Carla Kelly (34 page)

He chuckled and rested his hand on her belly. “Losing your little waist? I can't say that bothers me.”

“Me, either. I've been keeping my food down.”

“Good news. No bad dreams?” He kissed her shoulder.

“Not one. All I did at night was wish that empty space beside me had your amorous carcass in it.”

“Believe me, I'd rather have been here.” His hand went to her hair. “We rode around McAtee's land at Raw-hide Buttes. It doesn't look prosperous at all, Julia. There's some serious neglect. I went to the courthouse in Lusk and looked at land deeds. Sure enough, McAtee and three other ranchers divided up those sections belonging to the Polish families.”

“How did they do that?”

Paul's expression turned sour. “They got a Denver lawyer, someone who knows just enough and not too much, and who wasn't too bothered by the process of the law.” Idly, he traced her scar from her neck to her waist. “I found out a lot more in the Silver Dollar, where Doc had two or three beers to cut the dust—can't deny I miss that now and then—and I drank a virtuous sarsaparilla followed by a water chaser, to everyone's amusement.”

“You're still my hero,” she whispered in his ear. “I'm sorry they laugh at you.”

“Never to my face. I'm Mr. Otto. Give me a kiss, sport.”

She did, happy to assuage whatever pain, real or imagined, he had suffered in the Silver Dollar.

“Anyway, there's always at least one broken-down cowpuncher in a bar in early afternoon, willing to chat for a beer and a bump. We found our man. He looked around the room and kept his voice low, because he had quite a story to tell.”

“About Mr. McAtee?” she asked.

“More than that. According to our cowpuncher, that whole thing went wrong. The deal was to just frighten away the Polacks. It's been done before: burn a haystack or two, trample a field of wheat, maybe harass the women when they come to town.”

“Then why…”

“I asked my new best friend that,” he told her. “I think he must have been there, because he had such a look in his eyes.” He shuddered.

She kissed his head. “Go to sleep now.”

With a sigh, he did, cradled in her arms until she slept too. When they woke up, he felt like talking again.

“According to the cowboy, the whole scheme just went wrong.” Paul sounded grim then. “He says he can still hear them screaming.”

Julia shivered and Paul tightened his grip on her arm.

“Sorry, sport. Apparently those four ranchers divided up the land the way they wanted, everyone getting an equal share. Here's the kicker: after that land—that blood land—was divided, the other three ranchers didn't want to have anything to do with McAtee.” He gave a snort of disgust. “I guess even greedy murderers have some sense of morality, strange as it seems. McAtee was ostracized, Julia, and my rummy old friend thinks it unhinged him.”

“That makes him really unpredictable,” she said.

“Quite so. McAtee was always a bit skittish; I remember that from earlier dealings with him. Now he's scarier. We'll have to be on our guard.”

When she woke up, morning had barely started. Eyes still closed, she put out her hand, but Paul wasn't there. She opened her eyes and sat up to see him seated in his chair. His scriptures were open in his lap, but he stared out the window.

“Is the ridge rider there?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral, even though prickles of fear ran down her back.

“No, no. It's something else.”

He hesitated. Julia reached for her nightgown and pulled it on, padding quietly to his chair, picking up his scriptures and sitting herself in his lap. He smiled and put his arms around her, resting his hands on her belly, over her hands. She looked down at the book, and it was the Doctrine and Covenants, open to Section 121.

“What's the matter?” She looked at the scriptures, noticing he had underlined part of verse 7:
thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment
. “What else happened in Lusk, my love?” she asked, resting herself against his chest.

“I've been expecting it. There was a letter from the Wyoming Stock Growers Association waiting for me in Gun Barrel.” He chuckled, but there was no humor in his voice.

She couldn't help her sudden intake of breath. “Oh, please don't tell me you've been dropped from the association because you're a Mormon.”

“I won't then. I think you remember that the annual meeting was in Laramie in June. I didn't go because it was Sunday and we were in church. Oh, Julia…” He made no attempt to disguise the hurt in his voice. “They took a vote to kick me off the association. Didn't give a reason, but we know, I think.”

“I'm so sorry, Paul,” she said, unable to help her tears, which she dabbed with his nightshirt. “You're paying a high price, aren't you?”

“One vote saved me. I'm still in, but just barely. Me, Paul Otto! It chaps my pride more than anything, I suppose, if I'm honest.” He looked down at her. “Maybe almost as much as having those blamed fools at the roundup mention Mattie Daw and Jennie Rogers to your face. Julia, you're the dearest part of my life, and I can't bear such humiliation for you. I think we're in for a long haul of trouble. The association schedules cattle shipments to Chicago. This could mean real trouble, if they ship me late.”

She shook her head and burrowed closer. “I wonder whose vote kept you in.”

“Who knows? I do know this: I won't be laying anyone off here, because I don't think I can count on even my neighbors to help out with my roundup next spring, once we're behind barbed wire exclusively.”

“You'll help them, though,” she said, pulling back to look him in the eye.

“I could never do any less.”

She cupped her hands around his face. “Mr. Otto, it's a rare privilege to be married to a man of character. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you, but I'm not complaining.”

“Somehow, I knew you wouldn't complain. What you see is what you get, Julia.”

She kissed him. “I like what I see.”

They sat together until the sun rose, Paul's chin on her head, her arms around him.

While she and Charlotte served cake and cold milk from their Jersey cow that afternoon, Paul gathered his hands together and told them about the Stock Growers vote.

“I want you to know, because we could find ourselves isolated here,” he said. The words came hard, and Julia's heart went out to him, a proud man considerably humbled now. “If you want to draw your pay and have nothing more to do with the Double Tipi, believe me, there are no hard feelings. With you or without you, we're still the best ranch in southeast Wyoming. I picked you all carefully, and I want you to stay, but it's your choice. I'll never interfere with your agency to choose.”

Julia sat beside him, her hand in his, so proud of her husband she could hardly breathe. She glanced at her ruby engagement ring.
You wanted me to have a choice,
she thought.
Just a choice
.

No one left, and they all went to work. With no monstrous range fire to fight this summer, there was time for the ranch. Her morning sickness became a thing of the past as she cooked, cleaned, and did her best to make life easy for her stockman, considering the burdens he bore.

“I'm fasting today,” he told her one morning while he dressed. “I'm not easy in my mind about any of this, and I know it always helps.”

“I'll fast too, then,” she said promptly. “I'll remind you I'm executive officer of this cowpunching corporation.”

“And I'll remind you that you're finally eating right again, and junior won't like it much if you skip some meals. Neither would Doc or I or the powers that be in Salt Lake City,” he said just as promptly.

“I forgot. You're right.”

She worried about him all day, knowing how hard he worked and how hot the sun was.
If I can't fast, I can pray
, she told herself after the noon meal, while Paul worked in his office and the others wondered what was going on.

“It's this,” she said, as the rest of them ate. “Mr. Otto is fasting. He's in a tough position, courtesy of the Stock Growers Association, and he wants to pray about it. We believe the Lord needs to see our commitment, if we ask Him for blessings.” Her face was red. She had never been one to share the details of her church, but they needed to know.

“Does it work?” Doc asked.

“Oh my stars, it does,” she said, her voice soft, thinking of her own fasting last summer, when she had so many questions and no answers in sight. “I think mainly fasting channels your mind, because you're not thinking about food. It brings you closer to the personage with the answers.”

“I'd be thinking more about food than ever,” Malloy joked. They laughed, Julia too.

“Matt, I'm sure many would agree with you,” she told him, passing the biscuits his way. “Have a biscuit! The Lord needs to know we're serious.” She put her hand to her warm face. “I'd fast with him, too, except ladies in delicate conditions are not allowed to.”

“Your doctor is glad to hear that,” Doc told her later as the men left for the range again. “Tell you what, though: your doctor can fast in your place.”

“You're so kind.” She took a deep breath. “Say a prayer for him.”

He nodded, even though there was an unsettled look in his eyes. “I haven't prayed in years. Not since my son died.”

She touched his sleeve. “Then this is a good time to start again. And say a prayer for yourself too. Thank you, Dr. McKeel.”

“You
will
remind me I'm a physician,” he said, his voice rueful now.

“I will remind you,” she answered. “We pray for you too, each night, and all the people of the Double Tipi.”

“I thought you did,” he said as he left the dining room.

Paul had little to say that night before they went to bed. After prayer, they lay there quietly together, his arms around her as usual. She drifted to sleep, fully aware that he was still awake, but unable to keep her eyes open. This was his time to think, and she added her silent prayers to his.

In the morning, they knelt together, and he prayed, asking not so much for the Lord to remove their obstacles, but for the strength to endure them. “We live here, Father,” he told the Lord, “and we're doing the best we can. We call down the powers of heaven on us here on the Double Tipi. You know our situation, and we know You love us. Above all, keep Julia and our baby safe, and help me to lead my family and my hands. If it's possible to soften the hearts of stubborn, proud men—men I know well because I'm stubborn and proud too—we'd think it a real favor. If not, help us endure what comes.”

He said amen, then stayed on his knees, eyes closed, resting his forehead on their bed. She kissed his cheek. “I love you, Paul,” she whispered.

Eyes closed, he was still there when she dressed quietly and hurried downstairs to begin breakfast. When he came downstairs and sat at the head of the table in the dining room, he had a thoughtful look on his face.

Breakfast was silent, as usual, the men looking at him with expressions she couldn't quite divine. The atmosphere wasn't uncomfortable. She took a deep breath as the impression struck her powerfully that the Lord was quite mindful of the Double Tipi. With a jolt that brought tears to her eyes—she would have to ask Doc if her overactive waterworks were somehow connected to the baby she carried—she understood quite clearly that the Double Tipi this year was worlds different from last year. It was a holy place now. The reality of that was so huge she could only take another deep breath and another until her mind settled.

“Well, gents, let's cowboy.”

He said it quietly, but everyone was listening. She looked at the dear faces around the table, most of them rough men with salty tongues and bad habits aplenty: Matt Malloy, who had been found in an alley, hungry; Doc, who had crawled into a liquor bottle and stayed there for years; Kringle, unemployable because of arthritis; Paul's Indian cousins, who other ranchers might not have hired, and certainly not at top-hand wages; Colby Wagner, who had defended her and lost his job.
We're so blessed
, she thought.

“Yes, go cowboy. I'll have a pie or two available for consumption at noon,” she said, getting up from the table and starting everyone in motion. “I'm trying a new recipe on you for supper, so keep up your courage.”

They laughed and trooped outside. Paul hugged her. “Walk with me, Darling.”

It was only as far as the porch, where he sat with her in the porch swing. “Funny. When I got up off my knees upstairs, I had the distinct impression that the Lord just wanted me to quit worrying and get to cowboying.”

“Good advice. Can you?” she asked.

“We'll see. I've always tackled problems head on, so that might be a new approach. Just turn it over to Him.” He nudged her shoulder. “Kind of like what you did in the cut bank.”

She gave him a little push. “There's a horse in the corral there with your name on it. Does the executive officer have to get tough with the president?”

“You're a fearsome thing.”

She smiled at him as he walked away, hoping, and then sighing with relief when he started to sing “Dear Evalina,” about halfway across the road. “‘My love for thee will never, never die,’” she whispered as she watched his jaunty walk and heard his jinglebobs.

Magnus came back mid-morning, looking around the corner of the house, wary and ready to bolt. She and Charlotte were sitting on the side porch, peeling the last of the winter apples for pie. Julia pointed her paring knife at the dog, and Charlotte shook her head.

“Magnus, as a watchdog, you're pretty useless,” Julia said. “I guess we'll have to depend on your general ugliness to frighten off road agents and malefactors. Oh, don't give me that hangdog look!”

“You're talking to a dog,” Charlotte teased as she finished peeling the last apple.

“I figure a dog that ugly must be smart, as compensation.” Julia held out her hand to Magnus, who sniffed it and started to wag his tail. He offered no objections when she petted him, even flopping down on the porch and showing his belly again. “You're hopeless, of course,” she said. “Just stay shy of Two Bits, and you'll have a long life on the Double Tipi.”