Betrayal (2 page)

Before long, strips of bacon sizzled in the skillet while Julia sliced and buttered bread that she’d baked the previous day. Next she fried half a dozen eggs in the bacon drippings. It wasn’t until she was moving the eggs from frying pan to plate that she heard the sound of chopping coming from outside. The stranger’s plate in her hands, she moved to the open door.

Hugh brought the ax down with force, splitting the wood in two, sending small chips flying. There was something satisfying about chopping firewood. He supposed it was because he could see the results of his labor as the stack of fresh-cut pieces grew.

“Mister. Your breakfast is growing cold.”

He turned toward the house. The woman stood on the porch, a plate in her right hand, the other hand on her hip. Behind her was the rifle she’d placed there as an obvious warning. He guessed that meant she was here alone. Was her man away or dead? Had to be one or the other. He couldn’t imagine she’d go unmarried in a land where women were always in the minority. Especially one this pretty.

Hugh put down the ax, leaning it against the tree stump that served as a chopping block. Then he strode toward her and the promised breakfast. As he drew closer and caught that first scent of bacon, his stomach growled.

The hint of a smile curved her mouth as she held the plate toward him. “You can eat out here on the porch.”

“I appreciate it, ma’am.”

“My name is Julia Grace.”

“Hugh Brennan, ma’am.” He took the plate from her hand. “I appreciate it, Mrs. Grace.”

She neither confirmed nor denied the existence of a Mr. Grace.

Hugh sank onto the top step of the porch and began to eat. He forced himself to take his time, to savor the food. She’d agreed to let him stay and work for her while his horse rested his bad leg, but she might still change her mind. He could be eating beans two or three times a day in the blink of an eye.

“Thanks for chopping the wood,” she said from the doorway. Before he could respond, soft footsteps told him she’d gone inside.

Hugh gave his full attention to the eggs, bacon, and buttered bread. Despite the watchful eyes of the dog who seemed to be guarding him, he enjoyed every bite, wiping up the crumbs and egg yolk from the tin plate with the last bit of bread before popping it into his mouth.

His hunger sated, he let his gaze sweep the barnyard and outbuildings. Nothing about the place said prosperity. A better description was sturdy and solid. The house and outbuildings had been made to withstand the harsh Rocky Mountain winters. Not that he knew anything about farms or ranches. Except for a brief spell in Nebraska, he’d spent his entire life in the city or in —

He broke off the thought. “ ‘Therefore,’ ” he whispered, “ ‘if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.’ ”

He looked toward the woodpile and decided to finish chopping the logs that were there. He would make certain Julia Grace had no reason to regret her charity. There was no law that said she had to feed a hungry stranger or give him a place to lay his head at night — unless one counted what it said about such things in the Bible. And it had been Hugh’s experience that even those who
gave credence to the Scriptures didn’t always do what it said in that regard. He’d slept on the hard ground and had an empty belly often enough to prove it.

Releasing a long breath, he set the plate on the stoop and got to his feet. The spaniel stood too.

“Relax.”

The dog gave a low growl.

Hugh raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “It’s all right, you mangy hound. I’m just after another drink of water.”

“You insult Bandit, Mr. Brennan. He’s never had mange.”

He turned toward the entrance to the house again. “Sorry. No insult intended. But I don’t think your dog likes me.”

“He has good reason to distrust men.”

There was something in the way she said the words, a particular inflection in her voice, that made him wonder if the same could be said of her.

She bent down to retrieve his plate. “Did you get enough to eat?”

“Yes’m, I did. Thanks.” He gestured with his thumb. “I thought I’d split the rest of that wood. Unless there’s something else you’d like me to do.”

“No. The wood’s fine.” She paused for a moment, then added, “You’ll find your quarters at the back of the barn. Let me know if there’s something you need that’s not there. It’s been awhile since I had a hired man on the place.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Mrs. Grace.”

She gave him an abrupt nod before turning and disappearing once again inside the house.

Experience had taught Hugh how to read most people, but Julia Grace was proving a bit harder to figure out than most. She had her guard up, and she was good at concealing her emotions.
Not that he could blame her. She had no reason to trust him farther than she could throw him — which wouldn’t be far at all, slight as she was.

With a shake of his head, he strode to the chopping block, picked up the ax, and set to work.

Despite questioning the wisdom of allowing Hugh Brennan to stay, Julia couldn’t help but be thankful for his help with the firewood. It was one of the few chores she truly detested. And she’d learned the hard way how important it was to chop as much firewood as possible while the weather was warm so there would be plenty to be had after winter set in.

Watching him through the window, she noted how easy he made the task look. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing strong biceps. He worked in an easy rhythm — set the log on the stump, step back, swing the ax back and around and down, pick up the split wood, set the pieces on the stack, grab another log, do it all over again.

He hadn’t asked for more than what she’d offered. Still, she wished she could pay him for his labor. Something more than food in his belly and a bunk in the barn. Unfortunately, she had no money to spare. Wouldn’t have any until she culled the herd later in the month, and even then the money she received from the sale would most likely be just enough to see her through the next year. That’s how it was for most ranchers. Only cattle barons — and there were few enough of them — had the luxury of plenty of cash in their pockets. Most of the rest lived hand-to-mouth.

Turning her back to the window, Julia wondered if Angus had ever worried he might lose Sage-hen after a harsh winter or when the price of beef on the hoof wasn’t as high as expected. Not that
her husband would have told her. He hadn’t thought the day-to-day operation of the ranch any of her business. And if he’d known he was going to die, he wouldn’t have left Sage-hen to his wife either.

The knowledge stung her heart, but not as much as it once had.

Hugh awakened with a start, heart hammering. Sometimes, the nightmares lingered, vivid and precise in every way. Other times all he remembered was being afraid but not knowing why. He could never decide if one kind was better than the other.

He tossed the blanket aside and rose from the bed, pulling on his shirt before he’d straightened to his full height. The room held a cot, a small table, and two wooden chairs, and wasn’t much larger than one of the stalls in the barn — or a prison cell. Three strides took him to the door. Not many more carried him outside.

Light from the full moon threw a blanket of white over the barnyard, chicken coop, corral, and house. Leaning a shoulder against the corner of the barn, he wondered again about the widow woman who’d given him shelter. She didn’t seem the type to live alone on a remote spread like this. There was a delicacy about her that seemed at odds with the rugged land where she lived. It made him want to know her story, which surprised him. Hugh rarely asked questions about others because it invited them to ask questions about him. Better to keep to himself.

He turned his back to the wall of the barn, leaned against it, and closed his eyes. Then he waited. Waited for the last dregs of the nightmare to fade away. Waited to forget the man he used to be. Waited for the fragile peace he’d found in a Savior to sweep over him, even though he didn’t fully understand that Savior yet. Waited.

He was good at waiting. It was a trait he’d learned in prison.
If he hadn’t learned it, the cramped space he’d lived in for so many years would have driven him mad.

The click of Bandit’s claws on the floor awakened Julia. The dog paced from the bedroom to the front door and back to the bedroom again.

“Do you need out, boy?”

Bandit whimpered his affirmation.

“All right.” She pushed aside the blanket and got up. “I’m coming.” Her way was illuminated by moonlight coming through the windows.

The instant the front door opened, Bandit shot through it, racing out to relieve himself. Julia started to close the door, but then she saw him — Hugh Brennan, his back against the barn, standing in the moonlight. Bandit saw him too, but the dog didn’t raise an alarm. He simply moved toward Hugh, alert but not concerned. Apparently the spaniel had accepted the newcomer. That was good to know. Julia had learned to put stock in Bandit’s opinion of people; he’d proven himself a good judge of character.

Where had Hugh been headed, she wondered, before he stopped at Sage-hen to ask for a drink of water and a respite for his horse? Where had he come from? She supposed it showed an alarming lack of curiosity — if not some more serious flaw in her character — that she wanted to know little other than his name. But why should she want to know more? He wouldn’t be here long. A few days of rest, and then he would move on. Whatever his previous destination had been, that’s where he would go, and she would never see him again.

Which was fine with her.

She continued to watch him, wondering what held his gaze.
Perhaps it was the moon. Or perhaps he watched the treetops as they swayed in the night breeze. Or perhaps his eyes had been closed this entire time.

But then Hugh noticed Bandit. The man pushed away from the barn and spoke softly to the dog, at the same time appearing to look toward the house. Could he see her? She didn’t think so. But he must have known she was there all the same. Squatting, he held out his hand. Bandit went closer but stayed just out of reach; the dog might have accepted the man’s presence, but they weren’t friends yet. As Julia had told Hugh earlier, Bandit had plenty of reasons to distrust men.

As did she.

An unpleasant memory from a night much like this one — moonlight flooding the barnyard, the air crisp but not cold — suddenly overtook her. She heard her husband’s angry voice and Bandit’s painful yelp, felt the thudding of her heart, steeled herself against whatever might come next.

“What a pitiful excuse for a woman you are.”

The words, echoing from the past, left a hollow sensation in their wake. Tears slipped from her eyes to track her cheeks, but she swept them away with her fingertips. She wanted to be done with tears. It was time to be done with the pain.

She left the door ajar for Bandit and returned to her bedroom where she crawled beneath the covers and lay staring at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come again, but she would lie there anyway and wait out the night.

Hugh had known she was there in the doorway, watching him, watching the dog. Her white nightgown had given her away, despite how she’d kept to the shadows of the house. Was she afraid of him?
Maybe, but she hadn’t let that stop her from helping him. It took courage to act despite one’s fears, and he’d learned to appreciate courage, when a person did what was right, no matter the opposition. Instinct told Hugh that Julia Grace had faced more than her fair share of opposition.

Julia Grace
.

The name seemed to fit her. Especially the last name. Grace. Simple elegance. Simple would describe the dark brown skirt and the light brown blouse she’d worn when he first saw her. Simple would describe the way she wore her honey-brown hair, captured neatly with a ribbon at the nape of her neck. And elegant would describe the arch of her brows above eyes of robin-egg blue and the delicacy of her pale, flawless skin.

Julia Grace
.

It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to give much notice to a female. Most women, leastwise the type he’d care to know, didn’t want anything to do with a man like him. Maybe that’s what she’d thought as she stood in the doorway awhile ago. That she didn’t want anything to do with him. That she wished she hadn’t given him a place to sleep. That she hoped he would pack up and move on.

Well, that’s what he wanted too. To be on his way just as soon as possible.

Hugh returned to the sleeping quarters inside the barn. He struck a match and lit the oil lamp, throwing a golden glow over the room, and sat on one of the chairs. No point getting back into the bed. He wouldn’t sleep. Might as well read. So he reached into the saddlebag hanging over the spindle of the other chair and withdrew the Bible from inside.

The book — the black leather cover worn, pages crinkled by time and use — had been given to Hugh by a preacher he’d met
at Dr. Cray’s when he went there to learn information about his sisters. At the time, he hadn’t thought it would mean much of anything to him. He wasn’t even sure why he’d kept it. But somewhere in Colorado, as he made his way west, that had changed. This Bible had become a lifeline, helping him discover who he was supposed to be, teaching him to look forward rather than back. Little by little, he’d learned there wasn’t much in life that was under his control, not even outside of prison walls. And so he’d tried — was still trying — to give control of his life to the One who’d saved him from himself.

He opened the Bible to a now favorite chapter, Romans 12:

And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God
.

Prove what was the perfect will of God. He hadn’t learned how to do that yet. It almost sounded easy here, the way the verse was written, but it wasn’t easy.

Was he supposed to try to find his sisters? And even if the answer was yes, what was he to do with his life afterward? Plenty of folks wouldn’t bother to give him work if they knew his past. Was he to keep it a secret, or was that the same as lying? How did he live out this new life with his renewed mind?