"Hm. Alright," she agreed, nodding. North. That was strange. If she were getting rid of cattle, she'd go down to Rawlins. North, there were only a few places. Maybe if they cut east, it would open up opportunities, but due north were only mountains.
At the same time, she had ideas. There were plenty of places a body could go, but they were hours and hours away, and there was no obvious choice. Every one of those towns would have someone looking for cattle, and every single one of them was just as out of the way as the next.
"We'll head out after the children wake up," she said softly. "You get some sleep while you can."
He swallowed the coffee and for a moment she thought he might just get up and force himself. He started to, too, but then he slumped back down and she saw just how tired he was. The man looked like death, in the morning light, and he was clearly having trouble staying quite upright. Finally he kicked off his boots, leaned over to rest his head on the arm of the sofa, and pulled his hat over his eyes.
She heard the children starting to stir, smelling the food. No doubt they were ready for something to eat. Hell, so was she. But she took care to keep it quiet. After all, Glen was sleeping, and finally, she felt like they were moving forward.
Someone was going to solve this problem once and for all. Greenhorn or not, whether he knew about cattle or not, he gave her the oddest feeling. It wasn't the attraction she'd been ignoring up to now, or at least that wasn't all of it.
She was surprised, but he was giving her the feeling that whatever happened, he would deal with it. The comfort was unexpected, but not unwelcome. She had the bacon sizzling by the time Ada and Grace came padding into the kitchen. Cole was a few steps behind, still rubbing the bleariness from his eyes.
Catherine put a finger to her lips.
Glen needed his sleep.
Thirteen
Glen kicked awake suddenly. He wasn't supposed to be asleep, he was supposed to be out there. Doing his job. His hat falling into his lap drew his attention to the present.
He wasn't out on the frontier any more. He was in a house. A seven-year old was sitting in a chair opposite him, kicking her legs and watching him intently.
Glen smiled at her. "Good mornin', Miss Ada."
"Mornin', Mister Glen."
"Where's your Mama at?"
"She's gettin' some clothes ready. She says she might be a few days." She said the last part with a strange tone in her voice. "That's what Papa said, though. I think he got lost, though, cause he wasn't—"
She broke off, and Glen could see her struggling not to have too much of a reaction. He sat forward and reached out a hand, put it on her shoulder.
"I know your Mama, and she won't get lost. She wouldn't ever do that to you, Miss Ada. But just in case, I'll be with her. And I've never gotten lost my entire life. The Army taught me to find places, too, so even if I don't know where I am, I'll be able to find my way back."
"The Army?" Her eyebrows furrowed deeper. "Did you kill anybody?"
Glen tried to ignore the shock that went through him. It was almost second-nature now. He'd spent the last three years hiding just about every reaction.
"No, Miss Ada. I was just looking out for places they wanted found." He liked the sound of that answer.
But it was a lie.
Catherine came through the door to her bedroom, hauling a thick suitcase behind her. Lord, but she looked as pretty as ever, and the way she looked at the children…
More than a pretty face, she seemed like a good mother. A good mother whose no-good husband had left her considerably more to deal with than anyone could expect her to be able to manage.
Ada's discomfort only served as an uncomfortable reminder that the ones most hurt by his departure, though, were his children. They'd go through life not sure what was wrong with them that made their father not want to stay by them.
It wasn't a thought that he liked, imagining them thinking that. But as much as he wanted someone to fix the problem, they didn't need a man like him to step in for it.
The first part of his life he'd been good at exactly two things. He'd been happy to call on his tracking expertise to help out, to make his new life work. His talent for shooting men… that was something he would sooner put behind him.
His tracking had given Glen plenty of time to hone both skills, but now it was time to put the gun away. That didn't mean he wasn't going to carry that burden the rest of his life.
Every time he strapped on the pistol, it seemed to whisper in his ear. The comfort of it on his hip. He didn't need to pull it out of the holster to know how easy it would be. How he could do the action real smooth, with no wasted motions.
He had practiced until he could move his hand slow enough to be accurate, and still beat nine men out of ten if he had to. But then, Colonel Bridges had never put a high priority on fair fights. A shot in the back would be just as good, if it helped clear out trouble.