as she had back in the schoolroom, when she’d been homemade Cathy.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” She started to turn back. She could return to the homestead and pretend she hadn’t agreed to accompany him in the first place.
“Catherine—” He took two steps after her, taking her elbow in hand and urging her to turn back with him.
She didn’t jerk away, but she did tug her arm back. After days of his presence, those casual touches—like when he’d clasped her hands in comfort at the clothesline yesterday—had stopped surprising her.
They stood there in the open field, facing each other. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“You don’t have to come—but I’d like it if you did.”
She remembered. So the Elliott family could see how vulnerable she was. Pity her.
Hadn’t she had enough of being subjected to the whims of others as a child?
She ducked her head, squeezed her eyes tightly closed. What was the right thing to do in this situation?
Even after Matty’s conversation with Ralph yesterday, she doubted her neighbor would leave off bothering her.
Without the deputy around, she would be forced to rely only on herself again.
And wouldn’t it be good to have someone to watch out for her when Matty left?
Still undecided, she let her eyes slide to the horizon, but she fell into step beside him again.
“My sister Breanna would wear trousers every day if she could get away with it.”
She didn’t glance at Matty as he spoke. Maybe he meant the words to ease the awkwardness between them. Or maybe he’d sensed how much she liked hearing about his family.
“My ma drags her to a quilting bee or to have tea with Ma’s friends every once in a while, and Breanna digs in her heels each and every time.”
His affection for his sister came through every word even though his comment wasn’t particularly complimentary toward her.
“You miss her,” Catherine stated.
“Yes. She and my brother Seb are the only ones of marrying age who aren’t hitched, so we’ve sort of banded together. My nieces Cecilia and Susie are about the same age, but Breanna has her own mind and often prefers to stay in the bunkhouse with us boys.”
“How old are your siblings?”
“Seb is twenty and Breanna seventeen.”
There were a few beats of silence, and then he spoke again. “Eye spy something...”
She didn’t guess and his boon question was, “It seems like there’s something more than what happened back in school. I’d like to know why you won’t go back to town.”
Blood rushed to her face, pounding in her ears. Had he guessed the truth?
“That wasn’t a question,” she hedged.
“Will you tell me why you refuse to go to town?”
She could tell him. Maybe if he knew about her parentage, he’d stop pushing her to seek help for Pop. But there was a part of her that hesitated.
If she told him, everything would change. He’d look at her as the women in town had.
And for some unfathomable reason, she couldn’t bear that.
“My mother and I were not always treated kindly when we visited town. Things were difficult without my father around.”
It was all she could give him. She couldn’t say born out of wedlock or illegitimate.
Instead of judgment, his eyes softened with...understanding?
And she remembered that he’d lost his parents, too.
He hadn’t understood what she was really telling him. And she couldn’t say more.
When she didn’t take a turn at the game, the cowboy kept sending sidelong glances her way. Afternoon sun beat down on her head, but it was the cowboy’s glances that warmed her from the inside out.
“Do I look so awful?” she asked after the fifteenth time he’d glanced her direction. She kept her eyes on the mountains against the far horizon, afraid to see the answer in his face.
“You don’t look awful at all.”
She glanced sharply at him, in time to catch him looking at her again. They made their way through the field thick with wildflowers. In the distance, cattle grazed, content to ignore them.
“Then why are you looking at me?” she demanded.
“I was trying to decide whether you’d slug me if I said you looked pretty in that dress.”
Her eyes slid down to her feet, where the dress kicked out in front once and then again. Was he teasing her again? She wished she knew.
“Or if you’d go all shy again.”
He bumped her shoulder with his arm. When had he crept close enough to touch her? She angled slightly away, but they were already close enough to the main ranch house that moving away farther would be noticeable.
The low, sprawling building was made from natural rock and some timber, with large, expensive glass windows across the front. Where the Chestertons’ place had been dilapidated, this ranch house was well built and well maintained. The corral fence was in good shape, and a fine mare stood placidly near, her ears twitching in their direction. Farther away, behind the corral, the barn was large. And painted.
Her discomfort grew as Matty took the two front steps confidently and knocked on the door.
“What if they don’t want us to come calling? How do we know anyone is even home?”
“We don’t.” He grinned at her over his shoulder, but the flash of teeth against his tanned skin didn’t offer any reassurance. What had she been thinking, accompanying him?
She fervently hoped that the family inside had gone to church and not returned yet.
But to her chagrin, a young woman opened the door.
Matty introduced her as a neighbor and himself as a friend and a deputy from town. They were ushered into a parlor and plied with warm slices of rhubarb pie and introduced to Mr. Harold Elliott and his wife by their daughter, Michaela.
* * *
Catherine’s terrified expression as she settled on the parlor sofa beside him might’ve made him laugh in another circumstance, but he needed to stay focused on his mission to find help for Catherine.
He touched her shoulder lightly, settling his arm on the back of the sofa, his calloused fingers catching in a crochet doily. The frilly things covered almost every surface.
Catherine’s chin jerked toward him and he hitched what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She looked like a filly about to bolt under its first saddle. She didn’t seem to know what to do with her skirt. She fiddled with the folds of fabric, showing an uncharacteristic nervousness.
He felt right at home. The horsehair sofa and wingback chair could’ve been from his ma’s parlor. He told himself not to get too comfortable—he had a job to do here today. But it sure was nice to sit in a civilized room again, not the rough furniture and tight confines of the dugout.
“I’m so glad to know there’s another woman nearby,” said Mrs. Elliott. Her smile was welcoming and encompassed both Matty and Catherine.
Harold wasn’t so quick in his welcome. “I’ve come calling at your place a coupla times since we moved up this way two years ago. The little soddy just south, right?” he asked Catherine.
She nodded, but her posture had gone stiff.
“Never seen anybody there. Almost like folks had disappeared when they saw me comin’.”
The fingers of Catherine’s near hand clenched in her skirt.
From what he’d gleaned over these past days with Catherine and Pop, as Pop’s paranoia had worsened, Catherine had left off visiting with and trading with neighbors the past few years.
Maybe it was proprietary and maybe she would shake him off, but he settled his hand loosely over hers.
“Catherine’s granddad is...distrustful of strangers. With such a pretty granddaughter to protect, who can blame him?”
She didn’t shake off his hand, but she did shoot him a glare.
“No company? That would drive me batty.” Mrs. Elliott and Michaela shared a glance. “I’m afraid we’re in town as often as we can persuade Harold to drive us.”
The young woman bobbled her fork. It rattled against her pie plate. “I like the quilting bees the best.”
It was a perfect opening for Catherine to speak up, but she remained silent at his side. He squeezed her hand, hoping to urge her to join the conversation.
“My...my mama liked to quilt. She’s been gone now for several years.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, dear,” said Mrs. Elliott. “You’re welcome to come and visit—and quilt—anytime you like.”
He heard Catherine’s soft exhale. “Thank you for the invitation. It is hard to...step away from the duties of running the homestead at times.”
“Did you have much damage from the recent storm?” Matty asked when the conversation stalled.
“Not much.” Harold nodded toward the window overlooking a wide green pasture. “Part of the barn roof blew off, but our hands already fixed it.”
Matty mentioned the fine specimen of horseflesh he’d seen out in the corral, which opened the door for Harold to talk about his operation and his animals. Although horses were Matty’s brother Oscar’s passion, his pa’s ranch ran cattle and he could talk enough about both types of animals to sound knowledgeable.
Harold invited Matty to visit the barn and he took his chance to converse with the man one-on-one.
“I’ll be back.”
A panicked look crossed Catherine’s face. “But—”
He smiled at her. “Soon.”
He walked with Harold through the yard toward the barn. Chickens squawked and clucked, parting for their approach. A black-and-white farm dog lay in the shade of the porch, tongue lolling out of its mouth. In the distance, a man rode horseback.
Matty took a deep breath of the fresh air. “You’ve got a nice spread. That mare in the corral is good stock.”
“I don’t think you dragged your gal out here to talk about my spread. What’s your real purpose here?”
The direct question was unexpected. Matty had thought the older man would want to chitchat for a while.
He leaned against the corral railing, putting off a casual air, though Harold’s direct stare had his hackles up. After the confrontation with Ralph Chesterton, even Harold’s direct manner seemed suspicious. “I appreciate you shooting straight with me. I didn’t mention it inside, but my duties as deputy brought me this direction after the storms to check on folks. Catherine’s place has had some funny happenings.”
“What kind of happenings?”
“Somebody sneaking around at night. Neighbor on her other side has been making some unwanted advances.”
Harold crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s a shame. At least she’s got her grandfather to look out for her, though.”
Matty shook his head. This was where he needed to tread carefully. “The grandfather is getting up there in years. Catherine bears most of the work on the homestead.”
Harold’s stark posture with his arms still crossed over his chest didn’t bode well for what Matty was going to ask.
“You said you have two hands. I’d like to ask you to send them over to Catherine’s place and patrol every once in a while.” It didn’t have to be every day. But if Ralph Chesterton knew someone else was watching out for Catherine, he’d have to see she wasn’t easy pickings. A coward like him would give up when faced with opposition.
“I can’t do that. My men work hard for their pay. They ain’t got time for running all over tarnation. And besides, what if this other neighbor turns violent? I ain’t gonna risk my hands.”
Matty’s back teeth ground together. Harold would prefer to leave Catherine to the devices of a violent man?
“Besides, ain’t protecting folks what the sheriff and his deputies are charged with?”
The pain in Matty’s jaw only got worse as he bit back the words that desperately wanted to emerge. “Of course it is, but with Catherine being so far from town, it’s not feasible for someone to ride out every day and check on her.”
Harold shrugged. “Maybe she should move closer to town, then.”
Matty nodded to where the men worked just barely in eyesight. “Mind if I talk to your men? They might be willing to help a woman on their own time.”
Harold remained in his closed-off posture. “You can ask, but they both get one day off every two weeks and usually like to spend it in town with a little comp’ny.”
Where the man had been open and friendly inside with the women, his shuttered expression warned Matty off. He’d expected to find help in Harold Elliott, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.
Now how would he protect Catherine, once he’d gone back to his life in Bear Creek?
* * *
Catherine sat in the parlor with Michaela. Mrs. Elliott had excused herself into the kitchen after the men had gone outdoors.
She knew it would be rude to reject the piece of pie she’d been offered, rude not to sit down with her cup of coffee and chat.
That didn’t stop her hands from shaking.
The cowboy had abandoned her. She could see him through a large glass-paned window, standing with one foot up on the corral railing. Relaxed as could be. Talking, of course.
But inside, the silence stretched awkwardly. Catherine’s face heated and she cleared her throat. She cast about for anything to talk about. What did one speak of in a social setting like this?
Michaela only looked bored.
“Do you...have any brothers or sisters?” Catherine asked finally. Surely family must be a safe topic.
“One brother. He lives in Sheridan with his wife. I’ve begged and begged Mama to let me stay with them over the summer, but she won’t agree.”
An expression that might’ve been a pout crossed her face. “Sheridan has much better shops than Bear Creek. I’d just love to purchase a new dress, don’t—”
Michaela cut herself off. She smirked slightly—Catherine could well imagine what she was thinking. Catherine’s dress was old and had been a simple style when her mama had made it years ago.
Too different. You don’t fit, her mind whispered.
Catherine worked at showing no emotion. She sipped her cooling coffee.
Michaela seemed to grow bored with Catherine’s silent response. She glanced out the window. “Your beau is handsome. Is it serious?”
Catherine choked on a bite of pie. Coughed. Her eyes watered. “He’s not my beau.”
“No?” Michaela’s eyes sparkled with interest as she looked out the window again, this time leaning slightly forward. “Then I hope he’ll come back inside and continue the visit.”
A hot knot lodged in Catherine’s chest at the words. Why shouldn’t Michaela flirt with Matty if she wanted? She was pretty. Wore clothes fashionable enough to make Catherine seem like a brown sparrow compared to a brightly colored finch.
Catherine had no claim on the cowboy.
But the hot knot behind her sternum remained.
Apparently bored with Catherine’s lack of conversational skills, Michaela excused herself and disappeared into the kitchen.
Catherine’s edginess prompted her to her feet. She left the coffee behind on a fine-looking little table next to the sofa and moved to the window. Matty and the landowner stood near a corral. Matty’s body language confused her. The set of his shoulders seemed tense, but he had his hands out, as if he was pleading for something.
Soft voices from the kitchen filtered to her, now that she was standing closer to the doorway, instead of sitting in her seat.
“Did you see her hair?” Michaela’s voice carried clearly to Catherine’s ears. The disdain in her tone was easy to discern.
Intense heat crawled into her cheeks. Without her consent, her hand climbed into the curls at the nape of her neck.
The women were still speaking, but Catherine could no longer make out the words. She blinked back hot moisture that stung her eyes.
The only thing worse than overhearing the insult would be if the women came back and witnessed Catherine eavesdropping.
So she carefully made her way back to her seat on the sofa, blinking rapidly to clear the moisture from her eyes.
And none too soon. Michaela reentered from the kitchen, moving to sit in her chair in a graceful movement. She didn’t fumble with her skirt. She was perfectly at ease in her role as a woman.
Nothing like Catherine.
Several more interminable minutes passed in unimportant chatter before the men returned.
Shortly thereafter, Matty excused them.
“That was a pointless waste of time,” he grumbled as they trudged back the way they had come. “But at least we got to have a nice cup of coffee and that pie, hmm?”
She swallowed hard, unable to tell him what had happened with the womenfolk. Wouldn’t he think it was her fault for being too different?
“There’s no help coming from them.”
She raised her chin.
“Not,” he said quickly, “that you needed their help anyway.”
He quirked a sideways grin at her.
He did have some redeeming qualities, she ruminated as they walked home in contemplative silence. One of which was that, unlike in their school days, the Matty she was coming to know now never made her feel less-than.