Letter to a Lonesome Cowboy Read online

  “She couldn’t get away right now,” he mumbled. “But she’s coming.”

  Rand studied the boy, who couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen years old. If Suzanne was the sort of woman who would permit her little brother to come to a completely strange place by himself, maybe he didn’t want to know her. His face hardened.

  “I think you and I should go into the bunkhouse and call your sister,” he said sternly. “Come on.”

  “The bunkhouse?” The very word excited Mack. “Which one’s the bunkhouse?”

  “You’ll find out,” Rand said through tensely set lips. He started away.

  Mack followed on Rand’s heels, suddenly scared spitless. This wasn’t turning out quite as he’d planned, and he wasn’t getting any great ideas about how to get things on the track he wanted. Maybe getting Rand to talk would help, he thought in a flash of inspiration.

  “This is really a great ranch,” he said to Rand’s broad back. No answer. “Uh, do you live in that big house?”

  “Nope.” Rand kept going, his long legs keeping him well ahead of Mack.

  “Is your horse one of the ones in that corral over there?”

  “The black one with the white blaze on his chest.”

  “He’s beautiful. What’s his name?”

  “Jack.”

  “Jack? That’s a funny name for a horse.”

  Rand nearly laughed at the boy’s disappointment. Obviously Mack’s knowledge of the west was heavily biased by shoot-’em-up cowboy films, in which the hero’s horse was his best friend and always bore some glamorous and completely unrealistic name.

  “Here we go,” Rand announced while opening a door into the bunkhouse. The boy seemed to be hanging back. “Come on, Mack, I haven’t got all day.” Mack’s eyes darted around, as though seeking escape. “Mack,” Rand said with more firmness. “Get your butt in here!”

  The boy shuffled into the bunkhouse with his eyes down. “We’ll use the office,” Rand told him, and, taking Mack by the arm, led him into the room.

  George smiled. “And who might you be, young fellow?”

  “Mack Paxton,” Mack mumbled.

  George looked questioningly at Rand, who suddenly realized the embarrassing and awkward position this kid’s uninvited presence had put him in. Everyone on the place would probably fall on the ground laughing when they heard he’d advertised for a wife! God Almighty, he thought as panic nearly choked him. He should have thought of this before dragging Mack into the office.

  “Uh, Mack’s the brother of a friend, George,” Rand stammered, garnering a look of youthful suspicion from Mack. But he was a bright kid, and it wasn’t three seconds before he caught on. Mr. Lonesome Cowboy hadn’t told his pals on the ranch about that ad!

  “Yeah,” Mack said to George a bit cockily. “Rand’s friend is my sister.”

  “Really,” George said with one eyebrow raised.

  “Yeah, and Rand invited me for a visit, didn’t you, Rand?”

  Rand swallowed hard. It was either ‘fess up now or forever hold his tongue. He gave Mack Paxton a glare that would bring much older men to their knees, but Mack merely grinned that goofy grin of his and looked smug.

  “Just wanted you to meet him,” Rand mumbled to George, and he quickly steered Mack Paxton out of the office, down the hall, up the stairs leading to the second story and finally into an empty bedroom. Closing the door, he backed Mack into a corner. “If one more lie comes out of your mouth, you’ll wish you’d never set one toe out of Baltimore. Understand?”

  Mack believed him and mutely nodded.

  “Good. Does your sister know you came here?”

  “I left her a note.”

  “You didn’t talk to her about it, you just wrote a note and came. Why? What in hell made you think I wanted you out here?”

  “You wanted my sister, didn’t you?”

  “I wanted to meet your sister. Are you capable of comprehending the difference?”

  “You wanted to do more than meet her,” Mack said sullenly. “I read your letter.”

  Rand was stunned. “She let you read it?”

  “Uh…” Mack was thinking fast. This guy was apt to haul him back to Billings and put him on a plane if he learned what had actually taken place over that letter. “She didn’t let me read it. I read it when she wasn’t looking.”

  “But she told you about my ad.”

  Mack was really getting into his story now. “Why wouldn’t she? She was really thrilled about it, Rand.” Seeing the doubt on Rand’s face, he added, “You gotta believe me, man. After she got your letter she started talking about the two of us going to Montana to meet you in person. I just jumped the gun a little. I’ve always wanted to see a real cattle ranch, so—” his voice weakened considerably “—here I am.”

  Rand left Mack where he was and paced a circle around the small room. He didn’t know what to believe, and he rubbed his jaw with the palm of his hand in abject frustration.

  Mack watched Rand’s every step. Clearly this lonesome cowboy was confused. Excellent, Mack thought. At least he’d get to hang around for as long as it took Rand to figure out what to do with him.

  Rand turned abruptly and pulled a little pad and a pen out of his shirt pocket. “What’s your sister’s telephone number?”

  Mack’s face fell. “You’re gonna call her?”

  “Yes, sir, I am.” The look on Mack’s face touched a years-old note in Rand’s system, something about himself at Mack’s age. Rand’s hard-nosed attitude softened some. “Mack, she’s probably worried sick about you. At least I can tell her you’re all right. Give me the number.”

  Mack heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Okay.” He recited the phone number at the apartment and Rand wrote it down, then shoved the notebook and pen back into his shirt pocket.

  “You can use this room while you’re here. There’s more than one bathroom on this floor and they’re not hard to find. Take clean sheets, pillowcases, two towels and two wash-cloths from the hall linen closet. It’s not hard to find, either. There’s a laundry room on the first floor. You’ll wash your own clothes and the bed linen and towels you use. Stay out of the men’s rooms. No one goes into another man’s room without an invitation. At the end of the hall is a room with a TV, which you may use, but not exclusively. The men have favorite programs, and if they’re different than yours, tough. If you’ve got a radio or tape player in that backpack, don’t play it before five in the morning or after eight at night. And don’t ever play it at a volume that disturbs anyone else. Think you can remember all that?”

  “I’m not stupid,” Mack mumbled.

  “At this specific moment, that’s a debatable point. I’m going downstairs now.” Rand stopped at the door. “Supper’s at six. Just follow your nose to the dining room.” He left.

  Mack hurriedly shucked off his backpack, dropped it on the bed and followed Rand down the stairs. “Is it okay if I look around?”

  “Outside, you mean? Yes, it’s okay. The men are out on Granite Mountain today, but if some of them happen to come in early, don’t get in their way. And be careful around the horses. Some of them spook real easy.” He breathed a sigh of relief when Mack raced through the door to get outside. When submitting that ad, he sure hadn’t bargained on a teenage brother-in-law who apparently did as he damn well pleased.

  Shaking his head, Rand continued on to the privacy of his bedroom and closed the door behind himself. He went immediately to the phone, listened for a moment to make sure it wasn’t already in use, then dialed the number Mack had given him. He let it ring ten times, but no one answered.

  Suzanne Paxton deplaned in Billings, collected her luggage and went to the car rental area of the terminal, where she obtained not only a car but directions for the best route to Whitehorn.

  “Are you familiar with the Whitehorn area?” she inquired of the agent.

  “No, ma’am, sorry.”

  Suzanne managed a weak smile. “I figured my chances were slim on t
hat score, but I had to ask.”

  “Are you looking for a particular place near Whitehorn?”

  “The Kincaid Ranch.”

  “I’ve heard of that ranch. There were a couple of murders out there, if I remember right.”

  Suzanne felt herself go pale. “Murders? Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure.” The young man shrugged. “Whitehorn was in the newspapers a lot about a year or so back.”

  “Because someone was murdering people?” Suzanne asked in a thin little voice.

  “Yes, a woman. She was killing Kincaids. I think she’s dead, too.”

  Suzanne’s hand rose to her throat. “That’s horrible!”

  She left the agent’s counter feeling dazed and frightened. What in God’s name had Mack gotten them into?

  By the time Suzanne reached Whitehorn, asked directions to the Kincaid Ranch and started the drive toward it, darkness had fallen. She wasn’t used to empty country roads, and her heart pounded unmercifully as she crept along at about thirty miles per hour. Other than what her headlights fell upon, the countryside was a blur. There were hills in the road, and curves, and each mile that brought her closer to the Kincaid Ranch was pure torture. Was Mack there? Was he safe? My Lord, was it safe for her to drive up to such a place after dark?

  When it started snowing, Suzanne really went into shock. She’d known it was cold out, but snow at this time of year? What kind of hell was Montana?

  Meanwhile, there was bedlam at the ranch. Handy came rushing into Rand’s room yelling, “My only sister had a stroke! I have to go to her. I already packed a few things and I’m leaving right now!”

  Rand stood. “Handy, calm down. Didn’t you tell me your sister lives in Seattle? Have you called for a plane reservation?”

  “I’ll get one at the airport. I’m leaving right now!” That was it. In the blink of an eye, Handy was gone.

  Rand went to an outside door and watched him driving away much too fast. Feeling helpless—how on earth were they going to get by without a cook?—and worrying about Handy driving too fast, Rand looked up at the night sky. It was snowing!

  “Oh, no, not that, too,” he groaned. But surely it wouldn’t last, he told himself. Not in April.

  “Rand,” George called from inside. “What’s going on?”

  “For starters, it’s snowing. And we just lost our cook. Handy’s sister had a stroke and he’s on his way to Seattle.”

  Rand went to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee, sitting on a stool at the counter to drink it and worry. It seemed that things were going from bad to worse. He still could hardly believe Suzanne’s kid brother was on the ranch. Had she found Mack’s note, or was it possible Mack hadn’t left one and lied about it? Maybe Suzanne had no idea where her brother was.

  The worries started going around in a circle in Rand’s mind—that case of dynamite, the snow, Mack Paxton, Handy’s departure—until he got tired of the whole damned thing. Hell, he’d do the cooking himself, if he had to, and a little snow was no tragedy. They’d get by. As for Mack, he’d eventually manage some kind of contact with Suzanne and get that straightened out. The worst problem, by far, was the dynamite. He’d followed Reed Austin’s advice and put J.D. and another new man on night watch, which made good sense to him.

  As if on cue, J.D. and the other man on night duty came walking in. They were dressed in heavy winter clothing, with only their faces exposed. “We’re heading out, Rand,” J.D. said. “Did you know it’s snowing?”

  The other man added, “And it ain’t just a skiff, Rand. I heard on the radio that we’re in for a blizzard.”

  “In April?” Rand looked dubious.

  “That’s what the weatherman said.”

  “Great,” Rand groaned. “Well, stick close to the buildings and come in every so often and warm up.”

  “Okay. See ya later.” The two men filed out.

  Rand heaved a sigh. It was quiet upstairs; most of the men must have gone to bed. It was also quiet downstairs, Rand realized, so George, too, must have retired for the night. It was then that he heard the sound of a car approaching the bunkhouse.

  “Handy!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. Now, if the old guy would just slow down long enough so he could talk to him…

  Rand yanked open the outside door, fully expecting to see the old cook. But it wasn’t Handy climbing out of a small blue sedan, it was a woman. She saw him in the doorway at the same time he saw her, and they both froze for a second.

  Then she reached into the car for her purse, closed the door and slipped and slid on the new-fallen snow to reach the bunkhouse and Rand.

  Her chin was high, he noticed, as though she was all set for battle. Who was she and why in hell was she out here looking for a fight?

  She stopped directly in front of him. “My name is Suzanne Paxton, and I’m looking for my brother, Mack. Is he here?”

  Four

  Rand stood in the doorway with inside lights behind him and Suzanne stood outside with those same lights reflecting on her face and clothing. All she could make out was the large, dark form of a man blocking the entrance to the building. But Rand could see her quite clearly and he was truly in shock.

  This was Suzanne Paxton? She was pretty—quite pretty, actually. Tall, slender and nicely dressed in a long, blue wool coat, hose, mid-heel pumps, black leather gloves and shoulder bag. But she was definitely not the woman in the photograph. This woman had dark hair and his dream lady in that photo was a blonde!

  “Uh, are you sure you’re Suzanne Paxton?” he asked, and instantly wished he could bite off his tongue. What a stupid thing to say!

  Stunned by such a moronic question, Suzanne squinted her eyes in an attempt to see the dark form better. In a reflexive reaction to such obvious simplemindedness, she took a step back, putting herself beyond the protection of the small roof over the stoop. Her feet were freezing in their hosiery and city pumps, and new-falling snow stacked upon her shoulders and hair on top of what had already gathered during her walk from car to building. It was coming down harder by the minute, she realized, although the half-wit she was attempting conversation with didn’t seem to notice.

  “I think I know my own name,” she said, keeping her voice as even as she could manage. She was, after all, in the most frightening situation of her life—miles from civilization, standing in a blizzard and trying to talk to a dark, shadowy figure with very broad shoulders and a very low IQ.

  She fought to keep her teeth from chattering, although the low temperature mingling with pure fear made it difficult to do so.

  “My brother is fourteen years old, just a teenager. His name is Mack, and I have good reason to believe he came to this ranch. Could you please tell me if he’s here?”

  Rand tried desperately to grasp what was happening. If this woman was Suzanne Paxton, who was the woman in the photo? And why had she sent that photo to him instead of one of herself?

  Still, despite the uneasy machinations of his mind, other factors began seeping through. It was snowing hard, and he was keeping a woman standing outside!

  “Uh, come on in,” he stammered.

  Suzanne’s heart skipped an extremely nervous beat. She would like to get out of the snow and cold, of course, but enter that building with this…this person that she still couldn’t see clearly? No way, she thought, lifting her chin again.

  “Look, all I want is an answer to a very simple question,” she said. “Is my brother here? Did a young man you didn’t know show up on this ranch sometime today? He may have given you a different name. He might be calling himself something other than Mack, but I assure you Mack is his name and he’s my brother.”

  “He’s here,” Rand said. “Sleeping, probably.”

  “At eight-thirty?” The idea of Mack, who never went to bed before midnight in spite of her repeated objections, already in bed and sleeping was preposterous.

  “Everyone’s sleeping, except for me,” Rand said.

  “And exactly who
do you mean by everyone?”

  Rand was beginning to feel the cold himself. “My men,” he said with some impatience. “Are you coming in or not? The whole bunkhouse will turn into an icebox if I leave this door open much longer.”

  “This building is the bunkhouse?” For some reason that made her feel a little less afraid. At least if she went inside she wouldn’t be alone with this peculiar person. And maybe he was telling her the truth. Maybe Mack was in there, although she still doubted that he was in bed and asleep at this early hour.

  Inspiration struck her. “Would you please wake Mack and tell him his sister is here? I’ll wait in the car.”

  Rand frowned. “Why not wait inside?”

  Try as she might, she couldn’t come up with an answer that wouldn’t give away her fear, and she didn’t want him knowing how truly frightened she was of this horrid place. And maybe of him.

  “I…I really don’t want to impose,” she finally said.

  “Is going into someone’s home an imposition in Baltimore?” Rand’s initial shock was receding. Now his struggle was in trying to understand this woman’s reluctance to get out of the storm.

  Suzanne stared as a horrifying picture began developing in her mind. But it couldn’t be true. This man couldn’t be the handsome man in the snapshot that resided in her purse this very second. “Did…did Mack tell you that’s where we live?” she asked, praying that was the case. She had hoped to pick up Mack and get off this ranch without even seeing Rand Harding, a doubtful prospect to be sure, but still she had hoped, ardently.

  “You told me yourself.”

  Her spirit dropped to a record low. “Then you’re Rand Harding.”

  “One and the same. Suzanne, I can’t leave this door open any longer. Are you coming in or not?”

  She knew now why he had asked that inane question about who she was. An urge to explain the ridiculous fiasco Mack had created for all of them overwhelmed her fears, and she nodded. “Yes, thank you.”