Willow: A Novel (No Series) (34 page)

15

The cattle reached the ranch just outside Virginia City on Monday morning, filling Gideon Marshall’s too-quiet world with noise and dust. Willow perched on the rail fence beside him, watching their approach, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Thunderation, Gideon,” she called, over the shouts of drovers and the bawling of beasts exhausted by the overland trip from Denver, “there must be ten thousand of them!”

Gideon laughed and braced his forearms against the top rail of the paddock fence. “Roughly six hundred, hellcat,” he corrected. “Remind me not to let you keep the books.”

Just then, the trail boss rode up. He was a lean man, his rough clothes coated with dust, and his hat looked
as though every one of those six hundred Herefords had stepped on it at one time or another. “Mr. Marshall?” he shouted, over the glorious din.

Gideon extended his hand, and the cowboy, thin and wiry and somehow mournful in countenance, bent from his saddle to shake it.

“Name’s Tyson Riggers,” the drover announced, and his coal-black handlebar mustache twitched.

At that point, Willow burst into the conversation. “Come on inside, Mr. Riggers, and have some coffee and pie. Bring your men, too.”

Riggers looked amused. “There’s twenty-four of them, ma’am,” he pointed out. “Might be better if they stayed outside.”

“Won’t you come in, at least?” Willow persisted, watching Tyson Riggers.

“I’d admire to, ma’am,” replied Riggers, tipping his hat. His gaze, brightly melancholy in a long, gaunt face, shifted to Gideon. “We lost twelve head to Injuns, Mr. Marshall,” he explained. “Considerin’ how far we came, that ain’t too bad.”

Gideon frowned. “Indians? Were any of your men hurt?”

“No, sir,” said Tyson, finally dismounting. “The Ute was real polite, all things considered. We gave ’em the dozen head of beef they asked for and they let us keep our hair.”

*   *   *

The men—Gideon and Mr. Tyson Riggers and Zachary—sat at the kitchen table, drinking fresh coffee and consuming
remarkable amounts of dried apple pie. Outside, the cattle bawled and the drovers shouted and the air roiled, thick with dust.

“You gonna fence your land, Mr. Marshall?” Tyson wanted to know.

Willow watched as Gideon shook his head resolutely. “The other ranchers like an open range, and I agree with them.”

“Got plenty of water?”

Now Gideon nodded. He was proud of the wide creek that ran through the center of his seven hundred acres.

“Drovers?” pressed Tyson Riggers, obviously a man of experience, familiar with the needs of cattle.

Gideon smiled. He was proud of the brand-new bunkhouse, too. He and Harry Simmons, the foreman he’d recently hired, and Zachary had built it with their own hands, suffering with patience Willow’s eager efforts to help. “I’ve hired a half dozen men so far,” he said.

Willow and Zachary exchanged glances. How, Willow wondered, could so few men handle so many cattle?

“Sounds like plenty for now,” remarked Mr. Riggers. “Guess getting them critters branded will be the first order of the day.”

Gideon’s triumphant grin took in both his brother and his wife. “The second,” he said politely. “I’ll get you your bank draft, Mr. Riggers.”

“I’ll fetch it!” Willow volunteered eagerly, wanting desperately to do more than serve pie and coffee.

Gideon seemed to sense her need to be part of the general excitement. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Willow felt no small measure of shame as she averted her eyes and hurried into the parlor, where Gideon’s brand-new desk sat facing the windows. He trusted her, was willing to share every part of his life with her. And he was never, never going to forgive her if he found out about the secret she was keeping.

The draft, signed only that morning and tucked under the paperweight—a simple creek stone that Gideon had fancied and brought back to the house—fluttered in Willow’s nervous hand as she took it up. Maybe if she told him the truth straight out, things would turn out all right. On the other hand, tender husband though Gideon was, there was a ruthless side to him, too.

Willow sighed and lifted her eyes to the dusty distance, neither seeing nor hearing the several hundred cattle and their shouting drovers. And what of her father? Devlin was wasting away with grief, despite his claims that the loss of Steven was getting easier to bear with every passing day.

“Willow?”

She started guiltily at Gideon’s gentle inquiry, unable, for the moment, to answer.

“Is something wrong?”

The lump in Willow’s throat permitted a hasty “No. I was just watching your cattle.”

Gideon stood behind her in the quiet, clean parlor, his hands resting on her shoulders. “The herd is yours, too, Willow,” he said.

Willow stifled the sob that rose, completely unexpected, into her throat, making the backs of her eyes and the inside of her nose burn. She loved this man so much
that she thought she’d surely die of it, and keeping a secret from him, however crucial, was hell on earth. “No,” she managed to say, “you bought them. This ranch, the cattle, everything is yours, Gideon. Not mine.”

He turned her to face him, caught an index finger under her drooping chin, and lifted it. “Do you think anything I own would matter to me if you weren’t there to share it, Willow?”

Tears smarted in her eyes. “Oh, Gideon,” she protested.

Gideon looked puzzled. “Are you all right?”

She knew that he had been watching her closely, wondering. Try though she had, she had not been able to comport herself as a bereaved person should. She was no actress.

“I’m fine,” she said, extending the bank draft. “Pay Mr. Riggers, Gideon. I-I think I’m going to go to town and see if Daphne’s father has arrived yet.”

“Willow . . .”

Willow bit her lower lip and prayed that he would not make her stay here and lie to him.

The prayer, for whatever the Lord’s reasons, was answered. Gideon gave her another questioning, ponderous look and took the bank draft from her hand. “You’ll be careful, won’t you? Those drovers have been on the trail for a while, and there’s no telling what kinds of people they might be.”

Willow found a smile somewhere inside herself and tacked it to her face, where it clung shakily, seeing her through the moment but doing not one thing more. “I
won’t go near the drovers, Gideon,” she promised. “And I’ll be home in time to fix your supper.”

For a moment, it seemed that he was going to say something else. In the end, however, Gideon simply gave his wife one more pensive look, shrugged, and returned to the kitchen.

Daphne’s father had definitely arrived; Willow heard him shouting even as she drew the buggy to a stop at Devlin Gallagher’s front gate and secured the reins.

Maria met her in the entryway, her dark eyes wide with excitement. “The señorita’s—Daphne’s—papa says he will shoot our Gideon!” she cried.

Willow squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Nonsense,” she scoffed, but she was furious all the same as she marched straight into her father’s study, shoving the heavy double doors open without pausing to knock.

Daphne’s father, Jack Roberts, turned out to be a tall man, like Devlin, and had probably been handsome in his youth. Now, however, he was exceedingly heavy, his hair was thin, and outrage mottled his otherwise pasty face, with its muttonchop whiskers bulging under each of his ears. Near the windows, Daphne almost cowered, looking as though she would like to bundle herself up in the draperies and never come out. Except, of course, for the purple blazes of defiance beginning to kindle in her eyes.

“Willow!” she cried, as if overjoyed to see her friend. “Willow, Papa says he’s going to take me back to San Francisco—and I
refuse
to go along!”

“We’ll see,” said Willow, with calm dispatch, unpinning her new and very fashionable hat and setting it carefully aside.

Mr. Roberts glowered at Willow, his large jowls quivering. “So you’re the one who started all this, spirited my Daphne’s intended away—”

“Papa!” Daphne cried in protest.

“It’s all right, Daphne,” Willow said evenly. “Mr. Roberts, the simple fact of the matter is that Daphne wishes to remain here in Virginia City with us.”

Tiny, purple-red veins seemed to sprout all over the man’s face. “I won’t have my daughter living in this place, with the family of a notorious outlaw!”

A fearful shadow moved in Daphne’s wide lilac eyes, and there were smudges beneath them. Willow almost thought that it would be better if her friend did return to California, once and for all. The secret obviously caused her even more distress than it did Willow.

“My brother is dead,” said Willow steadily. “Therefore, of course, he presents no danger to Daphne.”

“You were involved with that criminal?” thundered Jack Roberts, his eyes bulging.

Willow stared at the man. She’d been so sure he knew about Steven.

Don’t say anything, Daphne!
she thought frantically.

“Yes, Papa,” Daphne said, with spirit. “I
love
Steven Gallagher. I will
always
love him!”

“You love him?” echoed the rich and imposing man before her. “A wanted man? An outlaw? A
dead
outlaw?”

Daphne was trembling, keeping her eyes carefully
away from a meeting with Willow’s. “I will always love Steven,” she repeated.

“What about Gideon?” Jack Roberts asked, surprisingly calm. “I thought you came here to Montana to win him back?”

“You would have approved of that, wouldn’t you, Papa?” spouted Daphne, clearly out of sorts with her father. “I could have traveled a thousand miles and seduced another woman’s husband and that would have been all right with you because it would have fattened your purse! You and Gideon could still control the Central Pacific Railroad, just like you planned.”

For one awful moment, it seemed as though Jack Roberts was about to collapse. When that frightening moment passed, Willow scurried to the side table and poured a generous portion of brandy, which she held out to Daphne’s furious father.

He scowled at her, then took the snifter and downed a great gulp. Somewhat recovered, he lamented quietly, “Together, Gideon and I would have controlled most of the railways west of the Mississippi.”

There was a silence, a thunderous one, soon broken by Daphne. “I didn’t love Gideon, Papa, and he didn’t love me. Like you, he wanted to control the railroad. I was incidental to the plan. Furthermore, I think both of you were despicable, planning such a thing, using me!”

“Daphne,” her father began awkwardly, looking somewhat contrite but still determined.

“No!” she broke in. “I won’t go back to San Francisco
with you, like the dutiful daughter—like, like some
child
. I have to stay here with—”

Willow’s blood froze and she cleared her throat loudly.

“With Willow,” said Daphne.

“Why?” cried Jack Roberts. “This woman spoiled everything—she ruined your life.”

“If saving me from a loveless marriage can be called ruining my life, I suppose she did. Willow is my dearest friend and I will not leave her.”

The travel-weary, overwrought man drew a deep breath. “We’ll talk about all of this tomorrow, Daphne. And I’ll try to be more rational, though I can’t promise I’ll succeed.”

After casting one look of mingled question and warning at Daphne, Willow discerned that it would be a good time to leave father and daughter alone and promptly did so. Feeling uneasy, she went to the flower garden and picked an armful of fading zinnias to carry across the street to the churchyard.

*   *   *

Vancel Tudd stayed well out of sight, watching Judge Gallagher’s daughter approach the graves of Coy and Reilly Forbes. They were only half brothers to her, he reflected, and since she’d been raised mostly in Devlin’s house, she probably hadn’t known them all that well.

The sun was hot and high that day, and Vancel took out his handkerchief, then mopped his forehead and the back of his neck. Soon as the reward money came through, he’d strike out for Mexico. Even though it would be even
hotter there, there would be plenty of cold drinks and pretty señoritas to offer comfort. Maybe he’d find himself a nice little town by the ocean and buy himself a real nice hacienda and live like some sort of a
patrón
.