River Song

by Sharon Ihle

  Rage brought his blood to the surface. Pain strangled his voice to a hoarse cry. "Bitch," he screamed. "You're crazy as your ma, and just as dead."

  Sunny's heart froze. Her lungs collapsed. She couldn't move or speak.

  Seeing his chance, Buck lurched forward, ready to claim his prize and extract his revenge. Then he stumbled over the discarded whiskey bottle. His feet slid out from under him and tangled at the ankles. He smashed face-first into the straw.

  Buck's groans and struggle to catch his breath jerked Sunny back to action, to lucid thought. She stepped back out of his reach and demanded, "Why are you talking about my mother? What do you know about her or the way she died?"

  Gasping for air, Buck only managed to spit out, "Shut up."

  "No, I will not. Tell me." Sunny punctuated her order by driving the toe of her boot into the calf of his right leg.

  "Dammit, squaw." Buck twisted awkwardly as he tried to reach her foot. "You're askin' for it, just like her."

  "What do you mean?" she screamed, even though the answer had already formed in her mind. "Do you know something about her murder?"

  Buck laughed, an evil gurgle bubbling out of his throat. Then he struggled to his feet, breathing heavily, and leaned against the wall.

  "Tell me."

  "I'll not only tell you," he promised with a snarl. "I mean to show you exactly how I done it."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "You?" The word slid from her throat like a serpent, and would have spit venom in his eye if it could. "You shot my mother?” Her eyes flashing dangerously, teeth grinding, Sunny stalked toward him.

  Confused, surprised that he'd made such a careless admission, Buck stood frozen long enough for Sunny to reach him.

  Unmindful of her safety, she beat the war club against his chest. "Why?" she demanded, her throat swollen with tears. "Why did you have to kill her?"

  Pain snapped him into action. He drove his fist into her stomach. Sunny flew backwards, groaning with the blow, and collapsed in the straw. Legs spread, Buck loomed above her.

  Gloating, he snarled, "She's dead 'cause she wouldn't listen to reason any more than you. 'Cause you filthy injun bitches are just too stupid to lie still and shut your damn mouths when you're told to."

  Ignoring the dull ache in her gut, the taste of bile rising in her throat, Sunny scrambled backwards and staggered to her feet. Her grip on the club tightened.

  Buck's yellow eyes shimmered in the semi-darkness, gleaming wickedly. "You might's well give it up, squaw. I cain't let you out of here now, you know that."

  He was going to kill her.

  Suddenly, it didn't matter to Sunny.

  Hatred wound icy tendrils throughout her as she realized those yellow eyes were probably the last thing her mother ever saw. They would not, she vowed, be the last thing she saw as well.

  Buck resumed his threats. "I've wasted enough time on the likes of you. Drop that stupid little hammer and do's you're told."

  When he was within reach, but before his hands were close enough to encircle her throat, Sunny spat into his face.

  This surprised him, stopping him long enough for her to speak. "That was for Moonstar and all like her who have been degraded by your filthy hands."

  Buck slowly wiped the spittle from his eye. Curling his lip in a snarl, he took a step forward and bellowed his rage. "You're dead."

  Sunny whipped the club around through the air with all the force she could muster. It connected with a loud thwack against the side of Buck's head.

  He didn't react, didn't scream, didn't try to defend himself. Buck remained upright, dazed and bleeding, as if he couldn't quite believe he'd been knocked silly. As he stood there, apparently trying to decide in which direction to fall, Sunny's years of game-playing with her brothers took over. She automatically reversed the club, spinning it expertly as she exposed the spike, and at that same moment, the image of her mother's battered face filled her mind. Then, with a suddenness that surprised her, she drove the kelyaxwai into Buck Wheeler's chest.

  Someone screamed. But it was Sunny, not her assailant.

  Horrified, she jerked the war club out of his body. And Buck continued to stand there, staring at her as if he didn't understand what she'd done.

  Then she looked into those horrid yellow eyes for one awful moment and saw the milky glaze and flat pupils. She noticed the open mouth, heard the strange gurgling sounds coming from his throat, and the enormity of her deed could not be denied.

  Sunny was staring into the face of a dead man.

  Again she opened her mouth to scream, but this time the best she could manage was a hoarse shriek.

  Panicked, she leaned forward and poked her fingertips against his chest. When she gave him a shove, Buck Wheeler tottered for an instant, then fell backward into the straw.

  "Oh, my God," she said, sinking to her knees. "What have I done?" Sunny fought off the dark shadows floating in her head, the terror threatening to shut down her mind and lungs. She took several deep breaths and prayed she wouldn't faint. She couldn't faint. Not now. Not in here next to him.

  Fighting the rolling spasms in her stomach, the urge to be sick and the desire to scream, Sunny clapped her hand against her mouth and buried her face against her knees.

  Panic skipped along with her heartbeat as she tried to figure out what to do next. She'd killed a white man—again. Not just any white man, but Nathan Fremont's son-in-law, Nellie's husband, and Cole's brother-in- law.

  Who besides the Callahan clan would care that Buck had brutally murdered her mother? Cole would listen, sympathize even, but how could he defend her against his own family? No one else would believe the things she'd discovered tonight. She had no proof of Buck's despicable nature, or of his cruel and murderous acts.

  No, the only evidence of any misdeed lay sprawled in this barn. And the finger of guilt pointed straight at her. She had to run now and get as far away as she could as quickly as possible.

  Forcing herself, Sunny got to her feet and stared down at the war club in her hand. Even though her grandfather would have approved of the way she'd used it—her father, too—Sunny wasn't sure how she felt about wielding the family heirloom in such a violent manner. But now wasn't the time to think about it. Now was the time to make a retreat, and a hasty one at that.

  Fighting against her rising panic, she rushed to the tack room. There, she gathered her belongings, then dashed to the stalls when she remembered that Paddy was out in one of the pastures. Valuable time would be lost searching for him in the darkness, and time might be the only thing she had left in her favor.

  She turned around, scanned the resting horses, and found Dust Bucket, the mare Colt had assigned to her since her arrival at the Triple F ranch. The purebred quarter horse was too much of a temptation to ignore. Not only was she here, two strides away, but she was much faster than Paddy and would serve Sunny for longer stretches as well. The horse might give her the extra edge she'd need to elude the men who were sure to track her once Buck was discovered.

  Her decision made, Sunny hurried back to the tack room, dug out a roping saddle and reins, then returned and prepared the mare for the journey.

  As she led Dust Bucket through the double doors, Sunny checked the yard for signs of life, then quietly started down the path to freedom. The horrifying events of the evening swirled in her mind, mimicking the wispy clouds playing tag around the full moon.

  In less than an hour, she, Patrick Callahan's fine upstanding daughter, had become a murderer and a horse thief.

  Both were grave offenses. In each case, if she were caught, the punishment would be death.

  In spite of her predicament, a wan smile lifted the corners of Sunny's mouth as she mounted the horse. Leaning forward on the mare's neck, she whispered, "Well, Dust Bucket, I suppose they will not have any problem convicting me on both counts, but do not be concerned about my punishment for stealing you. They can only hang me once."

  With a bitter laugh, she kicked the horse
in the flanks and galloped down the road. She rode hard, making even better time than she'd hoped for, and finally reined Dust Bucket to a sliding halt several yards before she reached the fork in the road.

  Sean wouldn't be expecting her this soon. He probably hadn't even gotten this far with Eileen yet. Should she proceed to the fork and veer off the main road, then wait in the shelter of the tree grove until her brother arrived? Or continue on alone?

  If she stuck with the original plan, what kind of danger would she visit upon Sean and Eileen? Sooner or later, Nathan would gather up a posse and track her down. What would they do if they found Sean and a white woman on the run with her?

  "Shoot first and ask questions later," she muttered to the velvet sky.

  Sunny shifted her position in the saddle, finding comfort in the squeaks and groans of new leather as she considered her next move. She really had no choice but to give the pair as much time as possible. She owed it to her brother to lead the posse away, rather than to them.

  She was, Sunny decided with a heavy sigh, as alone as she'd been the day she left her desecrated home on a search that had unexpectedly ended this evening. But it had ended. She could now return to her father with that information, that shred of pride, before she had to face the consequences of her actions.

  With a breath of renewed determination, Sunny kicked Dust Bucket in the sides and galloped farther away from the ranch, veering off towards the left—and Yuma—when she came to the fork in the road.

  To the right of the fork, hidden among the trees, Sean heard the thunder of hooves and knew a rider was approaching from the east. He turned to Eileen, cautioning, "Say nothing and do not move. I'll be right back."

  Then he darted through the opening in the foliage and ran along the row of trees. As he reached a vantage point near the apex of the road, he spotted the silhouette of a lone rider sharply backlit by the first hint of dawn. The mount was a full-sized horse, not a pony. And the rider never slowed his stride when he reached the fork, but instead angled away from the row of trees as if spooked by them.

  Muttering to himself, Sean kicked a clump of dirt high in the air as he made his way back to Eileen. "I wish to hell I'd have made Sunny come with me when I left the ranch," he complained. "This waiting around is getting on my nerves."

  Fingers trembling, Eileen reached for his hand and coaxed him down in the soft earth beside her. "There's still another hour before dawn. We've got plenty of time for our getaway."

  "I don't know," he grumbled, scratching his head. "What if your mother's wrong and your pa comes after us? I hate to think we'll just be sitting here waiting for him to come and shoot us like a couple of crippled prairie dogs."

  "Sean," she whispered, "don't fret so. Everything's gonna be all right now. I feel it. I just know it." To conceal the fresh batch of misty tears veiling her eyes, Eileen lowered her lids and smiled.

  As a child, her pa had never allowed her to cry, expecting that even when beaten she should control herself. By the time she was a young woman, mastery of those undesirable emotions was complete. Even in pain, Eileen had learned to rob her pa of the satisfaction of seeing her tears, finding a way to swallow and choke on them before Daniel Hobbs would have the chance to know he'd made her cry.

  Funny, she thought, fresh tears ready to spill from her eyes. Now that she was free and knew he couldn't touch her anymore, she could scarcely keep from drowning in them. She tried to sniff them back, but a sob hiccuped out of her throat.

  Sean forgot his agitation and the sense of urgency when he realized Eileen was crying. "Hey, take it easy. Don't pay any attention to me. We're in no danger." He slid a cautious arm around her shoulders and squeezed lightly. "I'm just in a hurry to be on my way and out of this town. I didn't mean to make you worry."

  "You didn't," she sniffed as she pressed her head against his shoulder, drawing comfort from his strength. "I'm sorry, but I can't seem to stop crying." She paused and took a deep breath, hoping to calm her sobs. "I feel so relieved, so safe with you, I guess I'm a little overwhelmed."

  Her reply touched him in places usually guarded from anyone but his family. With an inward groan, Sean eased back on the soft mat of grass and earth, careful to keep her head cradled against his chest. Using his hips as tools, Sean burrowed out a smooth resting area. Then he stretched out the full length of his body and encouraged Eileen to do the same.

  She snuggled against him, curled into a comfortable position, and sighed peacefully. "Rest," she murmured against the cotton of his shirt. "If I could just get a little sleep, I'd be fine."

  Eileen's strawberry-colored eyelashes sagged against her freckled cheeks, prompting Sean to blow a kiss and drag a gentle fingertip along the curve of her chin.

  "Go ahead, fragile one," he murmured gruffly. "I will watch over you." Noting her bruised and swollen lip, the final monument to Daniel Hobbs's abuse, Sean added, "You are safe now. I will keep you that way."

  While he wasn't fool enough to think he could protect her from society's barbs, or their insults, Sean was satisfied he'd just made a vow he could keep. Somehow, he would find a way to keep this promise, even if it turned out to be the last thing he ever did.

  A sudden yawn acknowledged his own exhaustion, and Sean rubbed at his burning eyes, then closed them. Maybe it was for the best that they had another hour before Sunny was due to join them. They wouldn't be able to put much distance between the tree grove and Pleasant Valley if they didn't take the time to refresh themselves for the long journey ahead.

  Sean's eyes suddenly opened—searching, scanning. He sniffed the air for unusual odors, the smell of death, or fear. And he listened for noises that didn't belong in the desert, for the telltale sounds of silence.

  Satisfied they were alone, that Sunny would be their only visitor during the next hour, Sean relaxed and drifted off to sleep.

  Cole approached the bedroom where Sunny slept. He ran his fingers over the scrollwork on the oak door, caressing the ridges and valleys as he'd caressed her body the night before.

  "Sunny?" he called softly.

  When no sweet voice answered, Cole thought of knocking, of waking her from her slumber, but he shook his head and ambled on down the hallway instead. After the night she'd given him, she could sleep all day if that's what she wanted, he thought with a chuckle.

  Halfway down the stairs, Cole heard Nathan's voice drifting up from the landing.

  "And make sure that coffee's black as a vulture's heart."

  Cole negotiated the remaining steps and met his father at the bottom of the stairs. "Morning, Dad."

  "Oh, morning, son." Nathan fiddled with his shirt tail and made a great show of smoothing the creases into his waistband. "Look, about last night."

  "No need to go over all that." Cole took the Bull Durham tobacco pouch from his pocket and began to roll a cigarette. "Got a minute before breakfast?"

  "Sure, son. Sure."

  Cole regarded his father through a thin stream of smoke as he lit the cigarette. He took a deep drag of the rich tobacco and motioned Nathan to follow him outside. Once in the yard, the men strolled in silence until Cole finally came to a halt by his mother's vegetable garden.

  "I have a few things to tell you, Dad. Tell you, not discuss with you. I hope I can count on you just to listen and maybe try to understand a little."

  "Well, sure, whatever you want."

  A puff of blue smoke proceeded his first announcement. "I'm leaving the ranch, Dad. Your ranch. I'm going to start building on my property sometime next week."

  "But Cole, you know the Triple F pretty much belongs to you now."

  "I asked you to listen, that's all. If you want to get yourself all worked up and blow your heart in a million pieces, that's up to you. You won't do it in front of me, however."

  Clearly uncomfortable with anything but the lead in a conversation, Nathan's features puckered up like the pleating on a store-bought dress. But he shrugged and relented. "Sorry. Go ahead."

  "I don't
have to tell you the trouble the cattle industry is in, and frankly, I'm getting kinda sick of the smell of them." He inhaled another drag of smoke. "I've already put in my order for shipment of the herd I plan to raise over by the Verde River."

  "Not sheep," Nathan bellowed, unable to stop himself.

  "No, Dad, you can relax. I wouldn't do that to you or our neighbors."

  Nathan scratched his head. "If not sheep or cattle, then what? Pigs?"

  Cole's grin dropped his mustache on one side. He brushed his finger between his upper lip and nose several times, then shrugged and said, "Ostriches. I intend to build the biggest ostrich ranch this side of the Pacific Ocean."

  Nathan's mouth dropped open and he cocked his head to one side. "Ostriches, son? You mean them big, ugly birds from Africa?"

  Cole nodded and took another drag from his cigarette as his father absorbed the information.

  Nathan sputtered and shook his head before he could speak clearly. "Why, that's the craziest thing I ever heard of. It's absolutely ridiculous. What'd you want with ostriches?"

  Cole leveled his gaze and pointed a finger at his father. "You said you'd listen. Calm down now, or this conversation is over."

  Nathan held up his hands in surrender. "All right, you win. Go on."

  "I'll give you a brief rundown, but before I do, I want you to remember this is more than a crazy idea. It's done, and there will be no discussion as to whether I carry these plans out or not. Deal?"

  Nathan's lips turned white as he pressed them together, but he nodded and gestured for Cole to go on.

  "I ordered sixteen pairs of breeders while I was in Yuma. They're due in from San Diego sometime over the next two weeks."

  "Excuse me?" When Cole sighed and turned his palm up, Nathan continued. "Just how do these birds plan to get here from Africa and San Diego? Fly?"

  "Now, Dad," Cole said with a clear warning in his voice. "In case you're not aware of it, an ostrich can't fly. They'll come from Africa by boat and arrive from San Diego by train. I thought I'd meet them in Yuma and escort them back here myself."