A Cowboy Of Convenience. Stacy Henrie
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At that moment Westin “West” McCall, the ranch foreman, strolled across the yard toward the porch, a ready smile on his face. “Howdy, Sheriff. What can we do for you?”
“Howdy, McCall.” The sheriff smiled back. “I’m here to speak to Mrs. Howe.”
West glanced at her, his expression and honey-brown eyes as wary as the emotion now churning in her stomach. “Everything all right?”
“Not to worry, son,” the sheriff said, turning back to Vienna. “But I’m afraid I need to speak with Mrs. Howe in private.”
Vienna scooped up Hattie and walked past the sheriff. “West, do you mind watching her for a few minutes?”
“Not at all.” The man gave Hattie a gentle smile as he took her from Vienna and set her on her feet again.
The little girl gazed up adoringly at him. “You can help me feed my baby, Mr. West.”
“Now remind me what her name is again,” he asked as he led her in the direction of the corral.
“Hattie! Like me...”
Vienna felt both gratitude and pain watching the pair of them. While she was thankful her daughter had honorable male figures in her life such as Edward Kent, the wranglers and most especially West McCall—Hattie’s favorite by far—she still grieved and worried over her little girl’s lack of a father in her life.
“Come on into the parlor, Sheriff,” she said, waving the lawman inside. Once he stepped into the house and followed her into the room, she motioned for him to take a seat on the sofa.
He declined with a shake of his head. “I won’t be long, but you might wish to sit down, Mrs. Howe.”
“All right.” Her heart pulsed faster with dread as she sank onto the sofa and folded her hands demurely in her lap. “What is it you wish to tell me?”
The man shifted his weight, his gaze more on the hat in his hand than on her. “There’s no easy way to say this.”
She gave a stiff nod, though he wasn’t looking at her, then swallowed hard. “Is it something to do with my aunt?” After the death of her parents, she’d lived with her aunt and uncle, who had represented Sheridan’s high society for many years. Her uncle had passed away two years ago, at which time her aunt had gone to live with Vienna’s cousin in Buffalo.
“No, it isn’t about your aunt.” The sheriff finally looked her directly in the eye. “It’s about your husband, Mrs. Howe. I learned earlier today that Chance is...well, he’s dead, ma’am.”
Dead? Vienna blinked in surprise before staring down at her hands, waiting for some emotion to push through her shock. When it came, it felt more like resignation than sorrow.
Chance Howe hadn’t been her husband in the true sense for the past three years, which he’d spent in the Wyoming territorial prison for arson before being released just a few days ago. And before that... A shiver that had nothing to do with the sheriff’s news and everything to do with her five-year, turbulent marriage tripped up Vienna’s spine.
Reflexively the memories brought a flash of fear, but she reasoned it away. She’d been safe from Chance for a long time now, and that wasn’t about to change, especially if he was no longer among the living.
“How did it happen?” she asked.
Sheriff Tweed looked away again. “He...um...got in a fight in Sheridan after a card game. The other man had a revolver. I was told it was over quick, no suffering on his part.”
“I see.” And she did. The drinking, the gambling, the temper—they’d been Chance’s companions long before she’d married him. Unfortunately it hadn’t been until after their wedding that she’d learned that tragic fact.
The man sent her a contrite look. “I figured you’d want to know right away.”
“Yes, thank you for your trouble.” Vienna rose to her feet.
Placing his hat back on his head, the sheriff moved toward the open parlor door. “No trouble, Mrs. Howe. What’ll you do with your ranch now?”
She hadn’t set foot on the HC Bar Ranch since the night she’d finally found the courage to leave Chance in order to provide a stable home for their unborn child. Chance had owned the place outright before they’d married, so there’d never been a mortgage to be paid. Vienna had half expected he’d gamble away the place someday. Thankfully that was no longer a possibility. Perhaps that was one blessing to come out of his time in prison—it had kept Chance away from the card tables. Though Vienna couldn’t help wondering what sort of state the ranch was in after three years of neglect.
“I...I’m not sure,” she answered honestly.
While she loved living and working at the Running W and was grateful for the safe haven it had provided for her and her daughter, she still longed to have a home of her own again, something to pass down to Hattie. That longing had first sprouted inside Vienna when her parents had died and she’d been forced to sell their floundering ranch. And it had only increased after she’d gone to live with her aunt and uncle, in a home that never truly felt like hers.
The sheriff dipped his head in acknowledgment as he stepped out the front door. “I’m sure there’s time enough to decide. The funeral’ll be tomorrow.”
“Oh, of course.” Should she attend? Would she be expected to say something? Panic clawed at her throat at the thought of addressing a crowd, especially if she had to talk about Chance, until Sheriff Tweed spoke again.
“I took the liberty of speakin’ to the pastor myself. He’ll conduct a short service at the grave site at the cemetery in Sheridan.”
Vienna didn’t have to conjure up her relieved smile. “Thank you, Sheriff.”
“These things are never easy, ’specially under the present circumstances.”
He’d been the one, along with Edward and West, to come to her rescue that awful night when Chance had kidnapped her after she’d left him. Few knew the real reasons for Vienna separating from her husband prior to his arrest and most of them, with the exception of Sheriff Tweed, lived at the Running W.
After asking what time she needed to be there for the funeral, Vienna bid the man goodbye. She shut the door and returned to the kitchen. But even the thought of making pastries didn’t fill her with her usual calm and delight. She covered the dough with a towel, stashed it in the icebox, and headed outside through the back door.
The afternoon felt warm, but a nice breeze kept the air from being too hot. Vienna glanced in the direction of the corral. Hattie sat on the top rung of the fence, while West stood beside her, holding her in place so she wouldn’t fall. As if sensing Vienna’s presence, West turned his head in her direction. She pointed toward the mountains to indicate she needed a walk. With obvious understanding, he dipped his chin in a nod.
The wordless communication between them had been one of many things Vienna had appreciated about their friendship, both prior to her marriage to Chance and then again since coming to the Running W. There’d even been a time when she’d thought—hoped, really—that she and West were becoming more than friends. But she’d been wrong.
Vienna pushed aside recollections of the past as she slowly walked toward the Big Horn Mountains. The pastures, fields and trees, cloaked in their summer greenery, never grew old to her. She’d moved to this area with her parents at the age of eleven, six years after the tragic death of her older brother, and had quickly fallen in love with the wild beauty of the land. Her appreciation for ranching, though, had never fully developed. She still preferred gardening, and more recently cooking and baking, than she did riding or caring for horses.
Did she want to keep the HC Bar, then? Vienna plucked up the long stem of a wildflower and ran it along the tall grass growing beside the horse trail. Moving into town and opening a café or a restaurant sounded more appealing