AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He moved tentatively from the sofa, knelt down in front of her chair and put a calloused hand on her skirt. Her beautiful face was twisted up in sadness, and her cheeks were blotched red, but as much as it worried him to see her looking like that, it didn't diminish her beauty.
It wasn't time to think about things like that, though, he reasoned. No, he had to calm her down. Still, when he put his hand on her she only started to cry harder, her shoulders shaking with the sobs.
"I'm sorry," he offered, not sure what had happened. He only knew that she was upset, and though he couldn't say what he'd done, he knew it was his fault.
Glen waited a long time, his hand resting there on her knee, her face buried in her hands, hoping that he could give her some kind of comfort, but he knew that he wasn't going to help much.
Just as he started praying for something to happen, something that would help him understand what to do next, he heard a door hinge creaking open.
"Mama?" Ada stood in the door, rubbing bleary eyes. "I'm thirsty."
Catherine's reaction was immediate, and Glen stood up and stepped back. It seemed like she'd flipped a switch in her head, and now she was a completely different person. She was a mother, now, not just a woman, and she couldn't let her daughter worry.
"One second, sweetheart." She poured a cup from a clay jug of water and went back to the little girl. Glen recognized that whatever he did, he had nothing else to add to the situation. She needed to be alone, and he'd let her have her privacy.
He stood up and walked out. If he was upsetting her, then he shouldn't remind her that he was there by saying good night.
Ada was sitting in her lap again, but Catherine could tell her daughter was about ready to fall asleep sitting up. She was defiantly forcing herself to stay awake to finish the cup of water. When Ada finally slumped her head against her mother, Catherine took her back to the bedroom and laid her down. Started unbuttoning the dress she'd worn.
The action just made her remember what a fool she must've made of herself. How badly he must have thought of her now. Well, it didn't much matter what he thought of her. Not really. She did what she had to do, and that was how it would be.
She looked at the luggage she'd halfway packed a few days before. Thought about the church dress she had sitting at the very bottom of the pile. She wanted to pray, wanted the comfort that it would bring. But she wasn't going to.
She didn't deserve it. She'd let Billy stop her going, and even after he left, she hadn't picked the habit back up. She didn't deserve to have the rewards if she wasn't doing what she knew she should have been doing.
She laid her head back and tried to understand what was wrong with her. What had she been thinking? He'd been sitting there, as professional as could be, and she had just assumed that he—her face burned again.
She had never taken to drinking. Her father had always warned her against it, and being a preacher's daughter, she wasn't exactly keen on the stuff in the first place. After all, it was what caused so many of the problems in this world. That's what she'd always been taught.
But Lord, she wanted a drink now. Something to make her feel better. If Billy had still been there, she would have been able to take his whiskey. But she'd cleared the stuff out after he left.
She wanted to go to church, and she wanted to pray.
But why on earth would God listen to a harlot like her?
Nine
Glen wanted another cup of that coffee, but he couldn't bring himself to go back into the house. Not after what had happened the night before. He'd be humiliating himself, and more than that, he'd be humiliating Catherine. So he decided it would be wiser not to go in this morning, and certainly not ask for a cup of her delicious coffee.
Instead, he was taking a headcount. Of everything. He moved hers first. It would be easier to separate his part of the herd than hers, he figured. So he'd cornered the little steer calves and then got the big herd moving out of the pen.
Keeping a count was harder. They moved fast, and there were enough that he was having trouble keeping it accurate. He thought he counted nine-hundred ninety, but he wasn't certain. Not absolutely certain. He could have missed ten, easy.
Then he moved his own on out. Counted. Fifty even. They'd taken three in one damn night. Herding them back inside, he wanted the coffee even more, because whatever he was going to do about it, it was going to be a long night.
He put his hand on his pistol instinctively and tried to count the steers on the way back in. Nine-hundred and ninety-three this time, but his count of the calves had been accurate far as he could tell. He growled out his disapproval. Who on earth would steal calves?
Couldn't take them to market. You'd barely get what he'd paid for them. Nobody would buy them as fresh stock. He didn't have a lot of confidence in what he was doing on the ranch, yet. But he knew enough to know, you didn't buy a cow with someone else's brand on it. Not if you were legitimate, at least.
Selling the beef would be easier, but it still left the problem that it couldn't be worth the risk. He considered that they might have wandered off in the night. That was certainly possible—before he had left to range them. When he'd come back, the gaps in the fence had been closed, and the boys were nowhere to be seen.
Glen knew more about horses than he did about cattle, but he was pretty certain that they didn't jump fences too good. Which meant they'd busted the fence again, or someone had opened the latch on the paddock and guided the calves out.
It was a quick job to ride the line of the fence. The boys had done good work. If he saw them again, which he doubted, then he would have to let them know that he approved. The implication wasn't hard to pick up on, though. Glen frowned and started heading toward the house. Making damn sure to close the latch as secure as it would go. He wouldn't let the steers just wander off because of his own foolishness.
If this was serious, then he would need to take it seriously. He didn't want to, but he hadn't been given a choice. He was here, now, and that was how it was going to be. Like it or not.
Catherine heard Glen come in. Then she pretended not to, because she didn't want to think about him. She certainly didn't want to think about what she'd been doing the night before. She had been thankful when he didn't come for the house that morning, but now here he was, after all.
