“We split nothing. What you get is revenge, plus you stay alive,” Dal said flatly, his eyes cold. Pulling his pistol from the holster, he laid it on the table. “Here’s how tonight is going to go. I ride out of here with twenty-five longhorns in my pocket, or I put a bullet between your eyes. It’s your call.”
“Put the gun away, Frisco,” Caldwell said after a moment’s thought. He fanned the cards across the table. “All right. I’ll give the outfit enough beeves to win Roark’s money. And I’ll do it for the sheer satisfaction of making sure that Lola doesn’t get one cent of Roark’s money. The more I think about this, the better I like it.”
Disappointment twisted Dal’s lips. He wasn’t a killer, but he’d never wanted to shoot someone as much as he wanted to shoot Jack Caldwell. His eyes narrowed, and his grip tightened on the butt of the pistol. “I’m pissed, and I’m losing patience. Let’s go.”
Standing, Caldwell flexed his fingers and straightened his shoulders. “You point out the sheep. I’ll fleece them.”
It took all night, but when the sun popped over the horizon, Caldwell had collected IOUs for twenty-five longhorns. He and Dal stepped out of the last smoky saloon, filled their lungs with cleaner air, and looked at each other with fatigue-reddened eyes. Dal folded the IOUs into his vest pocket.
“The losers promised delivery before noon,” Caldwell said. “And before noon the widow Roark is going to know she won’t get a cent. She double-crossed the wrong man.” He watched Dal walk away. “Frisco? Tell Freddy these cattle are for her. Tell her I bet on the wrong filly.”
Frowning, Luther watched the last trail boss deliver ten longhorns for branding, then ride away. “Someday,” he said to Dal, “I want you to tell me why Jack Caldwell chose to give the drive enough steers to beat Mrs. Roark.”
“In case you need reminding, you already made a ruling that the drive could accept a gift without violating the terms of Joe’s will.” His drovers were cheering so loudly that Dal could only hope they heard Grady ordering them to fetch the irons out of the chuck wagon and slap the KW brand on the fresh additions. The bosses hadn’t given away prime stock. They’d paid their gambling debts with skinny, footsore beeves, but he wasn’t complaining. He’d take them.
“The ruling is documented.” Luther thrust out his hand, and a wide grin spread across his face. “I don’t know how the hell you accomplished this, but congratulations.”
Freddy and Les ran up to him then, their eyes shining. Alex followed, rolling forward in her chair.
“Is it true?” Freddy asked, clutching his arm and searching his face. “And how in the world did you manage this? What on earth did you say to Jack?”
“I’ll tell you later. The important thing is you’re going to have that grand theater in San Francisco,” he said, not surprised that her dream had become more important than his. Maybe that’s what love was, when a man put a woman and her dreams above everything he had once thought was important to him.
“San Francisco?” Les asked, frowning. She and Alex looked back and forth between them. “But I thought you two…”
“We can’t seem to reconcile our dreams,” Freddy said softly, looking at him with anguish in her eyes.
“There aren’t words to express my gratitude,” Alex said. Her words were sincere, but she wore a distracted expression, and she scanned the campsite, looking for John, Dal guessed.
Les rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “How can we ever thank you?”
“By getting back to work,” he said gruffly. The smell of scorched cowhide hung in the air, and the branding was almost finished. “You cowboys have a herd to move.”
He held Freddy’s gaze for a long moment, then he turned on his heel, unable to bear the tears glittering in her emerald eyes, and he walked to the remuda and saddled the buckskin. He should have been happier, damn it. He’d won everything he wanted. Except the woman he loved.
They skirted east of Newton, and crossed the Cotton-wood River, heading north.
Three more days, Alex thought. She finished washing the supper dishes, then dried her hands on her apron and leaned against the worktable, watching the sun flare into a glowing disk and sink into the horizon. Three more days and the most profound experience of her life would come to a close. Would she drive into Abilene the same woman who had driven away from Klees? Or would she be someone new? It was time to face her choices.
“A penny for your thoughts,” John said, coming up behind her.
He didn’t touch her because touching her was too painful. She knew that. He didn’t touch her, didn’t kiss her, no longer spoke of the future. His eloquent grey eyes told her that he thought placing a distance between them would make saying good-bye easier.
“I’ve been wrong about so many things,” she murmured, watching the sun set.
“Don’t,” he said gruffly, running a hand down his face. “You don’t have to explain.”