often, about how handsome he was, and the sound of his voice, how it stirred her. Most vividly of all, she remembered the feel of his lips on hers. She would very much like to feel those lips again.
A soft sound caused Trella to rise on her elbows. She gave a start when her sister unexpectedly sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you all right, little one?”
“A stupid question,” Trella flared. Even at a time like this, Dolores treated her like an infant.
“I ask because I care. We need to talk.”
Trella rolled onto her back. Her sister’s face was a wreck, streaked by drying tears. Trella almost giggled at how silly Dolores looked. “What about?”
“We must be strong for Mother’s sake. She will take this hardest of all of us. You and I must tend to matters she normally would, until she is recovered enough to do them herself.”
“Such as?” Trella thought she had some idea, but she wanted to be sure.
“The cooking, the cleaning, the thousand and one things mother oversees. We must take charge of the servants, and not let them disturb her.”
“They’d better not,” Trella said.
“There will not be time to contact our relatives and friends south of the border and have them attend the funeral. It would take weeks for them to get here. We will be the only support mother has.”
“I know that,” Trella peevishly responded.
“You must keep Julio under rein. Have him control that temper of his, and not argue with mother so much.”
“Why me?”
“You have always been closest to him. He will listen to you where he will not listen to me or his older brothers. Talk to him. Make him promise not to do anything rash. We do not want more blood spilled.”
Trella disagreed. “We do if it is the blood of Father’s killer. I am with Julio in that.”
“Do you truly think the rest of us do not want whoever is responsible to be punished? But we must proceed with care. We must be sure before we act.” Dolores bit her lower lip, then said, “Father talked to me before he left. He told me how sad he was over Berto, but that he would not let himself be blinded by anger. He was going to the Circle T to uncover the facts, and he would only act once all the facts were known. We must do the same with his own death. We must not let anger sweep us away.”
“I suppose you are right.”
Dolores smiled and squeezed Trella’s arm. “We have not always gotten along, you and I. We scratch at each other, as sisters will do. But I love you, little one. I love all our brothers, too.”
“And I love you,” Trella said, although it bothered her that once again her sister had referred to her as “little.”
“It is our love that binds us. Our love that will see us through this.” Dolores stood. “I go to see if Mother needs me. Make yourself presentable, and instruct the cook to prepare a light meal. No one will have much of an appetite, but our brothers must be hungry after their long ride.”
“I will take care of it.”
Dolores whisked out. Trella slid her legs off the bed, and moved to the mirror. She recoiled at her reflection. She looked hideous, her face as much a mess as her sister’s. Quickly, she tidied herself, and was about to go to the kitchen when light tapping sounded on her windowpane.
Trella brightened like the sun. She dashed over and opened it, and did not resist when Hijino enfolded her in his strong arms.
“Have you missed me, my love?”
“Perhaps,” Trella said. Then, more sincerely, “If my brothers catch you, they will shoot you.”
“I will only stay a minute. I came to say I am here for you if you need me. You can depend on me for anything. Your slightest wish is mine to carry out.”
“I thank you for your concern.”
Hijino stroked her hair. “I am sorry about your father. It is most terrible.”
The lump returned to Trella’s throat.
“Whoever did it must pay with their life. I will kill them for you, sweet one. I will kill them gladly.”
Trella coughed, and whispered, “Can I see you tonight? After all the others have gone to bed?”
“Under the willow?”
“No. Here. My bedroom.”
Hijino’s smile was brighter than ever. “Need you ask? Have I not made it clear? I am yours to command. I will do anything for you, anything at all.” He tilted her face up to his. “You can always count on me.”
Chapter 15
“Dar Pierce is the best friend we ever had,” Nancy Tovey declared.
“No argument there,” Kent responded, and refilled his glass. When he thought about how close the two ranches had come to spilling blood, it scared him.
“Isn’t that your third Scotch?” Nance asked, with a hint of disapproval. “You’re being awfully generous to yourself.”
“It’s only my second.” Kent set her straight. “And for your information, I am celebrating. Our head was in the lion’s mouth today, and the lion didn’t bite.” He sank back into his easy chair and raised the glass in a toast. “To the DP and the Circle T. May they last a thousand years.”
“Oh, my,” Nancy said. “That will definitely be your last. When you start waxing poetic, I know you have had more than enough.”
Kent sighed and took a sip. When it came to liquor, he always bought the most expensive brands. He savored his indulgence, wishing he could do it every night. But Nance had her rules.
“Are you sober enough to focus?”
“Oh, please.” Kent disliked it when she nagged, and she nagged often. Little nags and big nags. He supposed there were middling nags, but the distinction was too fine to matter. Nagging was nagging and that was that, and as natural to women as breathing. The thought made him grin.
“What is so humorous?”
“Nothing, dear,” Kent said. “Please continue.” The subdued light from the parlor lamp cast her features in a softly romantic glow. Or maybe it was the Scotch.
“The question still remains. If Jack Demp did not murder poor Berto, then who did? And why? More to the point, why was a knife exactly like Demp’s found near Berto’s body?”
“I don’t have the answers,” Kent admitted. But another possibility occurred to him, one he had not considered until this moment. “What if,” he began, and had another sip, “what if someone is out to pit the two ranches against one another?”
“How’s that?”
“Put the pieces together. Demp’s knife disappears. Berto is killed by a knife exactly like it, with Demp’s initials carved into the grips. But Demp swears he didn’t carve his initials in his. Where does that lead us?”
Nancy had always been quick-witted. “Whoever killed Berto stole Demp’s knife and added the initials as extra insurance that the blame would fall on Demp’s shoulders.”
“So it appears.”
“Oh, my,” Nance said, her forehead furrowing. “That’s quite ominous, indeed. It means someone is out to destroy us.”
“Us and the Pierces, both,” Kent said. “They want us at each other’s throats.”
“To what end? And who could be so unspeakably vile?”
Kent lowered his glass to his knee, and absently ran a finger around the rim. “As to the purpose, I can only speculate. With us and the Pierces dead, the valley would be ripe for taking. As to who, your guess is as good as mine.”
“We have no enemies,” Nance noted. “And Dar is one of the most well-respected men in the territory.”
“That’s true,” Kent conceded. To one and all, Dar Pierce was the consummate cattleman. Everyone in San
