Jessica Nelson - Love on the Range

Blood.

The ground shifted below her. Trevor’s muscles flexed beneath her fingers as her knees lost their strength. He hauled her up and his fingers dug into her shoulders. “What’s the matter with you?” His eyes, so very dark in the morning light, searched hers.

“My pardon. The sight of blood—” she gulped “—makes me faint.”

Trevor released her and ran his hand across his chin. “You’re saying you can’t handle blood?”

Gracie knew her face must be crimson. She looked away. It was a most embarrassing disorder. “Again, my apologies.” She searched for a new topic and blurted out the first thought that came to her. “Your arms feel as though they’re hewn from rock.”

“I have reasons to stay strong.” He smirked. It transformed his face from rugged granite to soft strength.

Her heart fell faster than she could catch it.

She cleared her throat. “I suppose ranching does require strength.” She had to be mindful of her goal to find Striker for an exclusive interview. She should pick Trevor’s brain. Anything to calm her racing pulse. “Some say Striker frequents this area.”

“On to another subject now, huh?”

“Well?” They picked their way across the ground, Gracie careful to keep a respectable distance from her attractive companion.

“Who says these things?”

“The papers, people who’ve claimed to see him.”

He quirked a brow. “That so?”

“I have reason to believe he lives close by.” She studied him for a moment. “You don’t know the man, do you?” He kept walking and she shrugged. “Of course not. You do exude a dangerous edge but I don’t think you have the wild spirit to hobnob with government agents. Don’t get me wrong,” she added when he shot her a disgruntled look. “I’m sure you could handle any situation, but it’s obvious you’re a bit on the stodgy side. Besides, Striker is rumored to be an older man.”

Trevor stopped and she almost stumbled into him. He planted his hands low on his hips, looked up at the sky and groaned. His hat hung down his back. “I’m stodgy? Miss Explorer can’t find adventure in a wilderness.”

“Well, Mr. Cruz. I certainly did not mean it as an insult.”

“I know what you meant, Miss Riley.”

“Oh, look, we’re almost to the house.” Gracie pointed out the obvious and quickened her pace.

“Slow down, woman. Just meant you got a little bit of snobbishness about you.”

Snobbishness, indeed. She twisted around and eyed him. “That may be. At the moment, I do not care to debate it.”

“Ya got your skirts all twisted in a knot, don’t you, Gracie? Bet your mama wrinkles her face that way when she gets her dander up.”

Gracie didn’t remark on his outrageous words, or his sarcastic, exaggerated accent. She had one question, then she’d head up the porch steps and escape the rude man. “Do you always carry a weapon?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a reason?”

“Seems obvious enough to me. This is dangerous territory, home to more than one kind of snake.” His eyes turned serious. “Don’t go wandering by yourself, Gracie.”

“If you are referring to Mendez, Striker will take care of him. In the meantime, I’ll speak with Uncle Lou about looking around.” She used a polite but distant voice to cover her annoyance. “Thank you for walking me back.”

They parted, but once Gracie was in the warm house she rushed to the front window of the study and watched Trevor leave.

* * *

Later that day, Gracie visited Uncle Lou in his office. He had a smooth voice and smelled of sandalwood. He gave her an earful of stories about his life and local gossip but he didn’t mention Striker. As he spoke, Gracie pondered the rift between him and her parents. He seemed charming, successful, everything her parents admired. But even with all his blessings he despised the mention of God. That made her curious, too. She didn’t ask him about it because she didn’t want to be pushy.

She exercised restraint once in a while.

Eventually Uncle Lou had to leave, but not before giving her permission to use his stationery and pens. On his way out, he flicked an envelope her way, and she squealed when she recognized Connie’s tight handwriting on the front. She’d force herself to write a quick note home first, then read Connie’s letter.

If only she had a telephone, but she’d been told this area of Harney County was too distant for telephone wires. Somehow she’d get to Burns. Even if she had to walk. The coordinates she’d been given were only a guess. Connie was supposed to verify them and send more—perhaps in this letter…

Gracie finished writing home, making sure to inform her parents once again that she wouldn’t be marrying Hugh.

She left the envelopes on Uncle Lou’s desk, and then went into the hallway. A scarred oak bench sat against the wall. She sank down on its padded floral seat and ripped the letter open. Connie’s dark, bold letters jumped out. Gracie smiled and read with haste.

Dearest Gracie,

It is incredibly boring here without you. Elizabeth and Laura do not have your sense of adventure. I am writing this the day after you have left. You see, I am already resorting to letter writing to keep myself from yawning.

My dearest friend, please come home soon. I am staying indoors for the most part, as rumors of the influenza are increasing. I have heard that Anne Holbrook has it. Pray for her.

I am planning a huge party for my twenty-fifth birthday. You’ll be back by spring, no doubt.

I should have come with you to Oregon. I suppose you are having grand adventures while I am trapped in the rigid society of the Bostonians.

Not so rigid anymore, perhaps. I have bought another set of trousers. I love them, Gracie. I am convinced they are here to stay.

I love you, dearest friend. Have a wonderful experience, and I shall see you soon.

Love Always,

Connie

P.S. It is rumored Striker has gone west. Oregon or California. The ladies are all atwitter about your idea for an article. It is high time you were paid for your writing. Cousin Jane couldn’t find the coordinates she promised you. She fears they’ve been lost for good. Beware Mendez. Sources claim he’s been seen in Oregon for what could only be nefarious purposes.

Gracie lowered the letter. No coordinates? Nothing?

Footsteps sounded in the next room. Tall and lean, Trevor strode into the hall, glowering. “Is Lou in?”

“He left to go somewhere with James about an hour ago.” She stood, the letter still clutched in her grasp, and forced a smile even though her insides had sunk to her feet.

Trevor glanced at her hands. “A letter already?”

“Oh, yes, from my dearest friend, Connie. She sent it the day after I left. I suppose it came rather fast.”

“How are things back home?” He’d stopped in the middle of the hall. His hands pushed through his hair in an agitated motion—eyes distant.

“She says rumors of influenza are increasing and one of our acquaintances has caught it. Other than that, she is wondering if I have had any adventures. She longs to meet Striker, as do I.” Disheartened and a bit wary of Trevor’s mood, she rambled on. “Unfortunately, adventures in the desert are unlikely. Do you ever wish to live in the city? Somewhere exciting?”

Trevor’s eyes snapped into focus. She wished she’d bothered to straighten herself after lunch. She squared her shoulders.

“The country is just as exciting,” he said flatly.

“Perhaps I need to explore a bit more.” At least in Burns, where someone must know something of Striker. “It is dreadfully boring here, is it not, Mr. Cruz?”

Trevor frowned. She thought it boring? For a moment Gracie sounded just like Eunice and Julia. The comparison to the women he despised made his chest clench up. The fact he’d begun to like Gracie only made things worse.