Before they reached the canyon, Gabe had to choose, either pass it by without a glance or stop, say hello to an old friend, and face the truth—his mother was gone, and he couldn’t bring her back.
But if he stopped, he’d have to give an explanation to Edditha and her mother. They didn’t know anything about his unusual, nay, primitive entry into this world. They didn’t know Buck wasn’t his father, that his sire was a lying, cheating, murdering son-of-a-bitch who’d tortured his mother.
How could they understand? How could anyone understand his mother’s desperation, the circumstances of his birth? And Mrs. Millican, the wife of an alderman, how would she respond knowing her daughter was engaged to a bastard, the son of an infamous, albeit dead, murderer, and chiseler?
Gabe didn’t want to explain any of it, justify any of it. His mother was a heroine to him. She’d been brave and true, and he didn’t want to set her up for judgment before anyone. Somehow, he had to do this without explanation. If he could get past the boulder, then they would stay for a couple of days, take care of whatever trouble Van imagined, and leave, leave without delving into the past; that was Gabe’s goal, his wish, his hope.
Edditha’s voice broke into his thoughts. “When you said your home was just outside of Baker City, Gabriel, I had no idea this is what you meant. This is a full day’s travel. We must’ve gone fifteen miles or better, and we’re not there yet. Baker City is…is nothing but a dusty speck of a town out in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know what I’d expected, but I thought the town would be more than a couple of dusty streets and boardwalks. The hotel was nice, but the rest of the town, well, there just wasn’t a lot of it, that’s all. And out here, well, out here I don’t see anything—nothing—no grass, no trees, no animals, just rocks, and the bush you call sage.”
Edditha, her gloved hand up to shade her pretty face against the startling, bright, azure sky above, lips pursed, surveyed the inhospitable, formidable landscape. Her disparaging assessment didn’t really surprise him. He shrugged. “I guess you have to be born here to see the appeal. There’s something about the openness, the mountains, the stark, barren landscape, the contrast. It feeds my soul.”
“Why, there aren’t any farms, not even livestock.” She shook her head, setting the posy in her pretty bonnet to quivering. “There’s nothing out here, Gabriel.” She waved her gloved hand out before her. “You grew up out here, out here in this nothing country. Little wonder you made your way to Portland.”
Mrs. Millican snorted in protest. “Why, Eddy, dear, it’s beautiful.” Seated beside her daughter, Mrs. Millican bounced a little, her rosy, sunburned cheeks bright. Emitting a little giggle of excitement, she gripped the side of the carriage as it tipped and rolled down into a rut then back out again. “I can’t wait to see the hot spring. Look, look there, an eagle, Edditha. How many have we seen now? Aren’t they beautiful?”
Gabe glanced up and saw the buzzard circling. Soon another and then another joined in the search for carrion, but rather than disillusion the women, he smiled down into his coat collar. Ever since Mrs. Millican read the propaganda about the hot spring, she was all enthusiasm, fully enjoying the journey and determined to partake of the restorative properties offered by the hot spring.
Turning his head aside, Gabe winced in anticipation of Edditha’s reaction to the hot spring. True, it was spring, and there were a great many wildflowers in bloom on the high desert, and the snow on the mountains lent some majesty to the aspect around them, but Buck painted a rather rosy picture in his brochures describing Hoyt’s Hot Spring. In truth, the cabins were rustic, the spa was little more than a crude log shelter, and the main house was simply a two-story clapboard house out in the middle of a stark prairie. His mother insisted on painting the house yellow with white trim and a blue door, which gave the place a cheery aspect, but there was little glamour associated with the place. Shoot, at one time it had been a whorehouse servicing the miners, sheepherders, and the occasional drifter. How would Edditha and Mrs. Millican take that bit of history? Gabe shuddered to think.
Somehow, he had to get this visit over with as soon as possible and return to Portland and his veterinary practice.
It was a mistake, this journey, a mistake to bring Edditha way out here. Of course, she couldn’t see the beauty of it, being a city girl, born and bred. Gabe wondered what his mother would’ve thought of his choice of bride. He wanted to believe she would be proud. Edditha was a wonderful young woman, beautiful, and in her element he found her to be kind, generous, and gracious, perfect for the life he had in mind. Out here, though, she appeared as a fish out of water. Right now, he felt the same way, but he couldn’t go back. No matter what his heart told him, he should never have attempted to go back in time.
Once he and Edditha were married, they could’ve easily sent for his family, paid their way to visit Portland and their home. Jo and Birdie-Alice would love Portland, with all the shops, libraries, and theaters. Van would like it too, although Van would probably never admit it. And it would’ve done Buck good to get away from the home place for a spell, look around, see how the rest of the world had moved on, grown, and modernized.
Gabe shook his head—he had a bad feeling about this. No, he never should’ve gone along with this.
Before turning the team down into the canyon and the dry wash, a loud explosion rent the air, the horses shied and reared, and the ladies screamed. Gabe held tight to the reins as a plume of dust rose up out of the canyon seam to form a cloud all around them and over the mesa.
Chapter Two
The dust rising off in the distance on the main road caught Buck’s attention. The traveler turned onto the lane and the rider, drawing closer, caused him to groan in recognition. His shoulder against the white porch post, he watched the rider approach. She skidded to halt a few feet from him and jumped down off the lathered painted pony in a flurry of white petticoats, red and white gingham skirts, and flying coils of flaxen-colored hair.
The girl tied her poor, winded little pony to the hitching rail. She dipped beneath the pony’s head, unconcerned she’d come between her thirsty mount and the water trough, and skipped toward him, a sassy smirk on her pretty face, the spitting image of her mama. “Uncle Buxton, I’ve run away from home,” she said, her chin up, defiant as hell.
“Ah, huh, I figured. This is the third time in less than a month, Birdie. I don’t think you can call it running away. Everybody knows where you run to.”
“Well, this time I mean to keep going. I won’t go back. Mama’s determined to marry me off to…to stiff-rumped Cornell Norquist. Do you know what he had the gall to suggest?” She didn’t wait for his guess. Arms flapping, she kept right on blabbing. “He suggested if I’d do something with my hair I might almost be pretty. Almost, mind you,” she said, shaking her finger in the air. “He said he’d seen mountain goats better groomed.” Cheeks burning with outrage, she whirled around to face him. “Now I ask you, Uncle Buxton, how can a girl love a man who talks to her like that?”
Not even taking a breath or giving him the opportunity to respond, the girl continued. “I’ve come to say my goodbyes to Jo and Van. I’m on my way to Daddy’s sister’s place in Halfway. She’s getting on and needs help with her farm. She’s invited me over a couple of times. I don’t know why I haven’t taken her up on the offer before.”
Buck cleared his throat and shifted his body away from the porch post, hands in his pockets. “I know why. Maria Bollo is an old maid. She lives with a house full of cats. The only place I can think of more uncomfortable than living with your Aunt Maria and all her cats would be taking up residence in a broom-closet full of spiders. Somehow, I can’t picture you sitting in a rocking chair in your Aunt Maria’s little house crocheting tea cozies all day. You’ve never been able to sit still longer than a minute.”
Moving to the top of the step, he said, “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, Birdie, you know that, but you and I both know your mama is going to come
out here to fetch you home. And it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if this time your daddy showed up as well, and brandishing a willow switch, ready to put some stripes on that sassy little fanny of yours.”
Giving him the full force of her dimpled, rosy-cheeked smile, Birdie-Alice Bollo coyly stepped forward and put both of her hands on his chest, looking up at him through her long, light-brown lashes. “Daddy would never lay a hand on me, you know it. He’s all bark and no bite, just like you. I’ve told him I don’t want to get married. And I especially don’t want to marry Corney Norquist, but Papa won’t listen.”
Shaking his head, Buck took one hand in each of his and held them together before his chest. Oh, so like her mother—her smile, Doreen could sidetrack a man faster than any woman he’d ever known with her smile—other than his Petra, that is. Petra could mess with his mind and make him lose all track of the conversation in the blink of an eye with her smile.
“I wouldn’t be in such an all-fired hurry to toss Cornell Norquist aside if I were you.”
Birdie snatched her hands out of his grasp and snorted with disdain. She put her lips together and puffed a wisp of blonde hair out of her face. With a swish of her skirt, she stepped around him, going up the steps headed for the screen door to the house.
Buck turned, speaking to her back. “He’s an up-and-coming young man. Wealthy, has a nice house all bought and paid for, and has a good position as foreman in his father’s mining company. I’ve heard it said, and this is just what I’ve heard, mind you, the ladies don’t find him hard to look at. Rich, wealthy, good family, handsome—nope, doesn’t sound like too bad of a deal to me.”
Eyes lit up like Fourth of July sparklers, she said, “Ha. I bet you wouldn’t like him sniffing around Jo. Everybody knows Corney Norquist is an arrogant horse’s-hind-end. I don’t know why you, and everyone else, are conspiring against me. If and when I choose to marry, I assure you, it won’t be to Cornell Norquist. I don’t care how rich he is or how handsome.” She snatched open the screen door, bracing it open with her sassy hip. “And another thing, I will not change one hair on my head for any man. Love me, love my hair.” At her pronouncement, Birdie put her nose in the air and tossed her mop of curls over her shoulder, out of her face, and marched herself inside.
Shaking his head, Buck couldn’t help but chuckle. Doreen and Raphael had their hearts set on a union between the Bollo and the Norquist families. Since his retirement, Raphael became a silent partner in the Norquist rock quarry and mining operation. Buck knew Birdie’s parents figured it only a matter of time before their daughter changed her mind, but of late, he wasn’t so sure. The Norquist kid knew nothing about finessing a woman, especially a spit-fire like Birdie-Alice. Like her mother Doreen, Birdie could be stubborn as a mule.
The explosion came from the direction of the canyon, rattling the windows of the house. Buck turned toward the hot spring and to the canyon beyond and snarled an oath.
Van bolted out of the barn, throwing the doors open wide. “What the hell was that?” he shouted across the yard. Jo and Birdie ran out onto the porch behind Buck, who reached over to put a hand on the pony’s nose to steady her.
“They’ve started blasting rock up in the canyon, I guess.”
“Blasting?” Van shouted, marching toward him. “Why? Who’s blasting? Who gave permission to blast up in the canyon?”
Van stood directly in front of his face now, and Birdie’s pony didn’t care for the boy’s tone, shying, eyes rolling back in her head. Buck didn’t much care for his tone either. He heaved a heavy sigh of defeat. He’d been dreading this moment, the moment he’d have to explain. “I gave Norquist the go-ahead.”
“We talked about this, Dad. I thought we were going to wait and see, wait until fall and see how our guests pay out.”
Buck lowered his head. The boy, who wasn’t a boy, nearly twenty-five, resembled his mother so much it hurt. When Buck looked at his son, he looked into Petra’s eyes; they were bluer than a lake in summer. Buck found it particularly hard to meet those eyes, but he forced himself to do it. Van and Jo had to hear it, had to hear the truth. “We don’t have any reservations for the summer.”
Jo put her hands on his arm to turn him to face her. Standing behind him up on the porch, she challenged him at eye level. Fine, dark brows knit together over gray eyes, she searched his face for answers. “We’re booked solid clear though September. What are you talking about we don’t have any reservations? We’re full up—for the first time in years. We’re expecting the Thurmans tomorrow afternoon. They’re celebrating their fifteenth wedding anniversary here with us. They’ve booked four cabins. At the end of the month, the Calveras are having their family reunion here. And they’ve reserved all six cabins. We’re booked solid for the entire summer. I’ve been baking all day.” Her voice cracked.
Guilt. He should’ve told her…told her before she started baking. Feeling a coward, he surrendered, the time had come to man-up. “Canceled.” One word, it fell from his lips like dirt on a grave. “Canceled, every single one of them, all thirty-two reservations canceled.”
Buck didn’t understand it, couldn’t figure it out, but he’d gotten the letters one by one. There were no guests for the entire summer, and they were broke.
He put his hand on her shoulder. A tall girl, straight, and at first glance, some might chalk Josephine Buxton up as plain, but she had beauty there in her clear, creamy complexion, high cheekbones, patrician nose, and the regal way she held herself. “Jo, I had to let the Norquist outfit take the rock out of the canyon. He’s been after me for a while, as you know. I was afraid we’d lose everything. Nils Norquist paid me a sizeable advance, enough to keep the hot spring afloat for the summer and through the winter. I didn’t know what else to do. The money will keep us going until next spring. Then we’ll see if business picks up again. There’s always the drop-in guest. We usually get a few of those during the summer and early fall.”
Van turned on his heel and snarled over his shoulder and then shouted, “Norquist. You can bet on it, Dad. Norquist is behind those cancelations. Somehow, he’s behind it. Thirty-two cancelations? The Thurmans made their reservation nearly a year ago. And the Calveras have been planning their reunion for over a year. They don’t live too far away, just over to Richland. Why’d they cancel? What reason did they give you?”
“Grandpa, he’s feeling poorly and doesn’t want to leave home. And the Thurmans’ youngest is weak from a bout of pneumonia, and they don’t want to take the chance of a relapse.”
Van halted and spun around to say, “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe any of it. You know damn good and well, it ain’t possible all of our reservations canceled just like that. I’m going up there and tell the Norquist outfit to get the hell off our land.”
“Van…Van,” Buck shouted, taking two long strides to grab the boy by the arm to hold him back. “You can’t stop them. I’ve already taken the money.”
Van’s mouth opened, and his eyes grew cold and dark blue like a stormy sea. Buck said, “I had to, Van.”
The words sounded pitiful and stupid, and Buck wanted to hide in shame. He felt like a whore. He’d been paid, he’d set aside his pride and dignity, and now he had no self-respect left. This was survival. “I took out a mortgage on the place, Van. I told you I would. We need a new barn, we had the expense of three new cabins, and then there were the repairs to the bathing pool and the bathhouses. With no guarantee guests would come to help make the payments to the bank, I had no choice, Van. We had no choice. I had to take the Norquist deal.”
The boy swiped his hand off his arm, and with his fists balled up at his side, Van sprayed him with his venom. “You should’ve talked to Jo and me before you made the decision. We have a right to know what’s going on around here. Why didn’t you let Jo know nobody was coming? Jesus, Dad. This was a partnership. We should’ve been told about the cancelations…about the mortgage.”
Van took a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow with
the back of his hand and then glanced up at the sky. “All those cancelations—we should’ve looked into it, not panicked and grabbed for the money.”
Turning his head and glaring at Buck, he said in a voice cold and hard, “Something’s not right, and you know it. It hasn’t been right for a while. Last fall, those cattle dying off. Twenty head, Dad, poisoned. Norquist is behind this. He wants whatever is in the canyon, and it’s not the rock, there’s something else. He’s been pushing you and pushing you for a couple of years now. I told you I caught a couple of men up there nosing around. I told you about it. I don’t know who they were, but I bet they were Norquist’s men. He’s after something, and he’s going to squeeze us and squeeze us until we cave in so he can steal our land from us. Taking the money, you played right into his hands.”
Van, having run out of steam, let his shoulders slump and lowered his head. When he brought his head up again, he pinned Buck down with his gaze, his voice hoarse with emotion. “What about Mom? What about her special place in the canyon?”
“No need to worry about it. I sold Norquist the rock at the top of the canyon on the west side. He’s not to touch Petra’s rock or come anywhere near it. I staked it out—he can’t miss it. I put detailed instructions in the contract, and if they disturb the canyon anywhere else but where they’re supposed to, the contract is null and void. Norquist will abide by the contract. We shook hands on it.”
Shaking his head, Van turned his back to him and started off toward the barn. “Oh, yeah—a handshake with a Norquist—well, good luck.” He waved his hand over his head and then stopped and threw his parting shot over his shoulder. “You and I both know what dynamite can do, it shakes the holy shit out of everything, and nothing in the canyon will be the same when Norquist is through. Nothing.”
“Are you going up there?” Buck called to him.
“Shit, yeah. I don’t know what I can do, but I’m not gonna sit here and let Norquist blast the hell out of our land.”
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