Love on the Range

by Mary Connealy

  She saw a bird fly high overhead. It looked like a pigeon. After a few minutes, she saw another, flying in that same straight-arrow direction. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she quietly waited and saw a third one.

  Then no more.

  Strange, but she wasn’t sure why. Maybe the way the birds flew hard and fast straight east. But it wasn’t uncommon for birds to fly in a straight line, was it? But three of them spaced out like that?

  And pigeons? She’d seen some roosting in the barn at the RHR, but she couldn’t remember seeing one out in the wild. Where did pigeons roost out here? But it stood to reason that they did.

  Dismissing it, she hung on and waited for her chance.

  Twenty-Eight

  Falcon slipped through the woods to the back of the house, Sheriff Corly close behind. Just as he came around from the west, McCall came from the east.

  Their eyes met, and John’s narrowed, but he didn’t say a thing. The need to be silent won the day.

  The back of the ramshackle cabin was close enough to the woods that there wouldn’t be a long line of footprints. Falcon figured he could smooth them out without much trouble.

  Falcon found a few bare spots blown clear of snow. Lightly, he covered the distance to the back of the house and heard fluttering and cooing from inside.

  John came up behind him. Falcon glanced back and saw that John had stepped in the same spots as Falcon, less of a trail to cover. The sheriff came last and was covering their tracks with decent skill.

  “We found more pigeons.” Falcon smiled at John, who nodded.

  They went into a small back entry, just a little wider than the door. A small slit in the east wall let the pigeons in. There were neatly built coops here, a smaller set of only four coops, but otherwise they were like the coops at Hawkins’s house. There were two pigeons inside. And two more coops with their doors open.

  Falcon led the way into the main cabin, and it was the work of two seconds in the single room to see it was empty.

  “He’s been here.” The sheriff pointed to a few unwashed dishes sitting on the table. A skillet on a small potbellied stove. The sheriff went to the stove. “The fire has burned down, but there’s still some heat. He must’ve slept here last night.”

  There were three cots in the room, one on each wall except for the side with the fireplace. The entry door was pushed far to one side of the building so a cot would fit.

  “All three of them must’ve met here.” Falcon looked around, but there wasn’t much else to see. “Wyatt said Hawkins was known to go off for a few days now and again. I’ll bet he and his brothers met here, talked over who all they’d robbed and killed lately. They probably did it when Clovis was still alive, then the two of them kept at it after he died.”

  “And when they couldn’t get away, they’d send a homing pigeon to talk to each other.”

  “Or arrange a meeting date.” The sheriff rubbed his hand over his mouth as he considered it.

  “I told Cheyenne I’d be staying inside, waiting for Hawkins to come.”

  “You left your woman out in the cold while you’re inside?” John smirked at him as if he liked taunting.

  “Yep, she’s a tough woman, and she knows I’m better finding a trail than her, and better hiding one.”

  “I’m married to a tough woman, too.” John’s smirk changed to a genuine smile. “She saved my life the first time I met her by knowing her way around in the wilderness. She’d’ve stayed outside, too, if we decided it was best.”

  John studied the room. “Not much here, but let’s look under the cots, under everything. If I was gonna stash information about my lawbreaking, where better than a secret hideout?”

  Falcon headed for a crate on the floor, shoved under the closest cot. It looked to hold a few clothes and not much else, but he had to start somewhere.

  Wyatt didn’t let go of her, and she desperately needed him to.

  “I don’t know where to start.” Molly tugged away and faced the trail.

  Wyatt rested his hands on her upper arms and pulled her around to face him. When she met his eyes, she felt a chill rush down her spine.

  Somehow, right now, being held was like being taken prisoner. It was like the sheriff and his shackles, the prison door swinging shut.

  “Please, let go. I-I can’t tell you this if—if we’re touching.” She swallowed hard. “When I’m done, you may not want to touch me ever again, and it will tear me apart to feel your hands leave me in disgust.”

  He let go. “What happened, Molly? What could a sweet little woman like you do to—”

  “I killed my father.” She shoved the words out. Words she’d never spoken aloud before. Not even to Kevin. She covered her face with both hands, so she couldn’t look at Wyatt, couldn’t see what was in his eyes. A bone-deep trembling that she couldn’t control threatened to break her apart. Her face felt flushed. Her head, her whole body, felt as if a fire burned inside. As if her great, dark secret was consuming her.

  “I v-vowed—” Her teeth chattered until she couldn’t speak. She’d kept fear inside for years and years, and now she’d said the truth aloud. Now she might hang. She deserved to. “I vowed to never speak those words. I’ve prayed for God to forgive me for what I’ve done and protect me from the punishment I deserve. But it’s like holding in terror that builds until it has the pressure of a steaming kettle. Now that I said it, I can feel that it’s been grinding inside me from the moment that gun blasted and my pa clutched his chest, dropped to his knees, and pitched forward next to my ma’s body.”

  She stopped speaking again and covered her face more tightly with her trembling hands. It was still as vivid as the moment it happened. She could remember the roar of the gun. The way Pa staggered back, looking at her with stunned eyes. She could smell the blood, smell the sulfur, the stench of the smoking gun.

  “You killed your father?” Wyatt’s voice sounded as if he were far away.

  His question helped her go on. “Yes, I shot him dead. I came in to find Ma on the kitchen floor, bleeding, unconscious. Pa turned on me. And it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. But he never hurt me like he hurt Ma. This time though, there was such fire in his eyes. Such a love of hurting Ma, and now those eyes were on me. He swung a fist, and I lurched back. Hit the wall. There was a gun belt hanging from a nail behind the door. I was so afraid and so angry. He’d hurt Ma so many times.”

  “That’s where you learned healing, doctoring your ma?”

  She nodded. Glad Wyatt had interrupted her story and taken her out of that room full of death. “After years of cruel beatings, he’d finally gone too far. But I didn’t know that yet. I’d seen Ma on the floor, not moving, plenty of times before. I fumbled that gun out of the holster and aimed it. He laughed, taunted me. ‘You gonna shoot your lovin’ papa, little girl?’”

  She thought of those words, that ugliness. “I—I pulled the trigger. If—if I’d done it because I was afraid, only afraid, I would believe it was self-defense. But I hated him. I’d hated him for so long. I know in my heart how badly I wanted to kill him.” She started shaking again. She felt like there were tears inside her, but they’d turned to stone in her chest, and she couldn’t make them fall. She had to bear the hard pain of them forever.

  Wyatt touched her shoulder. She ducked away. His hand followed and rested on her as she shook. The strength of it might hold her together when she seemed about to fall apart.

  “He killed her. And you walked in on it?”

  Nodding, she didn’t think more words could come free.

  “And you’ve never told anyone? Kevin had to know.” His hand, steady and strong.

  Kevin, her big brother. Her kind brother who’d done everything he could to protect her. “I wanted to tell him. I knew I should go to the sheriff and confess. But Kevin’s need to protect me was so strong I was afraid he might insist he’d pulled the trigger. He might convince the sheriff to arrest him instead of me. He might’ve been the one to hang
. He might’ve laid down his life.”

  “No greater love, that sounds like Kevin.” Wyatt hung on to her but not so tight she couldn’t talk.

  “He came running in from outside only seconds after it happened. He’d heard the shot. I was standing there, holding the gun. Pa dead next to Ma. I didn’t know she was dead then, but Kevin checked.” Inhaling a jagged breath, she said, “He said, ‘I’ll bury them. Don’t let Andy see this.’ And then he dragged them outside. I heard Andy and rushed to him to keep him in bed. Kevin loaded Ma and Pa over two horses and rode away. I never saw them again. Once Andy settled back to sleep, I cleaned up the blood, and that was the end of it.”

  “Kevin never asked about what happened? And he never told you where they were buried?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “He had to guess I’d shot Pa, but it was like those bodies. We buried it. We never spoke of it. No one missed them or asked after either of them. Ma never went to town. Pa was hated and feared because he rode with the night riders. No one even knew they were gone.” Molly slid her hands into her hair. “It’s too much like the story of Hawkins’s parents. And we’re talking about hanging him.”

  Wyatt’s arms closed around her, and it brought her back from the ugly past. She couldn’t decide if he wanted her still, or if he was comforting her before he said goodbye. If he didn’t say it, she would.

  Twenty-Nine

  Molly, I—” Wyatt started but then shoved her away.

  He took one second to see she was devastated, but there was no time to explain. He heard hooves on the trail, but not the one right near them. The sound came from the side of the cabin. “Hush, someone’s coming.”

  He got on his knees behind the boulder and saw Cheyenne across from him down the trail a ways, just before the clearing.

  Their eyes met. She nodded and jerked her head toward the cabin to tell him she heard the riders, too. Then they both ducked out of sight.

  Molly had a gun. He now knew she was familiar with them. Shuddering, he wondered what it did to a woman to carry that kind of secret for so many years. He wondered if she was capable of loving a husband.

  She was on her knees, gun drawn, well below the top of the boulder. Her eyes open, ears listening, but staying out of sight to any riders.

  The clopping of horses, two critters, Wyatt was sure. Two? How did Hawkins find someone to partner up with? One brother, Clovis, dead. The other, Randall, locked up. Wyatt slipped sideways to peer between the thick but leafless bushes, then gasped and jerked his head back. He clapped his hand over Molly’s mouth when she looked at him in wild confusion. He shook his head and touched the muzzle of his gun to his lips, then released Molly’s mouth. As if she were the one who’d made a noise.

  The horses came on. Wyatt stayed down. He’d considering jumping out as they rode into the clearing, getting the drop on them, trusting Cheyenne to do the same. But that was before he’d seen who it was.

  Four people.

  Two of them Win and Rachel. Though Hawkins and Kingston rode easy, they both had a gun in hand. And no threat of “stop or I’ll shoot” would be believed when that put Win and Rachel in the cross fire.

  The horses came around to the hitching post at the front of the house. Wyatt peeked out on the side of the boulder toward the clearing. He just didn’t know what to do. He should have attacked. He should have shot both of them in the back once they’d turned their horses to hitch them. The bullet probably wouldn’t go through them to hit the women who rode in front of them.

  Shooting someone in the back was the act of a coward. But he should have done something.

  He could have charged out of the woods and sprinted across that clearing while they faced away, jumped up, and pulled one man off his horse, left the other to Cheyenne. Tough as she was, he didn’t like the idea of her tangling with an armed killer. But Win might’ve helped. Rachel appeared to be unconscious.

  Where were Falcon, John, and Sheriff Corly? Then it hit him—where was Kevin? He’d been in town. Was he dead? He had to be, or these two would’ve never gotten the women away from him.

  Wyatt had thought Falcon was dead the day Falcon, Kevin, Molly, and Andy had descended on the ranch. Then for a time Kevin and Win had been missing, and they’d feared the worst.

  Now Wyatt’s stomach twisted with the fear that Kevin might’ve been shot in what had to be a jailbreak.

  Wyatt was sick of all this trouble. He wanted to go back to busting broncs and dodging angry bulls. That’s the kind of peaceful, quiet life he loved.

  With the men’s backs to them, dismounting, dragging their prisoners down, Wyatt stepped out from behind the boulder, his grip unshakeable on Molly’s arm, and darted across the trail to Cheyenne’s side.

  Cheyenne rose from where she’d been concealed, her expression grim. Wyatt closed the distance between them. He noticed Molly wasn’t being dragged. In fact, she was coming along fast enough he had to move, or she’d be dragging him.

  Wyatt got close enough he dared to whisper. “Rachel looked all in, and Win looked terrified.”

  Cheyenne shook her head. “Rachel opened her eyes and saw me. She winked. She’s only acting unconscious. Which means she’s ready to fight. Win was pale as milk, but determined not terrified.”

  “Where’s Kevin?” Molly broke in.

  Cheyenne looked at Molly, her jaw so tight it was likely to crack her teeth.

  “He wouldn’t have let them take her, not without a fight.” Wyatt saw Molly’s eyes fill with tears, but she squared her shoulders and swept the wrist of her coat across her eyes. A woman who didn’t cry when there was a battle to be fought, maybe later when she had time to spare, but not right now.

  “I’ll kill both of them for what they’ve done to Kevin.” Molly raised her gun until it pointed to the sky, then turned to march down the trail.

  Wyatt grabbed for her and missed.

  Cheyenne got a grip on his arm that made his fingers go numb. “I’ll help you, Molly. They’re headed into the cabin, and Falcon is in there.” Cheyenne let go of Wyatt and fell in beside Molly.

  After a second of doubting this was the right approach, Wyatt caught up to them and walked between them. They’d left him room, and he knew that was more than good luck. They knew he’d come, expected him to come. Counted on him coming. He felt the need to plan, to talk through what they’d do, but there was no time.

  He picked up the pace, and they kept up until they were running.

  “They’ve got Rachel and Win.” John stepped away from the single window. There was barely room for his broad shoulders between the door and bunk, but he pressed his back against the wall and drew his gun. He did all that in about a second, in time to see Falcon do the same on the other side of the door.

  Falcon leaned to risk a look out the window at the men coming up to the hitching post. “Hawkins must’ve broke Kingston out of jail. What happened to Kevin?”

  “And what about Gatlin?” Sheriff Corly asked. “Hawkins may have just killed two men.”

  The sheriff took quick stock. There was nowhere in here to hide, no more space beside the doors. He opened the back door and stepped through, leaving it open an inch.

  “My brother.” Falcon felt his head heat up. Rage, killing fury. He drew his gun, pointed it at the floor.

  “Watch who you shoot. Mind the women.”

  Falcon glared at him so he’d know how insulting that warning was.

  John jerked his head in a quick nod, best he could do to apologize. “I hope they don’t go around back. No footprints out here.”

  “Hush up. They’re coming. Out front.” Falcon pressed his back against the wall, his gun pointed down. John’s pointed up. Footsteps.

  “What is this place? Why are we here?” Win’s voice. Falcon was getting to know his little sister-in-law. She was the softest of all of them. But to him, her voice sounded falsely whiny. He suppressed a smile. She had a game of her own going on. Little sister was ready to fight.

  Not a sound fr
om Rachel. Falcon remembered how long she’d been in bed. But she was a tough woman.

  By gum, she’d shaken off a bullet to the heart.

  He wouldn’t count on her, neither would he count her out.

  The door was shoved open. It hit John in the face, but he was ready for it and made nary a sound. No one seemed to notice it didn’t open all the way.

  Win got shoved inside. Falcon could have grabbed her, dragged her out of the line of fire, and shot Kingston, and he wanted to so bad he knew it for a sin.

  But Kevin. What had happened to his little brother?

  Win staggered forward and fell to her knees. Falcon, on high alert, saw her slip one hand under the hem of her skirt and slide a knife from her boot.

  Kingston had turned halfway around, away from Falcon, talking to Hawkins behind him. “She still alive?”

  “Yep, breathing. Winona said she was ailing.”

  “Ailing because I shot her.” Kingston laughed with crude pleasure.

  Win gathered herself, knife hidden in the folds of her skirt. She rose, turned, and saw Falcon. She didn’t so much as look at him after that one quick glance. Didn’t let pleasure show on her face. She had a cool head in a tough time.

  Falcon didn’t move. He didn’t want a board to creak or a shadow to shift. John was shielded by the door, but as soon as Kingston quit looking at his brother and took one more step into the room, he’d see Falcon. If only Hawkins would come a few steps closer first, so they could grab him an instant after they grabbed Kingston.

  Win peeked at Falcon’s gun. She got a look on her face he couldn’t understand. All he knew was she looked mad as a rabid skunk. With Kingston’s back to her, she raised the knife and sank it hard into the middle of his back.

  Kingston roared and spun around.

  She let go of her knife and plowed a fist straight into his nose, shouting, “That’s for Kevin!”

  Hawkins came at a run. He carried Rachel in his arms but shoved her aside just inside the door so she plowed into Falcon.