by Faye Adams
"Have you ever thought about what your family would have wanted for you if they'd lived?" he asked carefully.
"Sometimes," she said.
"Well?"
"Mother would have liked to see me get more education. She wanted that for all of us, especially the boys, but for Becky and me, too."
"She must have been a remarkable woman."
Cass turned and gave him a grateful smile. '"She was. She had to be. We kids were a handful."
"You were never naughty," he teased.
"Not me," she agreed playfully. "I painted one whole side of our barn pink once," she said. "At least as high up as I could reach."
Brett grinned. "Why on earth would you do such a thing?"
"The boys dared me to. They were always daring me to do one crazy thing or another."
"And your father? What did he want for you?"
"To get married and settle down. To give him twenty grandchildren."
"Twenty?"
"He'd have loved it. He loved kids."
"But you're not married, and you didn't get educated," he said.
Cass stared at the ground. "Things changed. I had something else to do."
"Don't you ever regret it?"
She met his gaze. "What are you getting at?"
"What if you never get the last man, Cass? What then? Will there come a day when you say it's over?"
"I will get the last man. That's when it'll be over."
"But.."
"No buts. It'll be over when I get the man with the silver gun." She stood up and walked away. "I'm going to visit my family," she said over her shoulder.
Brett got up and followed her, catching up as they passed the burned barn. "I'll help you get started on cleaning this up in the morning," he said, dropping the subject of her future for the time being.
Cass gave him a sidelong glance. "I don't expect manual labor from you," she said.
“I know, but you need the help, and as long as I'm here I might as well keep myself busy."
"Suit yourself."
Cass knelt beside her mother's grave a short time later. She'd managed to wipe all the charcoal from the headstone, but the flowers and grass were still missing. "I'll make your grave pretty again, Mama," she whispered. Staring at the words on the stone, "Beloved wife and mother," she felt all the tears she'd never cried pressing to get out. She would never let them. She couldn't let herself start.
Seeing Brett on the hill, she gazed at her father’s grave. "You'd have liked him, Papa. He's a good man," she said. Letting her head fall forward, she pictured her little sister. "You would have been fifteen this summer, Becky. The age I was when you were murdered." She sighed and glanced once more at Brett, sitting patiently on the hill. "I'll bet you'd have had a crush on him," she said.
She sat for a while longer, remembering and talking, then she said her goodbyes and started back up the hill. It was almost completely dark when she reached the top.
"Okay?" Brett asked. He was always surprised to see her come back from the graves dry-eyed.
"Fine," she answered.
The sound of the first shot rang through the air. Brett grabbed Cass and threw her to the ground, covering her body with his own.
"Brett, where did it come from?" she yelled.
Brett raised his head slightly and looked around them. More shots broke the night's silence, and it took him a second to locate their source. It took a few more to discover they weren't the target. "The cattle!" he shouted.
Cass struggled beneath Brett. "Let me up!"
Brett pushed himself up quickly, bringing Cass with him. “They're after the cattle, Cass,"
"Let's go," she said, taking off at a dead run toward the Losee.
Brett ran after her, anger welling up in his chest.
"Remember to jump," Cass said as they neared the wash.
Brett flew over it with her this time, nearing the Losee, and ducking under the trees for cover. "Stay down and follow me," he said.
More shots rang out, and Cass could hear the pained bawling of some of her cattle. "The bastards are shooting my cows!" she hissed. "Damn them to hell!"
Crawling on all fours, Brett led the way along the bank of the river toward the sound of the shots. Pulling his gun, he got to a place where he could see the dark shadows of several riders on the opposite bank.
Cass pushed aside some brush and saw the men on horseback. Drawing her gun, she began firing. Her gunshots exploded through the dark. Brett took her cue and pulled the trigger.
"Jesus Christ, I'm hit!" one voice yelped.
"Someone's over in those trees! Hell, I ain't gettin' paid enough to get shot at," another voice said.
Cass continued to shoot until her gun was empty. She then pulled the other.
"Oh, God, I'm bleedin'!" someone else shouted. "Let's get the hell out of here."
"Like hell," another voice ordered. "You all get down and fire back."
"I can't tell where the shots are comin' from," a voice wailed.
"Brett, it's getting too dark to see," Cass whispered.
"Wait until you see the report when they fire. You'll be able to tell where they're at," he told her.
"I don't care what the boss says, I'm gettin' out of here!" someone yelled.
Cass heard hoof beats retreating in the distance.
"I'm gettin' outta here, too. Hell, I think Charlie's dead!"
More hoof beats retreated.
The zing from a bullet overhead kept Cass and Brett down. Cass pinpointed where it carne from and fired again.
"You can stay and get killed if you want to. I'm leavin'!" another voice called.
"Damn you. Damn you all to hell, you cowards."
"We was only hired to shoot some mangy cows. We wasn't hired for no gunfight!" Another rider left.
Cass held her breath. Brett listened intently. Minutes passed before they heard what they thought was the last rider take off.
Cass started to stand up, but Brett pulled her back down. "Me first," he said.
"Don't be ridiculous." She started to stand again, only to feel Brett's strong fingers on her arm.
"Sit your ass down and wait until I say it's safe to get up," he ordered her.
Cass's eyes widened with surprise. "So you can get shot instead of me?" she demanded.
"Exactly." Brett didn't wait to listen to any more of her arguments. Standing slowly, he watched for movement in the dark. After a few minutes, he signaled to Cass to let her know she could move. "Is there any way across this river?" he asked when she stood beside him.
“Yes. There are some large stones farther up river that we used when we were children," she told him.
"Lead the way, but stay low. Someone might still be playing possum over there."
Cass slipped through the trees and brush with Brett right behind her, and soon they were crossing the river. When they reached the other side, Brett took the lead, stopping now and then to listen. When they finally reached the site of the shoot-out, they found several of Cass's cows lying dead in the grass. They also found two men. One dead, one moaning from his wounds. The other gunmen had fled.
"Cass, go back to the house and get my horse. We've got to get this man to the doctor. He's gut-shot."
"Ask him who hired him, Brett."
Brett knelt beside the injured man. "Mister, what's your name?"
The man just continued to moan.
Cass fell to her knees next to him. Touching him on the forehead, she leaned over and looked into his eyes. "Who are you? Who hired you to do this?" she demanded.
"Cass, go get my horse," Brett told her again.
"I need to get him to talk, Brett," she answered.
"We will, but we can't ask him anything if he dies on us."
"All right." Cass stood up reluctantly and turned back toward the river. She'd only gone a few feet when Brett called her back.
"What is it?" she said, running the short distance back to where he knelt beside the man.
"Never mind," he
said solemnly. '"He's dead."
"Damn it," Cass swore. She turned her back on the body and stared up at the newly emerging stars in frustration.
"Damn it!" she shouted to the heavens.
"Cass," Brett said softly.
She turned back around.
"Do you recognize either man?"
She walked back to the man who'd just died. Searching his features in the dark, she shook her head. "Not this one. I'm sure of it""
"What about the other one?"
She went to his side. A bullet had found the side of his head. She looked at what was left of his face. "No, I've never seen him before, either." Twisting to face Brett once more, she grimaced. "Tylo hired men from out of town to do his dirty work," she said.
"If it was Tylo."
"These sure as hell aren't any of my neighbors, Brett," she fumed. "And my neighbors can't afford to hire guns."
Brett glanced at the bodies. "Maybe you're right," he murmured.
Chapter Fourteen
A week later Cass stepped out the front door of her house to see the first of the townspeople arriving for the barn raising. She was still astonished that it was happening, but she couldn't have been more pleased, not for herself so much as for her uncle who'd stopped drinking completely since the preparations began.
“Looks like things are getting started," said Brett behind her.
"Looks like," she answered, glancing over her shoulder at him.
They'd spent a grueling week tearing down what was left of the old barn and dragging away the burned wood. They'd also hit a dead end on trying to identify the members of the raiding party who'd been killed. No one, it seemed, had any idea who the two men were. Hunt Tylo had laughed in their faces when they’d questioned him about it.
"Soony's been tending the beef all night," Cass remarked, looking to where a whole cow was roasting over an open fire.
"It smells good."
"He told me he uses some kind of secret sauce to season the meat while it cooks," she said.
Brett studied Cass's profile. He was worried about her. She'd worked hard with him on the old barn this past week, she had helped with the preparations for the barn raising, and she'd even called on Mrs., Wettle to let her know that one of the cows killed in the raid would be roasted for the meal, but while she'd done these things she'd seemed a million miles away. And often he'd seen a profound sadness filling her beautiful eyes. Even now, with people arriving and shouting their greetings, she seemed distracted. He longed to get back to where they'd been before the barn had burned. He'd been sure they were close to coming to some kind of terms on how they felt about each other. Now Cass seemed to have distanced herself from him, and during the past week, whenever he'd tried to broach the subject of a relationship, or tried to touch her affectionately, she'd managed to pull away or change the subject. His heart ached with frustration. "Are you all right, Cass?" he asked softly, willing to try again.
"Sure, I'm fine," she answered,
"You've been acting . . . different," he said, placing his hands at the base of her neck.
Shrugging her shoulders, she began to walk away from him. "You're imagining things," she told him.
Brett took one long step and stopped her with a touch on the arm. "I don't think so. Won't you talk to me?"
Cass gazed up into the gray of his eyes. "There's nothing to talk about." She gently pulled her arm away from his fingers. "I'd better go get everyone started," she said, once more walking away from him.
Cass saw the hurt in Brett's eyes before she left him. She felt a pang of guilt over it, but she couldn't yet put what she'd been feeling into words. She was beginning to think she'd never catch Tylo, and this doubt had filled her with a sense of loss. Her sole purpose for existing the last five years had been to exact revenge for the death of her family. If she wasn't able to complete the task, what would she do, just sit on her ranch for the rest of her life and feel that she'd failed them? Brett's entrance into her life didn't change things. She wouldn't let him or anyone else stop her from finishing what she'd started.
Another wagon pulled up and stopped. Cass looked to see who else had arrived to help and was a little surprised to see Rosie among the people climbing down as she walked away from the wagon, Cass noticed she still limped a little. "Rosie?" she called, walking to meet her.
Rosie looked up nervously at the sound of Cass's voice. "Yes?"
"Thank you for coming today," Cass said, looking closely at the waitress as she neared.
"You're welcome." Rosie lowered her eyes. "I better go help Mrs. Wettle," she said quickly, walking away.
"She's certainly nervous about something," observed Brett as he joined Cass where Rosie had left her.
Cass studied Rosie from behind. "She looks as if she's lost weight, too."
Brett nodded.
"You know, Rosie was always happy when we were growing up," Cass commented. "Except when Ramsey was around, of course."
"Except when Ramsey was around," he repeated.
Cass looked up at him, then back at Rosie. Was Brett right in assuming Ramsey had something to do with Rosie's current state? "I wish she'd talk to me."
"Try."
"She shuns me at every turn."
"Keep trying, Cass. I think Rosie needs a friend right now," he said.
"She's got friends in town. Lots of them," she said.
"Sometimes it takes a special kind of friend to get to the truth."
She snorted softly. "Special friend?"
"Yes. Someone who won't judge her or make her feel like less of a person if she's done something she's not proud of."
"And you think I'd be that kind of friend?" she asked
"Who better than you, Cass?"
Cass lowered her eyes remembering the lives she'd taken. "I guess you're right. Who am I to judge anyone, right?"
"That's not what I meant."
Cass looked back up at him, one eyebrow raised in question.
"You understand that sometimes people have to do things they don't want to do. If Rosie's in a situation where she feels helpless, you'd understand that."
Cass shrugged again. "I suppose so." She searched for Rosie in the growing crowd. "I'll try to talk to her again when I get the chance."
"Good. I don't think you'll regret it."
Just then another wagon pulled up to distract them. A young man with brilliant red hair jumped from it as soon as the team came to a stop. He turned and helped Mrs. Thompson to the ground. She proceeded to pinch his cheek affectionately as though he were a child. The young man allowed this, but rolled his eyes at her gesture. They both then turned toward Cass, Mrs. Thompson pulling the man by the arm.
"Cass," she called. "I want you to meet my nephew, Buster," she said before they'd even stopped walking.
Cass smiled and held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Buster. This is Marshal Brett Ryder," she offered, turning toward Brett.
Buster took Cass's hand, then the marshal's. "It's good to meet you both. My aunt here's been tellin' me all about you. Sure sorry to hear about your troubles. I'd like to help with the barn, if I could. And if there's anything else needs doing, I'd be happy to pitch in."
Brett and Cass both grinned at Buster's friendly attitude. His smile was infectious, his manner charming.
"Thank you, Buster. We'd appreciate any help with the barn, but we don't expect you do more," said Cass.
Buster grinned widely, his sparkling blue eyes squinting merrily. "Oh, I don't mind helpin' out."
“That's the truth," interjected Mrs. Thompson. "Buster just arrived yesterday for a visit, and already my windows are all washed, my garden's been weeded, and he started painting the outside of the house. The boy just can't sit still long enough to suit me."
Cass laughed. "Are you here for a long visit, Buster?" she asked.
"Well, you know, I've been thinking about stayin' awhile. But I might drive Aunt Selma, here, crazy if I do." He squeezed his aunt affectionately.
&nbs
p; The older woman beamed up at him with pride.
Buster noticed another wagon coming to a stop in the yard" "Looks like those folks need some help unloadin'. Guess I'll go make myself useful. It was a real pleasure to meet you, Cass, Marshal.” He tipped his hat and turned toward the new arrivals.
"Whew, that young man's got more energy than I've seen in a while," commented Brett, smiling at Buster's retreating back.
Mrs. Thompson nodded. "He surely has. He's my sister's son, and she's the same way. I don't know where they get their energy. It makes me tired just watching them." She looked after Buster and smiled softly. "It would be nice to have him settle here, though. Mr. Thompson and I were never blessed with children of our own," she added wistfully.
Brett nodded in agreement, then glanced at Cass to see if she'd noticed Mrs. Thompson's sadness at never having had children.
Cass knew what Brett's look meant and glanced away, ignoring him. "I think I'll go see if Soony needs any help. See you later," she said noncommittally to both Mrs. Thompson and Brett. Raising her hand in a light farewell, she headed for the house.
The day passed quickly after that. Cass helped the men with the construction as much as they would let her, and the women as much as she could, her lack of cooking skills keeping her on the sidelines. She ended up being more of a waitress than anything else, serving cool drinks to the men while they worked.
As the sun began to set, the roof was raised and a cheer went up from the crowd. It was time to party. Two guitars, a fiddle, and a squeeze-box magically appeared from under wagon seats, and everyone made ready for some foot-stomping music.
"May I have the first dance?" asked Brett.
Cass looked up, surprised. She'd been helping clear away the enormous dinner mess and was up to her elbows in grease. “I, ah . . "" she stammered. "I haven't danced since I was a child."
"Then you'd better make up for lost time," he told her, staring playfully down into her eyes.
"Go on, Cassidy," said Mrs. Thompson from the other side of the table. "Let us old married ladies take care of this mess. You go on and have some fun now before some other girl comes along and tries to snatch up this handsome young man."
Cass looked wide-eyed with surprise at the older woman. "Yes, ma'am," she said. After she'd wiped the grease from her arms and hands with a wet towel, she let Brett lead her toward the new barn, where the dancing had begun.
