Despite himself, Riley had to chuckle. Glory’d been scratching him and getting under his skin ever since, the way he saw it. He looked up at his mother, who’d leaned her back against the corral fence. She wore a faraway look, one that told Riley the scene she saw in front of her was a different one, in a different time. “What happened then, Ma?” he gently urged.
Louise glanced at him as if surprised to see him there. “Nothing. That’s the whole of it. J. C. brought the baby home. And Catherine took right to it, claimed it as hers.”
Riley shook his head, lifted his Stetson, ran a hand through his hair, and resettled his hat on his head. “I’ll be damned. But who is Beatrice Parker really? Do you know?”
His mother nodded. “Oh, yes, I know. Her folks was killed by Kid Chapelo, J. C. said.”
Surprise brought Riley to his feet. “Kid Chapelo?” The hair stood up on his arms. “From J. C.’s own gang? Legend says that man was pure evil. Heartless.”
“And I reckon he was. J. C. said what The Kid did to the Parkers convinced him he didn’t want no part of being an outlaw anymore. He never rode out again with his gang. After that, he settled down to being a cattleman and family man.”
Riley shook his head, put his hands to his waist. “Just what did he do, Ma? The Kid, I mean.”
Louise shook her head. “J. C. never would talk about it. But the little I know is The Kid ambushed a young couple in that mountain pass and just cold-bloodedly killed ’em. Then he robbed ’em and left the baby there to die.”
“Damn him,” Riley spat out, sick to his stomach. “I guess, then, that J. C. went and got her? But how’d he know?”
Louise shrugged her uncertainty. “I’m trying to remember. It seems he—The Kid—came back to the hideout bragging on what he’d done. And one thing led to another, ending with J. C. killing the man. He then went to get the baby and came home.”
Trying to absorb all this, Riley frowned and shook his head. Then something else occurred to him. He turned to his mother, saw her worried expression, and knew … just knew … that what he suspected was true. “Who else knows about this? Glory doesn’t, does she?”
Louise raised her hand, as if being sworn to secrecy. “Lord no. Hannah and Jacey don’t, they were too young to remember. And I know, but only because I happened to be there when J. C. rode in. He and Catherine talked about it, deciding not to tell her. J. C. worried about The Kid’s family seeking revenge through Glory. But luckily, that never happened.”
Suddenly feeling like bleached bone, Riley said. “Yes it did happen, Ma. It happened the day J. C. and Catherine were murdered. Jacey found the evidence—that broken silver spur. And it happened again last night. Someone tried to kill Glory.” His mother gasped, but Riley went on. “She didn’t see who, but a man grabbed her from behind when she was out on the verandah. He’d have killed her for sure if she hadn’t bitten him.”
Louise jerked her hands to her chest, covering her heart. “Dear Lord above. Is she okay?”
Riley nodded. “Yeah, she’s fine. It was dark, but we searched the whole place over. Didn’t find anything—not even a bite mark on any man. So, either she didn’t bite him hard enough to break the skin or, whoever it was, he’s not there now.”
His mind focusing with deadly singularity on the unknown man, the object of a growing hatred within his heart, Riley narrowed his eyes. His next words poured forth in a voice so husky he barely recognized it as his own. “What you just told me about Glory? It changes things. The murders. J. C. and Catherine.” He shook his head. “Their kin back East aren’t the only ones responsible. I’ve felt it in my gut all along.”
After a moment’s silence, he added, “Whoever tried to kill Glory didn’t do it because she’s a Lawless. But because she’s not. It all makes sense now. And it’s worse than I thought.”
“Oh, son, how could it be worse?”
Riley glanced at his mother and then looked across the yard. Saw his father and brothers coming out of the barn. And thought of the land feud. He closed his eyes against a kernel of truth wanting to plant itself in his mind. He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. Taking a breath, he turned to look down at his mother. “Does Pa know any of this … about Glory?”
Wide-eyed, suddenly stricken, her features crumpling, Riley’s mother nodded. “Yes. I told him and I made him swear on the family Bible he’d never tell or use it against her. But what are you thinking, son? I see something in your eyes I don’t like.”
“There’s something in my gut I don’t like, Ma. Promise to you or not, Pa knows Glory’s not a Lawless. That means there’s no Lawless on her spread. The place isn’t hers. She can’t hold it.”
“Yes, she can, Riley. All them men loyal to her and her sisters on that spread? Why, there’s not a rancher around here who doesn’t know or remember what it’s like to face Lawless hands. The whole lot of your Pa’s friends ain’t got the stomach for much more than talking about that old feud. I hope.”
Riley’s expression hardened to match the tone in his mother’s voice. “That may be. But I’m saying the range war heated up the minute Jacey left—the last legitimate Lawless on the place. And Pa knows that. I’m saying the ranchers’ meetings took place right after that. On our land.”
Louise waved her pointing finger at Riley’s nose. “Don’t you say another word, Riley Eugene Thorne. Your Pa had nothing to do with attacking Glory Lawless. He might go after the land that was his once. But he’d never hurt that girl. Never. Besides, he’d have no cause to. If he wanted to hurt her, all he’d have to do would be to tell her the truth. And he ain’t done that, nor told no one else, either. You ask yourself why, son.”
Riley firmed his mouth, thought about it and then almost grinned. “Because you’d box his ears; if he did?”
Louise nodded. “That, or worse. I loved Catherine Lawless and her girls. Especially Glory. Your Pa knows that. And he loves me.”
Riley chuckled at this insight into his parents’ relationship. But then, it faded as he thought of his brother Henry’s hot head and even hotter words, words that told plainly enough of his hatred of anything Lawless. Riley fisted his hand, felt the swollen pain in his knuckles. He rubbed his hand and looked pointedly at his mother. “Maybe Pa wouldn’t want to see her hurt. But there’re others who would, others who’d want to please him.”
Riley hated that his mother’s face paled to the color of cream. She put a shaking hand to her heart. “You don’t think Henry would do such a thing? Tell me you don’t.”
“I can’t do that, Mother. I pray to God he wouldn’t. But God won’t be able to help him if he did.”
Tears filled his mother’s eyes. Staring at her, seeing that she couldn’t deny it, a sudden sting of wetness filled Riley’s eyes. A dampness clogged his throat, hampered his breathing. Hands to his waist, he turned his back on his mother, lest she see. “And there’s not a damned thing I can do to help Glory, either. Not without telling her. Not without destroying her myself.”
Chapter 11
Glory smiled as she stroked Skeeter’s bony head. Perched on her knees next to Old Pete’s grave, all but lost in her father’s sheepskin coat, she crooned low to the hound. “I’d feel much better if you’d eat something, Skeeter. It’s not nice of you to worry me like this. Old Pete would be the first one to want you out running the hills and hunting your own meals.”
Skeeter thumped his tail, blinked his big brown eyes, and stared up at Glory. A sigh escaping her, she reached over to his tin plate of food and picked up a meat scrap. Offering it to him, she said, “I’d be the happiest woman in the territory if you’d eat this.”
The dog sniffed the meat chunk and turned his head away, resettling himself atop his slain owner’s grave. Glory tossed the scrap back into the plate. “You don’t fool me.” She stood up and pointed an accusing finger at the hound. “Look at you. You’re not near as scrawny as you were a month ago. So you’re eating sometimes, and I’d bet you even get up off this grave. Like it
or not, you’re getting better. So there. What do you think about that?”
Skeeter raised an eyebrow, sending her a baleful look before he stretched out on his side in the pale November sun, effectively dismissing Glory from his presence. “Fine then, Mr. Skeeter.” She chuckled around her words. “I’ll leave you be.”
With that, she stuck her cold hands in the coat’s deep pockets, felt the steely comfort of the small pistol she now carried, and stepped around Old Pete’s grave, making her way to the next two. She then spent the next several minutes paying her respects to her parents, before exiting the fenced-off cemetery.
She was about half the distance from the back of the main house, and deep in thought about last night’s attack on herself and Riley’s abrupt departure earlier that morning, when she heard her name being called out. She looked to the narrow back-porch landing and saw Biddy framed in the doorway. The round little Irishwoman waved what looked like a letter in her hand and she all but bounced up and down.
Glory acknowledged her nanny’s wave and headed for the porch, all the time thinking, What now? Wasn’t it enough for one day that Riley’d left so abruptly, and so had those two men he’d hired? Good riddance to Carter and Brown, but she missed Riley. And admitting that did nothing for her mood.
“Glory, come quick, child. ’Tis a letter from Hannah.”
Absorbing that news, Glory cried out, “Hannah!” as if her oldest sister herself stood there. Her spirits instantly lifting, Glory clutched at her skirt, ran all the way to Biddy, and pounded up the wooden steps. “Who brought it? When did it come? Let me see it.”
“And here it is.” Biddy handed over the letter. “That nice Mr. Jessup stopped by the post office in Kansas and brought this with him on his way home. Easy now, child, have a care to what yer doing—like as not, ye’ll tear up Hannah’s words before we can read them. And look at you—after last night, what are ye thinkin’, being outside by yerself?” As she fussed, Biddy tugged Glory into the warm kitchen with her and closed the door behind them.
“No one would bother me out there in the open, Biddy. But if they did, I’m ready. I loaded one of Papa’s old pistols and stuck it in my pocket.” Glory worked at opening her sister’s folded letter as she spoke.
“The saints preserve us. The child’s carrying a gun now.”
Glory looked up. Defiance narrowed her eyes and edged her words. “Yes, I am. And you should be, too.”
Biddy waved a hand in dismissal of that idea. “Me with a gun? Why, child, I’d be a bigger danger to meself than I would be to anyone else. Like as not, I’d shoot meself in the foot, as sure as I’m standin’ here.”
Glory’s expression softened as she chuckled at her nanny and lowered her gaze to Hannah’s written words and said, “Maybe she’s writing to say she’s coming home.”
“We’ll never know—now will we?—if ye don’t read what she has to say.” With that, Biddy hovered around Glory’s elbow, her faded-blue eyes showing she was as agog with anticipation as Glory was.
Glory lovingly smoothed a hand over her sister’s neat lettering. Then, suddenly afraid of what she might read, she headed for the trestle table and pulled a chair out. “I’ve got to sit down … in case this is bad news.” She did just that and then frowned up at Biddy. “She addressed it to me and Jacey and you. Hannah’d be in a tizzy if she knew Jacey wasn’t here.”
Biddy pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. “An’ we’ll not be telling her, either. But never mind that. Read Hannah’s words before I do it for ye.” Biddy scraped out a chair and joined Glory at the table. She prayerfully folded her hands together atop the table’s smooth, worn wooden surface and waited.
Glory impulsively squeezed Biddy’s hands and grinned in excitement. “I just know she’s coming home.” She then turned her attention to the silent reading of her sister’s words. Her smile faded. Her expression darkened. Her mouth slacked open. She looked up at Biddy. “Sweet merciful heavens, Biddy. Hannah’s married.”
Biddy jerked back in her chair, nearly sending herself over backward. She grabbed the table’s edge to steady herself. “The devil, you say!”
“Near enough,” Glory said. Her heart pounding with shock, she added, “She married Slade Garrett!”
Biddy’s broad, apple-cheeked face drained of color. She stared right through Glory. “Hannah married a Garrett? ’Tis the worst thing possible.”
“I agree. How could she do that? His name is the very one on that burned piece of stationery we found here with Mama and Papa. Why, he’s in cahoots with Mama’s family.”
Biddy turned her gray-bunned, wispy-curled head to look into Glory’s eyes. “’Tis worse than that, child—worse than ye can know.”
Glory’s fist crumpled around the pages and Hannah’s words. An unnamed fear clutched at her heart. “What do you mean? Hannah just wouldn’t marry him if he had anything to do with the … murders. She just wouldn’t. Why, she says in here how much she loves him.”
Biddy shook her head. “’Tis not the murders I mean. ’Twas a Garrett—near to twenty-five years ago—who attacked my Catherine one night in her room. ’Twas a Garrett who had her fleeing Boston—and me with her—after the scandal of such behavior. ’Twas a Garrett who put us in Arizona Territory and got Catherine kidnapped by the Lawless Gang.”
Shocked into silence, all Glory could do was stare into Biddy’s faded-blue eyes as she added, “And even though it turned out well, seeing how much yer mother loved yer father, ’twas a Garrett who did all that. A Garrett. And now … Hannah’s married one.”
Her hand over her aching heart, able only to take shallow breaths, Glory all but whispered, “I’ve never heard any of this before. Why didn’t you tell us after the funerals—before Hannah left for Boston to hunt this man down?”
“Yer mother didn’t want ye girls to know. And I never thought Hannah’d marry the man, for heaven’s sake.” Biddy covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “That poor child,” she mumbled between her fingers. Then, lowering her hands, she flapped one at Glory. “Read what else she has to say. Maybe she’ll explain.”
Putting aside her questions about the Garretts, Glory nodded and looked back down at the letter, smoothing it as best she could. Reading Hannah’s words, telling them to Biddy, she said, “Her marriage isn’t the worst of it. She says be wary of strangers because someone is having us watched. She doesn’t know who or why, but she calls them trackers. She says one followed her to Boston. Slade Garrett’s men caught him and killed him. That’s how she knows.”
Frowning her face into deep lines of worry, Biddy cocked her head questioningly at Glory. “Trackers, ye say? Like hunters?”
Glory nodded. “I guess. Only these men track people. Us.”
Biddy put a plump and trembling hand to her bosom. “Merciful heavens. This explains the attack on ye last night, child. I’m sure of it.” Then her eyes widened, she intoned, “Jacey. The girl is out there all alone.”
Dry-mouthed with fear for her sister, but wanting to reassure Biddy, Glory quipped, “I’d worry more about any shootist facing Jacey than I would her.” Seeing her nanny’s brave smile, and knowing it was for her benefit, Glory sobered. “Those two men that Riley hired—Abel Justice and Carter Brown? Suddenly I wish they were still here, just so we could keep an eye on them. I got so angry when Riley hired them. But now I’m sorry he fired them.”
When Biddy offered no comment, Glory stared pointedly at her. Something in the older woman’s expression pricked at Glory, made her sit up straighter, and lean toward her. “What?”
Biddy lowered her gaze to her lap. A moment later, she raised her head, revealing a stricken expression. “There’s more I need to tell ye, child. And yer not going to like it.”
A sudden sickness swept over Glory. Whatever Biddy had to say—she just knew it—had something to do with Riley. She raised her chin. “Go on.”
“Well, ’tis the land, child. Smiley says he’s not so sure that yer folks and Old Pete…” B
iddy’s voice trailed off. She took a deep breath and started over. “He’s not sure that only yer mother’s family back east is responsible.”
Glory took a moment to absorb Biddy’s words and then leaned over the table, gripping her nanny’s hand in hers. “What are you saying?”
Biddy’s gaze slipped away from Glory’s face. “There’s talk again of the range wars. And the talks are going on at the Thorne place. The ranchers are wanting their land back … land they say yer father took from them.”
Glory sat back, fisted her hands on the tabletop. She stared at the wood stove across the kitchen and said, “I’ve heard that all my life … that Papa stole hundreds of acres by force. Did he, Biddy? Did he become successful by forcing others off their land?”
From the corner of her eye, Glory could see Biddy nod. “Aye. That he did. But that’s not what concerns me today, child.”
Fearing she was turning to stone, so cold was she inside, Glory swallowed the hard lump of truth in her throat and all but whispered, “Tell me.”
“Smiley says he and the men believe that … maybe some of our own neighbors, umm, helped the murdering scum that day with their foul deeds.”
Glory jerked to her feet, sending her chair toppling over backward and skittering across the barewood floor. She leaned stiff-armed over the table, pressing her palms flat onto the tabletop, and peered into Biddy’s eyes. “Are you saying that the Thornes helped murder Mama and Papa?”
Biddy shrank back into her chair, her eyes widening. “No, child, I don’t know that. Neither does Smiley. He only suspects—”
“When did Smiley tell you this?”
Biddy’s eyes cut this way and that, then she snapped her fingers when it apparently came to her. She pointed at Glory. “That day ye and Riley went riding out over the land.”
Seasons of Glory Page 16
