Wildblossom (14 page)

The May morning was sparkling. A robin's-egg-blue sky stretched overhead, the meadows and mountains were quilted in white, and the sun blazed down, scattering diamonds on the snow even as it dissolved it.

It could have been a magical day but for the tension between Geoff and Shelby. Declaring that they all should enjoy a holiday until the snow melted, the Englishman spent the day taking care of the napping Manypenny and reading
Jude the Obscure
by Thomas Hardy in front of the fireplace. Every time his eyes happened to meet Shelby's, sparks seemed to fly.

"Why are you in such high dudgeon?" Manypenny inquired of his master while eating a buttered muffin and a coddled egg for lunch.

Feeling a bit foolish, Geoff told him a little of it, dwelling on Shelby's refusal to do as she was told. "She could have lost her way and frozen to death out there!" Then, to drive home his point that she was rather mad, Geoff added, "And I think you ought to know that she has taken to referring to you as—" He paused for full effect. "—
Percy!
I don't mind telling you that I was shocked when I first heard her say it."

"I asked Miss Matthews to use my given name," the manservant declared. "I enjoy her tremendously, and am not inclined to stand on ceremony when we are together. And, on her behalf, I shall state that I believe you are more angry with her for defying you than for endangering her own life. Has anyone defied you before, my lord?"

"Why should they?" Geoff's face darkened in consternation. "I say, old man... you never let
me
call you Percy!"

"That's true," Manypenny replied mildly, "and I do not intend to alter that tradition at this time, any more than you should suggest that I address you as—" He cleared his throat and muttered in tones of distaste,
"—Geoff.
Now then, my lord, I find that I am fatigued. Will you leave me to my nap?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"I don't believe so." Manypenny settled himself against the pillows, closed his eyes, then opened one again. "My lord?"

Geoff paused in the midst of assembling the dishes on a tray. "Yes, Manypenny?"

"Have you wondered at all why you have such strong feelings toward Miss Matthews?"

His heart thumped suddenly. "I don't know what you mean."

"I've known you too long to believe that, my lord. I of all people remember just how bored you were with life before we came here." With that, the old man closed his eyes again and began to breathe slowly, as if he were already falling asleep.

Carrying his servant's dishes, Geoff took his leave, stunned by their conversation. Perhaps life in London hadn't been so bad after all. At least there Geoff knew who he was and what to expect from people. If an old boot like Manypenny could fly off this way, what other surprises waited for him in Wyoming?

By the time he'd made a proper pot of tea—a skill Americans seemed incapable of mastering—Geoff had decided that Shelby was directly responsible for the world going askew. She was much too impulsive, stubborn, and self-confident for a female. It threw the entire scheme of things into disarray.

And where was she?

A while ago, after they'd all eaten lunch together, Shelby had mumbled that she was going to milk the cows. She should have been back long ago. So, after fortifying himself with a cup of tea, Geoff put a towel over the pot, donned his boots, and went outside.

It was warm enough to go coatless, and although the sun felt splendid, the mud and slush were another matter. Until most of the snow had been absorbed into the ground, there didn't seem to be much point in mucking about outdoors. Still, a couple of the boys had gone off to repair the fence, while Marsh was putting out hay for the cattle.

"Have you seen Miss Matthews?" Geoff asked as he approached the big corral.

"Yup." Marsh's hat was pulled low over his eyes and his cheek bulged with tobacco as he pointed to the south.

"I understand that we are missing eight head of cattle?"

"Yup." Marsh spat tobacco juice, then turned loquacious, adding, "Through the fence, I reckon."

"Do you suppose that Miss Matthews has gone to look for them?"

Apparently worn-out by his speech, the cowboy merely nodded this time, then returned to his chores. Geoff went into the barn and had a chat with Charlie, whose demeanor told him that he had no desire to go out for a gallop in deep mud and sloppy snow, having far too much regard for his buckskin coat. Since they were in agreement on that score, the Englishman returned to the house and decided to spend the rest of the afternoon acquainting himself with the ranch accounts. Shelby would probably shoot him outright if she knew, but then she was off sticking her nose where it didn't belong—and he did own half of the ranch, didn't he? He was tired of waiting for her to show him what was what.

To his chagrin, Geoff discovered that there were bills overdue in town: they owned the Cody Trading Company, the livery stable, the implement store, and the Maverick Market. Folding these neatly, he put them in his pocket and returned Shelby's desk to its original condition.

When she came in, windblown and mud-spattered, Geoff was caught off guard again by the force of his response. Although he felt angry with her for going off again without even telling him, he reacted as a male to her vigorous, glowing beauty. She stripped off her gloves and pulled the ribbon from her hair, shaking out her curls.

"I want to talk to you about our missing cattle." Shelby strode gracefully into the big room and drew up a chair next to him.

"I appreciate that." His tone was astringent.

"Well, you are a... partner." She folded her hands and narrowed her teal-blue eyes for an instant, adding suddenly, "You're not in charge, though! I won't be bossed, sir, especially by someone who swaggers around here claiming to be a nobleman!"

"I beg your pardon!" His jaw hardened. "I have made a point of
not talking about my past, and I have made every effort to be fair and to work as hard as the other men."

Shelby waved a hand dismissively. "It's an attitude you have, then; it's probably inbred, like those receding chins so many Englishmen are cursed with." It pleased her to see sparks kindle in his eyes. "Anyway, my point is this: I came to Wyoming because I needed to be given my head. That's why Daddy let me manage this ranch. I would have wilted away if I'd stayed in Deadwood, where I was a rich man's daughter, and I wouldn't have been happy staying in New England after college, either. I like to
be
free."
Shelby paused. Both of them were sitting forward in their chairs now, eyes locked in a battle of wills. "I won't take orders from you."

"Even when it's a matter of life and death?"

"I don't foresee those circumstances arising." She set her chin and sat back. "Now then, about the cattle. I have reason to believe that Bart Croll, the owner of the next ranch south, has appropriated our steers. The broken fence adjoins his land, and from what I've heard, he's just the type to keep someone else's property."

Geoff blinked. "For God's sake, why do you always imagine that some tremendous drama is underway!"

"Don't speak to me that way."

"Never mind. I apologize." He held up his hands. "I'll tell you what—tomorrow morning I'll go over to Mr. Croll's ranch and have a little chat with him."

"At dawn? It's important that we don't let any more time slip by!"

"Now who's giving orders?" Geoff arched a brow. "If it will please you, Miss Matthews, I shall ride to the Croll ranch as soon as I'm awake and dressed. All right?"

"Perfect. I'll be ready."

"No. You're
not going." He stood up with a note of cold finality. "This is a matter that must be handled with finesse—a quality that
you
were born without."

* * *

Geoff soon discovered that the Bar B Ranch, owned by Bart Croll, made the Sunshine Ranch seem like a grand estate. Riding over there the next morning when the sky was still streaked with carnation and peach, his eyes took in the underfed cattle chewing at sparse patches of grass, the haphazardly built fences, and finally, a sod house that was decaying at one end.

The barn, such as it was, was made of sod, too, and the horses in the corral needed a good meal. A post with a rack of elk antlers on top appeared to serve as the hitching post, so Geoff looped Charlie's reins around one of the horns and went up to the sod house's door. There was one glass window, and through it he saw the dim glow of a lantern.

Geoff wondered what to say. He could hardly ask the man if he'd stolen their cattle! But he was here, and he had to carry through with his mission. Shelby wouldn't have had any qualms about demanding the return of her animals, and she certainly wouldn't want to hear that he had been too polite to do the same.

So he knocked. A moment later a rangy old man with white stubble covering his hollow cheeks opened the door. He wore faded gray longjohns, overalls, mud-caked boots, and carried a rifle. "Who are you?" he asked.

Geoff extended his hand. "My name is Geoffrey Weston, sir. I believe that we're neighbors—I'm
half
owner of the Sunshine Ranch, to your north."

The old man grunted. "You a limey? Thought so. My name's Bart Croll an' I been out here long before that fancy fella Cody decided to make a town fer hisself." He rubbed his whiskers, then demanded, "Whatta you want?"

"I'd like to talk to you."

Bart grunted again, opened the door, and gestured with the rifle barrel for Geoff to enter. "Come on in while I finish my coffee an' get my coat, then you kin ride with me while I check the livestock."

Geoff did as he was bade, closing the door, and then immediately wished he'd left it open. There was a damp, smoky, rancid smell inside the tiny dwelling. The walls were crumbling, the floor was a mixture of dust and mud, and the furnishings were pitiful. Next to the hay-burning stove stood a pale, thin woman with huge blue eyes and flaxen hair braided neatly into a crown atop her head. She was stirring something in a pot. When Geoff nodded to her, she dropped her eyes but managed a smile.

"How do you do, madame," he said, hoping she hadn't seen his expression of disgust, and introduced himself once more.

"This here's my wife, Vivian," Bart put in as he pulled on his dirty coat. "I guess you could call her a mail-order bride."

"Indeed!" Geoff affected cheerful interest at this news, when in truth he was shocked. Why would a passably pretty young girl marry a cranky old geezer who offered her a home that was no better than a squalid hut? "And where do you come from, Mrs. Croll?"

"St. Louis," she replied softly. "My parents were killed at Christmas in a fire, and I had no one... until Mr. Croll offered me marriage."

Against his will, Geoff's eyes wandered to the narrow bed against one dank, sod wall. Neatly covered with a hand-stitched quilt, the bed was barely wide enough for one person, yet there were two meager pillows. It was almost enough to make him sick.

"Let's go," Bart said, draining his tin cup of coffee and heading out the door without a word of good-bye to his young wife.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Croll," said Geoff.

"Likewise, Mr. Weston. I do hope you'll come back, and bring your wife if you have one!" There was a note of urgency in her voice, and her eyes were bright with pain.

Outside, when the two men were on horseback, Croll came alongside Geoff's buckskin and barked, "Stay away from my wife, you smooth-talkin' limey! She don't need yer sympathy!"

"I can assure you that my only intention was to be polite," Geoff replied coolly.

They followed the fence lines together for a bit, while Geoff chatted as amiably as he could about his new life. They traded horror stories about the recent blizzard, and he asked Croll's advice regarding the Sunshine Ranch's first roundup, only a week away. How many extra men might he need? He tried to think of other meaningless questions that would make the old man think that Geoff was too much a novice to suspect him of keeping any of their cattle that might have wandered onto his property during the storm.

Bart Croll waxed nostalgic about the old days on the range, before barbed wire, when cowboys knew no boundaries and slept under the stars with only a blanket.

Finally, sensing that he was sufficiently softened up, Geoff said, "Well... I won't take any more of your time, sir, but—I don't suppose that, by chance, you might have seen a half-dozen or so Hereford cattle on your land—unbranded?"

Rolling a cigarette, Bart narrowed his eyes at Geoff. "What're you gettin' at, mister?"

"Since the storm, we are missing eight head of cattle. The ranch is new, they haven't been branded yet, and it occurred to me that they might have wandered over here—and that you might not have noticed they weren't carrying your brand." He smiled. "Perhaps you'll let us know if you happen to come across them."

"Why wouldn't I?" Bart growled.

"Why not indeed?" Geoff was just about to bid the old grouch good day and ride away when he noticed Croll squinting toward some cattle herded together farther north along the fence. Shading his eyes, Geoff saw that there was a
horse in the midst of the cattle—a pinto pony that he recognized all too readily. Its petite rider had dismounted and appeared to be hiding among the animals, but clearly there was one pair of legs that were human.