"Are you painting yourself or the house, Mr. Danner?"
Danner felt a foolish grin reach his mouth. He dropped his brush into the now empty paint can, wiped his hands on the legs of his Levi's, and assisted Melinda from the saddle.
"You're a long way from Richfield."
"I often take long rides."
"Alone?"
She nodded gravely. "Shouldn't I?"
Danner shrugged. She moved over to sit on the edge of the porch, adjusting her fashionable riding skirt. Danner leaned against a post, filling his pipe, then stared at Melinda while she gazed at the waving wheat field. A beautiful woman, he thought, and a cold one. At times. Strangely she didn't seem out of place on the porch of the crude farm house, nor did she seem aware of her surroundings. Now he wondered why she was here, and she seemed to sense his thoughts.
"I rode out here to tell you I'm sorry things didn't work out between you and Mr. Wainright."
Danner saw no need to answer. He puffed silently on his pipe. She noticed the pipe, but didn't frown at it as she used to do.
"I wish there were something I could do to make it up to you," she said with less coldness than she had used at any time since the Colonel's death. "I mean, Father's will—"
"The Colonel paid me well for four years," Danner interrupted. "You owe me nothing."
"I can't help but feel—"
"Forget it."
The abruptness seemed to anger her and a hardness returned to her face. "I'm trying to apologize for the way I've treated you—for my doubts and suspicions—but you are not making it easy for me."
"And just what great event has happened to change your mind about me?"
Her cheeks darkened slightly at the irony. "Nothing. It's just—well," and she gestured defensively, "I keep thinking of how father felt about you."
Danner tapped the dottle from his pipe. Melinda stood up, crossed her arms over her ample breasts and moved to the south end of the porch. Danner remained against the post, admiring her shapeliness, wondering about her apparent frankness. Then she retraced her steps to stand near him, the porch level putting her lips on the same level as his eyes. He stared at the full lips until she spoke again.
"I don't think you should come to Richfield for a couple of weeks."
"Why?"
"There have been several warehouse robberies, and an express-car holdup since you quit the railroad."
Danner lifted his shoulders. "How does that concern a wheat farmer?"
"A rash of robberies so soon after you quit the line plus the suspicion over that Spaulding affair has started tongues wagging worse than ever."
"I see," Danner said. Involuntarily his stare returned to her full lips and she seemed to sway a little closer to him. Without thinking, he pulled her against his chest and kissed her, gently at first, then fully and demandingly. She resisted, submitted for a long moment, then began pushing against his chest and finally broke away, breathing heavily. With the back of her hand she rubbed her lips, looking at him wide-eyed, visibly shaken.
Fire from the kiss clung to his lips, burning them. Danner felt shame wash over him. In the future Lona would have at least grounds for her lack of trust, he thought savagely.
"You deliberately invited that," he said hoarsely.
"Yes." She flushed, dropping her gaze. "I guess I did."
"Why?"
"I don't know," she said. "But I'll see to it that it doesn't happen again." She had regained her composure now, except for a faint coloring on her cheeks. "I'll have to be going if I'm to get back to town before dark." She hurried over to her horse, then looked back over her shoulder.
"You will stay out of Richfield for a while?"
There's more to this than she has mentioned, Danner thought. He moved toward her, watching every facial movement for a possible answer.
"I have business in town both tonight and tomorrow," he answered.
Melinda's hands tightened into tiny fists. "I just told you what—" and she dropped her hands stiffly to her sides. "If you do go, someone will say something that will start trouble. As long as you live, people will always think of you as Colonel Richfield's special agent. He must share the blame for anything you do, or are accused of doing."
The truth shall be known, Danner thought, recalling a quotation he had read somewhere. It had been mostly concern for her father's good reputation that had brought her out here, and very little desire to make amends for her past attitude toward him. He flipped his hat to the back of his head.
"A man can't avoid trouble by hiding from it."
Anger stained her cheeks with color. "You certainly can't avoid it any other way unless you really want to do so."
She grabbed the curved horn of the sidesaddle and pulled herself up into riding position before he could move over to help her.
"I really need to make those two trips into town," Danner told her. "But I can skip the trip tonight if you will deliver a message to the telegrapher for me."
She nodded assent.
Danner entered the house and rummaged through his gear until he found some paper and a stub pencil. Then he scribbled out a telegram to the grain elevator in Junction City. He returned to Melinda, handing the folded sheet up to her.
"Give this to the telegrapher on duty and ask him to send it. Tell him I'll pay for it tomorrow when I pick up the answer."
Melinda glanced at the folded sheet without opening it, then darted a quick look at him as she tucked the paper into a tiny pocket in her jacket.
"If you read it," Danner said, "don't repeat it to anyone."
She flinched as if he had slapped her, pulled the reins sharply and galloped from the yard. Danner watched her ride out of sight, softly cursing his own sharp tongue.
CHAPTER EIGHT
McDaniel argued with Danner all the way to Richfield, insisting that they attend the meeting of the grangers.
"Billy, you're as mule-headed as a woman," Danner concluded as they reached the outskirts of town.
McDaniel displayed no humor, just an inflexible stubbornness. "Browder has been short-weighing grangers for years, stealing at least a fourth of their crop with those crooked scales of his. We've got to stick with the others if we are to beat him."
"I can't see it that way," Danner shook his head. "We can work out our own solution and let the others take care of themselves. In fact, most of them probably would prefer that I stay out of their plans."
"We must stick together," McDaniel repeated doggedly.
"You try to do a favor for other folks and they'll kick you in the teeth," Danner warned.
"Jeff, you ought to feel a little more kindly toward folks—meet them halfway, work with them on common problems."
"Sure," Danner grated. "I have a lot of reason to feel kindly toward my fellow man."
They reined in at the Trading Center and McDaniel twisted in the saddle. "Would you go to the meeting just as a personal favor to me?"
Danner sat idly in the saddle, studying the likable big Irishman. Then he shrugged with resignation. "All right, Billy. I'll go with you, but if any of those hardheads pop off—" He broke off, remembering his scene with Melinda. He stepped down out of the saddle and roughly knotted the reins around the rail. "Forget it. I guess if I'm fool enough to stay around here, I'll just have to try to avoid trouble."
"Thanks, Jeff." Billy's voice sounded grateful as he, too, quit the saddle.
The Trading Center consisted of a market place for produce, located at Danner's far left, a corral for horse trading at his far right, and a collection of farm machinery in front of him. Danner idled by the horses while McDaniel bargained with the Swede who operated the center. Just behind them stood a row of new machines that were supposed to cut wheat and bind it into stalks, both in the same operation. They were the first such machines this far west, McDaniel had told him. J. K. Case wheat thrashers lay scattered about. Renting such fancy equipment would come high, Danner thought.