“Understand that there were other things going on then, too, between the cattlemen and Prendergast. Land rights and water rights are vital here, and a balance is needed so that all can coexist in harmony. A full-scale range war was developing until Steve took over. Once he was cleared of Cady’s murder, he prevented that war, and no doubt saved quite a few lives in the process. During that time when he thought you were dead, he and Mrs. Cady became…close.”
A vise seemed to squeeze her heart, slowing crushing it as she thought of Steve with another woman. This was so different than all the others—he had a child with this woman! How could she bear it if she didn’t find out, if she didn’t know whether Elizabeth Cady wanted him? She had a bond with him, a blood tie of their shared child. Would she use it to draw Steve back? Could he be induced to return to her?
The noise of carriage wheels on the crushed rock of the curving road in front of the house grew louder, then stopped. Springs squeaked slightly as the driver stepped down to the road and waited in courteous silence.
Ginny took a deep breath. “I understand what you are saying, Sam, but I must see for myself.”
“I will have the driver take you there. I hope this resolution gives you some peace.”
“So do I,” she said as she turned to the waiting carriage. “So do I.”
Serrated ridges were cushioned by shreds of cloud, faint wisps that wreathed the crisp peaks like a woman’s lacy shawl. It was spring, but it was still early enough not to trust a sudden snowstorm to descend upon them and bury the ranch in drifts of smothering ice.
A single carriage approached at a fast pace, stirring a faint haze behind huge wheels as it navigated the deep ruts of the road leading to the Burneson ranch.
Fidelito had summoned her, excitement in his voice. “A visitor comes! Shall I ride out to meet them?”
“No, they’ll be here soon enough, Fidelito. Go and help your grandfather. Oh, and ask Matthew to come back to the house, please. It’s nearly time for the noon meal, and he’s to help Emily.”
Elizabeth Cady absently wiped her hands in the folds of her apron, eyeing the approaching vehicle with a slight frown. It was not familiar to her. On occasion, they had visitors to the ranch, but not usually in smart black broughams with drivers to handle the horses. It was too bad Martin had gone into town for the day. She always felt better when he was here, especially lately.
The baby was due any day and she tired easily now. There just wasn’t enough time in the day, and there was always something to do, cooking or cleaning or repairs. She didn’t resent it, and truly loved her husband and family, but there were moments when she longed for time to herself, time to read a book or just sit alone beneath a tree and dream.
Patting a loose curl back into place behind her ear, Beth smoothed her hands down her plain skirts and stepped off the porch to greet their visitor as the carriage rolled to a stop before the neat, two-story house.
The elegant young woman who stepped down took her by surprise, and she suddenly felt dowdy and clumsy in comparison to this exquisitely groomed creature. A lustrous cloud of copper hair was crowned with a small emerald-green hat tilted stylishly forward. The green velvet riding outfit she wore hugged slim curves in such a fashion as to appear provocative, though there was nothing inappropriate about the high neck. Her matching gloves and trim riding boots were the same rich shade of green reflected in the pair of exotically slanted eyes that regarded her curiously.
In a voice that bore faint traces of an unusual accent, the woman asked, “Are you Mrs. Burneson?”
Stifling the urge to rearrange her hair and try to hide the inevitable stains on her apron, Beth nodded. “Why yes, I am. But I’m afraid you have the advantage.”
“Yes, of course. This is rather unprecedented, but I feel that perhaps we should talk privately, if you don’t mind.”
Uneasy, Beth frowned. Her glance shifted beyond the carriage to the stableyard and she was relieved to see Domingo and Fidelito pretending to work while they watched over her. Her gaze moved back to the woman.
“I’m afraid that—”
“Please, Mrs. Burneson. It would mean a great deal to me if you would agree. My name is Virginia Morgan.”
“I’m sure I don’t know—” Beth stopped suddenly, the words sticking in her throat. Virginia Morgan…Steve’s wife!
As if reading her mind, the young woman’s head tilted slightly. “I think you have heard of me.”
“Yes. Yes, I think I have. Really, Mrs. Morgan, I cannot imagine why you have come—”
“Can’t you? I think you can.” It was said quietly and without rancor or aggression.
Beth floundered, staring at the composed young woman before her and struggling for words. Finally, she said, “I suppose this is about Steve.”
“Yes, in a way. May I impose upon your time?”
Unwillingly, Beth stepped aside to open the door, and thought fleetingly of the dirty dishes in the kitchen and the rug that hadn’t been swept in the parlor.
She wondered how this exquisite young woman would view her home, then with a flush of shame at her own thoughts, squared her shoulders and escorted Virginia Morgan into the parlor. It was clean enough, and the furniture was good quality pieces, heavy and gleaming with layers of beeswax polish that had taken her hours to apply. Lacy cloths draped over chair-backs and tables, and the table lamp with frosted globes and tiny dangling crystal prisms had been Martin’s before they married. It’s nice enough for anyone! she told herself fiercely.
A tiny cloth doll with yarn braids lay upon the settee beneath the
