Carla Kelly (28 page)

“Better try it, Mrs. Otto,” Malcolm said. He took the lid off the pot and peered inside. He glared at her. “What the Sam Hill is
that
?”

She looked in too, swallowing over and over as her stomach heaved. She had to smile as the humor of the whole thing took over.
My stars
, she thought,
that vile man is afraid of a little bay leaf
.

While everyone watched and no one breathed, Julia ladled a small amount into a bowl.

Deftly, she plucked out the single bay leaf, dropped it in the fire, and picked up a spoon. She took a small sip, and then another, nodding to herself.

“All it needed was bay leaf,” she said, giving all three Clyde brothers a level stare. “Gentlemen, supper is served.”

The applause that rose around her was better than music.
We passed, Paul
, she thought. She let them spoon up their own sonofagun stew and handed out bread and dried fruit at the other table. When everyone was served and sitting cross-legged or squatting, she excused herself, walked down to the river, and threw up everything she had ever eaten since at least her sixth grade birthday party.

When she finished, she dipped her hand in the river and drank, relishing the cold water down her sorely tried throat. She turned around to see Paul sitting there, watching her.

“I don't think I'll come to the roundup this fall,” she said.

“You should. You're the roundup queen now.” He gave her a hand up. “Sit a spell. This gather's going down in Wyoming history.” He gave her a solemn look. “Did
I
pass, sport?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You did. You're an official blamed Mormon, and you didn't shoot anyone.”

“I wouldn't waste one bullet, let alone three, on the Clyde brothers.”

Silent, they sat close together on the riverbank until the sun went down.

I never saw anything so beautiful,” Julia said, when—after a half day's ride—they topped the ridge from the north and looked down on the Double Tipi. She sniffed the air, enjoying the fragrance of lilacs by the bunkhouse, put there by Paul's mother, in some attempt to make the place more homelike. She traced the path of the burn to the water's edge, and then to the other side where it jumped the river. She sighed and looked away.

Maybe the same scar was on Paul's mind too, because he pointed to the area where the house used to be. “We're going to leave bare earth there. I don't want any growth around our home.”

“Maybe a lawn and some zinnias?” she asked, hopeful. “Hollyhocks too?”

“For you, Julia, a lawn and zinnias.” He chuckled. “Maybe even hollyhocks, but nothing tall that I can't burn if we ever need a backfire. I won't take another chance with your life. No arguments.”

“Not from me, Mr. Otto,” she agreed.

At the side porch, Charlotte greeted her with a welcome smile, but her eyes were on Matt, who was sitting with Colby Wagner by the horse corral.

“I followed one of your recipes and made a poppy seed loaf,” she said. “Would you like a slice?”

Julia watched the trajectory of Charlotte's gaze. “I would, but I think Matt, Colby, and Doc have been eating more dust that I have. Take some out there first. Do you have any lemonade too?”

Charlotte's smile was heartfelt. “You know I do. Thanks, Mrs. Otto.”

Julia hoped her face wasn't too rosy when she added, “You needn't hurry back. I don't have any particular duties for you right now.”

Julia rubbed her neck and then the small of her back as she watched her husband lead their horses into the horse corral. She had lost that argument earlier, when he insisted that it was never any trouble to tend two horses, rather than one.

“I know you, Darling,” had been his clincher. “If I get distracted, you'll probably try to lift off that saddle, and I won't have it.”

It never does to argue with Mr. Otto. Paul, maybe, but not Mr. Otto
, she thought as she dipped hot water from the Queen Atlantic into a small bucket and carried it into the bathing room. A number of trips back and forth were no strain at all. By the time her husband finished unloading equipment from the wagon and caring for the horses, she was wearing clean clothes and was fragrant with rose talc.

Paul sniffed her as he walked into the kitchen. “My word, Julia.” His lips were on her neck then. “I miss the wood smoke, but maybe not the flies.”

“You know, there's plenty of hot water left in the Queen, and Charlotte made a stew that relieves me from afternoon kitchen patrol.”

“That's a blatant offer, if ever I heard one,” he said. “See you upstairs. Want me dry or wet, wife?”

“Just clean, husband.”

Heavy doings
, Julia thought later. “Maybe there's nothing like a cow gather to sharpen the senses,” she murmured to her husband.

No answer. “You've been chloroformed,” she whispered, pleased with her power. She reached for her clothes.

“Not so fast,” Paul said, groggy but awake, his hand on her hip. “I was just resting my eyes.”

She had no objection to pillowing her head on his chest. His fingers just seemed to go automatically to her curls, twining them around his fingers.

He didn't say anything for a long time, just fingered her hair, then kissed the top of her head before drawing her closer. “I've never been so mortified,” he said finally. “I believe I would have suffered any indignity, rather than hear those men—I can't call them friends—drag Mattie Daw and Jennie Rogers into a conversation with you.”

“I just considered the source,” she whispered into his chest. “I meant what I said to them: it's old news. You've repented, you've been baptized, and I'd stake my life on it that you haven't returned to Denver's Tenderloin District.”

“True.”

“End of story.” She raised up to look him in the eye. “I've noticed something more important to me than Denver ladies. Do you realize I haven't had that… that dream in weeks?” She made a face. “Not even after that awful day when I seem to have cornered the Wyoming market on Rocky Mountain oysters.” She put her arm around his waist. “I can't decide if that was worse or if the sonofagun stew was worse.”

Paul started to laugh. “I would almost—not quite—go through some of that again, just to see the look on Malcolm Clyde's face when you pulled out that itty bitty bay leaf!”

“It
did
make the stew better,” Julia insisted, laughing too. “Almost edible.”

He kissed her and ran his hand down her arm. “Since the president of the Double Tipi and his executive officer are not busy right now, I suggest we have a shareholders meeting.”

She looked at him, interested.

“It's this: I want to give Malloy a raise and name him my foreman. I mentioned this before.”

“Can we afford that, Mr. Otto?” she asked. “It's my job to ask questions like that.”

“We can, especially since I'm not paying for the employment of that expensive but beautiful cook any more. I can give Malloy a raise and pay Colby Wagner what he's worth, and still come out ahead. Does the executive officer agree?”

“She does.”

“How about this? Suppose I tell Malloy I plan to refurbish the old bunkhouse into a home for the foreman? Think that'll speed his wooing a bit?”

“You are a matchmaker!”

“Guilty as charged.”

“The executive officer also agrees with that proposal.”

“Done and carried,” he said with a yawn. “Now, I am somnolent.”

“One of those S words from Doc's dictionary?” she teased. Silence.

As her husband slept, Julia dressed. She stood a long moment just looking at him, satisfied. She looked out the window and up toward the horse barn and the bunkhouse, where Doc, Colby, and Paul's two cousins sat. She heard the murmur of two voices from the side porch below and smiled to herself.
Matt, you're about to get a real nudge from the president of the Double Tipi corporation
, she thought.

Leaning against the window frame, Julia twisted her wedding band on her finger. She had removed her ruby engagement ring before the cow gather, not willing to chance its loss. Humming, she went to her bureau and opened the top drawer to retrieve her ring.

Her ring rested on top of a note in pencil:
I know he's here somewhere
. She sucked in her breath, then hurried to Paul and shook him awake. He sat up quickly, rubbed his eyes, then grabbed the note she held in her shaking hand.

“Where… where was this?” he demanded.

She couldn't speak; she pointed to her bureau and the open drawer. He got out of bed and went to the drawer.

“Anything missing?”

Julia shook her head. “How did he do this?”

Paul stared at the note in his hand. “We don't even know it's from McAtee,” he told her, his expression bleak.

“You… you told me you saw him at the gather.”

“He rode in that second day with some stockmen from Niobrara County. They looked around, checked a few brands, but didn't stay.” He reached for his clothes. “Julia, go ring the triangle, and let's get everyone in the dining room.”

She did as he said, stepping past a surprised Matt and Charlotte on the side porch to ring the triangle. She looked down the valley toward the river and then up to the ridge. The peace was gone from her quiet afternoon.

When Paul explained his reason for asking his crew into the dining room, Kringle, Charlotte, and her cousins looked at each other. Doc stared thoughtfully around the room. Colby Wagner sat back with a frown, his arms folded. His expression hadn't changed since Paul took the time to explain what had led up to the note.

“James is safe somewhere else, and that's all I'll say. The less you all know, the better. Wagner, I have to trust you, because you weren't aware of James or the way his family was burned out in Niobrara County four years ago,” Paul said. “The way you defended my wife at the cow gather assures me of your character. I trust you.”

Wagner nodded. “You can, Mr. Otto. Let me understand this: McAtee of the Bar Lazy S knows—James, is it?—is the only living witness to what happened?”

“Yes.” Paul looked at the note in his hand. “This confirms my fear that McAtee did recognize James. I was doubtful before, but not now.” He looked around the dining room table, his eyes troubled. “The only way he could have put that note in my wife's bureau drawer was for everyone to have been off the Double Tipi,” he said. “Please tell me what you know. Charlotte? McLeish? Kringle? If I can't trust you…” He didn't finish his sentence.

Charlotte cleared her throat, looking at her cousin, Curtis McLeish. “We weren't sure what happened,” she began. “We didn't think anything had, until now.”

“Better explain,” Paul said, his voice more gentle now. “Curtis?”

“It was three days ago, about noon.” McLeish looked at Charlotte. “Wasn't it?”

She nodded, and he continued. “I noticed quite a cloud of smoke to the north and east, so I saddled up for a look. After last year's fires, I'm not inclined to ignore smoke.”

“How far did you ride?” Paul asked.

“About two miles. By the cut in the bluff.”

“Yeah, that's two miles. You can't see the ranch buildings from there, if I recall.”

“Nope.”

“What was it?”

Curtis shook his head. “Just a pile of brush to start a hot fire, and then green wood to make it smoke. I looked around and didn't see anyone, so I kicked out the fire. I stayed there until it was out. I guess I was gone about an hour and a half.” He shrugged. “That was it.”

“You didn't see anyone?”

“Not a soul.”

Paul turned to Charlotte and spoke to her in Shoshone. She nodded and took a deep breath.

“I was in the kitchen making biscuits when I heard someone banging on the wall by the horse barn.”

“’Twas me,” Kringle said. “I had to bang really loud. It was a windy day, and I thought the wind had blown the door to the harness room shut. You know how it can latch.”

“I do. I got stuck in there once,” Paul said. “Charlotte?”

“I heard the banging and went to the harness room. It was like he said. The door was latched. The wind can whistle through there, if the barn doors are open.” She swallowed. “I feel so stupid! I opened the door and went inside, and it slammed shut behind me. I should have known better.”

“How'd you get out?”

“When I came back, I heard both of them hollering,” Curtis said. “I let them out—laughed at them—and then we fixed the door so it wouldn't happen again.” He looked at his cousin, as if for reassurance. “We looked around and couldn't see anything out of place, so we chalked it up to the wind. Couldn't explain the fire, though.” His expression changed. “Maybe now I can.”

“You didn't see anyone?”

“No one,” Charlotte said, her voice emphatic. “You know how dark the horse barn is by the harness room. Someone must have been there.” She shivered.

They just looked at each other. Paul stared at the note again. “McAtee's smarter than I thought,” he said. “I'm not sure what to do. The note's unsigned. If I take any of my unfounded concerns to the marshal in Cheyenne, he'll laugh me right out of his office.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Burning out those homesteaders four years ago means nothing in a state that doesn't much care about farmers. We're on our own.”