“Elijah I…”
He squeezed her waist gently. “I need to be able to hear the forest.”
She nodded once. He listened and watched everything as they rode the trail. They came to the mesa overlooking his outfit. Elijah surveyed the scene below the rise. He could barely make out anyone in the distance. Their ranch spread across the valley in a neat organized sprawl with the three-story massive log ranch house settled in the middle.
He glanced at the tracks that peppered the forest floor once more. They had waited at the mesa as well before heading back down the trail. It had been years since he had to fight anyone for his land. The Whispering Creek was not as vulnerable to raids by the Comanche, because they were nestled deep in the valley. But his outfit was rich. Water gushed off the mountain in droves, filling up the creek. Below the ranch lay thousands of acres of prairie able to graze many cattle. They had hay and timber for cutting, and shaded areas scattered throughout.
He knew only a little about Jericho Sullivan. The man had never crossed Elijah’s path or his brothers’ so there had been little need to know any more than that he was powerful. If Sullivan wanted their ranch, he could buy the men to take it for them.
After another fifteen minutes of riding, they cantered into the range. In the distance, he could see four men standing in loose formation between the house and the barn. They were unfamiliar. Questions that he should have asked the night before buzzed inside of him. He had been too damn distracted by her sudden presence in his mind to focus on all that she had said.
“Sheridan.” He felt the caress of her eyes as if she had touch him. “Are they new hires?”
“No. They are not ours.”
“Who do they belong to?”
Swallowing, she faced forward once more. “I am only familiar with the large, swarthy man in the middle. He is called Cassidy Bartley. The others I saw for the first time yesterday when they came here. There are whispers in town that Mr. Bartley has been employing hired guns for Mr. Sullivan, most of them from Santa Fe.”
“I am not familiar with Bartley.”
“Mr. Bartley is the cousin to the town judge. He came in a little over a year ago and has made himself into a powerful man in that short time. He and his brothers own the Crazy T outfit. He has also approached me for watering rights. He is…he is scary.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and when he glanced down at her lowered head, her face was red.
He analyzed her reaction and buried the flare of rage. “He touched you?”
She lifted her chin almost defiantly. “Would it matter?”
“If you were willing, no.” His gut burned at the thought of her in another man’s arm, but Elijah was careful to keep his face emotionless.
“I was never willing, but he only kissed me. Since Mr. Sullivan has made it known to the entire town of Blue Lagoon that I belong to him, Mr. Bartley has been very polite.”
He said nothing for a few minutes, his mind shifting and calculating their surety. “They know nothing of me and my stake in the ranch?”
“I do not think so. Mr. Sullivan seems very sure that he will control the ranch through me. Thomas hardly ever mentioned you after—.” She cleared her throat and continued, “After what happened between us.”
Elijah saw no sign of the ranch hands or his foreman. “Where is Miguel?” He had entrusted more than the fate of his ranch to the foreman’s hands when he left him in charge.
“He is not yet recovered.”
He glanced at her sharply. “Recovered?”
“He was caught in a stampede on the last round up to Abilene. Something spooked the cattle and he was caught in the mix of it. With Miguel down, things became very uncomfortable.”
He observed the fiery blush in her cheeks, and her reluctance to meet his eyes. “How uncomfortable, Sheridan?”
“Mr. Sullivan is very persistent.”
“Is there something I need to kill him for?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “No.”
His instincts were his best friend and he had learned to trust them. They had kept him alive more times that he could count. Sheridan was more than apprehensive. He assessed the situation with infinite care. The air was still, and a kind of waiting was present in the men stationed in the path of the house. No cowhand loitered and the place seemed deserted. He did not like it at all. “Where are the rest of the ranch men?”
“After Thomas died, they did not want to work for a woman, especially one that Thomas treated with contempt. With Miguel injured, they soon drifted and many went to work at Bartley’s spread. The few that remained are driving cattle to the markets.”
“How many remain?”
“Less than thirty, and all but six are on the cattle