Place to Belong, a (32 page)

“Well, I have important stuff to tell you, so shut up and listen. Some guy named Talbot—figure it's the Talbot and Lockwood Talbot—was asking around all over Hill City trying to find Cassie. Has two bruisers with him, dark men. He found out she's down here in Argus and came here. Everybody I talked to says they think they're up to no good, so be careful.”

“Cassie's in good hands. You know that.”

“I'm telling you, be extra careful.”

Ransom nodded toward his near horse. “Let go.”

Lucas lifted his hand off the lines and stepped back. As Ransom urged his team forward, Lucas called to them, “Be careful! Hear?”

And Cassie called back, “Thank you, Lucas!” It was the least she could do. He had just ridden clear down from Hill City to tell them that.

Ransom drew the team in from a jog to a walk once they rounded the bend out of town. “Mor said you two met him in Denver. Any idea what he wants?”

“None. But Lucas seemed worried, as if it's worse than it sounds like. No. I have no idea.”

Cassie wished now she'd insisted on riding in back. Being so close to Ransom, bumping into him when the wagon lurched, made her feel funny. Not painful of course, or even bad, just a curious sort of funny. And even mulling this turn of events all the way home didn't make anything clearer. Was Jason starting up a new show? He certainly would have mentioned it in Denver. Surely he didn't think she'd go back to him after what he did. Even if he was starting up again, Cassie wouldn't go with him.

She knew that for absolute, ironclad certain.

K
nock 'em dead, dumpling!”

Why did Cassie remember that offhanded bit of encouragement so many years later? She hadn't been quite twelve yet when Jason sent her out into the arena with a pat on the shoulder and that casual remark. Well, at last, after all the careful preparation, it was showtime here in Hill City, and Cassie was ready to knock 'em dead!

Mavis had said that no matter what the weather in South Dakota, the Fourth of July was always sunny and hot. She was right. It was sunny and hot but not too hot. Perfect show weather.

Mr. Porter was emphatically yelling her name into the bullhorn. She squeezed her knees and Wind Dancer leapt forward, galloping out into the arena and around its perimeter. She did a full turn, saluting the audience, her arms high. They clapped and cheered enthusiastically. Good! A lively crowd always made their performance better, hers and Wind Dancer's both.

And now she attempted the one trick that truly frightened her. She would do it first, while she was fresh. With a quick little prayer, she gripped the handholds and swung herself up into a
handstand on her galloping horse. Her arm held steady! It was all milk and honey from here on!

She swung down on the near side and hit the ground with both feet, giving her the momentum to sail completely over Wind Dancer's back and bounce off the ground on the other side. She settled into the saddle and raised both arms high to the crowd. Her bad arm was doing fine. The nightmare was past.

When she galloped Wind Dancer out of the arena at the close of their act, the crowd was stomping and roaring, and she felt just as good. It had gone off perfectly, even the part where she did that three-sixty on Wind Dancer's rump.

The guest roper from Rapid City tapped his hat brim. “Great performance, Miss Lockwood!” Then he rode into the arena, his seagrass rope swinging, to perform his act. Mr. Porter's voice boomed through the bullhorn, announcing him.

Cassie slid out of the saddle, suddenly weary from the strain of trying to maintain perfection, but also very happy. Mavis hugged her. “You're better than ever, aren't you! Cassie, that was wonderful!”

“Thank you. Wind Dancer is the trouper. He knows exactly what to do, and he loves doing it.” She gave her horse an affectionate scratch under the jaw, one of his favorite places. And now well-wishers on all sides were congratulating her, including Mr. Porter. That pleased her most. She so wanted to give him a good show.

Gretchen came pushing through the crowd, the only person without a happy smile. “Cassie? Is that Jason Talbot about this high”—she indicated with a hand—“gray temples, hair that's thin on top, cheeks that puff out, and all duded up?”

Cassie's chest bumped. “Yes. Why?”

“He's here on the grounds, and there are two men with him. They look menacing, sort of. Not happy. They even kind of scare me.”

“Where did you see them?”

“That concessions booth where Ransom is showing his furniture. They saw the
Engstrom
sign and went right there. He's not telling them anything.”

Mavis butted in. “That is a thing to worry about sometime later. Cassie, forget him for the moment. You have more important things to do right now.”

“You're right, Mavis.” Cassie loosened Wind Dancer's girth. She would do her shooting routine as the last act, join the final flag parade in the ring, and the show would be over. Until then, the Engstroms would take care of anything that needed taking care of. She could be sure of that. Well, the Engstroms and God. She said a short prayer anyway.

The shooting act went beautifully as well. Chief handled the targets, and Micah handled her guns, just like old times. She ended with her favorite trick, driving nails into a board. Chief was really good selling this one. He, like she and Micah, was a seasoned performer who enjoyed entertaining, although just to look at him, you'd never guess it. He paraded across the front of the grandstand with the board held high, hooked his fingers in the three nails to show they were only half driven in, then set the board into the framing that Arnett had made. From across the arena, Cassie fired three times. Chief pulled the board from its frame and again showed it to the crowd, hooking his finger over the nails now sticking out the other side. The folks really liked that one! She left the arena to wild applause.

The Stilson boys ran out into the arena, dragged the two-by-six backdrop out of the way, and the roper came out at a gallop with South Dakota's flag flying. Cassie swung aboard Wind Dancer, waited until the other performers passed by, then followed them out with the American flag set in its staff holder on her saddle and flying free above her. They all did a simple chain weave at full gallop, then, a flag at each end, they lined
out down the center of the arena and waved their hats. The audience stood up, stomped, and cheered.

This wasn't like old times. This was better than old times!

As the crowd began to break up, Mr. Porter reminded them that this was only the first of what would become an annual event, and he hoped they would return next year and bring their friends. He reminded them of the rodeo and Independence Day ceremony tomorrow, and said that Cassie Lockwood and her magnificent horse, Wind Dancer, would do one more exhibition. “So we'll see you all again tomorrow. Enjoy the other events going on in town and visit all our vendors. Nowhere else will you have so many choices of authentic western products.” He waved his hat in the air. “Adios.”

Cassie enjoyed watching him in action. Wearing a fringed leather jacket, a wide-brimmed white felt hat, and a string tie with a turquoise stop, he reminded her slightly of Wild Bill Hickok. Mr. Porter had invited the audience to return and bring their friends next year. Where would they put their friends? The grandstand was nearly full this year!

Eventually the hubbub settled. Micah, like old times, led Wind Dancer away to his celebratory dinner of oats and alfalfa. Cassie strolled over to the Engstrom furniture booth. She stopped beside the ramada. Ransom was talking to Mavis, and they were talking about her.

Ransom was saying, “And now here's more trouble! Mor, they could have hurt you. I'm sure they're capable of that.”

Cassie stayed hidden and listened.

“I can't believe Jason would hurt me.”

“You were alone in the house. The men were building furniture, and the girls and I were in town. Yes, they could hurt you. You were wise to hang on to the shotgun until we got back.”

Hang on to the shotgun? The only time Mavis was alone was when Cassie, Gretchen, and Ransom went to town a couple
weeks ago. Jason and his companions must have come out to the ranch then. Why didn't Mavis tell her he'd been there?

Because they didn't want to upset her before the show. What else were they holding back? On the other hand, that was not only very thoughtful of them, but smart. She still remembered all too well that argument in Kentucky and how it must surely have affected her performance.

But Ransom's next comment slammed into her. “Before Cassie came here, we didn't have any of this kind of thing.”

She fell back a step. She couldn't hear what else he said or what Mavis replied. He was blaming her that Jason showed up! She turned and hurried away before they saw her. He still hated her! She had just about come around to believing Mavis, that he cared about her, and now this.

That settled it. She would not be burned and rejected again by an Engstrom man. She loved him, she was pretty certain of that now, but he most assuredly did not love her. It was in a way the opposite of Lucas and her. The show was over, her obligation met. She would leave at the first chance. To go where? It didn't matter. Where an Engstrom was not, that's where.

“Why, Cassie! There you are!” Jason Talbot! He broke out from the people milling around the stalls and hurried over to her. He was carrying a briefcase of some sort, hard-sided, not a carpetbag. “Wait! I want to talk to you. I've been looking for you.”

She stuttered something with “I'm sorry” as part of it. He was the last person in the world she wanted to talk to now.

“No, listen a moment, please. I have wonderful news. Look!” He set that little suitcase on a fence rail and popped it open. He brought out a businesslike sheet of paper. “This is a contract, a very handsome contract guaranteeing you an annual salary. I have been looking all over for you to provide you with this opportunity.” He reached into his breast pocket and brought out a fountain pen.

Where were the two dark companions Gretchen and Lucas were talking about? They weren't with him. Oh, there they were, over by the fried waffles tent. Gretchen was right. They looked unsavory.

“Jason, I'm sorry, but right now I—”

“Just listen to this!” He pointed to a paragraph. “An annual income, a very comfortable income, and between shows you will be provided with a nice apartment in Atlanta, Georgia. Lovely part of the country, Georgia, but then, you know that. The show has been through there many times.” He pointed to another paragraph. “You have right of first refusal on any contests and exhibitions in which you may be asked to participate. And here . . .”

Atlanta. This gave her food for thought. She could hardly go any farther to get away from Ransom Engstrom, and Georgia certainly had a nice climate. Perhaps if she read this contract very carefully, no doubt to insist on a few changes, she could sign this safely.

She sighed. “All right. Give it to me and I'll read it later. Right now—”

“Just a simple contract, but it will make you a star.” He closed his case, laid the paper on it, and offered her his pen.

“I'll take it along and read it through carefully, later.”

“Cassie! You know I've always had your best interests at heart your whole life. It's a simple contract—standard, nothing unusual. Go ahead and sign it, and we can get started planning your career as a star.”

She reached for the pen, hesitated, and drew her hand back. She must think. And she was too upset to think. She licked her lips. “I did poorly at the shoot here last year.”

“I heard all about that from Ty Fuller. That's when he first met you. He has had nothing but praise for you. You had a severe injury, and yet you came through like the champion you are.”

“And when we went to Kansas City—”

“A fine showing.”

Things were becoming clearer. “Not in Louisville.”

“Extenuating circumstances, I'm sure. Now if you'll—”

“Well,” she had to admit, “there was a harsh argument the morning of the first day, and I think it upset me more than I realized, but still, I should have—”

“I cannot imagine anyone arguing with a cute little girl like you. Now, if you'll just sign here.”

And now she saw clearly—at least, she believed she did. She raised her voice. “Jason, that's not my point! My point is, I was not shooting at my best, and yet I earned enough money to cover expenses and then some. And do you realize how much the winners walked home with?”

“Of course I do. I organize shoots, as it explains right here. Here's the pen.”

She raised her voice. “Where did all that money go, Jason? I earned an immense amount of money for you at shoots, not even counting the Wild West Show, and I never saw a penny of it. I was a child. I didn't even know I was winning any money. Where did it all go?”

“Expenses. It takes a lot of money to field a show that big.”

“I was small and not paying much attention. The business end was grown-up matters. But I do remember lying in my bunk at night, hearing my father telling my mother that we ought to be making more money. And after she died, he said more than once that the show was so successful, yet we were always in the red. I remember, vague as it was, that he thought admission and concessions should have covered expenses, even without the rest of it.”

Jason's head bowed. He looked very sad. “I'm sorry, Cassie, to be the one to tell you this. You see, your father was a gambler. It's called a compulsive gambler. He just had to. You know, I'm sure, that's how he became my partner. He won half the show
in a card game. His gambling problem was severe in that he lost more than he won. I hate to have to be the one to tell you, but . . . well, there it is. That's why the show lost money.”

How could he say such a thing?
For a moment, Cassie stood speechless. And suddenly, it all came crystal clear. “Jason! He
won
half the show.
You
lost it! No, he was not a losing gambler, you are. He stayed home in his wagon with his family every night. With my mother and me. You were the one who left the grounds and stayed away most of the night. You lost the show with your gambling.”

“Now, Cassie, stop and think—”

Those two dark men came over. One was smiling, but it was the coldest smile Cassie had ever seen. “Good afternoon, Miss Lockwood. You put on a splendid show today. You are amazingly talented.”