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“Just trying to track down a missing steer. White face. Triple C brand.” Logan swung back into the saddle. “If it shows up here, have your husband bring it back to my place.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.” She looked uneasy—she’d have to know the truth. But none of this was the poor woman’s fault.
“I’ll bid you good day and leave you in peace, Mrs. O’Rourke.” He turned the horse back toward the trail. “Thank you for your time.”
He headed out, knowing better than to look back. This time, the hungry family could have the beef. But he wasn’t about to lose another steer, or anything else, to thievery.
Firing Angus would only worsen the situation. For now, he would keep him on. But he would watch the shifty little Irishman like a hawk. He would also need to keep an eye on the livestock at night, especially once he began shipping horses in. It might be a good idea to get a dog or two. He liked dogs. They were good protection and good company. He would think on it.
All in all, he had plenty of distractions to keep his mind off Kristin. But no concern was pressing enough to end his frustration with their waiting game. He wanted her—and he wanted the freedom to let the world know she was his. If she didn’t end things with Webb soon, he would take matters into his own hands. He would go to Webb and tell him the truth—consequences be damned.
* * *
Every day Joseph had checked the roadside fence for the black ribbon that signaled plans for another shipment. He was getting anxious. Not because of the money—the forty dollars he’d earned, a princely sum for a boy, was stashed between the pages ofTreasure Island,which he kept on the shelf above his bed. The worry was that the man who’d cast a magic spell over his life—his dashing father—might somehow be finished with him.
Last night he’d stolen out of the house, met his friends, and spent a couple of hours roaming the countryside. But the fun had gone out of their nighttime adventures. Now it was all about waiting for the signal that had yet to come.
He’d made it home without waking his parents, but this morning he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was sleep. But his dad—so called to distinguish Blake from hisrealfather—would have none of it. He was shaking Joseph awake at first light.
“Come on, son. We’ve got a fence down and cows getting out in the lower pasture. I need you to help.”
“Not now . . .” Joseph muttered into his pillow. “Lemme sleep.”
“No, you don’t.” Blake jerked the covers off the bed, exposing Joseph to the morning chill. “I’ve let you get away with running loose all summer. You’ve barely done a lick of work, and you’ve grumbled anytime you were asked to help. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but it stops now. Get up, get dressed, and meet me outside the stable in ten minutes. Your horse will be saddled and waiting.”
Joseph sat up. “What about breakfast?”
“Not until we’ve rounded up the cows and fixed the fence. Someday, God willing, you’ll be running this ranch. It’s time you started learning what it’s all about.”
You’re not my real father!Joseph knew better than to say the words out loud. For all his dad knew, one day he could be running the Hollister Ranch as well as this one. He’d be rich, maybe even richer than the Calders.
“Get a move-on. I’ll see you downstairs.” Blake strode out of the room. As the sound of his boots faded down the hall, Joseph hauled himself out of bed and pulled on the clothes he’d piled on the floor barely three hours ago. What would his dad do if he found out he was not only in touch with Mason but working for him? That would be the end of everything.
But never mind. A new day had started; and maybe by the end of it, he would see that black ribbon tied to the fence.
* * *
Kristin buttoned her white coat, surveyed her immaculate surgery, and prepared herself to face a full day’s schedule of appointments. For now, she would put aside her suspicions about Mason and Joseph. She would forget Webb’s displeasure when he’d shown up at the July Fourth dance to find her gone. And she would steel herself against the yearning to spend more time with Logan. Today she was a doctor. And her patients deserved the best care she could give them.
Through the closed door, she could hear Gerda talking to a woman with a crying baby. That would be the first appointment of the day—Mrs. Corcoran and Rupert, her colicky infant son.
Scheduling her busy practice had been a challenge. Kristin had finally resorted to posting a clipboard with a list on her front door, where patients could sign up for a time. The arrangement was helpful but far from perfect, especially in emergency cases. She could only hope the rumor was true that Blue Moon would soon have home telephone service. She would be first in line to sign up for it.
At least Gerda was doing a good job. The incident at the dance had upset her, but she’d recovered enough to be back at work the following Monday. Kristin was coming to depend on her more and more. When it came to record keeping, scheduling, and billing, she was a jewel. And she had a way of making the patients feel welcome and comfortable.
Now Gerda ushered the young mother and her squalling son into the surgery. The traditional remedy for colic was opium, but Kristin had reservations about the drug. After determining that nothing else was wrong with the baby, she prescribed warm baths, warm blankets, and back rubs. “If that doesn’t calm him, let me know.”
“I could use some calming myself.” The mother managed a frayed smile.
“Then you might want to try the same thing.” Kristin ushered her to the surgery door, closed it behind her, and waited for Gerda to show in the next patient.
No one came in.
After waiting a moment, Kristin opened the door and stepped into the front room. Her next patient, an elderly man with a history of heart problems, was waiting on the settee. There was no sign of Gerda.
“She ran back down the hall,” the old man said. “Seemed in a bit of a hurry.”
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” Kristin walked down the hall. Through the closed bathroom door, she could hear the sound of retching.
