Pete (The Cowboys) (12 page)

“I’m off to see about the horses and drop in on the sheriff,” he said to Anne when he came back into the room. “I’ll leave you to wash the trail dust from your face.” He rubbed his finger along her cheek. “Fix yourself up pretty. I want to show you off to all the locals. Sort of rub it in. After all, one of them could have caught you if they hadn’t been so slow.”

Anne watched the door close behind Pete, her hand on her cheek where he had touched her. So many conflicting emotions bombarded her mind that she couldn’t think clearly.

She was still shaken by the attack on the road. It was one thing for Pete to tell her he’d been shot. She could even empathize with some of the suffering he had endured while his wound healed, but it was all remote, unreal, something she’d heard about. The shots this morning had been real. There was nothing imaginary or remote about them. In case she forgot, she had only to look at the holes in the blackboard to remember how close they’d come to being killed.

She found it difficult to think of herself as being in the middle of a murderous plot to take the ranch from Pete. Nothing like this had happened on the Tumbling T since she’d been born. Uncle Carl’s rule had been supreme. Now Uncle Carl was dead and someone had twice tried to kill Pete.

Only they had failed. Pete was still alive. She found that hard to explain.

The Peter she remembered would never have had the strength to get on a horse and stay on, conscious, until he reached someone who could care for him. The Peter she remembered would have panicked if anyone had shot at him. He certainly wouldn’t have shoved her to the bottom of the buckboard and calmly driven to safety. Neither would he have known when they were out of rifle range. He would have raced all the way into town.

The horrible suspicion that Pete couldn’t be Peter reared its hideous head once again. How could Pete be completely different from the man she remembered and still be Peter?

But he wasn’t completely different. She had adored Peter because he treated her kindly, listened to her, never acted like she wasn’t there. Pete did that, too. He’d promised to buy her new clothes. He’d promised to give her time to get to know him better. He’d defended her against Belser. He was just as kind and thoughtful as Peter ever had been.

And she liked Pete a lot, just as much as she liked Peter. She wasn’t a fickle woman. She couldn’t possibly have loved Peter for as long as she had and then transfer her affections to a complete stranger. No, if nothing else should convince her, her feeling for Pete should tell her that he really was Peter. True, he’d changed in many ways. He must have stayed in Texas a long time. That probably accounted for his losing the hardware store.

A wave of heat swept over her, and she felt terribly disloyal for doubting Pete. He’d done everything she’d ever hoped he would do. And more. He’d treated her like Cinderella, pulled her out of the corner and set her at the head of the table. She ought to be ashamed to consider Belser’s accusations for even a minute. She made a promise to herself right then that she’d never do it again. She was a very lucky woman. She ought to be intelligent enough not to throw away her good fortune.

She looked around her at the luxurious hotel room and felt uneasy. She wasn’t used to being the focus of attention. Coming to Big Bend with her new husband, she was certain to attract attention wherever she went. She should have stayed at the ranch. She felt comfortable there. Except for Belser, everybody liked her, accepted her as she was. It felt like home. She was happy there.

She didn’t know anybody here. She could recognize a lot of people—her father and Uncle Carl had brought many men to the house while they were alive, but she didn’t really know them. And they didn’t know her. She didn’t think they were going to be too happy about an Indian girl marrying the owner of the biggest ranch in the Powder River basin. But their reluctance to accept her would be nothing compared to their wives’ coldness.

Many white men had taken up with Indian women, especially in the early days when trappers came to the mountains or when the first of the ranchers grabbed land in what was Indian Territory. Her maternal grandfather had been a French trapper with noble connections. He had taken up with a beautiful Crow woman, then deserted her when he returned to France. Anne’s father and Uncle Frank were the only survivors of a New Orleans family that lost everything during the War Between the States. Her father had come West to start over again. Her uncle had come, too, bringing his hatred and his lust to regain the wealth and power of his youth.

He had been infuriated when his brother married a half-breed Crow woman. It didn’t matter that she was the niece of a French count. All her life Anne had been told she was worthless, a
breed
, that her mother was nothing more than the spawn of a whore.

Despite her black hair and eyes, Anne had inherited her looks from her French grandfather. She knew she was pretty. She knew because men lusted after her. But they wanted only her body. To them she was still a breed, someone to use and discard.

Her father had met up with Carl when he came to Wyoming, had helped Carl establish his ranch. As a reward, he had been Carl’s foreman until his death. Anne had been born on the ranch, considered it her home. She was there when Peter’s family came to spend those two years with Uncle Carl.

Peter was different. They became best friends right away. He didn’t care that she was part Indian. He got angry when his brother Gary called her a breed. They got into fights. Peter always lost. His brother was older, stronger, and a better fighter. But Anne loved Peter for defending her.

Even after his family went back to Illinois, she didn’t forget Peter. When her uncle started threatening to sell her, she thought of Peter. He’d liked her and had always been kind. If they married, she would take care of him. She would never have to leave the ranch, the only home she’d ever known.

It had seemed the perfect plan—until Peter arrived. Not Peter, Pete! Now everything felt different. From the first moment she’d been attracted to him in a way she’d never felt about Peter. She wondered if this was the way her grandmother had felt when she left her people to go live with the French trapper. Surely it wasn’t the way normal, respectable women felt toward their husbands. It was too disturbing, too uncomfortable, too … She wasn’t sure what it was. But she knew it was going to make it very difficult to continue sleeping in the same bed with Pete.

“It’s good to get the money stuff straight,” Pete said to Anne as they walked out of the bank. The owner of the bank had been reluctant to advance Pete any money at first. But Pete’s assurance that he wouldn’t authorize any major expenditures until he received his papers relieved the banker’s worry. “Now we have to find a lawyer’s office. Know anybody to recommend?”

“How about him?” Anne said, pointing to the office of John Langley. It was across the street. “He’s one of the men who used to visit Uncle Carl.”

“Know anybody else?” The office was on the other side of a street ankle-deep in dust and horse droppings. It would be impossible for Anne to cross on foot.

“No.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to carry you across.”

“No!” Anne sounded startled.

“You can’t walk. There’s nothing wrong with a man carrying his wife across the street.”

“But you’re—”

“Strong enough to carry two of you,” Pete said as he scooped Anne up. “You don’t weigh more than a newborn calf.”

Anne had never been picked up by a man. The sensation was beyond words. She wrapped her arms around Pete’s neck and held on tight. He acted as though she didn’t weigh anything. He just picked her up and marched right into the street. At first Anne was too startled to do anything but hang on. But once she got the courage to look around, she noticed two smiling soldiers.

“Nice package you’ve got there,” one of them called out.

“You going to unwrap it as soon as you get home?” the other asked. They both burst out laughing.

“Pay no attention,” Pete said. “They’re just jealous.”

Anne couldn’t believe that. Nobody had ever been jealous of her before. But the idea intrigued her. Warmth flooded through her. She hoped he was right.

“Here we go,” Pete said as he set her on her feet on the boardwalk. “And not a spot on you.”

“What about you?”

“That’s what boots are for. Now, about this lawyer.”

Anne looked around and came face-to-face with two women staring at Pete. For a moment she didn’t understand their look. Then it hit her. They were admiring Pete, just as men admired women. She could hardly believe it. The notion was so new. Living in a nearly all-male society, she’d never had the opportunity to see women ogling men.

Then they looked at her. She had no trouble telling the women were jealous of her. It wasn’t something she could explain. She just knew. She couldn’t recall even one time in her life when anyone had been jealous of her. It made her feel almost like a real person.

“Are you going to answer me or not?”

Anne came out of her fog. “What? I didn’t hear you.”

“I asked if you remembered the name of my lawyer in Illinois. I guess I’m still suffering from that concussion. I’m sure I’ll remember in a few days, but I don’t want to have to come back to town.”

“Of course I know his name. He sent me the marriage papers I had to sign.”

“Good. We’ll get him to send us copies of our marriage certificate. Then there won’t be any question of my being an imposter. I don’t want anybody disputing my claim to the ranch.”

Anne watched and listened as Pete explained to the lawyer what had happened, what he wanted, and how to go about getting it. He said he wanted confirmation that Anne and he were married sent by telegraph. The sooner that question was cleared up, the better. He wanted certified copies of all the relevant papers as soon as it could be arranged. He also sent a letter to a man she didn’t know. She’d heard her father and Uncle Carl speak of Monty Randolph. They said he was one of the most important cattlemen in Wyoming.

Pete wrote that letter in his own hand. He said it was personal.

He also wrote another paper he said was personal. Anne didn’t object. She’d never expected to be privy to any of the business he transacted.

She had never been allowed to be present when Carl conducted business, but she was impressed with Pete. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted and how to get it. He didn’t let the lawyer intimidate him. And every time the man had an objection, Pete found a way around it. She couldn’t help admiring him. He was so capable.

And so attractive.

She really shouldn’t think so much about his looks. It made her feel like a vain and shallow female. Everyone knew that a person’s looks often had nothing to do with their inner qualities. Everyone also knew that handsome men and beautiful women were vain, expecting to be flattered, pampered, and spoiled. But Pete wasn’t like that.

Besides, no female could ignore a man as handsome as Pete.

“Now let’s go see about buying you some new clothes.”

She’d been so busy with her own thoughts, she hadn’t noticed that Pete had finished his business and risen from his chair. He whisked her out of the lawyer’s office and headed her toward the largest clothing emporium in Big Bend.

“I don’t need any new dresses,” she said.

“Nonsense. Everything in your wardrobe is dowdy or looks like it was made for a little girl. You’re a woman, and you ought to dress like one.”

That thought pleased Anne, but uneasiness continued to be her overriding emotion.

“No one ever comes out to the ranch. It won’t matter what I wear.”

“We’ll soon have parties with lots of important guests,” Pete said. “People will come just to look at you.”

“Me!”

“You’re very pretty now. I might even say extremely pretty. But this is nothing compared to what you’re going to be in five or ten years. You’ll be the most beautiful woman in the Wyoming Territory.”

“Me!”

“Don’t tell me nobody has ever told you that you were pretty.”

“Yes, but—”

“You still have a girlish look now. Simple and pretty, exactly the kind of look that matures into true beauty. I’ve seen it happen before. I know. You’ll have men coming by all the time just to sit and stare at you. I’ll have to hire extra hands just to keep them off.”

She couldn’t imagine anything so preposterous. No one had ever paid that kind of attention to her. Cyrus wanted her, but he was a vile, lecherous old man who would take advantage of any young, defenseless female. She’d noticed the cowhands sneaking a peek at her occasionally, but she didn’t put much store in that. The poor boys went whole weeks without seeing a female. It was only natural they would stare when they got back to the ranch. She was sure they stared at Dolores just as often.