Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) (38 page)

      
The hands at the ranch were ambivalent in their feelings. Most had heartily disliked Noah and his high-handed, brutal way, but he had been their boss and a white man. They had also admired his beautiful and spirited young wife, but to have her caught in such blatant unfaithfulness violated every rule they held sacred for decent women, especially since her sin was with Noah's Cheyenne son. Most of them had viewed Hawk as an enigma, a distant, overeducated, fearfully dangerous half-breed gunman. Whether they liked him and Carrie or not, or even hated Noah, the fact remained that white women simply did not lay with red men. That was the code of the West. Few men were brave enough to stand against this prejudice.

      
Frank Lowery would have been one to do so. Everyone knew he favored Hawk and had been at Circle S since the boy was born. But Lowery was dead. And since the vacuum created by Noah's death, leadership at the ranch had gravitated to Caleb Rider by dint of his close association with Noah, that and his reputation as a gunman. Caleb did not like Indians any more than Noah did.

      
Despite the heat, trouble with the hands, and even Caleb Rider's studied insolence, Carrie felt radiant. She checked her appearance in the mirror across the floor of the big room she now occupied. The day after Perry's birth, she had Feliz and Estrella move all her things into Hawk's old room at the rear of the house. It held beautiful memories, whereas her own room held ugly ones. It was large and, once cleaned out, surprisingly airy. She would do some simple redecorating one day. For now, it was convenient to the kitchen downstairs, where she spent most of her time.

      
She checked her figure critically in the mirror. A month after Perry's birth she could scarcely believe how well her shape was returning. Secretly, she had harbored fears about gaining weight, especially since Feliz insisted she eat so much and her appetite was voracious. Nursing mothers need extra nourishment, admonished the old cook.
      
“Well, so far, she's right,” Carrie said to her reflection, adjusting the bodice on her green batiste dress. It was the coolest thing she owned. Cut with loose sleeves, a soft, full skirt, and low, rounded neckline, it was both casual and comfortable, yet flattering to her dark green eyes and flaming hair. Reaching for a green ribbon, she tied it carelessly around her hair at the back of her neck, allowing the riot of tumbling curls to fall to her waist. Not fancy, but no company was coming.

      
She sighed as she headed downstairs to help Feliz with the baking. Perry was asleep next door in the coolest room in the house, with Estrella hovering over him. Carrie had seen little of anyone else since Mrs. Thorndyke and Dr. Lark had stormed out a month ago.
 

      
She had gone to town, just to be sure no one could contest her claim to Circle S. Attorney Cooper had stiffly replied that her assumptions regarding the will were correct. His eyes had been icy in disdain, as if she were a leper. Numbly leaving his office, she went over to Cummins's General Store to buy some supplies for Feliz. If Cooper had been aloof, Cyrus Cummins was downright rude. Even more surprising was his daughter's reaction. Kitty Cummins, her wedding date set with her fat, nearsighted banker, had obviously forgotten her earlier infatuation with Hawk. She called Carrie an Indian-loving adulteress! Remembering the scathing comments of the vicious-tongued girl, Carrie decided she was probably just jealous.

      
However, though Carrie could laugh off Kitty Cummins, she could not ignore her total social ostracism. Mrs. Grummond had informed her she did not need “that kind of money” and would no longer sew for her. Several other ranchers' wives who had been friendly, even motherly before, stepped across the street rather than have their skirts contaminated by “Hawk Sinclair's squaw.” Even Reverend Becker had told her to take the savage's child back to his people, that he would not baptize an Indian child conceived in sin!

      
“Well, damn them all, bigoted self-righteous prigs,” she said defiantly. But life would be lonely without a single caller from town. Even worse was Cy Cummins's threats to stop doing business with Circle S. Of course, as long as she paid the bill, Circle S business was far too lucrative, for him to give up. He still needed ‘‘that kind of money.”

      
As long as she could pay, she was all right; but with so many hands wandering off and Caleb Rider in charge, Carrie was fearful about holding on to her son's birthright.

      
With these weighty thoughts preying on her mind, she went down to the kitchen only to have Feliz inform her Karl Krueger was waiting to see her in the parlor. Unnerved at the unexpected turn of events, Carrie smoothed her hair and wished fervently that she had worn a more formal dress that warm day. Too late to go back up and change. Whatever could that leering old pirate want? she thought nervously.

      
As he waited for Carrie to appear, Krueger paced across the wide parlor floor. It galled him to come to Noah Sinclair's house, even more to deal with his half-breed son's mistress. Nevertheless, he was a practical man. He wanted clear title to all the Circle S lands, and one way or another he would get them.

      
How would he handle her? All things considered, it was hardly appropriate to offer condolences on Noah's demise. He could scarcely congratulate her on the birth of her son, either! He swore in German and resumed his pacing. Just then he heard soft footfalls on the carpet.

      
Krueger looked just as she remembered him, tall and somewhat overweight, with massive bones and hard brooding eyes that seemed to skewer people as if they were insects. She did not like him.

      
“Good morning, Mr. Krueger. What may I do for you?” Her voice was cautious and puzzled.

      
“Good day to you, Frau Sinclair. I trust you are well?” He walked over and reached for her hand before she was aware of his intent. Raising it to his lips, he planted a kiss on it, his hypnotic eyes never leaving her face. God, she was even more striking than he remembered! The Sinclair men had good taste in women. Too bad they tended to share them a bit more than was customary!

      
“Surely you didn't ride all this way to inquire about my health.” Withdrawing her hand and steeling herself to show none of the revulsion he aroused in her, Carrie faced him with a challenging look in her eyes.

      
He put up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “You are right. I admire a forthright woman, so I will be a forthright man.” He put on his most disarming smile. “You are a widow, alone with an infant to raise, an easterner in a wild uncivilized land. You cannot possibly hope to hold Circle S together, especially now that Frank Lowery is dead. Even if he were alive...” He shrugged in an expression of doubt. “I propose to buy the ranch from you. I'll make all the arrangements with Attorney Cooper so you need not even concern yourself with such complex affairs.”

      
She let him talk, kicking herself for not anticipating his move. “Complex affairs,” indeed! As if she were so stupid she could not read a legal document.
I'm surprised he thinks I'm smart enough to sign my name.
Smiling chillingly, Carrie said, “If I may be so unseemly bold as to ask, what exactly were you prepared to offer for Circle S and all its livestock?”

      
Something in her tone of voice set his teeth on edge and warned him. Had he handled her wrong? He swore silently. “But of course, I did not mean to insult you, Frau Sinclair. How does fifty thousand sound?”

      
And you didn't mean to insult me, huh? “I realize that you think it should sound like a lot of money to a penniless St. Louis orphan, Herr Krueger,” his eyebrows went up as she paused, confirming to her that he had checked on her background, “but the cattle alone are worth more than that, not to mention the horses, buildings, and land. Anyway,” she paced over to the window and looked out at the big open sky, “it doesn't matter how much you offer, the answer's the same. No. This ranch is my son's birthright. I mean to keep it for him.”

      
Krueger's face became shuttered as he marshaled every ounce of self-control he possessed. The nerve of the chit! Married off by her own family, without a dime, now saddled with a half-breed's bastard, no one to run this place, and she threw his money back at him! “I would not be so hasty, my dear,” he ground out. “You cannot get men to take orders from a woman, especially an eastern woman. Who will be your foreman? I've heard rumors that most of the hands are not working now. Some have already left your employ. Even your domestic staff has deserted you.”

      
“If you're referring to Mrs. Thorndyke, I fired her. If some of the men want to quit, I'll hire new ones and I'll get a ramrod. I don't think my being an easterner should be any greater obstacle than your being a foreigner, Herr Krueger. What do you think?” She stood, head cocked to one side, exuding confidence.

      
“I think you are still a woman, young, vulnerable...and foolish,” he taunted, growing impatient with the charade.

      
“Evelyn Henderson is a woman also, and she manages to run Lazy H quite well. Even Noah remarked on that. I may be new to this territory, but I think you'll find me a very quick learner. I've had to be. Now, if you would like some coffee or a mid-morning luncheon, I'll be glad to have Feliz—”

      
“That will not be necessary,” he interrupted. “You will live to regret your actions, my dear, I assure you.” With that he turned to storm out of the room.

      
Before he got to the door, Carrie's voice caught up with him. “Ironic, those were my late husband's exact words, Herr Krueger.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      
Still fuming inwardly at Carrie's audacity, Krueger approached his foreman, Reuben Cade. “Did you speak with Rider while I was inside?”

      
Cade smiled, revealing several missing teeth. “Yep. Reckon I did. Rider wuz real interested. He don't cotton to workin' fer a woman, leastways one who's let a Injun in her britches.”

      
Krueger snorted. “She is no lady of quality, that is for certain, but there is something there—beauty, fire—she would make a good mistress, I'm thinking. Once she loses Circle S, who knows?” He shrugged as Cade laughed. “When we meet Rider at the north fork at sundown tomorrow we will discuss terms for his contribution to the demise of Circle S.”

* * * *

      
Carrie felt drained after her show of bravado with Krueger. Of course that shark would come after Circle S with Noah and Frank both gone. If only Hawk were here, Krueger would never dare, she thought furiously, swinging her skirts as she whirled and stomped back to the kitchen. Well, she would just have to learn how to manage a ranch, that was all. If Evelyn Henderson could do it, so could Carrie Sinclair.

      
The following weeks proved that her resolve was more easily made than kept. Hands continued to do slipshod work, and a slow, steady trickle drifted off after collecting their pay, searching for more secure jobs where the boss was not a female. Stock started to disappear also. While Hawk and Kyle were here, losses were small. When Caleb Rider came, it seemed that the herds had grown greater than ever. Carrie had some suspicions about Noah and Caleb stealing from K Bar, but that was irrelevant now. For the past month it was the Circle S herds that were shrinking. She knew nothing of how Krueger fared against rustlers, nor cared. Her passion, her obsession, became holding Circle S for Perry.

      
You hold on to the land in hopes of bringing him back
. Brushing the nagging dream away, Carrie walked to the corral early one hot September morning. Nervously, she scanned the clusters of hands saddling up for their day's work, heading out to various sections of the vast Circle S land. She needed to speak with her interim foreman, Caleb Rider. Two more hands quit yesterday. Circle S was down seven men at present count, and she had no luck in town recruiting any replacements.

      
Rider watched her cross the busy corral and once more was taken with her extraordinary beauty. The split riding skirts she wore hugged her slim hips and rounded buttocks, and the loose cotton shirt revealed her full breasts, swollen from nursing an infant. He felt a stab of desire jolt through him once more and muttered under his breath, “Maybe it's time to make my move. Yeah, I reckon it is.” With that he flicked a cigarette away and sauntered toward her, circling around to surprise her from behind.

      
“You lookin' for me, Boss Lady?” The way he said the title was insinuating and insulting. He could feel her stiffen, and it pleased his male predatory instinct.

      
“Yes, Mr. Rider, I was. Hank Allen and Jim Snow quit yesterday. We simply need more men. No one in town was interested. Surely a man like you has some contacts, someone who'd be interested in earning good money. I'll pay top dollar.”

      
“While you still have it, you mean,” he said, watching her reaction.

      
“What do you mean, ‘while I have it’?” she shot back, feeling distinctly uneasy.

      
He smiled placatingly. “Now, don't go gettin' your back up. ‘Course, your eyes do get a pretty dark green when you're mad. All I meant was if you keep tryin' to run things yourself, the men will just keep leavin' till you're flat broke. Men won't work for a woman.”

      
Ignoring his compliment and annoyingly personal manner, she retorted, “Evelyn Henderson runs her place very directly, and she has no shortage of men willing to work for her.”

      
“Evelyn Henderson was born on the Lazy H. Anyhow, she's never had your, er, other problems to contend with. People hereabouts hate Indians,” he said bluntly.