Mud Creek (32 page)

“When Albert wrote me last spring,” she said, “and asked me to marry him, I believed this would be the answer to my prayers.”

“Everybody thinks the same when they’re traveling in this direction. It’s the trip back the other way that’s difficult, once reality has taken its toll.”

“He and Walt tried so hard. It seems like such a waste.”

“They weren’t cut out for this life.”

It was a harsh indictment, but so very, very true.

“Neither was I,” Helen admitted. “I’m surprised I survived.”

He grinned. “I was watching over you. I wasn’t about to let you go under with the rest of them.”

“Lucky me,” she said.

He lifted her onto her horse, then he mounted his own.

“It’s a sad, sad day,” he mused as he settled into his saddle.

“A very sad day,” she agreed. “I can’t imagine how we’ll tell Carl and Robert.”

“They’ve suffered a ton of losses. I’m glad you’re here to guide them.”

“What will become of this place?”

“We have to check with the land office, but it’s probably yours now. We could remove the fence and make it part of my ranch. Or we could keep it for the boys, for when they’re older.”

“The house won’t last till then.”

“No, they’d have to start fresh.”

It wouldn’t be the worst thing. A new house, a new beginning, might bring success to the next person.

“Will I ever see my sister again?”

“I doubt it.”

“Should we…we…” She could barely ask the question. “Should we contact the sheriff?”

“To tell him what? There might have been a moneybox, but we have no idea if there was any cash in it. So we can’t claim they stole from him. And if the man pressed me for an opinion, I’d have to say Albert drowned. From how I found him in the creek, I couldn’t say anything else.”

“It doesn’t seem right to leave it like that.”

“I know.”

“It feels like something…
awful
happened to Albert, and Violet was responsible. I can feel it in my bones.”

“You can’t prove it, though,” he wisely said.

“No, I can’t prove it, but it doesn’t mean she’s innocent.”

“Never innocent. Not that girl.”

“Where do you suppose she is?”

“They’d have headed south to Denver. Or maybe east to Minneapolis. That Carstairs fellow would choose a big city. It would give him more room to slip away when he’s caught misbehaving.”

“I expect he and Violet will get along fine.”

“I expect they will, too.”

She stared out again, at the tumble-down cottage Albert had built for her. It was dreary and decrepit, but it had been her first home as an adult woman. She thought someday in the near future, she’d like to come back and put a torch to it.

“I’m sorry, Albert,” she offered to the biting wind. “Whatever she did to you, I’m sorry.”

“He was terribly petty. You shouldn’t assume he’d accept any apology from you.”

“No, he probably wouldn’t.” She peered over at him. “I don’t want to stay here another second. Let’s go.”

“I’m always happy to oblige you, Helen. You know that.”

They turned away, trotted to the road, and galloped down it.

Soon, they were riding down the hill to his place, his house a sturdy, welcoming sight. Mud Creek flowed by behind it, and she’d never be able to look at it again without remembering Albert and how he’d perished.

Had he been alone when he’d passed? Had he been frightened? Had he called out to the wind and the sky, but received no answer?

They reined in, as Mary hurried out the front door.

“I was getting worried about you,” she said. “I was about to send the boys out to search.”

“We had some trouble,” James told her, “so we were delayed.”

“I’m not surprised,” Mary responded. “What was it?”

James started to reply, but the twins tumbled out, squealing, “Helen, Helen! You’re home!”

“I’ll tell you later,” James murmured to his sister.

Mary asked Helen, “Were you wearing your amulet the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Mary nodded with satisfaction.

They dismounted as the boys came out, too. Carl was talking a mile a minute about a huge buck he’d seen down in the river bottom. Robert was talking over him, about a fish he’d almost caught, how it had bent his pole in half, then gotten away.

Helen watched all of them, and it was so odd that she’d ended up here, in this quiet, safe spot where she could finally be content.

They were her family, a group of misfits who had no one else in the world. Tragedy and sorrow had brought them together, but love and affection would bind them.

“I’m starving,” Carl groaned.

“I am, too,” Robert added.

Helen chuckled. “You always claim to be starving.”

“That’s because I always am!”

“What do you think, Mary?” Helen turned to the woman who would soon be her sister-in-law, who was already more of a sister than her own had ever been. “Do we have any food to feed these wild animals?”

“We have plenty,” Mary said. “Plenty to share.”

James took Helen’s hand in his and led everyone inside.

Violet heard someone pounding on the hotel room door.

She was lying on the bed, huddled under a blanket. The drapes were pulled, so it was very dark. She was in a miserable state, and the least bit of light made her head throb.

“Harry,” she called, “is that you?”

The pounding began again, so it wasn’t him.

He’d been gone for hours, having left to purchase dinner for her, but he hadn’t returned and she was extremely concerned.

They’d been traveling for two weeks, but her sudden bout of ill-health had waylaid them in a small town just south of Chicago.

As they’d first ridden away from the ranch, she’d been ecstatic and brimming with uncontrollable energy. Then, without warning, her mood had soured, and she’d fallen into a deep melancholy. She’d begged Harry to find them a place where she could rest until she was feeling better.

He’d been incredibly solicitous of her reduced condition, had worried and fussed over her as Helen always had in the past—before she’d met James Blaylock.

But where was Harry? What was taking so long?

Whoever was in the hall had a key and was fumbling with the lock.

“Who is it?” Violet asked. “What do you want?”

“Open up, Mrs. Carstairs,” a man insisted.

When they’d checked in, Harry had signed the register as Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs. They couldn’t have stayed unless they claimed to be husband and wife. They hadn’t thought to buy her a fake wedding ring, though, and she’d had to conceal her hand so the desk clerk wouldn’t notice.

“I’m unwell,” she advised. “Please stop by later.”

“I’m sorry, but I must speak with you now.”

The proprietor stomped in, and there was a policeman with him. He hovered in the doorway, while the proprietor walked around, yanking at the drapes to let the sun stream in.

Violet groaned and covered her eyes.

“I’m sick,” she wailed. “Must you open the curtains?”

“Yes, I must,” the proprietor snidely responded. “Where is your husband, ma’am?”

“He went to get me some dinner.”

“Five hours ago.”

“I expect him back any minute.”

“Really?” he sneered. He glanced over at the police officer. “She expects him
back
.”

They both snickered.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded.

“You two paid for one night when you checked in. You’ve been here three.”

“Is that all?” Violet snapped, exasperated. “My husband will deal with it when he returns.”

“Interesting you would say that,” the proprietor retorted. “Earlier, when he was leaving the hotel, I asked him to pay.”

“What was his reply?”

“He swore he’d handle it when he returned.”

“And he will,” Violet loyally declared.

“I don’t see how. I had the kitchen boy follow him. At four o’clock, he boarded the train to Chicago.”

Violet scowled. “You’re mistaken; you have to be. Your boy must have followed the wrong person.”

“We’re not wrong,” the officer interjected. “We know who your husband is and where he is: on the four o’clock train to Chicago.”

“Give me my money, Mrs. Carstairs,” the proprietor fumed.

“All right, all right,” she huffed. “Hold on.”

She pushed herself to her feet and trudged to her satchel that was on the chair in the corner.

Between Albert’s funds and the amount they’d received from selling their horses, they’d been flush with cash. They kept it hidden in the lining of her bag.

She stuck in her hand, certain to retrieve a wad of bills, but she didn’t feel anything. Unnerved, she groped around, dumped her clothes on the floor and inspected the pile. She examined the bag again, ripped out the lining, but the money wasn’t there!

Throughout her frantic search, the two men stoically observed.

“I can’t imagine what happened to my purse,” she haltingly told them.

“Can’t you?” the proprietor jeered.

“My money seems to have vanished. I have no idea where it could be.”

“It’s in your
husband’s
pocket. It’s on the way to Chicago.”

“No, no.” Vehemently, she shook her head in denial. “Harry wouldn’t run off without me. He wouldn’t leave me behind.”

As she uttered the words, the worst silence festered. It pressed down on her, making her limbs heavy, making her bones ache.

“He’s left you, miss,” the police officer stated. “He’s seduced you into complacency, then stolen all your money.”

“He wouldn’t deceive me,” she asserted. “We’re just alike, him and me. We’re a team! He always said so. We have big plans.”

“Well,
he
might have big plans,” the proprietor scoffed, “but it doesn’t appear that they include you. And don’t even try to pretend you were married.”

“We are!”

“For shame, you little hussy. This is a decent establishment that caters to decent people. You’re lucky I don’t take a whip to you.”

“Let’s go,” the officer said to Violet. He grabbed her arm and steered her toward the hall.

“But…but…” she stammered.

“We’re not set up to house a female in our jail,” the officer informed her, “so I won’t arrest you. But we don’t allow vagrancy. You’ll have to move on. Today.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“That, my dear, is not my problem.”

She peered over at her belongings. She’d chucked them on the floor when she’d emptied her satchel.

“What about my things? I need my things!”

“I get to keep it all,” the proprietor explained, “as damages for the trouble you caused.”

“If he can sell any of it,” the officer added, “the proceeds will help to defray your debt.”

“Those clothes are all I have in the world!” she cried.

“Then you’re definitely in a pickle, aren’t you?”

He marched her down the stairs, her arm tightly clutched in his fist. Though she struggled and dragged her feet, she couldn’t slow their forward progress.

A maid was standing by the front door. They approached her, and she yanked it open. The officer hurled Violet out onto the sidewalk.

“Head out of town at once,” he instructed, “and I’d better not catch you sneaking back.”

“I don’t have a penny to my name,” she murmured, “and Harry’s gone off without me.”

“Let this be a lesson to you. Next time, choose your companions a tad more carefully.”

The maid shut the door, and the officer watched Violet, his stern presence barring any attempt at reentry.

She stared and stared, holding his gaze, trying to intimate him into relenting, but he was much stronger than she was. He didn’t flinch from her scornful assessment.

Finally, she turned and staggered away.

CHERYL HOLT
is a
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of over thirty novels.

She’s also a lawyer and mom, and at age forty, with two babies at home, she started a new career as a commercial fiction writer. She’d hoped to be a suspense novelist, but couldn’t sell any of her manuscripts, so she ended up taking a detour into romance where she was stunned to discover that she has a knack for writing some of the world’s greatest love stories.

Her books have been released to wide acclaim, and she has won or been nominated for many national awards. She is particularly proud to have been named “Best Storyteller of the Year” by the trade magazine Romantic Times BOOK Reviews.

She lives and writes in Hollywood, California, and she loves to hear from fans. Visit her website at
www.cherylholt.com
.

MUD CREEK

MARRY ME

LOVE ME

KISS ME

SEDUCE ME

KNIGHT OF SEDUCTION

NICHOLAS

DREAMS OF DESIRE

TASTE OF TEMPTATION

PROMISE OF PLEASURE

LOVE’S PROMISE

LOVE’S PRICE

SLEEPING WITH THE DEVIL

DOUBLE FANTASY

FORBIDDEN FANTASY

SECRET FANTASY

TOO WICKED TO WED

TOO TEMPTING TO TOUCH

TOO HOT TO HANDLE

THE WEDDING NIGHT

FURTHER THAN PASSION

DEEPER THAN DESIRE

MORE THAN SEDUCTION

COMPLETE ABANDON

ABSOLUTE PLEASURE

TOTAL SURRENDER

LOVE LESSONS

MOUNTAIN DREAMS

MY TRUE LOVE

MY ONLY LOVE

MEG’S SECRET ADMIRER

WAY OF THE HEART

My great grandmother homesteaded in the Dakotas in 1904.

She and her twin sister grew up in a small town in upstate New York. They graduated from high school the year they were sixteen. That summer, they married two neighbor boys who were friends.

The local newspaper had been running an ad, announcing that the federal government had just released some of the last free land that would ever be made available for settlement under the Homestead Act. The ad pictured a plow in the dirt with a crop of dollar bills rolling out of the tilled furrows.

However, there was a reason this was some of the
last
land made available. The good land was all gone. The offered plots were in an area that was fairly unfit for human habitation. It was very arid, the ground rough and rocky and unsuitable to sustain either crops or cattle. The conditions were harsh, the weather brutal, the isolation extreme.