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"My former husband," she finished for him. The thought of Billy had almost stopped hurting before Mr. Riley had shown up. She could see his cattle, a meager fifty head, grazing out front.
"Yes, ma'am. From your husband. He'd been losing all night, you know? I'm not sittin' there with the intention of takin' anyone's last dollar. But he was insistent on givin' it away, and I'm sittin on a queen-high straight, so when he raised—" He mopped the summer heat from his forehead with the back of one well-toned arm. "Well, I asked if he was good for it, and he assured everyone he was. So I took the bet."
She already knew that he wasn't. Billy had never been a great poker player, but he was a fine liar. Right up until it came time to settle up, then suddenly the mistakes all seemed to pile up right in front of him. As if they were completely unforeseeable. It had been a sticking point for her, once upon a time. When Billy's problems had been her problems.
Now she was free from him, or at least that's what the Judge said. Divorce wasn't how Catherine had seen her life going. She hadn't seen her kids growing up with their dead-beat father wandering around Colorado losing the money they'd set aside for their children's future at a poker table.
Catherine wasn't like her ex-husband. She wouldn't walk away from a bad situation, and she knew how to play the hand she was dealt. It looked bad, but that didn't mean she was going to pretend it was anything but what it was.
"Well, when the table starts to clear up, what do I see but Bill Howell trying to sneak off. He at least had the sense not to try to pull some cash back off the table, but he still had to settle that money he was so good for." Glen set down his hat on the couch beside him. He looked up at Catherine, whose expression hadn't changed much since he had sat down.
She was a handsome woman, what hair she hadn't pulled back falling in pretty rings around her face. Whatever had happened between her and her husband, he couldn't begin to guess. It must have been something serious for a man to leave a woman like this. Then again, Bill Howell struck Glen as the sort of man who was gunning to lose whatever he set his hands on, so perhaps it made sense that he'd have given up on her.
"I'm not seeing how this relates to me." Catherine's voice was clipped and hard. Glen swallowed hard.
"So I figure he's the type who figures he can just cop a whuppin', and I'll walk away. But he keeps promising he's good for it. He takes me back to a run-down hotel on the edge of the town—place I'm surprised he hadn't gotten broken into—and says just wait a minute outside. I'm no fool, ma'am. I follow him in, and he seems surprised to see me. The way he was going through luggage, I figured he might be fixin' to pull a gun on me. So I was watching extra close. He turns around with a piece of paper, folded up. That paper, right there."
He tapped the paper he'd laid out on the table. The paper that read "DEED" across the top, and had an 'x' marked beside the printed name "William Howell".
"He said it would more than cover what he owed, so would I please take it and forget the debt."
Catherine let herself sit back, thinking. That was Billy, all right. To a T. She didn't hav
e to guess where he'd gotten the deed. The night before he left, he'd sworn up and down he had left it in the safe. He'd sworn he was coming back in a few days, too. Just a quick trip down to Laramie. Like a vacation. He'd left most of the money they had just made from the herd along with it.
She hadn't been fool enough to believe him completely, but she hadn't expected how little he had left her. Three silver dollars, and a paper with a big, poorly-drawn heart.
She had smiled at it. Still had the paper, folded up in her little jewelry box. The thought of it sitting there made Catherine want to get up and toss the thing into the stove, but she stopped herself.
"So what is it that you wanted, exactly, Mr. Riley?"
His mouth twisted in discomfort. "Well, you see, that's the trouble, Missus Howell. I had it in my head that he'd offered to sell me property that no one was usin'. I spent what I had gettin' the cattle out there and payin' a few men to help me get them out here. So you can see where I might have a problem just leavin' it be."
She looked over his shoulder again. They were too young to sell for any profit. More than likely, he'd lose his shirt if he tried to get anything for them at all. She could feel for him, that was sure. But she couldn't exactly justify letting him take her ranch, neither.
"Well, Mr. Riley, I don't—"
"You can call me Glen, Ma'am. I'm not nobody."
"Well, I don't know what to tell you. This is my land. Bought with my money. My children have lived here their whole lives. What's more, Billy walked away with what money we did have."
Glen's jaw tightened. He didn't like the sound of that. He hadn't had the time or inclination for a wife, but sometimes, he figured marriages just didn't work out. Two people heading different directions. No need to judge anyone for that.
That wasn't what seemed to have happened. He thought of the children upstairs. They were the worst part of all of this. They hadn't done anything to deserve to be left alone. The boys needed a father in their lives—but then, he was getting ahead of himself.
If he could have bought her out of her half, he would have. It might have helped them find someplace more comfortable for a single mother and her three kids. But the money just wasn't there.. He wasn't any sort of ranch hand, never knew much about cattle, but he figured he'd be able to learn it. The boys he'd hired had given him just about enough advice to get him started.
The one thing they'd made sure he knew was that he'd gone in a little deeper than he shoulda. These cows would take six months or more to fatten up. Oh, he'd be able to buy feed and get 'em seen to on credit. Folks knew the score. But he wouldn't see a cent his first year, not with these cows. Not with the prices he'd paid for 'em.
"Well, I don't want to cause any trouble for you, ma'am." He set the hat back on his head, went back out to his horse. Glen had only bought four things, with the money that his thirty years up to that point had added up to.
He'd have plenty of time to figure it out over the next few days, but he could see this wasn't going to solve itself in one afternoon, and the horse needed feeding.
Cattle were a mystery to him. The men, he'd gotten lucky. Horses, he knew just well enough to buy a ride he wouldn't regret.
His hands had recommended he start carry a gun again, for dealing with varmints. And as for the pistol hanging at his hip—Glen knew pistols. It sat just right on his leg, just like the Colt he'd given returned when he'd finished his duty.
Two
