Cowboy Cavalry

Chapter One

Kate took a seat at an outdoor waterfront table and settled back to wait. She was purposefully early, wanting time to catch her breath, to go over what she would say and how. Normal life as of late afforded few opportunities for introspection and as she closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, she realized she was a little rusty when it came to intrigue.

No matter. She may have grown up here in Seattle, but she’d spent the last eight years in Arizona and appreciated the rare May warmth currently caressing her skin. When was the last time she’d been free to just sit for a few moments without distraction? She couldn’t remember, and even now, the urge to get back prevented her from fully living in this moment.

Kate West? a male voice inquired and she opened her eyes with a start. She glanced up to find a man of about thirty staring down at her. Sun-streaked brown hair combed away from his forehead framed bluish gray eyes that echoed the water sparkling behind him.

Yes, I’m Kate, she said.

I knew it. His smile was dazzling as he offered his hand. Gary Dodge told me to look for a stunning blonde.

You must be Frank Hastings, she said, suppressing laughter and an eye roll. She was well aware she looked dog-tired, worn-out and frazzled.

Please, call me Frankie, he said as he released her fingers. May I sit down?

She nodded and watched as he took a seat across from her. She’d seen his picture so she’d known he was attractive, but the photograph hadn’t caught the energy pulsing through his body. It also hadn’t caught the lively curiosity behind his eyes. Her confidence in her ability to stay one step ahead of him took a nosedive as he returned her gaze with open appraisal.

She knew that along with his father and brothers he ran a huge ranch in Central Idaho. Assumedly, he had picked up the golden tan of his skin the honest way, by being outside but there was also something decidedly uncowboylike about him, too, and that was interesting.

He smiled again as though aware she was sizing him up. The whites of his eyes and teeth almost glowed in his face and she found herself comparing him to her ex. She looked down at her hands immediately. Thinking about an ex-boyfriend wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She warned herself to concentrate on her grandmother.

Is something wrong? he asked.

She ran fingers across her brow and shook her head. No.

Thank you for agreeing to meet me, he added as a waiter showed up. He ordered crab cakes and a salad, without glancing at the menu. She ordered iced tea and nothing else. I’ve heard about your...issue with our project, he added after the waiter left. I’m anxious to set your mind at ease.

Are you?

Yes, of course. Why do you say it like that?

It seems kind of hopeless, she said. Gary, your producer, has already tried to convince me how wrong I am. I’m afraid you drove all the way here from Idaho for nothing.

His eyes narrowed a hair. Just give me a chance, he said as her tea and a basket of bread appeared on their table.

Listen, she said, tearing off a hunk of sourdough, hoping it would settle her stomach. Darn nerves. I understand that my eleventh-hour objections to this movie—

Not a movie, he said. A documentary.

What’s the difference?

He shrugged. Pretty vast. A movie can be pure fiction or a takeoff on known facts. Either way, liberties are taken. A documentary sticks to the truth, not conjectures.

Truth as interpreted through a human lens, she said.

You mean the angle the director decides to emphasize?

Yes.

"That’s true, but this is all pretty cut-and-dried stuff. One hundred years ago, four men robbed the bank in what was once known as Green Ridge, Idaho. That’s a fact. Two days later, three of them were caught by a posse—Samuel and Earl Bates and a guy called William Adler. They were taken back to the big oak tree two miles outside town and hung. That’s a sad fact, but a fact nonetheless. The fourth man got away. It’s generally assumed he took all the gold with him.

The robbery more or less killed Green Ridge, though in all truth, the mine was close to playing out. A few years after the town emptied, a new generation of gold diggers found a small vein, but nothing more. All that remains now is a dead mine and a ghost town both of which are on our land, practically in our backyard. And the hanging tree, of course. Our historian has found two descendants of men who might be the elusive fourth man. I spoke to one of them last week and he said he had something pretty special to show me. It’s an exciting time.

She’d chewed on her chunk of bread while he spoke. It wasn’t helping her nerves at all. She already knew everything he’d told her and she was certain he knew what she was about to say, too. Gary Dodge would have told him. She said it anyway.

What you have to remember, she began, is that my great-great-great-grandfather Earl Bates and his brother, Samuel, were two of the men killed by that vigilante posse. It’s well-known they received no trial and there was no hard evidence against them. They may have been innocent—they certainly deserved better justice than hysterical murderers taking the law into their own hands. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to keep you guys from glorifying their killers.

We have no desire to glorify anyone or anything, Frankie said, and for the first time, his voice reflected irritation. She knew that both Frankie and Gary Dodge had worked on this project for over a year. It was important to them. Seeing Frankie’s less polished side made dealing with him both easier and more difficult for her: easier because his feelings were involved and who better than she knew how that could warp a person’s judgment? Harder, because she could feel his enthusiasm and that made him a little irresistible.

Maybe not, she protested, but it’s not too difficult to imagine that’s exactly what will happen. I’m the last of my family. For decades, Samuel and Earl have just been footnotes no one really cared about. Your project has the potential to change that.

And perhaps give meaning to their deaths, Frankie said suddenly as though he’d just thought of this angle. They were both silent as his meal was delivered. It looked delicious, but Kate didn’t think she could have eaten it even if she could afford to buy it.

Frankie ignored his plate. He sat forward. You’ve brought up some interesting facts. I’ll make sure they’re addressed.

Now you’re just being glib, she thought as she shook her head. No, she said. The truth is I have an appointment to meet with your backers very soon. If they don’t walk away, I’ll keep talking until somebody listens.

Frankie stared at her for a minute. It was obvious his mind was racing. She could almost picture him running along a hall, throwing open door after door, looking for the right response that would get her to change her mind. She’d expected this from him—she’d been warned that he was formidable when thwarted.

Okay, here’s the thing, Kate, he said at last. You’re young and smart and articulate and maybe worse, from our point of view, you’re very pretty. Social media will love you. You may not have a lot of legal ground to stand on when it comes to stopping us, but you could do damage with negative publicity. More than that, though, our backers are a cautious lot. They’re going to come to the same conclusions I have when they meet you and I’m afraid they’ll get cold feet. This matters too much to me to risk that. What can I do or say to change your mind?

Nothing, she insisted.

There has to be something.

No, she said. There doesn’t. I tried to warn you.

He took a breath. Please, can’t you just be reasonable?

You’re calling me unreasonable?

His jaw tightened. You’ve brought up interesting points, I admit that, but they can be dealt with fairly. We work with a dedicated researcher, a historian, who checks all our facts. We aren’t interested in rewriting history. Can you say the same?

She put down her fork. This guy was conceited or was that her guilty conscience making excuses for her own motivation? She picked up her tea glass and took a sip, giving herself a chance to calm down, check her watch and take a deep breath. I understand that making this documentary is important to you, she said. You grew up with this story, you live close to where it all happened—it’s intimate to you in a way it isn’t for me. This is all I can do to honor the memories of the men who died without the opportunity to defend themselves.

Believe it or not, I have empathy for the men who were hung. It was a gruesome way to die. Can’t you find it in your heart to trust me with their story?

I sense you mean well, she said carefully, but I don’t know what the rest of your family is like and according to Mr. Dodge, they play a big part in this thing.

He steepled his fingers and gazed at her. I have an idea, he said at last.

What is it?

Come to Idaho. Meet my father and brothers, and Grace, my stepmother. You’ll love her, everyone does.

Your father, she said slowly. What kind of man is he?

Frankie appeared surprised by her question. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked it.

A decent man, he said. A man who puts his family first.

Family first, she mumbled. Over everything?

What do you mean?

Over his land, for instance? Over money?

Frankie’s brow wrinkled. I’m sorry, Kate. I’m not sure what you’re getting at.

It doesn’t matter, she said, and straightened her shoulders, figuratively if not literally. How many brothers do you have?

Three. All older. He sat back. None of us have a secret agenda of any kind. We just want the past recorded in a fair and honest way. This story has always fascinated me. Come meet everyone. Come get to know the countryside where this happened, walk the dead streets of a once vibrant town, get a feel for the folks who lived and loved there, understand their struggles and that includes your own relatives. In other words, come back to Idaho with me.

Now? she said. Just like that?

Yes.

She stared at him. Would this be easier if he wasn’t so good-looking? Maybe.

As a matter of fact, he added, as though sweetening the deal, on my way home I’m stopping to meet with one of the descendants I told you about. You’re welcome to come along and meet him, too.

Why would I want to do that?

Just to get a feel for our approach. The man I’m talking to is the great-great-grandson of a guy named Matthew Dalton. Dalton was a lawyer in Green Ridge. He married a woman named Mary two days after the robbery and they left town the day after that. Accounts hint it was all very sudden. Maybe he was the fourth man, who knows? Hopefully we’ll learn something that can help us piece together the truth. Will you give me a chance, say a week or so to try to awaken a little curiosity in you?

I don’t know, she said softly.

If it’s your job—

I... I work at home, she said quickly. There are arrangements that would have to be made, of course, but it’s not that. My car is kind of on its last legs...

You can ride with me.

It’s not the getting there that worries me, she said. I just don’t know how comfortable I’d feel on your turf.

Well, you can leave whenever you want, of course. He shook his head and added, I didn’t even think. Is there someone you’d like to have come with you? A family member, a friend?

No, she said and quickly averted her gaze. Luke had once told her he could read her mind just by staring into her eyes.

When still she hesitated, he lowered his voice. Just so you know, one of my brothers is married and expecting a baby any second, another is getting married this summer and Pike’s girlfriend is due for a visit at the end of the week. She’s a private investigator in New York. In other words, there are lots of women around so if you’re worried about being stuck with a bunch of guys, don’t be.

I’m not worried about being with men, she said.

He flashed her a devil-may-care smile. Really? Now that’s...interesting.

In that moment, Luke’s memory pierced her heart like a poison dart. He’d had this same throw-caution-to-the-wind-and-say-whatever-he-was-thinking quality.

Sorry, I was just joking around, he added quickly. Thought I’d lighten things up.

I know. It’s okay.

Please say you’ll give my suggestion some thought.

She glanced at his uneaten food as her mind raced, then she glanced at her watch. She’d been away almost two hours!

If you’d rather travel on your own, he said, that’s fine, too. We’ll pay for you to rent a car or buy you a ticket. Just promise you’ll keep an open mind.

No matter what you think of me, I am capable of being fair, she said.

Good.

She nodded once. Okay, I’ll come. I’ll meet everyone and look around, all of that. But you and Mr. Dodge have to understand that none of it may change my mind and I expect both of you to respect that I have a right to my opinion.

I get it, he said. And I appreciate your honesty.

Under the circumstances, I’ll take the rented car.

Fine. If you trust me to do it for you, I’ll make the arrangements and have it delivered to your house later today. Let me jot down directions to our ranch, he added. Or give me your email address and I’ll send them to you.

That won’t be necessary. Let’s say we meet at the Hertz car rental place at the airport tomorrow morning at nine. I’ll follow you to your interview and then on to your ranch.

That sounds great, he said. And, Kate, thank you for giving us this chance.

Just remember that’s all it is, she said softly, meeting his gaze straight on, bracing herself for the intensity in his eyes. A chance.

Chapter Two

Frankie was almost positive there was more to Kate West than met the eye, although there was nothing at all wrong with what met the eye. Midtwenties, long spun-gold hair, forget-me-not blue eyes, skin like polished seashells.

But there was something else, too. How many times had she looked at her watch for instance? Gary hadn’t said a word about her being distracted when he met her. Did that mean she normally wasn’t or had Gary been too engrossed in preproduction dilemmas to notice?

She’d contacted Gary first. He’d immediately called their historian, Patrick Lowell, to make sure she was legitimate. Pat was a fuddy-duddy of a man, a former junior college teacher turned freelance researcher, hired by Gary for several projects through the years and thorough with dates and facts. He’d confirmed Kate’s claims. Gary called Frankie who left the ranch in Falls Bluff and drove all night to meet with Gary and Pat.

Pat had admitted he didn’t know much about Kate’s current situation, just that she’d once been a grammar schoolteacher in Arizona. He’d suggested Frankie invite her to the ranch so she could meet the family. Gary had seconded that idea. Obviously, they both thought Frankie’s family would be more successful at winning her over than Frankie would.

But Frankie had settled on lunch instead and he’d gone to the restaurant dead set against inviting her anywhere. Once she’d met everyone, then what? What in the world would he do with a stranger intent on causing him problems? It was a busy time of year and taking care of her would fall on his shoulders. He really didn’t like babysitting people. Left to his own devices, he would have invited her to do her best to convince the world the documentary didn’t deserve to be made and he’d do his best to prove her wrong by making sure it turned out so damn good, there could be no doubt.

But he wasn’t in this by himself; Gary was involved, too, and so when Kate unconsciously laid the groundwork for an invitation, he went ahead and made it. The truth was that getting to know her was not an unpleasant idea. Who didn’t like a little mystery in a woman? He was even a bit disappointed that she wanted to drive separately.

But first he wanted to know what she was hiding and that’s why he’d paid for lunch and left the restaurant before her, which wasn’t easy as she was obviously champing at the bit to be gone herself.

Why? Had she privately arranged to talk to the backers earlier than she’d claimed? Had she agreed to the ranch trip just to mislead him? He intended to find out, even if it meant he had to sneak around a little.

From the restaurant exit, he glanced back at their table to see the waiter boxing his untouched lunch. Waste not, want not, huh? Maybe she had a dog. He hurried to his car and had just ducked inside when she stepped onto the sidewalk. She turned a fair number of heads as she walked down the block, blond hair floating out behind her in the gentle breeze, skirt swirling around excellent legs, small white paper bag dangling from one hand.

Babysitting her wasn’t going to be that difficult, he admitted to himself. He just had to remember to treat her like a loaded keg of dynamite and not the living,