Trilby

Trilby closed her eyes. Let him go, she thought angrily. She certainly didn’t want him. She never had! She thought about Richard instead, and the tenseness left her face all at once. Richard was coming, at last! For once, her dreams seemed to be coming true. When Richard arrived, the vicious Mr. Vance would become nothing more than a bad memory.

Bad, like the events of the day. Trilby refused to think of the danger her father had been in. She wanted nothing to spoil the joyous time ahead.

Chapter Five

When Trilby got up, minutes later, Mary Lang was still sick and faint from what she’d seen outside her window. The whole unpleasant episode had pointed out what was worst about their new home.

“I had no idea men fought like that,” Mary told her daughter later when they were sitting quietly together after putting out a meal for Jack. “I’d never seen men fight.”

“Neither had I. The Mexican said something about me. Mr. Vance wouldn’t tell me what it was, but it was why he hit him.”

“Thank you for taking care of his wounds, Trilby,” Mary said. “I just couldn’t!”

For the first time, Trilby felt older than her mother. It was not to be the last time she felt that way.

The idea of Thorn fighting for her was surprising. Of course, he had sworn that he’d changed his mind about her. But it didn’t wipe away the damaging things he’d said.

He came visiting late one afternoon at the end of the week, after Jack Lang had come in from checking his line riders. The sun was going down and the sunset, always spectacular, had brought Trilby onto the darkened front porch steps to watch. She was sitting there, alone, while her family talked around the kitchen table, when Thorn rode up.

Her heart raced as he swung lithely out of the saddle and tied his mount to the post. Fear, she supposed, had to be responsible for that reaction. Or anger, perhaps. She noticed that he was still wearing working garb.

Her innate sense of courtesy wouldn’t let her be deliberately rude to a visitor, in spite of the hostility he kindled in her. “You usually ride a horse when you come to visit, Mr. Vance,” she commented politely from her perch on the top step. “I thought you liked automobiles.”

“I don’t. Not particularly.” He sat down beside her, a lighted cigarette in his hand, and he didn’t remove his wide-brimmed hat. He smelled of leather and tobacco and dust and sweat, but Trilby didn’t find him in the least offensive. That reaction puzzled her. Since she didn’t like him, shouldn’t she find his nearness unpleasant?