Grace be a Lady (Love & War in Johnson County Book 1) (7 page)

Apparently
calling it a draw, Nate tipped his hat at Raney and rode out. The man would
have to be dead not to feel the cold stares of the cowboys drilling into his
back. Once he passed through the Diamond R’s gate, Raney walked over to Thad.
“Your pa might be innocent of some of what’s going on in this county, Thad, but
he ain’t oblivious to it. The independents only want to be treated fair and
Nate’s got good intentions. You need to believe that.”

“Hard
to believe that of an independent.”

Raney’s
face formed into a disapproving frown. “You’re as hard-headed as your pa.”

Grace
stared at the skinny bed tucked away in a small room beneath Raney’s stairs.
The mattress, undoubtedly hard and lumpy, beckoned to her like a siren. She
needed to strip out of her clothes and wash them but the bed teased her. She
gave in and stretched out on it, careful to keep her boots hung over the edge.

Her
bed back in Chicago was far softer, more luxurious, and substantially larger . . .
and it had never felt this good.

“Greg?”
Raney called through the door.

Grace
scrambled to her feet. “Yes, ma’am?” She took a step over and opened the door.

Raney
shoved a stack of clothes at her. “Here, take these, and give me those filthy,
smelly things.” Hesitantly, Grace reached for the clothing, and Raney handed
them off with a pat. “I’ll keep rooting around till I find something that’s a
better fit. These were my husband’s, and likely they’ll swallow you, but roll
’em up, make do.”

Grace
flipped through the stack containing a dark blue pair of dungarees, a red,
plaid button-up shirt, and a pair of white long johns. “Are you sure?”

“Unless
you’ve got another set of clothes in that brown paper bag?” Raney eyed the bag
sitting on the table beside the bed.

“Uh,
no ma’am. That’s actually, well, it’s kind of funny.” Grace realized she
sounded like a blithering idiot, but if Raney ever took a peek in there . . .
“I accidentally got my sister’s bag. There’s only a dress in there.” And a
head-full of hair.

Raney’s
eyes rounded in bewilderment. “You and your sister are a pair. It’s a wonder
you made it out here on the same train. Well, we’ll get it to her as soon as we
can. You go clean up out back and leave your dirty clothes hanging on the rail.
I’ll wash ’em and hang ’em up after dinner.”

Grace
stared at the tub on the back porch filled with steaming water. She wanted to
shout hallelujah, but was too tired. The container was barely more than a large
trough, but the warm water, oatmeal soap, and bracing November air gave her a
glimpse at paradise. She couldn’t recall ever appreciating a warm bath so much.

She
scrubbed and soaked, and drank in the view of craggy mountains in the distance.
Turning orange in the setting sun, they stirred something in her soul. A leaf
skittered across the porch, bringing her back to the moment. Maybe, once she
had Hardy, they would come back to Wyoming.

She
dried short, unfamiliar hair and dressed quickly, the cold starting her teeth
to chattering. Raney’s husband’s clothes were too big, but they hid any hint of
Grace’s curves, and were blissfully warm.

She
used the comb, also on loan from Raney, and ran it through her hair. A task
that used to take an hour now took mere seconds. Studying herself in a shiny
piece of metal that pretended to be a mirror, her skinny face and flat hair
appalled her. She touched the side of her head, pulling at short sprigs, and
lamented the loss of her thick, beautiful locks. But she’d survived her first
day as a man. Or a boy, anyway. Thad seemed intent on reminding her she wasn’t
old enough to shave yet.

Thoughts
of the cowboy froze her hand. He wanted to marry Grace. His intentions were
honorable. Was he crazy? He was certainly handsome in a clean-faced, wide-eyed way—

“No,”
she whispered, dragging herself away from the mirror. She couldn’t for one
second contemplate anything like that. She was here, living this lie, deceiving
kind people like Raney, because she
had
to get the money to get back to
Hardy.

She’d
do almost anything to make that happen.

His
little face—chubby cheeks, dark hair hanging in his eyes—rose up in her mind.
The stab of anguish hit her square in the heart.

Truth
was, to get Hardy back, she’d do that one final thing, if all else failed.

But,
for the time being, she’d bested Bull.

She
was tired, dressed like a hobo, and passing for a scrawny boy. But she wasn’t a
prostitute. And she would make her way back to Hardy soon, come hell or high
water. If she was lucky, Bull would never see her coming.

And
Thad Walker would be a memory.

She
rolled up the pants legs, rolled up the shirt sleeves, and stuffed the tail in
her pants. She shuffled inside to the kitchen, and Raney had to stifle a laugh
as she got a gander at her new hand. Shaking her head, she lifted a steak from
the frying pan. “I won’t let you make a habit out of wearing those.” She
dropped the meat onto a tin plate. “Thad’s boys get a gander at you in ’em, I
reckon you’ll never live it down.”

Grace
clutched the throat of the huge shirt. “Yeah, I’d hate to give Thad an excuse
to come up with another clever nickname. I’m so fond of Buttercup.”

Raney
snorted. “Don’t worry about it now. Come and get your supper.”

Grace
ate like a starving man. The sandwiches from lunch had long since disappeared,
and this steak was about the best thing she’d eaten since a petite sirloin from
Delmonico’s had filled her plate. She could savor the salty, juicy flavor till
she died.

Raney
lit a cigarette and sat back, her own meal untouched. “How are you supposed to
find out where your sister winds up?”

Grace
swallowed a mouthful of steak. “She said she’d write.”

“Oh.”
Raney took a puff, and then blew smoke rings for a moment. “But she doesn’t
know where you are.”

Sweat
broke out on Grace’s upper lip. Why was Raney so curious? “Well, we figured,
Misery being so small, it wouldn’t be hard to get a letter to me.”

“That’s
true. Thad says your sister is married. Is that true?”

An
awkward silence stretched between them, and Grace figured Raney was working
toward something. “Is there something in particular you want to know, Miss
Raney?”

The
woman exhaled smoke one last time, then leaned forward and snuffed out her
cigarette in her coffee cup. “Thad says you—or, at least, that is, your sister—is
running from her husband. That true?”

For
a crazy moment, Grace thought about telling Raney the truth—all of it. Though
her warm, brown eyes said she was curious, maybe even suspicious, they weren’t
without compassion. And this was the woman known for taking in strays. But what
if she wanted to avoid trouble? Would she fire Grace?

“Grace
is married to a professional criminal. He’s . . . mean, I guess
you’d say.”

“Why
is she running from him? Why didn’t the two of you go back to your grandparents’
farm?”

Grace’s
throat tightened. Her appetite disappeared, just like her dreams of becoming a
teacher. Before she’d understood how Bull’s mind worked, she’d made the mistake
of threatening to do just that. The next day, someone had burned her
grandparents’ smoke house to the ground and slaughtered five pigs. Bull had met
Grace’s questions and accusations with a dangerous silence. Grace hadn’t talked
to her grandparents since. They’d never even seen their great-grandson.

“You’re
out here because you’re hiding, is that it?”

Grace
wished Raney would drop this. Bull had destroyed every single ray of happiness
in her life. Keeping her from Hardy was the last straw. She had a plan. She had
her feet underneath her. Bull wasn’t going to take anything else. “He doesn’t
know where I—I mean, we are. You won’t get drawn into it. I promise.”

Raney
huffed, implying she was as worried about Bull as she was the mouse in the
pantry. “He might be mean for Chicago, but he ain’t seen mean till he comes to
Johnson County.”

Grace
saw a chance to change the subject and leaped on it. “That man that was here
today, Nate . . . why was there so much tension?”

Raney’s
expression changed to something sad and hopeless. The curiosity about Grace
that had sparkled in her eyes faded away. “There’s a war going on in this
county, the likes of which I’ve never seen. Men killing each other for land and
cattle, power and money. But there’s a fight going on for independence as
well.”

She
crossed her arms and leaned on the table. “Most of the big outfits are owned by
Scottish and English conglomerates.” Her voice rose with passion, and she poked
the table with her index finger. “They come in here with their high-and-mighty
attitudes, begrudging the independents their small herds and a hundred acres of
land. The more land I’ve sold, the more they’ve treated me like I don’t have a
right to be here.” She slammed the table, startling Grace. “Well, this ain’t
England, and Wyoming is no colony of the Crown.”

“I
take it this Nate is an independent then?”

“Oh,
he’s more than that. He’s a fireball and a thorn in the side of every cattle
baron in this state. Ever since they lynched Jim Averill and Ella Watson—”

“They
lynched a woman?”

“Ella
was a friend of mine and Nate’s. A good girl, no matter what the newspapers
said. Liked her whiskey and cigars, but she was a good, decent person.”

All
at once, Grace felt a vested interest in this cattle war. How many times had
Bull put his hands around her throat, fingers threatening to squeeze the life
from her? She doubted the leap from beatings to murder was very far.

Shaking
her head, Raney twirled her fork around in her mashed potatoes. “Every
independent is not a rustler, but the barons are painting it that way and they
own the newspapers. Ella was tried and convicted in the press and her murder
excused.” She snorted in disgust. “Helluva note.”

Grace
wondered about Thad and his animosity toward Nate. As if reading her thoughts,
Raney dropped her fork and pushed her plate away.

“Earl
Walker used to be a good man. I’m not so sure anymore. I think all the cattle
barons have blood on their hands, and I fear Thad has a rude awakening coming
about his pa.”