A Hopeful Heart (29 page)

29

Abel propped his hand against the rough doorframe and watched Sheriff Tate heave himself into the saddle and ride away. He remained in the doorway of his house for several minutes after the sheriff ’s horse left the gate, staring unseeingly across the yard. Why didn’t the news that Cole had been arrested give him more pleasure? Shouldn’t he feel . . . something?

He closed the door and turned to face the dinner table, still scattered with the remains of the simple lunch he, Vince, and Ethan had consumed. He supposed he should clean up the mess, but instead he headed for his bedroom and crossed directly to the highboy. The top drawer—seldom used—squeaked as he eased it open. He plunged his hand beneath the pile of folded linen handkerchiefs that hadn’t seen daylight since Pa’s death, groping until his fingers encountered what he sought.

He plucked it out and then sat on the edge of his bed and gazed at the tiny frame holding Amanda’s image. She’d told him an artist in Central Park had painted the minuscule portrait. He knew little about art, but whoever painted the picture was surely talented. The artist had captured Amanda’s beauty perfectly.

The little gold-filigreed frame—no bigger than a silver dollar— looked ridiculous in his rough, callused palm. Just as Amanda’s velvet dress and lace parasol had looked ridiculous against the simple storefronts in Barnett when she’d stepped off the stage. She’d wrinkled her nose when she’d glimpsed the town, and no matter how her letters had promised undying devotion, he’d known from the look on her face when she entered his house she wouldn’t be staying. Amanda hadn’t
fit
.

But Miss Tressa had cooked at the stove, milked the cow, swept the wide-planked floors, and dug in the garden, all the while humming a cheery tune. When he’d held her in his arms and danced at Aunt Hattie’s, their feet had known how to move together. Even though she’d been raised in the city, she hadn’t looked out of place either in his house or swirling around that wooden dance floor under the Kansas sun. Instead, she’d been at ease. At ease in his house, at ease in his arms . . .

Abel shook his head to clear Tressa from his thoughts and returned his attention to the picture within the gold frame. He stared for long moments at Amanda’s beautiful smiling face as if waiting for her to come to life and speak to him. Then he closed his fingers over the image and sighed. He hadn’t taken out the portrait in months. Why did he need to look at it today? He suspected it had something to do with Fred, Glendon, Jerome, and Gage all fluttering around their chosen gals in the churchyard earlier. Regret had nearly strangled him. He should’ve laid claim to Miss Tressa when he’d had the chance.

Aunt Hattie’d tried to tell him he’d let his feelings about Amanda’s betrayal hold him at a distance from Tressa, but he wouldn’t listen. And he’d been wrong.

He strode to the highboy and opened the top drawer, intending to bury the portrait under Pa’s linen handkerchiefs again. But his hand froze in midair. He needed to bury it, but not in a drawer where he’d encounter it again and again. He needed to bury it for good. He needed to bury the hurt of Amanda’s rejection for good.

A lump of longing rose from his gut and lodged in his throat, bringing with it the unexpected sting of tears. He hadn’t cried in years—not since he’d laid Pa in the ground next to Ma. Men didn’t cry over nothing. Even Ma hadn’t wasted tears over spilled milk. So there must be something big eating at his insides to bring tears to the surface.

He slammed the drawer shut and spun toward the bedroom door. Maybe if he put Amanda’s portrait in the ground next to Ma and Pa’s graves, he could finally let loose of the pain she’d inflicted. And then he’d be free to move on.

Eagerness propelled him forward. He grabbed his hat from the rack by the front door and headed for the barn. Plans unfolded in his mind as his feet clumped against the ground. He’d saddle a horse, ride out to the gravesites, and bury Amanda and his memories of her once and for all, and then he’d ride over to Aunt Hattie’s and let her know he wanted to— He careened to a halt as abruptly as if he’d collided with the barn’s rock wall. He completed the final thought:
let her know he wanted to court Miss Tressa
. He couldn’t court Miss Tressa. She’d already been claimed by Gage Hammond. He’d seen the way they’d sauntered across the churchyard together, hip to hip. Tressa belonged to Gage now.

He hung his head, glaring at his closed fist. The sharp edge of the gold frame dug into his palm. What was the use? Even if Tressa hadn’t already accepted Gage’s offer for courtship, Abel didn’t have anything to offer her anymore. His pa’s ranch would transfer to someone else’s hands soon—he wouldn’t have the money to keep it running. He was seven times the fool for mooning over Amanda, for losing his pa’s hard-won ranch, for not following his heart in pursuing Miss Tressa . . .
Fool!
He absorbed the word, accepting its sting like a well-deserved strapping.

Heaving a sigh, he turned and shuffled back toward the house, but then he stopped and squared his shoulders. Even if he couldn’t have Tressa, he still needed to let loose of the bitterness that had been his constant companion since Amanda’s return to the East. The judge would mete out vengeance for Cole’s betrayal, but it was up to Abel to excise the hurt caused by Amanda. He’d bury the portrait and state a vow over its tiny grave to never let the woman represented by the picture torment him again.

The decision made, he headed for the barn. Just before he arrived at the wide opening, the sound of hoofbeats reached his ears. Someone was coming at a desperate pace. He whirled around and spotted Aunt Hattie’s Appaloosa, ridden by a slim female rider, turn in at his gate. He took one stumbling step forward, his jaw dropping in surprise.

The horse clattered to a halt next to him, and Tressa slid down from the saddle. She panted as if she’d run the distance rather than riding. “Abel—I mean, Mr. Samms, I . . . I need to talk to you.”

Vince appeared in the barn’s doorway. “Abel? Somethin’ wrong?”

Abel barely flicked a glance at the man. “Everything’s fine, Vince. Finish up in the tack room an’ then rest. Shouldn’t be workin’ on Sunday anyway.”

“Sure thing.” The man strode back into the barn.

Abel slipped Amanda’s portrait into his shirt pocket and gave Tressa his full attention. “What is it?”

“The sheriff . . . has he been here?”

Abel nodded. “Yep.” Resignation weighted his shoulders. “He told me Cole’s been apprehended an’ there’ll be a trial. He’ll pay a price, but I prob’ly won’t get my cattle back. No sign of them anywhere.” He didn’t add how that final loss guaranteed the loss of his ranch. Why should she care? She’d be living high and fine at the Double H.

“He came by Aunt Hattie’s, too, and interrupted our dinner to tell us the news of Cole and Sallie’s capture. Paralee says Cole might be hanged.” She shuddered. “But, Mr. Samms, I truly don’t believe Cole is guilty of rustling.”

Abel glanced down the lane. “Aunt Hattie send you over?”

“No one knows I’m here. I . . . I sneaked off. I couldn’t let Gage know what I was doing.” Tressa told of a puzzling conversation between herself and Gage and then repeated a warning given by Luella. With her brow puckered and fingers twined together, she finished, “I know Mr. Rylin apologized this morning for accidentally shooting at me, but that still doesn’t explain the branding iron or its strange disappearance. And I am very certain Gage means to discourage me from seeking it.”

Abel frowned, carefully processing everything Tressa had shared. Although Gage hadn’t said anything that could be considered a direct threat or a confession, if what Tressa said was true, then the man sure was hiding
something
. Abel ran his hand down his face. “Miss Tressa, that iron you saw—”

“Kindly do not try to tell me I imagined it!” She squatted, her skirts mushrooming around her. With her finger, she traced several lines in the dirt. “It looked just like this—two H’s, the second one a little higher than the first, with the first H’s second stem acting as the second H’s first stem. I’ve seen the brand many times on Gage’s horse.”

Abel ignored the jealousy that pinched at her words.

She glared up at him, her eyes squinted against the sun. “It was a Double H branding iron, and it was on
your
property.”

He stared at the scratchings in the dirt to avoid looking into her eyes, and suddenly realization struck so hard his knees buckled. “Tressa! Look . . .” He squatted and planted the tip of his finger at the top of the lower H’s first stem. Slowly, he drew a sideways S that followed the first stem to the crossbar, slid on the crossbar to the second stem, worked its way up to the crossbar of the higher H, and finished by gliding across the crossbar and then downward where it met the base of the final stem. “A person could hide my brand pretty easy by puttin’ a Double H right on top of it.”

Tressa stared at him in amazement. “I never realized . . .”

“Neither did I till you drew it out there.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “C’mon. We need to go scout around that fire pit. See what else we can find.”

“Shouldn’t we just go see the sheriff?” She nibbled her lower lip.

The worry in her pale blue eyes gave Abel pause. She’d had a good scare by being fired at, and he might be putting her in danger by dragging her along. “Here.” Taking her arm, he hurried her to her horse. He grasped her narrow waist, lifted her onto the saddle, and then placed the trailing reins in her hands. “You head on back to Aunt Hattie’s—reckon she’s wonderin’ where you are by now. I’ll go out an’ nose around.”

“Absolutely not! If you’re going, I’m going, too. I’m the one who spotted the branding iron in the first place.” Her eyes sparked, daring him to deny her.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, a chuckle rose from Abel’s chest. Who would’ve thought this fancy city girl could turn so fearless? She was dead set on going, and he’d just waste time arguing with her. “All right. Let me saddle a horse, an’ we’ll ride out there together. But then—” he pointed his finger at her—“I’m takin’ you to Aunt Hattie’s an’ that’ll be the end of your involvement.”

She turned her nose in the air, but she didn’t argue.

Abel trotted into the barn and nearly collided with Vince. “You still in here?”

“Just headin’ out,” the man replied, sliding his hand into his pocket. “You goin’ somewhere with Miss Tressa?”

Abel hesitated. He didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t tell the truth, either—not without pulling Vince into the mystery. He offered a half-truth. “I’m ridin’ her back to the Flyin’ W.”

Vince gave a nod. “Good thing. Reckon Gage Hammond wouldn’t be too pleased to have you spendin’ time with his intended.”

Abel brushed past Vince without responding, and Vince ambled out of the barn. Vince’s gentle warning ran through Abel’s mind as he rode next to Tressa across his pasture. If Gage was brazen enough to steal cattle and threaten women with silence, what else might he do? Another worrisome thought struck—what if Vince wasn’t the only one who’d fired a rifle yesterday? Could it be coincidence that he fired three shots at a badger around the same time someone else was taking shots at Tressa?

He glanced at Tressa. Her bonnet hid much of her face from view, but the sweet turn of her jawline was enough to hold his attention. The determined jut of her jaw, despite her small frame, gave him a glimpse of her inner strength. Why should she care so much about finding the truth?

“Miss Tressa, you know this really ain’t your concern.” He swallowed when she aimed a disgusted look in his direction. “Not that I don’t appreciate you wantin’ to help find out who’s been runnin’ off with my cattle, but . . .” Fear tied his vocal cords in a knot. “You could get yourself hurt.”

“What time I am afraid, I will trust in God.” She raised her chin and fixed him with a challenging look. “Every time I pray for His protection, He answers.” She smiled, her lips and cheeks rosy. “Most of the time He sends you. Do you find that odd?”

Abel cleared his throat. “That’s prob’ly just happenstance.”

“Hmmph. I choose to believe God hears my prayers and uses you as His hands to rescue me.” Her smile turned impish. “Did you know there’s a Chinese proverb that claims if you save another’s life, you are forever responsible for that person?”

He gulped twice. “Well now, I’m not sure you could go as far as sayin’ I saved your
life
. Might’ve saved you from some serious regrets by pullin’ Gage off you in the barn, but—” He reined his horse to a stop and waited until she did the same. “I gotta know, Miss Tressa. How can you forgive Gage for tryin’ to force himself on you?”

The teasing look in her eyes faded. “In all honesty, Mr. Samms, it isn’t easy. But I’ve recently developed a relationship with God, and I’ve been spending quite a bit of time reading the Bible to get to know Him better. God is very clear on His expectation concerning holding a grudge. He advises not to let the sun go down on our anger, and in another place Jesus instructs the disciples to forgive seventy times seven.” She released a soft laugh. “I’m not a disciple, but I believe those words apply to me, too. If I refuse to forgive Gage, then I disobey God.” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I truly don’t want to disobey my heavenly Father.”

Her words wormed their way to Abel’s soul and tickled his insides. He shifted in his saddle. “I admire your stand, Miss Tressa, but it takes a heap of forgiveness to let a man who wronged you be your beau.”

She shook her head. “Gage is not my beau.”

He blinked twice. “But I thought—”

“
Everyone
seems to think so.” She tilted her head to the side and plunked a small fist on her hip. “Have you noticed how quickly rumor becomes fact in this community?
Everyone
has already convicted Cole of cattle rustling.
Everyone
has me married to Gage Hammond.” Her frown grew fierce—a ridiculous expression for someone so pretty. “But let me state quite unequivocally, I have not accepted Gage’s request to court me, and I have no intention of accepting it. If it means finding work in town and supporting myself rather than getting married, then so be it. But I will not marry a man I cannot trust or for whom I have absolutely no affection.”