Pete (The Cowboys) (9 page)

“You’re one lucky woman,” Dolores said. “You used to complain that nothing exciting ever happened to you. Being rescued at the last minute from being sold to an old man by a handsome young man who turns out to be your husband is enough excitement for the rest of your life.”

“Too much,” Anne said. “I’ll never complain again.”

Dolores winked and grinned. “I have a suspicion you won’t have to. Even gentlemen don’t hold themselves in check forever.”

“I’ve made up my mind to round up everything we can and sell it immediately,” Pete said as he and Eddie neared the ranch after a hard day of riding. “The herd isn’t in good shape. We’d lose a lot of them in a bad winter.”

“You’ll lose money selling now,” Eddie said.

“Jake always said go with what you have, not what you might have.”

“Who’s Jake?”

He was going to have to watch his tongue. At this rate, he’d have blabbed about his entire family before the week was out. They’d only have to compare notes to be certain he was the imposter Belser claimed him to be.

“A man I knew,” Pete said. “He lost nearly everything he had during the war. He didn’t believe in waiting.”

“I didn’t know there was any fighting in Illinois.”

He was going to have to sew his mouth shut. “There wasn’t. He was from Texas. He moved to Illinois after the war.” The mere thought of leaving Texas, especially to go someplace like Illinois, would cause Jake to choke.

“Anyway, I want you to start making preparations for a roundup. If we get them to market quickly, we’ll get in ahead of anybody else.”

“Everybody around here is waiting as long as possible, hoping the steers will put on a little more weight.”

“They won’t. There’s no grass. And that reminds me of something else. We’ve got too many strays from other herds on our land. Tell the boys to chase back anything that isn’t ours.”

“That’s going to make people angry.”

“They’re welcome to run mine back in this direction. In fact, I’d be obliged. It’ll make the roundup easier.”

“I never heard of anybody doing this.”

“That’s one advantage of being the foreman and not the owner. You still get paid if I make a mistake.”

Eddie half grinned. “Okay, you’re the boss.”

“Good. Now let’s get cleaned up. My stomach’s already growling at the thought of the supper Dolores has cooked up.”

After years of cooking his own meals over a campfire, or getting what he could at a local saloon, a properly prepared meal was a treat.

Pete looked around quickly as they neared the corrals. Belser hadn’t shown up all day. He felt uneasy not knowing where he might be. He wasn’t comforted by not finding Belser’s horse in the corral. That meant he’d been gone most of the day. There was more than enough work to do on the ranch, but Pete didn’t think it was work that had kept Belser out of sight.

Dolores stuck her head out of the kitchen as they rode by. “I’ll have the food on the table by the time you’ve unsaddled the horses.”

“Give us fifteen minutes. I’ve got to wash up and change my shirt,” Pete called back.

This was almost like being back at the Broken Circle with Jake and the rest of the boys—Isabelle cooking mountains of food, everybody crowding around the trough so they could wash up and get to the table first. He’d hardly had time to unsaddle his horse when Belser rode up. He looked dusty and tired.

“You’d better hurry and wash up,” Pete said. “Dolores said she’d have food on the table in twenty minutes.”

“I eat like I am,” Belser growled.

“Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you wash and change your shirt before you come in to eat. It’s one way to show your appreciation for the work it takes to put a good meal on the table.”

“Dolores is paid to cook. She don’t need my appreciation.”

“Then there’s the fact that the sight of perspiration running through the dust on your forehead offends me. As does your odor.”

“I’ll be damned if I’m washing just to eat.”

“Then you can eat at the chuck wagon. Be sure to sit downwind. I wouldn’t want you ruining the men’s dinner.”

Belser dismounted and walked up to Pete. He wasn’t quite as tall, but he outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. “You telling me you’re throwing me out of the house if I don’t wash up?”

“That’s about the sum of it.”

“Uncle Carl never made me wash.”

“Uncle Carl is dead.”

They stood facing each other.

“I could kill you,” Belser said.

“You could try.”

Pete hadn’t expected Belser to challenge him so openly, but he was ready when the big man charged him, fists waving in the air. Pete nearly laughed when he saw what Belser considered fighting style. If he’d had to survive twelve years in the gold-mining camps of Colorado, Montana, and the Black Hills, he’d know what real fighting was. Pete sidestepped Belser’s first charge and tripped him. He went down with a whoosh of air from his lungs and came up with a roar.

“If you want to fight, stop waving your arms in the air like you’re brushing off flies,” Pete said. “You’ll never hit me like that.”

Belser rushed him again. Pete figured Belser thought his size would carry the day. He didn’t know Pete had honed his skills on his best friend, Sean, who was five inches taller than Pete and heavier than Belser. Pete sidestepped the second charge and hit Belser in the temple as he rushed by.

He hit the ground with a thud. He didn’t get up so quickly this time.

“It would be a lot easier to wash up,” Pete said. “You’re going to have to do it anyway.”

Belser came at him again, but he was more careful this time. He managed to connect on one blow, but he swung his arms around in a giant circle, which took away a lot of the force of the blow. Pete easily recovered and moved straight in, pounding Belser with a rapid series of sharp blows straight to the stomach, ribs, and jaw. Belser wasn’t fat or out of shape, but he didn’t have any real fighting skill or stamina. He sank to his knees in a matter of minutes.

“Wash up and change your shirt, or eat at the chuck wagon,” Pete said, breathing hard from his exertions. “That’s the way it’s going to be tonight and every night from now on.”

He started toward the house.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Eddie said.

“I could see it coming from the moment I got here. Now maybe he’ll think a little before he goes off half-cocked.”

Pete wasn’t surprised when Belser came down in time for dinner, and wearing a clean shirt. He had figured Belser would rather not eat at all than have to join the chuck wagon crew and explain his humiliating loss.

“I’ve decided to round up all the beef that’s in reasonable shape and sell it,” Pete announced. “The range is in poor shape, and the predictions are for a hard winter. We don’t have enough hay to carry over the full herd. If we sell off what we can, we might make it through in decent shape.”

“I don’t think you ought to sell,” Belser said.

“You’re welcome to your opinion, but it’s my ranch.”

“It’s not your ranch because you’re not Peter.”

“You said that before.” Pete didn’t look up from the steak he was cutting. He figured it would look better if he appeared totally unfazed by Belser’s accusations.

“But now I have proof,” Belser said.

Chapter Five

Pete felt a chill of apprehension. What kind of proof could Belser have? Where had he been all day? It wasn’t possible for him to have traveled back to the spot where Peter had been killed. Even if he had, Pete had been very careful to camouflage Peter’s grave and burn the wagon. Trying to appear totally unconcerned, Pete surveyed the faces at the table. Dolores appeared curious more than anything else. He couldn’t quite decipher Eddie’s expression, but he doubted the foreman would look forward to working under Belser.

Anne looked as white as a sheet. He could only guess at the reason, but he was certain she dreaded the prospect of Belser’s inheriting the ranch.

“Everybody’s anxious to hear your proof,” Pete said. “Don’t keep us waiting.” He directed his gaze back to his food. If this was his moment of exposure, there was little he could do to stop it. He would just explain what he was doing there and bow out as gracefully as possible.

“Carl said Peter couldn’t fight. Peter could never have beaten me, so you can’t be Peter.”

Pete breathed an inward sigh of relief. If this was Belser’s idea of proof, it was safe to let him keep making accusations. After a while, no one would believe anything he said.

“That’s ridiculous,” Anne said. She had turned toward Belser, her cheeks now spotted with color. “Anybody can see Pete has changed since he left here. It’s only natural that he learned to fight. All men do.”

Pete hadn’t expected Anne to support him with such vehemence. From her pallor, he figured she was more afraid of losing her security than her husband. After all, she’d been willing to marry a man she had last seen as a child.

“He wouldn’t have decided to sell the herd,” Belser said, ignoring Anne. “Uncle Carl said he didn’t know anything about cows. That he didn’t like them.”

“You don’t have to like cows to know you have to sell them to make money,” Pete said. “I
was
thinking about selling everything on the place, going back to Illinois, and opening up a really big hardware store this time.”

“That sounds exactly like something Peter would do,” Belser said.

“Which disproves your own argument,” Anne said. “If that’s exactly what Peter would do, then this must be Peter.”

“He’s not, you little fool,” Belser exploded.

“I don’t really care who you think I am,” Pete said, “but you call my wife a fool again—even a little one—and I’m going to knock you through that window. Then you can take up permanent residence in the bunkhouse.”

“That’s something else Peter wouldn’t do,” Belser said. “He didn’t have the courage of a coyote.”

“I always thought coyotes were right brave,” Pete said. “They’re little, but they’ll attack an animal twice their size. Smart too. I don’t mind you comparing me to a coyote. Just watch what you say about Anne. You got to treat ladies differently.”

“She ain’t no lady,” Belser exploded.

A silence fell.

“You can explain that statement, or you can apologize for it,” Pete said. “But only one choice is going to allow you to keep all your teeth.”

Anne turned her unbelieving gaze on Pete. He got the feeling she wasn’t used to anybody taking her part. If that was true, it was too bad. She was a nice young woman. Any fool could see she tried hard to be liked. Probably nobody had thought to do anything but make her feel like a burden. He’d have to see what he could do about that before he left.

“I mean she’s a girl,” Belser said. “She’s not old enough to be a lady.”

“But you’re sure she will become a lady the minute she’s old enough, whenever that is.” Every eye in the room was on Belser. The silence seemed to stretch a little too long. “I don’t think Anne heard your answer,” Pete said.

“Probably. You never can tell about women,” Belser said.

“That’s a cheap apology,” Pete said. “It wouldn’t have cost you a penny to say something nice. Everybody would have thought well of you. Now all we see is a mean-spirited, poor loser who’ll say anything he can to get a ranch he never had any right to in the first place.”

“I had more right to it than you do!” Belser exploded. “I don’t know who you are or how you got here—”

“I’m Pete Warren. I got here on horseback. I intended to arrive by wagon, but somebody burned that after they tried to kill me.”

“You’re not Peter!” Belser shouted. “You probably killed him and showed up in his place.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Belser.” Dolores spoke for the first time. “He couldn’t possibly know as much as he does and be anyone but Peter.”

“Pete,” Anne said. “He wants us to call him Pete now.”

“How do you explain his wound?” Dolores asked Belser.

“How do I know? Maybe Peter shot him before he got killed.”

“And he somehow knew enough to find his way here on the last day before he would lose the ranch,” Dolores said.

“He—”

“And he knew who I was,” Anne pointed out. “He rescued me from Uncle Frank before anybody had a chance to say a word to him.’’

That wasn’t true. Pete had talked to one of Bill Mason’s cowhands, but Pete didn’t figure it would help his case to say that.

“Anybody could have told him who you were,” Belser said. “But we don’t know anything about him. Nobody’s asked him any questions. Peter would be fool enough to let anybody walk into his camp, tell them just about anything they wanted to know. He’d be easy to kill. I say we see just how much this one knows.”

“I don’t see why you can’t wait for his papers,” Dolores said.

“That’ll take weeks, maybe months,” Belser said. “He could have the herd sold and be gone with the money before we find out who he is.”

“I’m not going to sit here answering a bunch of questions,” Pete said. “However, I will promise not to spend any money on myself until I can prove who I am.” That wasn’t a problem. He didn’t plan to use the money anyway.