The meaning behind his words hung in the air between them. Bethy's cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away. "I should check on the horses," Yates said suddenly, standing. The moment felt too important, too fragile to risk saying the wrong thing. Bethany nodded, understanding in her eyes, "I'll be here when you get back."
The simple promise warmed him as he walked to the stables, his thoughts in turmoil. He was falling in love with Bethany. Rose had probably been falling since the moment he found her in the dust. But was it fair to tell her? She was just establishing herself, finding her independence after nearly committing to a loveless marriage.
The last thing she needed was another man making claims on her future. When he returned to the porch, she was still there, wrapped in a shawl against the evening chill. Without speaking, he sat beside her closer than before, their shoulders almost touching. "School starts in 3 weeks," she said after a comfortable silence. I'm nervous but excited.
You'll be wonderful. He assured her. The children will adore you. She smiled at his confidence. I hope so.
It feels right teaching here. Like this is where I'm meant to be. Her words gave him courage. Bethany, I a shout from the direction of the bunk house interrupted him. One of the ranch hands was running toward the house.
Urgency in his movement. Boss, riders coming in fast from the east. at least six of them. Yates was on his feet instantly, his instincts honed by years on the frontier. "Get inside," he told Bethany. "Tell Martha to bolt the doors."
The fear in her eyes was tempered with resolve as she nodded and hurried into the house. "Yates stroed to meet his foreman, Jake, who was already organizing the other hands." Could be nothing, Jake said, though his hand rested on his holstered revolver. But ain't nobody has business here this time of night. No, they don't, Yates agreed grimly.
Get the men spread out. No shooting unless they start it. The approaching riders came into view as they crested the rise leading to the ranch. Six men riding hard, their intent unclear, but their haste suspicious. As they drew closer, Yates could see they were a rough-l lookinging bunch, trail worn and armed.
They rained in their horses in the yard, dust billowing around them. The leader, a bearded man with a scar running down one cheek, surveyed the assembled ranch hands with calculating eyes before focusing on Yates. "This the lazy K it is," Yates replied evenly. "I'm Yates King Cade, the owner. What's your business here?
The man's lips curled in what might have been a smile. Heard you might be harboring something that belongs to us. A cold realization dawned on Yates. I don't know what you're talking about. Sure you do.