by Ember Pierce
* * *
If his talk with Otto had done anything, it had made him believe there was more to this life than just his own pain. None of these revelations helped him figure out how to move forward, though.
* * *
He could never be John. There was no living up to someone so perfect, so unblemished by the world around him.
* * *
Still, John had always believed in him. John knew things that Kristian would never understand, but his brother had loved him even when he had felt at his most unloveable.
* * *
Why he deserved to have someone love him in that way, Kristian couldn’t fathom, but he had returned his brother’s love with a love and devotion of his own.
* * *
So, where did that leave him? Other than with a massive headache and a heart full of pain? Kristian didn’t know, but he was figuring out that just trying might be enough.
* * *
There was a light knock at the door and as Kristian rolled onto his other side, he saw Rhonda’s head peek around. She gave him a warm smile.
* * *
“Good to see you awake,” she said. “You have to stop coming up to my place like this.”
* * *
Kristian chuckled and then winced in pain. “Thanks,” he said.
* * *
“Do you need anything?” she asked.
* * *
“Some water would be good.”
* * *
Rhonda nodded. “I’ll go get you some cold from the pump. Be back soon.”
* * *
After she had gently eased the door shut, Kristian leaned back on the pillow, thinking that this cup of water was the first step toward his new life.
* * *
He would walk toward it slowly, one proverbial cup of water at a time.
* * *
John would have done better than that, but Kristian thought his brother would still be proud of him for trying. It was the least he could do for someone so important to him.
* * *
He had been given a few bucketloads of good advice during the last few days, and he couldn’t agree with any of them.
* * *
But the words about John had somehow penetrated through his mental fog and touched his heart. His brother would not want him to wake up drunk in a friend’s room.
* * *
And John would certainly not want him to keep waking up drunk there. That was not the life John wanted for him.
* * *
Perhaps he should forget about living his life for himself. Perhaps Kristian was a lost cause. He had proven so again and again.
* * *
Perhaps he should live for John. Become something of a man because of his brother.
* * *
He gave a wry frown. He could see the ornate tombstone of his brother, with the fine English letters chiseled into the granite. A fitting tombstone for a fine man.
* * *
And then, Kristian could see his marker—maybe two pieces of wood in the shape of a cross. The type of monument that befitted him.
* * *
Such would be an insult to his brother.
* * *
Perhaps he could do a few good things in his life. And those few good things could be attributed to his fine brother, a man of rectitude and courage and decency.
* * *
At least that would be better than dying drunk with his head split open in a second-rate shack, but a shack inhabited by better people than he was.
* * *
The thought hit like a blacksmith hitting him with his hammer. He had been selfish, incredibly selfish.
* * *
True, he didn’t have the courage of his late brother, but that was no excuse. Things were often not easy in the west. The West wasn’t going to change for him.
* * *
So, he would have to change.
* * *
He vowed that no matter what, no matter how many times he stumbled or felt like giving up, he would keep moving forward.
* * *
He would reconcile with his parents and try to live life the way his father wanted him to. He would live life, if not always for himself, for John.
6
He was dozing, helped by the liquor, and he dreamed of the time he’d joined a posse to find Nick “Diamond” Redlyn, who had been accused of shooting a man over in Orange Hill, a small town about thirty miles south.
* * *
Sheriff Ben Odum didn’t know the why of the crime. He said Redlyn, who did not have a good reputation in the town, or anyplace else for that matter, had simply walked up to the victim, pulled his six-shooter and shot him three times.
* * *
Then, Redlyn jumped on his horse and high-tailed it out of town.
* * *
John and Kristian had willingly joined up for the posse. When the sheriff, or anyone else, needed help in a small town, the citizens gave it.
* * *
Redlyn wasn’t particularly good at covering his tracks, so the posse knew he headed in the Bent Tree Forest, where there were plenty of places to hide.
* * *
Sheriff Odum had his posse split up. The group spread out. Kristian first rode with John, but then they split off to cover more territory.
* * *
The ground was soft due to a recent rain, but Kristian saw no tracks. He rode carefully along the trees, searching for anything that looked out of place.
* * *
The fugitive couldn’t go on foot. He needed his horse, and he couldn’t hide a horse.
* * *
Kristian wondered if Redlyn might try to curve his way through the forest until he made it to the Rocky River. Then, he could ride through the waters so the tracks wouldn’t show.
* * *
Kristian headed through the forest toward the river, too, going a direct route. Redlyn would have to ride between trees and keep to the shadows.
* * *
As he rode, Kristian had his hand on his gun. He was a good tracker and he kept his ears tuned for any unusual sounds in the forest.
* * *
He came out at the river and watched the waters gush over the rocks.
* * *
Then, the idea hit him. When he found the river, Redlyn wouldn’t go north—there were too many towns and settlements that way. He’d go south, toward more open land.
* * *
Kristian spurred his horse south until he’d traveled about a mile, then turned around. It might be a good idea to wait for Redlyn.
* * *
If he came toward the river, Kristian figured he’d be in the outlaw’s path. He eased his horse into the forests, wedged into a space between two trees.
* * *
He could see the river, but chances were Redlyn would not be able to spot him in the woods. He eased his hands on the saddlehorn and waited.
* * *
He could wait without fiddling. He was good at it. On his ranch, there wasn’t much time just to sit and relax, but when he got a chance to rest, he took it.
* * *
Seemed a shame to him that men like Redlyn would mar the West. He loved this land and the people.
* * *
Alas, as Reverend Smallwood had told the congregation, this was a fallen world. There was sin and evil in the world.
* * *
But Reverend Smallwood did not dwell on the sin. Some preachers preached only hellfire and damnation, but he emphasized that men could be good, too, and noble.
* * *
He noted depravity had always been a part of human history, but so had bravery and courage and honor. You could choose, the reverend had said.
* * *
God gave all humans free will. A man could determine his own destiny. Take the path of truth and salvation, he’d said, and you will ever regret it.
* * *
Your decision would determine not only your future in this life, but your future in ete
rnity.
* * *
Kristian liked the reverend. He not only gave good sermons, he was a friendly man. He was one of those men people instinctively liked. When he smiled, they smiled with him.
* * *
His hand went to his gun when he heard the twig snap. He tensed, looking around. Then, he saw the deer run through the water and scamper down the trail.
* * *
He glanced toward the river. Redlyn should be making an appearance soon.
* * *
Of course, he might be moving slowly due to the posse, keeping behind trees and stopping to hide until any potential danger passed.
* * *
But he was a man of the West. Redlyn knew the trails and paths around here. He was comfortable in the wilderness—it was his second home.
* * *
A tenderfoot would be easy to track in the wilderness or trees. He’d be wandering around confused and lost and probably die of starvation even when there was abundant food around him.
* * *
The tenderfoots didn’t know how to live off the land. He enjoyed a good meal, too. He enjoyed eating in restaurants, and he loved a well-cooked steak.
* * *
And for breakfast, waffles were his favorite. His mouth watered when he thought of waffles and syrup. He could eat almost any morning in the week.
* * *
But he had also cooked many meals over a campfire. He made the fire and the dinner, too.
* * *
Kristian didn’t mind camping out in the forest a bit. But he was, he admitted, getting a bit citified. He did enjoy those waffles, and you couldn’t cook those in the wilderness.
* * *
He patted his horse, Cinnamon. He was a fine mount. He had ridden the white and gray stallion for three years and they knew each other by this time.
* * *
Cinnamon knew he wanted to stay in this spot for a while, and so he did. Without moving, the view of the river was still clear. There were no riders coming down the river.
* * *
Kristian groaned. Could he have made a mistake? Had the outlaw taken another path?
* * *
He could circle back and try to go north, maybe. But he decided he would stay at least five or maybe ten more minutes before leaving.
* * *
It sounded like a good plan to him. Maybe Redlyn was just too dumb to think of it.
* * *
Then, he saw the outline of a rider. He was down a ways, too far away to recognize, but it had to be Redlyn.
* * *
The rider kept looking backwards. He didn’t expect anybody in front of him. Kristian had guessed right.
* * *
The outlaw took one more look in back of him then spurred his horse on. Kristian spurred his, too, and Cinnamon stepped forward.
* * *
He rode slowly out of the forest and in front of Redlyn, who shook when he saw Kristian.
* * *
“Figured you might come this way,” Kristian said. “Now you’re just going to have to go back.”
* * *
Redlyn glared at him with vicious black eyes. He put his hand on his gun. “Or, I can just go through you, you young whippersnapper. Get out of my way or I’ll kill you.”
* * *
Kristian stayed calm. “Well, that’s easier said than done. But I really don’t like shooting anyone, so why don’t you just turn your horse around and go back to town?
* * *
“You’ll get a fair trial. Of course, a lot of outlaws got a fair trial and still got hung.”
* * *
“I’ll tell you one more time. Get out of my way or I’ll kill you. I’ll count to two.”
* * *
“Really. You can count to two? I’m amazed.”
* * *
Redlyn’s hand went for his gun and pulled it from his holster, but Kristian already had his gun out. He fired at the outlaw.
* * *
Redlyn yelled with pain and tumbled over his horse. His gun fell to the ground, three feet from him. Without any haste, Kristian rode leisurely over to the fallen man.
* * *
He groaned in pain. A circle of red showed in his chest and widened. Redlyn groaned again and put his hand over his wound.
* * *
“That one won’t kill you,” Kristian said, “although your shoulder is going to be sore for a while, and we need to get back to the doc so he can take that bullet out.”
* * *
He raised his gun and fired twice. “That should get the posse over here.” He bent over his saddle.
* * *
“You can get up and climb into your saddle, or you can wait for the posse and a couple of guys will pick you up and throw you in. If you wait, though, the guys are not going to be too gentle with you.”
* * *
Redlyn groaned again, turned over, and pushed himself off the ground. He walked to his horse and stuck one boot in the stirrup. With another yell of pain, he pulled himself into the saddle.
* * *
“Might as well head on back. We’ll probably meet the posse, since they’re riding up here. They knew what those shots meant.”
* * *
He stared at his prisoner. “Redlyn, there’s a difference between shooting an unarmed man and trying to shoot one with a gun. I’ll be there when you hang.”
* * *
Before the two rode a hundred yards, other members of the posse arrived.
* * *
“Good job, Kristian. I was worried he got away from us,” a man said.
* * *
“Not a chance,” Kristian replied.
* * *
With a start, he awoke. He shook his head and took a deep breath. He thought of his gunfight with Redlyn and stretched out his hand.
* * *
It had been steady that day. As steady as steel.
* * *
Now, he stretched it out and the hand shook. Even in the morning. He had to grab the blanked on the bed to keep it from shaking.
* * *
Another reason to get his life back together, he thought. If he could.
* * *
It took days and many cups of water, but finally Otto pronounced him well enough to go home to the ranch. Otto even drove him in his buggy.
* * *
Kristian’s head still ached and each jolt, each bounce of the buggy’s wheels set his teeth on edge.
* * *
Still, when he saw the ranch come into view over the wide-open plains, something inside his chest soared with hope. He thought again about new beginnings.
* * *
“Oh, Kristian!” His mother ran out of the house and had him in her arms before he was even on the ground. She alternated between scolding him and thanking Otto.
* * *
Again, Kristian flashed back to what Otto had said to him about breaking his parents’ hearts, and he knew that what his friend had told him was true.
* * *
This was not the man he wanted to be.
* * *
Pa came out to shake Otto’s hand, and as his mother helped him into the house, Kristian glanced over his shoulder to see the two men with their heads bowed together, deep in conversation.
* * *
Kristian couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing, wondering if his father would ever talk to him that way.
* * *
Once they were inside, Kristian slid down into the rocking chair by the fireplace. His mother fussed about, bringing a quilt and a small pillow to prop up behind him.
