Page 11 of The Outlaw and the Heir

Joseph raised his head as I stood, and I knew from the way his gaze burrowed into my skull that he wasachingto continue our argument. But he also knew Dad was waiting right outside in the hallway for me to join him, and furious temper or not, he wasn't going to risk showing it. Either he would wait until another time, or he’d find another way to get back at me for my part in the argument...and the not-so-hidden chastisement from our father.

I pushed that from my mind. There was no point in worrying about what my brother would do. He would retaliate, or he wouldn't, and it wasn't worth worrying because, in the end, if my brother did get his revenge, it would be a problem for me rather than life-altering. No matter how much he hated me or how little our father thought of me, I was still blood.

Our family believed in three things, and the importance of blood was one of them. No matter how furious Joseph got, I would let it roll off my shoulders. The next was loyalty, which had been drilled into us. I had to believe my brother had learned the same lessons and would merely throw words at me. The last thing, and the one my brother knew least about, didn’t really apply here—hard work. I could, at least, claim to make up for his deficit and wasn’t shy about pointing that out.

My father was waiting at the end of the hall, standing so he could stare out the window with a thoughtful expression. He didn't hear my approach, and as I got closer, his face screwed up, and his hand flew to his shirt. A moment later, he gave a heavy cough that sounded like it came from the depths of his chest and shoved a handkerchief to his mouth to hold back the spittle. I paused as I watched his shoulders tense and shudder as his back shook with each hacking breath.

The coughing eventually eased, and he took a deep breath that sounded a little too ragged and shaky. I couldn't see the handkerchief, but I could see the way he stared at it for a moment before tucking it back in his shirt. I wasn't sure what to do, and the instinct to back away and make my approach more obvious shot through me as I stepped backward.

The floor beneath my foot creaked, and I winced as my father turned sharply, his brow stitching together when he saw me standing there. I did my best to make sure my face was, if not blank, then at least absent of anything that might give away that I’d witnessed a private moment. Whether I succeeded or not was a mystery as his face slid back to its normal cool, almost blank expression, and he cleared his throat.

"You two done feudin' like little kids?" he asked in his normal gruff way, voice absent of any rasping or weakness that would have heralded something seriously wrong with him. I knew he'd had a couple of doctors come to see him, but honestly, with his life and at his age, that wasn't all that strange. Getting a bad cough out here, what with all the dirt, dust, and grime, wasn't strange either. It was probably better not to think too hard about what might be going on with my dad. He would tell us if it was important.

I bit back a far more scathing reply that involved Joseph's consistently bad attitude, his out-of-control temper, and how blind he could be to things that could help us and left it at "Yes, sir" instead. His eyes lingered on me briefly before drifting back toward the window. The men’s mid-afternoon break was ending from the growing sounds of voices outside, and I spared a thought for the three new ranch additions as of yesterday.

Not one of them struck me as dependable, responsible, or even likable. The only one who seemed to have any sense was the one who seemed so out of it on the way back to the ranch that I was amazed he could string a sentence together. The onehe'd calmed down carried his foul temper with him as he kept his horse at a placid pace on the trip back. Those two seemed to know one another, and while camaraderie was all well and good, it could be a problem if they chose to start trouble.

And the third...I didn't like him, not one bit. I'd seen his type a time or two over the two and a half decades I'd been alive. The sort where a smile came way too easily, who were just a little too charming to trust, and who were always hiding things. It was obvious, to me at least, that he was an educated man from how he'd spoken and that he wasn't from around here since his accent stuck out. The real problem was figuring out if he was the slick type who was as smart as he made himself out to be or just another damned fool who would outsmart himself eventually.

Ireallyhoped it was the second because the first could prove trouble, which my father knew. He wasn't the sort to make a decision out of impulse or desperation. He'd always told me that a man who made decisions out of desperation would find himself in even more desperate straits. Real decisions were made with a clear head and a firm heart. That way, you weren't likely to regret them.

Then again, maybe he didn't mind if other people regretted his decisions.

"Good," he grunted after a moment. "We have enough problems around here without the two of you at each other's throats. You two need to figure out a way to work together. I'm not always going to be here to make you behave. And it shouldn't be up to your sister to keep the peace."

"No, sir," I agreed. It felt childish to point out that I wasn't the one who usually picked fights with my brother. There had been numerous times I had let his barbs and spiteful comments pass without so much as a twitch despite wishing I could plant my fist into his smug face. But my father wasn't one to worryabout other people's feelings and internal struggles; he wanted to see results and didn't care about the process of getting there.

He nodded. “Now, we need to talk about our three new workers."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think of them?"

"Sir?" I wondered why my opinion was being asked after when it was generally my role to nod and go along with whatever was happening.

"The idea didn't seem to sit too comfortably with you," he noted, which wasn't an astute observation. "Especially the talkative one."

"He's too slick," I said, hoping that sounded reasonable rather than petulant. "Runs his mouth too much. Probably only providence that's kept him alive this long, though I don't know why the Lord would see fit to protect someone like him."

"The Lord helps those who help themselves."

"Sir?"

He turned to eye me. “I know the Lord gave you a good enough brain to work through things. Think about it. You just said it don't make sense that the Lord would protect someone like him, someone whose mouth should have got them killed a long time ago?—"

His voice trailed off, and he continued to watch me before turning back toward the window, leaving me to figure out the puzzle. The problem was that most of my problem-solving wasn't done actively. What I’d said to my brother had bubbled up from the depths of my mind rather than from any active thinking.

Lizzie had once said my brain was quiet. At the time, I was only a kid and thought she was calling me stupid. It wasn't until much later that the conversation came back to me, and I realized she had meant I wasn't the sort to sit and poke constantly at aproblem. I was more content to let things lie where they were and wait until the answer or solution came. That was one way to make myself seem stupid without actually being stupid.

Still, I could actively think through a problem if needed, and it seemed like my father was intent on making me try. At the moment, I could only see the third man's smirk as he made light of everything from his ugly past to his messy situation and even the offer my father had given them. Even the damned horse had been taken in by his charms when he should have been as belligerent and sometimes mean-spirited as he usually was with people he didn't know.

"He sounds pretty smart," I admitted, though it pained me to admit there was anything remotely positive about him.

Dad grunted. “Speaks like he's read a book or two, that's true. But since when have books and real smarts gone hand in hand? I'm sure you haven't forgotten that friend of Elizabeth's from a couple of years ago."

The reminder of the bespectacled man who’d shown up from somewhere far east of here brought a small laugh that I quickly stifled. I suspected my overly eager sister had oversold the wonders of the ranch and undersold the difficulty of living out here in letters to the man. The whole back-and-forth letter sending started with an idea from our governess, who’d always tried to encourage 'cultural expansion,' as she put it. Elizabeth had been the only one to take to the idea. Joseph had sneered at it because the thought of dealing with 'soft men' was abhorrent apparently, and I, well, it hadn't sounded like something for me. I wasn't cultured, and I doubted anyone would gain anything worthwhile from talking to me, especially in a letter.

I remembered his name was Howard, and the original agreement had been for him to stay with us for a few months. Eventually, Elizabeth would have the chance to stay with him and his family for a couple of months. He hadn't lasted a month.Howard left, proclaiming that the ranch was cursed and out to get him. While not true, it had certainly looked that way, considering every animal seemed to hate him. We'd had more dust storms when he'd been around, and honestly, the furniture kept breaking, especially when he was using it.

---