The sheriff-turned-outlaw reached over to pause her busy motions with one gnarled hand laid across her forearm. “Liz,” he said gruffly, “none o’ what I done over the past few days has turned out t’ be ’zactly as I planned. You—well, you ain’t what I expected.”
“More beautiful,” she suggested, teasing. “More gracious, more personable, more—”
“All o’ that, and more. Right now I ain’t sure what I was thinkin’, to pull that fool stunt. But, you—” Distressed, he fumbled for words, “you’re pretty damn special, Lizzie. You helped me out t’ no end; dunno what I woulda done ’thout you here. Your paw must be proud ’nough of his daughter t’ just about bust his buttons. I know I would be, if—if you was mine.”
“Baldwin,” she said softly, deeply touched. And then, because too much emotion can be difficult to deal with, she forestalled dealing at all. Instead, she swiftly leaned down to kiss his bewhiskered cheek. “The reverse is also true, my friend.”
VI
A storm was brewing. It could be smelled in the air, with a fresh, crisp tickle to the nostrils that boded ill for anyone caught without shelter once bad weather hit; it could be felt on any patch of skin bared to the elements as a bristle and a tingle, almost an electrical charge. Temperatures in the mountains always ranged colder than the flatlands below, as those wise in the ways of the old nature gods were well aware.
Their third day on the trail of the missing Drayton girl dawned with a chill, sickly light. What could be seen of the early sun showed a hazy cloud cover that cast no shadows and added no warmth.
Shivering, the men dug out heavier gear and gratefully lapped up two full pots of boiling coffee.
“This seems t’ be turnin’ into a fiasco,” observed Travis around his breakfast—strips of bacon cooked crumbly and sizzling in the cast iron pan, and sourdough bread fried in the leftover grease. Hot, satisfying, and filling; just what was needed.
“We have run into a lotta brick walls,” his brother, industriously mopping up his plate, agreed as a matter of course. “At the rate things’re goin’, we better find some place to hole up pretty soon. Your thoughts, Coch?”
“I’d say you’re right. This late into fall, an early snow storm ain’t likely t’ be too terrible much t’ deal with. Unseasonable. And not blockin’ passageways for the rest of the winter, anyway. But you never know, up here in the Pinaleños. Best be prepared.”
Travis nodded. “My thinkin’ exactly. I ain’t much in favor of the way that sky looks.”
“Yeah, it’s a weather-breeder, all right.”
Soon, after checking over their three horses and the pack mule to ensure that all were in prime condition, they broke camp and climbed into their saddles to continue on the upward-slanted trail. Single-file, through the tightest underbrush; two or three abreast as conditions warranted. Ponderosas offered some protection from the rising wind, as did sycamore and fragrant cedar.
“Hey, Coch.”
Their guide turned slightly sideways. “Hey, Trav.”
“You ain’t said one word this whole time about the girl we’re huntin’. What’s she like?”
Cochinay ducked his head under a low-hanging branch as he rode along and considered the question. “Pretty as a painted wagon,” was his opinion, after a few moments, while their mounts plodded on. “Long curly blonde hair, kinda like the taffy y’ see in stores. Eyes colored blue as that lapis lazuli rock.”
“Huh,” muttered Thomas. “An angel come down t’ earth, no doubt.”
An incredulous chuckle. “No such thing. Fights like a wildcat, if need be. Many’s the time she stood up for me at school, when the bullies had me cornered somewhere.”
“Oh,” Travis nodded his understanding. “So then she’s a devil come up from hell.”
“Not that, either. Just a great-hearted, hard-workin’ woman who knows what she wants and ain’t afraid t’ go after it. And if that means a battle, then so be it. She’s one in a million, my half-sister, and she means the world t’ me.”
“Hold on a second, boys.” Thomas pulled his buckskin to a halt and alighted. Bending over, he picked up the horse’s right front leg to examine its hoof. Some brief but diligent work with his knife point around the shoe, a muttered, “Ahuh,” and they were ready to set off again. “Picked up a dadblamed pebble,” he explained.
Travis, following along behind, noted that at least the thing had gotten removed before Charlie had gone lame.
His brother agreed. “Not quite what you’d wanna cope with, up here.”
“So, Coch,” Travis went on, returning to his subject, “you toutin’ this girl as marriage material? ’Cause ol’ Thomas, y’ see, why, this gent’s a-lookin’.”
That earned him the courtesy of a blue-edged glare.
“Marriage?” repeated Cochinay. “Dunno if she wants that yet. She’d rather travel.”
“Travel? Whereabouts?”
He shrugged. “Some o’ the big American cities, see what they’re like, explore. And maybe to Europe, if she got the chance.”
“Hey, son!” Travis’ elated whoop startled his Ranger horse into a sudden sidestep. “Sounds t’ me like a match made in heaven. She wants t’ travel, and you travel for a livin’.”
“Travis,” advised his brother in a disgusted tone, “try not t’ be any more dumb-ass than you usually are.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Storm’s a-comin’,” said Win, drawing in a double lungful of fresh mountain air. Still recovering from last night’s attack of “the rhumatiz,” as he called it, the old man had hobbled to the front door for a look outside. Seemed like he just couldn’t get comfortable unless he knew exactly what was going on around him. “Movin’ through, headin’ this way.”
Elizabeth glanced up from the book she was perusing. Ensconced on the thick pelt of a Mexican gray wolf that Win had, once upon a time, killed and skinned (“Wa’n’t my fault, girl,” he had protested at her accusing look. “The animal come outa nowhere and attacked me.”), she was enjoying her reading material, the crackling fire, and an abounding sense of tranquility.
“What makes you say that?” she asked, curious.
“You stay out in the woods long enough, Missy, you get t’ know the signs.” He beetled his brows for a last survey and closed the door.
“Snow?” She sat up, seeking more information. “Rain? Thunder and ice? What?”
“Snow it is, sure ’nough,” Win predicted. He joined her by the fire, moving slowly and stiffly to wrap up in a blanket, once settled into the rocker.
“Then there are things to do.”
“Yes’m, there are. And if you could get me another dose of that godawful-tastin’ stuff you fixed me earlier, I might get myself in shape t’ do ’em.”
Elizabeth sent him the sort of look she might give a refractory mule, disinclined to accept saddle, bridle, or reins. “Not you, Win. Not the way you’re feeling. Of course I’ll fetch you another cup of the willow bark tea; it’s been steeping since I gathered the stuff this morning, so it’ll be good and strong. But, even with that, I don’t think you’ll be fit for any physical labor.”
“Now, Lizzie, here y’ are, presumin’ t’ tell your elders what not t’—”
“Bet your boots I’m telling you, Baldy. Once I get outside, you can sit on the front porch and dictate your orders. But that’ll be the extent of it.”
Grumbling under his breath, like a volcano on the verge of eruption—or non-eruption—Carpenter scrunched his backside into a more comfortable position. Mumble, mumble, as to necessary chores; mumble, mumble as to laying in a supply of this or that.
Elizabeth hadn’t long to wait. With the warmth of the fire, the soft comfort of his blanket, and the uninterrupted quiet of the room, Win was soon off to meet the sandman and snoring like a buzz saw.
At least, she decided, as she sought out her boots and heavy clothing, no predator would dare approach the cabin, with that racket shaking the walls.
&nbs
p; Her first project was to check on water and fodder for the horses. Early mornings now, in mid-autumn, meant the small trough was filmed over by a layer of ice, and must be chopped free for access. Fresh grass was still available, and would be till winter truly set in, but she was relieved to see that Win had cut and dried plenty from the nearby meadowland.
Clearly Win had spent many hours, over how many years, in building for stability and duration. The shed was not only ample in size but as snugly secure as the cabin. Any animal stabled here would survive mountain weather in relative comfort.
Check one item off her list.
Next was the gathering of her medicinal provisions. Yesterday, while out exploring some ways away, she had spied the ragged leaves of dandelions. Just the ticket. Armed with a butcher knife from Win’s efficient kitchen and an empty flour sack, off she hiked to procure what was needed.
Check another item off her list.
A huge soup pot, removed carefully off the shelf so as not to disturb its owner, provided plenty of storage for the white willow bark she chipped and shredded off the trees. No matter any storm, the old outlaw would be well-stocked for some time against recurring physical problems.
And just why would she take such care for someone with such a nefarious purpose?
Part of it was self-preservation, of course. The more comfortable he was, the more comfortable she would be. A troubled conscience is a worrisome thing.
The larger part, by far, was that, over the course of the past few days, she had actually grown to like the man, despite the circumstances. And, oddly enough, to respect him. Trust? That might be next.
So how long would this very peculiar situation continue? If no rescue seemed to be imminent, could she possibly persuade Win Carpenter to return her to the valley below, and her home?
Debatable.
VII
As it turned out, they stumbled upon the cabin through pure dumb luck.
A few cold splatters of rain had urged the Yancey party onward, still seeking whatever could be used as shelter from a possible torrential downfall. Or even snow. It wasn’t until they were almost flat-out on top of the place that the chimney smoke was even visible.
Along with the sharp ringing sound of an axe head into wood, and an occasional few words of conversation.
Dismounted, with horses held in check, all three exchanged a look that silently said, “Huh?” and turned back to observe the nearby scene through their curtain of thick underbrush.
“You were wise to cut up as much deadfall as you have, Baldy,” came a woman’s clear voice.
“Experience, girl.” That from a man, roughened by age and questionable health. “Been winterin’ up here a number o’ years, now. I pretty much know what to expect.”
What the hell?
In a complete turnabout of roles, Carpenter sat swaddled up in a quilt on one of the front porch’s twig chairs, while Elizabeth stood swinging her long-handled axe onto the iron wedge that would, after concerted effort, split apart a great chunk of sycamore.
Another shared but silent “Huh?”
With an interrogatory glance to their guide, Thomas jerked his thumb toward the girl. “That her?” he whispered in between blows of the axe.
“That’s her,” affirmed Cochinay in a tone barely audible. “So the old man must be Carpenter. However—”
However, indeed. What was going on here? This was no sorry, abject victim of a kidnapper’s revenge; this was companionship, pleasant association—friendliness, even.
“You—in the bushes, there!” Carpenter suddenly called a challenge. “Step outa there, and step lively, if’n you wanna stay in one piece. Got me a rifle, and it’s takin’ aim.”
Thomas sighed. Elderly the man might be, but his faculties hadn’t been adversely affected. There went any chance of a peaceful meeting, one on one, and the chance for an easy arrest and an even easier rescue. “Comin’!” he called back. “Three of us, comin’ now. Hold your fire.”
Leading their horses and the pack mule, they emerged into the clearing. Slowly and cautiously.
“Coch!” Elizabeth cried.
Striking the head of her axe deep into the block of wood, she raced across the open ground and, with a joyous whoop, flung herself into the eager arms of her half-brother.
The Yanceys simply stood watching for a few minutes, slightly uncomfortable, but shifting attention between this tender scene and the specter of the old man on the porch, also standing and watching, with his Winchester at the ready.
“H’lo, Lizzie,” said Cochinay at last, setting her back on her feet with a flourish.
“Damn well took you long enough to get here,” she snorted. And then punched him in the shoulder. Hard.
“Ow! C’mon, now, that ain’t no way t’ greet me. Dang it all, behave yourself and act growed-up for once. Cancha see I brought comp’ny?”
“Yes, I see that. Looks to me like not a one of you could track your way out of a paper bag.” Another snort of derision, then a pasted-on smile of utter chumminess. Yanking off her leather gloves, she advanced toward the brothers with hand outstretched. “Gentlemen. Double or nothing, is it?”
Slouched insolently hipshot, Travis looked her up and down in absolute admiration. “Damn, she’s a corker, ain’t she, Tom? And a looker, b’sides. Little lady, I’m almighty pleased t’ meet you.”
“Forgive my brother, Miss Drayton,” Thomas interposed. “We’re still tryin’ to teach him how t’ behave out in public.” Stepping forward to accept the offered handshake, he was barely able to restrain a wince at the unexpected force behind it.
Blue eyes connected with blue. Eyes of summer skies, eyes of deepest sapphire. Time stopped, there in the meadow’s tangled grass, with neither sound nor movement to disengage; only a sense of being transported, however distant, to another world.
“Uh,” said Thomas, dazed and taken aback by his own reaction.
“Um,” said Elizabeth blankly.
Cochinay stared from one to the other. What was the matter with these two? “Liz, these fellahs are U.S. Marshals that Paw brought in to help find you. Thomas Yancey, here; and his brother, Travis. We been travelin’ a far stretch.”
“All across these damn mountains,” put in Travis. “You maybe got some coffee around?”
Their insistent conversation pulled Elizabeth away from that beguiling realm of butterflies and stardust and back into the present. “Why, yes, of course we do. Nice to meet you, Marshall Yancey. And you, too, Marshall Yancey.”
“Liz, what’s goin’ on over there?” Carpenter prodded, since he’d put aside his rifle. “Who are these people?” Knowing full well who they were; that, at last, the game was up, and he was in very hot water.
“It’s all right, Baldy,” she replied, with all the reassurance she could muster. “You go on inside, where it’s warm, and we’ll all be in directly.”
“Baldy?” questioned Thomas, with one raised brow.
“It’s a long story, and best told when everyone is comfortable. Come along, I’ll show you where you can unload your gear and put up your horses. Then we’ll see about some refreshments. Oh—Coch?”
“Ahuh.”
She smiled sweetly over one shoulder. “Seems to me that all three of you could show off your manly muscles by doing a little wood-chopping yourselves, later on, to pay for your dinner.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Man. That was some meal, Miss Drayton. A lot better’n the campfire slop that Tom puts together and throws my way.”
His brother, sopping up the vegetable soup broth with a chunk of baking powder biscuit, offered a mild protest. “Y’ seemed t’ like it okay this mawnin’, when there was nothin’ else t’ eat.”
“Oh, well…any port in the storm, son.”
Elizabeth, serving as chief cook and server, took stock of the four happily replete males, sprawled in various stages of engorgement, around what she was beginning to consider her kitchen table. “Satisfactory, then?” s
he murmured.
“Satisfactory? Oh, darlin’, I feel like a boa constrictor that just swallowed a hippopotamus,” proclaimed Travis extravagantly. He leaned back in his chair and sipped at his coffee. “This’s damn good stuff, too. You do anything special to fix it?”
“Fresh-ground beans. And a fresh helping every time I fill the pot. No using it for two or three times, like some people do.”
“Ah, hell, Tom. That’s where we been goin’ wrong.” For all the Marshal’s grand gestures and good ol’ Southern boy charm, he took in a lot more than anyone realized. Right now he was sizing up the people and the situation, collecting facts, and letting his intuition work away on them before reaching a conclusion.
“Thank you, Miss Drayton, for a mighty fine meal,” said Thomas, rising with his empty plate and tin utensils. “We appreciate you invitin’ us in as you did. Now, you send them other two yokels out to chop up the wood you need.”
Until Chochinay squawked his outrage, Thomas hadn’t actually considered his age. Now, youth protested, as youth always does. “I’m a guide. An Apache guide. It ain’t my job to cut firewood.”
Thomas slanted him a look. Pleasant, yet meaningful. “You took bread and salt from this man’s stores, didncha? In my book, that rates a return.”
“C’mon, Coch.” Grinning, Travis slung a friendly arm over the Apache guide’s shoulders. “No reason t’ get him all riled up. I’ll give you directions on how it’s done.”
“Works for me. And I’ll stay in here and wash up these dishes.”
“Wash up—?” Elizabeth was astonished. In all her memory, no man had ever offered to help with, let alone take charge of, kitchen duties.
“Yes, ma’am.” With Thomas’ sudden smile, his rather studious, serious expression lightened into sheer good-looking male charisma. “Don’t worry, I know my way around hot water and some suds. You just go on and sit for a while. I’d say that’s only fair. Wouldn’t you—uh—Baldy?”
A Western Romance: Thomas Yancey Taking the High Road (Book 4) (Taking the High Road series) Page 6
