In “Hope Is Built,” conflict looms over ownership of valuable ranching property

Author’s note: Hugh Hutton, his brother Cale, and his three young sons own the Rafter-H ranch near Cañon City, Colorado. Helen is their cook and housekeeper. Hugh wants to buy the Dodson place to expand grazing acreage. He dislikes automobiles. Mary McCrae rides the train from Pennsylvania to Pueblo, Colorado, where she temporarily rents a motorcar to visit her aunt and uncle Dodson on their farm. While there, she falls in a pit, is nursed to health by Helen, and learns that her aunt and uncle are deceased.

Chapter Seven

Hugh bounced into Cañon City swearing he’d never own a rattletrap himself, and completely mystified by people who dropped good money into them. Sure, they clipped along faster than a walking horse, but why be in such an all-fired hurry to begin with?

He stopped in front of the sheriff’s office and let the contraption cough itself to death. The Dodsons’ hand-written will lay in his bureau at the house. It was Mary’s after all, and he’d figure out when to give it to her. But he had other business to take care of before Cale met him here in an hour.

The sheriff was filing papers in a cabinet and glanced up as Hugh walked in. “Mornin’, Hutton. Any more bears out your way?”

Last year’s incident with the grizzly had been the biggest local news in a decade. The recent sinking of the RMS Titanic had finally pushed it from newsprint commentaries but not from the sheriff’s commentary.

“Nope, and I’m glad of it. But you’re not far off the mark in asking.”

The cabinet drawer slid closed as Hugh took the chair in front of the big oak desk.

Sheriff Payton filled his seat behind it and leaned back. “What can I do you for?”

Hugh hadn’t had that many dealings with the sheriff, but the lawman’s habit of talking backwards still jarred Hugh. “You familiar with the Dodson place out our way, six hundred and forty acres of grass and farmland?” He didn’t mention the second section.

Payton linked his hands behind his head. “Up for auction, I hear. Shame too. Those were nice folks.” He dropped his hands and leaned forward on his desk. “If you’re interested in that place, I’m not the fella you want to talk to. Try the bank. I hear there’s a few folks wantin’ to bid on it. Hopin’ to turn a profit, I suppose.”

Hugh stiffened. Suspects, to his way of thinking. “I was out there a week ago and found a bear pit.”

The sheriff’s eyes took on a glint. “No bears in it?” He chuckled, picked up his coffee mug, and took a swig.

“A woman.”

Payton choked and aimed for an old spittoon.

Small blessings.

“What was she doing down there?” The sheriff wiped his mouth on his sleeve, giving Hugh time to think of a respectful answer to a stupid question.

“Dying.”

The man’s face paled.

“I took her to the Rafter-H for Helen to tend, then had Doc Miller come out. She was shaken up pretty bad.”

“Thank God she survived.”

“I covered the pit so no one else falls through. But I don’t think old man Dodson dug it for a bear last year or dug it at all, for that matter. It’s too deep, too wide.”

The sheriff’s dark brows bumped into each other. “You suspect foul play?”

“I do. And your mention of other people wanting the farm increases my suspicion.”

Payton rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “That’s a serious accusation, Hutton. Attempted murder.”

“Dang right.”

Hugh left the lawman scratching notes on a pad and walked a couple blocks to the bank. He’d conveniently left out the part about falling in the hole himself. No sense giving up irrelevant information. Whether he fell in it or not, it was still there to catch something or someone. And it had. Twice.

No happier than when he’d walked into the bank, Hugh returned to the rented motorcar ten minutes later as a lone rider approached leading a saddled horse.

“You checkin’ on the property?” Cale drew rein behind the Roadster and tipped his hat back.

It didn’t help Hugh’s disposition any to see his twin looking five years younger than him and happier than a tom turkey in a hen house.

“We’re not the only ones interested in it.”

Cale straightened. “Who else?”

“Local ranchers.”

“The auction still on?”

“Yup.” He wanted to tell his brother about the will but figured he should tell Mary first since it was hers. “Let’s get this over with.”

He cranked the tin can a couple times and climbed to the seat. Forty miles to the Pueblo depot. They should be there by noon and back home in time to do chores. An entire day lost for nothing.

Nothing other than a busted-up gal from out of town who was entitled to the same land he wanted for his cows.

Spending the day with Ella Hutton and Helen had done Mary more good than she thought possible. Celia was the only friend she had back home, and Mary hadn’t realized how Mama’s absence had affected her over the years. Hearing other women’s laughter and opinions somehow reawakened her emotionally as well as physically, and she’d insisted on helping Helen set the supper table that evening after proving to the mother hen that she could walk the hallway without teetering.

Helen’s short humph pronounced a grudging approval.

Thin slabs from yesterday’s roast and sliced bread made up the fare, with a dried apple pie Helen had secreted away.

“If I’d let those boys’ hollow legs know I made an extra pie, they’d have scampered off with it like a herd of mice as soon as my back was turned.” Helen bunched her apron, took the warmed pie from the oven, and set it on the kitchen table.

Mary set six places, one at each end and two on either side. Heavy steps on the porch announced a man’s approach. The trample of smaller feet followed as did the rush of water from the outside hand pump.

Certain of who had arrived, she straightened, determined not to appear fatigued. Between Hugh’s and Helen’s scrutiny, they’d try to force her to the bed and insist she eat from there. She wasn’t having it.

He stepped through the door and stopped, staring at her, she knew, judging her constitution from behind. Discomforting to say the least.

“What are you doing in here?”

Refusing to let his gruffness intimidate her, she placed six napkins under six forks. “Good evening to you too, sir. I trust you had a pleasant day.”

Helen snorted, endearing herself to Mary even more.

“Did you have any trouble with the motorcar?” By then she was on the opposite side of the table, and she looked him square in the face.

The muscle in his jaw flexed, and from experience with her brother’s ill temper, she guessed what it meant.

So be it. She’d not be cowered by a cowboy. Tickled by her unintentional turn of phrase, she smiled as much as she could, hoping to hide her laughter.

He did not return the favor.

Which made the situation even funnier.

The bread and meat were close by on the counter, and she busied herself setting them on the table.

Three littler Huttons blew through the door and lined up like soldiers with their hands out for inspection.

Hugh ignored them and took the chair at the table’s head.

Helen gave a tilted look to the boys’ upheld hands, but Mary caught the wink that sent them to their places. The two taller boys scuffled over who would sit on the far side of the table, and the littlest, Kip, plopped down at his father’s left.

Uncertain of where she was expected to sit, Mary feigned checking on the coffee until everyone was seated. The only available place was to Hugh’s immediate right.

Of course it was. Maybe eating in the bedroom wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Anticipating a blessing from this family, she folded her hands and bowed her head, surprised that it was Helen who offered thanks. Mary stole a quick peek at Hugh, who sat staring out the window.

Telling.

“Amen.” The chorus set the boys to their plates like horses to a race.

“Slow down,” Helen cautioned with a repetitious tone, as if she gave the warning at every meal. Based on the boys’ enthusiasm, she probably did.

Mary deliberately slowed her movements, and Kip mimicked her from across the table. The other two boys snickered but fell silent at a killing scowl from their father.

Did he not know what he had at his table? Three young blessings and a kind woman who did her best to keep them all fed and in line? Her opinion of the rancher fell dangerously close to that of her brother, but she kept her opinion to herself.

Sudden realization settled in, as brutal as a northeastern winter. Without transportation of her own, she was at the mercy of her host if she wanted to go to her aunt and uncle’s farm or even into town where she could rent a buggy. Her movements slowed further, garnering a concerned look from Helen.

Mary cleared her throat. “If I may impose upon your considerable kindness, I will need a ride to town tomorrow in order to rent a buggy. Is anyone going in?”

Helen dropped her gaze, and Hugh took an oversized bite of his sandwich. The boys looked at each other and shrugged.

She would not beg. She’d walk to town if need be. It couldn’t be that far.

“What do you do in Pennsylvania?” Hugh took another bite.

How rude that he dismiss her sincere question with his own unrelated query. Tempted to point out his discourtesy, she drew herself up as much as possible with one arm strapped to her body and addressed the boys rather than their father. “My family owns a dairy farm. We have prize-winning Ayrshire cows that produce the richest cream and sweet butter this side of the Appalachians.”

“What’s an apple-a-chin?” Kip asked. “Sounds like an Injun name.”

“Indian,” Helen corrected. “Say it right.”

“Well, actually it is. From the Creek tribe. We don’t pronounce it exactly the way they do, but it’s close. However, those mountains look entirely different from your mountains here. They are more like rolling hills in comparison to your lofty peaks.”

Silence hung like wet laundry. Perhaps she had over spoken.

“So you know your way around horses?”

Hugh watched as if he’d asked if she could shoot and skin a rabbit. Which she had as a young girl on her brother’s dare.

“Yes. I ride and can hitch up a wagon or buggy horse. There is much more to a dairy farm than milking cows.”

“You could help us milk our cow.” The middle-sized boy—Ty?—laid it out like a challenge.

“I could—”

“But won’t.” Hugh scowled at his son.

Mary bit her lip to keep from speaking her mind.

“I’m sure you can use our farm wagon if you need to go to town or want to check on your aunt and uncle’s farm.” Helen understood, possibly from today’s easy conversation among the women.

“I do appreciate that. You’ve been most generous already in your hospitality. I hate to impose.”

Hugh huffed.

Helen visibly stiffened and sent him an arrowed look from her end of the table.

What had soured him so? He’d been halfway cordial as her escort through the house yesterday.

“I’ll drive you over to the Dodson pl— your kin’s farm—tomorrow. I imagine you’d like to look around some before you go back home.”

Ha—a bait! She’d not fall for that sibling prank. It was none of his business whether she returned to Pennsylvania or not. And why should she? Now was the perfect time to ship her bull and heifers west. She could start her own herd right here in Colorado on her aunt’s farm.

The idea sprouted into hope.

“The place is up for auction,” Hugh said. “A lien against mortgage payments due and unpaid taxes.”

Mary’s fork clattered as it hit the plate.

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