by Peggy Webb
o0o
It was still dark when Deborah slipped into the clinic. Kate had no idea she’d come. In fact, Kate would be furious if she knew Deborah was out so early after the long, horrible ordeal they’d endured the day before.
First, they’d discovered the note slipped under the door of the clinic. “Your tormentor watches you, white doctor witch. Repent or burn in hell.” The words were as clear to Deborah as if she were still seeing them.
And then there had been the magazines scattered across the floor as if a great gust of wind had blown them there. Strange that the man who alternately called himself the tormentor and the avenger had done nothing more than trash a few magazines.
Did that mean he was tiring of his sick game?
Deborah walked briskly through the clinic, checking to see if anything was out of place. After yesterday, she wanted to spare Kate. Finding the note had been bad enough, but seeing Deborah’s engagement ring at the same time must have been devastating.
Kate had tried to hide it, but Deborah knew. She’d heard the gasp; she’d seen her face.
“Eagle and I are engaged.” It was all Deborah could think of to say.
“That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.” She’d recovered quickly, and her congratulations had been sincere. “You’ll make a beautiful bride.”
“Will you stand beside me, Kate?”
“You bet.” The enthusiasm of her reply took the sting out of her slight hesitation. “I’d fight anybody who tried to take my place.”
“Truly?”
“Truly. Now, let’s get this place cleaned up and get our butts out of here. We have a house call to make.”
Remembering, Deborah held her finger aloft so the diamond would catch the pale morning light. Diamonds are forever. Who had said that? And was it true?
There had been no sparks between them when Eagle had slipped the ring on her finger.
“With this ring, I pledge my loyalty to you, Deborah,” he’d said.
What about love?
“You will bear my name and my children, and you will be protected always under the Mingo mantle of honor.”
What about passion?
He’d kissed her and nothing more. Obviously he was saving his passion for the wedding bed. With the faint morning light filtering through the blinds and sparking on the diamond, Deborah tried to remember if there had been any passion in their kiss.
How sad that she had to wonder. And how silly to stand there, trying to remember.
Summoning up some cheer, she hummed as she tidied up the front room. There were no signs of yesterday’s malicious mischief. That was good, for she and Kate must once again make the long journey to the Kent cabin to check on Adam and Rachel.
It had snowed on them the day before as they’d made their way up the mountain on horseback. Kate had been like a child at Christmas.
“Snow! Every winter when it comes, it’s like seeing it for the first time.” Kate caught the fat, cold flakes on her tongue, then, laughing, she turned to Deborah. “I used to write letters to Santa, asking him to bring snow to South Carolina.”
“If you’d had to shovel the sidewalks when you were a kid, you wouldn’t like it.”
“Yes, I would.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Yes, I would.”
They argued like children then laughed themselves silly while the snow covered their tracks and the chill filtered through their coats and scarves. Laughter was the way they stayed sane for the ordeal ahead.
Witch Creek still demanded sacrifice. And it looked as if Rachel and Adam Kent would be the latest offerings. Kate worked with them all day long, tireless and determined,
“You’re my hero,” Deborah had said on the way home.
“Shucks, ma’am. You don’t have to say that just because my eyes are puffy and my tail is dragging.”
“No. I mean it. All these years, I’ve never told you how I feel. From the first day you came to Witch Dance, I wanted to be like you. You’ve always been my hero. And I don’t care if you laugh at my terminology; I don’t retract a word.”
“I’m not laughing.”
There had been tears in Kate’s eyes when she guided her horse in close and took Deborah’s hand, the one with the engagement ring.
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Deborah Lightfoot. The very best. Nothing will ever change that.”
Standing in the clinic, Deborah twisted the ring on her finger. No, nothing could ever come between them. Not even the man they both loved.
She kissed the shining diamond, then started toward the back to get the medicine they’d need for the long journey to the Kent cabin. She was standing in the doorway with her hand on the light switch when she heard the noise. A small squeak, like someone easing across the floor.
“Who’s there?” she called.
A hand closed over her mouth. Deborah tried to scream, but the hand muffled the sound. Twisting and thrashing, she caught a glimpse of a buckskin-covered arm as she was dragged into the back room.
His movements were swift and sure, like an athlete ...or a madman bent on murder. With one hand he stroked the side of her face.
“Don’t be afraid.”
His voice was smooth and silky, hypnotic, even sensual. Sweat broke out on Deborah, and the smell of fear filled the room.
“What a pity you got in the way.”
Deborah rammed her right foot down hard on his. He didn’t even grunt.
“Don’t struggle. It will only make things worse.”
Pale light seeped through the blinds, and somewhere in the woods behind the clinic an owl called. Sheer terror seized her. When her captor loosened one of his hands, she managed to twist herself halfway out of his grip.
The face that stared back at her was as familiar as her own.
“We all have our missions to perform, Deborah. Mine will soon be over.”
Abruptly he released her. Then with a smile both beautiful and terrible he tossed a match into a pile of rags. The smell of oil and smoke choked Deborah. Her scream filled the room and pushed against the walls.
Suddenly she realized she was free. With her mouth wide open she started to run. The blade of a knife flashed once, cutting off her scream.
Chapter 34
Flames licked the sky and smoke curled upward as the clinic caved in upon itself. She tried to turn her head toward the inferno, but Eagle tightened his hold on her face, forcing her not to watch.
“It’s over, Kate.”
His voice mesmerized, and his hands upon her skin. Kate fought her way out of the sweet web of memories that threatened to steal her reason.
“No. It will never be over.”
The fire crackled, its reflection wavering across the snow. And in that macabre dance, Eagle’s eyes burned as hot as the flames.
“You’re right. It will never be over.” He wheeled his stallion away from the blaze, away from the cottage and the dark brooding trees that surrounded it. The wind caught Kate’s hair and whipped it around her face.
“What are you doing?” she yelled.
“I’m taking you with me.”
“Dammit, Eagle. You can’t kidnap me.”
He tightened his arms around her as his stallion thundered across the prairie. Plumes of snow spewed up from the hooves, and all around them the land was white and pure, as if they’d left the menace far behind in the blackened ruins of her clinic. Eagle pressed the stallion to a speed that was reckless, daring, obsessive. She was forced to cling to him to keep from falling off.
“Stop right now. I have to go back. Do you hear me, Eagle? I have to go back!”
He rode, still silent, his body rigid and his eyes as cold as the frozen earth. She balled her hands into fists and battered his chest.
“Take me back,” she said.
“Save your rage for the man who did this to Deborah.”
Unbidden, her last image of her friend came, lying on the clinic floor in a pool of blood. Beauti
ful Deborah, with her sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. Her blood was still on Kate’s hands, would always be on her hands.
Anguish stole her will, and she sagged against Eagle.
“Where are you taking me?”
He didn’t answer, just glanced briefly at her with terrible eyes, then off again into the distance, as if he might be planning to take her all the way to hell.
Grief and guilt battered her, and she doubled over with the force of it. Her tears soaked the collar of Eagle’s coat.
“We’re home, Kate.” He lifted her from the stallion and cradled her as tenderly as if she were a child.
“It should have been me, Eagle. I should have been the one in the clinic.”
“No, Kate. It was fate.”
“Damn fate. Damn fate all to hell.” She battered against him, barely seeing her target through her tears. “It was me. I killed her.”
“Stop it, Kate.”
“I killed her with my damned Irish stubbornness and stupid pride.”
“Shhh.” She felt his strong arms tighten around her, felt his cheek resting against the top of her head. He began to speak in the fluid tongue of his fathers. Lulled by the sound, lulled and somehow comforted, Kate drifted out of her skin and stood apart to watch as the shell she’d left behind grieved.
Winds moaned around the eaves, and snowflakes the size of flower petals swirled past the window. A Sunday-morning quietness descended on the house, and from somewhere deep in the heart of the village, bells tolled, their melodic mournful notes echoing Kate’s sorrow.
Where was Eagle’s sorrow? Had he no feelings at all for the woman he’d intended to marry?
Just when Kate had condemned him as unfeeling, she felt his tears fall upon her hair. And she knew that she would no longer fight him, at least for a little while.
When he released her and stepped back, there was no evidence of mourning in his face. He was as cold and implacable as chiseled stone.
“You will stay here, Kate.”
She nodded, still too full of death and tears to speak.
“I’m sending my ranch foreman up to the house to guard you until Martin’s men can get here.”
Again she nodded, thinking that it felt good to let decisions be made for her for a change, and that she might drift along this way forever, nodding her head while the rest of the world performed its macabre dance.
In the doorway, Eagle hesitated, and then he said, “I’m going to find Deborah’s killer.”
Had she asked, or was it merely mental telepathy between two people who knew each other so well that words were unnecessary?
Eagle moved as he always did, without sound, and when he had gone, Kate made her way toward the sofa, one step at a time.
o0o
Charleston, South Carolina
The French doors were open to let in the afternoon breeze. Mick propped his feet on the footstool and sipped his iced tea while a news reporter barely as old as his tennis shoes told him what was happening in the world. Not that he cared too much. Old age and southern breezes did that to a man, made him so mellow, his world got small.
Outside, Martha was humming while she puttered in her rose beds. At dinner she’d told him that her peace rose would still be blooming at Christmas if she got very lucky.
Hell, Martha didn’t need luck with flowers: She had a green thumb. Not that he was complaining. He liked the look and the smell of freshly cut flowers in the house. They added class.
Being the red-necked, brawling Irishman he was, he’d always envied class. Now that he was rich, he could afford to buy it.
The cute young thing on the television prattled on about riots and murder and mayhem. Mick took a long, cool drink of tea.
“And in Witch Dance today . . .”
Ice rattled against glass as Mick banged his drink onto the table. He snatched the remote control and turned up the volume.
“...a young woman was murdered in the clinic of Dr. Kate Malone.”
A band of fear squeezed his chest so hard he thought he was having a heart attack.
“The victim, Deborah Lightfoot, was a nurse at the clinic, which was destroyed in the fire that swept through it in the predawn hours.”
Mick’s footstool overturned as he leapt out of his chair.
“Martha!” he yelled, grabbing for the phone.
“What is it, Mick?” She poked her head around the French doors.
“What’s Kate’s phone number?”
“You want Kate’s phone number?” Dirt from the flower garden dribbled down the front of her dress as she put a gloved hand over her heart.
“Dammit, woman, are you going to stand there all evening gawking, or are you going to give it to me?”
Martha hurried into the room and pulled her address book from the middle drawer of the telephone table. Behind her, the television blared.
“On site at the Witch Dance fire is Governor Eagle Mingo.... Governor, do you have any suspects in the murder at Dr. Malone’s clinic?”
Martha dropped the telephone book. Wordless, she stared at the television while Mick picked up the book and dialed Kate. The phone rang and rang and rang. She could hear the faint electronic buzz, like a crazed bee that wouldn’t hush.
She jumped when Mick banged the receiver down, then, weak-kneed, sank onto the floor beside the footstool. He was dialing again.
“This is Senator Mick Malone. Get me on the first plane to Ada, Oklahoma.”
“Mick?” she said after he’d hung up.
“I’m going to bring Katie home.”
o0o
Witch Dance
When Eagle came home, Kate was asleep on the sofa, curled in a ball, using her coat for a pillow. One shoe lay on the floor beside her and the other dangled from her foot.
A faint pink light filtered through the curtains, and a band of hot gold painted the sky just beyond the mountains.
Eagle knelt beside the sofa and gently traced the tear-stains on Kate’s cheek. She didn’t even stir.
“I see the new dawn in the East, Kate,” he whispered.
Once, they had greeted it properly, coupled together in the medicine wheel to celebrate the continuity of nature and the magic circle of life. Once, so many years before.
Kate breathed softly with her mouth slightly open. Eagle slipped off her shoe, then covered her with his blanket and quietly walked away.
Some things were harder to endure than death.
o0o
Kate jarred suddenly awake with the frantic feeling of someone trying desperately to outrun danger. Disoriented, she stared at the Indian blanket covering her, and then slowly she remembered the horror and where she was.
She swung her feet over the edge of the sofa and scrambled for her shoes. Her coat was wadded at the end of the sofa. Dressed, she felt like yesterday’s laundry.
“Good morning, Kate.”
Eagle was sitting beside the fire, drinking a cup of coffee and watching her with eyes as dark and pitiless as the bowels of hell.
“I didn’t see you,” she said.
“Obviously.” He stood up slowly and gracefully, like one of the giant cats that prowled the mountains. “Going somewhere?”
“Yes.” She started toward the door then remembered that she was at his mercy for a ride home. “Can you lend me your car ...or a horse?”
“You won’t be needing either one, Kate. You’re staying here.”
“Like hell I am.” Chin up and eyes blazing, she struck out for the door. He caught up with her in three easy strides. His face and hands were ruthless as he gripped her shoulder and spun her around.
“The killer is still on the loose, and you’re the target. You will stay here until it’s safe for you to leave.”
“Make me.”
“Don’t think I can’t ...or won’t.”
Lesser men would have quailed under his stare, but she was fighting Irish. Nothing deterred her.
“If you think I’m going to knuckle under and do your
bidding, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“I’m Chickasaw. Unconquered and unconquerable. Don’t try me.”
“And I’m Irish. We may not have a motto, but we’ve got damned fine tempers and the grit to go with them.”
“You can do this the easy way or the hard way, Kate. Take your choice.”
She tried to stare him down, tried to get past the iron control that masked his emotions. He remained implacable, and underneath her heavy coat she could feel the sweat of pure rage and certain defeat.
“What is the hard way, Eagle? Do you plan to tie me up and lock me in my room?”
“Do you plan to try me, Kate?”
“Don’t think I won’t.”
They stared at each other, unmoved and unmovable, while a log on the fire burned in two and split with an audible crackle. The air was thick with challenge and the desire, lambent and intoxicating, that always smoldered between them when they were in the same room.
The doorbell rang, but even that sound could not bring them out of the spell that bound them. It rang again ...and again, its insistent clanging no more to the two beside the fire than the annoying noise of a distant mosquito.
“Does nobody ever answer the door in this godforsaken place?”
Senator Mick Malone strode through the door, and cold air swirled in with him. The shock of seeing her father after so many years paled Kate’s face.
For a moment Kate felt the way she always did when she saw him, as if she’d been caught stealing cookies when she’d been told a dozen times not to eat them and ruin her supper. Hard on the heels of her childish guilt came rage.
“You are on Tribal Lands in the house of the governor, Father. You owe him the courtesy of a polite greeting.” She felt the loss as she stepped apart from Eagle. “Governor Mingo, this is my father, Senator Mick Malone.”
The two men assessed each other like gladiators who found themselves by chance in the same arena.
“Governor,” Mick said, nodding curtly.
“Senator. Please be seated.” The great dignity that was as much a part of Eagle as his long black hair and his beaded elk-skin boots came to the fore.
“Don’t mind if I do. It’s a hell of a long way from Charleston to Witch Dance.”
