Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(48)

“You think Kirkpatrick did this?”

Rachel scowled. “Not him personally, but one of the hooligans he hired. They’re the ones who knocked down the fence last week, I’m sure of it. My guess is they waited until he went to ride back for the night, took potshots at him and knocked him off his horse.”

The idea of it twisted her stomach into knots. Shamus’s actions were escalating. It was one thing to pressure her into selling her land to repay her debt, but resorting to violence to intimidate her? Well, he could come after her all he wanted, but she wasn’t about to stand idly by and watch him hurt innocent bystanders in the process.

“Maybe best you talk to the sheriff,” Dr. Bolger suggested, but they both knew it would do no good. As much as Hunter wanted to help her, his hands were tied. He needed evidence, and that was the one thing Shamus was careful to never leave behind. “Stay in town tonight. You can check on Len in the morning. I don’t want to see you riding back home in the pitch black if Kirkpatrick has turned his mind to these kind of tactics.”

Rachel nodded. She was exhausted, and the idea of riding over rough road in the dark did not appeal to her. She’d get a room at the Pagget and try not to think about the added expense Shamus’s actions were causing her overextended purse strings.

“Thanks for everything, Dr. Bolger. I’m much obliged.” She stood on shaky legs, Caleb’s strong hand on her elbow a welcome relief. She leaned into his strength.

“Take care of her,” the doctor instructed Caleb as they turned toward the door. She didn’t hear his response, but his hand never wavered from her arm.

They walked to the hotel in silence. When they arrived, Cletus was at his usual spot behind the counter, half asleep. Caleb took care of procuring two rooms and within a few minutes they were on their way to the third floor.

“Maybe we should tell the truth,” she said, dropping her weary body onto the edge of the bed. Caleb had followed her inside, though his own room was across the hall. She hadn’t stopped him, glad for the company.

“Which truth would that be?”

She glanced over her shoulder to find him at the window. He’d pulled back the faded curtain and peered down into the street below. The sounds of raucous laughter filtered up from the saloons.

She pushed herself to her feet and turned to face him. “About the deed. We need to let people know. Or Shamus, at least. He had his men hurt Len to make me give up and sell him the land. Maybe if he knows I don’t own it he’ll back off. Give up.”

Caleb turned away from the window and met her gaze, his mouth pulled into a grim line. She wanted to trace his mouth, brush her fingertips over his lips until his expression softened. Her breath caught. No. She couldn’t be thinking like that. She curled her fingers into the palm of her hand and pressed them into her thigh.

“Men like Shamus Kirkpatrick don’t give up. They just find another way to get what they want.”

“Then what do I do?” Frustration roiled inside of her. “I can’t stand back and let him hurt my men!”

Caleb stood silhouetted against the window, the thin lamplight casting him in shadow. For a long, silent moment, he stared at her saying nothing. Finally, he spoke, and she was thankful for it. His intense scrutiny left her weak and made her long to rest her burden on his strong shoulders.

“If people discover you no longer own the Circle S, what do you think they’ll say, knowing you’re still living in the house with me there?”

His words hit with the force of a runaway horse.

“They’ll think I’m...we’re...” She swallowed and sat back on the bed, all the fight going out of her. “That I’m earning my room and board flat on my back.”

“That’s right.”

“We could tell them it isn’t like that. Set them straight,” she reasoned, but Caleb’s response only echoed what she already knew.

“You can’t set people straight. Once they put their minds to an assumption there’s no changing it.”

“They’ll think I’m no better than Mama,” she whispered. With the runaway feelings she was having for Caleb, maybe they’d be right. Maybe she really was no better than her mama.

He crossed the room and knelt down in front of her, his hand covering hers where it rested on her lap, large and capable against the faded calico of her skirt. The intimacy crossed the line of propriety, but she didn’t stop him. The warmth of his touch comforted her.

“We’ll keep up appearances,” Caleb said. “With Len hurt, no one will question you on hiring extra help. It will buy us some time until we can figure out what to do.”