Blake had arrived in time to save her from rape. But she’d come so close and been so scared—not just scared, but angry. She’d kicked and punched and clawed as they seized her. But the two men had pinned her down, laughing as she struggled.
Now that she was safe, she’d expected to fall apart—to cry and shake with relief. What she felt instead was an icy numbness, as if some part of her still needed to believe that nothing had happened.
Sooner or later the numbness would wear off and she would begin to feel again—to feel the rage, the terror, and yes, the shame of being touched by those horrible, filthy men, in places where only her future husband should have the right to touch her.
Until her emotions began to thaw, there was nothing to do but behave as if everything were normal—to talk and listen, even try to smile. Anything to keep the unspeakable memory from flooding her senses and pulling her under.
She forced herself to speak. “Your brother told me his name was Mason Dollarhide. Are you a Dollarhide, too?”
He nodded. “Mason and I have the same father but different mothers. It’s a long story.”
“He said something about his mother’s ranch. He wasn’t just feeding me a story, was he?”
“No need to. Mason’s mother owns the Hollister Ranch, south of town. My family owns the Dollarhide Ranch on that hill above town, along with the lumber mill.”
“I take it Dollarhide is an important name in these parts.”
“Important is just a word. It’s what’s behind it that counts.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” She nodded, feeling the pain in her bruised cheek as she tried to smile. “But I’d like to know more.”
* * *
Blake knew she was just making conversation—doing her best to hold herself together and keep the black thoughts away. Fine. He didn’t mind going along with that.
“If you want important, the big name in these parts is Calder,” he said. “Benteen Calder drove the first herd up here from Texas before I was born. He and his men laid claim to every parcel of land they could get their hands on, and all of it became the Triple C, for Calder Cattle Company.”
“So they came here as homesteaders, just like us.”
“That’s right. And until they built that grand white house on the bluff, Lorena Calder kept house in a shack that was no fancier than the ones your people live in. Some people resent the Calders, but everything they have, they’ve earned.”
“That’s all we want,” Hanna said. “Just to make our own way on the land, like the Calders did.”
The Calders had arrived with more than two thousand head of Texas cattle. But Blake decided against reminding her of that. “Benteen is still running the outfit, but he’s grooming his son, Webb, to take over. You might’ve seen them both at the fire. Webb was the one giving orders. Benteen was the older man who had to be taken back to his buggy.”
“I did see them,” Hanna said. “There were two women in the buggy, an older one and the pretty blond girl I saw at the dance. Is she Webb Calder’s wife?”
“Not yet.” And not if I can help it. Blake gave the girl a sidelong glance. Even with that ugly bruise on her cheek, she was pretty—even prettier than Ruth Stanton. But she was young. Too young for him, and too young for Mason. Worse, she was a honyocker, one of the sodbusters who were so hated by the ranching people. They were a clannish bunch who stuck to their old ways. By this time next year, Hanna Anderson would probably be married to some rednecked farmer and be carrying a baby in her belly. Damned shame.
* * *
Hanna watched the yellow prairie roll past, knowing that every turn of the wagon wheels carried her closer to the inevitable moment when she would have to face her father and explain what had happened. Would he blame her? Would he have a woman examine her to make sure she was still a virgin—maybe even marry her off at once to Ulli Swenson, the forty-year-old widowed neighbor who’d already asked for permission to court her?
Family honor was everything to a man like Big Lars, who had little else. And nothing was more vital to that honor than the virtue of his wife and daughters. What would he say to her? What would he do?
With uncertainty gnawing at her stomach, she forced herself to continue the conversation with the man who’d saved her.
“And what about the Dollarhide family?” she asked. “How did you come to be here? There must be an interesting story behind that.”
“There is,” he said. “My father, Joe, signed on with Benteen Calder as a wrangler, but one night he got lost in a stampede. After Benteen left him for dead, his life took a whole different turn, and not a good one. All he wanted was to get even with the boss for leaving him.”
“And did he get even?”
“In a way, but not the way he planned. He’d learned to handle horses, and in the end, it was the horses that saved him. He made it to Montana and married a rancher’s daughter who became Mason’s mother. After they parted ways, he married my mother, Sarah, and built his own empire. That’s the story.”
“What happened with Benteen Calder? Did they ever settle things between them?”
“Dad and Benteen made their own peace. But you could never call them friends—respectful rivals, maybe, but not friends.”
“And his son, Webb? Where does he stand with you?”
“Webb and I have our own differences—pretty much like our fathers do. And Mason likes him even less than I do.”
“So the feud goes on.”
“I guess you could call it that.” Blake chuckled, showing a dimple in his cheek. He wasn’t as handsome as Mason or as smooth. But he had his own rough-hewn appeal. Not that either man should be of any interest to her, Hanna reminded herself. As her father would say, they weren’t her kind.
* * *
Talk faded as they came within sight of the burned property. From a distance, Blake could see several men working with rakes and shovels to clear the spot where the shack had stood. A few yards away, a shelter for the family had been rigged using a wagon and a piece of canvas. Two other wagons, with their teams still hitched, stood nearby. Beyond them, the trampled wheat field lay black under the blazing sun.
Some of the men were familiar. Hanna’s father, Big Lars, was easy to spot because of his size. The younger, blond man working alongside him could be the brother Hanna had mentioned. He recognized the property owner, a small, nervous man. Blake had seen the two other men in town and remembered the older one from the dance. Stefan Reisner—that was his name. He was married to that pretty auburn-haired woman Webb had been twirling around the dance floor.
As the wagon rumbled closer, the men stopped work and turned to look. Beside him, Hanna seemed to shrink into herself. She lifted one hand to cover the bruise on her cheek. Blake couldn’t blame her for feeling self-conscious. She might even be worried that she’d be blamed for what had happened.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked in a low voice.
“Stop here and get my father.” Her voice was unsteady. She took a breath. “Ask him to come to me.”
Blake nodded and climbed out of the wagon. As he walked toward the group of men, he could feel their eyes on him—the suspicion, the hostility. Did they think he’d done something to Hanna? Or was this just how they looked at strangers?