Part 30 (1/2)
”No, you're not,” she agreed. She kept the hurt and the anger out of her voice as best she could.
”So since you and Rod was so close and all, he figured he might as well let me go.”
”We weren't close.” She hadn't wanted the edge in her voice. She'd wanted to be calm, collected. Sound cool. But she didn't. She sounded angry, because she was angry. ”You say you're not my husband, and you aren't.”
Catherine looked at the twins. They didn't need to be hearing this, but she needed to say it. ”Billy Howell was the worst no-good scoundrel this side of the Mississippi. He was the worst gambler, too, and when he finally ran out of my money to play around with he figured out another way he could pay off his debts. Or-a way his wife could, at least.”
The anger in her voice seeped out more with every word until she couldn't hide the bitterness any more.
Glen looked at her, that inscrutable expression back on his face. The face he used at the table, she knew, and the face that he used most of the time when he was with her.
”So fine. You feel free to think what you want to think, but Rodney Dawson is a creep, and cattle rustler or not I wouldn't have a thing to do with him.”
”Did you-”
”I did what I had to do, for a man who didn't deserve one tenth of what I did to support him.”
Glen was still watching her. His hand came up, traced a line on her face.
”I'm sorry.”
Twenty Six Glen wasn't sure what the h.e.l.l to think. She was defiant, that much he knew. As if she was daring him to doubt what she was saying. As if it were a serious concern.
”Have there been others?”
”What do you mean?”
”Since... you know.”
”Since he left?”
Glen nodded. He didn't like asking these questions, and she clearly didn't like being asked them, but he had to know. It was pulling at him, taunting him.
”Not before...” She looked over her shoulder again at the children. ”Go on, kids. Go to your room.”
”Why?” Cole asked.
Glen wanted to tell him to listen to his mother. He didn't, because that would have been something that the boy's father should have said to him. Not only did he not have a father, but the father he might have had might not have cared too much about that sort of thing.
After all, the man seemed to have skewed morals in every other regard. Why not let a boy talk back to his mother? Catherine didn't seem to give his lack of support a second thought.
”Go on, now, I said. Get!”
They picked up the toys they'd spread out on the floor and headed for their room. Grace went first, and then Cole shut the door after.
”I'm sorry about that-they're good children, it's just-”
”There's no need to apologize. I understand.”
”Thank you, then,” she said. He wasn't sure if she meant it.
The thought was running through his head, over and over. She had offered, that first time he had gone to ask for help dealing with the cattle. She'd offered, and he had refused. She'd offered him money, too, and he refused that.
What if she was just doing this so he wouldn't kick her off the ranch? The thought hadn't crossed his mind before. That she might have done it with him just because she wanted to have a hold over him.
”That night, up in Caspar.” She looked at him. He could see how distressed she was looking, how worried she was about what he was going to ask next. ”Was that, all that, because you...”
He couldn't finish the sentence. A twinge in his side exploded in pain, and it gave him a good excuse not to ask the question he suddenly realized he didn't want answered. Glen didn't want to find out if the answer was yes.
She finished it for him. ”To get you on the hook? Keep me on the ranch?”
He opened his eyes just enough to see that she was angry that he had asked. He couldn't deny that he'd meant to ask that very question.
”Well? Did you?”
He could see the hurt in her eyes. ”No, Glen Riley. No I did not.”
He was silent for a moment, trying to ignore the pain in his side, trying to ignore how bad his face hurt. Trying to ignore the doubt that he was feeling about all of this. She could have told him the sky was green and he'd have believed her right now. Because he wanted to.
”Tell me it's not true. Tell me you never had nothin' to do with that man. With anything like that.”
”I can't,” she said softly. He fought to open his eyes. She was crying, now. Like she had before.
Glen forced himself up, trying to ignore the screaming pain that racked his body. He wrapped one arm around her and pulled her head into his chest. She didn't fight him.
”It's alright.”
She leaned into him and cried. It wasn't alright, he knew. He would get over it. Things for him, they weren't too bad. The knowledge didn't change him. As much as it hurt, it didn't change how he felt about her, neither. But for Catherine...
He pressed his lips into her forehead.
For Catherine, it might not be alright at all.
Twenty Seven Catherine looked in on Glen. He couldn't see her, and that was what made it alright for her to ignore him telling her to leave him be. She couldn't let him be-he was hurt, and bad. She could see a worrying glint in his eyes, one that she wasn't sure the source of, but it made her feel like she barely knew him.
She let herself go inside the front room. He jumped when he saw her, like he'd been too deep in thought to believe anyone would come in.
”Y'alright?”
He scowled for a moment. ”Yeah, I'm alright.”
”You look tired.”
”I'm fine.” He laid his head back against the arm of the sofa, though, and she realized exactly how tired he looked. Glen looked like he might not be able to keep himself upright too much longer if he didn't get some sleep.
”You need to rest, Glen.”
”And I will.” They'd already gone through all this, she knew. But that didn't mean that she could just ignore the fact that he wasn't sleeping and didn't seem to have any intention of doing so any time soon. ”Once you stop fussin' over me.”
”Does it hurt?”