Part 28 (2/2)

Beck had seen the Sheriff to the door, and then closed the door behind him. As far as that was concerned, the man was alive last time anyone saw him.

But gunshots were hardly a natural cause-they didn't happen all on their own. Which meant that someone else had come by later that night.

After all the trouble that he'd had getting someone to look into any of it at all, finding Avery Beck's body had been the first hard proof that had presented itself. A reminder that no matter what he thought, no matter what anyone else said, there was something going on. He wasn't crazy.

Glen looked off into the horizon, back in the direction of the ranch. It had been a while. Who even knew how many cattle were there, now? The thought of home reminded him that Catherine was there, as well. Was she thinking about him? Worrying what was taking him so long? It had only been a couple of days, but he had thought it would be much less. A day, perhaps two.

”Go on.”

Glen turned, furrowing his brow. ”What's that, Deputy?”

”I've got to do a little digging. Go on home. I'll come to you.”

”You know where the place is?”

”No.” The man was honest, if nothing else. ”But I can find it easy enough.”

”I just bought the place-folks might know it as belonging to Bill Howell. I got the place from him a couple months ago.”

”Great. I'll come by in a day or two. I figure we're going to be making an arrest. Maybe more than one. And I could use the extra hands. That is, if you don't mind. I can always go back into town, but I'm afraid someone would tip off our man.”

”No, I'm fine.”

”Go on home. I'll come calling tomorrow.”

”Sure.”

Glen let out a long breath. Time to relax-that was an unusual luxury. What had he done to earn it? Well, he wasn't going to complain. He spurred the horse on. It wasn't too far to get home. An hour, perhaps less. Getting some sleep would be fine, even if it were in the barn.

Getting some sleep in a bed, though...

He pushed the thought away. It hadn't meant anything. Catherine didn't have any interest in picking up where they'd left off in Caspar.

Catherine didn't see Glen coming until his horse was pa.s.sing the window heading into the stables. He took his sweet time in there, too, which only made her crazier. The man had no sense of timing.

Nothing had been happening around the house, and that only made things worse. The twins were already down, and the nothing that was happening around the house meant that far, far too much was going on in her head. Catherine wanted nothing more than to be able to sit down and have a chat with him.

An image flashed through her head, turning her cheeks a crimson red. No, she chastised herself. Not that sort of chat, not that sort of chat at all. Just something to pa.s.s the time. Something to remind her that she wasn't the only person struggling with things lately.

Glen had left her with the promise to bring back a Marshall. That he wasn't being followed right now meant he had either failed, or the man was out on business. That he'd let Glen go home, but cogs were turning behind the scenes. She hoped it was the latter.

A knock at the door. She opened it, already knowing who she would find. Glen gave her a tired smile. Lord, she thought. The man looked good no matter what he was doing.

”How was your trip?”

”Not great.” The smile faded. ”Avery Beck is dead, and we have no witness to anything. And to make matters worse...”

He stopped himself. What could be worse than that?

”What is it?”

”I saw your husband.”

Twenty Three Glen laid his head back and let out a breath. He hadn't expected her to take the suggestion that her husband was in town well, but he hadn't expected her to take it as poorly as she had, either. Well, it didn't much matter.

She had every right to react however she wanted to. She didn't seem to want to talk about him, and when she did, she talked about him like something unpleasant that had happened to her, rather than like a husband and lover.

It was her business what had happened, but that didn't stop Glen from worrying about it, and it didn't help him worrying. He tapped the back of his hat, sending it sliding down his face, covering his eyes.

He shut them and tried not to wonder what had happened between them that had hurt her so bad. He got the sick feeling that if he found out, he would like Bill Howell less than he already did, and considering the unpleasant feelings Glen already had towards the man...

Sleep didn't come easy, though. Not after all that had happened. Too many thoughts running through his head, too many doubts raised. So instead he hung down from the loft, lowered himself lightly, and pushed his back into the hay-bale again. He set his hat aside.

He'd either fall asleep, or he'd watch the cattle, but one way or another, Glen was going to get something done.

The knock at the door didn't surprise her any more. Glen was home again, finally. The Deputy Marshall was looking into the rustling, and things were moving. Everything couldn't have gone better if she'd planned it herself.

She didn't answer right away, of course. She ducked into her room, pulled out her looking gla.s.s. She had to be looking as good as she possibly could for when Glen saw her.

Catherine had never worried too much about how she looked. After everything that had happened-what did it matter any more? She was who she was, and everyone knew that. She did what she had to do, but it wasn't worth worrying herself over.

But with Glen around, things seemed... different. As if his very presence meant that she needed to be something better than she was. The way he looked at her, she thought, it must have been working.

Convinced that she was looking good, she started back toward the door. A second knock came.

”Hold your horses, I'm a-comin'.”

But when she answered the door, Glen wasn't there. A thin man, curly brown hair, with a thin nose like a knife. He wore a brown leather coat that was too hot for the summer heat, and a pin on his chest with the words 'Deputy Marshal' on it.

”Can I help you?”

”Excuse me, ma'am. I'm lookin' for a Mister Glen Riley? I was told this was his place.”

”Is that what they told you?”

”In a fas.h.i.+on, yes. I heard this was where Bill Howell's ranch was, and Mister Riley told me that's where I can find him. Are you-Missus Riley perhaps?”

Catherine Blushed. ”No, nothing like that. Billy's my-used to be my husband. There was some confusion over owners.h.i.+p, but we're working it out. Mister Riley”-she stressed his name harder than she should have-”is more'n likely out in the barn. That's where he's been staying.”

”Thank you, ma'am.”

She could see a strange look in his eyes, one that said he knew more than she wanted him to. If he'd been in town, and he had heard anything about her, then he would have heard the talk.

He put his hat back on his head and walked off to find Glen, but she couldn't help but watch him go. He knew, sure as anything, what she had done. That wasn't how she wanted it, not one bit.

But it wasn't her choice now, not any more. Billy had already branded her, and now if she wasn't lucky, everyone would know sooner or later. She just had to hope that in Glen's case, it was later. Much later.

<script>