Bad Love: Cowboy Romance (Rebels & Outlaws 1)

She could deal with the looks of consternation, with the heavy atmosphere in town. She'd dealt with it since not long after they moved into town, and she would have to keep on dealing with it.

She set the dish aside, polished to a bright shine from rubbing it twice as long as it needed. She forced herself to keep going, gritted her teeth and focused on what she was doing. She needed a distraction, and by God she was going to have it—whether her thoughts wanted to play along or not.

The house would be spic and span by the time he got back, and if that didn't put the sin that had consumed her thoughts out of her head… well, she'd figure that out if it came to that. She hoped it wouldn't.

Glen tapped his fingers on the Sheriff's desk in frustration, but he wasn't going to cause a fuss. After all, he had a crime to report. But a man who needed to eat, needed to eat. So Glen waited for him. After all, he reminded himself: the man was the duly-appointed Sheriff of Carbon County.

He didn't look like much, but Glen had met plenty of incompetent men, folks who barely knew how to wipe their ass without help, and he didn't seem like that. He was fit and trim, but no more than most. When Glen had walked in, he'd taken a hard look at the gun hanging at his hip before deciding not to discuss it.

Glen, in turn, had loosened the belt as he came in and let it lie on the ground beside him. Only polite, he supposed, and if he needed it—he wouldn't—then it was still within fairly easy reach. Just not right at hand. If it helped the man to be at ease, well, Glen was about to ask him a favor so he certainly wasn't going to press it.

He watched the man pour a cup of coffee from a pitcher, noted that the Sheriff didn't offer him any, and then leaned back as the Sheriff walked over, sliding sideways into his seat.

"Mister Riley. Nice to meet you. New in the area?"

"Bill Howell sold me his ranch, and I came to start working on getting myself settled."

"Excellent!" Glen could see how the man had gotten where he was. He was a likable sort of man, and gave off an air of being genuine. The truth was that the man could care less what his story was, Glen decided. He might have not even known Bill, which was a little odd but nothing too out of the ordinary.

A Sheriff in a county this large, there must be five or ten thousand people living in his area. The folks in the city, sure. But outside that, maybe he didn't know much. Just vaguely-remembered faces, and a knack for looking unsurprised.

"Thank you, sir, it's a mighty fine county you've got."

Sheriff Barnes gave a wide, toothy grin. "We aim to keep it that way, sir. Now, what can I do for you?"

"Well," Glen began, licking the salty sweat away from his lips, "I didn't bring too big a herd, but I couldn't help noticing a few missing here and there."

"I'm sure they just ran off," the Sheriff offered. "Have a look 'round, and you'll be sure to find them."

"That's what concerns me, Sheriff. I don't think that's the case. In fact, I know it not to be. The fence is in fine condition, and I had a full herd last night. Yet, today, I'm three short."

The Sheriff leaned back in his chair, scratching his blonde hair. "Well, that's a funny story, I'll admit. Do you have any idea who it might be?"

"Well, on account of I just got into town, I can't say I do, sir."

"Well, that's a shame." Barnes stood up and reached out a hand. "I hope your luck turns around. We'll try to look into it, but without much to go on, I don't think there's much hope of my deputies turnin' anything up. I'll be in touch. The Howell ranch, you said?"

"That's right. Thanks for your time, Sheriff."

"Please. Call me Jim," he said. The same toothy smile. Glen knew the type. He had to revise his opinion of Jim Barnes.

He might not know every rancher living out on the frontier, but he knew Bill Howell. Sheriff Barnes was a gambler if Glen had ever known one. He couldn't say for sure where the lies were, but he knew one thing as the absolute truth.

Glen shouldn't expect too much in terms of investigating. Whatever was going on, he knew, he wasn't going to like what he found, and Jim Barnes was going to be right at the middle of it.

Catherine watched out the window, scrubbing the glass to get it as clean as she could hope for. It was the last big job, and with Ada and the twins napping for who knew how much longer, she was in a hurry to get it done. But she was watching outside, as well.

Any minute, that cowboy was going to ride up, and she was going to have to go through the tangle of her feelings again. Part of her wanted to get away from it, to figure out a way to avoid thinking about it.

But another part of her, a big part, was waiting for the first glance she could get of the man riding over the hill. She rubbed the glass harder and tried not to think about it.

Eleven

Glen didn't need to hear Catherine say she told him that the trip would end up being useful. It wasn't helpful and he didn't much appreciate it, either. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to say it, and it didn't mean he didn't deserve it.

So instead he fought to keep his back straight as he started to close in on the ranch. After all, there was plenty to be worried about, with how things had gone, but there was plenty he could do about it.

After all, he was smart, and he was capable of keeping a close watch on the cattle. If he knew they were being stolen, it wouldn't be too hard to call on the only good skill the Army had ever taught him.