“You weren’t to know how he dislikes me,” she told her father bitterly. “Oh, I do wish we’d never left Louisiana! Richard will be home soon…”
“And you want to see him?” Mary said. She smiled and patted Trilby’s hand. “Well, he can come out to us for a visit. Would you like that? He can stay as long as he likes.”
“Do you mean it?” Trilby asked enthusiastically. “Truly?”
“Truly.” Mary laughed and hugged her daughter. “It will make a nice change to have young male company in the house.”
“Could he bring Sissy and Ben with him?” she asked, mentioning his sister and brother. “And perhaps his cousin Julie?”
“Certainly.”
“Justaminute.” Jack laughed. “How am I to feed these pilgrims?”
“We can butcher a steer, of course,” Mary replied. “And there are plenty of vegetables.”
“I give up. Go ahead, have him out.”
“You’re a dear, Father,” Trilby said, her harsh experience of the morning already forgotten in the joy of having her heart’s dearest wish granted. She would see Richard again! It was almost worth the anguish of the day.
Chapter Four
Trilby sent a letter to Richard’s sister, Sissy Bates, inviting the four of them out to the ranch. Then she went home with her father and went on with her everyday chores while the days passed and she waited impatiently for a reply.
Thorn Vance had been pushed firmly to the back of her mind. She no longer cared about his opinion, and her father had called on Curt and Lou Vance the day after Thorn’s insulting behavior toward his daughter.
He came home furious. He and Lou had exchanged harsh words until Curt came in and asked what the fuss was about. When Jack told the man what Thorn had said, Curt was appalled.
Although to Jack, Curt had looked frankly guilty, he had denied immediately any involvement whatsoever with Trilby. He apologized for his cousin Thorn’s suspicions and for any embarrassment Trilby might have suffered. He gave his wife a vicious tongue-lashing and promised to speak to his cousin and correct the undeserved blemish on Trilby’s name with anyone who might have been misled by the gossip. Jack left somewhat placated but still seething about the insult to his daughter’s good name. It was beyond him why a man like Thorn Vance should have so easily accepted Trilby’s guilt. Most men, himself included, had instincts about women. Trilby kept close to home and she was never blatant in her dress or speech. Of all the things he prized, his good name and that of his family was his greatest treasure. He hoped that the damage could be corrected. In Baton Rouge, no one who knew the Lang family would ever question the good name of his daughter or his wife. But here in Arizona, that was not the case.
Trilby had worried herself sick about public opinion. She wasn’t a coward, but Blackwater Springs was a small community. Doors closed when malicious gossip got around. She hated the gossip much more for her mother’s sake than for her own. She didn’t know how they could face their neighbors ever again.
They had to, however. Jack Lang insisted on taking his family to church the following Sunday. He set them down in a prominent pew, glancing around as if ready to do battle on his daughter’s behalf. Hiding at home, he told his family, was more or less tantamount to admitting guilt. Since Trilby had nothing to be guilty about, there was no reason not to let the neighbors see them holding their heads up.
It wasn’t until after the ceremony that two of the more socially prominent matrons came forward to pass the time of day with the Lang family. One of them mentioned that some malicious gossip about Trilby had been scotched by Curt Vance himself. They were certain that his wife had been instrumental in spreading it.
Trilby was somewhat placated. She noticed that Thorn Vance wasn’t among the worshipers. No, Mr. Vance didn’t come to church since his wife’s death, one of the women offered. Pity, too, she added, when his little girl could certainly use the benefit of the gospel.
Trilby murmured suitably. But she was relieved that Curt had apparently made an attempt to put an end to the nasty gossip. She only hoped it would stop. She was certain that she’d never forgive Thorn Vance as long as she lived for what he’d said and done to her.
Days went by without Thorn stopping by, and she actually began to relax and try to put the incident into perspective. Best of all, a cable arrived from Louisiana. Richard and his brother and sister and cousin would leave the following week for Blackwater Springs. Trilby let out a whoop that could be heard halfway down the block and danced a jig on the way back to the runabout.
“Good news, I assume?” Her father chuckled.
“Yes! Oh, Father, he’s coming, he’s actually coming!”
“It’s good to see you smile again, daughter,” he said gently. He pressed her hand warmly. “It will be worth the trouble to have you happy.”
“I can hardly wait!”
“I am not surprised.”
He drove her back home. There was a celebration that night for Trilby’s good fortune. Then, just as they began to prepare for bed, loud gunshots echoed through the desert, accompanied by the sound of bellowing, stampeding cattle.
Jack and Teddy rushed into their clothing and out onto the front porch. Old Mosby Torrance was already there, tall and stiff-necked, his watery blue eyes blazing out of a face like honed leather.
“Ten of them,” he panted, having run from the bunkhouse. “Vasquez and Moreno saw them. Mexicans, they think, after the cattle.”
“We’ll give chase,” Jack said coldly. “I’ll have Mary fetch some rations. Roust the men and I’ll break out some extra ammunition for the rifles.”
“No sooner said than done, boss. I’ll get my Winchester—”
“Oh, not you, Torrance,” Jack said abruptly, staring at him as if he thought the old Texas Ranger was off his bean. “No, you have to look after the women. You, too, Teddy,” he told his son, who looked shocked. “This isn’t a job for either of you. I’ll get my guns.”
Torrance looked violent. Teddy moved forward. “It’s okay, Mr. Torrance,” he said miserably. “I guess we’re both out of it.”
The old man swallowed. “Damnedest thing about getting old, boy,” he said huskily, “is that everybody thinks you’re no account anymore.”
“I think you’re magnificent, sir!”
Torrance felt the sting go out of Jack’s words as he looked down into the hero-worshiping face of the youngster. He had a son of his own somewhere. But his wife had died of pneumonia one winter while he was out chasing outlaws; he didn’t know where the boy had been sent. By the time he got home, it was all over and his only child had vanished without a trace. He’d searched, but to no avail. He looked at Teddy and hoped that his child was as sturdy and brave as this one.
“Can you shoot?” he asked Teddy.
“I sure can,” Teddy replied. He grimaced as he glanced after his father. “He doesn’t think so, though. Gosh, Mr. Torrance, nobody thinks we’re any good for a fight, do they?”
“I reckon not. Well, I’ll go get my gun anyway, in case they make a play for the house. You can help me keep watch outside.” He glared toward the hall. “I don’t guess he’ll mind that.”
“Not if we don’t tell him,” Teddy said, and grinned conspiratorially.
Torrance chuckled. Teddy really was one hell of a boy.
He went back