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“You’ve found it.” Kristin lowered the riding crop, relieved in spite of herself. “Their house stood right over there. You can see the foundation.”
“So you know the family?”
“The eldest Anderson daughter married my brother.”
“Then you must know where they’ve gone. I need to find them. It’s important.”
“They live in town now. Mr. Anderson homesteaded this land and farmed it for years. He wanted to leave it to his two sons. But he lost heart after both of them died—one of them years ago. He’s buried right there.” She nodded toward the grave. “The other one died in the war. He’s buried in France.”
“That would be Corporal Axel Anderson, right? He’s the reason I’m here.” Reaching into an inner pocket of his vest, he drew out a creased, stained envelope. “My name is Logan Hunter—Major Logan Hunter, not that it makes much difference these days. I was Corporal Anderson’s commanding officer. He wrote this letter before he died in the Argonne Forest. I promised to get it to his family. See—he didn’t have an address, so he drew this map on the back.”
The man’s story rang true, especially with the letter as evidence. As Kristin’s gaze took in the sealed envelope, something tugged at her emotions. The young boy she remembered had been so bright and full of promise. Axel’s death must have broken his father’s heart.
“I apologize for threatening to whip you, Major,” she said. “I’m Dr. Kristin Dollarhide. I was stationed in France and posted to a stateside veterans’ hospital after the war. I’ve just come home myself. If you want, I could give that letter to my sister-in-law for her family. It would save you the trouble of finding Axel’s parents.”
He slipped the letter back into his vest. “That’s a mighty kind offer, but I’d rather deliver it in person. Corporal Anderson was a brave young man who died a hero’s death. I’d like his folks to hear that from me.”
“I understand. Lars Anderson works as a carpenter these days. Blue Moon is a small town. Anyone who lives there can tell you where to find him.”
“Thank you, miss—or should I say Doctor?”
“Doctor will do. I’ve certainly earned the title.”
“Then please allow a gentleman to see you back to your horse. No woman, not even a doctor, should be alone out here. It isn’t safe.”
“Thiswomankilled two German soldiers who were trying to rape one of her nurses. I have a rifle on my horse. If trouble comes along, I know how to use it.”
“And I’ve no doubt you’re deadly with that riding crop, as well.” His mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smile. “But if you’ll allow me the pleasure . . .” He offered his arm. With a sigh of resignation, she accepted. Laying a light hand on his sleeve, she felt rock-hard muscle through the thin fabric.
“Will you be setting up a practice here?” He walked with a limp, favoring his right leg. The horses weren’t far off, but he took his time.
“I hope so,” she said. “The town needs a doctor, and I need to support myself. I’ve no intention of living off my brother.”
“Well, then, maybe our paths will cross again.” He stood by while she mounted the mare, then swung onto the tall buckskin, mounting easily despite his impaired leg.
Only then did Kristin notice something that jerked her back to full alert. The buckskin horse was wearing a distinctive brand—the well-known Triple C, for Calder Cattle Company, the biggest ranch in the state of Montana.
Acting on reflex, she whipped the rifle out of its scabbard, slid back the bolt, and aimed the muzzle at his chest. “Hands up high, mister!” she snapped. “Reach for that pistol and you’re a dead man. We don’t take kindly to horse thieves around here.”
He raised hands. His face wore a thunderous scowl. “I don’t know what you’re thinking,Doctor, but nobody calls me a horse thief and gets away with it.”
Kristin steadied her grip on the rifle. “Now throw down your weapon and ease out of that saddle. While you’re doing it, you can explain why you’re riding a horse with the Calder brand on it.”
He made no move to drop the pistol or to dismount. “My mother was Benteen Calder’s cousin. With my family dead of the Spanish flu back in Texas, Webb Calder is the only blood kin I have left. I wrote him, and he invited me to come here and settle. Webb lent me this horse, so you can put that damned rifle away. I don’t like guns pointing at me. They make me nervous.”
Kristin held the weapon steady. “Your being a Calder doesn’t count for much with me or my family. And what about that letter you showed me? It strikes me as almost too much of a coincidence, your showing up here to deliver it when you’re in league with the greediest land-grabbers in Montana. What’s your real game, Major Hunter, or whoever you are?”
His expression darkened. “Only a woman could get away with calling me a liar,” he growled. “A man would’ve been dragged off his horse and beaten to a bloody pulp. Now put that rifle away before I decide to take it from you. Every word I’ve spoken is God’s truth, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.”
Wheeling his mount, he rode away at an easy trot, as if daring her to shoot him in the back. She wouldn’t do it, of course. That would be murder.
Shoving the gun back in its scabbard, Kristin watched his tall figure vanish in the direction of town. Had she unmasked a criminal or insulted an honorable man? Either way, Kristin sensed that she’d made an enemy—maybe a dangerous one.
The Great War had ended with an armistice last November. But after talking to Blake, her brother, Kristin already understood that she’d come home to a different kind of war—a war between families—the Dollarhides and the Calders.
CHAPTER TWO
IN THE WHITE-PILLAREDCALDER MANSION KNOWN AS THEHOMESTEAD,the dining room table was big enough for a banquet. But tonight, there were just three places set at the end nearest the kitchen. Webb Calder, a vigorous man in his forties, sat at the head of the table. Chase, his eleven-year-old son, sat on his right. Logan Hunter, freshly bathed and shaved, sat on his left.
