Love on the Range. Jessica Nelson

This is dangerous territory, home to more than one kind of snake.” His eyes turned serious. “Don’t go wandering by yourself, Gracie.”

       “If you are referring to Mendez, Striker will take care of him. In the meantime, I’ll speak with Uncle Lou about looking around.” She used a polite but distant voice to cover her annoyance. “Thank you for walking me back.”

       They parted, but once Gracie was in the warm house she rushed to the front window of the study and watched Trevor leave.

      * * *

       Later that day, Gracie visited Uncle Lou in his office. He had a smooth voice and smelled of sandalwood. He gave her an earful of stories about his life and local gossip but he didn’t mention Striker. As he spoke, Gracie pondered the rift between him and her parents. He seemed charming, successful, everything her parents admired. But even with all his blessings he despised the mention of God. That made her curious, too. She didn’t ask him about it because she didn’t want to be pushy.

       She exercised restraint once in a while.

       Eventually Uncle Lou had to leave, but not before giving her permission to use his stationery and pens. On his way out, he flicked an envelope her way, and she squealed when she recognized Connie’s tight handwriting on the front. She’d force herself to write a quick note home first, then read Connie’s letter.

       If only she had a telephone, but she’d been told this area of Harney County was too distant for telephone wires. Somehow she’d get to Burns. Even if she had to walk. The coordinates she’d been given were only a guess. Connie was supposed to verify them and send more—perhaps in this letter…

       Gracie finished writing home, making sure to inform her parents once again that she wouldn’t be marrying Hugh.

       She left the envelopes on Uncle Lou’s desk, and then went into the hallway. A scarred oak bench sat against the wall. She sank down on its padded floral seat and ripped the letter open. Connie’s dark, bold letters jumped out. Gracie smiled and read with haste.

      Dearest Gracie,

      It is incredibly boring here without you. Elizabeth and Laura do not have your sense of adventure. I am writing this the day after you have left. You see, I am already resorting to letter writing to keep myself from yawning.

       My dearest friend, please come home soon. I am staying indoors for the most part, as rumors of the influenza are increasing. I have heard that Anne Holbrook has it. Pray for her.

       I am planning a huge party for my twenty-fifth birthday. You’ll be back by spring, no doubt.

       I should have come with you to Oregon. I suppose you are having grand adventures while I am trapped in the rigid society of the Bostonians.

       Not so rigid anymore, perhaps. I have bought another set of trousers. I love them, Gracie. I am convinced they are here to stay.

       I love you, dearest friend. Have a wonderful experience, and I shall see you soon.

      Love Always,

      Connie

      P.S. It is rumored Striker has gone west. Oregon or California. The ladies are all atwitter about your idea for an article. It is high time you were paid for your writing. Cousin Jane couldn’t find the coordinates she promised you. She fears they’ve been lost for good. Beware Mendez. Sources claim he’s been seen in Oregon for what could only be nefarious purposes.

       Gracie lowered the letter. No coordinates? Nothing?

       Footsteps sounded in the next room. Tall and lean, Trevor strode into the hall, glowering. “Is Lou in?”

       “He left to go somewhere with James about an hour ago.” She stood, the letter still clutched in her grasp, and forced a smile even though her insides had sunk to her feet.

       Trevor glanced at her hands. “A letter already?”

       “Oh, yes, from my dearest friend, Connie. She sent it the day after I left. I suppose it came rather fast.”

       “How are things back home?” He’d stopped in the middle of the hall. His hands pushed through his hair in an agitated motion—eyes distant.

       “She says rumors of influenza are increasing and one of our acquaintances has caught it. Other than that, she is wondering if I have had any adventures. She longs to meet Striker, as do I.” Disheartened and a bit wary of Trevor’s mood, she rambled on. “Unfortunately, adventures in the desert are unlikely. Do you ever wish to live in the city? Somewhere exciting?”

       Trevor’s eyes snapped into focus. She wished she’d bothered to straighten herself after lunch. She squared her shoulders.

       “The country is just as exciting,” he said flatly.

       “Perhaps I need to explore a bit more.” At least in Burns, where someone must know something of Striker. “It is dreadfully boring here, is it not, Mr. Cruz?”

       Trevor frowned. She thought it boring? For a moment Gracie sounded just like Eunice and Julia. The comparison to the women he despised made his chest clench up. The fact he’d begun to like Gracie only made things worse.

       He stepped forward until he towered over her. She was tall for a woman, with curves that couldn’t be hidden beneath the popular dresses, but there was something about her large doe eyes and thick brown curls that caught him unaware.

       Then there was the contrast between her tendency to chatter and her ability to hold an intelligent conversation on a number of topics. At least what he’d observed during meals. He’d considered her a decent woman. Sure, he’d only known her a bit but he usually counted himself a good judge of character.

       And Lou liked her.

       But, barring Mary, she sounded as superficial as all the other women he’d known.

       He stepped forward and Gracie backed up against the wall, rosy lips parting in surprise. He wanted to intimidate her. Unfortunately, she didn’t look cowed, just flustered.

       “Do you usually become angry when people do not care for your desert, Mr. Cruz?”

       “It’s not your opinion that bothers me but the shallowness inherent in your tone.”

       “Me, shallow?” She visibly blanched, and then recovered by lifting her chin. “I apologize for my attitude. I hadn’t meant to offend you. It’s only that I’ve important things to do and instead I am stuck in a desert when I need to find Str—people, lots of people, and I cannot do that here.”

       Gut tight, Trevor stepped away from Gracie. He’d heard her slip of the tongue. Considering the intelligence he’d received today, things were going from bad to worse. And now he had to deal with this…socialite. His teeth ground together. He had the sneaking suspicion she thought Oregon was home to old-time sheriffs riding down outlaws.

       But beneath anger lurked interest and with effort he reined it in. She was his boss’s niece. Disregarding everything else going on in his life, that was reason enough to back away.

       “Too bad you’re stuck here,” he said disdainfully, then spun to leave.

       “Wait,” she called after him. “Aren’t you going to tell me why you’re so angry?”

       Trevor turned and crossed his arms.

       “Connie tells me I’m a good listener. She shares all her little dramas with me.” She caught her lip between her teeth. “It’s true. Connie has tons of men trouble.” Nodding, she tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Most people grow defensive because they’ve been hurt in some manner. What was I saying that irritated you? That the desert is dreadfully boring? Or was it something else entirely…?” She stopped chattering when he advanced swiftly.

       A ferocious need clamored through his chest, locked his jaw.

       “Are you angry again? I was just trying to help,” she stuttered, backing up a few steps.