When he got back to the X-Bar-L, Bart went directly to his office, to a large black Vulcan safe rolled against the wall. He spun the dial, opened the safe, then unlocked the separate steel inner door. Another key unlocked a drawer on the left. From a small notebook inside, he took out a loose slip of paper with a name and a general delivery address written on it.
Bart studied it for a minute, then folded the paper and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
Jupiter talked too much.
CHAPTER
13
Shortly after midnight, dogs barking and a horse’s frantic whinny snapped Emily bolt upright in bed. Light flickered against the wall, and an eerie orange glow brightened the windowpane. She leaped out of bed and ran to the window.
The north side of the big two-story barn on the hillside was ablaze. Flames shot through the roof. Black smoke churned into the night sky.
“Luke! Molly! The barn’s on fire!” she screamed.
She threw on a robe, pulled on her shoes. Hands shaking, still shouting to Luke, she lit a lamp, grabbed it up, and charged out of her room and across the hall. She beat her fists on Luke’s bedroom door, yelling for him to get up. An instant later she ran downstairs, pounding on the walls and the other bedroom doors, yelling at everyone to get up. Get up! She lit another lamp and left it on the table for the others, then raced through the dining room, out the back door, down the steps.
“Oh no . . .” she gasped, and broke into a run across the yard. The horses were in there!
Behind her, doors slammed. High soprano voices of frightened children cried out in the summer night. Male shouts rose as Scully and Henry and all the hands poured out of the bunkhouse. Half-dressed men grabbed up buckets and shovels and raced after Emily across the field to the burning barn.
Shirtless, in work pants and cowboy boots, Luke burst out the back door. “Emily, wait!” he bellowed, and leaped off the porch.
He caught up with her as she wrestled with the heavy barn doors. Luke pushed her aside and shoved them wide open.
Immediately, a hot, acrid haze gusted out. Coughing, shielding his face with an arm, he disappeared into the smoke.
One section of wall at the far end was already burning.
Locked in a stall away from the mares, Bugle neighed and stamped his feet. Luke threw the stall door open.
“Out, boy!”
Bugle stared at him, wild-eyed. Terror-stricken, he backed away, crowding his rump against the wall. Lips raised, he pointed his head at the ceiling and let out a long, shrill neigh.
Overhead, a bale of hay whumped and hissed into flame.
Bugle bucked and drove his hind legs straight out behind him.
Two iron hooves crashed through the boards.
“Luke! Luke! Where are you?”
“With Bugle. Stay out!”
Emily ducked her head and followed the sound of his voice, running through smoke that opened and closed around her. An oily black cloud blew down from above. She leaned against the wall of the passageway, coughing.
“Where’s Scully?” Luke choked.
“Trying to put out the fire.”
“There’s no way. The barn’s gone. Tell him to get in here fast or we’re going to lose the horses.”
“There isn’t time! I’ll help you. Now, get moving, Sullivan! I’ll get the stalls on the left; you get the ones on the right.” Robe billowing, she ran down the center passageway. At the first stall on the left, she yanked the door open. The old mare inside was smart and stood with her head lowered close to the floor, breathing where the air was clear.
“Come out, Sheba!” Emily shouted.
Sheba didn’t budge. “I said, come out!” Emily whipped off her robe and stepped inside against the wall. She flapped the robe, popping it like a huge white towel, and shouted, “Run, you silly thing. Shoo! Shoo!”
Sheba shot from the stall.
Luke yelped in alarm and threw himself against the passageway as Sheba tore by.
One by one, Emily worked her way back up the line of stalls, jumping inside, popping the robe, and shrieking like a crazy ghost. She got all the horses out on her side. Though it took him longer, Luke managed to grab the halters and run them out on his side. All except Bugle.
Hot air seared her lungs. Overhead, burning rafters snapped and crackled as the fire leaped across the loft.
Grim faced, he went back in for Bugle.
Pressing his back against the wall, Luke slid in alongside his horse. A piece of plank dangled in one hand.
Bugle, slathered with sweat, chewed air and foamed long strings of saliva.
In all the time he’d had the horse, he’d never hit him. Not once.
“Run!” Two-handed, Luke raised the board and belted a stinging wallop against the horse’s rear end.
Bugle let out a blaring whinny and reared like a wild stallion, pawing his front legs in the air. Luke dropped the board and dived out of the way as the hooves came down, expecting him to rear again. Instead, Bugle wheeled and shot out the stall with Luke right behind him. A spotted mare and two cow ponies in the passageway saw Bugle. All three bolted for the barn door.
Luke threw Emily against the wall as they stampeded after Bugle. Necks stretching, tails streaming, they charged through the barn and out into the corral. They kept right on running – through the corral gates, up and over a fence, and across the field on the other side.
A beam burned through the loft and plummeted to the floor, exploding into a fountain of red-hot sparks. Fiery clumps of hay sifted down. With a creaking sound of nails pulling, the floor above them began to sag. Luke snatched Emily up and leaped for the open door, running through the smoke and out into the corral with her.
“Oh, thank God! There they are. They got out!” Shouts went up from the men in the yard.
Chest heaving, sucking in deep, sweet breaths of air, Luke set her down by the corral fence.
A red glow lit the sky. In the strange, wavering light from the burning barn, a human chain of figures thrust buckets from hand to hand. Children in nightclothes grabbed the empty pails and raced back and forth between the outstretched arms of the line of men and the wild-eyed teenager in his nightshirt, working the pump handle as fast as he could.
“You all right?” Luke’s face was streaked with soot, his eyebrows singed and powdery.
Emily nodded. Hands trembling, she reached up and batted out wisps of smoke curling in his hair. A sinking feeling dug at the pit of her stomach as he sagged back against the fence holding her in his arms.
She’d almost lost him. Her arms clenched his waist.
From across the corral came a ripping sound and a chorus of shouts. A burst of sparks sailed upward. The men in the barnyard threw their buckets down and ran. In a blaze of flame and brightness, the barn caved in.
They should have died in there. But they hadn’t.
Her arms tightened around him. Thank you, God.
He pulled her closer. “You know you’re only in your nightgown, don’t you?”
She looked down at her front and shrugged. She’d dropped the robe in the barn. “No time for modesty. We saved the horses! I can’t believe we got them out.”
“Thanks to you and your robe. If you’d come at me flapping that thing, I would’ve run, too.” His chest shook with silent laughter. “You little peanut, you yelled at me in there. I love it!” He looked down at her. “I also love your nightgown.”
And his mouth came down hard on hers.
He didn’t sleep well that night, overwhelmed by the whimsies of life and death, who lived and who didn’t, and how close they’d both come to dying. Without a moment’s hesitation, he’d gone after her, risked his own life to save hers.
She was that important to him.
Arms folded under his head, he stared up into the darkness and tried to make sense of what he’d done and why. He couldn’t. His mind swam with confusion, thoughts ramming into each other. When did this happen? With no warning she’d become a major part
of his life that he wanted to keep.
He rolled over and punched up the pillow. He wasn’t ready for this.
After breakfast the next morning, Emily was at the clothesline, hanging out a basket of wash when Luke walked over. As she pinned a pair of boy’s corduroy trousers to dry, he grabbed the clothesline with both hands and looked down at her.
“I’m going into town to talk to the sheriff about the barn.
That fire was no accident. We found coal-oil cans. No question, the fire was set.” He forced a smile, knew it came out all wrong, and covered her hand with his. Gently, he squeezed it. “Ride along with me?”
On the ride in, they chatted like brother and sister about New Hope – an awkward, self-conscious conversation about the fire, about the weather, about everything except what was really on his mind.
Them.
When they got to Repton, Luke dropped her off to shop, and he crossed the street to the sheriff ’s office.
A few minutes later, Tucker let out a long sigh. “So it’s arson now, is it? I reckon I better come out today before something else happens. Good-bye, Mr. Sullivan.” He tossed the paper Luke had just signed into his overflowing file basket, and that was the end of the visit.
Luke stalked out and slammed the door so hard he thought the glass would break. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but Tucker’s high-handed attitude wasn’t it. Luke had turned his back on the raw justice of range law, swearing he’d never go back to it, but sometimes – like now – he wondered if Tucker’s law was any better.
Luke stepped off the boardwalk and crossed the street.
Repton’s main street was wide, dusty, and nearly three blocks long. Four other small streets ran into it from the north. The town had grown. The two-story Strand Hotel on the corner had a streetlamp out front, lit by the owner himself every afternoon at four o’clock. The Northern Pacific Railroad now crossed the whole territory, and the Burlington Quincy’s new spur line operated daily from Repton to Billings. Every spring saw another business, another store, another saloon open its doors.
A school and two new churches, one a white frame Methodist on the outskirts of town. In the heart of the downtown, and just finished, stood an imposing brick Lutheran with a bell tower that pealed every Sunday. Both churches drew overflow congregations. A thousand people lived in Repton, and the town was taking on city airs now.
Two more cafés had opened up, one with a hand-lettered sign in the window that read Pie Every Day. Luke grinned.
Maybe he’d take Emily there when they finished in town.
He walked past Atkin’s Feed Store, then the new Grange Hall that hadn’t been there last time he was home, and past Bobbins General Store, which had always been there as far back as he could remember. Inside the store, in a clutter of bolts of fabric, racks of clothes, a counter of ladies’ hats, chairs, and cookware hanging from the ceiling, Ezra waited on Emily. He raised his arm and waved as Luke passed by.
Three doors down, Luke turned into the Beartooth, the oldest café and billiard hall in town. After the glare of the noon sun, it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior.
The sweet, sharp scent of frying meat mingled with the stale smell of sweat and men. A wide counter had a footrail so highly polished he could’ve shaved in it. Behind it a mirror reflected the pool tables crowding the room.
Will Baxter, the Beartooth’s owner, leaned over and grabbed Luke by the shoulder. “You rascal, you! Ain’t seen you since you got back. How are ya, boy? What’ll you have?”
Luke grinned. “Nothing, thanks. I can’t stay. Just came in to say howdy.” He propped his foot on the railing and thumbed the loop off the Colt’s hammer. Leaning on the bar, he looked around. At this time of day, the place was nearly empty. Along the far wall, four men sat at a table, laughing and playing cards. The billiard tables stood empty, the balls racked in the center. Halfway down the counter, a lanky cowboy in a black hat slouched over a cup of coffee, a cigarette smoking in his fist.
Will Baxter wiped his hands on his apron and leaned closer to Luke. In a low voice he said, “I heard what happened to you with Axel’s men. Must say, you look healthy enough now, but I don’t mind telling you we were all mighty worried for a while. We’ve known you since you was a little shaver.”
“Someone new?” Luke inclined his head toward the stranger to his right at the end of the counter.
Will shrugged. “Never saw him before. Rode in on that leopard Appy little bit ago.” He inclined his chin to a handsome black Appaloosa with a white-spotted rump outside, then picked up a towel and began drying glasses. He carefully set them down on a shelf in front of the mirror, lining them up like cavalry. “What’re you in town for today? You come by yourself?” he asked pleasantly.
“No. Miss McCarthy needed a few things and rode along. I came in today to see Sheriff Tucker.”
“About your barn, I guess.”
“Good news travels fast, I see,” Luke said dryly.
“The whole town’s heard. A bunch of us’ll be out to New Hope next weekend to start raising you a new barn.” Baxter shook his head. “Sure hate to see this start up again. Too much like the old days. You know who did it, I guess?”
“Not really. That’s the sheriff ’s job.”
Baxter leaned closer. “If one of Axel’s men did it, you’re wasting your time with the sheriff. Sam Tucker’s a good man, but he can’t do nothing about Axel. Sometimes I think . . . well, you know what I think about Axel.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Luke caught a flicker of movement. The cowboy at the end of the counter raised his head. From under his hat, small, deep-set eyes stared fixedly at Baxter.
“But I don’t,” the stranger said. “S’pose you tell me what you think ’bout Mr. Axel.” In one fast movement, he swung his elbow onto the counter and leveled a gun barrel at Will Baxter’s stomach.
Leaning forward, arms folded, Luke looked down the counter. “No call for that. Put the gun away, mister. This conversation doesn’t concern you.”
“You’re wrong. It does. Directly. I just hired on at the X-Bar-L and that’s my new boss he’s talking about.” His eyes glittered at Luke. “And this doesn’t concern you, neither. So keep your nose out of it.”
The four cardplayers interchanged glances, laid down their cards, and stood up. Single-file they followed each other out the front door.
Luke straightened, the back of his left hand easing a bowl of peanuts aside. “I said to put the gun away.” His voice was a monotone.
“Big talk for a man who ain’t drawn yet.”
“If I draw, I use it. And I’d rather not.”
The man’s eyes flicked to Luke’s right hand resting on the counter, fingers widespread, relaxed. Ready.
When Luke first slid onto a stool at the counter, the quick pat down he’d given his Colt had got him a hard stare from this man. The stranger was aware of Luke’s automatic gun check. Luke checked other men himself – looked for it, in fact. It was a dead giveaway to a fast draw. Luke tensed inside, his senses alerted.
Takes one to know one.
Who was he?
He spoke better than some cowboys, but he wasn’t a rancher. His eyes were wrong.
“You shoot Mr. Baxter, it’s murder,” Luke said, quietly. “I shoot you, it’s not. And I will.”
Axel’s new man shrugged. “It ain’t your fight,” he said, then flipped a dollar onto the counter. “I got no quarrel with you.” He slipped his six-gun into its holster and pushed away from the counter. Spurs jingling, he moved toward the door. Holding it open, he looked over his shoulder at Luke. “Name’s Haldane. Kid Haldane. What’s yours, mister?”
“Sullivan. Luke Sullivan.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Good idea.”
With a curt nod, Kid Haldane turned and pushed his way outside.
Will Baxter wiped a sleeve across his forehead and leaned weakly on the counter. “Much obliged. I owe you.” His voice wav
ered.
Luke leaned over and squeezed his shoulder. “No, you don’t. You’d do it for me.” He put his hat on and walked out.
He went up the wooden sidewalk, his boots rapping the planks. The gunfight jitters that always hit him afterward closed like a hand around his throat. He walked faster, wanting to find Emily and then get out of town.
Down the street in Bobbins Store, the bell above the door jangled as Luke stepped inside. “You about ready to go?”
She looked at his face and snapped her purse closed. “I’m ready.”
Silently he collected her packages and carried them out to the buggy. As he stowed them behind the seat, he noticed the spotted Appaloosa belonging to Haldane still tied to the rail in front of Will Baxter’s place, its owner nowhere in sight.
Luke looked across the street at the café where he’d planned to take Emily for lunch and shook his head. Food was the last thing he wanted. He was too churned up inside to eat.
She laid her hand on his forearm and looked up at him.
“You’re upset.”
He glanced at the black and white horse again and then back to Emily. “I look it, huh?”
“I guess you don’t want to stop for lunch, then.” Her mouth pulled down at the corners.
He gave her a lopsided smile and pretended everything was fine. They didn’t get to town often, and she was disappointed.
“I didn’t say that. You want to get something to eat?”
“I kind of hoped we would.”
Luke looked down at her. In the sunlight, her hair shone like a new copper penny.
“Then that’s what we do,” he said, keeping his voice casual. He could manage to get down a cup of coffee.
He took her arm and tucked her close to his left side, keeping his gun hand free. Eyes checking every face in the crowd on the sidewalk, he walked her across the street and into the little café.
About halfway home, he turned the buggy off the road onto a sandy trail.
“Where’re we going?” she asked.
“Someplace private so we can talk.” He looked over at her. “We’ve got a lot of fighting to make up for.”
The Vigilante's Bride Page 14
