When Deception Met Grace (Preview)

Chapter One

Silverdale, Montana Territory, 1873

Wyatt sat in the worn red chair of the Silver Spur Saloon, holding his cards in one hand and tapping his glass of whiskey with the other. It was the same glass of whiskey that had been poured for him when he first walked in the door. Wyatt knew better than to drink while he was playing poker.

The saloon was crowded. Smoke was so thick that a person could cut it with a knife. The place reeked of cheap, spilled whiskey and the heavy perfume worn by the girls in fancy dresses who worked the floor.

A small stack of silver coins gleamed in the dim light, tempting several men to sit down at the table with Wyatt. His predatory grin widened as he flicked his wrist, laying his cards on the table for the other players to see.

“Queen high straight,” he announced.

The wheat broker and two ranchers groaned and threw down their cards.

“Better luck next time, men.” The arrogance was thick in Wyatt’s voice.

A flash of hatred crossed Mr. Brewer’s face. The wheat broker looked as though he was reaching for his gun, but Gerald Hayes, the tall aristocratic man who owned the saloon, stepped over to Mr. Brewer and put his hand on Mr. Brewer’s arm.

“None of that here,” Gerald said. “The whole room was watching. Wyatt won fair and square.”

“He took a week’s wages,” Mr. Brewer snarled. “The scoundrel is rich. He doesn’t need it.”

Gerald shook his head. “If you can’t afford to lose the money, don’t sit down at the table.”

Wyatt sat lazily in the chair. He wasn’t worried about Mr. Brewer shooting him. Gerald kept a close eye on everything that went on in the saloon and stopped any action before it happened.

He ran his fingers through his slicked back, light brown hair and rubbed his chin strap beard. His brown eyes surveyed the room.

Victoria, Gerald’s daughter, put her hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “You did great there, Love.”

He grinned and looked up at the beautiful woman with blonde curls framing her face. Her big blue eyes sparkled, enhanced by the cobalt blue silk dress that framed her body perfectly. She looked just like his cousin’s porcelain doll.

“Soon, I’ll have enough money saved so I can ask you to be my wife properly and not worry about whether my father gives his blessing.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’d better get back behind the bar. We’re busy this afternoon.”

Wyatt watched as she seemed to float across the room. They’d known each other since they were sixteen when she moved to Montana from the East Coast with her father. She’d told him a week after they met that they were going to get married.

He grinned and rubbed his knuckles on his shirt. Of course, a woman like Victoria, who came from high society out East, would want to marry the youngest son of one of the richest men in Montana Territory.

Once Gerald convinced Mr. Brewer to leave, he sat at the table with Wyatt. “Son, I’ve been watching you play. You’re playing it a little risky, aren’t you?”

Wyatt smirked. “I’ve been winning, haven’t I? I’m able to outsmart, outthink, and bluff almost everyone who sits down at the table with me. They keep coming, though.”

“Pride goeth before the fall, as they say.” Gerald tapped the table and joined Victoria behind the bar, speaking to her quietly in her ear.

Victoria pretended not to see him look at her. She’d been cold to him the last time he’d come into play. Wyatt knew she was upset because his father refused to give his blessing to Wyatt and Victoria getting married. His father didn’t believe that Victoria was good enough for Wyatt.

Four men sat at the table, and Wyatt dealt the cards. After a couple of rounds, one of them folded, muttering something about having to get home and take care of the cows. Wyatt watched them, looking for signs that would tell him if they had good hands.

After another couple of hours, Wyatt had cleaned them out. His chest puffed up with pride, and he swallowed the whiskey that Victoria had brought him at the start of the game, the liquid burning as it went down his throat. Leaning back in the chair, he crossed his legs under the table, his polished boots gleaming in the lamp light. He flicked one of the coins from his last win in the air.

He looked around the room, trying to decide who to go after next. Even if a man didn’t want to play poker, Wyatt could usually charm or goad men into sitting down with him.

Victoria brought another glass of whiskey. He tried to catch her hand, but she moved away too quickly. Her patience was wearing thin, and Wyatt knew she wouldn’t wait for him forever. Having a beautiful woman like her on his arm would show the world that he was more than Silas Blackwood’s third son.

Wyatt thought about joining one of the other games in progress, but decided not to. This was his lucky table. He very seldom ever lost a game sitting at the small round table with thinning felt, his back against the wall so he could see everything that happened inside the saloon.

He sipped the whiskey, barely registering the piano playing. Men were talking, and the ladies sidled up to them, hoping for enough money to cover their rooms for the night. The women looked at him a few times, appreciating his 5’11 muscular frame. Although he was rich enough—at least his father was rich enough—to pay for all their rooms for a month, no one approached him. Victoria had let everyone know that he was off limits.

Four men slid into the chairs at the table. “I hope you men brought your luck tonight. You’re going to need it.”

A couple of the newcomers looked nervous, which made Wyatt grin even wider. When the men got nervous, they lost a lot faster. Wyatt didn’t mind if the games took a while, but if he could take everyone’s money quickly, then he’d have time for another game.

He was hoping for one last big win. The way he saw it, he just needed one big win, and he’d have the four thousand dollars he needed to buy a nice piece of land, build a house, and add some cattle. Then, he could get the noose off his neck that his father held tightly to.

Wyatt looked up and saw Thomas Matthews walk slowly across the room, heading straight for Wyatt’s table. His coat was patched in several place, and his boots were worn and dusty.

“Room for one more?” Thomas sat in the only empty chair at the table before anyone answered the question.

Tom Jones, another rancher, had the first deal, and Wyatt wiped all expressions off his face. He wasn’t about to show any of the tell-tale signs that he watched for in other players.

The first few hands were tame. No one won any big pots. Wyatt watched the other players at the table, biding his time.

Thomas was hard to read. He didn’t give anything away. There wasn’t any tapping on the table, eyes shifting, or noises. The older man simply played, his expression never changing. He was doing well for himself. He always folded when the stakes became too high and won several modest pots.

Wyatt’s confidence started to fade a bit when Thomas’ strategies were successful, and he took a lot of Wyatt’s—and the other players’—money.

It’s just a small bump in the road. I’ve been here before. I don’t have to win every hand.

As the game continued, all of the noise in the saloon faded into the background. At the moment, there were only the two of them in the room.

Wyatt stuck his finger in the collar of his shirt, feeling as though it was starting to strangle him. He tried to suck in a breath, but his lungs were heavy.

Thomas raised the bet, tossing a silver coin onto the middle of the table.

“Call,” Wyatt said, adding in his coins. Then, he tossed in the rest of the stack in front of him. “And I raise you two hundred.”

He heard Victoria gasp in the background, but Wyatt was smug. He had a winning hand—a full house of eights over aces.

Thomas didn’t blink or show any sign at all that might indicate what he had in his hand. He just tossed in the coins.

“Call.”

Everyone else folded and sat back, waiting to see how this would play out. Wyatt knew they were hoping that Thomas would take him down a notch since he’d been winning so much lately.

Wyatt grinned widely when he put his cards on the table and started to rake in the coins.

“Not so fast.” Thomas laid down four kings.

Wyatt’s heart fell into the pit of his stomach, and his brain screamed “No” as Thomas pulled the coins toward him.

“I guess I best be getting back home.” Thomas started to rake the coins into a small burlap bag he’d brought with him.

Victoria stood nearby, watching him with narrowed eyes, her arms crossed over her chest. Her lips were pressed together, and her face was flushed with disappointment and anger.

Humiliation washed over him like the stench from the slaughterhouse.

“Now, hold on there. You have to give me a chance to earn that back. I bet thirty head of cattle against five hundred dollars. I’ll write a promissory note.”

The saloon suddenly went dead silent. Even the piano stopped. Everyone stared at Thomas and Wyatt as Thomas thought about Wyatt’s offer.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure about that, son?”

Wyatt bristled at Thomas calling him son, but forced his face to stay neutral.

“I’ve been on a winning streak lately. I’m sure.” His voice was full of confidence and arrogance.

At least I was until you sat down. Your luck can’t last.

Gerald stroked his beard and looked at the players sitting at the table. “I suppose I’ll allow it if everyone at the table agrees.”

One of the ranchers threw up his hands. “I’m out. This is too rich for my blood.”

The other men agreed.

“It’s just you and me, Thomas,” Wyatt said, leaning toward the older man eagerly.

Thomas looked indecisive.

“Gerald deals. We’ll play one game of blackjack.”

Thomas scratched his head for a minute and looked at his sack of money and then back at Wyatt.

“Alright, one more hand.” Thomas frowned.

He didn’t look happy about playing another round, but Wyatt knew that Thomas’ ranch had been hit hard during the winter a couple of years ago and had lost almost their entire herd of cattle.

Victoria stood behind Wyatt, but for once, he ignored her presence. He had to win this game.

Gerald dealt the opening cards, sliding them smoothly across the table, face down. Wyatt looked at his card. It was the jack of spades—good start.

Thomas barely looked at his card before Gerald dealt the second round, face up. Wyatt had the six of hearts. Thomas had the queen of clubs.

Wyatt studied Thomas’ face, hoping the man would show some sign about his hand. All Wyatt needed was a twitch of the eyelid to tell him whether Thomas had a high hand or was going to take another card.

Taking a deep breath, Wyatt tapped the table. “Hit.”

Gerald flicked a card at him, and Wyatt groaned in the back of his throat. It was the nine of diamonds. He was bust.

Thomas exhaled slowly and turned his cards over. He had the king of diamonds. “Looks like you’re out some cattle.”

He picked up the promissory note, nodded at Gerald, and walked out the door slowly and deliberately, almost as though he expected to get a bullet in his back, although everyone knew that Wyatt wasn’t a man to shoot someone in the back, or in the front for that matter.

Gerald looked at him pityingly, but didn’t say anything. He left the cards on the table where they were and went back behind the bar.

Gradually, the noise level in the bar returned to normal, and Wyatt could guess what the topic of conversation was.

He slowly stood and walked outside. Wyatt breathed in the cool, fresh autumn air and tried to calm his thundering heart. He had to get back home and tell his father what happened before the old man heard it from anyone else.

Wyatt stared at the stars and wondered why fate had dealt him such a dirty hand at just the wrong time. He didn’t turn around when he heard the doors swing and the clicking of Victoria’s heels approaching behind him.

She stood next to him. Her face was beet red from fury. Her icy blue eyes cut him like a knife.

“I can’t believe that you not only wagered everything you were saving for our future, but you wagered your father’s cattle. He already hates the fact that you come here often. Your Pa is going to kill you.”

“They’re as much my cattle as his,” Wyatt said defensively, although he knew that really wasn’t true. “They belong to the ranch, and I’m a part of the family.”

“No, they aren’t yours in any way. And you know darn good and well that your father isn’t going to see it that way. You were fighting to show him that you’re a man and not some spoiled little boy, and then you pull some stupid act like this.” Her voice was cold and hard.

He shook his head. There wasn’t anything he could say to that.

“You know people are going to talk.”

Growling, Wyatt snapped, “Let them talk. I don’t care.”

Victoria stomped her foot impatiently. “Easy for you to say now. Your father will care. His status and reputation are more important to him than anything, which is why he wouldn’t bless our marriage to begin with. Now, you’ve given away thirty head of Blackwood cattle to a man your father has contempt for.”

Wyatt pressed his lips together and stared out into the darkness that covered the prairie. The humiliation of losing so much in front of everyone burned inside of him like rotgut whiskey going down too fast.

“I told you that if you wanted us to be together that you’d have to take a stand. Not like this. What you did tonight was reckless and stupid.” She huffed, turned away from him, and went back into the saloon.

He found his horse and quickly saddled him, setting off for home. Luckily, the horse knew the way since Wyatt wasn’t paying attention to the direction they were riding in. He tried to figure out exactly how he was going to tell his father about the loss.

Unfortunately, even after the two-hour ride home, he still hadn’t thought of a good way to explain to his father that he’d lost thirty head of their cattle—an explanation that wouldn’t result in Wyatt practically losing his head.

It doesn’t matter that I’m twenty and just as tall as him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took me behind the barn and whipped me.

Wyatt’s gut twisted as the ranch house, barns, and stables came into view. He was glad to see that the house was dark, meaning that he wouldn’t have to face his father until morning.

He unsaddled Sampson, brushed him, and gave him a treat before heading into the house, walking as quietly as he could, hoping he wouldn’t wake up his father.

As exhausted as he was, he couldn’t sleep. Tomorrow would bring his father’s wrath down on his head. On top of that, he might have lost Victoria, too.

Chapter 2

Clara sighed heavily as she finished milking Daisy, one of the two milk cows they had left.

“You’re a good girl.” Clara petted the cow and gave her some hay to munch on throughout the night.

Her hands were raw from hoeing the hard, rocky ground all day. She prayed that the garden would help produce enough food to see them through the winter.

The plum, apple, and cherry trees had helped sustain them through this past winter. She’d spent hours, sometimes working through the night, canning the fruit or making preserves out of them. She’d sold or traded a lot of what she made for supplies and food they couldn’t grow, like coffee, sugar, and flour.

She sighed as she struggled to close the barn door against the wind. The old wooden planks were being stubborn and didn’t seem to want to shut all the way. Finally, after one huge shove, she managed to get it closed.

Clara fed the chickens and then hurried into the house to make dinner for her and Caleb. She sighed heavily, as her father had gone to town again, taking with him the little bit of money she’d made from sewing dresses for Mrs. Franklin, who owned the dress shop in Silverdale.

I wonder how long it’s going to take before he runs out of money this time. She gave a humorless laugh. I guess he depends on whether he drinks it away or loses it at the table, hoping for that one win.

She thought about her mother as she mixed the batter for the cornbread. Helen Matthews had died from pneumonia two years past—the same winter they lost almost their entire herd of cattle from the abnormally freezing cold and high snow drifts. Her father hadn’t been the same since she died. Clara knew that Helen had taken a part of Thomas’ soul when she passed.

Her mother had been beautiful and Clara saw her every time she looked in the mirror. Clara was tall for a woman and had wavy chestnut hair that she kept braided. Her blue eyes rarely hid her thoughts and emotions. They stood out against the olive skin she’d inherited from one of her mother’s Italian ancestors.

Absently, Clara put the cornbread in the oven and peeled several potatoes to fry. She thought of the list of chores that needed to be done as she worked. The garden had to be planted, and she would have to help Caleb fix the fence if her father wasn’t in any shape to work tomorrow. She also needed to make soap, butter, and cheese. She’d spent so much time helping out around the ranch that she’d barely given the house a lick and a promise.

She put the potatoes in a skillet with some onions, lard, pepper, and salt and turned her attention to the ham steaks she’d bought that morning after Mrs. Franklin paid her.

Even though her father wasn’t home, she cooked enough for him as well. Even if he didn’t eat it, the food wouldn’t go to waste. She’d simply reheat it in the morning and add some scrambled eggs.

Caleb stomped the dirt off his boots before coming in. “I managed to chop enough wood to get you through the rest of the week.”

“Thank you. Sit down. Dinner will be done soon.”

“No sign of Pa?” Caleb set the table before pouring them each a glass of water.

Clara shook her head. “No. He took the rest of the money I had and went to town.”

“Confound it. I know he never recovered from Ma’s dying, but he needs to get his head on straight.”

She patted her brother’s arm as she put the food on the table. “I know. It’s frustrating and it’s not right that you’re doing your work and his.”

“You’re doing more than your fair share.” Caleb sat down and sighed. “You work as hard as any man.”

Clara sighed. The dark shadows under Caleb’s eyes and pale face told Clara just how exhausted her older brother was. He was outside working at sunup. Before breakfast, he’d milked the cows and mucked the stalls, and then Caleb had spent the day fixing their fences. He’d ridden out to the far pasture, that had enough grass to feed their measly herd, to check on a couple of heifers that were about to calve.

Caleb stood and took the dishes to the sink.

Clara put her hand on her brother’s arm and shook her head. “I’ve got this. I know you’re going to be up at the crack of dawn again, and you have to get some sleep.”

He looked at her and then the dishes, uncertainly, then nodded. “You’re going to stay up all night waiting for him, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help but worry. It’s twelve miles from town. Three hours is a long ride if he’s drunk, especially if there’s any kind of trouble.”

“You need sleep, but I know better than to change your mind. I’d be better off going outside and talking to that scarecrow you put in your garden today.”

She giggled, hugged her brother, and shooed him out of the kitchen. It didn’t take her long to clean up. She grabbed the material for one of the new dresses Mrs. Franklin wanted her to make and sat down next to the fire in the living room.

Clara concentrated on making the tiny, neat stitches until she was certain her eyes had crossed. She rubbed her temples. The ache made her feel that her head was going to explode at any moment. Actually, her entire body hurt—her back, legs, shoulders, and arms screamed in pain, and she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her up long enough to get upstairs to her room.

The wind whistled loudly outside. Clara sighed and stood to peek out the window, hoping to see her father ride up on his old horse, Prince. All she saw were the dark clouds that covered the stars and moon as they floated by. They promised the much-needed rain, but she hoped the storm would hold off until her father got home.

Her heart sank with disappointment, and her stomach twisted in knots with worry as she forced herself to sit back down and pick up the fabric again.

Clara’s eyes grew heavy. Exhaling loudly, she leaned her head back on the couch, closing her eyes. It’ll just be for a minute.

Heavy footsteps on the front porch made her eyes fly open. She hastily set her sewing on the table beside the couch and ran to the door. Her father stepped inside.

“Pa, it’s almost two in the morning. I’ve been worried sick about you,” she scolded.

He smiled. “I know it’s late. I’m sorry, honey. As a matter of fact, I have good news for you.”

She hung her father’s coat and hat up on the hooks and looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean, you have good news?”

Thomas Matthews rubbed his hands together. “Where’s Caleb?”

“He’s been in bed since nine. He’s got a lot of work to do in the morning since…”

“Since I haven’t been doing a lot of the work around the house. I know and I’m sorry. But I have something that should make the both of you happy. Go wake him up.”

Clara shook her head. “No, whatever you need to tell him can wait until morning. He’s exhausted.”

“Please, Clara. Just go get your brother.”

She looked at her father and then hesitantly obeyed him. He didn’t smell like he had liquor on him tonight. And he was in a good mood, so maybe he hadn’t lost all of their money.

Clara knocked on Caleb’s door and then cracked it open. “Caleb, wake up.”

He was instantly awake. “Is everything okay? Did something happen to Pa?”

“Pa’s fine. He’s in the kitchen and says he has good news that he has to tell us now.”

Caleb groaned. “Give me a minute.”

A few minutes later, he stumbled down the stairs with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His dark brown hair was sticking up all over the place, and his blue eyes were hazy with sleep. He slumped into one of the chairs.

Clara poured him a cup of coffee, then one for her father and herself.

“This had better not be about fixing fences or moving the cattle from the north pasture to the south pasture,” Caleb grumbled before sipping the coffee.
“It’s not.” A huge smile spread across Thomas’ face, and Clara half expected him to break out in a jig. “I went to the Silver Spur Saloon tonight.”

Clara and Caleb groaned at the same time. That was never good news.

“I knew my bad luck couldn’t hold out forever, so I decided to try my hand at some poker tonight. Wyatt Blackwood sat at the back table, and word had it that he’d been raking it in for quite some time. He’d been playing a little recklessly, making big bets and bluffing a lot. He’s cocky and bound to make mistakes.”

Rubbing her hand over her face, Clara grimaced, feeling a knot forming in her stomach.

Her father squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t look like that. I didn’t drink a drop of anything tonight. I wanted to play with a clear head.” He sipped some coffee. “I wasn’t planning on staying too long, but the game started picking up.”

Please, Pa, just get on with it. I want to go to bed.

Caleb tapped the side of his coffee mug. “How’d you do?”

“I won.”

Clara sat up straighter in her chair. Holding her mug with both hands, she stared at her father. Figuring he just made a couple of dollars, she had to ask. “How much?”

“Three thousand dollars,” Thomas announced triumphantly. “Do you know what we can do with that much money? But that’s not all.”

“What else?” Clara held her breath, worrying that her father had gotten them into a bind.

He pulled the promissory note out of his bag and slid it to Clara. She read it and passed it to Caleb. Both of them stared at their father with wide eyes and their mouths hanging open in shock.

“You read that right. I won thirty head of cattle from Wyatt Blackwood. He signed that note right in front of the saloon owner and half the town.”

Caleb stared at his father, blinking slowly. “You’re saying that you won three thousand dollars and thirty head of cattle from Wyatt?”

Thomas nodded. “I also won quite a bit from the other men who were sitting at the table.”

“You won more than three thousand dollars,” Clara repeated in disbelief.

“Yep. The game started off slow at first. I won several small pots. Wyatt seemed to be getting agitated, although he did his best not to show it. He started making bigger bets.”

Thomas shrugged. “He put the rest of his money in the pot because he had a hand that he thought was a sure winner. Under normal circumstances, it would have been. He had a full house, eights over aces.”

Clara and Caleb looked at him, dumbfounded.

“I had four kings.”

“Wow. That’s a miracle,” Caleb said. “That just doesn’t happen.”

“I know, especially not to me. It hurt his pride. He wanted to bet thirty head of cattle against five hundred for one hand of blackjack. I figured that even if I lost the five hundred, I still had the rest of the money. If I won, we would have more cattle to add to our herd.”

“And he lost,” Clara said disbelievingly.

“He lost. He went bust. I had twenty. He couldn’t back out of it, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t going to bet any more of his father’s cattle. I skedaddled on out of there, not spending a penny on a single drink.”

Thomas pointed to the bag. “This can be our new beginning. Look, I know I haven’t been the father you two needed and you both have been working yourselves to the limit keeping what’s rest of the ranch together. While I’ve… well, I’ve been trying to drown my sorrows.” He paused and looked Clara and then Caleb in the eyes. “I’ll do better.”

“Do you honestly think that Silas will honor Wyatt’s bet?” Caleb asked. “That man is as mean as a snake in the hen house. He looks down on all the other ranchers.”

“I do.” Thomas sipped some coffee and carefully set his mug on the table. “This is a debt of integrity. Like I said, half the town saw Wyatt sign the note. He was the one who suggested the bet, not me. If he doesn’t honor the wager, then Wyatt’s disgrace will also fall on Silas’ shoulders.”

Thomas chuckled. “I don’t expect that we’ll get the best of the herd. There’s no way that old buzzard is going to give us anything but the weakest of the herd. However, it’s still thirty more than what we had. With the money I won, we’ll be able to buy enough feed to get them through the winter.”

“If he does deliver the cattle, then we won’t make the same mistakes as the other winter. We’ll make sure all of the cattle are in the pasture closest to the barns so we can feed them. We can build shelters for them so they have a way to get out of the snow and wind.” Caleb talked slowly as though he was just beginning to see the possibilities the money and cattle could bring.”

“That’s right. We can also get you the new pair of boots you’ve been needing.”

Caleb shook his head. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. Three thousand is a lot of money, but there are a lot of things we need if we’re going to make it. The fences need fixin’, the barns need repairs. We need hay, grain, and other feed. The money will go quickly.”

Clara didn’t say anything. All of this seemed too good to be true, and she couldn’t help but think that it was too good to be true.

She bit her lip, knowing her question would annoy her father. “Was he drunk when he signed the note or made the wagers?”

To her surprise, Thomas smiled and put his hand over hers. “I know this is sudden and it’s a shock. We’ve had so much bad luck lately that it’s hard to believe that some good luck has come our way. Wyatt was sober. He was angry. But he hadn’t had much, if anything, to drink. It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if he was falling down drunk, a bet is a bet.”

Clara nodded.

Caleb and Thomas talked about the improvements they were going to make. Clara sat back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest, thinking about the events that unfolded. An uneasiness settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe. This type of gift doesn’t come without some kind of cost.