Part 23 (1/2)

But the Sheriff hadn't even come out to look into it. Hadn't sent a deputy around. After a month, she'd decided a better investment would be to buy herself a repeating rifle and keep it in the bedroom. If things went real wrong, she'd at least be able to defend herself. The money mattered, but she wasn't going to let things get out of focus.

”What do you suggest, then?”

She sighed and finally turned. She hoped he couldn't see where she'd been crying last night. She hadn't been able to avoid seeing it in her eyes when she finally woke up this morning. But then, she'd never been kind to herself in regard to her looks. Perhaps she was overestimating it.

Then again, maybe she wasn't.

She thought the answer that she knew he wouldn't want to hear. Get used to it, because there's not much to be done. Then she looked at the way he wore that gun on his hip, like it was made to be there, and she thought, not much, but there is something.

”I don't know,” she answered instead.

”You know anything about who's behind it?”

”I don't.”

”Then I guess I'll have to have the Sheriff look into it. You might think he won't look into it, but I can't go taking the law into my own hands, can I?”

She supposed he couldn't. But as she watched him walk back out the door, she didn't like the feeling she was getting that it didn't much matter whether or not he went. It would just be one more log on the fire, and if the Sheriff had been ignoring it all these years, it could only mean one thing.

The only reason he wasn't finding those men was because he wasn't looking for them.

She didn't like what that meant for Glen's chances, and she didn't like what it meant for his safety if he tried to push the matter.

Ten.

Glen Riley mopped the sweat away from his forehead for the third time since he had left the ranch. It was only an hour's ride, and he could have taken it in less time if he wanted to push the horse.

Scouting had taught him to take his time, and gambling had only reinforced the habit, so he let the horse off easy. No rush, no hurry, and no reason to panic. The Sheriff's office would still be there if he took an extra fifteen minutes. After all, he didn't need to spook anyone.

Catherine hadn't struck him as a foolish woman, but she also seemed like the sort of no-nonsense person who sometimes jumps to conclusions in their hurry to get to the point. More than likely, she had just gotten the wrong impression from the Sheriff, and she'd left before he had a chance to follow up. After all, he reasoned, as he pushed the door to the Sheriff's Office open, who would elect a Sheriff who didn't do his job?

Catherine's hands were already hurting from the dishes. She closed her eyes and tried to force her hands to loosen up. She didn't need to be rubbing so hard, but the reality was that he was getting to her, and as much as Catherine didn't like it one d.a.m.n bit, she couldn't deny it.

He'd find out soon enough what it was like, but what made it that much worse was knowing, herself, what she'd gone through since he had shown up. Barely a moment's rest. When she closed her eyes, all she could see were the chisel-cut lines of his face and the strong arms, the toned body that looked like he hadn't gone a single day without using every part of his body.

Grant would learn in his own time how little going to see Sheriff Barnes would do him. That much was sure. But he couldn't know what she was thinking about while he was doing it. She'd be humiliated, and what's more, what little reputation she had after Billy was done with her would be ruined.

She could deal with the looks of consternation, with the heavy atmosphere in town. She'd dealt with it since not long after they moved into town, and she would have to keep on dealing with it.

She set the dish aside, polished to a bright s.h.i.+ne from rubbing it twice as long as it needed. She forced herself to keep going, gritted her teeth and focused on what she was doing. She needed a distraction, and by G.o.d she was going to have it-whether her thoughts wanted to play along or not.

The house would be spic and span by the time he got back, and if that didn't put the sin that had consumed her thoughts out of her head... well, she'd figure that out if it came to that. She hoped it wouldn't.

Glen tapped his fingers on the Sheriff's desk in frustration, but he wasn't going to cause a fuss. After all, he had a crime to report. But a man who needed to eat, needed to eat. So Glen waited for him. After all, he reminded himself: the man was the duly-appointed Sheriff of Carbon County.

He didn't look like much, but Glen had met plenty of incompetent men, folks who barely knew how to wipe their a.s.s without help, and he didn't seem like that. He was fit and trim, but no more than most. When Glen had walked in, he'd taken a hard look at the gun hanging at his hip before deciding not to discuss it.

Glen, in turn, had loosened the belt as he came in and let it lie on the ground beside him. Only polite, he supposed, and if he needed it-he wouldn't-then it was still within fairly easy reach. Just not right at hand. If it helped the man to be at ease, well, Glen was about to ask him a favor so he certainly wasn't going to press it.

He watched the man pour a cup of coffee from a pitcher, noted that the Sheriff didn't offer him any, and then leaned back as the Sheriff walked over, sliding sideways into his seat.

”Mister Riley. Nice to meet you. New in the area?”

”Bill Howell sold me his ranch, and I came to start working on getting myself settled.”

”Excellent!” Glen could see how the man had gotten where he was. He was a likable sort of man, and gave off an air of being genuine. The truth was that the man could care less what his story was, Glen decided. He might have not even known Bill, which was a little odd but nothing too out of the ordinary.

A Sheriff in a county this large, there must be five or ten thousand people living in his area. The folks in the city, sure. But outside that, maybe he didn't know much. Just vaguely-remembered faces, and a knack for looking unsurprised.

”Thank you, sir, it's a mighty fine county you've got.”

Sheriff Barnes gave a wide, toothy grin. ”We aim to keep it that way, sir. Now, what can I do for you?”

”Well,” Glen began, licking the salty sweat away from his lips, ”I didn't bring too big a herd, but I couldn't help noticing a few missing here and there.”

”I'm sure they just ran off,” the Sheriff offered. ”Have a look 'round, and you'll be sure to find them.”

”That's what concerns me, Sheriff. I don't think that's the case. In fact, I know it not to be. The fence is in fine condition, and I had a full herd last night. Yet, today, I'm three short.”

The Sheriff leaned back in his chair, scratching his blonde hair. ”Well, that's a funny story, I'll admit. Do you have any idea who it might be?”

”Well, on account of I just got into town, I can't say I do, sir.”

”Well, that's a shame.” Barnes stood up and reached out a hand. ”I hope your luck turns around. We'll try to look into it, but without much to go on, I don't think there's much hope of my deputies turnin' anything up. I'll be in touch. The Howell ranch, you said?”

”That's right. Thanks for your time, Sheriff.”

”Please. Call me Jim,” he said. The same toothy smile. Glen knew the type. He had to revise his opinion of Jim Barnes.

He might not know every rancher living out on the frontier, but he knew Bill Howell. Sheriff Barnes was a gambler if Glen had ever known one. He couldn't say for sure where the lies were, but he knew one thing as the absolute truth.

Glen shouldn't expect too much in terms of investigating. Whatever was going on, he knew, he wasn't going to like what he found, and Jim Barnes was going to be right at the middle of it.

Catherine watched out the window, scrubbing the gla.s.s to get it as clean as she could hope for. It was the last big job, and with Ada and the twins napping for who knew how much longer, she was in a hurry to get it done. But she was watching outside, as well.

Any minute, that cowboy was going to ride up, and she was going to have to go through the tangle of her feelings again. Part of her wanted to get away from it, to figure out a way to avoid thinking about it.

But another part of her, a big part, was waiting for the first glance she could get of the man riding over the hill. She rubbed the gla.s.s harder and tried not to think about it.

Eleven.