by Linda Broday
She stood by the corral, stroking the gray mare that had taken her fancy. The look of love in her eyes for the animal caused a lump in his throat. He dismounted and went to join her. As he neared, he could hear her crooning to the mare like a mother to her baby.
“Morning. I hope you’re not thinking of cajoling my mustang away from me.” He watched her jump, followed by rising color to her cheeks.
“Morning yourself.” She frowned. “You scared me. I didn’t know anyone was around. I feel foolish that you caught me.”
Brett moved closer and brushed her face with his fingers. “Don’t ever think you’re being foolish. Talking to a horse is entirely natural. I do it all the time. They like people talking to them. Have you thought about what you want to name her?”
“I have.” She smiled. “Her name is Lady Pearl.”
“That’s real pretty.” Just like Rayna.
“She’s sort of the color of a pearl and, of course, she’s a real lady, like your sister.”
“Rayna, you’re as much a lady as Sarah,” he said softly.
A sudden breeze caught her curls, blowing them in her face. “I’m glad you think so, but I’m far from Sarah’s elegance and grace. My words are simple and at times too coarse. And I never know how to act in certain situations.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.” The pain and insecurity in her eyes pierced his heart. He knew what it was to believe you weren’t enough. She didn’t know that she’d always be enough for him, no matter what. He pulled her close and kissed her. Coaxing her mouth open, he tasted her sweetness. Sliding his hand into her silky red curls, he murmured, “You’ll always be my lady in every way.”
“That gives me hope. I only pray you’ll never change your mind.” As the ranch hands brought their mounts to the corral¸ she moved back a step. “I took the absence of gunfire during the night as a good sign.”
“Not a peep from Dowlen’s side.”
“I’m glad. We need our nerves to settle a bit.”
“How about you?” he asked. “Did you rest well enough in the woods?”
“I did, except for several of the children crying out from their nightmares. We got lucky yesterday, didn’t we?”
Brett nodded. “I never want to get that close to death again. Not for my sake, but for everyone else. We almost didn’t make it.”
“Yes, but we did. My grandfather used to say that a near miss is as good as a mile. We’re alive and greeting a new day.” She smiled up at him, squinting in the sunlight. “I have coffee made and waiting. I’ve got to get breakfast cooking. The children are probably waking up.”
Brett put his arm around her waist as they strolled toward the campfire. “I’ll help you. It takes a lot of food to feed all these mouths.”
But Rand latched onto him before Brett even got his coffee. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Between us, I think it’s time we took some ranch hands and paid Edgar Dowlen a visit.”
“And do what exactly? You think he’ll offer us a cup of tea and some cookies? Coop and I tried reasoning with him.”
“Nope.” Rand grinned. “One of his men might cooperate though. We need to know what he’s planning. We’re blind here. Be nice if we could get a head start on his next move. As it is, we don’t know what to plan for.”
That made sense. If they could just see how many men Dowlen had.
“All right, but it’ll have to wait until after breakfast. I won’t leave Rayna to take care of this bunch alone.”
“Of course. Besides, my stomach’s growling.”
“No news there. Your stomach is always complaining.” Brett watched him head toward the coffeepot then focused on the meal.
As he strode to the smokehouse to cut strips of venison, he thought about Rand’s harebrained plan. In theory, it had merit. But if Dowlen caught them, there would be hell to pay. No telling what the man might do.
Getting rid of Rand, the ranch hands, and him would leave the Wild Horse wide open. Brett knew for a fact his neighbor would go straight for the orphans first.
And when Dowlen was done, he’d leave nothing but a bloodbath behind. He’d kill everyone, even Rayna and Sarah.
Cold fear squeezed around Brett’s heart.
Could he risk it?
He decided right then and there that no one would go but Rand and him. The other men would stay.
The next hour, he worked by Rayna’s side, feeling a jolt each time his hand brushed hers or their shoulders touched. He’d heard cowboys talk about being smitten, but had never known what they meant. He supposed it was something like how he felt about Rayna. If so, he found being smitten pretty nice.
Except for the fear of speaking what was in his heart. Hampered by the rules that others imposed, he would never voice his overwhelming love for her. He had to keep it locked away. They could kiss and touch and pretend here on the Wild Horse, but there was still no future for them.
That was his only choice.
Brett stared into the glowing red coals of the campfire. For a second, he let himself imagine the freedom to express the love beating so fiercely inside him.
Allowed himself to picture the light in her eyes when he kissed her awake, and the contentment in her smile as she held their babe.
“What is it, Brett?” Rayna’s gaze met his. “First you scowl as if someone stole your knife, and the next minute you’re smiling, all in the space of a few heartbeats.”
“Just thinking. Some would claim I’ve lost my mind.”
“You need more sleep. You’re dead on your feet.”
“Don’t worry about me, Rayna. I’ll be fine.”
She put down the fork she was using to stir the eggs and put her hands on her hips. “I’ll worry if I want to, Mr. Liberty.”
What a sight she was, standing there all indignant and flustered with her wild curls dancing in the wind. Brett wanted to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to their private spot, away from prying eyes and trouble. Just his lady and him with the waterfall gently splashing into the pool.
Unbearable longing raged inside him.
He sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes to block out the pain.
*
The sun had risen high in the sky before Brett rode with Rand to Dowlen’s ranch. They left the horses in a thick grove of trees and crept toward the sound of voices. It was painstaking and tedious because of the care each took to avoid snapping twigs or rustling the low brush.
Brett was determined to make sure no one caught wind of them. As they got closer to the voices, escaping detection became even more crucial, so they slowed even more.
The last three yards, they got on their bellies and crawled through the dense growth.
Finally, they reached the two men speaking.
“I don’t hold with killin’ little kids. What do you think, George? Does it set right with you?” one man asked.
“Let me tell you.” A stream of tobacco juice landed inches from Brett’s hand. “I lost my wife and three kids seven years ago by Comanche hands. The Good Book says ‘An eye for an eye.’ Reckon we’re just obeying the scripture.”
Brett shook with anger. How could the man speak so calmly of the murder of innocents? Nothing could justify what they planned. It was crazy. What the Comanche had done—if they’d committed the act—was wrong, but this wouldn’t bring back that woman and kids.
His soul wearied of anger and fighting. He didn’t know why everyone couldn’t live in peace. They were all human beings. Color shouldn’t divide people and cause them to turn on each other.
Leaves crunched, then a new voice spoke. “Boss said to come. He called a meeting to discuss the next move. And you’d better look lively. Edgar says he’ll fire the next man that lifts a bottle to his mouth.”
The man named George grumbled, “Next he’ll be telling us when and how often we can piss.”
Neither Brett nor Rand moved until the footsteps faded. At last they rose and peered through the trees. Row upon row of smal
l tents filled the yard surrounding the house that was thick with milling people. There had to be upwards of fifty men gathering beneath a big oak tree.
Brett’s breath froze in his chest. This army would have no trouble overrunning the puny dozen people guarding the Wild Horse.
How could they hope to defeat them?
They didn’t speak until they reached the horses. Finally Rand said, “Reckon we know two things, little brother. First is that Dowlen and this former sheriff are planning something big. And second, we need a couple of cannons. We can’t defeat them with what we have.”
“Nope. Wish we knew where we could get our hands on some big artillery and a couple hundred soldiers. Rand, I’m going to need you to get a wagon from your place. We have no choice but to move these children and the women.”
“I’ll head after it right now. I should be back by dark. If you want to bring them to my ranch, you know we’ll welcome them.”
“Thanks, Brother. I don’t want to bring the trouble to your door, but I have little choice.” He sighed, stuck his foot in the stirrup, and pulled himself into the saddle.
Rand moved to his saddlebags and brought out a gun belt and Colt. “I know how you feel about wearing a gun, but you’re going to need this before it’s all over and done with.”
“Keep it. I have a rifle.”
“All the same, I’d feel better knowing you have it.” Rand moved to Brett’s horse and stuck it in the saddlebag. “It’s here if you need it. Cooper made me promise to give it to you.”
“Then you kept your promise.” Brett tugged the reins to the right, turning the horse around.
“Since Cooper’s Long Odds Ranch is closest, I’ll go there. I can fill Cooper in and see how Delta is. If she’s better, maybe he can come.”
“Good plan, Rand.” In the meantime, he’d do some thinking.
If only there was a way to make Dowlen think they had more men.
“When do you think they’ll hit?” Rand asked.
“Soon. He has everything in place for a raid. Daylight or dark won’t make any difference now.” Unspoken fear lodged in Brett’s chest like a patch of devil’s claw, hooking the tender flesh with no way of getting it out. “You probably won’t be back in time.”
Twelve men against an army of warring invaders.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go. My gun can help,” Rand argued.
“No, we need the wagon. While I wait, I’ll hide the children deeper in the trees and keep them there.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence. Brett thought of the children and Rayna and Sarah—all those lives depended on him. Somehow, someway, he’d protect them.
He had to. To fail would steal his reason for living.
*
While Rayna waited for Brett to return, she sat with Bob, talking quietly. She adored the old Comanche who felt such a need to be valued. It wasn’t so much what he said aloud, but how dull his eyes had become, especially when Sister Bronwen said the things she did.
“Bob, do you have family?”
“No. Had wife, but she died of sickness.” He stared off into the distance as if seeing his life shimmering somewhere out there.
She took his wrinkled hand. Many of his fingers were bent and swollen. No telling what he’d seen and lived through.
“Many moons ago I had land, family,” he said sadly. “All gone now. White men take. Force us to reservation.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could make it better.” Rayna wondered how many people had lost everything they had because of hate and greed—the same hate that kept her and Brett apart. “Tell me what life was like when you were happy with your wife.”
“Had big tepee, many horses. Land fed, buffalo gave us clothes, furs, bones.”
Rayna jerked in surprise. “Bones?”
“Make tools, dishes, weapons from bone.”
It shocked her to think of the total devastation Bob’s people had suffered. The bones she and her family picked up had helped bring about the ruination of a total way of life. Though the guilt wasn’t hers to bear, she felt it anyway. The lump in her throat choked her.
“Come from proud people. Just want our land. Battle-ax right. I am worthless.”
“No, don’t say that. Everyone has worth.” Rayna watched the children playing quietly. Now that most were on the mend, they spent a good part of the day being children. Some would say they weren’t worth much. She begged to differ.
“Comanche have custom. Old people go off alone to die away from village when no need to live. I will do soon.”
“There is always, always a need to live,” Rayna argued, laying her head on his shoulder. “Promise you won’t do this. It would break my heart. I love you, Bob. You remind me of my grandfather, and he was a proud man too. I think you would’ve been friends.”
Sister Bronwen trudged from the creek with a pail of water. Rayna watched Bob’s eyes narrow. The little nun’s face seemed frozen in a permanent frown, as if she found no happiness anywhere. But the children loved her. As she came closer, they ran up to her, and all spoke at once. She laid a loving hand on top of Flower’s head.
Maybe Rayna had been too hard on her. Maybe she too just needed a chance.
The sister told the children to run along, and drew near. She stopped in front of Bob and set down the pail. “Everyone is working around here but you, old man. Earn your keep. Besides, you stink. Wash yourself.”
Bob recoiled as though she’d struck him. “Do not speak to me. I am Comanche warrior.”
“In your dreams, perhaps.” The sister stepped backward when Bob rose to his full height.
Shooting her a glare, he stalked into the tepee.
Rayna stood also, although her height wasn’t near as impressive as Bob’s. “Sister, please don’t be so mean. Bob has feelings, you know. The things you say are very hurtful.”
“I doubt the old coot… He can barely… He doesn’t know…” Sister Bronwen’s words faded as she glanced in the direction Bob had gone. She finally threw up her hands. “I’ve never been the holy sister I needed to be.” She sighed. “When I first put on this sanctified habit, Mother Constance warned me that my sharp tongue would be my downfall. I realize how pitiful this sounds, but my knees hurt, my bones creak, and I can barely see. It’s not that I don’t like Bob. I do. I will pray for compassion and forgiveness.”
“Begging your pardon, Sister, but you need to apologize to him,” Rayna said bluntly and was immediately ashamed.
In need of more cheerful company, she went to join Sarah and Adam, who were fishing for supper.
When she glanced up a short while later, she saw Bob inside the corral. He’d removed his shirt and had three black streaks of ash below each eye. In one hand he clutched a flaming torch. In the other he held a small burlap bag. She hollered and started toward him but was too late. With an agility she could hardly believe, he swung onto the back of a mustang and took off at a gallop toward Edgar Dowlen’s ranch.
Just then, she heard the growing thunder of hooves coming from there as an army of men bore down on the playing children.
Bob gave a fierce war whoop and spurred his horse directly for the wall of horsemen.
Thirty
Rayna’s screams got lost somewhere in her chest. She was aware of Adam racing toward the nearest horse as the ranch hands scrambled for their mounts. All she could do was pray that they hurried.
Pray that they saved Bob and the children.
But in the passing moments, it became apparent that no one would reach them in time.
She lifted her skirts and began running as hard as she could. She had to at least try, even though Dowlen and his men might kill her.
As she ran, she kept her focus on Bob. He’d changed direction and now rode up the width of the line, leaving a trail of a black powder from the bag as he went. She’d noticed that Dowlen’s men had slowed, as if they didn’t know what to make of the Comanche.
When they unloosed a barrage of gunfire, she froze and put h
er hand to her mouth while her heart pounded like the mustang’s hooves against the packed earth.
A red stain spread across the old Comanche’s shoulder as one of the bullets found the mark.
“Bob!” she screamed.
If he heard her, he didn’t look her way. Once he finished emptying everything out of the bag, he let it flutter to the ground. Leaning down, Bob touched the torch to the black substance, and it immediately flamed up, putting a wall of fire between Dowlen’s men and the children.
The riders pulled hard on their reins to avoid riding into it. Horses shrieked. Rearing up on their back legs, they dumped their riders.
Men yelled as their mounts took off at a gallop.
The trail of black powder had done the trick. Without stopping to see what would happen next, Rayna and the others began snatching up the orphans and running for the protection of the trees.
Bob had bought them precious time. Safe in the woods, Rayna turned. The old Comanche paused high up on a hill and raised an arm to the heavens as though in good-bye. Through her tears, she watched him turn and disappear over the ridge.
He’d performed one last heroic act before he rode off to die. Maybe to prove to himself he wasn’t worthless. Or maybe to regain a little dignity that he’d lost with age. A sob rose. She knew she would never see him again, and the pain nearly doubled her over.
Brett and Rand returned just then to join Adam and the ranch hands in chasing the renegade army of cutthroats off the Wild Horse.
Flower tugged on Rayna’s skirt. “Where did Poechna Quahip go?”
“I don’t know, honey. I wish I did though.” If she did, she’d ride after him and sit with him while he waited to die. Without food or water, it wouldn’t take long. “Never forget what he did here today, Flower. He was a very brave, powerful warrior.” She would’ve said more, but the thickness in her breaking voice wouldn’t allow her to continue.
“Will he come back?” Flower asked quietly with round eyes.
“No, honey. I don’t think he will.”
“I’m sad.”
Rayna put her arms around the child and pulled her close. “You can cry, little one. It’s all right.”
When Brett galloped up a few minutes later, Rayna threw herself into his arms. As he held her and smoothed back her hair, she told him what Bob said to her, then his unselfish act that had saved them all.
