THIRTY-NINE
Gabe woke to the sensation of movement, a saddle horn in his gut, his face planted against the bristly coat of his horse’s neck. How he hadn’t slid to the ground beneath them he didn’t know. They were moving across rough terrain. That much he could tell. Everything else was fire emanating from his back, traveling up his spine, exploding in his brain. Pain. Pain that wouldn’t let up.
He’d lost count of how many times he’d blacked out. Once, twice—maybe more—and every time he woke up still draped forward over Denali’s solid neck. He didn’t even remember how he got the saddle on the big gelding. How? He’d barely been able to stand, let alone lift a forty-pound saddle. Somehow he’d gotten a bridle on the big bay too. Must have been something he’d done in a nightmare-state, half in, half out. He certainly couldn’t recall now.
All he remembered was last night, having the ugliest argument he’d ever had with his father, how he’d left his father’s house forever—finally.
If I stay I’ll die.
That one thought had driven him on, and somehow he remained in the saddle.
Images from the night before flickered by in a red haze: Denali standing patiently in the center aisle, Gabe brushing his coat. The two long white ropes drooping from the barn posts, fastened to the tie ring on Denali’s halter. So normal. Then his father storming in, drunk. Threatening to brand Gabe’s horse, some punishment he’d dreamed up for all the imaginary wrongs Gabe had done against him.
But Gabe hadn’t stood for it. For once, he’d had something to say. No one was going to touch Denali. No one. Especially not his father.
His father hadn’t liked that. Not at all. He’d screamed at Gabe, said he wasn’t family, to talk back like that. He’d said awful things about Annie too, called her bad names. And his face... His face had turned into something Gabe had never seen. Monstrous. Determined.
Gabe still couldn’t believe what happened next. He couldn’t believe what his father had done, but his back was still on fire. He’d seen the red-hot brand in his father’s hand, knew he’d flown into a blind rage.
Gabe closed his eyes, trying to wipe the nightmare from his vision. He tried to breathe. It hurt to fill his lungs. He sipped in a breath. Still too much. Once again, he faded out. Faded back in. Gray, everything. No color. He almost wished he’d just die, to end it, but there was a small fire inside him too. He couldn’t give up.
There was no choice now. He had to leave. Things would only get worse. His father would have to cover it up. He’d keep Gabe silent through threats and intimidation, or worse. Why stop at this? Why not kill him? Bury him in the mountains. Pretend he’d run away. Mama might even believe that.
Gabe had to go.
Sleep tugged at him, but his father’s voice kept sliding thought his thoughts. Only leftover memories, but so close they were real. Accusations. Gabe wasn’t his real son. Has your mother ever said anything? Told you about another man? Your real father? Denying it had only made him angry. The more Gabe had protested, the worse it got.
And then that was it. It happened.
Gabe struggled onward. He had to make it north to Denver. Somehow. He had to get to his uncle’s. They’d figure something out. Uncle Micah had always said to come if Gabe ever needed anything. Maybe he’d suspected something. Maybe he knew a thing or two about his own brother.
Gabe started to slide and somehow righted himself. One more slide like that when he was out and he’d be on the ground, possibly with his head broken against a rock. There was no way he’d make it to Denver, not now. Not like this. He’d be lucky to make it to Ben’s.
Ben’s.
He slogged along slowly, feeling every bump, every stumble the horse made in the dim light of dawn.
When had the sun risen?
He lifted his head and saw buildings. A familiar outline against the misty horizon. His family’s house. Their stables. Their paddocks. Their horses.
No.
They must have traveled in a circle. Denali must’ve decided he wanted back in the barn. Wanted to eat.
They couldn’t be here.
But they were.
Gabe recognized the view all too well. Denali had brought them home. Nearly back to the house. How?
He shook himself awake, icy cold, sick at the thought of his father seeing them. Coming out for him.
Lord Almighty, he gasped silently, a petition.
“No, Denali,” he mumbled weakly. “We’ve got to get to Ben’s.”
With that thought his only hope, Gabe struggled to stay awake.
* * *
Jem heard something thud against the back porch. Something big. Under the kitchen table, Sugar let out a low growl, then a sharp bark. Her stranger alert. Jem held his fork arrested to his mouth, looked over at Ben. A look of concern flickered in Ben’s eyes too.
Jem exchanged a silent message with Ray: get Annie and Mae out of the kitchen, someplace safe. He waited until Ray had ushered Annie, Mae, and Sugar as quickly and quietly as he could to the parlor, close to the front door, in case they might need to slip out. He wasn’t sure why alarm bells were ringing in his ears, but they were. It might only be one of the ranch hands fooling around, but there was a feeling in the air he didn’t like. All the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
He watched as Ben circled slowly to the mantle and got his shotgun off the wall. Watched as he quickly loaded and waited for Jem’s cue. They were at least prepared for the worst. Whatever the worst might be.
For some reason, an image of Creed’s face flashed in Jem’s mind. The last time he’d seen him at the wedding. The way he’d been staring at Annie. Hungry. Seething.
Jem unsheathed his Cheyenne knife, the one he always wore on his belt these days. He edged over the back door, keeping the wall between him and the opening. Ben edged over on the other side. Jem gestured to him with two fingers, indicating he was going to take a look-see out the back. Ben nodded and waited, the shotgun held loose but ready.
Jem leaned forward real quick and saw nothing at first, then he made out a large lump on the porch just outside the back door. All he could see was the back of a torn shirt and a shock of dark curly hair. In the driveway, panting hard, stood Gabe’s horse. There was no one else in sight. No movement, no noise besides the horses in their paddocks.
“It’s Gabe,” Jem said, sheathing his knife and rushing outside. Gabe groaned, a worrisome sound as he lay there with his face pressed against the floorboards. Ben was right there beside him in an instant, bending down to look into his young friend’s face. His gun lay forgotten on the porch beside him, within easy reach.
“Gabe? You all right?”
“He’s hurt,” Jem said, after a quick examination. He’s been burned.”
“Burned?”
“Looks bad, like a branding iron maybe.”
Ben blanched. He looked like he wanted to reach out to help his friend somehow, but didn’t quite know what to do with his hands.
“You mean, you mean someone did this to him?” he asked. “On purpose?”
“Ray!” Jem called back toward the house. “It’s Gabe! Come on out.” He hesitated a moment, then called again, “Have Annie take Mae upstairs to her room.”
* * *
Annie huddled by the settee with Mae in her arms.
“You heard him, Miss Annie. Get Mae upstairs,” Ray said, just before he strode out of the parlor, more like ran.
Annie looked at the doorway to the foyer. She looked at the doorway to the kitchen, where Ray had gone to help. Jem’s voice had sounded so serious, urgent even. What had happened? Was Gabe hurt? Could she help? If she only took a quick peek...
She set Mae down on the big rocker by the fireplace and signed, “Mae, stay here. Please.”
Mae puckered up her lips, obviously hurt at being left out. “I wanna come.”
“Please,” Annie signed. “Stay here.”
Mae nodded reluctantly. Perhaps there was something in Annie’s expression that convi
nced her. Or perhaps something in the men’s tones and their hurried actions spoke deeply to her, for she settled back against the rocker and tucked her knees up to her chin, prepared to wait until Annie came back.
“Where should we put him?” Ben’s voice filtered toward Annie. The back door creaked open and slapped shut.
She hurried into the kitchen.
“Annie,” Jem said, his eyes touching on her and widening. “Not now. Get Mae up to her room. This isn’t something she should see.”
“She’s waiting.” Annie gestured to the parlor. “She promised.”
“I don’t want you to see either.”
“I want to help,” she insisted, her heart going to Gabe.
“He’s hurt. It’s bad, Annie. It’s something you can’t un-see once you’ve seen it.”
She nodded bravely.
Jem sighed. “We need a place for him. Clean linens. Some towels...”
“He can have my room,” Annie signed, then realized how that must sound. But they were husband and wife now. They should be staying in the same room, shouldn’t they? Besides Gabe needed a place, and that was the most important thing.
Jem’s eyes met hers— in one instant, an understanding passed between them. Then the moment flickered by, and Jem started issuing orders. “Let’s get him upstairs. Annie, after you get Mae settled, grab some clean towels and change out the sheets. Pad the mattress down with maybe an old quilt or two, whatever you can find. Ray, we’ll need fresh water, my medical bag, and some broth, later. Ben, help me carry him up, will you?”
Annie rushed off in one direction, and Ray in the other.
She only paused once to look back at the sight of Ben and Jem carrying Gabe’s body between them.
It was as bad as Jem said. Worse.
And he was right—it was something she could never un-see.
What in the world had happened to Gabe? Something awful. It pained her to see him that way, and she hoped and prayed Jem would be able to help him.
* * *
Once they had Gabe settled in Annie’s room, Jem tended to the boy’s wound as best as he could. Each time Gabe flinched, Jem felt the pain himself, fresh. It was like living his own wounds over again. More than once, he had the fiercest desire to run outside, but he stayed put, gritting his teeth. More than once he wished Gabe would slip into consciousness, but he never did.
Once Gabe was resting as comfortably as possible—on his stomach with his head turned to one side—Jem pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat in it.
“Can you tell me what—?”
“My father. He w-wants Annie,” Gabe interrupted, intent on getting his piece said. He had other ideas about what they needed to talk about evidently. “The way he looks at her. It’s wr-wrong.”
“I know. But he’s not going to have her,” Jem reassured him, his gut tightening. Looking at Gabe, he saw exactly what Creed could and would do. He feared he’d underestimated the major.
“Oh, I know,” Gabe blurted out. “I won’t let him.”
Jem looked at him amazed, both for the utter assurance with which he said it, and the fact that he didn’t stutter at all, not then.
“Ben told me about Annie—how you bought her out from him.”
“How’d Ben know about that?” Jem, asked, surprised. “We never talked about it.”
Gabe grimaced. His back had to be in miserable pain. “I don’t know about that. But B-ben said he heard you say it yourself, talking to Ray.”
Talking to Ray?
Ben hadn’t been there when Jem told Ray the story. At least, Jem hadn’t seen him. Maybe he’d been on the back porch? Or in the parlor? Jem hadn’t been paying attention to who was coming or going. Or staying put to listen.
“My father’s a bad man, Mr. Wheeler. He’s done things.”
“I know. He hurt you. Not just this once either, I’m sure. There’s more than one mark on you. There are old stripes from whippings too, with a switch, I’d guess, or a whip. Am I right?”
Gabe nodded once, a look of shame crossing his young face. “Whatever was handy. A switch, a crop. His fists.”
“I’m sorry for that,” Jem said, feeling a wrench for the young man before him. “My pa hurt me too.”
Gabe wouldn’t meet his eyes. “He did?”
“He did. And there were people who helped me. I’ll do whatever I can to help you too. You want to get away? I’ll help you. Ben and Annie too. All of us. No one wants to see you go back there.”
Gabe let out a muffled sob, then clamped his mouth shut.
“I don’t know the laws here—if you have any recourse—but I can find out. Or—well, we’ll just get you out. Law or no law. What about your mother, your brothers? Do they need help?”
“No, no, it was always me. Just me. He never hurt Mama. He’d never.”
“Why you, Gabe?”
“I don’t know.”
There seemed to be something. Jem’s intuition shouted at him, telling him there was something Gabe wasn’t saying.
“Gabe,” he prompted. “You can tell me. I’m not here to judge you. Is there something else, something you’re not telling me? You can tell me anything.”
“You can’t tell no one.”
“I promise.”
“It’s Mama. He adores her. No, not that. It’s unhealthy. He can’t stand to see her talking with anyone, standing near anyone.”
“Jealous, you mean?”
“More than that. Anyway, he says things to her—about me. He says I’m not f-family. Not his. He was saying things like that, right b-before it happened. He kept asking if Mama had another man—if Mama ever told me I had a different father.”
“Has she ever? Said anything like that, I mean.”
“Never! It’s all a lie, all in his head. Mama would never. She doesn’t know about all the things he’s done to me. Not everything. I couldn’t bear to tell her. It would crush her. For all his f-faults, I think she loves him. She’s always been loyal, f-faithful—”
“All right,” Jem held up his hands, stemming Gabe’s words. “I believe you. And now, you need to rest. That bitter powder I gave you mixed in the tea, that’ll dull the worst of the pain.”
“I can already feel it.”
“Good.”
“You can’t tell anyone,” Gabe said earnestly, trying to prop himself up.
“Oh no you don’t. Settle down.”
“You just got to promise.”
“I already did. I won’t say anything.”
“It’s just—for all they couldn’t help me—I l-love my family. I love my mother and my brothers. I don’t want to bring shame on the family name. For their sakes. Not my father’s.”
“I understand,” Jem said, and he thought he did. Gabe was a very special young man. Too bad Creed, his own father, hadn’t recognized that and encouraged him. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I know it doesn’t feel like it now...” The truth was Jem still felt that hot twist of shame, how a flush went over him like a thousand nettles. He was speaking as much to himself as to Gabe. “But it ain’t your fault what your pa done to you.”
The country speak came out of him at times like these when he was digging into his own past. There were things that came to him in his sleep. Memories so sharp they were real. Memoires that haunted him during the day, even. Most often, he could press them back down. Right now, it was all too strong.
“I never called him Pa,” Gabe mumbled sleepily. Hopefully, he’d pass out soon and forget the pain. “I’ll never call him that. Never.”
“I can understand that,” Jem said, “better than you know.” He thought of Mae, how he’d hated the idea of her calling him Pa or even Papa. How early on he’d encouraged her to call him Daddy instead. It wasn’t like he’d consciously done it, but now he could see it for what it was. He didn’t want to be like his pa. Didn’t want her to call him that.
Jem was about to rise and put out the lantern, but stopped when Gabe started to speak again.
“There’s more you don’t know.” Gabe opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on Jem. “My father’s killed before—he won’t hesitate to k-kill again. You shamed him. He won’t forget that. He could c-come for you. I think he might, especially if he thinks you have me. He’s k-killed lots before.”
“What?”
“The Indians. He k-killed them. Lots of them.”
Jem nodded, as always sickened by talk of war. But it was the way of the world. Gabe was young, but surely he knew that. “Men do things in war—”
“I’m not talking about w-war.”
“All right, what are you talking about?”
“My father—he likes to brag about the wars, like you said. But there’s more. He liked the k-killing. He tells stories to all of us, especially when he’s had too much to drink. He loves his stories. He loves telling Mama things that make her sick. She doesn’t believe most of it, I think. But I believe it. Things I can’t repeat. Things too awful to say. My father did those things. Things he wasn’t supposed to.”
“Go to sleep, Gabe,” Jem said tiredly. He believed Elias Creed was capable of any number of atrocities. He didn’t need to hear the details.
“Be careful. Please. Listen.” Gabe rested his face into the bed, an expression of nothingness coming over him, easing the lines of pain, then he was gone—asleep. Finally.
Unfortunately, Jem was left awake. He was kept awake late that night and into the early hours of morning, staring at the ceiling, knowing, eventually, Creed was going to come.
FORTY
A little over a day after Gabe’s arrival, Creed rode up to the entrance to Castle Ranch. Jem was standing guard, alone except for his horse. He’d been expecting him. All the men had been taking turns keeping watch. And now he was here. Creed.
Jem’s stomach turned. A chilling wind swept over the lonely Colorado landscape. Crept into his coat. Out here there wasn’t a building in a sight. Not a man either. Just the two of them.
Creed dismounted and Jem waited for him to approach, only the gate locked between them.
“I’m looking for my son,” he said. “Is he here?”
“You’re not welcome on my property.” Jem spoke calmly, but inside a fire was raging. Outwardly, he pulled his hat low and hid behind his beard. Made himself tall. He was a wall. A wall of iron. He was a mountain. There was no way he was going to move a single inch.
The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3) Page 27
