Robin Lee Hatcher (2 page)

But as they left the sheriff ’s office almost an hour later, their way was blocked by a man with a week’s worth of whiskers on his chin and a dusty, battered hat on his head.

“Well, would you look at what we got here. Ain’t you a couple of pretty little fillies.”

Bethany lifted her chin and leveled a cool stare at the grizzled cowpoke. “A gentleman, sir, would step aside and allow us to pass.” She spoke with an air of authority, one she’d learned from observing her grandmother. With her eyes, she dared the man to block their path.

In an instant, his face reddened. “ ’Scuse me, miss.” He stepped down into the street.

She resisted a triumphant grin. “Come along, Ingrid.”

Her friend’s eyes were wide with awe. “Are you never afraid of anything?”

Bethany laughed. “You are altogether too meek, Ingrid. You must overcome it if you’re to be happy here. We must be as bold and fearless as the land itself.”

She stopped walking at the far corner of the Plains Saloon and tacked another notice to the clapboard siding. The noise coming from inside was louder than ever. Twice she glanced toward the door, battling an almost irresistible temptation to peek inside and learn the cause of so much merriment. But, of course, she couldn’t do anything so unbecoming. She might relish her many new freedoms, but as a preacher’s daughter she had to be mindful of her position. Besides, Ingrid would go straight to the reverend if Bethany did anything so brash as look inside a saloon.

She turned from her task, ready to head for home, then stopped when she felt the hem of her dress catch, cringing as she heard the tearing of fabric. This was one of her favorite dresses, a gift from her Philadelphia cousin, Beatrice Worthington. She’d taken great care of it, and if it was ruined, she would be heartsick. There would be no replacing it in Sweetwater.

“Allow me,” a deep voice said.

She glanced over her shoulder in time to see a stranger bend down to free her skirt from the troublesome nail. When he straightened, she found her head tilting backward, ever backward in order to look him in the face.

He was over six feet tall with broad shoulders, lean but exuding an aura of power. She had never felt so slight as she did now. His features were boldly spaced, his skin dark, his jaw smooth and square. Blue-black hair brushed the collar of his shirt. She could read nothing in his expression, but his midnight blue eyes seemed to look right inside her head, reading her mind, judging her thoughts.

She gasped and stepped backward.

One corner of his mouth lifted, suggesting a smile. He turned away without a word.

“Bethany?” Ingrid’s hand clasped her arm.

She took another step back, her gaze still on the man.

“Look at this, Hawk.” A second cowboy, one Bethany hadn’t noticed before, pointed at the notice she had tacked on the wall. “They’re startin’ a church here in Sweetwater. We’re gonna get civilized. You gonna come to the ser vice on Sunday?”

The man named Hawk looked behind him, his enigmatic gaze meeting Bethany’s once again. She held her breath, awaiting his reply.

“No,” he said and walked away.

“Come on, Bethany.” Ingrid tugged at her arm.

“Did you see him?”

“Of course I saw him.”

“I wonder who he is. Have you ever seen anyone so . . . so . . .” She didn’t know what she wanted to say about him. So handsome . . . so mysterious . . . so dangerous.

“He looked like every other cowboy we have seen in Montana. And certainly not the kind of man you would find in church.”

Bethany turned. “Why do you think that?”

“He said so himself. Weren’t you listening? He would not come even if you invited him.”

“But it’s our Chris tian duty to encourage everyone to come to church. How else are we to reach them with the good news?”

Ingrid shook her head. “Many are called, but few are chosen.”

His eyes were as wild and raw as this land. As if he’s a part of
it. Surely that is why God called Papa to this place, to reach men
like him.

A delayed shiver of reaction ran through her.

“I can see what you are thinking, Bethany, and I tell you, it will not happen.”

“Who says?” She tossed her head. “I’ll wager I could get him to ser vices if I tried hard enough.”

Ingrid shot her a frown. “Gambling is a sin.”

“Oh, pishposh. This isn’t gambling. It’s a little game between friends.”

“Bethany — ”

“I’ll wager you five dollars I can get him to come to church within thirty days.”

“I do not have five dollars.”

“Well, we’ll pretend you do. See. Then it isn’t gambling.”

“The reverend would not approve.”

“Then we simply won’t tell him.”

TWO

Hawk Chandler glanced at the clear sky. Judging by the sun, they ought to reach the Circle Blue Ranch before nightfall. He swung into the saddle of his copper-colored gelding. His friend, Rand Howard, mounted his own horse, and they rode west down Main Street. Once outside of Sweetwater, they settled into a smooth canter, riding in companionable silence.

Hawk scanned the grasslands. The terrain undulated with benchlands and cutbacks, draws and coulees. The eastern plains were rich in native buffalo grass, a grass that withstood the heat and drought of Montana summers, that survived the frigid, snow-covered Montana winters, that was unharmed by the trampling of hooves. It grew and flourished and filled the bellies of Circle Blue cattle.

From the moment he laid eyes on this range back in ’78, he’d known it was where he would stay. Plenty of grazing. Natural brush shelter in the form of plum thickets and chokecherry trees. And most important of all, water.

The boundaries of the Circle Blue began at the foot of the mountain range. That’s where Hawk and Rand had built the ranch house. Nothing fancy. Just a solid place to keep them from freezing in the winter. They’d brought up the Circle Blue starter herd from Texas in the spring of 1879, and after three years, Hawk had introduced shorthorns from Oregon to the range. He wasn’t rich, but he was doing okay. Plenty of others had come and gone. He was here to stay.

He was a lucky man. There wasn’t much more he could want than hard work to keep him busy in the daytime, good food to fill his belly at night, and a friend he could trust through thick and thin.

Then he remembered a pair of green eyes, wide with surprise, and heard again the soft gasp that had slipped from a shapely mouth.

Maybe there was something more he wanted.

He clenched his jaw and forced the delicate image from his memory. He’d learned his lesson when it came to young ladies like her. They weren’t for him, and he’d do well to remember it.

“We thank you, Lord, for bringing us safely to our new home. We ask that you bless our work in Sweetwater. Amen.”

Nathaniel Silverton lifted his head even as three soft “amens” echoed his from around the supper table. His gaze settled first upon his bride of twenty-seven years. To him, the former Virginia Braddock was as lovely as the day he’d married her, even though her sable hair was now highlighted with strands of silver. Throughout their marriage, she had served beside him. When he’d told her God was calling him to leave Philadelphia — a life made comfortable by the wealth of his family — she hadn’t questioned him or uttered a word of complaint.

God bless her
.

The same had not been true of their only child.

At this moment, Bethany looked as submissive and gentle in spirit as her mother. Ah, but looks could be deceiving. His daughter was filled with a fire for life. If he could, he would protect her, shelter her from the trials he knew would come to her — many, he feared, of her own making. Some of her willfulness was his fault; he had spoiled her as a child. Truth be known, he spoiled her still. He couldn’t resist her impish grins and sweet pleadings. She had charm and knew how to use it to her advantage.

Oh, Father. Protect this child of mine. Teach her to be humble
and kind.

As if knowing he prayed for her, she looked up, unmistakable mischief in her eyes. What bit of tomfoolery was she up to now? Then she smiled, and he forgot to worry, his heart melting in response.

Nathaniel knew she’d forgiven him for taking her away from Philadelphia, though she was too willful to admit it yet. Not after all the fuss she’d made during their slow journey west. He would have to pray harder about her stubborn streak. Pray and hope it wouldn’t bring her too much heartache before she surrendered it to God.

His gaze moved on, arriving at last to Ingrid. What a contrast she was to his daughter. Where Bethany’s coloring was bright and vibrant — auburn hair, green eyes — Ingrid was pale. Her blond hair was more silver than gold, her blue eyes so light as to be almost gray. While Bethany’s curvaceous body highlighted her young womanhood, Ingrid was tall and almost as straight as a boy. Likewise, their personalities were as night to day. Bethany looked for adventure at every turn; Ingrid sought peace.

The Silvertons had befriended Ingrid and her father, Sven Johnson, on their journey from Minnesota to Colorado. It was in Denver that Sven crossed over to eternity, leaving his daughter with little money and no family. The Silvertons had taken her as one of their own, and so she remained.

“Papa?”

Drawn from his memories, Nathaniel looked at Bethany. “Yes?”

“Ingrid and I met as many of the townspeople as we could today, and we posted notices about church ser vices in several places. But I was thinking. What about the ranchers and homesteaders who only come into town on occasion? How will they know we’re here? Shouldn’t we seek them out and let them know Sweetwater now has a church?”

“Well, I — ”

“I’d like to go with you. Some of the ranchers must have wives and children. They should know you have a family too.”

“Your mother — ”

“Oh, of course Mother should come. And Ingrid too. We could pack a picnic lunch and make a day of it. Wouldn’t it be fun?”

It pleased him that Bethany was interested in helping him in his work, that she wanted to become a part of this community. While it was true she could be stubborn and willful, it was also true she had a good heart.

“You’re right, daughter. We should pay our respects to those who live outside of Sweetwater. If the weather’s good tomorrow, we’ll take the buggy and go calling.” He turned toward his wife. “Virginia, when should we leave?”

“If it’s all the same to you, dear, I’ll decline. There’s much to do here before I’ll feel settled. The house is at sixes and sevens. You and the girls go and have a good day together.”

“As you wish.” He turned toward Ingrid. “We should get an early start.”

Ingrid glanced toward Bethany, a peculiar look in her eyes. Then she shook her head. “Thank you, Reverend Silverton, but I will stay and help Mrs. Silverton if that is all right.”

“Well” — he turned to his daughter — “I guess it’s just you and me. We’ll leave right after breakfast.”

THREE

It was hot for May. Too hot for Hawk’s liking. It shouldn’t be like this until July.

He yanked the pump handle up and down until cool water gushed from the faucet, filling the tin cup in his hand. It took several cupfuls to quench his thirst. Afterward, he leaned down and stuck his head beneath the flow of water. Air whooshed from his lungs at the cold, both startling and welcome. As he straightened, he shook droplets of water from his hair, like a dog just out of the river.

He returned the cup to its nail before starting across the dusty yard, long strides eating up the distance between pump and barn. But he stopped when he saw a horse and buggy approaching at a smart clip, the identity of the vehicle’s inhabitants hidden in the shadow cast by the fringed top. He heard the driver’s “Whoa!” seconds before the horse slowed to a walk. It stopped not far from where he stood.

“Good afternoon.” The man — a stranger to Hawk — stepped from the buggy. He wore a fine black suit. Attire not often seen in these parts. “I’m Reverend Nathaniel Silverton of Sweetwater.”

“Afternoon.”

The reverend held out a hand toward the buggy. “This is my daughter, Bethany.”

He watched her alight, a petite foot and ankle peeking from beneath her flounced and ruffled gown of sunshine yellow. The preacher’s daughter. Pretty as a picture — and the very lady he wanted to avoid.

“I see we are interrupting your work, Mr. — ” The reverend’s voice rose in question as he extended his hand.

Hawk wiped his palm on his trousers and shook the proffered hand. “Chandler. Hawk Chandler. The Circle Blue is my ranch.” He pushed his damp hair back from his face. “I’ve been shoeing horses most of the morning.” It irritated him that he felt the need to explain his appearance.

“And we are sorry to have intruded. We won’t keep you, Mr. Chandler. We only wanted to extend an invitation to you and your family to attend ser vices in Sweetwater this Sunday.”

Hawk’s gaze moved once more to the young woman at her father’s side. Bethany. The name fit her. Ladylike. Elegant. Lovely. Her rosy lips parted slightly as she returned his gaze, and he felt his gut tighten.

“Thanks for the invitation, Reverend. I’m not much on churchgoing, but it was good of you to stop by.” He stepped back one length and nodded. “Good day to you.” Then, without waiting for them to leave, he strode toward the barn.