What did a lady say to a man who compared her to a horse? A lame horse, at that.
If he didn’t have her camera, she would leave him there at the alley’s entrance and march straight back to the studio. After pushing him off the curb.
“On second thought, I’ll wait here.”
He moved toward her. She moved back. A perfect dance step if they were dancing. But the only fancy footwork at the moment was Cale Hutton attempting to remove his boot from his mouth.
“Ella, please.”
He’d used her given name. “Do you have my camera or don’t you, Mr. Hutton?”
His jaw locked and his eyes dulled.
She straightened her spine and held his gaze. She might be maimed, but she refused to be pathetic.
He finally turned and strode down the alley.
Tears threatened. She pressed her fists into her eyes, crumpling the bag in the process, and drew a deep breath. He hadn’t actually called her a cripple. That was Mabel’s line, so oft repeated that no one could forget it. Especially Ella.
Why had she planted the insidious barb into their conversation when he was simply attempting to be . . . what? Generous? Kind? Sympathetic? She didn’t want his sympathy.
She stomped her foot—something she hadn’t done in ages—and the act jarred up through her lower leg and into her thigh. Who was she kidding?
Yes, she’d grown stronger and was improving each day. But that didn’t mean Cale Hutton would see her as anything other than what she was—someone deficient who didn’t belong in this town or his life. The less time she spent around him, the easier it would be to leave when the filming was finished.
Besides, he’d never apologized for that day at the ranch. That should say something about his character.
Clopping hooves announced his approach, and he rode around the back of the building and into the street. He dismounted, opened his saddle bag, and pulled out her satchel.
She moved into Doc, wrapping her arms around his neck and breathing deeply, drinking in his familiar scent, willing it to soak into her clothing, her hair, her soul. She rubbed beneath his forelock, keenly aware that she might never see him again aside from his mad chase scene in the film.
Cale stepped up on the sidewalk and handed her the satchel. As she took it, he captured her hand and held on until she looked at him.
“I’m not good with words, Ella. I’m better at herding cows than saying what I mean. But I was hoping we could spend more time together before you leave. Whenever that is.”
Something in his eyes matched what trembled in her breast. A hunger, a yearning to know more. Experience more. Was he trying to say what she had foolishly hoped to hear?
Impossible. He was merely speaking from guilt. Trying to make up for that rash horse remark.
She pulled her hand from beneath his strong fingers and stepped back. “Thank you for returning my camera.” She considered giving back the candy, but that would be a hateful thing to do. Purely an emotional retort, repaying wound for wound. “And for the soda and chocolate.”
His broad shoulders drooped almost imperceptibly, and defeat swept his face.
“Please thank Kip for me, as well.”
She spun on the ball of her left foot and walked to Main Street and around the corner toward the studio. The weight of her satchel on her shoulder offered familiar solace, the smooth, well-worn leather beneath her hand a reminder of who she was and where she didn’t belong.
The weight of regret nearly pulled her to the ground. She’d give the chocolate to Clara.
The heels of her low-tops clipped clean and smart on the sidewalk, no hint of a limp. Only a lingering, burning pain that had risen from her leg and worked its way up and into her heart.
~
Cale stared at the corner where Ella disappeared—waiting, praying she’d return. Forgive him. But he hadn’t asked her to.
Her footsteps still pinged in his ears.
When his vision darkened around the edges, he realized he was holding his breath and pulled in a searing draught. Doc blew against his back and gave him a shove. Cale stumbled forward. Even his horse knew he was an idiot.
He swung into the saddle and reined toward the opposite end of town and the sheriff’s office. Whatever he learned there couldn’t make the day any worse than it already was.
Crossett’s buckskin dosed at the hitching post, alongside Harper’s buckboard and nag. And Herb Rupley’s Studebaker huddled off to itself. Something was going on.
He flipped Doc’s reins around the rail and walked inside to a bunch of sour-faced men.
“Cale.” Sheriff Payton jerked a nod. “Good timing.”
Not exactly, but he’d take what he could get. He acknowledged the two ranchers—neighbors, both of them. “Crossett. Harper.” The fruit grower lived across the valley. “Rupley.”
Hooking the toe of his boot on an empty chair leg, he flipped it around and straddled it. “You all here about what I think you’re here about?”
Sober nods confirmed his hunch, and then the others focused on Sheriff Payton.
He leaned back in his desk chair.
“With the four of you, we’ve about got the makings of a posse. Trouble is, we don’t know what we’re after.”
Everyone started talking at once. Arms waved, voices raised, tempers tore loose.
“Hold on, hold on.” Payton stood and leaned forward, hands propped on his desk. “If we’re not unified, we won’t get anywhere.”
Cale thumbed his hat up a notch. “How many of you lose livestock to a bear?”
Three hands went up.
“Trees,” said Rupley. “They’re climbing my apple trees and busting them. I won’t have any fruit come fall if all my trees are broke down.”
Cale doubted Rupley’s trouble was anything other than a black bear or two along the Arkansas. If they had a cow-killing grizzly on their hands, it wouldn’t wander so far off from its mountain territory for an apple.
The sheriff straightened. “How many of you have lost cattle to rustlers?”
Sharp glances cut around the room and two hands rose.
“Cale, what about you?”
“A bear for certain. At least twice. But I’m wondering if there are men working along with this Old Mose rumor. Taking advantage of a situation.”
“You see tracks?” Crossett asked.
“Just a drag trail. A busted corral pole. And a thousand-pound steer that no man dragged off and left half eaten.”
Mumbled comments circled the room like buzzards over the kill.
“But one of my other neighbors has lost more than one animal at a time, which is what makes me think we’ve got more than one enemy working against us.” He took his hat off and shoved a hand through his hair, startled to find it short. “I want to call the Cattleman’s Association together and raise reward money.” He looked at Rupley. “And anyone else who’s interested.”
Harper scoffed. “Reward for what?”
“For a successful bear kill or rustlers caught red-handed.”
“That last one’ll be like pulling money out of thin air,” the sheriff said.
“I agree,” Crossett added. “But we have to do something, and the more eyes we have out there, the quicker we’ll find what’s raiding our livestock.”
“And fruit trees.” Rupley chewed on an unlit cigar, making it bob up and down like a crow’s head.
Harper stood. “When do you want to meet? I’ll spread the word at the bank. I’m headed over their right now.”
Cale tugged his hat down. “This Saturday at the rodeo grounds. Most folks come to town for it. Let’s meet at noon north of the holding pens. That gives us a few days to get the word out.”
“My wife’ll tell her sewing circle tomorrow morning,” Rupley said around his cigar. “That for sure will get the word out in a hurry.”
The others chuckled, but Cale failed to see the humor since females weren’t high on his list of things to comprehend at the moment.
He was last to the door, but the sheriff stopped him. “I hear you’ve got a scene in that flicker.”
The man’s snapping eyes made Cale’s skin twitch. “A good horse race, that’s all.”
“Like the one on Main Street?” A poker face stared back, earned from years of interrogation.
Of course he knew. So had the barber. Cale jerked a quick nod and left before Payton got into details.
Doc seemed eager to leave town as well, and Cale rode him up Main Street at a determined walk, steering clear of more than a few coughing rattletraps. More of ’em every time he came in. Everybody was in a hurry these days. Had to have the latest contraption to get where they were going faster than four hooves could carry them. He leaned forward and patted Doc’s neck. He’d take four hooves and a big heart over four wheels any day.
At the 300 block, Cale sat taller and stared straighter. No sense ogling the studio, hoping Ella might be looking out the window as he passed. Main Street’s tree-lined roadway took him past the penitentiary and on to the Soda Springs.
His tension bled into Doc, and the gelding quivered under the saddle, aching to break into a hard run. Once past the springs, Cale gave him his head at the turn out of town, needing to run off steam as well. He’d accomplished what he’d come to do—see the sheriff and return Ella’s satchel. What he hadn’t planned to do was dig the hole deeper between them.
He leaned over the saddle horn and pushed the reins, urging Doc on, leaving his foul-ups and what-ifs behind. The gelding’s mane whipped his face, and pounding hooves matched the pounding in his head.
At the rock overhang that marked a quarter mile, he straightened and reined Doc in to an easy lope, tension spent. Muscles hot and bulging, lungs straining. By the turnoff, they slowed to a cooling walk, and Cale took stock of the next four days.
He had a rodeo to get ready for, which didn’t mean much more than checking his ropes, cleaning his tack, and pulling out his best shirt. And figuring what he’d say to people who asked about that chase scene in Thorson’s moving picture or the buggy incident in town. If the sheriff and barber knew about them, everybody knew, which meant Hugh would soon enough. If that dadblamed kiss from Mabel made it into the flicker, he’d never live it down.
That evening, he and Hugh strung more tin cans around the corral and portioned off the night for hay-loft duty.
Hugh called first watch. No surprise there. He hadn’t slept well in about six years.
“I’ll spell you at midnight.” Cale didn’t expect to sleep much either.
But he must have dozed off because a shotgun blast ripped him from a dead sleep. Boots still on, he grabbed his double-barrel 12-gauge beside the bed and charged out his side door.
Tug sang lead in a tin-can chorus, and another shot flashed from the loft. He ducked instinctively and hugged the shadows, staying close to the house. Gun smoke tainted the air, and his skin crawled with an unseen presence. In the stark silence that followed, a heavy whiffling sent chills up his neck. No human made sounds like that. A branch snapped. He raised the gun and fired. The old side-by-side tore the night open with its cannon roar. Another blast, and whatever it was crashed through the brush.
He and Hugh had deliberately chosen scatter guns hoping they’d hit something this time.
They missed again.
~
Clara’s fresh biscuits appealed not one bit to Ella this morning, though two slightly dented bon-bons from Ott’s Candy Store were gladly accepted without comment other than an unquestioning thank-you. Given the woman’s capacity to know every stitch of news in town, Ella was certain she’d already heard about the fray at the alley.
Her stomach knotted like a hanky in an old maid’s bodice. The irony stung, but she pulled a polite smile across her face before leaving for the studio. No time to chat today. She had an early call for the branding.
Returning to the ranch enticed her as much as a foot race with Mabel down Main Street. Seeing Cale again would only dredge up still-fresh memories of their time together—pleasant until she put cruel words into his mouth. What could she possibly say to him now? The less she saw of him, the better. But short of feigning sickness, she had no escape. Staying in town was not an option. Thorson had ordered everyone into the cars, which ensured a less-than-comfortable ride as she crammed in with three cowboys on a seat intended for two people. Boxed lunches from the café took up every nook and cranny.
The borrowed sewing kit, a few extra spools of thread purchased at Favorite Dry Goods, and her camera nestled snugly in her satchel atop her lap. Thanks to Cale. Guilt pricked her conscience, insisting she owed him an apology.
Whether she used her camera or any of the sewing notions mattered not. She’d take no more chances leaving personal valuables in her room. In spite of the fact that Mabel was with the troupe, Ella intended to keep an eye on what mattered.
Which had her scanning the horizon for a tall cowboy as soon as they turned off onto the ranch road. Disgusted with herself, she dug through her satchel and acquired a headache from burying her face in its recesses while bouncing along the rough road.
No little boys ran to meet the motorcars as they sputtered into the pasture. In fact, the Hutton youngsters stayed uncharacteristically close by the house, lingering around the large table and upturned crates, dour-faced and brooding. But her thoughts raced at sight of their father and Cale atop their mounts, soberly watching Mr. Thorson and the rest of the crew approach the horses tethered at the corral. Both brothers rode with scabbards and rifles.
The hair on her neck rose.
She crossed to the yard, encouraged by a reserved but gentlemanly welcome from Jay, and climbed the back-porch steps with a furtive glance toward the nearby ridge. The bear must have returned. And today the crew would be branding calves. Oh Lord, protect them all.
Not surprising, berry pies sat cooling on a smaller table beneath the kitchen window. The aroma warmed and pierced her in the same breath, flooding her with memories of her two days beneath this roof.
She reached deep for a cheerful tone. “You’ve been busy, Helen.”
Two sturdy arms embraced her with a hearty welcome and nearly squeezed the tears right out of her. She blinked rapidly, suppressing the urge to let them fall undeterred.
“Almost as busy as Cale and Hugh.” Helen gave her a meaningful look before handing her a table knife. “Would you mind?”
Happy to be occupied but anxious over what she suspected, Ella laid her satchel aside, rinsed her hands at the sink, and set to slicing pies into eight servings each. Taking hold of a blackberry pie tin, she inserted the knife at the far edge and cut through its sugar-encrusted topping. Berry filling oozed.
“Did the bear return?”
A scoff-like sound affirmed her fears.
“I saw both Cale and Hugh with rifle scabbards on their saddles. And the boys were moping in the yard. Do they expect trouble in broad daylight?”
“Hugh said they’re not taking any chances.” Helen set a cup of hot coffee on the table near Ella. “The boys can’t go off playing or riding and chasing one another, and I tell you, they are fit to be tied. We had enough shotgun fire last night to wake the dead, and my nerves are stretched as tight as a new fiddle string. Haven’t seen the like in all the years I’ve been here.”
Ella shivered, remembering an earlier attack and the resulting glimpse of a disgruntled, shirtless rancher. “Did they get anything? The men. Did they hit the bear?”
“Drew blood, according to Cale. He went out at sunup and found a trail. Looks like they stopped the varmint from making off with another animal, but now it’s wounded. At least grazed, which could make things worse.”
Dark berry filling dripped from the knife, and Ella scraped it on the edge of the pan and picked up her cup. “Sounds like I’ll be needing this coffee.”
“The day’s full of all kinds of upheaval.” Helen scrutinized her attire with a raised eyebrow. “Why, look at you, all gussied up in your city shoes and a skirt and jacket. You don’t plan to take part in the branding?”
Ella drew in a deep breath. “Not today. I would have stayed in town had Mr. Thorson not insisted that every last company member attend.” She was counting on her low-tops and pale green suit to keep her quarantined in the kitchen.
Helen took a chair at the end of the table, her own coffee in hand. “I’ve worked some on detailing the dress you finished for me. Since you’re not joining the excitement, maybe you can look at what I’ve done.” She carefully sipped the steaming brew, then hissed and rolled her lips. “And we can discuss why you’re running scared from something you already conquered.”
Ella nearly splashed coffee onto the berry pie she’d just sliced. Helen was nothing if not blunt. Honestly, more than meets the eye took on new meaning when Helen’s eye was involved.
She propped the knife on the edge of an unsliced pie and took the chair at the opposite end of the table. She’d be leaving soon. Leaving the whole painful business with Cale behind, as well as this beautiful setting and Helen’s friendship. What did she have to lose with a full disclosure other than another piece of dignity?
“Cale came to town and we had words.”
Helen’s expression remained neutral, at least as much as could be seen above her coffee cup. She nodded slowly, inviting Ella to fill the silence with the rest of the story.
“He brought my satchel. I forgot it the other day when we left after Mabel’s rescue scene on the runaway horse.” The image of Mabel throwing herself at Cale still burned. She held her coffee in both hands and flicked a look at Helen, whose casual posture belied her eagle-eyed attentiveness.
“Before he returned it to me, we had sodas at Palace Drug and then stopped by the candy store so he could buy peppermints for the boys.”
Helen’s eyes brightened. “And bon-bons. My, but it’s been too long since I enjoyed such a wasteful pleasure. My Ben used to treat me to them on occasion, God bless him.”
Perhaps it was Helen’s familiarity with love lost that encouraged Ella to share her sorrows. An affinity between them. A common ground.
She held the cup close to her lips to catch the words. “He bought some for me too.”
Helen nodded. “I thought so. He had more than his hair trimmed that morning. Something pained him deeply, based on the way he resembled his brother when he walked in the door, cut close to the quick.”
“He always resembles his brother.” The words spilled out before she could stop them, sharp and not at all what she intended. Guilt stabbed again, puncturing her breath. She knew what Helen meant, but bolstered herself with another swallow of unsweetened coffee. “Our conversation worked around to my . . . my weakness. My tendency to limp.”
“Does he know about the accident?” So matter-of-fact and unpretentious.
Ella stared into her half-full cup, looking for a reasonable answer.
“Why haven’t you told him?”
“Why would he care?”
A low chuckle raised Ella’s head.
A smile teased the woman’s soft wrinkles.
“My dear, he cares a great deal for you.”
Ella’s pulse jumped to her neck, and the earlier headache sharpened to a pinpoint. “But I don’t belong here. I’m leaving soon, and I’m . . . I’m so much less than he needs or wants.”
Helen set her cup on the table with purpose, and her kind eyes pressed into Ella like salve on an open wound. “Less than? Less than what, dear? Intelligent? Attractive? Accomplished? Generous?”
Ella’s stomach turned upside down and threatened to bend her in half. She wasn’t any of those things, and she’d certainly been anything but generous with Cale that day after his insulting remark.
She met Helen’s gray gaze and took a chance. “He said he wouldn’t put me down if I were a horse.”
The older woman clapped her hand over her mouth and guffawed in a most unladylike fashion. Her hilarity infected Ella in spite of her embarrassment, and she allowed a small laugh.
Helen fanned herself with her apron hem, then dabbed her forehead. “You’re just not accustomed to the way our menfolk around here talk. Honey, Cale paid you a fine compliment.”
Ella sniffed and smoothed her tea-green skirt. Compliment, indeed.
“Less than, as you put it, to a rancher is cause to put an animal out of its misery, particularly one that is unable to pull its weight or get around without pain.” A quiet chuckle slipped out. “Mercy me, I’ll admit he could have said it a bit gentler, but in his rough-edged, cowboy way, he was telling you that he values you.”
Shame prickled Ella’s brow, and she set down her coffee. Valued her? Highly unlikely now. “I’m afraid I made a mess of things.” She unfastened the top button of her jacket, suddenly wishing for a cool breeze to waft through the oven-warmed kitchen.
“It all started when I put words in his mouth. Words that are Mabel’s, not his.” She turned the cup in circles on the table.
“What words might those be, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Oh, she minded, but refusing was pointless. “Actually, just one word.” She flicked a glance at her hostess. “Cripple.” Even now, here in the safety of the cozy kitchen, the word cut deeply. “I accused him of thinking of me as a cripple. That’s when he said what he did.”
No laughter followed her confession, but neither did judgment. Helen reached across the circular patchwork of pies, freed the coffee cup, and wrapped her work-worn hand around Ella’s with a soothing squeeze. “We all have a wound that makes us limp, dear. Some more than others, like Hugh who is crippled in spirit. That’s a much more difficult injury to deal with than a hitch in your gait.”
Something shifted inside. Helen’s words seeped through the woman’s fingers and into Ella’s core, dissipating a heavy shadow that had lingered there for the past year and a half. A thin and gauzy hope settled in its place.
Helen pushed to her feet and took her cup to the sink. “I dare say, Cale doesn’t see you as less than anything at all. Why, you’ve filled him up in a way no one ever has. As if you’re an answer to half my prayers.”
She sniffed and pressed her eyes, then busied herself at the sink for a moment.
Ella wondered what the other half of her prayers concerned and decided they had to be for the boys or Hugh.
Helen dried her hands on her apron and turned to face Ella. “If you don’t have your mind set on going back to Chicago with the movie people so soon, it’d sure be nice to have you around for a spell. I know I could keep you busy with sewing projects and pie-baking and putting up preserves.” Her face brightened as she voiced her ideas.
“Give it some thought. You could stay here at the ranch for a while. And we could see what develops.”