Hot coffee sloshed over the side of the mug onto Uncle Jackson’s hand. She heard his yelp of pain, but she never saw the blow. All she knew was that suddenly she was prostrate on the floor, the front of her dress soaked with burning hot coffee. Her right ear rang and when she reached up and touched it, her hand came away red with blood. Uncle Jackson stood over her, his face scarlet with anger.
She had known then that he was not like her papa. He was much worse.
Papa had mistreated her sometimes, but never had she seen eyes like Uncle Jackson’s. He enjoyed what he did. Having what he called “ultimate control” was his life’s goal. Once, as he stood over her, coiling his whip, he’d said, “If you can get people to fear you, Brooke, my dear, you will have ultimate control. Then and only then will you be truly happy.” He had paused with a smirk. “You have a long way to go to find happiness. You are nothing but a coward.” He laughed, harsh and grating, as he stalked away.
From that moment, she had lived in fear. Fear that she would do something, not do something, say something, not say something, forget something, remember something…always something that would set him off. She had not had time to mourn; she had lived in fear for her life. And then there had been Hank….
Now she brought her mind back to the present. It seemed that Sky had inadvertently saved her from that life. He treated her with respect, care, and gentleness—even love—in his home. And now she held an accidentally discovered piece of information that might bring him harm. Oh, how she wished she hadn’t walked to the window that rainy night. Shaking her head she pushed the thoughts aside and tried to focus on the funeral.
Mourning was a part of moving past the tragedies in life and getting on with living. She was thankful to see Alice beginning the long process now. She only wished she herself had had the same freedom.
Glad for the fact that they were at a funeral—a place where tears were accepted—Brooke allowed all the wonderful memories of times with her sister and mother to float through her mind. Playing in the barn loft with Jess. Kneading bread together in the kitchen as they all talked and the girls shared their dreams with Mama. Mama had always had such sad blue eyes on those occasions. Eyes that looked back through time to similar occasions in her youth, yet with the knowledge of what had actually come of all those dreams. Eyes that knew heartache.
Brooke was not the only one who had suffered during her father’s bad moods. She could remember lying awake at night, curled up in a tight ball in her bed, listening to Papa spewing drunken curses; to Mama quietly sobbing and begging; to the thud of the repeated blows. She had longed to run downstairs and pull Mother from the terror. Take her and Jess far, far away where they wouldn’t have to ever be near a man again. But always her courage had failed her and she had just lain awake, wide-eyed with the horror of it all, unable to even cry.
Her tears now were not only for her loss of family but for all the horror they had been through. All the terrible things they had faced while living on this earth. She hoped that somehow in death they had discovered a better place.
Brooke longed to be able to have peace. To wake up each day and know that, no matter what happened, everything would be fine because someone who loved you was watching out for you, would be heaven on earth. She had tasted the possibility of it, and the thought that she might lose it terrified her. She eased a little closer to Sky.
A minister walked to the pulpit and interrupted her thoughts. She allowed herself one more reflection before she brought her mind back to the present. It felt good, really good, she realized, to be able finally to weep over her great loss.
Percival Hunter eased into the back pew of the church taking in the scene around him. His conscience pricked him when he saw Alice’s deep grief, but he quickly shoved the feeling aside. What he had done had been for her good. She was free of her father now and would be able to see how much she needed him. He would give her a few weeks to mourn while he took care of the minor inconvenience of Chang and his cohorts and then he would go visit her. Expressing his deep condolences, he would pat her on the back, restate how much he cared for her and wanted to take care of her, and she would become putty in his hands. They would be married, and then all his dreams would come true.
Her inheritance money that he would get when they married was not a bad incentive either. He felt momentarily perturbed. If only he had had the time to break into the safe on the night of the murder he wouldn’t have to worry so much about whether Alice would accept his offer of courtship. He at least would have the money.
From the moment Fraser had told him to stay away from Alice, he had begun to make his plans. At first he’d thought he would have to do the killing himself, but then providence had intervened and he had learned of Fraser’s confrontation with Chang. It was then that the final details to his plan had fallen into place. Kill Fraser. Steal his money. Marry his forbidden daughter.
One down, two to go. His eyes glinted. He should have already accomplished two parts of his plan, but there had been a glitch.
Everyone knew that, although Fraser lived a very modest life, he had been saving up for years to give his daughter the best future he possibly could. The sum ought to be quite substantial, and it should have been his by now. But seeing Brooke in the window watching him had thrown him off a bit. He had feared she might call someone else and he would be caught. So he had fled town before he had a chance to break into the safe and steal the money.
He consoled himself with the fact that if all went according to plan, everything would be his in a matter of weeks. He shoved aside the fleeting thought that Alice might not look kindly on his offer of marriage. His plan would work. It had to. And then all his time-consuming, detailed planning would pay off.
After he took care of Chang and the others, he would put an end to little Mrs. Jordan and her husband and then he would be scot-free. Percival glanced at Brooke sitting next to Skyler Jordan. He took in the cascade of curls piled high on her head, the stretch of her smooth, slender neck, her gently rounded, womanly shoulders. He smiled. Yes, he looked forward to dealing with Brooke.
He caught himself. Rubbing a hand across his face he returned it to its proper, somber, funereal expression and turned his attention to the minister’s words.
When the funeral service ended, the men lent a hand clearing the sanctuary of all pews, and tables were set up and laden with food. Fraser’s daughter, Alice, sat at a table pushing food around on her plate.
Brooke watched her from across the room, her heart going out to the young girl. Person after person approached Alice to give her their condolences, but Brooke knew from experience that the girl did not hear a word they said. She nodded in all the right places and even tried to give some of them a smile, but Brooke recognized the faraway, lost look in her eyes.
Brooke stiffened and her heart began to pound in her ears as the next person approached the table. Percival Hunter! How dare he show his face here? She quickly looked away, not wanting to draw Sky’s attention to him. Had he noticed Percival yet? She didn’t think so.
“Are you afraid of something?” Sky’s soft breath warmed her ear. She jumped, gasped, and pressed one hand to her throat.
Sky eyed her speculatively as she took a moment to regain her composure. If I don’t quit jumping at the drop of a hat, he is going to know that something is wrong. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she shook her head. “No. Why do you ask?”
“You are afraid of something.”
The confident statement shook Brooke’s resolve. And for the briefest of seconds she wanted to fall into his arms and tell him the whole story. To confess that she had lied to him and let him protect her from the fiend across the room. However, she couldn’t shake the recollection of Percival’s words. “I will hunt you down. First I’ll make you watch me kill that husband of yours ever so slowly, and then it will be your turn. “ Her face paled at the memory, and she picked up her water glass, taking a big gulp, her determination once again solidly in place.
/> Telling Sky was out of the question. It was too dangerous. She would never be able to forgive herself if something happened to him. Gathering her wits about her, she shook her head a little too emphatically. “N-no, I’m not.”
With relief, she noted Percival heading out a side door in the wall behind Sky. If Sky had seen him here, she was afraid he might have put two and two together.
He leaned one elbow on the table, his dark eyes narrowing as he searched her face thoughtfully. “You are as pale as fresh snow. What’s happened?”
“Nothing!” she denied angrily in a low voice. Reaching up, she began to play with her necklace nervously in a conscious effort to keep herself from rubbing her hands together in circles, a gesture he was sure to understand. “You just startled me is all. I was thinking.”
He raised one eyebrow at her and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. She could tell he didn’t believe a word she said.
“Do you remember I told you the other day that you can always tell whether someone is telling the truth by their eyes?”
She ignored this comment.
Leaning forward, he took her hand in his. “Tell me what’s bothering you, Brooke.”
She shook her head, pulling her hand free. “I—” She took a sip of water as she thought for a minute, trying to come up with something that would put Sky’s mind at ease. “I just saw someone who reminded me of a man I used to know. He looked at me kind of funny and scared me a little is all.” Her tone was too light and airy, but she hoped Sky wouldn’t notice.
“Where is he? Maybe I should have a talk with him and tell him you’re my wife now, and under my protection.”
Brooke’s heart began to race. That was the last thing she wanted. “I don’t see him now.”
“Well, if you see him again, let me know. I don’t want any man looking at you in a way that makes you afraid. I especially want you to tell me if anyone comes near you.”
An icy chill raced down Brooke’s spine. Is he testing me? Does he already know? Frowning, she studied him. If he didn’t already know of her lies, why would he say such a thing? But she could tell by his expression that he simply meant what he had said. Relief washed over her and she looked away, pleased he had believed her. Sky couldn’t ever find out that Percival had threatened her. Somehow she knew Sky’s response would be swift, and it frightened her to think what might happen to him in the process.
Leaning back in his chair, Sky stretched his legs out before him and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Brooke reflectively. She was lying to him, of that he was certain. But the why was another matter. With a good deal of surprise, he noted how much it hurt to have her lie to him. And she had done it so emphatically. People had lied to him before. It had happened often when he had been working on a case back home, but it had never bothered him this much before. Does she care so little for me then? And why is she lying in the first place? What or who is she trying to protect by doing so?
He raised one fist to his mouth as he thought the matter over. The room buzzed with the soft conversations of mourners. An occasional tear-choked voice rose above the rest. The clink of silver on china reverberated throughout the room as the guests ate and somewhere a mother tried to hush a crying baby. But Sky tuned all that out.
He raked his scalp with his fingers. Brooke pretended to be deeply absorbed in the task of eating as if his questions had not bothered her in the least. Raising one hand, she tucked a stray curl of strawberry-blond hair behind her ear and gave the room a casual, almost bored look as she placed a forkful of green salad in her mouth. She concentrated solely on her food and looked everywhere in the room but at him, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He knew better. She had been undeniably frightened by something. What? And why was she trying to keep it from him? The questions were going to haunt him until he had some answers.
He was still pondering the matter when his attention was drawn elsewhere. The mountain man Brooke said she had seen in the alley on the night of the murder was just easing out the back door of the church and Sky needed to have a talk with him.
Jason had returned from Lewiston with no more information than when he had left. No one in the Lewiston area seemed to know who the mysterious mountain man was. He had asked at a number of places, giving the man’s description, and no one had any idea about the man’s identity, although a couple people remembered seeing him get on the stage the day that Brooke had left Lewiston.
Excusing himself, Sky made his way out of the church after the mountain man. The man’s long, gray hair blew in the breeze and he had just mounted an appaloosa and started to move away from the church when Sky came out into the yard.
Bending quickly, he examined the prints the man had made in the dust of the church yard. He frowned. These tracks differed from the ones that had been in the alley up in Pierce City. Could Brooke be wrong about the man’s identity?
Glancing again at the man, Sky noted with some surprise that he was older than he had first thought.
“Excuse me,” he called, and the bearded man pulled his horse to a stop, turning to see who had hailed him. “Could I ask you a couple of questions?”
The man looked him over as if judging his trustworthiness and then, as though he had come to a sudden decision, swung down from the saddle. “What can I do you for?”
Sky stretched out his hand. “Name’s Skyler Jordan. I live up Pierce City way.” He watched the man to see what his reaction would be to the mention of the town.
“Howdy, I’m Trace Johnson,” he said but exhibited no reaction. His face impassive, he stood quietly waiting for Sky to speak his mind.
Sky brought hands to hips. “You obviously know about the murder we had in town a couple of nights back since you are here at the funeral. Do you mind my asking, Trace, how did you know Fraser?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t know him ‘tall. I was here for another reason today.”
“And that would be…?”
Trace Johnson looked at him blandly.
Deciding to be direct, Sky went on, “The reason I’m asking is that someone told me she saw you in the alley between Jed’s boarding house and Fraser’s Mercantile on the night of the murder. Can you tell me why you were there?” Sky sensed what the answer would be even before Trace answered.
“Whoever she is, she’s lying to you, son.”
Sky stared at the outer wall of the church. Again, his insides twisted into a tight knot at the thought of her lying to him. He felt somehow betrayed. Not wanting to let on to this fact before Trace, however, he asked, “Can you prove that, Mr. Johnson?”
“Look, son.” Trace clapped a hand down on Sky’s shoulder.
Sky shook off his irritation with the term son.
“I can tell you two things. Number one, I wasn’t in that alley on the night of the murder. And number two, someone else was, but I think you already knew that.” Trace Johnson laughed softly. “Now, son, in my business you can’t afford to go around announcing who you are and what you do, but I’ve read up on you.”
Sky started to say something, but Trace went on without missing a beat. “You and your cousin cracked a couple of tough cases over in Shilo, and I admire not only what you accomplished but the way you went about things.
From what I hear there were a number of times when you two had your man dead to rights in your gun sights, and out in the west here it’s sometimes tempting to just take justice into your own hands, so to speak, but I never heard tell o’ you two doing that. So I am going to be straight with you.” Trace ran a hand down his long beard as he asked his next question. “You ever heard of the Pinkerton Detective Agency?”
Sky nodded. “Sure. I worked with a couple of their detectives on a case over in Shilo one time.”
Trace smiled. “How did you think I knew so much about you?”
“So you’re a Pinkerton?”
He nodded.
“And, let me guess, you’ve been hired to find someone?”
; “There was this family back east.” Trace seemed to change the subject. “A man and his wife and young, beautiful daughter. They had gone out for the evening and when they returned they found their house in the middle of being robbed. Even though he was wearing a mask and could not be recognized, and the family told him he was free to leave the premises, the burglar shot the father with no warning. When the mother and daughter tried to run, he grabbed the woman. Only the daughter escaped. The mother was found, also murdered, when the police arrived. The daughter said that the man laughed as he shot her father.”
Trace stared at his hands as he spoke, slapping the ends of the reins against one palm. “The daughter ran to her grandparents’ place. Her grandfather happens to be a senator back east, and he hired our agency to find the man who committed the crime. I’m following that man. We don’t know what this murderer looks like—just that he is small in stature. We do have a list of the jewels that he stole from the house. Now, you don’t see men out west wearing jewelry too often, do you?”
Trace looked pointedly into Sky’s face. “None o’ the pieces that were taken have been sold on the black market, far as we can find. But this man I’ve been trailing has a ring that looks an awful lot like a piece taken from the house back east. He says he bought it off a fella down California way, but I don’t believe him. He’s my man; I just don’t have enough evidence yet. He knows I’m on his trail, though, and they always make some sort of mistake when they feel the pressure of the chase breathing down their backs.”
“Can you tell me who this man is?”
“That I can’t do, son. It might put your life in jeopardy.”
“Do you think he might be involved in this murder up in Pierce City?”
Rocky Mountain Oasis Page 16
